#will i write a real snippet from it??

[hrokkall]

Mama gave me music lessons,

now I play the saddest songs

[thegreatyin]

why does the scoundrel speak in first person plural :0?

i am SO GLAD you asked :)

see, the scoundrel is madly emphasis on madly in love with the one and only mr wines, a canon fallen london character that's crucial to her backstory, motivations, and just generally everything about her current state of being. wines is one of the masters of the bazaar, aka one of the scoundrel's current coworkers. it's. well. it's an Interesting bat, to say the least.

there are many, many, many things you can say about wines, both for better and for worse. it's a liar. it's a cheapskate. it's a tyrant. it's a drunkard. it's a whore. it's a pimp. it's, in the scoundrel's extremely delusional eyes, a living god.

but there is one thing (mostly) consistent about wines- its manner of speech.

wines, with few exceptions, always speaks in first person plural (perhaps better described as the "royal we", given its backstory). while this is a trait basically all of the masters slip into at some point or other, wines is the only one who does it consistently enough to qualify as a certified Character Quirk™.

so, well.

say you're the scoundrel. and you desperately want to emulate the bat you love more than anything else in the world. the bat- no, the god that saved you from a life of dull misery. the being you owe everything to. Everything. you want to give all you have, all you ever will be, in order to be Just Like It.

and thus- much to everyone's misfortune- the scoundrel talks just like its idol.

for better or for worse.

TLDR: the scoundrel talks in first person plural because she's a huge fucking loser who's purposefully trying to emulate her crush, an evil alcoholic who sucks. aren't bats beautiful?

[moe-broey]

Drops this Moe and refuses to elaborate.

....

Drops this extremely messy kinda janky sketch of Alfonse (?) and refuses to elaborate.

[cherrycoloredphoenix]

Day 6: Forbidden - Ai Chang, Jia Ziyin, and a life that can never be

-

To tie Ai Chang to him in that way would be like caging a nightingale, damming a mountain stream. It would be keeping all of that beauty and charm and clever mind to himself, dimming its brilliance for anyone else... And eventually, the nightingale would cease its song, and the stream would become foul and stagnant. Better to let things be as they were. But oh, how one could dream.

[number1villainstan]

Chisaki slows to a stop as the wall behind him lights up, four-year-old Eri turning to watch. He knows how this goes--he knows how to behave, how to listen, after years of trying to run and trying to study these strange shadow girls. And there are their shadows now, hush, Eri, the play is starting--

"Extra, extra, extra!"

"There's a dead baby bird on the side of the road! Oh dear poor thing, who could have done this to you?"

"Detective Vulture on the case! It seems that what we have here is a baby cowbird!"

"Cowbirds? Those birds that lay their eggs in other birds' nests?"

"Cor-rect! Which would mean that this little cowbird probably died when the momma of the nest its egg was laid in pushed it out to protect her own babies!"

"What a terrible momma! That poor chick was totally innocent!"

"Not at all! Would you want a parasitic baby in your nest, gobbling up all the food for your babies, pushing your own chicks out of the nest itself? That momma was perfectly justified!"

"Are you saying this is all the baby's fault??"

"Well, it certainly wasn't the momma's!"

"Then whose fault was it, mister detective?"

"The cowbird parents'," Chisaki says, squeezing Eri's hand with his own. "For abandoning their child."

--and the wall behind him loses its spotlight as the play ends.

[shardminds]

long time no see!!! but it is wip weds!!! azris edition!!!

Eris Vanserra’s cigarette hangs between his lips, hands curled around the end as if trying to block the wind, but it does jack shit for the dead lighter he’s trying to spark it with. Seems even riches don’t remind trust fund brats to refill their Zippo’s.

“Nice to see that money hasn’t changed you.”

Azriel holds his own between two fingers, an offering. It’s a half sized thing, so well used the patten’s been half rubbed away, leaving only smears of blue against the white plastic. He can’t bring himself to part with it. It had been a gift once.

Eris takes it and in two short clicks he’s taking his first quick drag, followed by a second, longer pull. It’s in the way his eyes slip shut and his shoulders relax, rounding out as he rolls the tension out of his neck. The performance of it all.

“You’re too old to be wearing leather.” He says. Azriel doesn’t even flinch at it.

