Someone Couldn't Wait Until They Got To The Hotel.

stupid opinions don't shape a person's value. while the haters are busy with their keyboards, the people who actually know him, the people who work with him, his colleagues, his mechanics, his engineers—they respect and love him.

2019 abu dhabi gp | lando surprised perf engineer andrew jarvis with a helmet design ahead of his final race - nov 29th 2019

oh no meee shoes

nside joke turned into something way more meaningful. jarv designed a pair of shoes for lando on powerpoint (no less!) and when lando opened them on his twitch stream, everyone who was there could see the emotion on his face as he realized the thought and effort behind the gift + jarv was there, screenshotting the whole thing and then he posted it on his ig

jarv was gone for 3 years and when he finally came back to mcl f1, lando managed to secure p2 at the singapore gp making it their first podium together.

there's always this weird echo chamber online, there's always that underlying assumption that just because ppl on twitter dot com hate on him, everyone else must be on the same page. well, the ones that matter the most are not on the hate train.

『 “i like you're so kindness, too” – oscar piastri about lando norris (2025) 』

Reblog if its ok to spam you with boops

Ok, look those arms and aifhasdkjdasdhakj everything!

Between the dark circles and him talking to himself I think his demons are winning.

as things get progressively worse, Quinn is caught on camera talking to his ghosts

this blog hates donald trump

It’s weird.

I’ve been a Formula 1 fan for most of my life, I’ve seen drivers come and go, I cried when Sebastian Vettel retired.

But this hits particularly hard.

I remember watching Daniel Ricciardo’s first race. I was nine, and I remember thinking about how young he looked. I remember him winning with Red Bull. I remember his smile. I remember his shoeys. I remember Monaco 2018 and how, despite not being a Red Bull fan, I teared up as Daniel got redemption. I remember the rollercoaster that followed his leaving. I remember his return last year. I remember him breaking his wrist to protect Oscar Piastri while crashing. I remember the grins and laughter. I remember to enjoy the butterflies.

This one hurts.

Thank you, Honey Badger 🦡

thinking about my dead wife...

WARNING: nothing too aggressive, just misunderstandings

The scorching heat of the Qatari desert could be felt even in the shadow of the luxurious paddock structures. Y/n Stroll, daughter of magnate Lawrence Stroll, walked with firm steps but was clearly upset, drawing the attention of onlookers. She was impossible to ignore: perfectly styled hair, carefully chosen designer clothes, and an air of someone who knew the world was at her feet. Doriane Pin, observing the scene from a distance, rolled her eyes.

"Look who’s throwing a tantrum again," Doriane murmured to a teammate, who chuckled in response.

Ever since Y/n had started accompanying her father on some Formula 1 trips, Doriane had always seen her as the walking stereotype of a “daddy’s girl.” Spoiled, constantly surrounded by privileges, and with the unique ability to turn every minor obstacle into a drama. It was irritating. For Doriane, who had fought hard to carve out her place in motorsport, it was almost an insult.

But that morning, a misunderstanding during a team meeting had left Y/n even angrier. It wasn’t clear whether it was a translation or communication issue, but Y/n interpreted it as questioning her ability to be there and stormed out of the paddock.

"Such a spoiled kid," Doriane muttered again, adjusting her jacket as she prepared for the city tour organized for team members.

---

The group gathered at the hotel entrance, ready to explore the local market and, of course, ride camels—an almost obligatory experience for tourists. To Doriane’s surprise, Y/n showed up to join the group, though her expression remained closed off.

“Oh, you’re here,” Doriane remarked, unable to hide the irony in her voice. “I thought the desert wouldn’t be worthy of you.”

Y/n shot her an icy glare. “And I thought I’d heard every cliché comment about being Lawrence Stroll’s daughter, but it seems you still have a few left.”

The quick retort caught Doriane off guard. She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, deciding to focus on the walk to the market.

---

As the minutes passed, the group began to relax. The market was a vibrant maze of colors, sounds, and smells. Incense burned at every corner, and local vendors competed for attention with embroidered rugs, spices, and jewelry.

Doriane watched as Y/n crouched in front of a craft stall, examining handmade bracelets. For the first time, she seemed... genuine. The usual air of superiority was gone; she was just a curious young woman, enchanted by something simple.

“These are pretty,” Doriane commented, approaching without thinking.

Y/n looked up at her, surprised by the friendly tone, but gave a small smile. “They are, right? I think my mom would like them.”

Doriane tilted her head, intrigued. “You’re more thoughtful than I expected.”

Y/n chuckled softly, still browsing the bracelets. “And you’re quicker to judge than I expected.”

---

The tour continued, and Doriane found herself surprisingly comfortable in Y/n’s company. There was something about the girl’s sharp comments that made her laugh. At one point, when Y/n almost fell while climbing onto a camel, they both laughed so hard that tears streamed down their faces.

“Okay, okay, maybe you’re not as perfect as you seem,” Doriane joked, still recovering from the laughter.

“And maybe you’re less grumpy than you seem,” Y/n shot back with a sly smile.

The afternoon went on with lighthearted conversations, and Doriane began to realize that there was more to Y/n than met the eye. There was a vulnerability hidden beneath the façade of a spoiled girl. Perhaps Y/n wasn’t so different from her; perhaps she, too, carried the weight of others’ expectations.

---

Back at the hotel, as the sun set over the dunes, the two walked side by side. There were no more sarcastic remarks or provocations, just a comfortable silence.

“I always thought you hated me,” Y/n confessed suddenly, looking out at the horizon.

Doriane stopped, facing her. “I didn’t hate you. I just… thought you didn’t understand how much effort it takes to be here. That everything was easy for you.”

Y/n sighed, crossing her arms. “It might look that way, but… living in my dad’s shadow isn’t as easy as you think. Everyone always expects something from me. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Doriane nodded slowly, understanding for the first time what Y/n meant.

---

The next morning, the paddock was as busy as ever. It was race day, and the tension hung in the air. Y/n and Doriane barely had time to exchange words as the teams prepared.

But moments before the start, while Doriane was making her final adjustments, Y/n appeared out of nowhere.

“Are you nervous?” Y/n asked, looking her in the eyes.

“No more than usual,” Doriane replied, trying to sound confident.

S/n hesitated, biting her lip. Then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed her. It was quick but full of meaning, as if she wanted to say everything words couldn’t.

Doriane froze for a second, but before she could say anything, Y/n gave a shy smile. “Good luck,” she said, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Doriane raised a hand to her lips, still feeling the warmth of the kiss, and smiled. Maybe Y/n Stroll wasn’t anything like she had imagined. And, perhaps, that was exactly what fascinated her.