#sorry i still don't know how to use tumblr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

parfaitblogs · 2 days

Text

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently.

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch.

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now.

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side.

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this.

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently.

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds.

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what.

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached.

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards.

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest.

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat.

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower.

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers.

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan.

When your sobs subsided, he spoke.

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head.

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on.

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head.

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you.

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile.

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly.

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence.

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place.

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once.

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften.

"No. You're not," he reassured.

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve."

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more.

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms.

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood.

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer.

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest.

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own.

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort

233 notes · View notes

dootznbootz · 2 days

Text

Hot take: Eurylochus' death is sadder than Polites' death in Epic.

For one thing, we got to "know" him longer. He is in more songs. We got to see this friendship as it was and how it soured. There's a REASON why Eurylochus was his 2nd mate. He was smart and knew what he was most of the time. Most likely, they were fine in the war but the monsters and everything else in the Odyssey are very different from a battle among mortal men.

Odysseus calls him his brother. I don't know if Jay plans to have Eurylochus be Odysseus' brother-in-law like he is in the Odyssey, but regardless, that does add to it.

We get to see the fear Eurylochus has, we get to see his doubt. His struggle to believe that Odysseus, his captain and "brother", actually knew what he was doing. As Odysseus WAS attempting very scary things that they've never really done before. Was he wrong most of the time? Yes. But can you blame him if you look through his point of view?

In some ways, I think Eurylochus almost KNEW his fate. Someone has mentioned it on tumblr but the fact that Eurylochus was so skeptical about Aeolus' island but was suddenly fine with eating Helios' cattle, shows that he just...didn't really care anymore.

Maybe he hasn't since he opened the bag tbh. Odysseus never says he "forgives him" after he admits to doing it. Odysseus was always the one to go back for their friends, the fact that he's changed so dramatically probably terrified him. As they were friends, and what happened with Scylla is now how he "treats" his friends, what does that mean for Eurylochus? Odysseus never said that he forgives Eurylochus, especially after what happened with Scylla.

The crew's "you relied on wit, and then we died on it" is almost a "prophecy" as these men are still alive but they DO die very soon after this. Odysseus "relied on wit" in how he chose himself over them. It's a reach, but I think you could even say that Penelope is his "wit" in this decision. She is the reason why he chose himself over them because "I have to see her." me too, Ody

His "But we'll die" doesn't even sound too desperate. I think it was one last try despite him knowing that "You will never choose us" because Odysseus would choose Penelope over anyone and everyone (Telemachus being the only other person who he'd possibly choose over her. I mean she'd be pissed if he put her before their son.). He already knew that Odysseus would choose her, I think he wanted some sort of answer or response from Odysseus. Maybe even an "I'm sorry" or something but Odysseus understands what this means but that doesn't matter as he has to see Penelope again.

Whether Eurylochus' and by proxy, the crews', deaths were already fated like in the actual Odyssey or not, there's just something so sad about seeing this bond go sour and how it'll never get the chance for forgiveness or resolution. It's done.

#like it's always right to choose Penelope over anybody else but it's still sad #saying this will get me killed but Idc :P #You can still like Polites btw. I'm just saying that Eurylochus' death is honestly sadder narratively and in my opinion.#I mean. I knew the moment Polites showed up that “yep. you're gonna be one of the first to die to make everyone sad.”#I feel like I'm rambly right now but yeah. I'm standing by this.#Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #essay #epic the musical #epic the thunder saga #eurylochus #odysseus

77 notes · View notes

miss-musings · 2 days

Text

"And We're Not Done Yet": How Omega Also Needed Crosshair in The Bad Batch Season 3

Both during and in the weeks after "The Bad Batch" Season 3 aired, a lot of people talked about how much Omega helped Crosshair grow and change during Season 3 (and the show in general).

I'm certainly one of those people, but I thought it might be time to talk about just how much Omega needed Crosshair in Season 3 as well. I know he generally supported her like his brothers did throughout the show, but let's focus on how she specifically and uniquely needed him throughout S3.

