#or mclaren didn’t bottle a pit stop or the strategy

[heavenorsilverstone]

carlos slander is dumb af always but esp today like. what did you want him to do. when was he ever not 2+ seconds off lando in inferior machinery. ferrari weren’t in wcc contention without a mistake from lando or mclaren and they drove perfectly. and comparing his performance to charles’s is also stupid like oh charles gained sixteen places bc he qualied P19 with penalties. yes and carlos only gained one bc he qualied P3 lol you dolts

[dizzyduck44]

I’ve noticed that no one seems to have pointed this out yet and I hate to be the one to do it, but I think we need to fully accept the level of manipulation in play on Sunday.

McLaren went into that race planning they would not swap positions after the 2nd pitstop. If you were leading at the second pit stop, you could win the race.

This is supported by the radio message to Lando of “you are free to race till mid 40s range”.

Everyone talks about Oscar taking the lead but no one seems to remember Max refused to let Lando past till lap 7. By this point Oscar had had the chance to build a lead. So by lap 8 the team are telling Lando his fight was with Max.

Approaching the 2nd pitstop Oscar has an off and Lando is eating into Oscar’s lead, he is on the cusp of getting into Oscar’s DRS.

So the team pit Lando first.

Now I’ve heard several variations of why this was wrong. He had no one really to cover off, Oscar was first on the road. Whoever pitted first was going to get the benefit.

Why now with all the knowledge we have does it feel like they pitted Lando because they couldn’t risk him overtaking Oscar before the 2nd pitstop?

Lando is historically strong as hell in the last third of the race. What happened was always going to happen. Lando would be quicker. It’s why Red Bull went for the tyre delta with Max.

I can’t help but feel Lando knew what the team had done and his driving off wasn’t petulance, wasn’t disrespect to Oscar. It was a message to McLaren, you have actively stopped me winning this race! You have not just issued team orders, you have manipulated them.

It would make sense of Will’s radio message. “He can’t catch you. You’ve made your point”.

The unexpected consequence for McLaren was they then handled this as bad as they possibly could. The manipulative radio messages. Then being seen to actively force a driver to give up a nearly 7 second lead in order to honour what they had agreed pre race. The PR fall out is still ongoing. From the live commentary, to the fans, now the written media is piling on them.

If you want further proof this is the root of what happened on Sunday you have Will telling Lando “as we discussed this morning, plenty more opportunities”.

Oscar apologising “sorry I made that swap more painful than it needed to be. But thank you I appreciate that”.

Then there were the caps. That they miraculously just happened to have with them.

The point of this isn’t to try and blame either driver. They both did the best with what they were given. The issue is, I’m not sure I feel comfortable with either driver being subjected to this for “the good of the team”.

The final straw has to be Stella’s comment “you are either a team player or you can’t be a member of McLaren Formula One Team”. I’m willing to give him some leeway with trying to find the right words in English, but still the implication is clear.

Oscar and Lando have to accept McLaren’s terms or they will be gone.

The way I feel right now. They would be both better off gone, as the team seems incapable of a race strategy from lights out to chequered flag that covers every eventuality.

As I pointed out to someone who was complaining about Lando not spraying Oscar first. No he went to drown the Head of Strategy who was on the podium with them. Given this season. Justified! I’m just surprised he didn’t throw the bottle at him as well!!!

[racing-is-passion]

Leclerc Finally Wins His Home Grand Prix!

After many years of bad luck at his home race, Charles Leclerc has finally done it—he is the first Monegasque to win in Monaco! Congratulations.

Oscar Piastri finished second in his McLaren, which sported a yellow Senna design this weekend. Carlos Sainz finished third in the second Ferrari, lucky that the race had to be stopped with a red flag in the first lap; otherwise, after suffering a puncture in the first corner, he would have had no chance of making it to the podium.

Speaking of the red flag, it was once again triggered by Kevin Magnussen, who saw a gap between the wall and Sergio Perez after the first corner that only he could see. There definitely wasn't one, and squeezing in with his front wing beside a car, knowing that the other driver might not see him (blind spot), borders on madness. As a result of the crash, Checo’s Red Bull was completely destroyed, and both Kevin and his teammate (Hülkenberg), who was actually uninvolved, were taken out of the race. Why the race officials didn't issue a penalty here is beyond me.

Also in the first lap, before entering the tunnel, Ocon tried to squeeze past his teammate, which didn't go well, leading to an internal Alpine collision and damage to both cars, especially Ocon’s. He couldn't resume the race after the interruption because his left rear suspension was damaged. Alpine team boss Famin announced "drastic measures."