“You’re too old to be playing boy toy at your daddy’s yacht parties.”

His laugh is effortless, practiced. Sharp in all the right places. It’s business, and a part of Azriel — a part long thought dead — curls in disgust. It tears up through him like bile in his throat. If he sneers, Eris doesn’t let on. “And here I thought you liked to watch.”

[thatwildwolfwrites]

i should stop posting wip snippets and just start posting fics but that's hard when your body has turned against you

[the-weeping-dawn]

'Normally, a strange, disguised, illithid wouldn't be his first choice of people to trust in any other situtation, in this situation the last choice. However, he has held off the worst case scenario once already, which Ilztaun figured was worth not distrusting him just yet. He owed him that little, surely? Or simply this was a more interesting path to that inevitable worse case, a line of thinking better kept to himself than used as a justification to the others.

[kyistell]

So I added a fanfic snippet part to the google doc, wrote one for Jersey, Cali and then York, and York's the only one I want to share at the moment. Maybe I will share the other ones if asked but for now it's just this, ENJOY

New York-

Sleep

New York liked to sleep, it was peaceful and calming and he didn’t have to think about everything going on around him, it was the perfect break from his ADHD mind. However sleep did not like him, he wouldn’t be able to sleep for days until he basically passed out.

Mass was able to figure out that because NYC is the city that never sleeps, New York can’t really either. The two figured out that as long as he keeps up with a routine, he should be able to get to sleep easier and faster, though having a routine has its own problems. 

Table meetings could happen very early in the morning sometimes, and if York had to go to those meetings it would screw his whole schedule up. It wasn’t until one night where he finally was able to have a solution.

It was pouring out, rolls of thunder after flashes of lightning happening what seemed like every second. York likes the rain and thunder, it was calming, especially when the wind was loud, it was easiest for him to fall asleep. 

This was not the case for New Jersey. Jersey hated storms, wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until it was barely raining anymore and that wasn’t even consistent. He used to like them, though not as much as York did, but after hurricane Irene in 2011 and hurricane Sandy the following year, he could never see them the same.

This is why it wasn’t all too surprising to hear hard knocking on his door, opening it to find an exhausted and wet faced Jersey. Letting him in and onto the bed, the two sat there for a long while until York heard light snores coming from the other.

New York sat there even longer just thinking, hearing the rain start to die down he felt himself start to tire. He wasn’t feeling particularly tired before, but now, with Jersey laying on top of him as peacefully as someone afraid of storms can, he felt just as exhausted as Jersey had looked. 

For the first time in a few days, New York found himself able to sleep with ease as the wind slowed and the constant thunder and lighting became less and less. 

The two didn’t speak of this afterward, they never tended to when it came to storm sleepovers, York preferred just to remind him that he’s always free to come over if he can’t sleep, this time however Jersey said that the offer was mutual. 

York thought this over a few nights later when he couldn’t sleep and desperately needed to. Making up his mind, he snapped over to Jersey place, knocked on the door and waited for a moment before it opened.

When Jersey questioned why he was here York only said “Wanna have a sleepover?”.

[junkmailmusubi]

i am normal and sane and usual why do you ask ! :)

[jorvikzelda]

At this point I've got a full list in my head of fics I want to write when You Know What is done lmfao

[pepsiwriteswords]

It’s been a long fucking day.

Natacha sighs as she drops her keys on the little decorative platter on the table by the door, doesn’t even bother trying to keep quiet. The walls of the apartment are thicker than one would expect, considering everything else about the building, and she knows Victor isn’t home yet.

He’s never home.

Bending over, she unlaces her shoes to take them off. Leaves them under the table when she rises and walks to the kitchen. 

Tea, she decides. Then she can figure out what to do for dinner. 

She scrolls through her phone absently while the water boils, sends a check in text to Victor. Switches over to [Facebook], scrolls for a while. Her eyes glaze over a little more with every baby picture, wedding announcement, engagement ring photo she sees.