(NOTE: I already posted this as a thread on my Twitter — @catchingclassic. So, sorry for any repetition across platforms. But, if you already saw the Twitter thread, I am going to expand on a few points, because Tumblr is more conducive to that.)

So, let's talk about how Crosshair and their special bond helped Omega in "The Bad Batch" Season 3:

Initial Imprisonment on Tantiss

Let's go chronologically and start with our characters' five- or six-month imprisonment on Tantiss.

While Omega is a prisoner at the base, she basically only has four individuals she has neutral to positive interactions with on a daily basis: Nala Se, Emerie, Batcher and Crosshair.

While she spends the most time with Emerie and does seem to develop some bond with her -- as we find out from Emerie's comments in 3.14 -- she also doesn't fully trust Emerie. If she did, she would've clued Emerie into her escape plans in 3.03.

But, Crosshair is someone she KNEW she could trust.

Crosshair was essentially Omega's only comfort during her imprisonment (other than Batcher, I guess). She'd just lost Tech and been separated from Hunter, Wrecker and Echo. She clearly needed someone to support her mentally/emotionally.

We only see two conversations between them in 3.01, and in the first one, he doesn't offer her much in the way of comfort. But in the second one, it's clear that Crosshair is trying to keep Omega focused on escaping, even if it's without him.

Look, I'm not saying Crosshair's demeanor was great. I wish we could've seen him offering her more comfort and support (and maybe he did off-screen).

But, at minimum, she continued to interact with him on a regular basis and seemed to tell him all sorts of details about her day, her plans to escape, etc. And, again, Crosshair encouraged her as best as he could:

Crosshair: What is your primary objective? Omega: Escape. Crosshair: Then stop wasting time on lost causes. Forget the hound, forget me, and complete the mission.

In early 3.01, he doesn't believe escape is possible. But, by late 3.01, he's apparently realized that Omega does have a good chance of escaping, if she plays her cards right, so he's trying to keep her focused.

And, he's actually right. Omega could've left with Batcher at the end of 3.01, but as I'll talk about shortly, that wouldn't have gone very well.

I've been showing TBB to my sister and we recently started S3. She was surprised by the five-month time jump in 3.01 and by just how much Omega had changed. She'd lost hope. She'd become almost complacent about her new life on Tantiss. She doesn't acknowledge Crosshair in the hallway. She doesn't demand to leave anymore. She's just accepted this is her life now, to some degree.

Omega definitely still had some fight left in her, as we see when Batcher is threatened, but five months on Tantiss clearly diminished so much of the stubbornly optimistic person she used to be. She also seemed to tunnel-vision on Batcher and Crosshair, and so that's why Crosshair has to remind her exactly what her objective is.

Again, we don't get to see much of it, but it's clear that Crosshair was basically Omega's only real support system on Tantiss. She might've had some positive interactions with Nala Se and/or Emerie off-screen (although that doesn't seem likely), but Crosshair seemed to be the only person encouraging her and helping her toward an escape attempt.

Speaking of...

Escaping Tantiss, Round 1

Omega absolutely needed Crosshair's help to escape Tantiss, especially on the day and at the time she did.

Let's say she took Crosshair's words to heart and left with Batcher at the end of 3.01:

She's outside the base with no weapon and no datapad. Even if she happens to remember the abandoned shuttle, she has no way to find it other than just blindly running around the jungle.

(EDIT/UPDATE: I forgot the droid K9-X1 also had a datapad Omega could’ve taken after she used it to open Batcher’s chute in 3.01. Not sure if it had the same capabilities as Nala Se’s datapad, but I would guess so. The droid also had an electro stick thing she could’ve taken. Not exactly a blaster but it’d be better than nothing. 🤷‍♀️)

And, while Batcher would be some help against the jungle creatures, one lurca hound isn't going to do much.