Otherwise, the race was very boring, as usual, with no real overtakes and a very slow pace just to conserve the tires from the second lap to the finish. Most drivers didn’t make another pit stop after the red flag, removing the last element of excitement—strategy—from the equation.

I also found it very nice how relaxed Prince Albert was during the award ceremony. First visibly moved by Charles' victory, then he spontaneously grabbed a bottle himself and joined in the celebrations.

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ HUNGARIAN FRUSTRATION ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ  Hungary is a living hell for Lando at the moment and he feels as if the whole world is against him. Whether it be McLaren, the media, or at this point, even you. Emotions get the best of everyone.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ౨ৎ lando is a bit of jerk in the beginning but everything turns out just fine 🩷

A/N ౨ৎ I DON’T KNOW IF THIS QUALIFIES AS ANGST BUT I HOPE YOU STILL LIKE IT 😭😭 still proud of my bby oscar for getting his win, but i just wish he won in a very different way and one where he was ecstatic about winning :(

HUNGARY WAS MEANT to be a dream come true. Lando getting his second win, Lando finally getting a closer in the championship points behind Max, but most of all, a amazing strategy conducted by McLaren. But that was all a dream.

In reality, Hungary was nothing but a total nightmare. Horrible start to the race on Lando’s side, Lando losing his position to Oscar causing him to get his first ever Grand Prix win, but most dreadfully, the McLaren strategy. God, that forsaken pit stop and switch. Lando being pitted before Oscar, then the call for the switch for P1… it was a race to forget.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Not a single word was uttered after you both left the paddock, nor any mention of any emotions. However his grip on the steering wheel spoke volumes of Lando’s inner turmoil. And things only got worse when you both arrived at the hotel.

As you entered the hotel room, the oppressive silence followed you like a shadow. Lando’s shoulders were hunched, his usually bright eyes clouded with frustration and disappointment. He He carelessly throws his stuff on the counter, his keys thrown a little more force than necessary, the clattering sound echoing in the room.

“Lando-“ You begin, trying to get him to talk, express what he’s feeling, anything at this point.

Lando quickly grabs a water bottle from the fridge, shutting it and leaning against the counter, taking a sip. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before scoffing and looking away.

“Don’t start.” He mutters, knowing you were about to talk to him about the race.

“Lando,” I say again, getting up to met him on the counter. “Breathe.”

Lando keeps his eyes locked on his water. “I am breathing.” He retorted bluntly, his tone snappy. “If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You can feel the tension crackling in the room, heavy and thick as if you can cut it with a knife. You close the distance between the two of you, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort.

“Lando, I get that you’re upset. But shutting me out won’t help. You need to talk about it.” You stay firm with your tone.

He pulls away, his frustration clearly bubbling over. “What’s the point of talking? It’s not going to change a single thing. It was a disaster. The whole weekend was a mess, and it’s not like talking about it will change anything. Talking won’t fix the shit strategy, or my race start anyways.”

His anger is palpable, but you refuse to back down. “It might not change the outcome, but it could help you process what happened. Bottling it up isn’t going to help either. I know you Lando. You try to pretend everything is fine after and smile but it’s not.”

Lando’s shoulders slumped slightly, his defiant stance wavering as he looked away, his expression a mix of exasperation, hurt, and disappointment. You could see the internal struggle written clearly on his face, and it only made you want to reach out to him more.

"Look, Lando," you say softly, stepping closer. "I’m not asking you to forget about the race or pretend like it didn’t happen. I’m just asking you to let me in, even if it’s just for a moment. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Lando’s grip on the water bottle tightened, knuckles turning white. He sighed deeply, his frustration slowly giving way to a more vulnerable side. “It’s just... I felt like we had everything lined up perfectly. I was on Pole, I had a great qualifying, hell, even my helmet was good… but the pit stop mistake where they decided to pit me first over Oscar, then switching our positions, the chance to close the gap in the championship…. it just felt like all fell apart in front of me. I’m happy for Oscar, he did amazing… but I just wish it was me.” Lando finally turned to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and resignation. “I just don’t want to let everyone down. I know how much the team invested in this, and I don’t want to be the reason it all goes south.”

You shook your head, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You’re not letting anyone down. Not me, not your friends, not your family, Everyone knows how much you’ve given for this team. They see the effort you put in. The drive, and the passion you have for the past years you’ve with this time. Sometimes, things don’t go as planned, and that’s part of the sport. But it doesn’t mean you’re failing.”

Lando’s expression softened as you spoke, the weight of his frustration still visible but beginning to lift slightly. He leaned into your touch, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. It was a small gesture, but it seemed to help ground him in the moment.

