quirky_squirrel
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Back in 2021, George made the easy, stupid mistake of thinking one night of fun would stay exactly that.
Five years later, he gets a call from the mother of the resulting fun informing him that their son is throwing a tantrum and wants to go to Silverstone to watch Daddy and “Super Max.” Because apparently fate has a sense of humor. George Russell’s son is a Max Verstappen superfan, and George blames the mother entirely.
So here he is on Friday morning under a dreary English sky, trying to survive a race weekend while juggling one excitable five-year-old, a fawning nanny, and his own deeply unhelpful parents. Naturally, not twenty minutes into the day, he loses the child.
Then Max Verstappen walks in holding a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy in a Mercedes VIP lanyard and asks, “Whose child is this?”One important detail: no one in the paddock knows little Nicki Russell exists. No one from Mercedes, not even Toto Wolff, and certainly not Max.
Unfortunately for George, Nicki has already decided this is going to be the best weekend of his life.
Bookmarked by quirky_squirrel
14 Jun 2026
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“No, it’s just—” Max’s fingers tap against the wheel like he’s turning George’s words over in his head. “I wasn’t sure.”
Max’s conscience is a strange, irritating thing. Maybe giving him a lift is some misplaced attempt at an apology, but if Max had watched any replays, which he’s sure he had, he’d know the ruling was fair. Just another racing incident.
A quiet trip to the south of France and the problem of drawing the wrong conclusions.
Bookmarked by quirky_squirrel
13 Jun 2026
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Max toed the shiny sheet of gold heat shield and said apropos of nothing, “Back in the days they used to tell fortune from looking at the guts.”
That got something out of George. He blinked, head slightly tilted. “Pardon?”
“Divination. I forgot what culture—something old. I watched something about it on a flight. They would disembowel an animal and poke at the guts—the intestines, whatever else—and read…” He couldn’t think of the word in English and gave up with a shrug. “You know what I mean. The future.”
“Omens,” George said almost mechanically.
“Yes, omens.” Max nodded. “So what omens have you received?”
“That I’m well and truly fucked, aren’t I."
Montreal, after the race. Max finds George in the Mercedes garage at one in the morning, standing in the entrails of a car that should have won.
Max has never believed in divine will or luck.
Series
- Part 1 of pareidolia
Bookmarked by quirky_squirrel
07 Jun 2026
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At nineteen years old, Lee Seokmin wasn't anything special: gangly-limbed and nervous, he heaved around a guitar that kept getting stuck in closing train doors and bumping into people. He was a cheerful kid, but he'd have been a lot happier if the only open seat in his train hadn't been next to the most beautiful boy in the world.
Jeonghan, twenty-one and the beautiful boy in question, watched his noisy approach with growing dismay.
He didn't need some smiley rockstar to be his friend.
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Bookmarked by quirky_squirrel
07 May 2026
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Omega and Alpha noses singe with the acrid scent of a possessive, pissed-off Kim Mingyu. In his arms, Seokmin rests, Beta senses none-the-wiser.
Bookmarked by quirky_squirrel
05 May 2026