#why doesn't my brother tell me anything

[razaai]

i was thinking while watching all the harry potter kinder joy reels that wow we don't buy them anymore like we used to and then i come home to a ron weasley and luna lovegood lying on my table 😭😭

[numberoneanika]

Honestly the roleplay blogs are stronger than I am because if I saw a post where people were saying my blog was annoying and calling me corny I would jump in a large pit and rot away

[llycaons]

while I enjoy an AU where sect cultivators stood by wwx in his defiance against the cultivation world or supported the wen remnants with him, they can't hit like canon does bc they always feel a little...hm. like if the author is super invested and insists THIS is what should have/would have happened its like they're missing the point of all the characters and their arcs?

[beesorcery]

google how do i tell my dad that the reason i keep bringing up elon musk's transphobia isn't that i've got gen z political tunnel vision that makes me blind to his "innovation" in electric cars but because i am desperately crying out for you as the father of a trans child to feel just as outraged and angry as i am that that man has so much power

[missrosegold]

Looks like I just lost another close friend to guy who isn't worth a pile of dog shit. 😊

[camellia-thea]

i'm still thinking about the conversation i witnessed last night :/

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

…

[super-psycho-lov3]

it doesnt even matter it doesnt even matter it doesnt ever matter it doesnt even

[earl-grey-crow]

so. coyle.

[advisorsage]

I keep being told that my grandma's neighbor's son is "weird" and "super autistic" and that I can't possibly be autistic because I never acted like he does. But here's the thing all I see when I watch him is a kid playing in the dirt. Like yeah OK most kids don't do that *nowadays* but like kids do weird shit. I'm told it's hard to talk to him. I assume that they simply aren't approaching him right. He may be shy! I don't care that he's somewhere between 7 and 11 years old he might just not like strangers. That's normal, kid shit. How different from me can he possibly be? He's human. I'm human. He's a child. I was a child. I bet if I talked to him and found out his interests, I could have an easier time talking to him than the people telling me he's "strange" ever could. You just have to know how to interact with kids. It's amazing that I know you talk to them about their interest while actual parents don't when I will freely say I don't want kids. How am I better equipped to treat them like humans? Also, the little boy seems like he's going to grow up and be a perfectly okay person who'll do just fine in whatever field he chooses. I don't know his interests, so I can't say what that'll be, but I'm sure he'll do great.

[guinevereslancelot]

currently hating and killing myself for leaving work early even tho i literally threw up within a minute of walking in the door when i got home

[girlivealwaysbean]

dni.

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Constantine Is Having Fae Problems

Not as in 'problems with the fae', but as in 'the Batfam don't understand shit about fae and it is somehow Constantine's problem'

"Thank you."

Whatever thoughts Constantine had before come to a screeching halt. He slowly turns around, praying he's misheard, but, unfortunately, no. He heard that right.

The black-haired kid - he looks like a kid, but, really, he is not, and he is not even human to begin with - is smiling at Nightwing, who just laughs and ruffles the boy's hair.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing," the moronic eldest batkid says, like it's not a big deal, and Constantine just... can't. He is not dealing with this right now. He needs a drink.

And then it happens again. Not with the Nightwing, though. This time, it's Black Bat. Now, in all honesty, Constantine is not so sure about her being human either, what with her appearing out of goddamn aether and being silent as a ghost, but the point still stands. The new addition to Bat's menagerie of children, the fae boy, the changeling who insists he is Robin's brother, thanks her.

It's quick and easy, just like a human would say it, and Black Bat just nods back at him, but Constantine knows what it means. He knows the weight of fae gratitude.

The big question is, do the Bats know it?

He promises himself to address this issue later with the Big Bat himself. But every time he encounters the man, he just forgets to bring it up. Constantine strongly suspects it's not his bad memory at fault here, but a certain fae. Not that he is going to outright go and blame the damned creature, of course, Constantine values his life, mind, and consciousness. Also, he is very aware of the consequences of talking to the fae, unlike the furry brigade.

Alas, he can't forget something if he witnesses with his own eyes. So the next time he is in the Batcave, he makes it a point to wait until the same thing eventually happens. And, score for Constantine, it does.

"Thank you," the kid - again, not a kid, not a human, but whatever - tells Red Robin, and Constantine immediately snaps his head to him, pointing a finger at the smiling fae.

"I mean no disrespect, but what are you doing?"

