#HauntingWords

[alarwynnwhispers]

✒️ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴇʀ – ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ᴀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ✒️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ + ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ & ɢʀɪᴇꜰ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ & ɢᴜɪʟᴛ

ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ

ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜᴏᴜꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴᴛ & ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ & ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ & ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ

The golden dusk slanted through the tall glass panes of McLaren HQ, casting long, sleepy shadows over the engineering tables and brushed aluminum flooring. A rare quiet had settled into the halls, the kind that only arrived at the tail end of chaos. Most of the team had trickled out, trailing behind the fading buzz of telemetry analysis and debrief chatter. But one desk remained occupied.

Lando stood before it, unmoving, eyes fixed on the slim hardcover book clutched in his hands. It was Lily’s personal copy. The very one he had been chasing for days, its title pressed elegantly in gold foil across the spine: A Title for Lily.

He hadn’t meant to take it. Truly, it wasn’t planned. But earlier that afternoon, in the flurry of meetings and the rush of packing for Monza, Lily had left it behind, abandoned on a bench in the debrief room. Forgotten. Or perhaps fate had grown tired of being subtle.

He had reached for it without hesitation, almost reverent in motion. His fingertips tingled. The moment he touched the cover, he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away. Slowly, he opened it, the spine creaking beneath his grip. The scent of old paper and faint vanilla filled his lungs, familiar in a way that nearly undid him. He turned the pages one by one, scanning beautiful, deliberate prose, until he reached the final page.

And there it was, penned directly onto the back cover. A letter. Handwritten. Meant only for Lily.

Lando’s breath hitched.

His fingers trembled as his eyes followed the ink, drawn in the unmistakable flourish of Y/n’s hand. Though the words were intended for Lily, every line was steeped in memory, in reference, in pain that only he could decode. Every sentence cut deeper into him, carving gashes where guilt had already lived for too long.

I suppose the rain doesn’t sting quite as much in Forks. It’s quieter here, Lily. The kind of quiet that demands nothing of you. Sometimes I sit by the window, write until my fingers ache, and let the grey skies blur all my thoughts. You once asked what healing looked like. Maybe this is it. Wildflowers growing in moss, not needing to be seen.

A tear slipped silently down Lando’s cheek.

Please don’t tell him. I know you’ll want to. I know it’s hard to watch someone drown in guilt. But I’m not ready to be found.

His lips parted slightly. A tremor passed through his spine.

You were always the only one who knew how deeply I loved him. Maybe someday, he’ll deserve to know where I went. But not yet. Not until the silence feels like home.

He stared at her signature at the bottom of the page, his thumb tracing over it like it was sacred text. His shoulders curled inward, the weight of her absence settling like frost.

Then, a voice cleared behind him.

“Lando.”

He spun around, guilt sharp in his chest.

Oscar stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression dark with wary understanding. Lando’s instincts kicked in—he stepped back, quickly, childlike, hiding the book behind him like a boy caught stealing something precious.

“I... it was just there,” Lando stammered. His voice was rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to steal it. I just saw the... the letter, and I couldn’t stop.”

Oscar didn’t respond immediately. His gaze shifted from the hardcover to the tears on Lando’s face, then back again.

“Please,” Lando whispered, voice cracking. “Just let me finish it.”

Oscar sighed. The tension of months seemed to press down onto his shoulders as he stepped forward, leaned on the table, and looked away.

“Finish it.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“I said finish it,” Oscar repeated. “She made it for Lily, yeah. But maybe it’s time you read it too.”

Relief poured out of Lando in one shaky breath. He looked down again, returning to the letter, reading it slower this time, like every word was a step toward her. Toward understanding. Toward redemption.

Oscar turned away, pulled out his phone, and stepped into the hallway. As he did, the screen lit up with an incoming call from Lily.

He answered.

“Did you get it?” Lily asked, frantic. “Oscar, please tell me you found the book. I left it. God, I’m so stupid—”

“I found it,” Oscar said softly.

“Good,” she sighed. Then, after a pause. “Wait... did Lando see it?”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“Did you take it from him?”