“I don’t know if I can handle this much longer,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Every race, it’s like I’m pushing and pushing, and sometimes it feels like it’s never enough.”

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “I can’t pretend to know exactly how you’re feeling, but I do know that you’re incredibly talented and hardworking. Hell, you are one of the 20 racing in F1! You’ve had so many highs, and yes, sometimes there are lows. But those lows don’t define you. They’re just part of your career.”

Lando’s eyes darted around the room, avoiding yours. “I thought this weekend was going to be our moment. We had everything going for us, and then it all just fell apart. I wanted to do so well, not just for myself but for the team. I don’t want to be the one who messes things up.”

You took his hand gently, squeezing it to offer comfort. “Listen to me. One race doesn’t define your entire career or your worth. You’ve proven time and time again how capable you are. You’re allowed to be disappointed and frustrated, but don’t let this one race make you doubt yourself or your abilities.”

Lando looked down at your intertwined hands, his expression a mix of gratitude and lingering sadness. “It’s hard to see past the immediate disappointment. I know what you’re saying is true, but right now, it’s just... it’s hard.”

“I understand,” you said softly. “But remember that you don’t have to face this alone. We’ll get through it together. You have a team that believes in you, and more importantly, you have me. We can work through this, take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel this way, and it’s okay to lean on others for support.”

Lando’s eyes finally met yours again, the tension in his gaze slowly easing. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

You offered a small, reassuring smile. “You’re allowed to lean on the people who care about you. That’s what I’m here for.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers tightening around yours. “Thank you. I know I’m being a bit of a mess right now, but... it helps to talk about it.”

Lando’s shoulders relaxed further, and for the first time since you’d arrived at the hotel, he managed a small, grateful smile. “…I’m sorry for being so closed off and a bit of a asshole.”

You shook your head, brushing another lock of hair from his face. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We all have our moments. The important thing is that you’re not alone, and you don’t have to go through this on your own.”

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, Lando took a deep breath, seeming to find some solace in your presence.

“What about a movie?” You offer up with a grin.

“With cuddling?”

“Yes, with cuddling.”

“…Maybe more?” He smirks a bit making you groan in slight annoyance.

“Now you’re pushing your luck, Norris.”

[wingsofanillyrian]

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 3

Day late but here you go! Thank you to @acourtofcouture​ for beta-ing and putting up with me!

Chapter Masterlist

The six hour flight left Nesta well rested and refreshed as she checked into her hotel. She texted Jacob to check in and make sure none of his equipment had gotten lost on the flight. Having arrived a day earlier, he had been lurking around paddocks in hopes of capturing any drama on film.

He assured her everything had made it safely and informed her there were rumors flying about transmission troubles with the McLaren team. Nesta told him to keep an eye on it and unpacked her suitcase.

Nesta had just sat down when her phone rang. It was Tomas. Sighing, she decided she couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Tomas,” She answered coldly.

“About damn time you picked up the phone,” He replied, remorseless. He wasn’t earning himself any points. “What room are you in?”

She frowned. “How do you know if I’m even in Baku?”

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to find out flight numbers.” Interesting, he was keeping tabs on her.

“I don’t want to-”

“I said what room?”

Nesta sank back in the plush chair. Truthfully, she did want to see him, if only to determine what he had to say for himself. She couldn’t let go of the hope that somehow this was all a simple misunderstanding.

“Fourteen twelve,” She told him, instantly regretting it.

She heard him shuffling on the other end. “Five minutes.”

A knock on her door sounded a few minutes later, and she let Tomas in. “I saw the story.”

“Obviously,” Nesta scoffed, crossing her arms. Tomas reached for her but she stepped away. His eyes went bright with anger. She would not make this easy for him.

“I tried calling you.”

“I am aware.” Nesta picked at her nails to hide her trembling, trying to appear utterly nonplussed. “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes.”

Nesta froze. Ever so slowly, her gaze slid to Tomas. Back straight, chin jutting out, staring down his nose at her. He still showed no sign of regret, nothing that would indicate he made a mistake.

“Why?” She rasped, fighting back tears. Tomas was not worth it.

He shrugged. “Because I wanted to. You and I are just fucking anyways. What does it matter?”

Nesta recoiled, blinking. “I can’t do this.” She had grossly miscalculated their entire relationship. Her palms began to sweat, her breathing increasing to a fever pitch. She pressed a hand to her chest, praying that the pressure would prevent her glass heart from shattering. Instead, it pushed the shards further into her lungs, making each breath ragged.

“Get out,” She whispered. Tomas scoffed, stepping forward.

“Nesta-”

“Out!” She repeated, more forcefully. She only needed to hold herself together for a few more seconds until he was out the door, then she could crumble.

