#racing simulator cockpit

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Heat

Synopsis: Qatar seems worse than ever this year, and it’s especially not kind to F1’s female driver. The grid does what they can to help.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: For this one, reader will be 21, and have driven for aston martin since the beginning of 2021 with lance

You’ve driven in about 60 races in your 3 year F1 career so far, yet you’ve never raced in conditions like this before, and you hope you never will again.

Preparing for Qatar the weeks leading up for it, you could laugh at it now because no amount of simulator training or exercising could’ve readied you for the heat in Lusail.

You felt it as soon as you walked out of the airport; the gust of hot air that hit you in the face, the harsh evening sun beating down on you.

“Oh my god” You said to your teammate, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of your pocket. “I know,” Lance says, copying your actions. “This sprint is gonna suck” You groan. “I can’t wait”

The two of you immediately got into the cars waiting for you in the parking lot, and drove to the hotel you’d be hiding in until Thursday.

Media day was bad enough, having to spend hours doing interviews and sitting in to press conferences while trying to get any cool air near you.

“Is Qatar like this every year?” Oscar asked you while sitting alongside Charles, George, and Pierre in a conference.

“It’s been hot the last few years, but nothing like this, no” You answer honestly. “It was nowhere near this hot last year” George adds as the other two drivers nod.

You get through the rest of the day with a lot of water and the many surprisingly useful paper fans you and Lando made as a joke. Friday is dedicated to FP1 and Qualifying, and you end the practice in P11, qualifying P7.

The temperature was bearable that day, but you still left your car red-faced and sweaty afterwards. You talked with a few engineers and strategists before leaving to collect your things and go back to your hotel in hopes of getting some rest before the sprint the next day.

You walk into the paddock Saturday afternoon prepared to endure whatever the shootout and sprint was going to bring to you. You went P9 in the shootout after a stressful amount of track limit warnings, and spend the time before the sprint relaxing in your drivers room. You finished Saturday’s race P8 after defending against Pierre and Valtteri , and trying to overtake Alex in front of you.

You exited your car feeling as tired as you would after a normal race, and tried to show as much happiness as you could for both Max and Oscar after their race finishes.

After using your post-race interview to congratulate the two, you went back to your garage to finish the first race debrief of the weekend, and was sent back to your hotel with instructions to get more hydration and rest.

You thought you felt the worst of the heat earlier in the weekend, but you were proved wrong as you neared the Aston Martin garage Sunday evening.

Nobody could find decent shelter from the Qatari sun, and you were almost sweating by the time you were getting into your car.

You’d done as much possible as you could to prepare for this race, and now it was time to see if it was all worth it or not.

“Good luck, stay safe” Lance said, leaning over your car.

“Good luck, you too” You flip your visor down as your teammate gets into his car, and you’re given the signal to enter the pit lane.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” David Croft begins to commentate. “it is a scorching night out here in Qatar, our drivers have just finished their formation lap, we’re seconds away from driving into the night for 57 laps, it’s light’s out and away we go!”

You pull away from Esteban early and get close to Pierre, taking P6 by Lap 15, and are able to get out his DRS zone afterwards. Statistically, this was good, but physically, you were not feeling well inside your cockpit.

By the halfway mark, there was sweat running down your face, your throat was dry, and your entire body felt like it was overheating trapped inside the small space.

You tried flipping up your visor and adjusting your gloves to get some more airflow, but both methods proved ineffective, leaving you with no fresh air.

By the time you were nearing the end of the race, every turn made your head spin, every straight blew more hot air into your cockpit, and the constant effort of defending against the two Alpine’s behind you was draining your energy.

Your vision was starting to go in and out as you finished your last laps, and you crossed the checkered flag with a sigh of relief, not even caring Pierre overtook you and left you in P7.

It took everything inside you not to black out during the cool down lap, and you could barely manage to maneuver the car into perc ferme.

Drivers were sitting up and getting out of their cars all around you, but you couldn’t find any energy to leave yours. You sat in your car, head leaning against the steering wheel, breathing heavy, as other drivers started to notice.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Pierre kneels by your car, labored breathing and accent thicker than usual. You shake your head, the small movement making your head pound, and groan.

“Y/n, c’mon, I will help, give me your steering wheel” The driver persists, holding out his hand.

You oblige, as Pierre shouts towards the cars in the front. “Charlie! Venez ici! (come here)

As Charles makes his way from his Ferrari to your car, you begin to sit up and wrap your hands around the halo to pull yourself into a standing position. You move to sit on top of your car after your vision gets dizzy and you start to lose balance.

“What’s wrong? Are you two okay?” The Monagasque asks before you shake your head once again.

“I’m fine, I don’t think she is. Here, put one of her arms around your shoulders” Pierre instructs as he reaches out to help you step off the car.

Despite themselves finishing the same grueling race, the two men move you to sit on the ground before doing the same.

George notices, and comes over with four bottles of water to join you three sitting against the Aston Martin car. The four of you pull off your helmets and balaclavas to chug the water George brought, too tired to move anywhere else.

You’re still dizzy, your hands are shaking, and your body is still overheated, but you’re done with the race and you have water, and those things seem to be the only ones that matter.

“You guys okay?” George asks from beside Charles.

“No”

Charles and Pierre shake theirs heads. “Me either,but shouldn’t we, like, go get weighed and stuff?”

You wave a hand dismissively and take another sip of water. The British man nods again. “Yeah, you’re right”

After a few more minutes of sitting on the ground against your car and listening to all the action around you, the four of you stand up to complete the post race procedures and go to the media pen.

“Y/n, how was your race? Are you happy with P7?” The journalist asks you, pointing the microphone towards you.

“Yeah, I’m happy with it. The race was really tough though, I was really struggling towards the end to finish the race and bring the car in”

“A lot of people think Qatar should be moved in the schedule, or taken off completely. What do you think about that?”

“I think it should definitely be moved to either earlier or later in the year. I know I wasn’t the only driver struggling out here, and it’s not safe that we race like this” You reply honestly.

“I agree, Y/n. Good race today, get some rest” The woman smiles at you, and you’re glad to be able to head back to your garage.

After about thirty minutes, Lance joins you and the rest of the engineers in the debrief room, and takes a seat next to you.

“Holy shit” He says.

“Yeah”

“Never again” You agree.

something short and sweet for the all the pain qatar brought earlier this year

[sargeantposting]

ARTICLE: The Florida Man of Formula 1 (2023)

Source: Michael M. Grynbaum, The New York Times Series: F1, 2023

Logan Sargeant, the only American driver in Formula 1, is zipping around the narrow streets of Baku, Azerbaijan, at roughly 200 miles an hour. His head bounces inside the cockpit as a wheel shudders over a rumble strip. It’s hard to hear over the banshee shriek of his V6 engine, carrying three times the horsepower of a run-of-the-mill Porsche Carrera.

Then the noise stops, and Baku vanishes. We’re inside a low-slung brick building nestled in the Oxfordshire countryside. The track, projected onto a CinemaScope-sized wraparound screen, was a mirage, part of a sophisticated training simulator. (F1 rules prohibit driving the real cars between races.) Mr. Sargeant climbs out of a replica driver’s seat wearing athletic pants. He won’t need a fireproof suit until later.

In three weeks’ time, Mr. Sargeant will do this for real: wind whipping his visor, G-forces of up to six times his body weight pressing on his neck, the ever-present threat of a catastrophic crash as he is watched by roughly 70 million people around the world. For now, it’s time for lunch. “Is chili bad for you?” he asks, digging into a bowl at his team’s commissary. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Williams Racing, in Grove, England. It was founded in Oxfordshire in the 1970s, but it’s now an American subsidiary: a Manhattan private equity firm, Dorilton Capital, bought the company in 2020 for an estimated $200 million.

F1 teams employ hundreds of employees and spend hundreds of millions of dollars developing the world’s most sophisticated racecars.

Reaching Formula 1, the highest level of international motor sport, is a big step for Mr. Sargeant, 22, a South Florida native who began racing rudimentary cars known as karts at 6 years old and this year joined the Williams Racing team as the first full-time American F1 driver since 2007.

For Formula 1 itself, finding a hometown hero for American fans is a giant leap.

Although it is enormously popular in Europe, F1 struggled for decades to break into the United States. That began to change in 2016, when the sport was purchased for $4.4 billion by the Colorado-based Liberty Media, owned by the cable magnate John Malone. Liberty ramped up its social media — F1 had barely kept a YouTube page — and backed a popular Netflix documentary series, “Drive to Survive.” Once geared toward aging white men, F1 now has a younger and more diverse fan base. American TV viewership is up 220 percent from 2018, and the sport made $2.6 billion in revenue last year.

Still, a subset of F1 devotees complain about what they see as an overemphasis on entertainment and ginned-up drama. Under Liberty, they argue, pure racing is taking a back seat to cheap tricks to reel in casual viewers. And they often use a dirty word for it: Americanization. “It is becoming more and more like Formula Hollywood,” Bernie Ecclestone, the 92-year-old Briton who built F1 into a global business, griped last year. “F1 is being made more and more for the American market.”

The backlash reached a crescendo at last week’s Miami Grand Prix, which was added in 2022 as a showpiece for American fans. In a prizefight-style pre-race ceremony, the rapper LL Cool J introduced the 20 drivers one by one amid swirling smoke and a squad of cheerleaders. Nearby, Will.i.am conducted a live orchestra playing the rap song he recently recorded with Lil Wayne as part of a “global music collaboration” with Formula 1. (The lyrics rhyme “Max Verstappen,” the name of the sport’s top driver, with “your champion.”)

“Pandering to the American audience is killing @F1,” wrote one fan on Twitter, echoing criticism that bubbled up across numerous F1 websites. Even the racers complained: “None of the drivers like it,” groused Lando Norris, a Briton who drives for McLaren. Undeterred, Liberty announced that the bombastic pre-race sequence would be featured at several more grands prix this year.

In the United States, F1 has long been associated with a certain European mystique, most famously, the louche glamour of the Monaco Grand Prix.

In the United States, F1 has long been associated with a certain European mystique. Its drivers race across the Ardennes forest (Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium), the plains of Lombardy (Italy’s Autodromo Nazionale di Monza) and, most famously, the louche glamour of the Monaco Grand Prix. The sport’s stateside image could be summed up by the 2006 comedy, “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby,” which featured Sacha Baron Cohen as a pretentious French F1 driver named Jean Girard, a snooty Eurotrash foil to Will Ferrell’s macho NASCAR cowboy.

In 2023, F1 can feel a bit more Ricky Bobby than Jean Girard. In Miami, drivers circled a track built in the parking lot of the Dolphins football stadium, past an artificial Monaco-style “harbor”: blue-painted asphalt topped with ersatz yachts. A new Las Vegas race in November will have cars zooming down the Strip past Caesars Palace. Meanwhile, traditional races in France and Germany are gone.

Katy Fairman, a journalist based in Brighton, England, who runs the F1 podcast “Small Torque,” said she was surprised by the spectacle when she attended a race in Austin, Texas. “There were girls with pompoms,” she said. “I remember watching it and thinking, Oh my gosh, this is so different from anything I’d seen F1 do in a long time.”

Ms. Fairman conceded that some Europeans find the American hullabaloo “tacky.” But she added: “When it’s something to do with America, I think Europeans are quite judgmental. I think it’s just a bit of lighthearted fun. You guys like to have a party.”

The arrival of Mr. Sargeant, who grew up about an hour’s drive from the Miami racetrack, has spurred new interest, including a profile and photo shoot in GQ, and he’s happy to play the part. “What’s up America, let’s bring that energy!” he shouted to the cameras after LL Cool J introduced him as “the local boy done good.”

But as with F1, there are growing pains. In Miami, Mr. Sargeant finished last, his race ruined on the first lap when he damaged a front wing. After the checkered flag, he apologized to his team, his voice barely a whisper: “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.”

