#Vroom vroom

[suliigwp]

okay but but may i requesr some Rookie! Reader being an absolute menace that she’s considered a ticking timebomb bc of how ballsy she is with her moves on the track? Yk the quote— “I knew he'd hit the brakes—he has a wife and two kids at home.” Reader applies it to EVERYONE. They have families back home, people to get back to, and she doesn’t even care if she lives or dies, she has to cross that finish line 😭 yk everyone is praying in their respective garages when she’s racing 😭 I’d love a fic where we can see just how death defying vroom vroom is and how her grid parents and the f1 community reacts !

TICKING TIME BOMB

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous part!

SULI: Hiiiiii thank you all so much on the love for this series — this is extremely rushed and a little short but oh well I was stuck- this is a more serious one I haven't been feeling well and can't really come up with jokes- sorry the next part well be back

Warnings: reckless driving, she's better at English here, bad writing lol

They started calling her that around Monaco.

The Time Bomb.

Not to her face. Never to her face.

Because you don’t provoke someone whose idea of a clean overtake involves two wheels in the grass and a sixth sense for who won’t risk it all.

Everyone had a theory.

“She grew up karting with criminals.”

“She used to race bikes in underground leagues.”

“She watched too much Senna footage and lost the plot.”

None of it was true. None of it mattered.

Because whatever circuit she was on, she drove like it was her last race on Earth. Not desperate, not suicidal—indifferent. Like crashing or finishing were equal outcomes. As long as she got past you first.

Barcelona, Turn 1.

She went wheel to wheel with Sainz at the start.

The commentators said: “That’s gutsy!”

The team said: “That’s unnecessary.”

Carlos said: “She’s insane.”

She said nothing.

When asked about the incident, she shrugged and unzipped the top of her race suit like the air was too heavy.

“I knew he’d brake,” she muttered to the wall of microphones. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

The media room fell into an uneasy silence.

A few reporters exchanged glances. The PR girl standing beside her stiffened slightly. She didn’t bother clarifying. She wasn’t joking.

The Grid Watched.

She had no interest in post-race handshakes or fake Instagram smiles. The others stopped tagging her in memes. Stopped inviting her to dinner. It wasn’t personal. It was caution.

She walked like someone who had better places to be. Talked like she’d done this all before.

Fast in the car. Faster out of conversations.

No one knew where she went after the debriefs. Some nights she was spotted at the edge of the paddock. Others, she disappeared before the cooldown room had even emptied.

She lived in silence and tire smoke.

Lando Noticed.

He didn’t mean to. But you notice the things that scare you.

At first, it was little things. Her qualifying laps—perfectly controlled chaos. Her refusal to let anyone walk behind her in the garage. Her habit of double-checking her steering wheel even after the mechanics had gone over it.

Then it became something else.

He saw her staring at the pit lane before a race, completely still, like she was somewhere else. Not zoned in—zoned out. Like she was waiting for something to catch fire.

“You know,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the wall of her hospitality, “you drive like you don’t care what happens.”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept tapping her fingers against the water bottle in her lap.

“I don’t,” she said, eventually.

He laughed a little, awkwardly. “You can’t mean that.”

Now she looked at him. Eyes like flint. “I’m here to win. I’m not scared of anyone on this grid.”

He believed her.

...

Spa Weekend, Qualifying.

She went purple in Sector 2.

Purple, despite rain, despite cold tires.

Purple, even after nearly clipping Albon into the wall on the previous lap.

Her engineer’s voice cracked mid-sentence: “Box—no, wait—okay, you're—fuck—”

DNF.

She came back into the garage with two wheels vibrating like they’d seen war. Took off her gloves and threw them on the floor.

“I had half a second in that lap,” she muttered, ignoring the shaking hands she quickly stuffed into her pockets.

Her team principal pulled her aside.

“You have to stop doing this.”

She blinked. “Doing what?”

“Risking everything. You’re not racing them, you’re threatening them.”

Whispers on the Grid Grew.

“He said she cut across him at 290.”

“She’s going to hurt someone.”

“She’s going to hurt herself.”

When asked about it, Max didn’t say anything. Charles gave a diplomatic shrug. Pierre muttered something about needing a cigarette and walked away.

Lando? He just watched.

There was a storm behind her eyes that he didn’t think she even noticed anymore. Like she’d been living inside it so long, she thought that was just the weather.

Later That Night.