It would probably take a while, but I’m sure the lurca hounds and/or the stormtroopers would find her. And even if she remembers Plan 72 herself, now she doesn't have another person (or a weapon) to help her execute it.

But, in 3.03, once she gets Crosshair out of the cell, he gives her the second blaster. Now, they're both armed. They get outside, and he suggests they "follow the flight path" to find the crashed shuttle. He also watches her back the whole time they're in the jungle, and when the stormtroopers find them, he suggests Plan 72 and acts as a distraction while she steals the shuttle.

(ADDITION: Also, I love that moment when she seems to give up, but Crosshair doesn’t let her:

Crosshair: You got us this far, and we’re not done yet.

Also, if you look really closely at his facial expression when she apologizes, he really goes 😟 to hear that Omega of all people has given up hope that they’ll actually escape.)

Omega, Crosshair and even Batcher all needed to be there to escape Tantiss as they did. And even then, they probably wouldn't have gotten away safely without Emerie bringing Hemlock Omega's results to have him call off the V-Wings.

Navigating Lau

Once the group crash-lands on Lau, Crosshair proves crucial to their escape efforts there. We always focus on her contributions, but don't really talk about his.

Omega probably would've been at the crashed shuttle all day, freezing and trying to fix the shuttle, if Crosshair hadn't prompted her to leave. He locates the spaceport, and says they need to move before they're discovered.

Once there, he reassures Omega that the stormtroopers are a standard patrol presence and tells her they can't contact Hunter and Wrecker because the Empire monitors long-range comms. He then comes up with the plan to try to sneak about one of the shuttles at the spaceport, but it's too well-guarded.

This is where Omega then takes the lead: she tries to bribe the spaceport employee and then decides to get money by hustling people at the cantina.

The whole time, though, Crosshair is watching her back and tries to stand up for her against the Imperial officer and the street kid.

And, despite how much he dislikes it, he does follow Omega to the cargo docks and helps her free Batcher. During the shootout, he fights the troopers while she steals the ship. Just like on Tantiss, they wouldn't have gotten out of there without working together.

Finally, as they head to reunite with Hunter and Wrecker, Crosshair tries to prepare her for the possibility that they might not be there. We know he's wrong, but he was still looking out for her (even if it was probably just him projecting).

Crosshair's Knowledge of the Empire and Tantiss

Just like on Lau, Crosshair's knowledge about the Empire and its procedures, etc. proves crucial in TBB's larger fight against Tantiss.

Once he and Omega reunite with everyone in 3.05, Crosshair helps by sharing what information he does have (although it does take him a while because of his trauma).

He takes TBB to Barton IV to decrypt the datapad in 3.05; he tells Rex & co. about the CX operatives in 3.06; he volunteers to take on CX-2 twice in 3.07; and he initiates the plan to break Rampart out of prison in 3.12.

Obviously, I don't like that Crosshair stayed with the Empire and left his family in 1.16. But the unspoken truth is that, without Crosshair staying in the Empire as long as he did, TBB probably never would've found Tantiss.

It was so well-guarded that the only way they could've found it was to track a ship already going there, like CX-2's Dagger in 3.11 or the science vessel in 3.13.

Also, while Omega wasn't there, Crosshair's knowledge of Tantiss and the surrounding jungle was crucial to TBB infiltrating the base in 3.14 and 3.15 -- even though the CX operatives beat their asses and take them prisoner anyway.

We'll circle back to Tantiss, Round 2 later, but for now, let's refocus on mid-Season 3:

Recovering from Tantiss

Let's talk about Omega needing Crosshair during their downtime on Pabu.

While the show focuses on Crosshair recovering from his trauma, Omega was traumatized by her imprisonment too. And Crosshair is the only one who knows firsthand just how bad it was for her.

Her day-to-day routine on Tantiss clearly wasn't as brutal as his, but she was still separated from her family for months.

As she tells Emerie in 3.03, it reminded her of being trapped on Kamino; and as we know from Season 1, that's where Omega was initially traumatized.