Weeks earlier, in an interview in England, Mr. Sargeant had demurred about the pressure of wearing the stars and stripes. “I try not to get too caught up in the talk of the role of ‘first American,’” he said. “It’s still very early for me, and I have a lot to learn still.”

If Mr. Sargeant doesn’t perform, there are dozens of drivers eager to take his spot. “At the moment,” he said, “I just have to worry about staying here.”

For a globe-trotting athlete, Mr. Sargeant can be soft-spoken and endearingly self-conscious. 

‘I just want to get back in the gym.’

Before his tough Miami weekend, Mr. Sargeant was asked how he would celebrate a top 10 finish. “Honestly, it might sound lame, but probably just go back to my house and get in my bed for another night before I go back to London,” he replied. “That’s all I want to do.”

For a wealthy, handsome, globe-trotting athlete, Mr. Sargeant can be soft-spoken and endearingly self-conscious. It’s not unusual for someone who, like a tennis prodigy or Olympian gymnast, has devoted their life since childhood to a sole pursuit.

Mr. Sargeant was 6 when he and his brother Dalton got a kart from their parents for Christmas. “No one in the family was really even that much into racing,” Logan said. “We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.” He began winning junior races around the country — too easily. To reach the next level and pursue Formula 1, he’d have to leave behind his friends and beloved fishing excursions for life on a different continent: “We just needed a higher level of competition, and at the end of the day, that was in Europe.”

Mr. Sargeant left Florida before his 13th birthday, bouncing between Italy, Switzerland and Britain as he raced on the European junior circuit; in 2015, he became the first American to win the Karting World Championship since 1978. “As a kid, it was tough,” he recalled. “Coming from Florida, being outdoors all the time on the water, great weather — it was literally vice versa.” He eventually settled in London, where he spends most days working out with a trainer. “I get away from a race weekend, and I just want to get back in the gym,” he said. “I hate that feeling of leaving slack on the table.”

It is incredibly difficult to nab a seat in Formula 1. Today’s drivers are physical dynamos trained to optimize their reflexes and performance levels down to how well they can withstand jet lag — critical in a sport that this year will include 23 grands prix spread over five continents. F1 teams employ hundreds of employees and spend hundreds of millions of dollars developing the world’s most sophisticated racecars. But it’s ultimately up to the driver to execute.

It also helps to have money. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion and F1’s only Black driver, is an exception, having grown up on a London council estate. Many F1 competitors are the sons of multimillionaires (and some billionaires) who can bankroll pricey travel and high-tech cars.

Mr. Sargeant falls into the scion category. He hails from a wealthy Florida asphalt shipping family. His uncle, Harry Sargeant III, is a former fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)

Logan’s father, Daniel Sargeant, worked alongside Harry until the brothers had a falling out. In a 2013 lawsuit, Harry accused Daniel of misdirecting $6.5 million in corporate funds “for the purpose of advancing the international cart racing activities” of his sons, Logan and Dalton; that litigation was eventually settled.

In 2019, Daniel Sargeant pleaded guilty in federal court in New York to foreign bribery and money laundering charges related to his business dealings abroad. He is free on a $5 million bond and is awaiting sentencing. A Williams spokesman said that Logan Sargeant was not “in a position to comment” on any of the legal matters involving his family.

In F1, none of this particularly stands out. The mother of Mr. Sargeant’s Williams teammate, Alexander Albon, was jailed in Britain for swindling millions of pounds in fraudulent sales of high-end cars. A Russian racer, Nikita Mazepin, was booted from the sport after his oligarch father, a close ally of President Vladimir V. Putin, was sanctioned following the 2022 invasion of Ukraine.

James Vowles, the Williams team principal, said in an interview that he hired Mr. Sargeant for his speed, not his U.S. passport. “I’m incredibly pleased that the sport is growing in America, but I think it would be anything but disingenuous to say that Logan’s here for any other reason than I think he’s got this pure talent,” he said.

In his F1 debut in Bahrain in March, Mr. Sargeant finished 12th, outpacing this year’s two other rookies. “He has this insatiable desire to be better, to want more,” Mr. Vowles said. “He’s a perfectionist, and I like that in him.”

Tooting around in a Vauxhall Astra

Britain, where Formula 1 originated in 1950, remains the sport’s spiritual home, where most of its 10 teams are based. Williams was founded in Oxfordshire in the 1970s, but it’s now an American subsidiary: a Manhattan private equity firm, Dorilton Capital, bought the company in 2020 for an estimated $200 million.

It was an important cash infusion for a team that had struggled to keep up with rivals. Manufacturers like Mercedes-Benz pour enormous resources into their F1 teams, which double as an elaborate global marketing campaign and an in-house innovation farm; tech developed for F1, like engines that recycle braking energy as an accelerant, can trickle into consumer vehicles.

Formula 1 car simulators at the Williams Racing factory.

Formula 1 drivers practice on sophisticated training simulators.

The Williams campus is a humdrum brick pile that could be mistaken for an office park — a far cry from McLaren’s space-age complex an hour’s drive away. Many F1 teams provide their drivers with a high-end sports car for personal use; Mr. Sargeant commutes in a Vauxhall Astra, a compact.

Even the team’s sponsors are relatively down-market; whereas the official watch of Ferrari is Richard Mille (starting price: $60,000), Williams has a deal with Bremont, whose timepieces retail for significantly less. (On a recent visit, a Williams press aide was quick to extract a spare Bremont watch from his pocket and ensure Mr. Sargeant was wearing it whenever a photographer hovered.)

Given the huge costs, corporate partnerships are crucial to F1, part of the reason the American market, with its abundance of affluent consumers and wealthy brands, has proved so tempting. Gerald Donaldson, a journalist who has covered F1 for 45 years, recalled how cars were gradually taken over by corporate logos starting in the late 1960s.

“Marlboro paid all the Ferrari bills, including the drivers, for many years,” he said in an interview. “There are eager companies who want the publicity.” Mr. Sargeant’s car features ads for Michelob Ultra beer and an American financial firm, Stephens. In Miami last weekend, beachgoers spotted an airborne banner reading “Go Logan!” alongside the image of a Duracell battery.

Last year, the Miami race was viewed on ABC by 2.6 million people, the biggest American audience for a live F1 telecast. Ratings for this year’s race fell about 25 percent, perhaps a result of a duller-than-usual season dominated by one team, Red Bull.

Still, viewing data show that F1 is expanding beyond affluent cities associated with elite sports: In 2022, its top five American TV markets included Asheville, N.C., and Tulsa, Okla. ESPN is clearly betting on more growth. When the sports network renewed its broadcast rights last year, it agreed to pay $90 million annually — up from the $5 million-a-year deal it signed in 2019.

Liam Parker, a former adviser to Boris Johnson who now leads communications at F1, said the sport was intent on rectifying past mistakes. “We were too arrogant,” he said. “We couldn’t understand why the American fan base wasn’t falling in love with us.” But he also pushed back on the complaints that Liberty’s efforts to raise the entertainment factor had stripped F1 of something essential.

“This whole argument of ‘Americanization,’ it’s a very crude way to describe things,” he said. “We shouldn’t ignore things that can improve things for new and core fans. It’s about giving people more choices in the modern era. It’s modernization of access to everyone.”

Mr. Hamilton, arguably the biggest celebrity of the current F1 lineup, has offered his own endorsement of Liberty’s approach. “I mean jeez, I grew up listening to LL Cool J,” he told reporters in Miami. “I thought it was cool, wasn’t an issue to me.”

For all the debates over elitism, good taste and corporate rap collaborations, the core appeal of F1, when you get right down to it, may be something simpler — something Mr. Sargeant got at when asked in the interview if he had loved cars as a kid.

“I absolutely love driving, as you can imagine,” he said. “But to be honest, I’m not one of those people who studies cars and, you know, likes to know every detail of every single car. It doesn’t really interest me.”

“The part that interests me,” he concluded, “is driving them as fast as I can go.”

Eliza Shapiro contributed reporting from Miami. Kitty Bennett contributed research. Michael M. Grynbaum is a media correspondent covering the intersection of business, culture and politics.  A version of this article appears in print on May 14, 2023, Section BU, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: The Florida Man Of Formula 1.

#logan sargeant #year:2023 #source:newspaper #one of the best logan articles imo #feel free to message me if you want me to gift you a copy of this article from the NYT with my subscription

[umseb]

Sebastian Vettel tests the Porsche 963

3/22/2024 - The Porsche Penske Motorsport works team and the winner of 53 Formula 1 Grands Prix, Sebastian Vettel, are looking forward to putting the Porsche 963 through its paces. This coming week, the German will take the wheel of the hypercar at the Motorland Aragón. Porsche Penske Motorsport forges ahead with its preparations for this year’s 24 Hours of Le Mans with a 36-hour long run in Spain. Vettel has already spent extensive time in a simulator to prepare for the Spanish circuit in Aragón. At a rollout of the Porsche 963 on the test track at Porsche’s R&D Centre in Weissach, he turned his first laps in the hybrid prototype.

Gaining experience in the cockpit of a hypercar prototype

Sebastian Vettel enters new terrain with this test drive: for the first time, the four-time Formula 1 world champion will gain experience in the cockpit of a hypercar prototype. Since 2023, the Porsche Penske Motorsport works team and private teams have campaigned the Porsche 963 in the North American IMSA sports car series and the FIA World Endurance Championship WEC. After winning three IMSA races last year, Porsche Penske Motorsport succeeded in kicking off the 2024 season with a win in both championships. In the WEC, which also incorporates the Le Mans 24-hour highlight, the entire field including the hybrid race car will run on biofuel. This fuel has been used in the WEC since March 2022.

"I'm looking forward to testing the Porsche 963. I already got the chance to get a feel for the car during a rollout in Weissach," says Sebastian Vettel. "I've always followed other racing series, and my curiosity for endurance events encouraged me to just give it a shot. Now I'm excited about the long run in Aragón and I'm looking forward to my time behind the wheel. It'll definitely take an adjustment and some getting used to, but everyone in the team is very open and helps me. This will be a new experience for me. We will then see what happens next in this respect. At the moment there are no further plans for the future."

"We're delighted that Sebastian Vettel is interested in our Porsche 963," explains Thomas Laudenbach, Vice President Porsche Motorsport. "There was no question for us that we'd be thrilled to support his request for an opportunity to test and provide him with extensive preparation and plenty of time to drive our hybrid prototype. There's no doubt we'll learn a lot from his valuable feedback. Our 36-hour long run with Porsche Penske Motorsport and our works drivers at Motorland Aragón offers a perfect environment for this."

Getting to know the special features

Vettel has prepared systematically for the test with the Porsche 963. On March 14th he met the operations crew at the Porsche Penske Motorsport facility in Mannheim. The next day, on March 15th, the German completed an extensive simulator session at Porsche Motorsport. There, he got to know the engineers and familiarise himself with the special features and complex control systems of the Le Mans prototype. On March 21st he got his first taste of the Porsche 963 on the in-house test track at the Weissach R&D Centre. It proved to be an unusual experience for the 36-year-old: After 299 Grand Prix starts in Formula 1 single-seaters, it had been some time since Vettel had driven a racing car with a roof; previously only at the Race of Champions or turning demo laps.

Next week, Porsche Penske Motorsport will head to the 5.078-kilometre circuit at Motorland Aragón near Alcañiz to conduct a 36-hour long run. Joining Sebastian Vettel for the test are the works drivers Matt Campbell (Australia), Michael Christensen (Denmark), Frédéric Makowiecki (France) Kévin Estre (France), André Lotterer (Germany) and Laurens Vanthoor (Belgium). This endurance test serves as preparation for the highlight of the season in Le Mans on June 15th and 16th. As the record holder, Porsche aims to secure its 20th outright victory at the Circuit des 24 Heures. To increase the chances of the desired success, Porsche Penske Motorsport will field a third Weissach-made hybrid prototype at the French endurance classic in 2024. Mathieu Jaminet from France has already been confirmed to helm the No. 4 car. The customer teams Hertz Team Jota and Proton Competition have entered three more Porsche 963 race cars. Two Porsche 911 GT3 R campaigned by Manthey EMA and Manthey Pure Rxcing will tackle the new LMGT3 category.

#sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #wec #fic ref #fic ref 2024 #not a race #2024 not a race #between saudi arabia and australia 2024

[ummick]

Mick Schumacher: Toto Wolff says F1 teams 'missing out' as Mercedes boss praises reserve driver's impact

Mercedes boss Toto Wolff says other F1 teams are "missing out" on Mick Schumacher as the German driver struggles to find a full-time seat for the 2024 season.

Schumacher is Mercedes' reserve driver this season after being replaced by Nico Hulkenberg at Haas at the end of 2022 following two difficult seasons with the American team. Schumacher, son of seven-time world champion Michael, was criticised by Guenther Steiner for a series of expensive crashes last season, with the Haas team boss revealing in his book that Schumacher had cost in excess of £1.6m from big crashes in Saudi Arabia, Monaco and Japan. Wolff, though, feels Schumacher was not in an environment to thrive at Haas and would expect him to perform well at the next team that signs him. "I think teams are missing out, to be honest. I think he was burned last year," Wolff said at the Canadian Grand Prix. "You need to give and provide an environment and framework that is different to every driver, we are all different human beings. And whoever gets him will have a very good pilot." Schumacher's hopes of returning to the grid full-time in 2024 are looking slim with limited openings available. A promotion at Mercedes will not happen as George Russell has extended his contract and Lewis Hamilton is on the verge of signing his own extension. As things stand, the only openings in 2024 are at Alfa Romeo/Sauber, Williams, AlphaTauri and Haas - with a return to the latter almost certainly out of the question. Wolff also says he cannot make a Mercedes customer team - Williams, McLaren and Aston Martin - take on Schumacher. "I'm not even sure that we can facilitate [a seat], because every time we speak highly of him, somebody feels to say something negative," Wolff said. "Wherever I can speak highly and praise Mick, that's what I'm doing. But at the end, it's every team's authority to decide on their drivers and I very much respect that. Our contracts with the teams were never 'you have to take our junior driver', 'you have to take our reserve driver', because when I was at Williams, I also wanted to have my own choice."

Wolff: Schumacher giving Mercedes tremendous advantage

Wolff also hailed the impact Schumacher is having in his role as reserve driver with Mercedes. Hamilton and Russell praised the work the 24-year-old had done in the simulator on the Friday night of the Spanish GP which helped the team unlock more pace in the W14 and culminated in a double podium finish on the Sunday. Wolff says having Schumacher's experience to do simulator work on race weekends at European grands prix gives Mercedes a big advantage and reiterated he would have no hesitation in having Schumacher step up to cover should Russell or Hamilton be unavailable for a race. "It's great to have a mature, successful and experienced Formula 1 driver supporting us," Wolff said. "In the simulator with his feedback, that is a tremendous advantage on some of the European grands prix, having him in the sim overnight and providing data for the Saturday is a super advantage for us. "And on the other side is that, if George or Lewis were to have fish poisoning - well, Lewis can't have fish poisoning, it would be avocado poisoning - then we know we have a super guy that would drive the car well. And as much as I like the situation for the benefit of the team, I would every day of the week prefer that Mick sits in a cockpit and actually races."

#mick schumacher #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2023 #not a race #2023 not a race #between canada and austria 2023 #with george #with lewis

[f1]

Toto Wolff confirms Mercedes DID try to sign Daniel Ricciardo for 2023

Toto Wolff confirms Mercedes DID try to sign Daniel Ricciardo for 2023 as team boss concedes that the lure of 'coming home' to Red Bull saw him miss out on capturing the Australian By Ollie Lewis For Daily Mail Australia Published: 11:58 GMT, 6 December 2022 | Updated: 11:58 GMT, 6 December 2022 Toto Wolff has revealed that Mercedes were in the race to sign Daniel Ricciardo for 2023, but the lure of 'coming home' to Red Bull saw the Silver Arrows miss out on the Australian. Sportsmail reported earlier this year that Mercedes had earmarked Ricciardo as a possible successor to Lewis Hamilton after the Australian's contract with McLaren was torn up a year early amid a poor 2022 campaign.  However, Red Bull won the race to sign the 33-year-old and announced him as their 'third driver' for the 2023 season late last month. Toto Wolff has admitted that Mercedes tried to sign Daniel Ricciardo for the 2023 season 'Yeah, there were discussions,' Wolff confirmed via GP Fans. 'He is a super guy. There is nothing to say. It's a shame that he is not in a cockpit because Daniel Ricciardo needs to be in a race car. 'But it didn't happen. Nobody understands why the years in McLaren didn't work out like all the previous years did. I remember Daniel from the junior series and he was always there.' Ricciardo stamped himself as a star in the making during his time in the junior ranks with Red Bull, and Wolff has conceded that the Australian's fond memories at Red Bull played against them. 'Basically, we just needed time to figure out what we wanted to do and Red Bull was his home for a long time,' added Wolff. 'He knows the people and he hopefully has a good deal there.' Ricciardo was a man in demand after his early exit from McLaren following a poor season But Wolff says Mercedes could not compete with Red Bull's offer of 'coming home' next year After his return to Red Bull was confirmed, Ricciardo said: 'The smile says it all, I'm truly excited to be coming back home to Oracle Red Bull Racing as their Third Driver in 2023. 'I already have so many fond memories of my time here, but the welcome from Christian, Dr Marko and the entire team is something I'm sincerely appreciative of. 'For me personally, the ability to contribute to and be surrounded by the best team in F1 is hugely appealing, whilst also giving me some time to recharge and refocus.  'I can't wait to be with the team and support with simulator work, testing sessions and commercial activities. Let's go!'  Share or comment on this article: Toto Wolff confirms Mercedes DID try to sign Daniel Ricciardo for 2023 via Formula One | Mail Online https://www.dailymail.co.uk?ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490&ito=1490

#F1 #Toto Wolff confirms Mercedes DID try to sign Daniel Ricciardo for 2023 #Formula 1

[thissying]

NOS interview with Daniel, Australian GP, 1 April 2023

And more in-depth in this article:

With the characteristic wide grin, shining white teeth and his roaring laugh, he is prominent in the paddock, Down Under at the Albert Park circuit. For the first time this year Daniel Ricciardo is present in the guest house of Max Verstappen's team Red Bull Racing. Not as a teammate, not even as a substitute. Although he is a reserve driver, the 33-year-old Australian is mainly used as an advertising pillar and marketing gun.

It looks a bit painful, but Ricciardo is not the type to be taken aback. "I think it's especially cool to be here. A race weekend without stress is quite nice," he says on the track in Melbourne. "Of course it feels double and all feelings come up here, but I also enjoy this life. I have more time for hobbies, friends and family. It's also nice to break fewer days on the plane. It feels less uncomfortable than I feared."

For many years Melbourne was the scene of Ricciardo's home race; now he's standing by the line and everyone wants something from him. An interview, an autograph, a selfie or a chat. But also: team discussions behind the scenes about the optimal set-up of the car. "It's business as usual, really. I'm busy in the paddock all day. My cockpit has been traded for a seat by the pit wall, but the fans give me a warm bath. They still treat me like one of the drivers. Very nice to meet you."

He doesn't like to admit it, but of course it immediately tickles when Ricciardo sees the RB19 of Max Verstappen and Sergio Pérez. Especially now that the car is outflanking the entire field. "It's an exciting car, exceeding all the team's expectations. Nobody expected us to dominate like this. Of course I want to get in and race straight away, but I don't feel any frustration."

Of course, the eight-time grand prix winner is immediately ready to fill in if something unexpected happens to Verstappen or Pérez. "I think he only needs ten minutes to get there," assures team leader Christian Horner. "I make sure I'm fit and ready and if the opportunity arises I will give everything to help the team," added Ricciardo. "Of course the devil in me would like to put something in Max or Checo's shakes so that they get sick for a while, haha. Nope. Just kidding!"

What went wrong with Ricciardo? When did his career decline? For that we have to go back to August 2018. Ricciardo was teammate of Verstappen and was able to extend his contract, but made a surprising switch to Renault. When that team's plans turned out to be much bigger than the results, he moved again in 2021 to a team with mountains of gold: McLaren.

That's where things went terribly wrong. Ricciardo was outclassed by Lando Norris, there was no click with the team and the results were abysmal. The team terminated Ricciardo's contract last year and signed his young compatriot Oscar Piastri. Although Ricciardo touched an impressive transfer fee, he was left empty-handed. No team showed serious interest.

"Of course there is a dent in my confidence," admits Ricciardo. "I felt that even when I got into the Red Bull simulator for the first time recently. I was a bit nervous, felt the pressure and hoped I was still good enough. But I felt in my place again very quickly. I'm home again."

Ricciardo says he has no regrets about his failed transfers. "I'm not like that. Everything happens for a reason. You learn from wrong decisions and setbacks, you grow and you become stronger. That also applies to the two rotten years at McLaren." "But what if?"

What if he had not fled - as team boss Christian Horner put it at the time - with his tail between his legs to avoid the internal duel with Max Verstappen? Would he now be the proud owner of a world title? Probably not. After all, Ricciardo left because he noticed that he was no longer the dream number one of Red Bull Racing. "I noticed that the relationships in the team were changing. Max was the future. That was noticeable in everything."

The team had embraced a new apple of their eye with the still very young Verstappen. The team was built around the Dutchman. The will of the driver, his father Jos and his management became law. And Ricciardo didn't want to play second fiddle. As a grand prix winner, he also felt too good for it, but only managed one more grand prix victory after his departure. His F1 career fizzled out, but Ricciardo is still brooding on a return.

Around the summer he will make a decision about his motorsport future. Options are legion. The driver is so beloved that teams in Nascar, IndyCar or endurance races line up. But for now, 'Dannyric' is holding off and seems to be one more aim all arrows at an F1 seat. "I don't want to compete for the sake of competing. Fighting in the middle or the rear doesn't motivate me. I'm only interested in a fast seat and I don't feel like starting from zero again."

"I made a well-considered decision to take a break to recharge myself. I still support that. I'm not actively looking for a cockpit yet. My feeling is that I want to return to Formula 1 next year. All sorts of factors come into play, but it doesn't feel like I'm retired from F1 right now. I'm still hungry. The fire hasn't gone out yet."

The 41-year-old Aston Martin driver Fernando Alonso is Ricciardo's example. "It's great that he gets a podium two times in a row. I'm enjoying the resurrection of the old man. He's eight years older. I want a revival like that too."

#daniel ricciardo #f1 #i was a lazy ass and mostly google translated that article tbh #my post

[veturiusofserra]

dancing with our hands tied | part 3/6

jake seresin x pilot!reader

summary: Y/n Harris, the top student at Top Gun Academy finds her match in Jake "Hangman" Seresin, unraveling a fierce rivalry and uncharted feelings.

warnings: none, i think

reputation series | my masterlist

As the days at the Top Gun Academy passed, the rivalry between Python and Hangman intensified, drawing them into a tangled web of competition and fascination. They found themselves vying for every opportunity to showcase their skills, each determined to outdo the other.

During one particularly heated simulation, Hangman executed a jaw-dropping maneuver that left everyone in awe. The other pilots cheered, acknowledging his skill. But Python was not one to back down. With a determined glint in her eyes, she stepped forward and requested a chance to prove herself.

Captain Mitchell raised an eyebrow, impressed by her tenacity. "You're up, Harris. Show us what you've got."

Python's heart raced as she climbed into her fighter jet, knowing that this was her chance to prove that she was more than just a charming presence. As she took to the skies, she executed a series of daring moves, demonstrating her precision and mastery of the aircraft.

The spectators were spellbound as they witnessed her prowess. Hangman watched with a mix of admiration and competitiveness, unable to tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing performance.

When the simulation ended, Hangman approached Python with a half-smile. "Impressive, Python. I guess you're not all charm after all."