Tomas’ face twisted. “Fine. I’ll see you at the paddock tomorrow anyway, I’m sure.”

Nesta let out a choked sob as soon as the door slammed shut. Her resolve broke, the dam inside of her punched through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she fell to her knees. She shouldn’t have loved him. 

Before they had met, she knew he was nothing but a heartbreaker. He went through women the way a drunk went through a bottle of liquor. Tomas viewed women in the same way as well; objects to be used until they were no more than empty shells and then discarded.

Nesta let the grief crash against her for a handful of minutes before she realized how useless it was. Tomas would never love her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was capable of feeling such an emotion at all. There was no use letting him affect her.

Gathering her strength, Nesta stood. She looked at the sorry image in the mirror, taking in the red eyes, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the disheveled hair. She wouldn’t let a man crush her. She had made it this far by blinding herself to the sneers and derogatory comments thrown at her. Why couldn’t she do the same to get over Tomas?

But as she climbed into bed, she realized how flawed that mentality was.

**********

Sunday’s race kept Nesta busy. Lucien and Azriel collided in lap three, causing a safety car and ultimately leading to the pair of them being unable to finish the race. Nesta had seen it on a television hanging in the Mercedes garage, the entire team letting out a collective shout when Vanserra didn’t yield to Azriel in the 90 degree turn and the Red Bull tangled with the Mercedes. Both cars were a mess of broken carbon fiber and snapped suspension bits.

Nesta managed to corner Azriel and get a few heated words out of him, a rare bit of annoyance showing through his usual calm. “Vanserra should have cut into the corner more sharply. He was way off the racing line.”

“Some people would say that you should have backed off and yielded the position to him,” Nesta added, hoping to get him worked up further. “What are your thoughts on that?”

Azriel glared at the camera, addressing anyone who dared think the incident had been his fault. “If you’re not allowed to defend, what’s racing about, then?”

Azriel turned on his heel and belined back to the garage. Jacob lowered the camera and turned to Nesta to ask, “You don’t actually believe it was Azriel’s fault, do you?”

“Of course not.” Nesta’s attention returned to the monitors and she grimaced. The racing incident had allowed Tomas to move up into first. Cassian was only a second behind, but struggling to overtake. At least she no longer had to be invested in Tomas holding his position. She couldn’t care less if he won or not.

In the end, it was Tomas taking home top points for Red Bull, Cassian bringing home 18 for Mercedes and Varian with a handful for McLaren spraying the champagne on the podium. Red Bull’s one stop strategy meant that when Cassian dipped into the pits on lap 38 for a fresh set of soft compound tires and one of the wheel nuts got stuck, Tomas was the clear winner. Cassian had no way to make up the 10 second deficit. The 25 points Tomas’ first place finish awarded him allowed him to slip past Cassian and snag the championship lead. 

And gods, was he smug about it.

Nesta told herself she didn’t care when Tomas sauntered into the press pen, his self-satisfied smile directed at her as he sat. Cassian and Varian filed in moments later, each silent as they took their seats. The room paused, Cassian’s hazel eyes flicking to where she sat front row. Everyone was waiting…. For her.

But her mind was blank. Not a single race related question surfaced. Nesta panicked, clenching a fist hard enough to feel her nails bite her palm. After a few beats of silence, the roar of the other reporters filled her head.

They had been waiting for her to ask something - anything - and she couldn’t come up with a single damned thing to say.

Jacob nudged her side. “You good?”

Nesta was too lost in the tangled web of thoughts to reply. This had all been a game to Tomas; his attitude now told her that. He had used her to gain favor with other teams and build a solid reputation with fans. After all, what better way to gain positive media attention than to have the sport’s most infamous writer in your bed?

She managed to keep her face carefully blank until the end of the conference. She didn’t say a word to Jacob as he packed up, shooting her confused glances all the while. The walls of the room pushed in on her, chest becoming tight. Standing on shaky legs, she fled down the hall, finding an abandoned alcove far from the cacophony of noise.

Chest heaving, Nesta tried to sort through her revelation. Tomas had used her. He had never intended to let this drag out. Those pictures had likely been a calculated move on his end, intended to spear her heart. Maybe breaking her had been his plan all along. He seemed to enjoy her emptiness, judging by the way he kept glancing at her during the conference. 

Her phone vibrated. Against her better judgement, she checked it. It was only Jacob, asking where she was. She only texted back to say that she was fine before gathering herself. She couldn’t just crumble in a hallway where anyone could see her.

She had just began to head towards the exit when someone jogged behind her. “Hey!”