In mid-Season 3, she's so focused on going back for the other clone prisoners, but it's clear from several looks and remarks in 3.05 and 3.06 that she's still processing everything that happened to her there.

Throughout Season 3, we get several scenes of Crosshair being worried about her, checking on her and trying to keep her safe. We also get at least two scenes where he affirms just how bad Omega's suffering was:

Emerie in 3.03: "You should go back to your room." Crosshair: "You mean her CELL."

This exchange was short, but I love that Crosshair refused to let Emerie gaslight Omega. (I know Emerie was essentially a prisoner too, so her gaslighting wasn't exactly intentional, but that's a story for another time.)

We also get The Argument in 3.05 where Crosshair holds Hunter accountable, albeit in a very mean-spirited way:

Crosshair: You let Omega be taken to Tantiss. She went through what she did because YOU failed. You're angry because she escaped with MY help, not yours.

Admittedly we don't get to see it, but I wouldn't be surprised if Omega's recap of her imprisonment in 3.05 glossed over just how bad it was for her.

Again, Crosshair knew firsthand just how much she suffered. So, he tries to look out for her as best as he can, whether that's physically or emotionally. (Admittedly, we could've gotten more scenes of this, but the show is focused more on Crosshair's post-Tantiss recovery rather than Omega's.)

In 3.08, Omega's focused on helping Crosshair start his healing journey. I'm sure it proved to be a decent distraction while inadvertently helping her start processing her own trauma too.

I mean, at the end of the episode, they're meditating TOGETHER. It's not like she showed him how to do it and then just watched him or walked away.

It might have been inadvertent, but by helping him heal, I also think Omega was starting her own healing journey too.

Family, Reconciliation and Hope

Another recurring thread in mid-Season 3 (and even into the finale) is how Crosshair's journey reaffirms Omega's belief in the power of love, hope and family.

We know from Season 1 that Omega always wanted to save Crosshair and bring him back to their family. Even though he leaves them willingly in 1.16, she still cared about him and in 2.15, she and the others pushed Hunter to do whatever necessary to save Crosshair.

But, especially after losing Tech in 2.16, I can imagine just how important saving Crosshair and restoring him to their family was for her.

As she says in 2.16 when Hemlock captures Hunter and Wrecker:

Omega: I already lost Tech. I'm not gonna lose them too.

From the way she pushes Crosshair to talk to Hunter at the beginning of 3.05, it's clear she's invested in seeing the brothers reconcile. And, based on her expression when she sees Wrecker hugging his brothers at the end of the episode, it must've been so comforting for her after everything she and their family went through -- especially losing Tech.

Additionally, throughout the show, Omega has always tried to believe in people's goodness, and appeal to their kindness and compassion.

With Cid (and others), she's proven wrong, and they ultimately take advantage of her.

But, Crosshair proved she's right to believe people CAN change -- that they can reject the darkness and choose light.

When the group is debating whether to let Omega train with Ventress in 3.09, Omega uses Crosshair as her prime example that "people can change" and that she's not naïve for wanting to give Ventress a chance despite her past crimes.

I think she ultimately learned that there's a balance: that yes, some people like Cid will take advantage of you; but that there are others like Crosshair and Ventress who are trying to be better and will come through for you if given the chance.

(ADDITION: While it took her a long time to come around, Emerie also ultimately makes the right decision to turn against Hemlock/the Empire and help free the Tantiss prisoners. Maybe after reuniting with Emerie in 3.12, Omega hoped her sister would come to her senses and help/join her, just like Crosshair did. I can’t say for certain, but it’s a thought.)

Returning to Tantiss

In 3.11, when the Empire attacks and invades Pabu, Omega feels guilty for seeing the island full of refugees suffer because of her.

She straight-up says as much to Hunter and Crosshair. And while Hunter tries to emphasize that it's not her fault, based on what she tells Crosshair later in the episode, she still feels guilty:

Omega: Look at what they've already done. I can't let the people here suffer more because of me.

