#magui in the shadows

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 31: ᴇᴄʜᴏᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀʏ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴘᴀʀᴀᴢᴢɪ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴇx-ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴜᴛ (ᴍᴀɢᴜɪ)

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ꜰᴀᴍᴇ, ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ

ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴘᴀɪɴ, ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ ᴋɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ)

ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙᴀɢɢᴀɢᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ

ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀɪᴛʏ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ

The villa was quieter now. The laughter had faded, the last of the champagne flutes collected and rinsed, the glow of the party replaced by the golden hush of morning. But even with the sun up, the warmth of the previous night clung to the space.

(Y/n) stretched as she padded barefoot through the open hall, her robe brushing softly over the tile floor. In the kitchen, she found Zak pouring himself a second espresso.

"You’re up early," he greeted warmly.

"So are you," she smiled, hand instinctively resting over her belly.

He nodded toward it. "They keeping you up, or just the headlines?"

"Both. And my back. And Lando snoring."

Zak chuckled. "He does that?"

"Like a lawnmower," she said, grinning. "But a very endearing one."

Zak sipped his coffee. "You handled all of it yesterday... with real grace."

(Y/n) glanced toward the garden, where remnants of the party still clung to the chairs and lanterns. "I didn’t think it would happen this fast. But I guess I was wrong."

He offered a more serious look. "This sport doesn’t slow down for anyone. But you’re part of this family now. That means we take care of our own. If you need anything, discretion, security, help, you let us know."

She blinked, touched. "Thank you, Zak. Really."

He gave her a quiet nod and excused himself, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the soft fluttering movements of the twins within.

Outside, the cameras were already beginning to stir. Media vans, long lenses, voices echoing from beyond the villa's entrance.

Lando rejoined her later that morning, a box of pastries in one hand, the other reaching to press against the small of her back.

"We’re officially the headline couple," he murmured. "You okay with that?"

She leaned into his touch. "It was bound to happen. Better now than later."

He hesitated before adding, "Magui watched the race."

(Y/n) raised a brow. "How do you know?"

"I got a message. Just dots. No words. But... it was her."

A silence hung between them. Then (Y/n) exhaled and looked him square in the eye. "You ready for all of that too? The ghosts, the drama, the past?"

Lando didn’t waver. "I chose you. All of this. I’m not looking back."

She kissed him then, soft and sure, just as the twins gave a small kick between them.

Later, back in the room, as the windows flooded with morning light, (Y/n) sat at the vanity brushing her hair. Her phone buzzed. Carla.

No reply. Just a photo attachment: her on the grid, bump showing, Lando glancing at her like she was the only person there.

Then the text followed: Mother of the Grid. You're trending in Brazil.

She smiled. She hadn't planned on this life. But now that it was here, messy, public, joyful, terrifying,  she wouldn't change a thing.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 32: ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴛʟɪɢʜᴛ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: Fourth post for today!! Yes, still scheduled. Yes, still somehow posting while drowning in schoolwork 🥲 Someone please remind me why I thought taking advanced electives and writing a multi-part AU at the same time was a good idea?? Anyway—

Thank you all for still reading this mess of a beautifully chaotic timeline 😭🧡 I’m seriously overwhelmed by your love for this AU.

✨ Quick Recap of What Just Went Down™️ ✨ – (Y/n) vs. Lando's snoring habits 😌💤 – Zak Brown making me cry with father-in-law energy 🥹 – Lando showing up with pastries like a man who knows peace offerings 🍩 – Magui... sending ominous dot messages like she’s in Morse code 👀 – Twins kicking just in time for dramatic emotional punctuation 🍼🍼 – Brazil officially adopting (Y/n) as their own 🇧🇷 #MotherOfTheGrid

Still more to come. The chaos is not done. Neither is the fluff. Or the drama. Stay tuned.

With love, me 🧡

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.7 - march 20 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10 wordcount: 2637

You woke up with a pounding headache and a vague sense of unease. The events of last night blurred together. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow as your phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Max: “Bet Lando broke his personal record for post-win hookups last night. What’s the count? 10? 15?”

You stared at the screen, your stomach tightening. A sharp pang of something you couldn’t name struck you. You knew exactly how many girls Lando had kissed the previous night—just one. You.

After a moment, you typed back.

You: “Dunno, wasn’t keeping tabs. Ask him yourself.”

Max’s response came almost immediately.

Max: “You’re supposed to be the reliable one. Useless.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand again. Squinting, you grabbed it and opened the message.

Lando: Hope your head’s not as bad as mine.

You stared at the screen, debating how to respond. Did he mean the hangover or… something else? Finally, you typed back something neutral.

You: I’m surviving. You?

His reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Barely. Who thought tequila was a good idea?

You smiled faintly, Lando seemed determined to brush past it, that had worked well for you the last time. 

-

Later that afternoon, your phone buzzed again.

Max: Lando just arrived back in Monaco, he’s still kinda off. Thought winning the first race would’ve had him buzzing. The break up must’ve done a bigger number on him that I thought. You good though?

You frowned, rereading the message. Lando had seemed fine—at least, before the kiss.

Shaking the thought away, you quickly texted Max back.

You: Yeah, I’m fine. He probably just overdid it. You know how he gets after races.

Max responded almost immediately:

Max: Yeah, maybe. I told him to chill, but you know him. Anyway, see you later

-

The morning after your return, Dylan surprised you by showing up at your apartment with coffee.

“I figured you’d need this,” he said, handing over your favorite latte as he kissed your cheek.

You smiled, grateful for the gesture, definitely feeling the jetlag. Thought I’d come by and steal you for breakfast.”

The idea was sweet, and you agreed, letting him whisk you away to your favorite café. Over avocado toast and coffee refills, Dylan asked about the party.

“So, big celebration for Lando’s win?” Dylan asked, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair, stirring his coffee idly. 

“Yeah, it was...” You hesitated, thinking back to the night. The flashing lights, the laughter, the heat of Lando’s breath on your skin. “...eventful.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Eventful how?”

You felt your stomach tighten. This was it. Do you tell him about the kiss? Would he care? Should he care? “Lando broke up with Magui,” you said instead, your voice steady.

His brows shot up, but there was no real surprise in his expression. “Well, that doesn’t shock me. Those two were always cold.”

“Yeah... and, um, he—he kissed me at the party.” You blurted it out before you could overthink it. It hung in the air between you, and you couldn’t read Dylan’s face.

He didn’t react the way you expected. Instead of anger or jealousy, he just nodded, as if you’d told him Lando tried a new hairstyle. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

“What?” you said, your voice louder than you intended.

Dylan shrugged. “I mean, it’s Lando.”

His reaction knocked the breath out of you. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on.” He smiled, as if you were being naive. “He’s been protective of you since day one. You’re basically his second shadow. I’ve always just... figured that was part of the deal with being with you.”

You stared at him, feeling a strange mix of confusion and irritation. Part of the deal? That didn’t sound like love or care—it sounded indifferent. “So... you’re not mad?”

Dylan reached across the table and took your hand. “No, I’m not mad. I trust you. Lando’s just—Lando. He does what he wants, but I know you’re with me.”

His grip was warm, his smile steady, but something about it annoyed you. You pulled your hand away to sip your coffee, pretending to study the foam swirl at the top.

His nonchalance sent a flicker of irritation through you. Shouldn’t he care more about this? Shouldn’t it bother him that Lando had kissed you? Should it bother him?

-

You didn’t travel to the next weekend’s race in China, having to catch up on work instead. Max’s texts, however, kept you in the loop.

Max: Your boy’s back to his old ways. Can’t keep up with how many girls he’s talking to tonight.

Your chest tightened as you read the message. You could practically hear Max’s laughter through the text. It didn’t take much to imagine Lando at another party, charming his way through a crowd.

You: That didn’t take long.

Max: What did you expect? It’s Lando.

You weren’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but before you could process any further or reply, your phone buzzed again.

Lando: Missing you this race weekend x

— February 17, 2016

It was past curfew at the team hotel, where you and Lando were staying for a karting tournament. The day’s races had gone well, and tomorrow was the final race day. It was a rare occasion Max hadn’t qualified for the tournament, leaving you with two instead of the usual three. You sat on the edge of Lando’s bed, the faint buzz from the drinks some of the guys had smuggled in during the team dinner making the room feel warmer than it was.

Lando leaned back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. He fiddled with the string of his hoodie, but you caught him glancing at you every so often, like he was debating saying something.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?” he began, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “When you start like that, it’s usually something weird.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not weird. Just... you know, the last time we talked about that guy—your first time—how’s that going?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You had hoped the subject would never come up again, but you knew he was just trying to be a good friend. “Oh. Um...We broke up.” You shrugged, looking down at your hands, it hadn’t been a serious relationship, so you weren’t too upset about it. ‘’So, no improvements?’’ Lando grinned. You groaned in response. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything. Just... I don’t know. Everyone makes it sound like it’s supposed to be this big deal, right? Like fireworks and angels singing.” 

“And it wasn’t?” he asked, clearly amused.

You let out a dry laugh. “It was... fine. But it didn’t really feel amazing, you know? I thought maybe something was wrong with me.”

His brows furrowed, and he shifted to face you fully. “Trust me, It’s not you,” he said firmly. 

“Yeah, well, maybe he just wasn’t great at it,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. But the words hung there, more truthful than you intended.

He smirked, but there was an undercurrent of something serious in his expression. “It should be good for both people.”

The comment made your stomach twist, the way he said it—so genuine, so matter-of-fact—caught you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze for a split second, as you turned the tables. “And how would you know?” you asked, aiming for teasing but faltering at the end.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’ve done it,” he answered casually, his tone steady but quiet.

The casualness of his answer shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You blinked, your stomach flipping unexpectedly. “Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Your mind raced. Of course, he had. You weren’t sure why you were even surprised—Lando had always been good-looking and charismatic in a way that drew people to him effortlessly. You pictured the last girl you’d seen him with, a petite brunette with long legs and perfect skin. She’d had her arm slung around his neck at a karting party a few months ago, whispering in his ear as he’d grinned down at her.

The thought sent a strange pang through your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been good with her. Of course, he had. Lando wasn’t the kind of guy who’d fumble through anything.

“Does that bother you?” he asked, breaking the silence, his voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

“What?” you said quickly looking up, your cheeks heating. “No. Why would it?”

He shrugged, his eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know. You’re just... quiet.”

You shook your head, brushing it off. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Was it fireworks and angels singing?” you quickly recollected yourself, teasing, though your curiosity was genuine.

