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rafecameronsslut4ever · 2 months ago

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CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i realy do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 7 months ago

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How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art on the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is as much of a violation of copyright law as straight up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thing to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition and standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

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