He found her sitting on the curb behind the motorhomes. Helmet beside her. Still in her race suit. Her boots were untied, like she hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?”

She didn’t look up. “Do I look okay?”

“No. You look like you might detonate.”

A dry chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

She pulled out a cigarette and stared at it for a moment before tucking it behind her ear. “You ever feel like you’re one bad day from being someone else entirely?”

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at him then—finally—and her voice was quieter. “This isn’t about winning, Norris. It’s about surviving long enough to win.”

And that was the first time he realized:

She wasn’t reckless.

She was exhausted.

...

Monza.

She went P3 after nearly tangling with Alonso on the final chicane.

As she walked past Lando in parc fermé, he said, “Nice moves out there.”

She looked at him. Not a glare. Not even her usual smirk.

Just that same hollow smile.

“I knew he’d brake,” she said again, softer this time. “He’s got people to go home to.”

She paused, eyes flicking to Lando’s.

“And you? Would you?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded like that was the only answer that made sense.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She wasn’t trying to crash.

But no one was brave enough to assume she wouldn’t.

She was only just getting started.

Taglist For Vroom Vroom, comment to be added;

@angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz

Make sure you can be tagged! Thank you!

[binarybreak]

🐇 🏎️ 🐇 🏎️ 🐇 🏎️

Digimon: Rallymon Player: Jake Partner: Billy Level: Champion Concept: Rally Racing Rabbit Demeanor: Raise Hell, Praise Dale, Get out while you can

(drawn by ann)

[miss-carter]

steve rogers + bikes

[jenfoundabug]

I thought this feisty little critter was an isopod until I got a closer look. This is a carrion beetle larva, and, as their name suggests, adults and larvae of this insect eat dead animals, maggots that live in carrion, and/or other types of decaying organic matter. I have no idea where this one came from, since there were no dead animals nearby or compost. Perhaps an insectivorous bird dropped it, or maybe this particular species likes chicken manure (there was a chicken tractor nearby vroom vroom). Putting this next part below the cut because it's a little gross. Proceed with caution:

This carrion beetle child seemed somewhat hungry, as it was nibbling at some dead skin around my finger nail. It tickled a bit and reminded me of the shrimp they sometimes have at aquariums that will nibble at your fingers. Yes that's a thing.

unidentified Silphidae larva Northeastern Pennsylvania, US

[kifaprokumiv]

[fastcarsgovroomm]

It appeared to the world as if Lewis had moved on and Nico was the one to stay behind. In reality, Nico was the one to move on, Lewis the one to stay there, back in 2016.

Sure, Nico mentioned Lewis all the time and often came off as a desperate man, but he was the one who healed. The one who remembered the friendship rather than the fallout. The ones who wound had healed, leaving behind a scar but those fade with time. This one certainly will too.

Lewis was the one still there in Barcelona 2016. It was evident in the way his throat closed up and his eyes started to water at the slightest mention of the German's name. His wound was still the one bleeding and lewis feared the day when he would have no more blood left to spill and his carefree facade would fall.

Nico had moved on and Lewis was still there, waiting for closure that never came. In this essay I will-

[ghostlightsahead]

They just *sob* they just mean so much to me 😭😭😭😭

Anyway they're so unbelievably in love your honour

I need them to race HARD against each other this season your honour

Yes I believe they are soulmates your honour

[daily-haunted-tv]

[jeeklaart]

beep beep, make way!

( find me here )

[epicfeather]

"YOU BLEW UP THE CAR SKIZZ!!!"

[suliigwp]

Hi! Could you write another part for the Vroom Vroom story? Like they are all doing the interviews together and a reporter asks a question that she does not quite understand. Lewis or Alonso see that and try and explain it to her and the interview derails from there.

EMOTION ARC: MANY

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous Part!

SULI: I didn't think our vroom vroom would receive so much love, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Here's another crack fic before the big more serious one comes! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: pineapple on pizza mentioned, none!

The room is packed. Cameras flash, reporters fidget with recorders, and three drivers take their seats at the middle: Fernando Alonso, composed and sipping water like he didn’t just dodge chaos for 58 laps; Lewis Hamilton, ever-charismatic and polished, nodding to the crowd; and smack in the middle—The Rookie.

She’s wearing her race suit half unzipped over her team shirt, podium cap slightly crooked, and clutching the miniature champagne bottle like it’s a trophy. And her expression reads somewhere between am I still dreaming? and what happens if I open this bottle inside?