Lando let out a low laugh, his cheeks darkening slightly. “Not exactly. The first time, I was so nervous I could barely think straight. The second time was better, but it’s not just about that. It’s better when you actually care about the person. When it’s not just... random.”

His words settled over you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you wondered if he was talking about someone specific, but you didn’t dare ask.

Lando tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.  “Like, yeah, it depends on the person, but… when it’s good, it’s like everything just clicks. You’re not overthinking or second-guessing—it just… works.” he continued, leaning back against the headboard.

You nodded slowly, trying to picture what he meant. “Must be nice,” you murmured. “To actually enjoy it.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You will,” he said quietly. “With the right person.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, and you found yourself holding your breath. His eyes lingered on yours, the space between you suddenly feeling charged.

Lando tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “Did he make you feel comfortable?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

You blinked at the sudden shift, your heart skipping at his seriousness. “Uh… I guess? I mean, he wasn’t… mean or anything, but he didn’t really ask me what I wanted either.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, just barely, but he stayed silent for a beat too long before saying, “You shouldn’t have to guess. He should’ve cared enough to ask, to, like… figure it out with you.”

You bit your lip, his words sinking in more than you wanted to admit.

He leaned forward slightly. “Look, I’m not saying this to be weird, but... you should figure out what you like. What makes you feel good. What… turns you on.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your cheeks flush. “That’s… easy for you to say,” you muttered, focusing on the thread in your sweatshirt.

“I’m serious,” he pressed, his tone a little gentler. 

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a brief, charged moment. He wasn’t teasing or trying to make you feel awkward; he genuinely meant it.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You should really find someone who knows what they’re doing next time. No more amateurs.”

You laughed, grateful for the change in tone. “I’ll keep that in mind, Norris.”

“Good,” he said, grinning.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, real talk,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Did he even go down on you?”

You froze, his question catching you completely off guard. “Lando!” you hissed, your face heating up as you looked around the empty room, as if someone might overhear.

“What?” he said, shrugging like it was the most casual thing in the world. “It’s a legit question.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words. “No, he didn’t,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms defensively.

He made a face, somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. “Figures. Most guys don’t know what they’re doing.” He tilted his head, studying you. “You should find someone who actually gives a shit about making it good for you.”

You looked away, your stomach flipping at the casual confidence in his tone. Images of him with other girls flitted through your mind—hearing the rumors, catching glimpses of the way they looked at him. He probably was good, wasn’t he?

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe I just need someone to teach me what’s supposed to be good.”

His smirk widened, but there was something softer beneath it now. “Maybe. Or maybe you just need to stop settling for guys who don’t try.”

For the rest of the night, you stayed up talking about everything and nothing. But as you finally drifted off to sleep in the makeshift bed you’d built on his floor, his words replayed in your mind, accompanied by flashes of Lando smiling at some girl, his hands on her waist, his lips on hers. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the thought made your stomach flip.

-

The next evening, the team dinner spilled over into a small party, celebrating the final race day. You’d been nursing a couple of drinks, the warm buzz loosening your usual reservations. Somewhere along the way, you found yourself talking to a racer from a rival team, he had placed second, behind Lando. He was charming enough, leaning in a little closer with every laugh, his hand brushing yours as you spoke.

Maybe it was the leftover thoughts from your conversation with Lando the night before, or maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, but when the guy leaned in, you didn’t stop him. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, and then more confident as you responded.

Before the kiss could deepen, though, a familiar hand landed lightly on your shoulder. “Not him,” Lando’s voice murmured in your ear, firm but calm.

You blinked, pulling back from the karter and turning to face Lando. He stood there, his expression unreadable but his eyes unwavering. “Come on,” he added, his tone softer now. “Let’s get you some air.”

You didn’t protest. Maybe it was the slight pull of his hand on your arm or the way his gaze seemed to cut through the haze of the evening, but you let him guide you out of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were in the quieter hallway, the cool air sobering you slightly. The one time Max wasn’t there, Lando had to act as the protective brother.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t I?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“No,” Lando admitted, leaning casually against the wall. “But not good enough”

You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes—half teasing, half serious—made your resolve falter.

He chuckled softly, tilting his head toward the vending machine down the hall. “C’mon, Let’s get you some water before you start thinking about kissing any more idiots tonight.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as you followed him. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lando just shrugged, his grin growing. “That’s why you keep me around.”

-

WN: almost a SMAU with all the texts 🤪🤪 oop sorry in 2016 Lando wasn’t mkarting anymore but minor detail for the story lol, just couldn’t have her be in formula 4 or something. Also let me know if you think it’s going too slow, but actually, too late, shits going down in the next chapter and I think it’s going to be 10 chapters, eventhough I’m going to miss this story a lot so maybe I’ll make it longer if I think of more storyline. Took a bit long this time, so trying to upload tomorrow to make up for it! Suggestions about anything are always welcome 💕💕 Hope i didnt forget anyone for the taglist, let me know if i did

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus@motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini@acesofspadess @widow-cevans @irisesinthegarden

[pomelace]

everything but us

pairing: frank langdon x afab!reader

content warnings: angst, panic attack, emotional distress, patient death, grief, cheating, alcohol mention, kissing, guilt, medical trauma, no physical descriptiors used for reader, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : I don’t know where I wanted this to go, I started writing and couldn’t stop. it’s heavily inspired by all the tweets I keep seeing of people saying they want frank x mel cheating trop next season. hope you enjoy it and please send me ideas you have. I'm happy to write anything! 

word count: 2,485

The restroom door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the sound of your own unraveling. 

The fluorescent lights above flickered, harsh, and sterile, casting distorted shadows on the white tile walls. You clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles white, breath stuttering in short, ragged bursts. Your reflection in the mirror stared back like a stranger — eyes red-rimmed and wide, cheeks streaked with tears you couldn't recall starting.

You tried to breathe— in, out, in, out—but your chest felt caved in, lungs refusing to expand. Your scrubs were soaked under your arms, clinging to your trembling structure. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block out the world, the hospital, the soft flatline that still echoed in your ears.

It happened so fast, there was no time to think—no time to figure out why.

The patient came in alert, smiling, laughing. She looked fine. You’d done everything right. Every test, every consult, every careful step. She was young. Healthy. Talking your ear off about her upcoming trip to Europe.

And then she wasn’t.

One moment her eyes were alive, full of light, full of plans, and then she went out like a candle. Her heart just… stopped. You reacted before the shock hit you. Gloves on. Code called. Epi drawn. You started compressions, fast and hard, trying to push life back into her.

It was all too much. Your hands didn't even feel like your own anymore; they were tingling, numbing at the fingertips, the sensation coming and going like a flickering static. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t stop the spiral. Patient after patient, life after life, slipping through your fingers. It felt like death clung to you, like you were cursed. Tainted. Everyone you touched seemed to fade. 

As if you carried a quiet plague you couldn’t shake.

You clung to the sink like it was the only thing anchoring you, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Head bowed; eyes shut tight. If you kept them closed long enough, you’d disappear, you’d fall into a place where none of this was real. 

Somewhere better. Somewhere safer.

But then, the soft creak of the door broke through the silence, and your eyes fluttered open. You didn’t need to turn around. Didn’t need to look in the mirror to know who it was.

Frank.

He had followed you. Of course he had. After you left in a blur, he stayed outside the restroom door, caught in hesitation. Weighing the moment. Debating whether to come in, whether to cross that invisible line.

But now, he’d made the choice.

His footsteps were quiet, deliberate—careful, like he was approaching something fragile. 

Frank’s brows knit together the moment he sees you—like he already knows. Like he felt it. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; he knows you’re not. Instead, he stands next to you, shoulder brushing yours in a way that makes you ache and calm at the same time.

He lets the silence hang for a moment, heavy but bearable. You feel him glance sideways, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but also ready to just stand there with you if that’s what you need.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says gently.

It was like he could read your mind; knew everything you were thinking in that moment. He knows you too well.

You hated him for it.

You shake your head, eyes still fixed on the small crack on the tile beneath your foot.

“I did everything right,” you whisper, voice cracking. “And it still wasn’t enough. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I—I made a mistake.”

Frank exhales, and it’s not frustration—it’s empathy. He leans forward; hands clasped like he’s holding something fragile between them.

“You didn’t make a mistake,” he says quietly, turning his head just enough to meet your eyes. 

“You’re one of the best damn residents I’ve ever seen come through these doors.” And not because you always get it right—but because you care. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you real.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But all you can think about is the weight in your chest and the way his presence both soothes and burns.

“And what if caring is the thing that breaks me?” you ask, voice barely audible.

He turns toward you now, fully. His eyes search yours, and there’s something in them that feels too raw, too sincere. 

“Then I’ll be there to help pick up the pieces.”

The words linger in the air like a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. And suddenly, you're not sure if the ache in your chest is from grief—or from him.

You almost hate the way the words make you feel better so soon, as you feel some of the tension in your shoulders release. Although your eyes are aligned on the tile, you can feel his eyes on you, and for some reason that thought makes something in your stomach swell. Your mouth works to say something, but no words come out, and you think he can sense your internal struggles, as he hesitantly reaches a hand to rest on your back, rubbing it in a way meant to soothe. It does make it better, though you’re left with a different type of ache in its place.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and tight. The warmth of his hand on your back is gentle, steady—and completely undoing. You hate how your body leans into it before your mind can stop you. How your breath stutters in your chest. How much you want something you can’t have.

No matter what you said, no matter how much you pushed him away, you always ended up here letting him comfort you, letting him in, even when you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t. 

You lifted your eyes from the floor, catching the reflection in the mirror. There he was, watching you, and for a moment, he saw what you saw: red, swollen eyes, a sniffing nose, and a pale, drained face. You hated being seen like this, hated that it was him seeing you like this.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped you up without asking, pressing your head to his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And that was the moment you broke. The tears came fast and hard, no longer quiet or hidden, and you sobbed into him with all the weight you’d been carrying. 

He didn’t flinch. He held you firmly, gently, like he’d been waiting for this, and he didn’t let go.

It felt warm. Too warm. Comforting in a way that made your chest ache. It was suffocating and soft, all at once. And you didn’t want it. 

You didn’t want to fall back into this—into him. 

You had told yourself last time would be the last, that you’d never let yourself crawl back into his arms, or worse, his bed. You swore you’d never kiss a married man again, never let his hands on you, even if the world would call this nothing more than a friendly embrace. But you knew better. You both did. This wasn’t casual. This was vulnerable. This was stripped bare, and you hated that it still felt like home.

And yet, you didn’t move.

You didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. You let his hands stay on you, let the silence stretch between you like thread pulling tighter and tighter. Your body betrayed everything your mind was screaming. Because despite everything, despite the guilt, the shame, the promises, you felt safe here. Held. Known.