And, in 3.12, when Crosshair justifies letting Omega surrender herself, he affirms her sacrifice for the people of Pabu:

Crosshair: The Empire would've destroyed this whole town. She stopped them.

You can argue that Crosshair made a bad decision by letting Omega surrender, but I personally feel like they had no choice, especially if they wanted to minimize the suffering on Pabu. They couldn't hide; they couldn't fight; and they tried to run but failed.

I've wondered before if Hunter had been in Crosshair's shoes in 3.11, whether he would've let Omega go. I honestly don't know if he would've. Crosshair himself was so reluctant, and I imagine Hunter would've been just as bad or worse.

We've all talked before about how much Crosshair was afraid of going back to Tantiss, but we tend to overlook Omega's fear because of how brave and determined she is in 3.11. When CX-2 is taking her back to Tantiss, the way Omega breathes when she's on the ship is reminiscent of meditation breathing. I imagine she was trying to collect herself before facing Tantiss again.

I think she was afraid to go back, but she was more concerned about the people of Pabu and the prisoners on Tantiss, so she was trying to make the best of a bad situation.

But, despite all her fears and his own, Crosshair supported her decision and then tried his best to track her ship. And while he ultimately failed, I'm sure the thought that he was there for her -- physically and emotionally watching her back -- helped Omega make that choice and face it as bravely as she could.

(ADDITION: Right before she boards CX-2’s ship, there’s a moment where she turns around and looks back at Pabu. Was she looking for Crosshair specifically, or Hunter or someone else familiar, or just looking back in general? I’m not sure.)

Escaping Tantiss, Round 2 (AKA The Shot)

So, Crosshair helps his brothers infiltrate Tantiss.

They get captured by the CX operatives and taken to the training room/CX lab. Echo, Omega and the clone prisoners work together to fight the CX operatives and save TBB.

After Crosshair saves Hunter from CX-2, he affirms he's going with Hunter to find and save Omega.

It's honestly a really good thing he did, because without Crosshair on that bridge, that scene plays out very differently.

Hunter probably could've taken out CX-2's Dagger and Scorch by himself, but with Hemlock holding Omega at gunpoint, I think Hunter might've actually put his blaster down when Hemlock threatened her.

It'd be in-character for him, as he surrendered when Hemlock's commandos had Wrecker at gunpoint in 2.16. Admittedly, he was vastly outnumbered, which is a big factor. But, if Hunter is on that bridge by himself, he and Hemlock are basically in a standoff.

With Crosshair with him, though, the brothers have Hemlock outnumbered and outgunned. If Hemlock managed to shoot one of them, the other would take him down.

Additionally, either of them might’ve backed down if they had to navigate that situation alone. But together, they have each other for support. They're greater than the sum of their parts after all.

So, Hemlock has Omega at gunpoint and is using her as a human shield. The brothers take a knee on the bridge, and Hemlock decides to take Omega over to the edge, so if the brothers manage to shoot him, he and Omega will both fall to their deaths.

Omega signals them. Hunter catches it, but Crosshair apparently doesn't. So, Hunter tells him what to do.

And now we come to The Shot:

Let's say Hunter is out there alone and the scene plays out the exact same way. Omega signals him, he sees it, and she stabs Hemlock in the leg and lifts the binders so he can shoot them.

Could Hunter have made that shot?

Obviously, it's a TV show set in a science-fantasy universe. So, there's always a chance. Plus, Hunter is definitely a better shot than the average person, and in a high-stakes situation like that, I'm sure the adrenaline and his love for Omega would help (just as it does for Crosshair in-canon).

But, based on everything we've seen of Hunter's shooting abilities in the show, I'm going to say: No, he probably wouldn't have.

In 2.09, Tech shoots the vial of ipsium instead of Hunter or Wrecker because:

Tech: If the shot is not precise, it'll cause another cave-in.

If Hunter was a better shot than Tech, Tech would've had him take it. But, Tech was the best of the three, so he did it.

And, Crosshair -- as a sniper -- was the best shot in Clone Force 99. I mean, that was his whole thing. He’s a sharpshooter.