The writing stalled for a couple days, but hey! Have some Styx! ^_^

Natacha is living the 'almost 30 & everyone you went to high school with is in a Very Different Place than where you're at' life. xP

[fl4tlines]

Bad Things Happen Bingo – Addiction/Withdrawal @badthingshappenbingo ┆ Square #1

「✦」 OCs: Kay Edwards ⅋ Paris Elswood 「✧」 Content: Addiction ┆ Alcoholism ┆ Cursing ┆ Graphic Drug Use ┆Suicide Mention 「✦」 Word Count: 2,145 「✧」 Relevant Links: None Yet

⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❝ So you pour a little more; // And there's no one there to judge you; // At least that's what you tell yourself; // But don't you know, nobody drinks alone; // Every demon, every ghost from your past; // And every memory you've held back; // Follows you home. ❞ ⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

“Can you sort?”

Paris held the phone to his ear as he spoke. The third number in as many minutes. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head at the answer from the other end of the phone.

“Seriously? Look – I can pay double.”

Another wince as he received his response.

“Yeah. Cash.”

“An 8-ball? No, just a sixteenth.”

Paris paced back and forth across the living room carpet, biting at some loose skin around his nail as he waited on an answer. 

“Mhm, yeah. Yeah. Great.”

He glanced upwards to the clock. Three in the morning. But it was an hour and… something slow. More like half four. He pressed his hand into his forehead again.

“Yeah. Got it. Double in cash. Same spot as yesterday?”

After receiving the confirmation, Paris hung up the phone and finished the last of a bottle of wine from the table. Cheap shit, Kay had told him. Rough. Muddy. Rotgut. Yeah, Kay liked to pretend he knew what he was talking about. Throwing around all the right buzzwords so people thought he had something worthwhile to contribute.

And Paris couldn’t help but find that endearing.

He grabbed a jacket on his way out of the door – one of Kay’s, khaki green with a fur lined hood. Still with a wad of cash in the pocket from yesterday. Now was a good time to be thankful Kay never wore it.

The moment he was out of the apartment, Paris pulled the hood up and made his way down the two flights of stairs in the dark. Wiring was busted. Again. Third time this week.

Chilled air hit him as he took the all too familiar route, head down as he walked briskly. At this point, he didn’t even have to look up. He could work on muscle memory alone for this. And then the last turn. Taking him down a street – an alley behind long since closed takeouts and a nightclub. With rusted security cameras surveilling it. Long since disconnected.

The usual ten minute wait ensued. Agony. Paris paced back and forth, picking at his nails as he waited. But it was always ten minutes waiting for this guy. Even when he did the forty minute drive in thirty. Paris should be used to this by now, but each moment passing was pressure in his chest. If Kay came home and he was gone, that was the relationship over. Done.

But, if he was home? Plausible deniability. Did that apply? An old stash. A slip up at a party. Peer pressure. Anything to shift the blame off of himself. After he had made the call. Gone in search of one more hit.

But it could be worse, he told himself. It could be heroin. Or meth. But he wasn’t an addict like that. He wasn’t. It was just cocaine. 

It was easy to forget that he’d reassured Kay in exactly the same way about his drinking. The drinking could have been worse. Paris had it under control. It wasn’t cocaine. It could have been worse.

It still could be worse.

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice broke Paris’ train of thought. Probably for the best.

“You’re not Aiden.”

“I should hope not,” the quick, scoffed, reply. “Cami.”

Paris only had the energy, and care, to give her a quick once over. Long, dark hair. Leather jacket. Skinny jeans. Unassuming. Unremarkable.

“Right, whatever. He spoke to you?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I’ve got it. I can do $150.”

“$200.”

“Never had someone talk me up before. Suicidal or something?” Cami’s response was blunt, but she edged it off with a slight smile.

“I keep my word. I’m not screwing over Aiden. And I don’t need a dead hooker on my conscience.”

“Call girl. But it's your money.”

Paris rummaged in his – Kay’s – pocket and counted out the money in front of Cami, before handing it over to her, and replacing it with a small ziploc that she handed him.

“I can put you on to something better. Cheaper,” Cami looked Paris up and down. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “MCAT. You’ll be paying half. Same kick, better price tag.”

Paris thought about it for a few moments, eyes ever so slightly narrowed as he thought about the offer.

“Cheaper doesn’t matter. This is my last hit, I’m done.”

Cami seemed to do everything she could not to laugh in his face.

“I am. I’m done,” Paris repeated.