The kid - Danny, as he insists to be called, although Constantine knows better than to call a fae by any name - tilts his head to the side. He looks confused, but there's a sly glint to his blue eyes. Oh, the fucker knows exactly what he means. He just doesn't want to admit to it.

"What do you mean?" It's not him, but Red Robin asking, and Constantine turns to look him in the eyes. Mask. Whatever.

"He is thanking-" a terrible thought crosses Constantine's mind, and he stares at Red Robin with horror, "Oh, don't tell me you were all thanking him and apologizing to him like he is a human being."

"I don't see how this is your business," Red Robin scolds, and his eyes narrow. Constantine can't see his actual eyes through the mask, but he knows the Bats well enough to know the kid looks as deadpan as he can.

"You can't do that!" He reaches down to the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, but stops halfway. Right, no smoking in the Batcave. Wait, he never obeyed that rule! Constantine turns to glare at the fae boy. Danny appears as innocent as a newborn baby. Little bastard.

"Quit making a scene," comes another voice, and this one John recognizes, turning to look at little Robin. Now that he thinks about it, the demonic child claimed the fae as his brother, and he definitely should know how to talk to fae!

"Why didn't you tell them about the rules?!" He asks Robin, and the kid doesn't even bat an eye at him.

"You will not accuse me of incompetence in front of my brother," Robin huffs, not stepping closer and keeping one hand on his hip, "I did."

"You-"

"Okay, how about you calm down?" Danny interjects, and John is positive this is the first time he's heard the boy say anything other than 'thank you'. He turns to the fae, facing him, and, oh, Jesus, those are not human eyes. Or teeth. Or face. Holy fuck how do Bats live with this, it's like uncanny valley but hundreds times worse.

"If I tell you I use it for easier access, will you leave it be?" The fae tilts his head again, and this time it is not in confusion, but in the eerie manner of how all very much not human beings do it. Constantine swallows, but doesn't back down.

"Access to what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Transportation," Danny provides. This does not explain shit and he knows it. Red Robin groans and rolls his eyes.

"We use it to summon Danny if we need him. It's faster than calling or texting."

Constantine freezes.

These fucking kids. Are using the fae debts. To summon him. Because they don't like texting.

Do they know that they can literally ask a fae to destroy a small country to fulfill a debt like that? It's not just a small favor, it's a gratitude. Fae take their gratitude very seriously. They value it. A lot.

Actually, you know what, no. John is not going to be explaining that part to them because God knows the batkids are all batshit crazy and this is an opportunity he is not willing to give them.

So he just nods stiffly, turns around, and heads to the zeta tube.

"Thank you for caring about my family," he hears a voice behind him, full of mischief and joy. Constantine feels the weight of the newly acquired debt, or better call it a favor, bind itself to his soul, and, great, he now has the power to part the sea like Moses, but only once.

He needs a drink. No, correction, he needs a whole bar to himself.

Wait, that's an idea.

"Get me a bottle of good bourbon, and we're even," he throws around his shoulder, stepping into a zeta tube.

When he steps out of it, there's an unlabeled bottle in his hand. John sighs and opens it, foregoing the glass or cup and drinking straight from the neck.

...It's good bourbon.

Inspired by @blackfoxsposts

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[neferaskingdom]

♡ You're Doing Amazing Sweetie | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: George finds out and the only thing Y/n can do is hide and pray that George doesn't take out Max on track.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

Y/n paces anxiously near the monitors while Charles and Lando loiter as if they had all the time in the world. Charles had his arms crossed, his race suit tied around his waist, and Lando was demolishing a plate of snacks meant for the Ferrari engineers. Y/n had been hiding out in the Ferrari garage since the paddock opened to avoid crossing paths with George.

“Okay, tell me the truth—how screwed am I?” Y/n asks, whipping around to face them.

“Oh, monumentally,” Lando replies through a mouthful of cookie. “Like Titanic levels. Possibly Pompeii.”

Charles nods along solemnly. “Also George is definitely plotting something. He walked by earlier muttering to himself like a Bond villain.”

“Fuck” Y/n groans pacing faster.

“You do realize hiding here makes you look guiltier, right?” Lando says, biting into another cookie

Y/n glares at him. “What do you want me to do? Parade around the paddock with a sign that says ‘Yes George, I am the mother of Max Verstappen’s future spawn’?!”

Charles snorts so hard that his espresso nearly spills. “Please don’t. George would spontaneously combust.”

“Plus technically speaking this is your fault,” Lando says, jabbing a finger at her.