You closed your eyes and let yourself breathe in, just once, just long enough to remember how it used to feel when things were simpler. When the lines were blurrier, and consequences felt far away.

But they weren’t far now. They were pressing in on you from every angle. His wife. Your career. The hollow ache in your chest that never really went away.

You opened your eyes and pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at him. His expression didn’t change—steady, unreadable, like always. But you saw the flicker behind his eyes. The guilt. The want. The knowing.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “We can’t.”

But even as you said it, your fingers were still tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, like you didn’t believe yourself.

“We aren’t doing anything,” he said.

His voice was calm, too calm, like he wanted to turn the moment into something innocent. Like if he said it softly enough, it would make it true. But it wasn’t. You know better. You weren’t imagining things—you could feel it in the way his hands lingered just a second too long, in the way his eyes dropped to your lips before finding your gaze again. You could feel it in the ache between you, the silence that hummed louder than any excuse ever could.

“Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel crazy.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what the right answer was—what version of the truth would hurt the least.

But there was no version of this that didn’t hurt.

“We can’t,” you said, your voice shaking.

Still, he didn’t move. Still, you didn’t let go.

It was maddening—this closeness, this tension wrapped in denial. He wanted to pretend. You couldn’t. You were already bleeding from the truth.

“We can’t? Or you can’t?” he asked, like all of it—this mess, this weight—rested on your shoulders. Like the choice was only yours to make. But it wasn’t. He had started it, and now here he was, acting like this was normal. Like it didn’t mean anything.

Before, it had been simple. You hated each other. You pushed each other’s buttons, pulled loose threads until something snapped. Everything between you was a challenge of words, of pride. You walked all over each other, tore into each other’s work.

But he changed it.

One kiss. One stupid, drunken kiss behind closed doors. One moment where the fire between you flipped into something dangerous. That night ended with him in your bed, your bodies tangled together like you were trying to erase everything you’d ever said to each other. Since then, it hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t slowed. And now the rules were gone. Burned to ash.

And still, he looked at you like this was nothing. Like the lines he crossed didn’t matter unless you said they did.

“Don’t put this on me,” you said sharply, your voice cracking as you finally stepped back, out of his arms, out of the heat of him. Your body ached at the distance, but your pride demanded it. 

“You don’t get to make this my fault.”

He followed, closing the gap just enough to steal your breath again. 

“Why?” he asked, his tone low, edged in something sharp and bitter. 

“Because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong too?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. 

“This isn’t about being right or wrong, Frank. This isn’t a damn competition.”

He leaned in closer, eyes locked on yours, taking your space like he always did—slow, deliberate, like he knew how hard it was for you to hold your ground when he got this close. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

That hit something raw inside you. Your jaw clenched, your fingers curling at your sides. 

“I don’t want this,” you snapped, though the words felt like lies the moment they left your mouth. 

“I want peace. I want to walk into work without wondering if I’ll crumble the second you look at me like that.”

“And yet,” he said, voice softer now, “you always come back.”

You looked at him, blinking hard. 

“So do you.”

“But I don’t deny it,” he said, voice low as he took another step forward, closing the space, boxing you in until your back hit the wall.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Call me sick,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “but I don’t regret an inch of it.”

The words landed like a blow. You flinched—not visibly, not enough for him to see—but inside, something cracked. Because part of you wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe the ache meant something. That this wasn’t just recklessness but need. That you weren’t the only one waking up every morning with the guilt still clinging to your skin.

But hearing him say it aloud—so bold, so unapologetic—made it real. And it made it worse.

Guilt surged up in you, thick and heavy. It filled every hollow place, pressing against your ribs until you felt like you might choke on it. You didn’t know what you hated more: the fact that he didn’t regret it… or the fact that a piece of you didn’t either.

He was close now—too close—and every inch of your body screamed to move, to escape, to walk away. But the part of you that had been holding on, the part that had wanted this even when you swore you wouldn’t… didn’t want to. And it terrified you.

His breath fanned across your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, and you felt the tension in his body, the storm building just under the surface.

For a second, everything froze. His gaze flickered to your lips; the air thick with the weight of it. You wanted to pull back, wanted to say something, anything, to stop him from reading the way your chest was rising and falling too quickly, stop him from seeing how desperate your heart was to tear down the walls between you.

But then his hand was at your cheek, fingers gently brushing against your skin, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. It was a touch that felt too familiar, too intimate. And before you could think, before you could stop yourself, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But that didn’t last. It deepened, the urgency behind it undeniable. His mouth moved against yours, warm, insistent, as if he were starving for this—starving for you. 

And you? You didn’t pull away. You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you kissed him back, the guilt slipping away in the heat of it, the noise in your head drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both left breathless, your hands trembling at your sides. His forehead rested against yours, both of you silently grappling with what you let happen again, what you had just allowed.

And that was the moment you realized there was no going back anymore.

©pomelace 2025

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hi :) I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you usually write, but could you make an angst where Lando has a secret girlfriend!reader and doesn’t plan on going public with her for now, but he’s always seen with another girl (I’m inspired by Magui, but you can change the name if you want) and everyone online thinks they’re dating. Reader starts feeling uncomfortable with it, but he keeps saying there’s nothing between them and that the reader is the only one in his life even though he keeps going out with the other girl while hiding the reader?

almost (never) yours

Lando Norris x secret girlfriend!reader

summary: lando has a secret girlfriend but won’t go public with her. meanwhile, he’s constantly seen with a model, amelie, and the internet thinks they’re dating.

warnings: pure angst. dickhead lando. implied cheating. implied breakup. emotional neglect. no comfort. no fluff.

A/N: thank u for the request, anon :)!!! as much as i feel i suck at writing angst, i love it 🤗🤗 i need a good cry, i’ll open this app and find the saddest, most angstiest fucking fic ever. anyways, i hope this is what u wanted, i tried. i got a little into (i didn’t even plan on making it pure angst) but i just kept writing and writing. also yes, i did feel a lil weird using Magui’s name cause idk it feels like im using that situation for my own personal gain (idk if that makes sense, i just wanna respect lando 😭) but i have no problem using papp pics of them from pinterest OOP also guys pls send in requests u have for ANY driver. cause i’m so in writers block when it comes to new ideas. need something to stimulate my brain. sorry for the ridiculously long note IM DONE NOW, ENJOY!! love u ❤️❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

lando always said he wasn’t ready.

“just for now,” he whispered into your hair at 3 a.m., his voice thick with sleep, arms wrapped around you under hotel sheets that still smelled like his cologne. “i like having something that’s only mine.”

you didn’t question it back then. it felt intimate. sacred. like a shared secret too delicate for the world to touch. like the love between you existed in its own little universe where no one could ruin it.

but lately, it didn’t feel romantic anymore. it felt like erasure.

because while you were a secret, she was everywhere.

amelie.

you knew her name before he ever said it. the internet made sure of that. tagged in every photo. every story. always beside him. model-perfect with eyes that sparkled and smiles that made people fall in love instantly. the kind of girl people expected to see with someone like him.

and everyone online loved them together.

“look at them. literal endgame.”

“can she just soft-launch him already?”

“i didn’t know i needed lando and amelie until now.”

you read the comments. not just once, but over and over, even though every time felt like a dagger.

you tried to brush it off. at first.

“she’s just part of the group,” lando said the first time you brought her up, his hand resting lazily on your thigh as he scrolled through tiktoks beside you. “she’s around a lot, yeah, but it’s nothing like that.”

you wanted to believe him.

but he didn’t post you. never even hinted you existed. and meanwhile, she was in frame in every group picture. she was on his story at dinners. at parties. in the background laughing during his livestreams. and his friends — max, oscar, carlos — they all seemed to know her. joke with her. tag her.

you felt like a shadow. a hidden chapter in his life no one else was allowed to read.

“i just don’t want people in our business,” he said one night as you lay beside him, both of you staring at the ceiling in silence. “they’ll twist it. they’ll ruin us.”

but it was already being ruined. and not by strangers online.

by him.

because it was always her.

every day, another comment. another rumor. another clip from a fan account showing her brushing his arm, whispering something that made him laugh like she was the only one in the room. and he never corrected it. never once said, “no, i’m with someone.”

you started to wonder if he was embarrassed of you. or if you were just something to come back to when he was done being adored by the rest of the world.

then came the photo.

someone had snapped it at a bar — blurry and dimly lit but clear enough. lando with his arm around amelie’s waist. her head tilted toward his. close. too close. her smile soft. his eyes focused only on her.

and the caption?

“if this isn’t confirmation, idk what is.”

your heart stopped. your phone slipped from your hands and hit the bed with a soft thud. you just stared at the screen, waiting for him to post something. say something. tell people it wasn’t what it looked like.

but nothing came.

just silence.

for two days.

you didn’t text him. didn’t answer when he called. you couldn’t. you didn’t even know what you’d say.

when he finally messaged you — “are you okay?” — it felt so small. so weak. like he was trying to put a band-aid on a bullet wound.

he called after. three times. you picked up on the fourth.

“hey,” he said, and his voice was gentle, like he already knew he’d fucked up.

you didn’t say anything. you just listened to the static on the line, and your own heartbeat in your ears.

“you saw the picture,” he said.

you could hear him shifting. maybe pacing.

“i wasn’t kissing her. i was just—fuck—it was loud. i had to lean in.”

you stayed quiet.

“it didn’t mean anything.”

you finally spoke, voice flat. “your arm was around her.”

he sighed. “i know how it looks. but it wasn’t like that.”

“wasn’t it?”

“come on, you know me.”

“do i?”

your voice cracked, and you hated how fragile it sounded.

because god, you did know him. or at least you thought you did. the version of him who held your hand under the covers, who kissed your forehead when you fell asleep on long flights, who sent you stupid memes at 2 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep. you loved that version of him.

but the version the world saw? the one who laughed and smiled and stood beside a girl who wasn’t you?

you didn’t know him at all.

“i love you,” he said. quiet. urgent. “you’re the only one i care about.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“then why does it feel like i’m the one you’re hiding?”

he didn’t answer.

“everyone thinks you’re with her,” you whispered. “and you let them.”

“because it’s easier!” he snapped suddenly. and then, softer: “i just want to protect this. protect us. once people know, they’ll make it ugly. they’ll pick it apart.”

you laughed, hollow. “they already have. and you stood there and let them.”

he was breathing heavily now, like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

“you don’t protect someone by pretending they don’t exist,” you said. “you don’t love someone in the dark.”

there was a beat. then another.