She met his gaze, her eyes challenging. "And you're not all bravado, Hangman. There's more to both of us than meets the eye."

As the weeks went by, the dynamic between Python and Hangman evolved. They engaged in friendly banter, a constant push and pull that both energized and frustrated them. Their rivalry became a dance of deception, each trying to outwit the other while secretly grappling with their growing fascination for their adversary.

During one night out at the bar, the pilots were celebrating a successful week of training. The atmosphere was lively, and the camaraderie was evident as they laughed and shared stories of their aerial escapades.

Hangman and Python found themselves sitting side by side, the playful competitiveness between them taking a back seat for the moment. They exchanged stories of their childhoods, their dreams of becoming Navy pilots, and the sacrifices they had made to reach their current positions.

"Growing up, I idolized my dad," Python admitted with a touch of vulnerability in her voice. "He was a Navy pilot, and I wanted to be just like him."

Hangman nodded, a sense of understanding in his eyes. "I can relate. My father served too, and I knew from a young age that I wanted to follow in his footsteps. It's a legacy that weighs on me every day."

In that moment, the rivalry faded, and they found themselves connecting on a deeper level. They shared their hopes and fears, their dreams and insecurities. It was a glimpse behind the armor they both wore, and it left them both intrigued and unnerved.

As the night wore on, Hangman suggested a game of pool, a chance to let off steam and engage in some friendly competition outside the cockpit. They laughed and teased each other as they played, the energy between them charged with both camaraderie and a sense of something more.

As the game progressed, they found themselves standing close to each other, the pool cues forgotten. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away around them.

"I never expected to find someone who challenges me like you do, Python," Hangman admitted, his voice sincere. "It's both infuriating and exhilarating."

She smiled, her heart pounding in her chest. "I feel the same way, Hangman. You've pushed me to become a better pilot, and I can't help but admire your skill and determination."

Their conversation was interrupted by the cheers of their fellow pilots as another game concluded. The momentary connection they had shared dissipated, leaving them both feeling vulnerable and exposed.

As the night drew to a close, Hangman and Python found themselves walking back to the barracks together. Their footsteps echoed in the darkness, the tension between them almost palpable.

Before they parted ways, Hangman turned to face Python, his eyes searching hers. "You know, Python, there's something about you that I can't quite figure out. I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye."

She chuckled, masking her unease. "Maybe one day, Hangman, you'll get to see the real me."

With that enigmatic remark, Python turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Hangman standing there, both intrigued and perplexed by the woman he couldn't seem to unravel.

The days turned into weeks, and the bond between Python and Hangman continued to deepen. Their rivalry was now infused with a newfound respect and fascination for each other's skills and personalities. They found themselves seeking each other's company, drawn together like magnets, unable to resist the pull.

But unbeknownst to Hangman, Python was grappling with conflicting emotions. Her seductive tactics, once a means to an end, were now leading her down a path she hadn't anticipated. She was torn between her ambition and the unexpected stirrings of genuine affection she felt for Hangman.

In the heart of their rivalry, Python was about to discover that the lines between seduction and authenticity were beginning to blur, and the consequences of her actions were far more significant than she could have ever imagined.

#hangman x y/n #hangman x you #top gun hangman #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun imagines #top gun maverick

[effervescentdragon]

maxiel + careless (if youre still doing mean prompts)

"It's good to be back, isn't it?" someone asks him, and Danny smiles his widest smile and nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, it is. Feels like coming home," he says, then laughs, taking care not to come off too sincere, or too insincere, but just right. With just the right amount of eagerness and passion to show that he's taking this seriously, and that he's grateful, but not pathetically so. He's Danny Ric. He doesn't do pathetic.

Except; except. Crawling back, huh, the words ring in his ears like they rung in Abu Dhabi, combined with the laughter that didn't feel mocking, and that made it even worse.

Crawling. What an ugly word.

He remembers crawling on his belly in the wilderness of Australia - of home - when he was very young, and the stars in his eyes shone almost as brightly as the stars in the skies above. They were camping, him and his friends, for the hundreth time in his life, and there was a Tasmanian devil; or so someone claimed. They didn't want to spook him, so they all crawled to where it was, to see it properly. To get close to the danger. The ground was hot, and the night hotter, and the stars shone bright enough to light up what felt like whole world back then.

Danny didn't mind crawling through the whole valley if it meant seeing a dangerous marsupial. A Tasmanian devil; the one said to eat humans. It was the most important thing to him, and he didn't care that he tore the shirt his dad got him and both his palms in the process. It was worth it back then.

And it's worth everything now, he thinks as he - is paraded - walks to where the RB19 is about to be revealed. He sees Christian close to the stage, waiting to go on. Checo is with him, and Daniel smiles and waves at them both, and doesn't think about what it would take for him to be able to drive the car properly on track in a race.

A hand clasps his shoulder, and he half-turns. He knows who it is before he hears the voice and the shout of "Daniel!" When he smiles this time, it's too sincere.

"Maxy!" He exclaims, and they hug. Max is bigger these days, much bigger than he used to be before, when he came into Red Bull from Toro Rosso, still a teenager, young and hungry and angry and eager to prove himself.

It's different now. Max is - calmer, maybe. More self-assured, but not in a cocky way all young drivers have, which looks more like posturing without substance. This Max is all substance; filling his t-shirt effortlessly, giving his smiles freely, even moving in a way that bears no grace of awkwardness. He walks like nothing can touch him, and like he has a purpose. Not an all-consuming one, not anymore. Just an intent that he's sure he'll fulfill.

Daniel doesn't remember the last time he felt like that. He's not sure he ever really did.

"It's going to be a beauty to drive this year," Max says, and there is the same spark in them that Daniel remembers from almost a decade ago when he first jumped out of the cockpit after driving RB12. "I can't wait to take her out on track properly."

"You'll have to be careful, though. The downforce is something else this year," Daniel says. He's been stuck in the simulator for a while already, and he's pretty sure he will be stuck in it a lot in the future when they're not parading him around for maximum impact.

Max laughs. Daniel always liked the way Max laughed. Like he can't hold it in, or like he can't help himself, either because he is surprised, or amused, or angry. Daniel doesn't know which one Max is now. He hasn't been able to tell Max's feelings apart for a long while now.

"Oh, Danny," he says, and pats Daniel's shoulder. "I am never careless with the things that matter."

Christian waves at them, and Max goes to join him. Daniel stays behind, because it's not his turn yet. His chest feels like he did when he snagged it on a rock on the meadow back home that summer night when he was chasing a Tasmanian devil and tore his favourite shirt; the one with the Ferrari logo on it.

Crawling back home, huh, the words echo in his ears. Good luck, Daniel, Seb had said, but his eyes were on Max, smiling at the way he downed shot after shot at the bar, laughing and free and without a care in the world.

Daniel forces himself to smile, and waits for his turn to go on stage.

#i dont know what this is but here. have it #i am feeling some sort of way tonight #at least theres no pain im just exhausteeeed #maxiel #f1 rpf #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing #i am once again being mean to danny because i can be

[littlemisspascal]

Formula 101 - Prologue Part 2: October

Summary: The only thing you can truly count on in the heat of the moment, when you’re speeding on the track going 170mph, is yourself.

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)

Word Count: 5000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Social Media Fic, Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Switching POVs, Worldbuilding, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Usernames were created for fun and if they do exist irl there's no affiliation, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language, Insecurities, Descriptions of a crash but no major injuries and/or blood

Author Note: Massive thank you to everybody who gave this fic a chance! The support is beyond appreciated 💗💗💗

Bonus shoutout to everyone who suggested snow cone flavors 😄

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

Founded in 1968, Vulpecula is the second oldest active team in Formula 1. Over fifty drivers have raced for the team, leading to numerous Drivers’ and Constructors’ Championships and giving them a reputation as one of the most successful teams in F1 history. However, in recent years Vulpecula has struggled due to a combination of poor business decisions and badly designed cars, forcing them to restrategize and seek new methods of taking back their former glory.  

(Malk, Ranzar. The Cobalt Fox: The Official History of Vulpecula Formula 1. Roost: Bothan 5 Press, 2019. Print.)

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October’s beautiful in Altair. It’s soft sweaters and falling leaves and warm drinks. People are their friendliest during this time when there’s no summer heat to irritate their tempers and winter’s chill hasn’t arrived yet to turn their bodies into ice cubes. 

They wave when you ride your bike through town, well-wishes on their smiling lips. The strong vibes of community threaten to drown you in homesickness for your village in Sorgan. It’s a feeling that follows you into Vulpecula’s headquarters, five floors of steel beams and glass walls yet somehow still cozy, still welcoming.

Every week you’re expected to devote several hours to practicing on the racing simulator. It resembles the front part of an F1 car, a replica of the cockpit complete with a steering wheel to hold onto and pedals for your feet, set up in front of 65” triple screens. Gearing up in your suit and helmet, the simulator takes you out of headquarters and immerses you into the world of F1, replicating the tracks and car movements down to the smallest detail thanks to live footage and a gigantic amount of data. It can be set up however Vulpecula’s strategists want—weather conditions, tire types, fuel load, and countless more options all programmed with the press of a button.

This is what official training for Formula 1 looks like for you, outside of the few practice laps you’ve had in Badillo’s car throughout the season. The simulator helps the strategists and engineers collect data about your driving style, and it also helps you prepare for the tracks you’ve never raced on before, letting you practice them over and over again until every movement, each brake and twist of the wheel, is muscle memory. 

Sometimes people will stop by to watch, Vulpecula staff members or Vivian or even Pietro if he’s bored enough. Sometimes when you’re participating in a virtual race with AI cars, your audience will grow from a handful to a small gathering, playfully placing bets on who will be the victor. Which, to be honest, is a little stressful.

…A lot stressful, actually.

In theory, it’s harmless fun. Hell, you’d probably do the same thing if you were in their shoes and someone else was in the driver’s seat. But here’s the kicker: you’ve been losing more virtual races than winning so far. The strategists offer suggestions on how to do better, ideas to try out, working their asses off to help you become the best driver you can be and yet still you finish in the back of the pack—P12, P15, P-fucking-19—scoring a whopping zero points. 

Nobody’s said anything about your poor results—to your face, at least. Still, there are these chronic doubts lingering in the back of your mind, triggering every insecurity you have, making you wonder if behind every encouraging smile and fist bump they’re all wondering the same thing: what the hell is this kid doing here?

It’s only October, still months to go before you’re behind the wheel of next season’s car. Your results have the potential to change a lot by then. Minds have the potential to change, too. And that’s what’s got you worried most of all.

Vivian believes you’re exactly what Vulpecula needs, somebody fresh-faced and quick, yet also levelheaded—perfect for their goal of dominating the midfield teams and eventually, one day in the hopefully-not-so-distant-future, challenging the Top 3 for the championships. And when she first told you about the plan back in August, her belief was inspiring, filling you with a sense of purpose and rightness, like it was the final missing puzzle piece you’d been looking for all this time. 

Now, staring at the simulator screen displaying the word FAILURE in big red letters after you oversteered and crashed into a barrier, it’s hard not to think maybe you’re the wrong driver to believe in.

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Formula1Daily

Oddball joins Vulpecula for Formula 1 2023: The inside scoop Ginger Ale ─ October 5, 2022

The recent announcement from Vulpecula regarding the drafting of Oddball for the upcoming 2023 F1 season has made ripples across the globe. I talked with CEO Vivian Etten about this decision and what to expect from the team in the future.

So why has Vulpecula signed Oddball?

Etten: She’s got such undeniable natural talent. She’s still young, still growing up, but I believe her and Javi, who has earned a good amount of experience during his career in F1, are an excellent combo. It was an easy decision to make to sign Oddball as our driver.

Has Vulpecula learned from past mistakes regarding young drivers?

Etten: I’ll be the first to admit to our mistakes. With Oddall, we plan to manage her with the necessary time and space she needs to adapt to the environment. We’re a different team now than we were when Omar was with us. We’ll make sure to do better moving forward.