“You tell yourself that,” Cami pulled out a card and handed it to Paris, who paused before he took it. “Agency card, but just ask for me. I’ll get you sorted.”

“Listen – I – this is my last fix.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t need the number.”

Paris pocketed the card. Taking it was far easier than trying to argue with her.

“Are we done?”

“Yeah, we’ll talk soon,” Cami had already decided.

“Yeah. Drive safe or whatever,” Paris muttered as he brushed past her and turned the corner out of the alley.

The walk home could have been therapeutic. A quieter version of the usual busy city. Almost lifeless at this time of night – just about to be revived by commuters on the way to a nine to five. And the bustle was beginning as Paris re-entered the apartment through the door which he had left unlocked. A neighbourhood like this? Even Paris would confess that was reckless. The late night pick up felt relatively safe in comparison.

He crashed down on the couch, still in his coat and emptied his pockets onto the table. Paris cursed under his breath, his life contained only to the mess scattered on the cracked glass surface. With his entire existence laid out like this – who was he kidding? With Kay on the verge of leaving him, the comfort he found here was temporary, but wasn’t everything?

Now wasn’t the time to be tearing himself down, right? He was doing better than he could be. And that must count for something. Rock bottom still seemed so far away.

He took one more look at the table before sinking his head into his hands and continuing to curse under his breath in a low mutter. This was fine. It was fine. Kay wasn’t even home. Wouldn’t be for hours.

Paris straightened his posture and tilted his head back, collapsing once again against the back of the couch. Breath through gritted teeth. It was fine. He had spoken it into existence. It would be fine. He was fine. One last fix wasn’t going to kill him. Not after everything else. This was mild. Quiet night in. Recovery.

Except he knew he was kidding himself there.

Roughly wiping away tears that had not yet fallen, he leant forward on the couch and picked up the clear ziploc. He hardly had time to think as he emptied some of the powdered contents onto the screen of his phone. But he left more than half in the bag. Because this was his last pick up. Because any more would prove he wasn’t recovering.

Paris got to his feet, almost tripping over a discarded hoodie on the floor as he skimmed the pile of DVDs next to the TV. He pulled out a dog-eared copy of Saw III. A movie Kay vehemently refused to rewatch. Written it off as shock value torture porn. Paris slotted the half empty ziploc bag behind the disk and tried to return it to the stack, knocking half of them to the floor in the process.

Compared to the rest of the apartment, the mess was minimal. He’d deal with it later. Before Kay got back.

One glance back at the table, and Paris’ initial focus returned. He stepped over the hoodie on the floor this time and stared down at the screen of his phone. This was just – it was just something to take his edge off. Push some of the itching thoughts back to where they belonged. Maybe the late night trip wasn’t a blaring warning sign. It was proof he had pushed back against the waves of intensity all day. ‘All day.’ After he had run out at five yesterday morning. After passing out in bed from pure exhaustion what must have been minutes before Kay woke. Dealing with the worst of a brutal comedown. 

If he’d lasted that long, maybe he could force through another few hours? Then Kay would be home and – Paris banished the idea quickly. Lasting this long was mere proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. And that wasn’t tonight.

He took one of the loose bills from the table and pressed it over the powder on his phone screen, before taking Cami’s card in his other hand. Slightly too flimsy. But whatever. Paris slowly dragged the card across the top of the bill, breaking up any impurities in the substance. He removed the bill and tapped the card against the screen to target larger clumps, before replacing the bill.

He proceeded to repeat this several times before putting the bill to the side. Paris was methodical, focus drawn into the familiar routine. Even the action itself brought a warm sense of comfort. With continued precision, he separated the powder into several distinct lines. It contrasted the black of the phone screen in a way Paris would only be able to describe as satisfying. Clean.

Paris picked the twenty dollar bill back up from the table and rolled it up, tight and even. Like he had done it thousands of times before. And that probably wouldn’t be an exaggeration. He pressed a finger to each nostril and inhaled in quick succession before bringing the note to his nose. Paris leant forward and sharply exhaled, before inhaling with the end of the note pressed to the first line of powder.

Within moments, the sharp taste hit the back of his throat. Distinct bitter petrol. Familiar. A sign of a better emotional state on the horizon, no matter how brief the respite would be. Paris waited for a few minutes before he got up from the couch and took off his coat, hanging it back in the hall. A futile effort to hide his late night walk from Kay. Because Kay would know. No matter how careful Paris was.