“i’m sorry,” he said finally.

but it was too late.

sorry didn’t change the fact that you were a secret.

sorry didn’t take her out of the photo. or erase the comments. or make your heart stop breaking every time someone called them “perfect.”

sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.

so you hung up.

and this time, he didn’t call back.

not that night. not the next day. not even when fans started speculating that he and amelie were actually together now.

you waited. you told yourself he just needed time. that he’d show up at your door like he always did, with soft eyes and quiet apologies.

but days turned into weeks. and the silence stretched so long it stopped hurting and started feeling normal.

you never got closure. no goodbye. no explanation.

just a soft fade-out — like you were never part of the story at all.

and when he finally did go public… it wasn’t with you.

it was probably never going to be with you.

THE END :>

part two.

[sxcretricciardo]

impossible (l.n) - pt. 4

part three here

author’s note: hi guys, i’m really happy you’re enjoying the story <3 this chapter is a smaller one, but bare with me :) love u

-

(Y/N) had barely gotten any sleep after the argument with Lando. Even though he had called and asked to talk, there was nothing left to say—not right now, at least. She had a flight to catch, a tour to finish, and she refused to let all of this mess with her head before one of the biggest shows of her career.

So she did what she always did: she pushed it aside, got on the plane, and prepared for her final concert of the tour.

The energy in the venue was electric, the crowd louder than ever, and for a few hours, she let herself get lost in the music. But the moment she stepped off stage, sweaty and exhausted, reality crashed down on her again.

Lando was here.

She spotted him the second she walked backstage, standing beside Magui. Max was with them too, his arms crossed like he was just waiting for things to go south.

Lando took a step forward, his expression hesitant. “Hey.”

She forced a small smile, even though her stomach twisted. “Hey.”

“I just—I wanted to apologize,” Lando said, rubbing the back of his neck. “For everything. I overreacted, and I wasn’t fair to you. You were just… confused. And maybe a little drunk. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

(Y/N) stiffened slightly at his words, but she didn’t let it show. Of course, this was how he was going to play it. It wasn’t that she might have been right—just that she was confused, intoxicated, seeing things that weren’t there.

She could feel Max’s eyes on her, watching closely, but she ignored him. Instead, she nodded, forcing a lighter tone into her voice. “Yeah. Maybe I was.”

Lando seemed relieved, giving her a small smile. Magui, standing beside him, looked just as satisfied.

“Good,” Magui said sweetly. “I’m glad we’re all good now.”

(Y/N) didn’t trust herself to respond, so she just smiled. She wasn’t stupid—she knew what had just happened. Lando wanted to smooth things over, wanted to believe that she hadn’t actually seen anything, and because she still wanted to be his friend, she let him believe it.

But deep down, something still didn’t sit right.

She excused herself soon after, saying she needed to change and cool down from the show. But as she made her way down the hall toward her dressing room, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning around, she found Magui standing there, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You and I need to talk,” Magui said, her voice low.

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, already exhausted. “Magui, I really don’t—”

“I’m only going to say this once,” Magui cut her off, stepping closer. “Stay away from Lando.”

(Y/N) blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in demeanor. “Excuse me?”

Magui’s expression hardened. “You heard me. I don’t know what your little stunt was, but it stops now. Lando and I are happy. I don’t need you getting in his head, making him doubt things. He trusts me. And I’m not going to let you ruin that.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her heart hammering. “I wasn’t trying to ruin anything.”

Magui tilted her head, smiling slightly. “Then prove it. Stay out of our relationship. Stay away from him.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, another voice cut through the tense silence.

“That’s interesting,” Max said, stepping out from the shadow of the hallway. “Because it sounds to me like you’re afraid of something, Magui.”

Magui’s face paled slightly as she turned toward him. “Max.”

Max gave her a pointed look, his arms crossed. “You really thought no one would hear you? That no one would notice?”

(Y/N) glanced at Max, confused but relieved that he was there. He had heard everything.

Magui straightened her shoulders, regaining some of her composure. “This isn’t any of your business, Max.”

Max let out a short, humorless laugh. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Because when you start threatening one of my friends? That makes it my business.”

Magui’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. After a moment, she huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. Just stay out of it.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving (Y/N) standing there, still processing everything.

Max sighed, shaking his head. “And Lando thinks you were the one confused.”

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath, looking up at him. “What do I do?”

Max gave her a reassuring look. “We’ll figure it out. But one thing’s for sure—you were never the problem here.”

He didn’t waste any time. As soon as Magui walked away, he turned to (Y/N), his jaw clenched. “I’m telling Lando.”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Max—”

“No,” he cut her off. “He needs to know.”

She wasn’t sure how this was going to go, but she nodded anyway. Maybe—just maybe—Lando would finally listen.

They found Lando still backstage, scrolling through his phone while he waited for Magui. When he saw them approaching, he frowned. “What’s up?”

Max didn’t bother sugarcoating it. “Magui just told (Y/N) to stay away from you.”

Lando’s expression immediately darkened. “What?”

(Y/N) shifted uncomfortably. “She pulled me aside after the show. Told me to stay out of your relationship and away from you.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, but instead of looking shocked or even concerned, anger flickered in his eyes. “Are you serious?”

Max folded his arms. “Yeah. I heard the whole thing.”

Lando let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “This is unbelievable.”

(Y/N) took a small step forward. “Lando, I’m not making this up. Max was right there—”

Lando’s gaze snapped to her, and she instantly knew she had lost him. His expression was cold, defensive. “I should’ve known. You just can’t let this go, can you?”

(Y/N) blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You want to ruin this for me,” Lando snapped. “You and Max, both of you. You can’t stand that I’m happy with Magui, so now you’re making up some bullshit to try and make me doubt her.”

Max groaned, running a hand down his face. “Lando, are you even listening to yourself?”

“I’m listening just fine,” Lando shot back. “And I’m done with this. First, (Y/N) starts throwing accusations around, and now you’re in on it too? This is insane.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard. “Lando, I didn’t want to fight with you. I didn’t want any of this to happen—”

“Then why are you doing this?” Lando demanded, his voice rising. “Magui hasn’t done anything to you. She hasn’t done anything to either of you!”

As if on cue, Magui appeared beside him, her eyes wide and glassy with tears. “Lando, what’s going on?”

(Y/N) stiffened. She wasn’t sure if Magui had heard anything or if this was just perfect timing, but the second Lando turned to her, his entire demeanor softened.

“They’re trying to turn me against you,” Lando told her, his voice heavy with frustration. “Max and (Y/N), they won’t drop it. They keep twisting everything, trying to make me think you’re some kind of villain.”

Magui’s bottom lip trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why would you do that?” she whispered, looking at (Y/N). “I thought we were okay.”

(Y/N) felt her stomach churn. This was exactly what Magui wanted—to play the victim, to make it look like they were the ones hurting her.

“I—” (Y/N) started, but Lando was already pulling Magui into his arms, glaring at them over her shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear another word about this,” he said coldly. “From either of you.”

Max exhaled sharply. “You’re making a mistake.”

Lando shook his head. “No. The mistake was trusting you two in the first place.”

(Y/N) felt something inside her crack. She had known this wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t expected him to turn on them so quickly, to believe Magui so blindly.

Max shot her a look that said leave it, and she nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

They walked away without another word, but as they left, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

(Y/N) felt numb as she walked away with Max. The echoes of Lando’s anger still rang in her ears, but it was Magui’s fake tears that unsettled her the most. She had played the part perfectly, twisting everything to make Lando believe she was the one being hurt.

Once they were far enough away, Max let out a sharp exhale, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

(Y/N) barely had the energy to respond. “I knew he wouldn’t believe me. But you… I thought maybe he’d listen to you.”

Max scoffed. “So did I. But Lando’s got his head so far up Magui’s ass that he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

She winced at his words, but he wasn’t wrong. Lando had made up his mind, and nothing they said would change it.

“Maybe it’s just not worth it anymore,” she muttered. “If he wants to believe her so badly, then let him.”

Max shook his head. “No. I’m not giving up on him that easily.”

(Y/N) shot him a tired look. “Max—”

“No, listen to me,” he interrupted. “Lando’s an idiot, but he’s not stupid. Magui’s got him wrapped around her finger right now, but sooner or later, she’s going to slip up. And when she does? He’s going to realize that we were right all along.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And what if he doesn’t?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “Then that’s on him.”

She sighed, leaning against the wall. “I just don’t get it. Why is he so blind when it comes to her?”

Max hesitated, then shrugged. “Because it’s easier to believe the lie than to admit you were wrong.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet, letting his words sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe Lando wanted to believe Magui because the alternative—admitting she wasn’t who he thought she was—was too painful.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Max’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He sighed, nudging her shoulder. “Look, I know it feels like we lost him tonight. But trust me, (Y/N). This isn’t over.”

She didn’t know if he was right. But for now, she nodded anyway.

Because deep down, a part of her wasn’t ready to let go of Lando just yet.

- months later -

It had been months since that day, the day Magui had warned you to stay away from Lando. Since then, things had been quiet. Too quiet. The once-easy camaraderie you shared with him had turned into a distant memory, the connection severed by his choice to believe his girlfriend over the people who cared about him. You hadn’t heard from Lando, and, truthfully, you’d stopped waiting for a message that would never come.

You had tried to move on, focusing on your own career, and it was working. Your music had started gaining traction, and you’d been invited to various events and shows. One day, out of nowhere, you received an invitation to the Aston Martin garage during a race weekend. It was a huge opportunity, and you couldn’t pass it up, even if it felt strange to be back in the paddock after everything that had happened.

As the race day unfolded, you tried to focus on the excitement of the event, the thrill of being at the paddock, after a long few months. But there was still that nagging ache in your chest when you thought of Lando. You tried not to think about him, but his absence felt like a hole in your heart.

But then, something happened during the race that you could never have predicted.

Lando’s car crashed.

The screech of tires, the sudden roar of sirens, and the chaos that followed was enough to make anyone’s heart drop. You didn’t even realize you were running toward the pit until you were there, your legs moving on their own. There were frantic calls on the radio, people shouting orders. The crash was serious. Lando’s car had spun out of control, and he was taken away in an ambulance with the paramedics.

You didn’t think. You just acted, rushing to the hospital where Lando had been taken.

-

The sterile smell of the hospital brought you back to reality as you stood in the hallway outside Lando’s room. Your heart raced, the last few hours feeling like a blur. You weren’t sure what you expected when you stepped into that room, but seeing him—his face bruised and battered, the cast on his arm, and the cuts along his forehead—made everything come rushing back. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the confident driver who had once brightened every room he walked into.