Were there other young drivers you considered to join Vulpecula?

Etten: Oddball was always our top choice from the get-go. But there were some talks with Omar about returning to us, and a few meetings with Frederick Mercer during the summer break. Ultimately though, we wanted Oddball to stay in the Vulpecula family and we knew another team would recruit her in an instant if we didn’t.

So what can be expected from Oddball in 2023?

Etten: The focus for us this season isn’t to beat Sunspear, Nevarro, or Aurelac. We need to better ourselves first and foremost as a team. And with Oddball and Gutierrez, I believe we can make the crucial first steps forward in that direction.

READ MORE AT FORMULA1DAILY.COM

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Formula 2 is meant to be a training ground of sorts for drivers to prepare for their potential entry into F1, but it differs from F1 in several ways. For starters, the cars are slower, only capable of reaching 205mph when pushed to their limits. There’s also only twelve rounds a season instead of twenty-one with each weekend including two races—a sprint race on Saturday and the feature race on Sunday—giving drivers an extra chance of earning points.

What’s the difference between a feature race and a sprint race? Sprints are shorter, only 100km, meant to be a flat-out speed race from start to finish without any pit stops.

You never know what’s going to happen when you’re on the track. Nobody does, actually, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar because there’s literally hundreds of unpredictable outcomes. 

Everyone hopes for a first place victory for their team. Obviously. But hope does little to help when the weather abruptly changes, or your engine fails in the middle of a lap, or the pit crew isn’t prepared, or —the list of problems is endless. The only thing you can truly count on in the heat of the moment, when you’re speeding on the track going 170mph, is yourself.

The Colombian round this weekend is a crucial one, the penultimate of the season. If Ben has high finishes, his lead over the rest of the grid will guarantee him the championship title. But if you can beat him here and then do it again next round in November, you might have a chance of stealing the title from him.

You arrive at the Bogotá circuit excited and optimistic.

Friday is wonderful. Your practice session is one of the best you’ve had all season, beating Ben by two tenths of a second. In qualifying, you finish P2 just a hair behind Frederick Mercer. It’s a little shocking, since he hasn’t taken pole position on the grid since round one in March, but you know you can beat him in the upcoming races just as you have done every round so far. 

Saturday is…decidedly not wonderful. A bad start coupled with a tire puncture has you retiring from the sprint and returning to the pit with your metaphorical tail between your legs. The sympathetic looks from the team have you gritting your teeth, wishing you could claw off your own skin and disappear. 

Tomorrow will be better, you tell yourself, a hopeful mantra to ward off the dark thoughts creeping in at the edges. It has to be.

Sunday can be summed up in five words: when it rains, it pours. 

October is the wettest month of the year in Colombia. One of the mechanics tells you there’s only about 98 hours of sunshine during the whole month, so the two previous days of clear skies were a gift from the universe. You gear up like usual, knowing even if it does rain the race will go on. The cars are water-resistant and can be equipped with wet weather tires specially designed with treads to help prevent aquaplaning. Doesn’t mean accidents don’t still happen though. There are no guarantees everyone will get through the race without spinning off the track.

About ten minutes before the race begins, the cloudy skies decide it is the perfect time for a shower. The raindrops are fat, cold, the pitter-patter sound of each one striking the ground resembling a dull roar in your ears even with your helmet on. There are no signs of lightning yet, no ominous claps of thunder either, and so the race officials agree to let the event start on time.

Depending on which driver is asked, racing in the rain is either the most exhilarating adrenaline rush they crave like a drug or it’s an anxiety attack wrapped in terror with a lopsided bow of misfortune on top.

You’re somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. There are definitely some scary aspects, namely the spray coming off the tires of cars in front which creates this eerie plume of fog dirtying the air, limiting visibility to a few precious and blurry feet ahead. But rainy conditions also tend to throw a wrench in the status quo—drivers usually in the lead during dry races might suddenly find themselves overtaken by those who have barely scored any points all season.

When it rains, suddenly anything and everything seems possible.

Lap 26 out of 30 finds you at the front of the pack, searching for an opportunity to overtake Ben. All you can see are his rear lights, two glowing red beams cutting through the heavy shades of gray pressing in from all sides. Every jerk of the steering wheel when the tires hit a wet patch on the track has your arm muscles straining, fighting back against the car’s desire to spin

When the next corner comes, you don’t even see Frederick veering too close into your space.

His front tire bumps against your rear one, and then the world is spinning round and round in a bewildering mess of rain and flying debris. You’re helpless to stop any of it, can only brace for impact with the padded barrier and pray for the best—for yourself and for the car.

The sound of the collision with the barrier—an almighty thud that sends a jarring shockwave through your body, bones rattling from head to toe, followed immediately by the enraged snarling of the engine unable to comprehend what the hell just happened—snaps your frazzled mind back into focus. 

“Oddball, you alright?” your race engineer’s asking over the radio, her voice thick with worry. Koska’s your only source of contact with your team, keeping you up to date on any major developments on the track you’re unaware of. 

“Yeah, Koska,” you reassure her, wiggling your fingers and moving your legs. Nothing’s broken. No sharp bursts of agonizing pain. Just the regular amount of soreness and jitters which follow after a shunt. “I’m fine. How’s Freddy?”

“Fine. His car’s in a worse state than yours though,” she answers, and you can’t quite stifle the petty pulse of satisfaction which swells inside when you hear that. “The medical car is on its way. ”

You look up then, seeing a marshal waving a yellow flag near the corner, alerting other drivers to slow down to avoid the pieces of debris littering the track that flew off both cars during the accident. Your fingers clench and unclench around the edges of the wheel, feeling so very young and so incredibly stupid.

“Koska,” you say, biting your lip to stop it from wobbling. Your eyes squeeze shut, forcing back down the unsteady emotions threatening to escape in embarrassing ways. “Tell…tell the team I’m sorry, please. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Oddball,” is her immediate response.

But it’s not. It’s not okay at all.

You arrived at the Bogotá circuit excited and optimistic.

Now, riding in the back of the medical car, no points won and your chance of the title completely eviscerated, it’s hard to feel anything besides gut-wrenching disappointment.

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There’s a snow cone stand barely a ten minute drive from Triple Frontier headquarters that Frankie loves because it’s the only one in the city which has his favorite flavor: lavender bubblegum. 

It’s become a tradition for Javi and him to come here every Wednesday following race weekends. Mondays are for catching up on sleep, missed emails and calls, enjoying some personal time before the team calls them back in on Tuesday to review every second of the GP under a metaphorical microscope.

The ambiance of The Chill Zone is, as the name implies, chill and casual. A teal blue shack just big enough for the two employees to move around comfortably in as they fill orders from the chalkboard menu featuring at least a hundred snow cone options. There’s the classics—such as cherry, grape, blue raspberry—and then there’s some for more adventurous taste buds—chamoy, seasalt, and lychee among others.

Frankie always sticks with his favorite, never tempted to explore outside his comfort zone. Javi, on the other hand, likes to sample a different flavor every visit. Just like with every new experience, sometimes they’re great and well-worth the money, while other times they’re absolutely disgusting and fill him with regret. 

He’s picked tiger’s blood this time, a combination of strawberry and watermelon with a splash of coconut that elicits a pleased hum from his mouth after the first taste. A good choice for the warm afternoon, he thinks, grimacing as he wipes at his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. 

They’re sitting at one of the picnic tables surrounding the stand, painted teal to match the aesthetic with a large striped umbrella warding off the worst of the sun’s rays. The only other customers around are a woman with two young children who care more about devouring their cold treats than Javi and Frankie’s presences. Sometimes people recognize them, ask for selfies or handshakes or both, but the employees have long grown used to their recurring appearances and for the most part they’re usually left alone to enjoy their snow cones in peace. 

“Your future teammate had a serious fuck-up last weekend,” Frankie says impudently, loud enough the woman four tables away shoots him a reproachful look. He schools his expression into an apologetic one, but as soon as she’s turned around his eyes are back on Javi again with a pointed stare.

“I heard,” Javi says before shoveling a larger spoonful into his mouth. The immediate brain freeze is totally worth it, even if he nearly accidentally drops the styrofoam cup onto his lap, hands fumbling for a more secure hold.

Frankie rolls his eyes, like the same exact thing hadn’t happened to him two minutes ago, and asks, “You think she’s ready for F1?”

Javi points his spoon at him. “We all have bad races, Morales.” Then, because he can’t resist the extra dig, “Some of us quite a few more than others, if my memory’s correct.”

“Ha ha, look who’s developed a sense of humor,” is the bone-dry response followed by another eye roll. “I can’t wait until your Vulpecula’s problem to deal with and I can start getting some respect around here.”

“You honestly think Miller is going to listen to a word you say? Un-fucking-likely.” Javi can’t help but laugh a little. Everyone knows that since Miller’s now a shoo-in for the F2 championship in the wake of Oddball’s misfortune, the Triple Frontier team principal is going to have him sign a contract immediately to fill Javi’s vacant seat. Knowing Santi, he probably texted Ben the second the driver stepped off the podium Sunday afternoon.

Frankie ignores him, which isn’t a surprise, and wipes at his mouth with a napkin, leaving a bright purple syrupy stain behind. “That seems to be the problem nowadays, doesn’t it? All these new rookies the teams are bringing in, prioritizing youth over experience, thinking they can discipline them and mold them into the perfect driver they wish them to be.”

“Then dumping them when their results aren’t good enough,” Javi agrees with a frown, a sourness on his tongue that has nothing to do with the tiger’s blood flavor.

This ‘problem’ Frankie’s described, it isn’t a new thing. Four years ago, Javi was one of those new rookies who were too young and too eager to prove themselves to realize they were being thrown into the deep end of a shark-infested pool and expected to swim to survive. He’d been lucky to last his whole debut season with Crane, that they didn’t cut him loose at the midseason break after he’d made every mistake a driver could possibly make. He’d been even luckier Black Gold agreed to have him on their team, thinking he’d found people who’d help him develop his skills with patient guidance—until they eventually grew upset with his lack of promising results after two and a half seasons and arranged a transfer with Triple Frontier as part of a business arrangement between the two teams. 

Black Gold got a new engine manufacturer for their cars, Triple Frontier got Maxwell Lord’s castoff he didn’t want to waste finances on anymore.

“Uh-oh, that’s your brooding face,” Frankie’s voice snaps Javi out of his thoughts, discovering his snow cone has begun melting, resembling a cup full of blood. He sets it down on the table, a little disgusted, and looks up to meet his teammate’s knowing gaze. “You were thinking shit about yourself again, weren’t you?”

“We all have bad habits,” Javi says simply and he sees Frankie’s brow crease, a flicker of sympathy in his brown eyes. But then he shrugs, back to his normal easygoing self.

“And we all have bad races.”

 _________________________________________________

HoloNet

October 2022 Latest News

Triple Frontier signs Ben Miller for 2023 F1 Season Weekly Motorsport News - 13 minutes ago

Formula 2 title favorite has been drafted as a Triple Frontier Formula 1 driver for the 2023 season…

10 facts about Triple Frontier’s new F1 driver Ben Miller Bubblefeed - 1 hour ago

There will be a second rookie on the grid next season joining Oddball…

Santiago Garcia believes Ben Miller is the next big star WWS - 2 hours ago

F1’s grid for 2023 is one driver closer to completion with the news of F2 driver Ben Miller making his debut with Triple Frontier…

 _________________________________________________

 _________________________________________________

Prior to your F1 drafting announcement, you were used to being an insignificant presence at a Grand Prix when there wasn’t an F2 round. Maybe a few fans during the paddock tours would recognize you and say hi, maybe a reporter or two would ask for a quick quote about what it’s like being a reserve driver, but in general your race weekends were spent hanging out with Diana around the Vulpecula motorhome or chatting with the crew in the pit garage in-between moments of preparation without anybody taking a second glance at you.