Not that it mattered. It was a problem for later, Paris had already decided. Kay would understand, they could talk tomorrow. Kay would get back from work, they would talk. Paris vaguely remembered Kay saying he had a couple of days off. And they could make the most of those few days. A date. Movie. Drive out to a trail – a hike. Picnic, maybe. Paris smiled faintly to himself as he sat back on the couch.

It would be good. He’d get the apartment back into a reasonable state tonight, and they could have tomorrow. And the next day. His heart pounded in his chest – in his throat. This was fine. Good, even. What had he even been thinking before? Kay wouldn’t leave him. They weren’t on the verge of a catastrophic collapse. Kay wouldn’t hurt him like that.

The hours passed into the early morning. The earlier morning, as daylight began to emerge from the outside world into the apartment. Fractured rays of sun illuminated the mess of an apartment – somehow in a worse state than Paris had dared consider. The beginnings of a headache brought his attention back to the phone on the table.

He should text Kay. Apologise. Beg for some semblance of forgiveness. Swear to clean the apartment tomorrow. Convince Kay not to walk out on him. Because he would.

It wasn’t worth it to stick around.

It took everything Paris had to pick up the phone, dragging a finger across it to collect the last dusting of powder. He pressed it against his gums and unlocked the phone with his other hand, pulling up Kay’s contact.

A text would make everything worse. Paris dumped the phone back onto the table and stood up. Kay would be home soon, and Paris had to sleep this off before he got home. Just an hour. Two.

The only incriminating remnants from the night before were the card Cami had given him and the bills on the table. Plus a takeout box of fries. Still full. He hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of eating, despite the hunger pangs that had emerged through the night. How they were clawing at his stomach, only quelled by sheer nausea. Paris took the money and business card as he stumbled towards the bedroom – a combination of the drink, drugs and plain old sleep deprivation causing his unsteadiness. He tossed everything into the nightstand drawer and almost collapsed into his side of the bed. The thought of undressing – even so much as taking off his shoes – didn’t occur to him as he fell into a restless sleep.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ » next

[wisteriagoesvroom]

snip of a fic that i may never write (but maybe i will as some sort of patriotic duty/national tax obligation for @kichona-s's sister who has asked for it to Be Written):

-----

Oscar twirls the wrench on one finger. It's a neat trick. A very gen z fidget spinner meets rustic outback mechanic vibe. Lando stares, and then reminds himself to shut his mouth, as it is frankly quite disrespectful to drool on the garage's otherwise clean floor.

Then Oscar pulls a pencil out from behind his ear - who even does that anymore, Lando thinks to himself. And who makes it look so hot, comes a worse, more intrusive voice.

"What name should I put on the receipt?" Oscar asks, peering expectantly over the notepad.

"Er."

"Er. Surname um?"

He's funny too. Christ. This is bad. And it's a minor miracle that Lando hasn't been recognised yet. Maybe the GONE PHISHING hat and ill-advised summer facial hair had come in clutch after all.

"Uh." Shitshitshit. "Marx."

"...Marx?"

"Marx. Few...stappens. Like the self-help guru, yeah."

Oscar looks like he finds something about this very funny. "I don't think I've heard of Marx the self-help guru."

"Eh, my parents loved niche old books. Boring! And okay." Lando says, conceding. "You got me. My name's not Marx. It's Mark."

"Like, Webber?"

"Yeah!" Lando says, brightening. "You seen his races?"

"It'd be unpatriotic not to. Terrible luck though. I'm more of a cricket person myself."

"Never fancied driving one of these?" Lando says, gesturing at the vintage cars. When he looks back at Oscar, he notices a streak of grease on the other man's nose. It's hard not to stare.

"Dunno. Just wasn't my destiny, I guess."

Destiny. Funny concept.

Lando's fancy rental convertible's got an engine full of dirt, and he's stuck in the middle of Wonglepong, Queensland, with only the weirdly hot town mechanic for company. Could be the start of a great thing or a true crime series, really.

Unfortunately, Lando tends to choose chaos, and quite fancies his chances either way.