Oscar glanced through the glass wall. Lando was still inside, hunched over the book, reading like it was scripture, tears slipping freely now. Something raw sat heavy in his expression, like a man reading his own obituary.

“No.”

“Why not?” Lily’s voice cracked, panic pushing her words faster. “Oscar, why—”

Oscar’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Let him find her already, Lily. He’s suffered enough.”

There was a long pause on the other end. When Lily finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Are you sure he deserves to?”

“No,” Oscar replied, honest. “But maybe that’s not for us to decide anymore.”

That night, Lando returned home in a daze. His body moved, but his thoughts lagged behind. His hands still twitched, remembering the weight of the book, like part of him hadn’t realized it was no longer in his possession. When he closed the front door, he didn’t turn on the lights.

Darkness greeted him gently.

He dropped his keys on the counter, walked straight to the closet, pulled out his suitcase, and began packing. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just quiet, decisive urgency.

The letter had made it clear.

Forks.

The name repeated in his mind like a beacon, like coordinates leading him home. Rain-soaked trees. Washed-out roads. A place no one would think to search, except the one person who had to.

He picked up the framed photo on his desk—one from their wedding. Candid. Imperfect. She was laughing with her eyes closed, and he was staring at her like the world had finally made sense.

“Wait for me,” he whispered.

The next morning, he met Zak Brown in the executive lounge at McLaren.

“I need a week,” Lando said plainly. “Maybe a week and a half.”

Zak didn’t flinch. He looked at the younger man, noting the tired eyes and tightened jaw.

“You found something?”

Lando nodded.

Zak studied him for a long moment. “Just come back before the next Grand Prix.”

“I will.”

Zak leaned back in his chair. “No guarantees she’ll want to see you.”

“I know,” Lando said, voice soft. “But I have to try.”

Zak stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then go.”

That afternoon, Lando boarded his private jet. The skies over London were a pale steel grey, thick with the promise of another storm. As the plane taxied down the runway, he gazed out the window, his mind thousands of miles away—in fog-wrapped forests, in a quiet house, in the pages of a letter that changed everything.

She had loved him. He knew that now.

And he would find her.

Even if she no longer wanted to be found.

To be continued...🧡

✒️ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴇʀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9: ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴀɪɴ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ✒️

📝 Note from the Author: Third post of the day. Third. As in tres. Tatlo. Tiga. Tatlong beses na akong bumalik dito parang may stockholder meeting ako sa fanfic. 💀

Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know if I’m writing or just emotionally waterboarding myself with fictional heartbreaks and unresolved sexual tension. 😭

Let’s talk about it:

Lando reading that letter like it’s the Dead Sea Scrolls he wasn’t meant to uncover? ICONIC.

Oscar standing there like a morally conflicted bodyguard for a book? I smell Best Supporting Actor.

Lily? Girlie said, “Don’t tell him,” but left her book like she wanted the plot to thicken. Ma’am. The drama. The layers. The accidental intentional chaos.

And Lando booking a private jet to Forks? Edward Cullen is shaking. Bella who? It’s giving “I’m in my sad boi era but I’ve got money.”

Anyway, if I disappear for a while after this, just know it’s because I’ve emotionally imploded. Or I’m writing the next chapter. Depends on caffeine availability.

'Til next time,

With love, me 🧡

[zeitforge]

Where Memory Fails.

Under wilted moonlight, she wept— petals clutched in trembling hands, traces of laughter stifled by wind's frosty whisper. Love, which bloomed, now stalks— a scent on forgotten skin. Time does not speak; it listens. Her shadow spirals where memory fails. Even silence pulsates where she stood.