Now that your face has been posted on the cover of a magazine and featured in countless articles you can barely even find privacy in the bathrooms without somebody calling out your name or whipping out their phones. Vivian laughs amicably when you tell her how strange the sudden spotlight of attention is, then claps you on the shoulder and simply says you’ll get used to it with time. There’s an unspoken you have to that your ears don’t miss.

It’s midmorning at the Boston circuit and the sky’s full of clouds—fluffy and white this time, nothing like the gloomy gray ones back in Colombia two weeks ago. The air’s a bit nippier than you’re used to the temperature being, but fortunately one of Vulpecula’s crewmembers is nice enough to lend you her extra sweatshirt. It’s soft and warm, the team’s logo of the fox constellation pasted on the back between your shoulder blades, and you make a mental note to ask somebody back at headquarters where you can get your hands on one of them.

You’re walking through the paddock, thinking about what you’re going to eat for lunch and paying just enough attention to your surroundings to keep out of the way of important-looking people in business attire. Each race seems to bring out a different crowd of the rich and famous depending on where in the world you are—politicians, celebrities, models, athletes of a variety of different sports. Your favorite is seeing former F1 drivers who have swung by to watch the event, socialize, and/or reminisce about how much things have changed since their seasons. 

Anita Moreno has come out to four or five of this season’s races, both to visit with the racing community who love her dearly and to support her son on his journey to win another world title. You’re way too shy to even make direct eye contact with her, let alone speak to the woman who inspired you to keep chasing your dream of joining Formula 1. She’s twice as intimidating in person as she is on screen. Twice as funny, too. You always know when she’s around the second you hear laughter echoing throughout the paddock, loud and jovial.

Dave York has also been making frequent appearances, even before the official announcement was made he was returning to the sport next season. In hindsight, maybe more people should have put the pieces together sooner that his visits were for business reasons rather than for his own personal pleasure.

A glimpse of a familiar face catches your eye, stopping you in your tracks. Ben’s outside the Triple Frontier motorhome, chatting with Frankie Morales and Javi Gutierrez, making them laugh with a story or joke you’re too far away to hear. He’d told you earlier in the week the team CEO Santiago Garcia had invited him to a Grand Prix so he could see up close what a race weekend was like, but he’d neglected to inform you it was this GP. 

Actually, now that you think about it, when you asked he had left you on read, the jerk.

Cupping your mouth with a hand, you shout out, “Benjamin Tiberius Miller, how dare you!”

The exclamation garners a couple dozen odd looks from those in the nearby vicinity, but your focus is entirely on Ben. 

Ben who visibly flinches mid-sentence, shoulders drawing taut like rubber bands. He whirls around, eyes sweeping the crowd and passing over you before shooting back with recognition, narrowing with enough heat it’s a wonder your clothes don’t catch fire.

“How dare me?” he shouts back, pointing a finger at his chest before turning it on you indignantly. “How dare you! You were sworn to secrecy!”

“Oops, looks like I forgot!” You feign shock for a second, then let the expression drop into a deeply unimpressed look. “Just like you forgot to tell me you were coming out today!”

People are definitely looking now, glancing back and forth at your verbal tennis match with expressions ranging from wrinkled foreheads of bewilderment to wide grins of mirth. No doubt this will end up on Twitter or YouTube later.

Ben’s head rolls back and it’s hard to tell but you suspect he’s probably groaning like an obnoxious teenager. “Alright, fine, my bad I guess!” he relents, the closest he’ll ever come to apologizing. “I’ll come find you in thirty and we’ll get lunch.”

“You’re buying,” you call out with a thumb’s up.

Once again, it’s hard to tell due to the distance, but you’re pretty sure he just rolled his eyes before turning back around to face his extremely amused future teammate who now knows his detested middle name thanks to you. The payback from Benny will be absolute torture, no doubt about it, but you’re too happy with the knowledge you’re getting free lunch later to care too much about it at the moment.

Now that the show’s over, everybody resumes what they were doing before your squabbling interrupted them. Everybody except one very distinctive person. 

Javi’s staring at you, and you can’t move. He’s wearing his dark green Triple Frontier race suit halfway undone, sleeves wrapped around his waist while the thin material of his white fireproofs clings to his broad torso and toned arm muscles. Apparently the cold air doesn’t seem to bother him as much as it does you, even as the breeze tousles his crown of messy curls. Pictures and video footage really don’t do his handsome features justice. He’s even better looking when seeing him with your own eyes. Perhaps the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

And you feel like a total idiot now, shouting at your friend like a madwoman, making the worst first impression of all time. It’d be wonderful if the ground swallowed you whole right now and spared you a painful death of humiliation.

Then the man offers a smile brighter than sunshine, holds up his hand and waves.

At you.

He’s waving at you and smiling, looking like the epitome of beauty. 

And you—

You’re just staring back, arms limp at your sides, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ground. Open. Now. Please.

Your hand shoots up just as he starts to lower his, waving back in a way you hope looks friendly and not at all like a preteen fangirl freaking out because one of her idols has acknowledged her. His smile, impossibly, brightens, and you find the sight too contagious to resist returning the grin with a wide one of your own.

When he turns back to the conversation with Ben and Frankie a moment later, you have to give yourself a little shake to force your legs to continue walking to the Vulpecula motorhome and not linger any longer gazing at his profile. As far as first meetings go, you think you can count this one as a positive experience, even if no words were exchanged. 

And you think maybe, with any luck, you and Javi will get along fine next season.

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g fanfiction #my fic #my writing #pedrostories #javi gutierrez x you #javi g x you

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

The hottest ticket in Barcelona tonight was for the ‘reveal’ and roll-out of the AC75 that Alinghi Red Bull Racing is hoping will bring the two-time America’s Cup winner more glory at the 37th edition.

For the assembled crowd and hundreds peering over the fence, they got the first look as the hull form came into slow view. What they saw was a dead straight, ultra-slender bow profile leading the way back to a long, tapered bustle trailing all the way aft along the centerline and ending right in the stern beneath the communications tower. 

In the dark and the dramatic smoke, it was tough to see precisely the form, and the suspicion is more bulbous forward before the taper aft, but this will all be revealed in the coming days. The aggressive flaring of the deck off the bustle is key for the expected wavy conditions in Barcelona with the aim of promoting super-fast flight.

The bow detail is interesting with what look like ‘bumps’ just aft of the stem which could be used to capitalize on the ‘Venturi’ effect and send air molecules upwards to the jib creating greater pressure along the foot or could simply be there for volume to help lift the boat after a nosedive. Led by Principal Designer Marcelino Botin, the final shape was derived from thousands of hours of computer simulation and airflow work.

The big news though was saved for last as its cut-away cockpit at the stern leaves a good 10 feet of open area and just carbon sidewalls that abruptly end. The rule change for the 37th America’s Cup means no backstays so weight reduction here is paramount and with the crew-members, now down to just eight, not crossing as they did in the last competition, their concentration is all around the foil area. 

Expect to see the team continue with inboard cyclors and just two pod positions either side for the two helms and two trimmers – again to be confirmed when the boat has its official launch in the coming weeks.

#Alinghi #AC 37 #America's Cup #link #news

[racing-is-passion]

Daniel Ricciardo will be back soon!

Daniel Ricciardo will be back in the Alpha Tauri cockpit soon! Unfortunately he won't be racing in Losail, but he will give his comeback in Austin. A test in the simulator was going pretty smoothly, but Alpha Tauri decided to wait one race longer, just in case Ricciardo would notice after FP1 that he isn't fit enough to race, Liam Lawson wouldn't have a disadvantage, because he missed FP1.

The team hasn't said anything official right now about this, but the statement should come soon.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula1 #formel 1 #formel1 #motorsport #motorsports #motorsport news #f1 news #daniel ricciardo injury #daniel ricciardo #alpha tauri #liam lawson #liam lawson f1 #daniel ricciardo comeback #daniel ricciardo fit #daniel ricciardo cleared to race #austin gp #austin grand prix #grand prix of austin #usa gp #usa grand prix

[russilton]

mannn I'm the a/b/o anon, and congratulations, just read your snippet from the touch G&L fic and now you got me addicted to another serie. It truly felt like being with George in his new cockpit and also the sensations he had towards Lewis were pretty much on point. More please! More of everything! Lol

I’m so glad! I am obsessed with touch, I love writing about the intimacy of tactile contact and how little things can snowball into more.

You get another snippet! Because I’ve been so deep in finishing fuckboy fic I haven’t had time to write for other asks yet, but there’s 15k of this fic waiting, and a lot of it won’t be spoilery

The scene directly following this one below the cut! Be warned, It’s lots of new team George whump.

The longer George spends at Brackley after that, settling into this somewhat new team dynamic, the more he relaxes. It’s odd, he’s been a part of the Mercedes’ family since he was 15, has spent plenty of time here, and in their cars. But this is different, he’s in the true spotlight now, the highest seat he can achieve as a driver. There was still an undercurrent of nervous anxiety that came with a change this big, especially to a team as powerful and precise as Mercedes’, but his time at Williams at least meant he wasn't walking into a complete unknown.

Sometimes he feels like half of his days are spent observing this odd Mercedes’ ecosystem in action. He had been given glimpses before, small glances into a well oiled machine, but it was a lot different to be submerged in the gears yourself. Toto had told him before about how Mercedes functioned as a family as much as it was a team, and he can really see it now. There are in-jokes, everyone knows one another, from race strategists down to custodial staff. In a sense, they are bonded by drive, facing down new unknown regulations feels oppressive some days but George can tell how eager the engineers are to try and tackle a challenge. Fresh off the unacceptable end to the previous season, anyone with eyes could see how Mercedes are itching to enact some kind of revenge, something to soothe the sting of an unfair loss. For a while he’s swept up in the adrenaline of it, the team spirit is infectious after all, but as the reveal of the W13 creeps closer, doubt begins to sink its claws into his back.

While everyone had done their best to make him feel encouraged, George was immensely aware of the high standards he has to live up to. It’s hard not to, Valterri’s time at Mercedes was impressively archived at every turn. Photos, trophies, keepsakes from his time providing crucial support to Lewis. He knows how fond of the Finn many in the team still are, he’s lost count of how many group photos there are, adorning the walls. He had a fair amount of love for the man himself. Despite occasional tussles on track, in a way Valtteri had paved the road George was walking on. Sometimes he catches himself staring at where Valtteri beams among the team photos, tracing where his predecessor fits into the team like a perfect puzzle piece. On other days, George can’t bear to look at them, his skin crawling with anxiety.

What must they think of him, the new driver the team are gambling on. The stakes are higher than ever, and feels woefully out of place, his anxiety and uncertainty clashing harshly with the aloof and manicured reputation of the Silver Arrows. He has to do well, he can’t truly feel like he belongs till he proves to them that he is worth the risk. He’s been training for this for years, they know him, and they expect the best from him. He’s also the first Mercedes junior to be allowed into the seat; all eyes are on him. He doesn’t want to be the mistake that brings them down, Redbull had proved more than once the curse of not having a solid second seat driver can cling for years.

To try and dilute the cloying feeling of worry, George throws himself into the simulator. He spends as long as he can manage each day trying to explore every inch of the virtual version of the car, hopeful the feedback he’s providing the sim operator will be of use, so that he can pull his own weight.

On one of those long days he’s hunched forward in his seat rubbing furiously at tired eyes through his flipped up visor, giving himself a moment to breath before he has to climb out of the car to debrief, when a strong hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. George manages to prevent himself slamming his head into back support as he looks up in shock, not aware anyone had entered the room with him. He’s met with the kind eyes, and the jauntily raised eyebrow of his teammate (team mate, he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the fluttery feeling of getting to call Lewis his team mate).

“Working late?” Lewis asks, George can hear a teasing lilt in his voice. “Careful you don’t push it, you won’t be of any use in debrief if you’re falling asleep at the table”

The warm weight of Lewis’s hand is still steady on his shoulder, firm and grounding, and George feels the momentary adrenaline of being surprised replace itself with aching exhaustion. Yet it doesn’t overtake him, as he allows himself just briefly to lean into the contact, choosing for now to ignore the effect such a simple gesture is having on his brain.