Lando’s eyes flickered open, and when they met yours, there was a brief flash of recognition. But instead of the usual warmth, there was something else—something quieter, more remorseful.

“Lando…” you whispered, your voice shaky despite your attempts to hold it together.

He swallowed, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He winced as he shifted slightly in the bed, clearly in pain. “Magui… She… she did cheat on me.” His words came out in a rush, his gaze dropping to the blanket as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I didn’t want to believe it. You tried to warn me… but I was too stupid to listen.”

Your heart ached at his words, the frustration and sadness that had been building over months finally breaking free. “Lando, I—”

“I know,” he cut you off, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you tried to tell me. You were right. I should have believed you. She—she was with that guy the whole time, and I didn’t see it. I was so blind. But… one night, there was a guy at a party, one of her exes, who pulled me aside and told me that she had cheated on him too, and… I went trough her phone saw and saw the text messages between them… they’ve been meeting up for months… that’s when everything fell into place.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you fought them back. “Lando, I never wanted this. I never wanted to be the one to tear you two apart. I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

He finally looked up, meeting your gaze with raw regret. “I hurt you. I pushed you away, and for what? I chose to believe someone who didn’t care about me. I hurt you in the process, and I—I’m sorry. I’ve been such an idiot.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, the guilt and the sorrow that weighed on him. It was hard to believe that just a few months ago, he hadn’t wanted to hear the truth. But now, there was no escaping it. Magui had betrayed him, and in a way, he had betrayed you too.

“I should have listened,” he whispered again, his voice full of regret.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady your emotions. It had been a long time coming, and as much as you wanted to be angry with him, the sight of him—so broken, so remorseful—made it hard to hold onto that anger.

“You’ve been hurt, Lando,” you said softly, your heart aching for him. “And I know I’m not the only one who’s been hurt. But I think you need time to heal. Both of us do.”

Lando nodded slowly, his hand reaching out, trembling. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away… but if you can, I want to try to make things right. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You stared at him for a long moment, considering his words. The hurt was still there, deep in your chest, but so was the understanding. It wasn’t just his fault. You had both made mistakes, but maybe, just maybe, there was a way to move forward.

“Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with the weight of everything that had happened.

Lando gave you a small, tentative smile, the kind that hadn’t been there in months. “One step at a time,” he agreed.

And maybe that was all you could ask for—one step at a time.

The days after Lando’s accident were a whirlwind of emotions. He was released from the hospital a few days later, his body bruised but recovering. But emotionally? He was a mess. It wasn’t just the crash that had shaken him to the core; it was the realization that the woman he had trusted, the one he thought he loved, had betrayed him. That, combined with the guilt of pushing you away, left him feeling raw.

You had agreed to take things slowly, and that’s exactly what you did. You stayed in touch with him, but not in a way that felt forced. It was a lot of texting, some phone calls, and slow-paced catch-ups. Lando seemed to be going through a personal transformation, one that required time and space to really grasp what had happened, and what needed to change. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness—at least, not yet—but it was clear that he was committed to earning your trust back, step by step.

-

A few weeks later, Lando invited you to dinner. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a quiet, intimate place where you could talk without the pressure of anyone around.

When you arrived, he was already there, seated at a table in the corner, looking a little nervous but hopeful. The air between you two had shifted, but it was still filled with uncertainty.

“Hey,” he greeted you softly, his smile small but sincere.

“Hey,” you replied, taking a seat across from him. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Better. Physically, at least. But, you know… mentally, it’s a process.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

The waiter brought the drinks, and for a while, the two of you just talked—about everything and nothing. You shared stories of what had been going on in your life, and he did the same. It felt different than before, though. It wasn’t just small talk; there was a genuine attempt to rebuild a connection that had been strained.

Eventually, the topic shifted.

“Lando, what happens now?” you asked gently, leaning in a little. “You and I… I think we’ve both been through a lot. And I don’t want to rush into anything, but we have to figure out if we’re even capable of rebuilding what we had.”

Lando took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with vulnerability. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I want to try. I want to prove to you that I’m not the same guy I was before. I was stupid for not believing you, and I can’t change that. But I want to be better—for you, for me, and for us. If you’ll let me.”

There it was—the raw honesty. The same honesty you had tried to offer him months ago, but he had been too blind to see.

“I’m not saying everything will be perfect,” Lando continued. “But I want us to start fresh. And I want to take things slow. No pressure. Just… us figuring it out, together.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. There was no doubt in your mind that he was genuinely trying to make amends.

“I think… I think that’s all we can do,” you said after a pause. “I don’t want to rush either. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

A weight seemed to lift off both of your shoulders as Lando’s smile widened. “One step at a time, right?”

You chuckled softly. “Exactly.”

-

part five here

-

taglist: @angelluv16 @yara011 @olivia-zaq @formulaal @chloes-book-corner @freyathehuntress @dodo1328 @henna006 @chlmtfilms @sailorinthesie @at-a-rax-ia @star73807-blog @hurtblossom @thatsnotaddy @couppy

[kathlare]

lingering shadows

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point as Lando confronts the end of a fleeting relationship, facing accusations that cut deeper than he’s ready to admit.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

September 8th, 2023 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

The setting sun cast a golden glow over Monaco, the vibrant hues of the sky contrasting sharply with the tension brewing in Lando’s penthouse. The air inside was heavy, oppressive even, as Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Across from him, Magui paced the floor, her sharp, frustrated movements betraying her growing anger.

—So, that's it then?— she snapped, spinning on her heel to glare at him. —You're just ending it, out of nowhere?—

—It’s not out of nowhere,— Lando replied, his voice strained but measured. —I told you from the start this wasn’t serious, Magui. I thought we were on the same page.—

Magui let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her dark hair. —Right, because you’re so good at being upfront. You think I didn’t notice how you started pulling away? How you’ve been avoiding me?— She stopped pacing and fixed him with a glare that could have cut glass. —What changed, Lando? Or should I say, who?—

Lando sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He hated confrontation, especially this kind. —No one changed anything. I just… I can’t give you what you want, Magui. And I’m not going to pretend I can.—

—What I want?— she scoffed, her voice rising. —What I want is for you to stop acting like you don’t care about anyone but yourself!—

That stung, but Lando refused to let it show. Instead, he kept his voice steady. —I care about you, but not in the way you deserve. That’s why this has to end.—

Magui took a step closer, her anger morphing into something sharper, more pointed. —You’re such a fucking coward, you know that? You’d rather keep running from your feelings than actually deal with them. And I know why, Lando. It’s because you’re obsessed with her.—

Lando’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t react, refusing to give her the satisfaction. —Don’t.—

—Oh, I’m going to fucking say it,— Magui shot back, her eyes blazing. —Amelie. That’s who this is about, isn’t it? You can’t stop stalking her on Instagram, looking at her pictures like some lovesick idiot. And for what? She’s never going to want you back. Hell, does she even know how pathetic you are?—

Lando’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the edge of the counter. He didn’t owe Magui an explanation, but her words were hitting too close to home.

—This has nothing to do with Amelie,— he lied, his voice cold.

Magui laughed again, this time softer, almost pitying. —You really believe that? Because I don’t. Every time we were together, you were somewhere else. And I know exactly where, no, who your mind was on. She’s in your fucking head, Lando. And until you get over her, you’re going to ruin every single thing you touch.—

Her words sliced through him like a knife, each one landing with brutal precision. Lando opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Because deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Magui took his silence as confirmation, shaking her head in disbelief. —You’re pathetic. You don’t even realize how much you sabotage yourself. You’re so hung up on someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit about you anymore. And you know what? She probably never did.—

That was the final blow. Lando felt something snap inside him, but instead of lashing out, he simply straightened up, his face unreadable.

—You should go,— he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion.

Magui hesitated for a moment, as if expecting him to fight back, to say something, anything. But when he didn’t, she scoffed and grabbed her bag from the couch.

—You’re going to end up alone, Norris. And it’ll be no one’s fault but your own.—

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Lando alone in the deafening silence of his penthouse. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where she’d been, her words echoing in his mind.

He wanted to believe she was wrong, that he wasn’t still hung up on Amelie, that his feelings for her were a thing of the past. But as he sank down onto the couch, his head in his hands, he couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

He still thought about her. All the time.

The way she used to laugh at his terrible jokes, her voice lighting up their late-night gaming sessions during the pandemic. The way her eyes sparkled when she was passionate about something. The way she’d fit so perfectly into his arms, like she belonged there.

But she wasn’t his anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time. And maybe Magui was right—maybe she never really had been.

Lando let out a heavy sigh, his chest tightening with a familiar ache. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table, his thumb hovering over Instagram. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do this again, but the temptation was too strong.

Before he could stop himself, he was on her profile, scrolling through her recent posts. There she was, radiant as ever, smiling brightly at the camera. She looked happy. And that, more than anything, was what tore him apart.

He tossed his phone onto the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes. Magui’s words lingered, taunting him. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was pathetic. But the truth was, he didn’t know how to let go of Amelie.

And he wasn’t sure he ever would.

[f0point5]

streets are saying magui was in hospitality

AND THAT ONE GOSSIP PAGE, bbb4famous ON TIKTOK JUST POSTED A PHOTO OF HER THERE

Why was she hiding ??!! Girl get out of the shadows please 🤦‍♀️

The photo was from Shiga sports Japan, if it’s the one I’m thinking of and you can clearly see it’s taken as she’s walking so she didn’t stop for them to photos. The photo on her story might be from McLaren hospitality based on the chairs but there’s no tag. All that together says she probably didn’t want it to be superrr obvious she was there with Lando.

At the end of the day, once the speculation stops no one will be interested anymore. They probably want to go as long as possible without confirming anything, especially if they’re not actually in a relationship, which I’m doubtful that they are.

I stay far away from that particular tiktok, I don’t like the way they go about posting things.

[theculturedmarxist]

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

This post was motivated by “The Obama Factor“, a long and rambling Q&A between Pulitzer-winning historian and Obama biographer David Garrow, and David Samuels, the Tablet’s Literary Editor. Garrow and Samuels answer the question posed in the headline in the affirmative; basically, “quite possibly, yes.” Spoiler: By Betteridge’s Law, my answer is “No,” but with significant qualifications. 

Most of the reactions to “The Obama Factor” — which focuses primarily on the irresistible rise of a fabulist creep who had written not one but two autobiographies by the age of 47, both in election years — have focused on Obama’s sensational fantasy life. In fact, I can only find serious reaction pieces from FOX and the New York Post; nothing from the other side of the aisle at all, and since the piece has been out for two weeks, I assume there won’t be (and if it were easy, the takedowns and the dogpiling would already have happened). Nobody seems to have focused on the most provocative part of “The Obama Factor”: Why Obama remained in Washington, DC, bought a mansion, and what he’s been doing with his time there[1]. In this post, I will take a first cut at explaining that.