She raises an eyebrow. “My fault? I’m not the one who told the entire world, ‘If it weren’t for the baby.’”

“That part was clearly Max’s fault,” Lando interjects, not looking up from his plate. “But this whole ‘let’s date secretly’ thing? Yeah, I’m blaming you for that one.”

“Excuse me?” Y/n shoots back.

“Don’t get defensive,” Charles says, holding his hands up. “But we told you this would end in disaster. And now? Look at you. Hiding in my garage like some kind of fugitive because George looks like he’s ready to blow up Redbull’s hospitality. You should have told George the second you two realized your relationship was serious.”

Y/n groans, tugging at her hair. “What’s done is done and I can’t change that now can I? And I’m here because I obviously can’t stay at the Mercedes garage if I want to avoid my brother and staying at Redbull is a deathwish. Imagine what’ll happen if he catches us both in the same place. I just hope George doesn't do anything stupid in public”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Lando says, grinning as he gestures to himself and Charles. “We’re like the UN Peacekeepers of the paddock. We’ll keep them both separate and make sure nothing happens today.”

“Like that's very reassuring,” Y/n mutters.

As the drivers line up for the national anthem, Y/n stays glued to the monitors, trying to keep a low profile. George, however, was impossible to miss.

“Great,” she mutters to herself as the camera pans to him. His jaw was clenched, his expression thunderous. It looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Oscar was hovering near George, subtly blocking him every time he shifted toward Max. Y/n couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Aussie, who looked like he’d accidentally wandered into a battlefield.

From his other side, Lando was casually draping an arm over his shoulder as if trying to calm him down. Instead, it seems to piss off George even more as he tried to shrug him off with a sharp glare, but Lando remained latched on.

“Please let this be over,” Y/n pleads at the screen.

The tension only escalated as the drivers headed to their cars. George made one last attempt to corner Max, and Y/n’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Oh no. Oh no. Don’t do it,” she whispered at the screen.

Oscar, ever the unwilling mediator, once again intercepted George, his hands up in a placating gesture. Y/n let out a relieved breath as George backed off, though he still looked furious.

She slumped back into her seat, her nerves frayed.

“Just one race,” she muttered to herself. “One race without drama. Is that too much to ask for?”

The drivers climbed into their cars, and the screen cut to the grid formation. Y/n felt a brief moment of peace, knowing that for the next couple of hours, George and Max would be too busy driving to tear into each other.

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Tensions are at an all-time high after today’s race! George Russell’s post-race interview took a dramatic turn when a journalist brought up Max’s cryptic baby comment and rumors about George’s sister. 😱 After repeatedly trying to dodge the question, George snapped, delivered a firm warning about personal boundaries, and stormed off.

The paddock drama just keeps escalating. Fans spotted George glaring at Max throughout the national anthem, and it seems like Oscar and Lando had to play paddock security to keep the peace. What’s your take on all this chaos? 🍼👀

Post-Race Interview Transcript:

Journalist: George, P5 today—a decent result to round out the season. Can you walk us through how you’re feeling about the race and the team’s performance?

George: (nodding) Yeah, it was a solid race. Not quite the result we hoped for, but the team worked hard all weekend. We gave it our best shot with the car we had. Of course, as a driver, you always want more, but I think we made the most of the opportunities we had out there.

Journalist: Fair enough. And, of course, today marks the end of an era with Lewis Hamilton’s final race for Mercedes. What’s it like to share this moment with him? Any reflections?

George: (pauses, visibly emotional) It’s bittersweet, really. Lewis has been such a huge part of the team and the sport as a whole. He’s not just a teammate but also a mentor and a legend in Formula 1. Sharing the garage with him has been an honor. I think I speak for everyone at Mercedes when I say we’re incredibly grateful for everything he’s brought to the team and wish him all the best for what comes next.

Journalist: Well said. Now, George, I have to shift gears a bit—there’s been a lot of chatter about some off-track tension. During the national anthem, fans couldn’t help but notice you glaring at Max Verstappen. Care to address that?

George: (stiffens, smile faltering) I wasn’t glaring at anyone. I was focused on the race, like I always am. People are reading into things that just aren’t there.

Journalist: Really? Because from the footage, it looked quite... pointed. And after Max’s comments yesterday about making peace with you ‘because of a baby,’ it’s hard not to wonder—

George: (cuts in, voice tight) I don’t see how that’s relevant to today’s race.