Whilst he knew Lewis was working as diligently as he was on the car, George was surprised how little he’d seen the older man. George often only found out Lewis had been in when he was leaving, and whilst part of him felt sad that he had missed Lewis, it also left less opurtunities for him to make a fool of himself.

Like right now.

“Oh uh, yeah, I was just testing something one of the engineers thought of, trying to be useful y’know?” As soon as the words leave his mouth he can see Lewis’s expression tinge with concern, and he curses the filter between his brain and mouth that must have eroded somewhere in the last several hours of calculating turns and testing downforce. He looks at the sims wheel again, already worrying Lewis will think he’s fishing for compliments when he’s stopped by the hand on his shoulder squeezing again.

“Come on, I think I saw Ivo yawning when I came in, they should let you free now” somehow Lewis’ voice is both joking and achingly gentle, and George lets it sink into his over tired muscles as he tugs the helmet off his head, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead despite the coolness of the room itself. He almost hesitates when he sees the hand that was on his shoulder now stretched out and inviting, but instead he takes it, letting tiredness ward off any lingering worry.

Unsurprisingly, Lewis’s hand is warm in his. Calloused, large fingers wrap around George’s long thin ones, and he tugs George upright, letting go when he is standing again. George doesn’t even have time to miss the feeling before the heavy helmet is tugged gently out of his other hand and a palm lands squarely between his shoulder blades, encouraging him to climb out of the car and stabilising him when George’s legs shake from the combined sensation of being able to stretch out and release tension from hours of attacking the curves of digital road.

“I know that feeling, How long have you been in here?” Lewis asks, his hand hasn’t moved from George’s back, even as George leans into the side of the simulator car. Bracing himself with hands either side of his hips as he tries to gather his frazzled thoughts

“I’m… not entirely sure? I think the sun was still up when I came in” George jokes back, and he hears Lewis huff an amused exhale. The hand on his back starts to rub slow circles and George wants to arch into the feeling like a cat, he settles instead on leaning into It ever so slightly, trying to convey silent thanks.

They’re both quiet for a moment, the only noise in the room the sound of fabric shifting as Lewis keeps up a calming rhythm. It should be awkward, but it isn’t, and George lets his eyes shut for a minute.

“George, is everything alright? I can’t say I haven’t done some long hours in here myself, but you look shattered, man. Nobody will be mad if you take a day off y’know”

It’s a joke, George knows it is, but he can’t bring himself to laugh, the anxiety won’t leave him be anymore, he can’t suppress it.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

He feels Lewis’ hand stop moving. Part of George regrets being so honest with Lewis, they barely know each other. But at the same time he feels some of the tension from hiding unwind in his gut, letting him breathe just a little easier.

“Did someone say you aren’t? Someone in the team? The media? It’s all bullshit, George-“ Lewis sounds quietly angry, a fire in his voice usually reserved for when another car has done something stupid on track, but George cuts him off with a quick head shake.

“No, well the Daily Mail maybe but even I know not to read that” that gets an amused snort from Lewis, some of the tight energy in his shoulders dropping away. He lets George continue, and it all comes spilling out.

“The team has been great, honestly everyone is so welcoming, and passionate. But that’s the thing-

What if I let them down? They’re used to Valtteri Bottas, I’m just some guy from Williams who only scored his first points last year”

I know how many people are taking a gamble on me, even more so this year, they spent years designing this car and now I show up, what if I can’t do what you all need?

This is the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had, I want to prove that they made the right choice. Clocking laps in the simulator at least makes me feel like I’m doing something”

The room is silent once again, the weight of George’s confession heavy in the air. Distantly George wonders if Ivo really is asleep next door, or just choosing politely not to eavesdrop.

“Have you talked to Toto about this?” Lewis asks quietly

“No, everyone has been so busy preparing for the release. I don’t think Toto would appreciate playing therapist right now”

“You’d be surprised.” Lewis looks like he’s lost in a thought for a second before he looks at George again. Distantly, George realises this is the closest they’ve ever been, close enough for Lewis to touch him without stretching. George can smell what he thinks is his aftershave from here. He can even make out the beginnings of the tattoo on Lewis’ neck, black feathers stretching up towards the silver earring that glints in the low light. He wonders how he must look in comparison, sweaty and with bruises under his eyes probably.

“You’re enough, George. More than enough. I don’t imagine they told you, but we tried to ask for you in 2021 you know?”

George didn’t know that, and his face must show his incredulous shock, because Lewis continues.

“You were doing so well, but Williams wouldn’t break your contract. I love Valtteri, I wouldn’t have won some of the years we raced together without him. But you’re different George. You’re still hungry. The way you took to the car in Bahrain while I was sick had the factory buzzing for weeks”

“But that was 2020, this is a whole new car-“ This time it’s Lewis’ turn to cut him off, waving the hand not still pressed to George’s back.

“Doesn’t matter, we saw how hard you worked, George. That’s the kind of person we want here. Don’t forget you’re taking a chance on us too. With a drive like yours? I don’t think you’d struggle to get a seat and Mclaren or even one of the Redbulls”

George snorts and raises an eyebrow at Lewis, but the look he gets back is steady and serious.

“Mercedes is a family, George. We don’t throw people out for not adjusting immediately. Toto picked you because he wanted you here. I wanted you here”

The final revelation is a surprise, and George’s breath hitches. They want him. They want George as their driver. Lewis wants him as his team mate. He feels overwhelmed, emotions swirling and fighting to be heard over one another. He wants so badly to believe Lewis. He wants them to want him.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been making you feel welcome, that I haven’t been around to help” George opens his mouth to protest, It’s understandable Lewis needed a break after Abu Dahbi, but Lewis shakes his head and stops him.

“I can’t change the past, neither can you. But moving forward just know, you don’t have to prove yourself. You already did.

Lewis squeezes his shoulder once more, and George tries not to think about the ache returning to his bones as Lewis pulls away. He feels better, though, the soreness of the sim muffled by that fleeting fuzzy sensation. The same one he felt when Lewis winked at him during his seat fitting. George knows distantly what it is, but he doesn’t want to think about it. He's scared it might ruin this new thing before it’s even truly begun.

“Go home, get some rest, George. See you here tomorrow? I could use someone to compare times with” he’s grinning at George again already moving on from the seriousness of their prior conversation. George’s stomach flutters. George grabs his helmet, not feeling quite as heavy as it did before, and follows Lewis out of the room.

“Only if you bring Coffee. Bono told me you had a secret stash of the good stuff” Lewis lets out a surprised laugh, and George’s heart twists, bathed in the new, warm feeling of Lewis’ attention.

#britcedes #gewis #4463 #mark’s fic tag #asks #anonymous #i will leave you notes

[chronal-anomaly]

📘          »        what    is    a    memory    that    makes    your    character    feel    proud    ?    describe    the    memory    . 👀

Rich and deep || accepting!

📘          »        what    is    a    memory    that    makes    your    character    feel    proud    ?    describe    the    memory    

Something terrible beat in her chest. A creature contained only by a cage of bones, that ticked and tore as she settled in somewhere, anywhere. It refused her the silence, the stillness, that so many others partook in. Hyperactive since a child, seeking stimulus out to soothe her racing brain and beating heart. School dragged and running only did so much to quell the need for more. It roared in her ears, dragging her away from homework, from friends, from all those that were supposed to set her at ease.

Lena had always been drawn to the sky, the sense of calm she craved approaching as she settled down to watch the night sky pass her by. It never occupied her time for long, but it was just enough to embrace her in fleeting peace.

Lena was 18 when she first sat in the cockpit of a real plane. A T-38C that, if she concentrated real closely, she could still smell the burnt smell of electronics, sweat and leather that filled the cockpit with her mentor in her ear.

It was a mistake, many people said, to have someone so young in a machine designed for fully grown men. That Lena wouldn't be able to handle such a craft, and would wind up hurting herself, others, or worse, the jet. Her mentor hadn't listened, not after watching the dexterity that she piloted the training simulators. While others were still struggling to get the fake crafts off the ground without crashing, Lena had been zipping around in simulated skies.

Nothing could describe the feeling of real takeoff, for the first time. The way that the engine skipped and pulled beneath her fingers, the hum of the craft that seemed to be in tune with the rush of blood that filled her ears, the tilt of wings that felt as if they were attached to her very own arms - the memories are burned into her memory.

Lena still remembered the shouts of support from her mentor, the cheers from the tower that cleared her for takeoff. So many people with so much support for the London street kid who turned out to be a prodigy. But something else had happened up there at thirty-five thousand feet, moving at 500 miles an hour.

Lena felt calm.

The beast that knocked at her chest, that forced a tapping finger or a vibrating knee, that squirmed when she had to sit, or stand, or just exist, in one place for too long, it was silent. Part of her imagined it peaking out from just behind the space where her heart was, watching the sky paint itself with violent purples and and blues, and embrace the aura as its own.

Her fingers had danced over the keys, flipping switches on and off, responding to the pull of the wind and beckon of the sky with practiced ease. Parts of her felt like a bird who had just her wings replaced, like this was her home all along.

Lena still remembers the sound of her mentor's voice calling her back to Earth, cutting her time home short. The landing had gone similarly to the take off, everything had been so entirely perfect that was hard to deny her future position as a fighter jet pilot. The glow in her eye had been enough to reinforce the accelerated course that they later put her on, to fast track her to become one of the world's greatest pilots.

And Lena?

Well, Lena was home.

#( headcanon. ) #I don't even think this was entirely on prompt but I don't care #holopiloted #thank u rei for this food

[ummick]

Wolff identifies 'tremendous advantage' Schumacher offers Mercedes

Mick Schumacher might not be racing in Formula 1 for 2023 but the German is playing a vital role as a reserve driver at Mercedes, according to Team Principal Toto Wolff.

Toto Wolff has identified the "tremendous advantage" for Mercedes of having Mick Schumacher in the team as a reserve Formula 1 driver. After being left without a seat on the grid for 2023 following Haas' decision to replace him with Nico Hulkenberg, Schumacher joined the Silver Arrows and has been a visible presence in the garage at each Grand Prix weekend. The German has also been working in the simulator for the squad, with his contribution recently drawing praise from Lewis Hamilton after the team's double podium at the Spanish Grand Prix. Wolff is similarly pleased with Schumacher's work at the outfit's base in Brackley, and remains confident in his abilities should he be called upon to stand in for Hamilton or George Russell. Wolff praises 'mature and successful' Schumacher "First of all, it's great to have a mature, successful and experienced Formula 1 driver supporting us," Wolff told media, including RacingNews365.com. "In the simulator with his feedback, that is of tremendous advantage. At some of the European Grands Prix, having him on the sim overnight [on the Friday] and providing data for the Saturday is a super advantage for us. "On the other side, if George were to have a fish poisoning – Lewis can't have a fish poisoning [being vegan], it would be an avocado poisoning – then we know we have a super guy that will drive the car well. "[But] as much as I like the situation for the benefit of the team, I would every day of the week prefer that Mick sits in a cockpit and actually races."