I will first look at Obama’s neighborhood: Kalorama. Then I will look at his mansion, and what he is known to have done there. I will then present a great slab of Garrow and Samuels, who present the thesis that Obama is running a shadow government long form. I will conclude by briefly critiquing that thesis. 

The Neighborhood: Kalorama

Here is a map[2] of Kalorama:

From Washington Socialist:

As locals will remind you, Kalorama comprises two separate neighborhoods: Kalorama Heights (also known as Sheridan-Kalorama) and, to its northeast, Kalorama Triangle.

 The Obamas live to the Northeast, in the Kalorama Triangle. Kalorama has always been full of rich people:

Kalorama emerged relatively late as central DC neighborhoods went and was not extensively developed until the very end of the 19th century. It quickly attracted the wealthy and well-connected who built or purchased lavish mansions or fashionable rowhouses.

But now Kalorama is full of nouveaux riche[3] as well. From Trulia, “The Real Estate Voyeur’s Guide to Kalorama Heights, Washington D.C.’s Most Bipartisan Neighborhood“:

Shortly after the 2016 presidential election, Kalorama, Washington D.C.—a small and tranquil neighborhood located northwest of Dupont Circle—suddenly transformed into the epicenter of wealthy and political elites in D.C. First former President Barack Obama and wife Michelle announced they were moving into an 8,200 square-foot home in the area (which they’ve confirmed they are buying). Next, Amazon founder and Washington Post owner Jeff Bezos purchased a $23 million Kalorama house—the largest private home in the entire city. Earlier this year, Secretary of State Rex Tillerson purchased a $5.5 million property. And most recently—and prominently—current First Family members Ivanka Trump and husband Jared Kushner began renting a 6,870 square-foot property in the neighborhood.

(Bezos is the dude with twenty-five bathrooms; Jared and Ivanka are already fighting with the neighbors.)

Kalorama is also full of embassies. From the Washington Diplomat:

[There are] 28 embassies in Washington’s well-heeled Kalorama neighborhood…. Embassies there include Algeria, Belize, Estonia, Greece, Japan, Latvia, Slovenia, Turkey, Madagascar, Mali and Syria. A variety of ambassador residences also call the tony neighborhood home — among them Afghanistan, the Netherlands and Portugal. Mostly, it’s simply a friendly neighborhood, European Union Ambassador David O’Sullivan said. The European Union has had a residence in Kalorama since 1972, and he looks forward to socializing with the new residents…. Maguy Maccario Doyle, Monaco’s ambassador to the U.S., has not run into her high-profile new neighbors yet, but “”I’m thinking of inviting them all over for a glass or two of champagne,”” she said. “”Perhaps they will drop by to watch the Monaco Grand Prix with me in the springtime? I would love to host them. I’m sure we will discover we all have much more in common than just a zip code…” In addition, says Maccario, “”the security is unbeatable, and it’s reasonably close to the best amenities and businesses that D.C. has to offer.””

So, speaking of ambasssadors and “unbeatable security,” what about the spooks? Bien sur! Town and Country once more:

Kalorama has its quirky side. Marie Drissel and I sampled it on a stroll down Leroy Place, a short street that dead ends into Connecticut Avenue north of Dupont Circle. She lives one street over on Bancroft, where Ralph Nader’s family have been longtime residents. “”This was a CIA safe house for years,”” she says of a large house on her corner. She points out an imposing, red brick house across the street.

Of course, the Spence debacle was in 1989; nothing like it could happen today. And I’m sure there aren’t any safe houses in Kalorama now.

And speaking of spooks and “amenities,” see WaPo’s “The Shadow World of Craig Spence“. A taste:

One Washington Times headline on June 30 said everything: “Power broker served drugs, sex at parties bugged for blackmail” The problem is that the prominent people named in the Washington Times — Ted Koppel, Eric Sevareid, Phyllis Schlafly, William Casey, Arnaud de Borchgrave and many others — attended the other parties. The parties where: People sat around in a perimeter after dinner discussing trade policy, where American policy makers were ushered into circles of foreign visitors to make serious talk; parties to which Koppel would sometimes send a stand-in; parties so dull that even Dossier magazine wouldn’t run the photographs. Spence, meanwhile, is nowhere to be found. His lap dog Winston — from whom he is rarely separated — is at a town house in Upper Marlboro with a longtime Spence employee. The imposing stone house on Wyoming Avenue in Kalorama, where Spence once lived and entertained, is attracting gawking news hounds.

The Kalorama Mansion: $8.1 Million

Obama actually has four homes: In Oahu, Hyde Park, Martha’s Vineyard, and the focus of our present interest, Kalorama. From Ghosts of DC, here is the exterior of the 8,200 -square-foot mansion:

And here, from Town and Country, is part of the interior:

These images are from the listing agent; they remind me of the Georgetown safehouse in Spook Country where Milgrim hears the voices of Brown and his handler coming up the stairs, Whispering Gallery style. The decor is certainly very white; Michelle seems to have redecorated it in neutral tones with accent colors.

What Obama Has Done in Kalorama Mansion

Two things that I can track down[4] (given Google and the limited time available to me; I have to attack HICPAC again soon).

First, Obama orchestrated Biden’s selection as the Democratic candidate from his mansion. From WaPo, April 14, 2020:

Former President Barack Obama endorsed Joe Biden for president Tuesday, saying in a video, with the COVID-19 pandemic crisis, Biden “”has the character and the experience to guide us through one of our darkest times and heal us through a long recovery.”” Obama said of his vice president and friend, “”Joe gets stuff done.”” Biden has used his eight years serving as Obama’s vice president as a central credential in his White House bid. ….Obama, in his endorsement, reached out to Bernie Sanders supporters with lavish praise for the independent Vermont senator while scorching Republicans. Visibly graying, Obama taped the video at his home in Washington’s Kalorama neighborhood.

The Night of the Long Knives was March 2. April 14 was the coup de grace. Obama clearly didn’t make this video on his iPhone; his office is set up for serious business.

Second, if Roger Stone (2020) is to be believed, Obama orchestrated Stone’s conviction:

For the sake of journalistic clarity and transparency, the woman appointed as the Jury Forewoman for my trial—Ms. Tomeka Hart—is an established Democratic Party activist and a protégé of the Donna Brazile…. I have in my possession a sworn affidavit from a secret service agent that claims that he witnessed Atty. Hart entering and leaving the residence of former President Barak and Michelle Obama and Valerie Jarrett on Kalorama Avenue in Washington, D.C.—during my trial.

Well, maybe. I can’t imagine this was ever proved in court. What Stone’s story does show is that Obama’s Kalorama mansion has been a focus on the right for some time.[4]

Obama’s Shadow Government

With that very long setup, we undertstand Obama’s Kalorama milieu and his, well, operational capability within his mansion. We can now turn to the great slab of material I promised from Garrow and Samuels session (bold is Samuels, of The Tablet, roman is Garrow). I have added notes and highlighted comments. A Literary Editor, Samuels, makes the running, but these are strange times:

[SAMUELS] What interests you most about Obama today? [GARROW] The number one thing about Barack this past five years is how completely he’s vanished. Why is he living in the center of Washington, D.C., then? Well, how much time is he spending there as opposed to Martha’s Vineyard? I have no idea. Between July Fourth and Labor Day, sure. The rest of the year, he lives in a large brick mansion in Kalorama. Doesn’t it strike you as weird that he’s an ex-president, he’s comparatively young, and he’s living in the center of Washington, D.C.? The original excuse was that Sasha had to finish school. Then you could say, “”Well, the opposition to Trump needs a figure to rally around.”” But now Sasha has graduated from USC, Trump is gone, Joe Biden was elected present, but he’s still there. I never see any mentions of him. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, I have heard from more than one source that there are regular meetings at Obama’s house in Kalorama involving top figures in the current White House, with Secret Service and cars outside.[1] I don’t write about it because it’s not my lane. There are over a thousand reporters in Washington, and yet there are zero stakeouts of Obama’s mansion, if only to tell us who is coming and going. But he clearly has his oar in….. It’s turtles all the way down. There are obviously large parts of White House policymaking that belong to Barack Obama because they’re staffed by his people[2], who worked for him and no doubt report back to him. Personnel is policy, as they say in Washington. Which to me is a very odd and kind of spooky arrangement. Spooky, because it is happening outside the constitutional framework of the U.S. government[3], and yet somehow it’s been placed off the list of permitted subjects to report on. Which is a pretty good indicator of the extent to which the information we get, and public reactions to that information, is being successfully controlled. How and by whom remain open questions, the quick answer to which is that the American press has become a subset of partisan comms. I’m going back to something you said 20 minutes ago. From the get-go, I know enough intelligence community stuff that from the first time I saw it, I realized that Christopher Steele’s shit was just complete crap. It was bad corporate intelligence, even. It was nonsensical. What scared me back then was coming to understand that a new milieu had been created consisting of party operatives, the people in the FBI and the CIA who are carrying out White House policy, and the press[4]. It is all one world now. And that’s something people still seem loathe to admit, even to themselves, in part because it puts them in a state of dissonance with this new kind of controlled consensus that the press maintains, which is obviously garbage. But if you question it, you’re some kind of nut.

Readers will understand why I find this thesis attractive. It conforms to my priors!

[1] We have a falsifiable theory. Do a stakeout. [2] A Flex Net, a familiar data structure. [3] Yes, a change in the constitutional order that I’ve been yammering about for some time, and also the central, unspoken theme of election 2024. [4] The Twitter Files show this “milieu” clearly, though I’m not sure the command structure is as Samuels understands it. Also, tech is involved through the content moderaion process, and maybe in other ways. (“Milieu” is a weak word’, I think, but we’re looking at a hard, unprecedented problem.

Samuels summarizes in his introduction:

To an extent that has never been meaningfully reported on, the Obamas served as both the symbolic and practical heads of the Democratic Party shadow government that ‘resisted’ Trump—another phenomenon that defied prior norms. The fact that these were not normal times could be adduced by even a passing glance at the front pages of the country’s daily newspapers, which were filled with claims that the 2016 election had been “”stolen”” by Russia and that Trump was a Russian agent.

Now to conclude with a critique.

Conclusion

Take “The Obama Factor” as read, as Samuels explains it. Is it correct to conceptualize the operation Obama is running from his Kalorama mansion as a government? (Remember that the scope of a shadow government is “whole of government,” not just parts.) Having read the article, and turning the question over in my mind, I posed the following question to the readership:

Query for the readership: Would Obama have invaded Ukraine, if he had been elected for a third term?