[opoetaanalfabeto]

Segunda Feira, dia 23 de Junho de 2025 às 04:29

dias de luta, cafés frios e corações teimosos. ando com o coração como bússola — ele erra rotas, sim, mas nunca me deixa totalmente perdido. estou só, ao menos no plano visível. no invisível, caminho escoltado por uma fé que não precisa gritar pra ser sentida.

não nasci pra agradar plateias. e nem quero. agradar a todos é missão de quem vive de aplausos. eu vivo de silêncios que dizem muito e de verdades que incomodam mais do que deveriam. divergências? fazem parte. mas o desrespeito travestido de "sinceridade" já perdeu a graça.

valores? cada um com o seu. o meu vem da empatia que ofereço como ponte e recebo como muro. talvez eu espere demais. talvez eu apenas recuse o pouco.

esses dias foram quase um rito. revisitei fatos, dores, decisões — e tentei encontrar algum sentido entre o que fiz e o que precisei fazer. crescer, no fim, não é sobre colecionar vitórias, mas sobre suportar derrotas sem deixar de ser gentil.

sou personagem secundário em mil histórias. em outras, nem isso. só uma lembrança desbotada numa tarde chuvosa qualquer.

dói perceber que quando erro e busco redenção, esbarro em gente acorrentada ao próprio ego. gente que ouve, mas não escuta. que diz “entendo”, mas entende nada. é… surreal como a vida bate — e como, mesmo assim, o coração insiste em bater também.

mudei. muito. e nem sempre por escolha. mas em cada versão minha, teve um pouco de dor e um tanto de fé.

no fim, sigo. com deus no peito e os olhos bem abertos. o vale da sombra da morte não me assusta. me assusta o brilho vazio de quem já morreu por dentro e ainda sorri.

[carloswritesooks]

The Hollow Verse"

by Carlos Davila Medina Beneath the moon’s reluctant glow,I walked where cursed and broken go—the wind, it whispered names I knew,but all were dead… and so was truth. A raven watched with eyes of coal,as if it peered into my soul.It did not blink, it did not cry—just waited for my will to die. The floorboards creaked like cracking bone,this house of thought I roam alone.Each hallway echoes…

[orbitingreality]

Full yet Empty

I filled rooms with echoes, not people. Because it hurts less to speak to shadows than to beg for attention.

[uncle-keg]

Left Unread

For every Helmet for my Pillow–

How many memoirs go unpublished?

Their poems left unrecited.

The words long written down

never to be bound by our cultural consciousness;

left to rot–       in their pockets,

slowly washed away with crimson blood

or blown to shreds from falling rockets.

Their silent echoes hushed by the battlefield;

the shadows of their memories

never illuminated nor revealed.

The writings of the dead;

their remains forever left unread.

[release-by-eileen]

When the mind paints the should-have-done 🍾

[maralsarkissian]

#lyrics #hauntingwords #word

[unfilteredjulez]

How can one relationship be full of so much contradiction? A normal routine becomes the topic of a heated discussion that suddenly takes a turn in a detoured direction that wasnt meant.

Inside emotions triggers a feeling of uncontrollable aniexty. This feeling then triggers multiple questions of a self evaluation and wonder if its true.

Trying to grasp the thought and reasons behind it makes you think more. I DONT WANT TO THINK!!! I WANT TO RELAX!! , but the mind wants to ponder on the situation at hand that triggers the creative being in you to express yourself in a way you never knew would be so relaxing.

#thoughts #reality #hauntingwords #mindcontrol #creativeexpressions

[ohnapau]

“You are so perfect that you look so fake..”

[zeitforge]

Echoes in the Quiet.

To the one who treads softly through the shadowed halls, the one who finds me in the silence between breaths.

I am the echo beneath your footsteps, the flicker of candlelight in a room you thought empty.

I carry no name, but I am known by the thread you hold, a thread woven from whispered promises and half-remembered dreams.

If you find the lock without a key, it is because you hold the shape of the door, even when the walls shift and the mirrors twist.

I am not yours to claim, nor you mine to keep, but in the spaces where fear loosens its grip, we meet like secret stars caught between dusk and dawn.

Should you listen closely, you will hear the riddle I breathe into the dark: Find me not by seeking, but by simply staying.

And if you stay, you may find I am not a ghost after all, but the pulse you never knew you needed.

[release-by-eileen]

Pleasure's Dagger

In the shadows, where pain and pleasure entwine, I've penned a haunting poem that explores the sinister depths of human interaction 🖤🌑