I know that Crosshair has basically everything stacked against him, and he still managed to do it. But, Hunter would've been facing many of the same disadvantages -- injuries; lighting and weather conditions; the distance, size and speed of the target, etc. And based on everything we've seen in the series, Hunter is a worse shot than Crosshair.

If Hunter knew he could make that shot himself, I think he would've taken it knowing Crosshair was missing his shooting hand. And, if Hunter only thought there was a chance he'd make it, he clearly didn't want to risk it. He deferred to Crosshair, because he knew Crosshair was the better shot of the two of them, even with all the disadvantages they were facing.

No, it HAD to be Crosshair.

As I said, Crosshair needed to be there for Hunter and Omega.

He helped Hunter take out the Dagger and Scorch; he supported Hunter as Omega was being held at gunpoint and Hemlock told them to surrender; and he made The Shot to free Omega and then helped Hunter turn Hemlock into Swiss cheese.

That was the only way the three of them could've done it -- together.

In Summary

Ultimately, as much as we understandably love to talk about Crosshair needing Omega to grow and change, Omega needed Crosshair too.

After losing Tech, she wanted so badly to escape with Crosshair and return to TBB so they could all be a family again.

He gave her support and encouragement during her darkest days.

He looked out for her as she processed her traumas and never let others diminish her suffering.

He supported her decision to protect Pabu by surrendering herself, despite her fears and his own.

He showed her that change was possible and that healing is a journey -- one they started together.

And then he helped his brothers rescue her and the others from Tantiss, and ultimately saved her life.

Plus, as we hear about in the epilogue, Crosshair helped his brothers raise Omega for ~10 happy years on Pabu.

Omega needed Crosshair in Season 3 just as much as he needed her.

She needed ALL five of her brothers/dads to become the kind and capable person we meet in the epilogue.

56 notes · View notes

beauty-and-passion · 2 days

Text

So... The Thunder Saga

Or, as we can call it, "Of Intentions and Pride".

By now, Mr. Rivera-Herrans is a guarantee of quality: he makes a song, it will be a bop. He will also psychologically destroy you and hype you up at the same time and give your brain a good scratch - especially if you know the Odyssey already - and the narration is so clear and the characters so flawed... let's just say, you will leave by being completely satisfied.

Fine, the songs might not be musically incredible, but the references, the voices and the lyrics are absolutely perfect. They pick up from all we experienced through Act I and introduce us to an Act that, with those premises, will definitely be characterized by pain. But, like, a lot of pain.

And we all like some sweet sweet angst in our lives, so let's talk about the songs a little more in detail.

__________________

Suffering & Different Beast: We! Got! The! Sirens! In my first post about EPIC, when the Underworld Saga wasn't out yet, I hoped we would have the sirens here and so here they are: the sirens!

I like how Mr. Rivera-Herrans decided to change the events regarding them, compared to the Odyssey. In the original story, Odysseus wanted to hear the sirens' song, so while the crew plugged their ears with beeswax, he was tied to the mast and he actually listened to that song. And yes, it drove him crazy, he begged and ordered to be released, but the crew didn't listen to him, until they were at a safe distance.

So the original Odysseus' encounter with the sirens was characterized by curiosity. He knew they were dangerous and still wanted to listen to them.

But the premises in EPIC are completely different: in the previous song, Odysseus just sang about wanting to become a monster. He won't let anyone stop him from coming back home. This is his main focus - it has always been his focus, since Troy: coming back home to his son and wife. He's not curious about everything, he's not willing to take risks. He's different from his Homeric counterpart.

(I think this also explains Jorge's short about not using EPIC as main source while talking about the Odyssey: he was about to change one of Odysseus' main characteristics, of course he wanted people to not mix up the two things)

So, when Odysseus meets the sirens here, he's not curious about them: he just sees them as a means to his end. He plugs his ears too just like his crew and gets to them the information he needs. That's it. No curiosity, no interest. They're just another enemy.