Because if Obama’s running the government, then he’s also running our proxy war in Ukraine? I should not have written “invaded”; I am always pressed temporally. Alert reader Nippersdad understood this, and answered what I meant to ask:

IIRC, Burns’ Nyet means Nyet cable was written during the Obama Administration when he was the Ambassador to Russia, a time in which Obama was saying that Russia had the advantage of proximity to any potential conflict with nearly unlimited ability to escalate (escalatory dominance, I think he called it). He was still saying that he was trying to implement the Minsk Accords as late as Feb. 2016. “”We are pressing hard to see Minsk fully implemented by the time the president leaves office,”” said a senior administration official, referring to the pact brokered by France and Germany and signed by Ukraine and Russia. “”We’re aiming for implementation during the second half of 2016.”” So, no, in spite of the obvious pressure on him it did not look like he would have gone to war with Ukraine in a third term. That was Hillary’s bailiwick.

Alert reader Carolinian wrote:

And while I don’t like Obama I don’t think he would have invaded Ukraine or provoked a war the way Blinken/Biden did. After all Hillary tried to get him to attack Syria and he didn’t.

Alert reader IACyclone wrote:

Re: Would Obama have invaded Ukraine given a third term. One of the few good things you can say about Obama is that he possesses a far more realistic understanding of foreign policy than most every other American politician. He’s still on board with the American imperial project and he constantly got rolled by opposing factions within the Deep State, but he at least he wasn’t totally high on his own supply. Case in point, he explicitly told Jeffrey Goldberg in an interview that Ukraine is a critical interest to Russia, and that it isn’t one for the U.S. Thus Obama’s reticence to provide weapons to Ukraine, which Republicans excoriated him over, in order to avoid a cycle of escalation that the U.S. would have no desire or will to match. For all the liberals chanting Slava Ukraine, it would be fun to see the looks on their faces when you remind them that the U.S. started sending actual weapons to Ukraine under the Trump Administration, unlike the Obama Administrations commitment to sending only non-lethal aid.

Alert reader Michael Fiorillo wrote:

I am far from an Obama fan, to put it mildly, but I think he’d have been reluctant to go into Ukraine. His refusal to send missiles there and his negotiating with Iran suggests some sense of limits to US power on his part.

And alert reader Pat:

I despise Obama, but I have always given him credit for recognizing what a disaster Hilary’s Libyan invasion was and realizing that the advice from that faction was almost consistently wrong.

(I understand Rev Kev’s point on Obama closing embassies, but I see that as posturing.)

So, I am with these readers. If Obama would not have fought the Ukraine proxy war that Biden is fighting, then Obama is not “governing.” QED. This was my first thought as soon as I cooled down — it’s nice to have one’s priors supported — after reading “The Obama Factor,” which is why I reached out for confirmation. (In essence, Obama never goes near anything that will make him look out of control, or like a failure, or dirty in some way. He moves away from situations like that like a cat backing away from a dish of spilt milk. A war in Ukraine, even a proxy one, would be more than capable of doing all three. So he wouldn’t go near it.) * * *

So what is Obama doing? What is “The Obama Factor”? Perhaps we should reframe government to that horrid neologism governance. It’s clear that Obama is maintaining his FlexNet and using it to….. do….. What, exactly? Control the Party so many of whose members have an Obama-shaped hole in their heads? Control the regulatory state through the Democrat Party? Consolidate the class power of the PMC? Whatever he’s doing, we can be sure it will be ice-cold, manipulative, and leave Obama with “clean hands.” Many have quoted Obama’s 2015 interview with quondam comic Stephen Colbert:

The transcript, in relevant part:

[OBAMA:] “”I used to say if I can make an arrangement where I had a stand-in or front-man or front-woman and they had an earpiece in and I was just in my basement in my sweats looking through the stuff and I could sort of deliver the lines while someone was doing all the talking and ceremony, I’d be fine with that because I found the work fascinating,”” Obama quipped.

As it turns out, Biden is not that front-man; otherwise, Obama would be governing, which is not. But if the entire Democrat Party were Obama’s stand-in… Well, that would be pretty neat, wouldn’t it?

Some “quip.” When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time….

NOTES

[1] Interestingly, “conservative” venues like PJ Media say nothing about this topic at all.

[2] Thank you, Google, for cluttering the map with hotel icons that I have no interest in.

[3] I love it that Jim Bell, “a Kalorama resident and executive vice president of TTR Sotheby’s International Realty,” is also known as “the King of Kalorama.” Also: “Besides political heavy-hitters and diplomats, about a third of Kalorama’s residents are technology executives and hedge fund workers, Bell said. But no one is blinking an eye over the fame of the newest neighbors.” Quite a mix!

[4] Another example is the apparent myth that Obama gave Valerie Jarrett an office in his mansion.

[mikoyamisheadcanonblog]

Gift (Kid x OC)

****Gift****

Title:

🌷Kid🌷

Couple: Kid x Pearl

Word Count: 856

For: @magui-kawaii

Pearl found herself lost again, as she shifted throw the crowded of people looking for her ship mates. They had docked on a new island on the Grandline to refill on supplies, food and medical as few of the crew members rough housed a bit and hurt themselves a bit using all their medical supplies in one good.

The small girl shifted through the people trying to find where her captain went, it shouldn’t be so hard seeing Kid. His tall muscular figure would stand out along with his red wiry hair. She glanced around jumping a little bit to see past the sea of heads as people continued shopping down the street. The people seemed unaware that a new pirate crew had just docked as they continued their day talking to one another or continue their shopping. A few glares were sent her way as she was blocking traffic searching for her captain. She shifted to the side near one of the stales her eyes still looking for Eustass Kid.

She could feel eyes on her, the Nero’s in her body were starting to act up a little shifting around also trying to find where the eyes were coming from. She had to find her crew fast, there were marines here hiding in the shadows. Every Nero in her body was warning her telling her to be careful enemies were lying about.

“Do you need help young miss?” the kind old lady at the fish stall spoke. She had been eyeing the girl sometime since she had moved to the side, her mannerism were odd even for a foreigner. She had been pacing back and forth mumbling to herself, glancing every which way searching for someone or hiding.

“Yes,” Pearl said, the nero in her bodies telling her to trust the lady. If  anything were to happen just hold her hostage, “I am looking for my crew,” she stood on her tip toes and described each crew member of crew stopping at Kid as she attempted to mimic is impossibly inhuman tall height.

“I did see a tall red hair man pass through he was looking for a young girl,” the woman said, she chuckled a bit, “I am guessing that is you?” Pearl’s face flushed a bit of pink. Kid was looking for her? She could feel her heart hammering hard in her chest at the thought of him searching for her? This rush of emotions bursting through her, “would you like some tea?” the old woman continued speaking. She slackly stood up and Pearl followed her still lost in thought about Kid searching for her.

--

Kid was cursing under his breath, he lost her. He had turned her back for a second only for her not be behind him. He had to find her quickly before any trouble would start. The marines were around and were aware of their presences, their eyes following them but not one of them attacking just yet. If they didn’t move quick they would be in a lot of trouble.

He hurried around the market place, Killer’s warning rining in his ear, “Don’t cause trouble, cause trouble now you will lose her,”  it was something stupid to mention, he knew not to cause trouble right away but his temper was getting the better of him, he wanted to turn this town upside down if he didn’t find Pearl in five minutes. He had to keep himself calm as he shuffled though the people, they parted for him, their whispers already knowing he was dangerous.  Their sharp glares on him judging his next move running away the moment he asked for help.

“I am searching for a girl,” he growled to an old man who was passing by. This man was dangerous judging by his own Haki. His red eyes glaring down at the person before him.

The old man just smiled gently at Kid, “My wife just found a cute girl and they are having tea together,” he took one last glance at Kid, “Nice arm you got there, fight me I and will tell you where the girl had gone,”

Kid felt a vain twitch, but he was eager for a fight, “If you say old man,” metal began flying towards his arm as he held it out ready to fight.

--

“You are so stupid,” Pearl told him, the battle with the old man just ended. It was long intense battle as the old man managed to stand on his own for a while before his wife appeared with Pearl and began lecturing him on fighting with pirates. It was a strange to say the least as they helped them get away, teasing Kid and Pearl about their relationship.

Which had them both stuttering and blushing, “I thought I lost you,” Kid grumbled as Pearl put another bandage on his face, “I will  turn a city around just to find you,”

This comment made her blush, her heart rate increased as she stared at him. What was she to say? She was happy? Blessed to find such a crew. Blessed to find such a man.

[thelantern]

Summary of Bagua & Xingyi Seminars

Andrea Falk Seminars Jan 28 & 29, 2017

Bagua Workshops Building on her research on the commonalities and differences across Bagua traditions Andrea Falk taught a number of different drills. Each one highlighting a different aspect of core Bagua principles. Jiang Bagua fundamentals/warm-up drill was taught. The sequence teaches internal connection, coiling and extension, baibu (open) and koubu (close) stepping and bag circle walking. Each aspect focuses on training the ligaments and tendons. The sequence uses eight hand positions, four extending to the fingertips and four extending into the palms. A video of the sequence is posted on the club site for students.

Fan style stepping was then taught. For some background on Fan style Bagua, China from Inside has an overview on Fan style. Fan style circle-waling uses an extension from the heel with each step. This trains loosening into the hip while avoiding tension in the lumbar area.

Magui style circle-waling was also taught, which in contrast, focusses on dantien settling while aligning and strengthening the tendons of the knees and ankles. The First Dragon Change of Magui style Bagua was then taught/reviewed.

The 4th Chapter of the Bagua 36 Verses was also discussed. The Bagua 36 and 48 Verses/Chants/Poems are the main cross-lineage instruction on how to practice Bagua. They have been passed down (orally and written) from generation to generation across the various styles of Bagua, linking them back to Dong Hai-Chuan and his original disciples. The 4th Chapter of the 36 Verses:

It is not remarkable to be able to do a technique on one side, It is better to be able to alternate between both sides. Changing from left to right and from right to left, You can withdraw and swtich your stance to fit any opportunity.

The previous three chapters give instruction on the foundational structure, posture and walking of Bagua. The fourth chapter is the first discussion on techniques, saying the most important thing is to be equally proficient with both sides. This allows you greater flexibility and opportunity. Andrea’s translation of the 36 and 48 verses, A Shadow on Fallen Blossoms, will be published later this year.