Oscar tucks his wrench back into his belt, and shrugs. Lando swallows. His throat is dry. Must be the desert air, he tells himself, despite the fact that he is in the middle of farmland, and nowhere near the desert.

But Lando's still buzzing with excitement. This is better than champagne spray on a podium. Almost. The thrill of a proper chase, because this man genuinely doesn't seem to know who he is.

Or maybe he does, and doesn't care - which suits Lando just fine, too. It's why everyone loved Halloween, right. Hiding, in plain sight.

"Cricket?" Lando finally manages. "Don't those games go on for like, ages."

"When you're in the middle of nowhere, there isn't exactly, like. Much else to do."

"Oh, I'm sure I could find some way to pass the time." Lando says.

And Oscar, to his credit, doesn't even say a thing at the blatant flirtation. Just wipes his hands of grease, and wordlessly passes him the bill.

But there's a smile, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As if Lando said something truly worth laughing about.

AU where lando's on a roadtrip and his car breaks down in rural australia. he plays dumb and pretends to not know anything at all about cars just to have an excuse to keep talking to quiet mechanic oscar

[trashywritestrash]

the like hour of research i did about regency era england valentine’s day traditions was more fun than anything i’ve done in my applied history class

[pomegranatesarchive]

A female f1 driver who was featured in the barbie movie as the f1 driver. You could write about her scene and working with the Margot and Ryan lol, and how the grid reacts to it. Lanpd could be her bf or not if you don't want.

You don't have to absolutely write if it doesn't strike any inspiration and you obviously can write whatever you want you xoxo

barbie girl | redbull!reader

pairing: f1 grid x reader

summary: redbull!reader does a cameo in the barbie movie

part of my ‘redbull!reader’ series

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, and 816,027 others!

yourusername: this barbie is a f1 driver! 🎀 barbie is out now in theaters near you <33 (or not near you? idk where you lot live)

view comments below!

user1: yn is just hitting all these side quests because what?

user1: happy for her tho!

user2: is this what it’s like to be so rich that you can literally do whatever you want?

user3: YN CAMEO!!!!

user4: WE CHEERED

user5: omw to see barbie now

landonorris: i know where you live

user6: can someone tell me her part in the movie? my parents won’t let me see it 😓

user7: she’s a f1 driver barbie, and she’s gets into a relationship with f1 driver ken (played by glen powell) throughout the movie you could see like snippets of them going from friends to bf and gf!! you could probably find some clips on youtube or something :)

user6: thank you <33

user7: GLEN POWELL????

user8: THE CAPYBARA GUY???

charles_leclerc: i can be your ken 😊

yourusername: no thank you i already have my glen ken!

charles_leclerc: but he can’t drive a REAL f1 car

yourusername: i can teach him

charles_leclerc: FINE

charles_leclerc: BE LIKE THAT THEN

charles_leclerc: I DONT CARE

charles_leclerc: GOSH

glenpowell: i would like to make it very clear that i have no interest in learning how to drive a f1 car!

charles_leclerc: NO ONE CARES GLEN

user9: i love when yn posts because i just know the comments are going to be filled with the drivers acting like they have no decorum

landonorris: i know where you live

alex_albon: movie night?

maxverstappen1: i already watched it

georgerussell63: we know…we all saw the picture of you decked out in pink at the movie theater

user10: LMAO

user11: it makes so much sense that the first time we see max in pink is when he’s supporting yn

lewishamilton: so excited to see it! 🩷

yourusername: love you 💚

charles_leclerc: I LOVE YOU TOO YN

maxverstappen1: i want love

alex_albon: can’t remember the last time you said that to me…sigh…

georgerussell63: love me next?

oscarpiastri: playing favorites i see 🤨

landonorris: i love you too 🥰

user12: bring back shame

user13: their desperation makes me sick

oscarpiastri: i guess ill watch barbie now

yourusername: why are you pretending like you weren’t the first to ask me for spoilers?

oscarpiastri: no clue what you’re talking about???

yourusername: mhm sure osc sure

user14: osc 🥹

landonorris: i know where you live

yourusername: what is wrong with you?

landonorris: i’m outside your door

user15: it’s official, lando is killing yn so he can win more races

. . .

notes: thank you for requesting!! hope you don’t mind i used this for my redbull!reader au :)