#mick schumacher #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2023 #not a race #2023 not a race #between canada and austria 2023 #with lewis #with george

[f1]

Wolff explains DAmbrosios new role on Mercedes young driver programme | 2023 F1 season

Former Formula 1 driver and Formula E team principal Jerome D’Ambrosio has joined Mercedes as its driver development director. Team principal Toto Wolff confirmed D’Ambrosio’s appointment after he was seen in the team’s garage early in the season. Prior to being Venturi’s team principal in FE, d’Ambrosio spent six seasons racing in the series and won races with Dragon Racing and Mahindra. His F1 experience includes one season with Virgin Racing in 2011 and a one-off appearance with Lotus in 2012 as a substitute for Romain Grosjean while serving as the team’s reserve driver. Wolff revealed d’Ambrosio will assume some of the roles previously held by James Vowles, who left his position as strategy director at the start of this year to become Williams’ team principal. D’Ambrosio started his new job last week and will be responsible for the team’s simulator driver roster and other driver-related topics in addition to their junior team, Mercedes confirmed to RaceFans. “He’s looking after the young driver programme in very close cooperation with Gwen [Lagrue], who has been doing it very successfully over the last few years. “With Gwen’s team we are looking at grassroots motorsports from the early stages of go-karts. This is where Gwen is very active, he was the one working with James, and now within the Brackley structure it’s Jerome who has taken that over. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free “He’s looking at things and there’s plenty of plenty of scope that James did beyond the strategy work. So I see Jerome growing in the organisation, but at this stage, that’s his area.” D’Ambrosio previously worked with Wolff’s wife Susie at Venturi. She was team principal while d’Ambrosio was deputy, and when she stepped up to become chief executive officer it then freed up the team principal role for d’Ambrosio to move into. However the Mercedes team principal’s history with d’Ambrosio goes back further than that. “I have known Jerome since a long time, because back in the day when he was in the Renault driver development [programme], I thought about managing him,” he said. “So it’s 15 or 20 years ago, and then we had a look again at him when he when he dropped out of the programme. So I’ve known him as a racing driver, but never from the human standpoint, and never from the managerial side.” D’Ambrosio made a successful transition from driver to manager, said Wolff. “When Susie offered him the option to jump out of the cockpit into a management role, he took it with both hands and they were quite a good competitive duo, and Jerome led it into another year and finished second in the FE championship. “He has the knowhow of having been a racing driver at a very high level. He was a go-karting world champion. He’s been in F1 and on the other side, the skills as a manager. Where that will lead him is a question. Today it’s at a very early stage. He is just coming in in the driver development part and administrative functions. And we shall see where that goes.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2023 F1 season Browse all 2023 F1 season articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

#F1 #Wolff explains D’Ambrosio’s new role on Mercedes’ young driver programme | 2023 F1 season #Formula 1

[para-imperium]

Horizon: Rebuilt Chapter 2

Time slowed almost to a standstill, the drops of blood streaming out of Horizon’s stomach floated idly in the air. The raccoon’s mind raced as she frantically queried every status sensor she could find on the drone carrier, hearing naught for a painful eternity.

Slowly, the queries returned. The carrier’s autopilot had kicked in when the cockpit was breached, holding the aircraft in a holding pattern over the rig and locking the manual controls until the pilot switched them back on. In the cockpit camera’s view Bill’s head leaned to the side, the same spar that punctured Horizon’s abdomen jutted from the tern’s chest. Mercifully his suit’s biofeedback sensors indicated that he still had a heartbeat, but he was fading fast, likely in shock. “Bill!” Horizon shouted, to her own ears it sounded oddly low and elongated.

The carrier’s bodily integrity sensors fed information directly into her augmented brain, showing a diagram of the craft with orange areas where shrapnel and debris had struck and red where they’d broken through the skin. There was a leak in one of the fuel cells, she isolated it before the other cells could drain out through it, and there was a large hole in the cockpit and the pilot’s seat, with a smaller hole in the copilot’s seat behind it of course, but otherwise the craft was still flight worthy.

“Wow, we’re in trouble aren’t we?” Horizon blinked, it looked like the red panda avatar she’d created in the simulation was crouched, a cocky smirk on her face, in front of her. The fact that there was clearly no room for another person between her body and the pilot’s seat in front of her didn’t matter.

“What are you doing here?” Horizon asked the entity mentally. She noticed her blood splatters continuing to fall slowly while the panda’s whiskers twitched at normal speed, that meant that “Samantha” was running on the same mental time dilation as her own thoughts. Another surprise from her implants.

Sam glanced over her shoulder at the dying avian behind her, “you need my help. Badly,” she gestured towards the ethane rig still burning below them. “You can’t fly both the carrier and the drones at once.”

“They have autopilots,” Horizon retorted. She knew that the basic AI installed in the drones and the carrier was less capable than the Fedtech AI that the Resolution had installed in her head, but she trusted them more. With good reason.

Sam scoffed, “which one are you going to leave to the dumb bots? The drones carrying those poor little survivors to safety?” Horizon’s vision momentarily zoomed in on a drone stumbling through the air with a survivor dangling from its underchassis. “Or perhaps the carrier transporting our own carcass?” She saw the jagged spar of metal sticking out of the front of the cockpit, red with rust, or blood.

Horizon attempted to shake her head, but the flesh could only move so fast in her slowed-down perception. “Stop messing with me!” she telepathically shouted. “I can do this by myself!”

“Fine,” the red panda vanished without a trace. The blood droplets spewed into the air accelerated down towards her body, splattering her already red jumpsuit with dark stains. Her head snapped to the side and she heard a low moan coming from the front of the cockpit.

“Bill!” Horizon shouted again. “Can you hear me?”

The bird coughed, spewing blood over the windshield. “Yeah Zoe, I don’t think I’m going to make it. How’re you doing?”

Horizon looked down at the spar in her belly, she knew that the leukosynth microbots in her blood had already stopped the bleeding and would repair the wound within minutes of the obstruction’s removal. “I’ll live,” she said simply. “Any chance you can fly for a bit longer?”

“Hah!” a small bit of more blood hit the windshield. “I don’t think so. You can fly through that thing in your head though?”

“Yes,” Horizon admitted. “But I can’t fly the drones and us at the same time!”

“Then save yourself,” Horizon was shocked at the bird’s words. “Leave the drones on autopilot, they’ll save who they can and we’ll print more after the mission.”

“But, they can’t…” Horizon trailed off as she mentally grabbed at a drone that was straying too close to a tumbling debris pile.

“There’ll be more people who need saving,” Bill explained. “And who will rescue them if you’re not there?”

Acoustic sensors picked up a series of loud pops within the derrick just below them as an ethane pocket heated to the point of ignition. Horizon took control of the carrier and lurched them to the side just in time to avoid the fireball and debris cloud that jetted up from the explosion. One drone, en route to picking up its next passenger, was not so lucky.

“You can have it all you know?” Horizon looked around, but she couldn’t see Sam anywhere in the cockpit, just heard her voice.

Horizon sighed, thinking about what she could do. She could let half a dozen people die now, or possibly die herself and be unable to save even more people later, or let a mysterious program with ulterior motives run rampant in her brain? She groaned and raised her voice, “hey Bill?”

The arctic tern was silent. “I have a Fedtech AI in my implants, it might be able to pilot both the carrier and the drones.” Still, no response. She checked the readout on his biosensors again.

His brain activity was muted, below the threshold for consciousness. Horizon could have sworn she felt Sam’s virtual breath on her shoulder as she considered what she had to do. “Alright, save those people.”

“As you command.” The raccoon felt her grasp of the drones slip away, but she maintained awareness of them in the back of her mind as they flitted around the rig. Horizon focused on piloting the carrier around the next explosion. Her brain absorbed the data from the drones’ sensors and she instinctively avoided the buildup of flammable gasses as they reached a critical mass and exploded.

She detected a heat signature rising under the primary landing pad, as she was drifting away she registered that there were half a dozen people running across the pad towards a transport that was coming in for a landing. “Get out of there!” she shouted, but it was too late.

A fireball erupted from the deckplates of the landing pad, enveloping at least one person and knocking the rest over. A large chunk of flying debris clipped the transport’s forward port engine, sending it spinning out of control. Horizon mentally lunged for the transport, she felt the security protocols melt away before her software, and she found the autopilot. With a mental twitch she activated the transport’s auto-stabilizing application. Within milliseconds power diverted to the remaining three engines and the craft’s spin slowed. But less than five seconds after the autopilot was engaged it was disabled again and the craft began to swerve even more erratically. Horizon realized that the pilot was trying to reassert control, and failing horribly.

Horizon turned the autopilot back on, and the transport lurched hazardously. She sent a quick voice transmission to the pilot before they could disable it again, “transport pilot, please let your autopilot stabilize you.”

The pilot took control again and the transport swayed even more, “carrier, that’ll take too long. Those people who fell into the water have minutes if they’re lucky.”

Horizon sighed, “if you don’t let the autopilot stabilize you you’ll crash. And then you won’t be able to rescue anyone. I can divert my drones over to lift them up.” She was painfully aware of the echo in her words.

There was a short pause, then the transport’s autopilot engaged again. “Alright,” the pilot conceded.

Horizon sent Sam a telepathic command to send every drone not currently carrying something down to the water below the landing pad. Three drones immediately dove for the bobbing heads of survivors fighting hypothermia, the fourth was busy depositing a passenger at the auxiliary landing pad. The drones dropped harnesses with inflatable floats next to the survivors, when they grabbed at the smart harnesses they wrapped themselves around the survivors’ torsos and the tow cables carefully pulled them up.

Meanwhile, the damaged transport managed to stabilize itself, slowing its spin to a halt and hovering in place just five meters above the waves. “You should tell them to open their hatch,” Sam’s voice advised.

“What?” Horizon checked the flight path of the drones the AI was piloting, and did a double-take. “Are you serious?”

“It’s the nearest place of safety,” Sam pointed out.

Horizon hit the radio again, “transport open your passenger hatches and prepare to receive wounded.”

“Are you serious?” the pilot replied, echoing Horizon’s sentiment.

“At least we get to be useful here,” another voice chimed in. Horizon spotted a large figure sliding open the door on the side of the transport through the sensors of the nearest drone.

The drone flew up to the open door and another figure grabbed the survivor dangling from its towline. As soon as the paramedic had hold of the survivor the drone released its passenger, almost throwing the medic off balance, but they managed to grab hold of a safety strap in time. Thus relieved, the drone swiftly flew off.

The second drone’s passenger couldn’t hold still, they squirmed and writhed in their harness. As they flew towards the transport their leg swung into the path of a jet, burning them and sending them into shock. The paramedic who retrieved them scowled at the drone, as if blaming it.

“That’s why we don’t load passengers mid-air,” Horizon scolded her AI.

Sam made a snorting sound. “It’s not my fault they jumped into the backblast.” A section of Horizon’s HUD zoomed in on a broken segment of the landing pad that was sloped towards the water. A survivor was clinging desperately to the upper edge, a drone hovering next to them. “What would you like to do about this one?”

Horizon examined the survivor in her HUD. “What’s the problem here?”

A schematic of the smart harness attempting to wrap around the survivor was added to Horizon’s HUD. “I can’t get it to secure him, he’s clinging too tightly to the floor.”

Horizon thought for a moment, then turned her attention towards the scout drone, which was in a holding position high above the rig. “The scout has some basic tools and enough lifting power that it should be able to lift him enough to get the harness under. Use it.”

The scout drone swooped down towards the survivor clinging to the pad. On the way down its sensors spotted another gas pocket heating up. “We need to hurry! There’s going to be another explosion!” she shouted over the radio.

The drones dropped the last of the survivors from the water into the transport and the scout drone stopped just above the hand of the survivor on the pad. A multitool extended from the scout’s manipulator and touched a finger.

In a spray of red the finger exploded. The survivor screamed loudly but held his death grip on the landing pad until his other fingers were also severed. Once all his fingers were cut off he slid down the landing pad, leaving a trail of blood. As soon as he slid off the far end of the pad the waiting smart harness wrapped around him.

“What the Hel Sam?!” Horizon berated the AI as she watched the drone with the maimed survivor fly towards the transport. “Transport, you’re going to need to stop a lot of bleeding on this next one.”

“Explosion in three…” Sam started counting down. “Two… one…”

A fireball rose from the ethane rig, the surviving transports and the carrier swept away just before the flames and debris hit them. The drone chucked the bleeding survivor into the hatch of the transport, and then sank towards the waters below, batteries depleted.

“He’ll live,” Samantha finally replied to Horizon’s rhetorical question. “He might need new fingers, but he’ll live.” Below them, the burnt out superstructure of the rig began to collapse in on itself. “There’s nothing more we can do now, we should go.”

#horizon salvaged heroes #sci-fi #fiction #transhumanism #short story #superheroes #serial #scifi