“Not now Cassian,” Nesta said, annoyance evident. How did he always manage to find her when she wanted to be left alone? It was like he had some kind of sixth sense, focused directly on her.

“Hold on,” He said, fingers brushing her arm. The touch froze her, muscles coiling. It had only been a brief moment, but the surprise of it was enough to disarm her. “You okay? You didn’t say a word at the conference.”

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “Why do you care?”

He did not flinch. Most would have. “Because I’m a decent person, believe it or not.” She searched his face for any sign of insincerity. She couldn’t find any; his hazel eyes held only honeyed truths.  

Nesta’s laugh was cruel, hot tears threatening to fall. “Right. Sure you are. Suddenly you feel like caring about how I feel instead of fucking with me. How about you leave me to my misery, Cassian? No need to rub it in.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t want to see the look on his face, whether it was anger or smug satisfaction, or something else entirely. 

Nesta managed to make it out and call a taxi to take her back to the hotel. She was silent the entire ride, not bothering with half-hearted small talk. Collapsing on the bed, she didn’t bother changing. She queued up a cheesy comedy film, one that was full of stupid jokes that were funny when it first came out, but not relevant in the present day.

Halfway through, Nesta grew bored and checked her phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

You okay? You never answered me.

"What the fuck," Nesta mumbled, rereading the message. How had Cassian gotten her number? 

Fine, was all she said back. She didn't know why she even bothered responding. Maybe it was because he had seemed genuinely concerned in that hallway and she felt slightly guilty for blowing him off.

I can buy you a drink if you come down to the hotel bar

Fuck off and leave me alone

Gladly.

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh and texted Jacob.

You gave him my number didn't you?

Jacob's response was only an emoji of a nervous smile.

"Little fucker," She mumbled, tossing her phone aside. She'd throttle him tomorrow on the plane. Right now, she was too hungry to send a snarky reply. If she slipped out the back, she could grab a burger without having to chance running into Cassian at the bar.

Grabbing a sweater - the desert got cold at night, she'd learned that the hard way - she made the trek down the fourteen flights of stairs, trying to piece together her life.

By the time she made it to a fast food shop, she was exhausted. She inhaled her meal in minutes, lounging in the dingy booth. She looked at her phone for what felt like the thousandth time, disappointed when there wasn’t so much as a text from Tomas.

She got up from the booth, tossed her trash in the bin and walked out. She took the long way back to the hotel, purposely winding through the streets. Why did she care if Tomas hadn’t texted her? It was her own fault that she had let herself fall for him in the first place. She knew it had been a horrible idea, and yet she had allowed herself to let him gain a place of importance in her life. They’d agreed on no feelings, and yet here she was. 

By the time she made it back to her hotel room, Nesta was exhausted. It took her three tries to fit the electronic key in the reader, and she used her full weight to shoulder the obscenely heavy door open. 

She didn’t bother with the lights, simply slipping out of her shoes and throwing her jacket in the general direction of the closet. She wanted to sleep; maybe that would reset her mind so she could feel less broken tomorrow.

“Hey-”

“Fuck!” Nesta jumped at the voice, fumbling for the lightswitch, heart in her throat. She squinted when warm light filled the room, shoulders relaxing when she saw who it was. Tomas, standing awkwardly by the desk, roses and a small box in his hands. Despite herself, hope bloomed.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, unmoving.

Setting down the bouquet, Tomas stepped forward to hand her the box. “I came to apologize. I know I missed your birthday and that I’m a shitty person. But if you open that, I think you’ll see…”

He trailed off, nodding to the present she now held. She opened the hinged black velvet, revealing a small diamond necklace. It was delicate, nothing flashy, but enough to make a statement. Nesta glanced up at him, heart warring with her head.

“Do you think showering me with pretty things will make me take you back, after what you said?”

“I think it’ll help, when paired with the fact that I-” He swallowed, trying and failing to hide his grimace. “I love you.”

Any and all sane thoughts left her head upon hearing those three precious words. Gods, she had dreamed of this moment for months. He’d only waited to tell her because it was clearly hard for him to say. But now that he’d admitted it, she could teach him how to love.

Nesta laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Tomas. I always have.”

His hands rest on her back, not returning her fervor but she didn’t care. “Now will you take me back?”

The short answer was yes, absolutely. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to wrap herself up in him and get lost. But her head knew that she needed to lay out a defense.

“Only if you promise we can make this real. If we can be together. Which means no more stunts for the cameras. I can’t keep writing about it like it’s nothing.”

Tomas tensed against her. “Fine. I can do that.”

The weight on Nesta’s chest eased. She let him lay her back on the bed, ripping at his clothes. She only let him pull away long enough for him to whisper, “I can’t stay the night.”

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