The afternoon instruction focused on Spearing Palm (Chuanzhang) techniques and partner work. Andrea Falk outlined how the Spearing palm is distinct from a fist in three important ways: more extension, faster ability to change to a grab or a palm strike, and the ability to adjust the direction of a strike. It is worth remembering that Bagua is a recent addition to traditional martial arts, and was developed by people with extensive martial arts experience. The choice of open hand techniques over fists was likely a well-reasoned choice, chosen for practical reasons.

Straight line advancing and retreating Chuanzhang was practiced. Focus was on maintaining proper body structure and using full body power. This was followed by two-person advancing and retreating Chuanzhang. The Daishou (dragging hand) technique as a follow-on technique was also taught. Again proper body structure, plus the strategy of leading an opponent into the Daishou was taught.

Then a two-person stepping and entering drill was practiced. It was mentioned that while circle walking is the focus of training and conditioning, Bagua techniques are practical in their approach. Footwork to step to the outside of an attacker was practiced, followed by an entering step. Several options of techniques that can be applied were discussed, while a simple entering step to knock the person over was practiced.

Bagua Da Dao Sunday morning Andrea Falk taught Cheng Bagua DaDao. A video of Sun Zhijun performing this routine can be found on the club website. Emphasis was on proper footwork, proper use of the left hand and attention to use of the right wrist for proper Sabre positioning. All Eight Changes were covered, with the following key pointers:

First Change - Forcefully hash a metal stone: Transfering the sabre from left to right hand is also a traditional salute. Also be sure to use the left arm to toss the blade. First Change - Row the sabre: Keep the right wrist in place while rowing the sabre. Coming out of the drop stance be sure to lift the sabre.

Second Change - Tuck in the hand to hook the broadsword: Begin this Change with hooking the spine of the sabre. Second Change - Cover the body: Coil and extend the left arm, connecting this to the turn and cover. Complete the cover before lifting the left foot. Second Change - Carry the broadsword: The right kick is along the circle line, while the sabre tip is pointing into the circle.

Third Change - Turn back and chop: Extend the wrist when chopping. Third Change - Chop with broadsword: Extend the wrist again when chopping. Third Change - White snake spits its tongue: When dodging under the sabre, the spine of the sabre is closest to the face. Third Change - Sparrowhawk enters the woods: When turning right, remain open across the chest and extend into the left arm, while dodging under the sabre.

Fourth Change - Slice up while walking: Extend the wrist with the upwards slice. The slice is directed slightly to the outside. Fourth Change - Roll over and push the broadsword: Keep the sabre low (i.e.: between the opponent’s legs) finishing with a cutting to the inside.

Fifth Change - Push the boat downstream: Keep the hilt of the sabre connected to the body, tip pointing forward. Fifth Change - Grinding brandish with the broadsword: Open across the chest to swing the sabre to the left. Stepping the left foot back. Fifth Change - Tearing a banner in the wind: Use the body to swing the spine of the sabre to the right. Fifth Change - Withered tree twines its roots: Extend the left arm and blade tip before the right cross step. For the cross step, the right leg steps leftwards, not around. Fifth Change - Huge python rolls over: Ensure the sabre travels in a vertical arc overhead. Fifth Change - Turn around and press down with the broadsword: Complete this change with a cover, facing the same direction as the start of the change.

Sixth Change - Press down with the broadsword while circle walking: Continue walking in the same direction as all other Changes. Sixth Change - Sweep across an army of thousands: Tuck the spine of the sabre to the body while turing around.

Seventh Change - Hide a flower under a leaf: Extend the tip of the sabre forwards while walking the circle.

Eighth Change - Windmill broadsword: When facing into the circle, the sabre tip is pointing forwards. Keep the spine of the sabre close to the body while wrapping. Eighth Change - Withered tree twines its roots: Like in the Fifth Change, pay attention to timing of the left arm extension and the cross stance footwork.

Xingyi Workshop Sunday afternoon was devoted to reviewing the Xingyi 5 Foundational Strikes and the 12 Animals. Piquan (Chop) was covered in detail, reviewing Xingyi stepping and proper technique for this strike. A short video outlining the five fundamental strikes is posted on the club website.

All Twelve Animal forms were reviewed. The following keep pointers were emphasized:

Dragon: Ensure the foot is turned outwards with each kick. Pay attention to proper extension through the shoulders and into the front and rear hands.

Tiger: Power is generated in this form through opening and closing the chest.

Monkey: This was practiced as a straight line drill. The Palm strike in Monkey Scrambles Up A Pole, should thread under the extended arm to chest height. The strike should be timed with the footwork.

Horse: This form was practiced in an aligned stance (Shun Bu). Be sure to deflect downwards with both hands when advancing.

Alligator: Use a soft, springy power, ensuring the stepping and posture are closely connected.

Chicken: Avoid hopping with Golden Roster Treads on Snow. Use Piquan (chop) to link to the next repetition.

Sparrowhawk: Move directly into Sparrow Hawk Folds Its Wings without a covering fist. When drilling upwards (sparrow hawk pierces the sky), lift the opposite knee.

Swallow: Pay attention to proper turning of the body and use of the hip during the opening movement, Swallow Pierces the Sky.

Snake: Stab the palm directly downwards to the opposite hip, keeping the wrist straight. Point the fingers forward during the slice upwards.

Wedge-Tail Hawk: While the movements are similar to Tiger Carries, the power generation comes from setting into the lower abdomen. In contrast, power generation of Tiger movements comes from a spring-like action across the shoulders.

Eagle & Bear: This combines Bear and Eagle movements in a reverse stance (ao bu). Unlike the other movements, the stance is a Dragon Rider's stance with weight on the front leg.

A verse about the Eagle and Bear Form from "Di Guoyong on Xingyiquan, vol. 2" transl. by Andrea Falk:

The Eagle and a Bear fight wisely. Their techniques were taken to make a fighting style In which Yin and Yang secretly combine. This is the source of Xingyi.

Andrea Falk's next North American tour will take place July 2017. Dates and locations to be confirmed.

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 32: ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴛʟɪɢʜᴛ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ ɢᴏꜱꜱɪᴘ, ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀʙʟᴏɪᴅ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ

ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴄʏ (ᴜɴᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀɪᴢᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴏʟᴅ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍɪꜱʟᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ)

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ-ᴀɢɢʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ ʙʏ ᴀɴ ᴇx (ᴍᴀɢᴜɪ)

ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜱᴄʀᴜᴛɪɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ ʜᴀʀᴀꜱꜱᴍᴇɴᴛ

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ɴᴀʀʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇꜱ

(ʏ/ɴ) ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴇʀᴄᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

The following week unfolded with media ripples Lando had expected, but not like this.

Social media was still ablaze with speculation. F1 gossip accounts posted timelines, compared old photos of (Y/n) and Lando from Monaco to Austria, even dug up clips from the boutique’s online presence. One reel, captioned “From thrift shop queen to paddock royalty,” had over a million views.

Lando tried to ignore it. He had more important things to focus on.

Like the nursery plans.

Or the twins' names.

Or making sure (Y/n) drank enough water before noon.

But in the background, something colder stirred.

It started with a single tagged post.

@magui.x | Vienna, Austria 🇦🇹💫 When you know, you know. 📸: elegant heels, a glass of wine, her signature charm.

He didn’t think anything of it, until the DMs started rolling in. Fans were sending screenshots. Theories were spinning.

“Did Magui just throw shade at Lando?” “She’s in Austria too??” “Imagine watching your ex win a Grand Prix and have babies with someone else…”

Lando shrugged it off, until he received a text.

Magui: So Austria, huh? Big moment. Congrats, I guess. Hope you remember what we used to talk about doing if you ever won there.

No emojis. Just that.

He didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

(Y/n) had just walked into the room with a tray of fresh-cut fruits, her bump swaying slightly beneath a soft white cotton dress. She looked radiant, and real. Not curated, not filtered. Just here. His now.

But the past didn’t stay quiet for long.

Two days later, Magui posted a cryptic story: a mirror selfie from a dimly lit hotel bathroom.

And then the real hit dropped.

A grainy photo. Posted by an anonymous tabloid page. Two figures in the hotel bar lobby. One of them unmistakably Lando. The other, long legs, dark hair, sly smile, could only be her.

The caption read: “EXCLUSIVE: Lando’s late-night ‘catch-up’ with ex Magui sends fans into chaos. Trouble in paradise already?”

It wasn’t real.

The photo was old. From over a year ago. But Magui didn’t correct it. She didn’t deny it. In fact, she reposted it, captionless, before deleting it an hour later.

And just like that, she’d stirred the pot.

—

Back at their Monaco flat, Lando tossed his phone across the bed.

“She’s playing games,” he muttered.

(Y/n) looked up from the couch, concern flickering in her eyes.

He walked over, kneeling in front of her, resting both hands on her knees.

“I need you to know, I haven’t spoken to her. Not since before Austria. Not properly.”

“I believe you,” she said quietly. “But she’s not going away, is she?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken worries.

Then she said, “If she wants drama, she’s not getting it from me. But if she tries to drag you into it… I’ll protect what’s mine.”

Lando looked up, genuinely startled.

“Damn,” he whispered, half a smile forming. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

“Only when I have to be.”

He pressed his forehead to her bump. “Don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to look back.”

“But she might try harder,” she warned. “She watched you win. She saw us on every screen. She knows she lost.”

He nodded. “And now she wants a rematch.”

(Y/n) reached out, fingers threading through his curls. “Then let her fight shadows. Because we’re living in the light.”

Outside, the sea shimmered in the late afternoon glow. Inside, despite the headlines and whispers, there was still peace.

For now.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 33: ʜᴇʀ ʙɪɢ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: Fifth post of the day. FIFTH. 😩 You better hydrate and stretch after all this emotional cardio because I am not slowing down. This chapter? Whew. She’s for the ones who know what it means to choose maturity over mess, love over noise, peace over pettiness.

Magui? Oh, she stirred the pot. The subtle shade, the old photo, the cryptic captions? A masterclass in manipulation. But (Y/n)? She didn’t flinch. She didn’t spiral. Instead, she said:

“Then let her fight shadows. Because we’re living in the light.” And that right there? That’s power. That’s grace.

We’re entering the part of the story where public pressure and past ghosts come knocking. But this couple? They’re choosing each other, again and again. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.

Drop a 🕶️ if you felt Lando’s “I’m not stupid enough to look back.” Drop a 🐍 if you’re ready for Magui’s games to get shut down. And drop a 🌊 if you felt that last line, the sea shimmering while the world spun wild, but peace still found them anyway.

Let me know how you’re holding up in the comments. And yes, I will still be scheduling posts while I go MIA for a bit, because I love you that much.

With love, me 🧡