Journalist: (pressing) George, fans are speculating nonstop. Is it true? Is your sister having Max Verstappen’s baby?

George: (visibly bristling, voice rising) I think we’ve strayed far enough from the purpose of this interview. This is about Formula 1, about racing—not gossip or baseless rumors.

Journalist: With all due respect, George, Max’s words weren’t exactly cryptic. He was talking about a baby and making amends with you. Surely, you can understand why people are curious.

George: (snaps, voice sharp) Curious or not, it’s none of anyone’s business. This is supposed to be a post-race interview—not a soap opera recap. The media needs to learn where to draw the line. We’re here to race, not have our personal lives dissected under a microscope.

Journalist: But George, the fans—

George: (interrupts sharply) No. Enough. The media needs to maintain boundaries and stop meddling in our personal lives. I’m done here.

(George rips off his team cap, storms away from the interview pen, and disappears into the paddock, leaving the journalist and cameras stunned.)

Comments:

user: George was NOT here for the nonsense today. That ‘draw the line’ speech? ICONIC

user: Honestly, respect to George for standing up for himself. The journalist was pushing way too hard. Let the man race in peace user: Never seen George this mad before 😳 What is going on in the House of Commons???

user: Why do I feel like this confirms the baby news? Like he didn’t deny it, and his reaction was TOO intense

user: Respect to George for standing up to the journalist, but let’s not lie—he 100% confirmed the drama with that reaction. 🍼

user: Okay, but imagine George finding out about the baby at the same time as us 😭

user: George looked like he was going to deck Max during the national anthem. Thank you, Oscar, for literally being a human shield

user: No but why did George look like he was seconds away from body-slamming Max during the anthem? Lando had to literally hold him back 💀

user: Okay, but the real question is… what BABY? Whose baby? Did George even KNOW about this baby before today?!

user: Theory time! 1. Max and Y/n were dating in secret. 2. George didn’t know about the baby and is spiraling. 3. Netflix is eating GOOD

user: Imagine being George and learning about your sister’s alleged baby from Twitter

user: Lewis’ last race with Merc and THIS is what George has to deal with. Poor guy’s gonna need therapy after this season

user: The way everyone’s ignoring this is also Lewis’ last race with Mercedes 💀. George snapped so hard we forgot to be emotional

user: Lando probably whispered something dumb like ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’ while George was vibrating with rage

user: F1 isn’t just a sport. It’s a reality TV show with occasional car racing

Max stood under the glare of the cameras, trying to look composed despite the post-race fatigue gnawing at him. P6 wasn’t what he’d wanted, but at least he’d avoided the chaos brewing elsewhere in the paddock—or so he thought.

“So, the strategy was clearly compromised by the penalty,” the journalist asked, her tone probing. “Do you think there was any way to recover from that?”

Max nodded slightly, his words coming out measured. “Yeah, it was tough. We lost track position early, and once you’re in traffic—”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

The voice was eerily calm, almost polite, but it carried a weight that immediately silenced the conversation. Max turned to see George standing there, his posture casual but his jaw clenched tight.

The journalist blinked, clearly taken aback. “Uh, George? We’re in the middle of—”

“I need a moment with Max,” George cut her off, his tone civil but firm. He glanced at Max’s PR manager with an unnervingly calm smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The PR manager hesitated, looking between Max and George. Max let out a quiet sigh, already resigned to whatever was about to unfold. He gave a small nod. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Before anyone could say another word, George’s hand clamped onto Max’s shoulder. It wasn’t rough, but it left no room for argument.

Max allowed himself to be steered away, his body language slumping slightly as though accepting his fate. George didn’t say a word as he guided Max through the paddock, weaving past mechanics and team personnel. A few glanced their way, their curiosity piqued, but no one dared to intervene.

“Are you going to say something, or are we just walking in ominous silence?” Max finally muttered, keeping his tone light but knowing full well George wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

George didn’t respond, his grip tightening slightly as they turned into a quieter corridor behind the team hospitality units.

“Okay,” Max said with a dry laugh, “this is starting to feel like a bad cop drama.”

George stopped abruptly, spinning Max around and slamming him against the wall. The thud echoed in the empty space, and Max winced slightly but didn’t resist.

“We need to talk,” George said, his voice low and steely, every word laced with barely contained anger.

Max met his gaze, his usual unflappable demeanor faltering under the intensity of George’s glare. For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, unspoken words hanging heavy in the silence.

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