The moderator clears his throat.

“Congratulations to all drivers. We’ll open up the floor for questions.”

A reporter in the front row lifts a hand.

“This question is for our rookie. Congratulations on your first podium! Can you walk us through the emotional arc of your race?”

There’s a long pause.

The rookie leans forward toward the mic slowly, eyebrows drawn together in total confusion.

“…What is arc?”

She says it like someone just asked her to explain quantum physics using only interpretive dance.

Lewis, sitting next to her, is already smiling, having expected this exact energy.

“It means… like the emotional journey. How you felt at different points. Start, middle, end. That kind of thing.”

Still chewing gum, she nods slowly, visibly processing. Then, seriously:

“Ah. Okay. So…”

She leans into the mic again with full confidence now:

“Start: Scared. Turn 1: Still scared. Turn 3: Someone yell at me. Lap 7: I yell back. Then… vroom vroom. Rain happen. More vroom. Almost spin. I scream. I close eyes. Still drive. Then boom—I’m here. Emotion arc: Many.”

She finishes with a victorious sip of champagne and a shrug.

Fernando chokes slightly on his water.

Lewis is laughing, head down.

The press corps is stunned silent—then someone lets out a snort, and the whole room breaks into chuckles.

A second reporter raises a hand, trying to get things back on track.

“And how did you feel about the tyre strategy today?”

Rookie nods proudly.

“I do tyres.”

Dead silence.

Lewis blinks. “You… what?”

“I do tyres. I… use them. Good. Not bad. Round.”

Fernando leans toward the mic, totally deadpan.

“What she means is—her engineer made all the tyre decisions, and she said ‘okay’ with no clue what any of it meant.”

Rookie holds up a hand to correct him:

“No no. I say ‘okay’ very confidently. That is important. I fake it. I pretend I know. That is strategy.”

Lewis, still laughing:

“So you had no idea what tyre you were on?”

She pauses. Then:

“…Were they… black?”

Lewis slaps the desk. Fernando actually laughs out loud this time.

She points to Fernando and Lewis with both fingers like she’s shooting finger guns.

“Listen. You two talk too much about apex and degradation and undercut. I go vroom. That is my arc.”

The next reporter can barely hold a straight face but tries anyway:

“Okay… what was going through your mind when you crossed the finish line?”

She goes completely still, staring into the distance. Her voice drops into mock-dramatic whisper.

“I think… if I crash now… they still count, yes?"

Fernando puts his head in his hands.

“I want to say this is all an act, but I saw her spin in pit lane yesterday trying to wave at a pigeon.”

She shrugs again. “He looked friendly.”

Lewis tries to redirect:

“Let’s not forget she got P3 in the rain, held off Checo for five laps, and still had time to sing ABBA on the radio.”

She points triumphantly.

“Yes! This is why I win. Because of ABBA. And my skill. And because I forget to brake.”

Fernando stares at her.

“You… you forgot to brake?”

She looks unsure.

“I think maybe. I do one tiny brake. Just for fun. Mostly… vibes.”

At this point, a poor reporter in the back is just holding up a recorder, looking vaguely haunted.

Moderator clears his throat, half-chuckling.

“We’ll take one last question.”

A quiet voice from the back:

“What’s your goal for the rest of the season?”

She grins like she’s been waiting for this one.

“More podiums. More tyres. Less understanding. And… maybe one donut.”

She leans toward Lewis. “You teach me donut?”

Lewis, smiling warmly:

“Only if you promise to learn what a yellow flag is.”

She nods.

“Deal. But only yellow. No time for green.”

Fernando raises a hand.

“I would like to formally request she never meets Ricciardo.”

Lewis agrees.

“Or Kimi. We cannot risk it.”

She points between the two of them, grinning.

“Old men fear me. This means I win.”

As the conference ends and the drivers rise, Lewis drapes an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling.

“You know… you might actually be the future of the sport.”

She looks dead serious.

“Yes. But also… I want pizza now.”

Fernando, walking past her, doesn’t even break stride.

“If she podiums again, someone better bring pineapple pizza. Chaos deserves chaos.”

next part!

[ardenzia777]

Been making progress on that Polites Motorcycle pic btw since someone asked about it for their birthday

[lumi-plays]

Back on!

[hxvphaestion]

five (5) eepy boys

(Just vale below the cut)

[chuckiescrafts]

He has arrived.