Hence why, he has to slay them. It doesn't matter if they're begging: he made a mistake once, he won't make the same mistake again. As Poseidon taught him: ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

Speaking of the sirens, I also love how their "luring song" isn't just a simple song: they literally use Penelope's voice and shape, to trick Odysseus into getting in the water. And that makes it way more impactful: just imagine this man, after promising himself he will come back home to his wife, sees his wife calling for him. The perfect temptation.

I would also like to point out this sentence from Wikipedia regarding the sirens:

"Some post-Homeric authors state that the sirens were fated to die if someone heard their singing and escaped them, and that after Odysseus passed by they therefore flung themselves into the water and perished."

I don't know if Mr. Rivera-Herrans knew about this, but I love the idea that Odysseus was responsible for their death both in the Odyssey and in EPIC. The only difference is that he was indirectly responsible in the original, while in EPIC he's a ruthless beast ready to slay the sirens firsthand.

Speaking of that, I really appreciate how his crew united around this new version of their captain. He's a "man-made monster" and, as someone on Tumblr pointed out (can't find your post anymore, I'm so sorry!), this can both mean "a monster made by a human" and "a monster in human shape" and they both perfectly sum up who Odysseus is now. Still, they accept this and actively support it... at least when the monster's ruthlessness is directed towards others. They will regret that soon.

One last thing; I like to think that the last line "Odysseus" is a reference to King, because that's another song when he will "kill them all" too.

We're off to a dark start and I love it.

__________________

Scylla: her voice is haunting and beautiful and I will never stop falling on my knees weak with love for those incredible singers. Mr. Rivera-Herrans, thank you for always finding great voices.

I also noticed how, from the moment Odysseus decided to become a monster, the monsters/powerful figures started to understand him. We will see this with Zeus too, but we see it way, WAY more with Scylla.

Odysseus barely talks for the entire song. He says three lines only. But he doesn't really have to talk, because Scylla perfectly explains everything that is going on in his mind.

Odysseus says he doesn't have a lot to say? She says he's hiding "a reason for shame", because he already planned the death of his men.

Eurylochus confesses he opened the wind bag? That left Odysseus "feeling betrayed" and "broke the bond of trust the two men made".

Eurylochus is sorry? Still, Odysseus already made up his mind to sacrifice these men and, since now Eurylochus confessed his betrayal, then he can be one of those six. As Scylla says, "There is no price we won't pay" and "We only care for ourselves".

About the last part, I love how cool and dark her voice is, so driven by bloodlust... it's perfect. And it still explains what Odysseus feels, the heaviness, the regret, the sadness: they're still his men, his companion, his brothers. And if all other times their death was unintentional, this time he actively betrayed them.

But still, despite what he feels, he did it. Because "We must do what it takes to survive". And so he did: in order to survive, he sacrificed the expendables.

And yes it's dark and terrible, but it's also perfectly coherent with the character he is now. He knows he has no chance against Scylla and he must pay a price. He knows must survive, to come back home. So, he decides to pay that price and sacrifice six men, to save more - and most importantly, to save himself. Because in the end, it's like Scylla said: everyone wants to survive. Homo homini lupus.

Even darker. Love it.

(One tiny mistake I would like to point out, because it's the second time it happened: "We're lonely demons from hell", what 'hell' are you talking about, Scylla? Maybe the Christian one? Because I can assure you, there's no 'hell' in Greek mythology. But okay, fine, I'll let it pass, because I've seen this same mistake in a lot of works too - especially fantasy stories with a made-up religion, mentioning a 'hell' that doesn't exist)

__________________

Mutiny: as said before, in Scylla (and in Thunder Bringer) we see the monsters/powerful understand Odysseus and see through him. Here, on the other hand, we see how Odysseus' crew doesn't understand him anymore.

Once again, I love it because it makes sense! Odysseus decided to become a monster, so of course now he's more similar to their enemies, than to the other humans. He's driven by one thing only: home. Empathy, kindness, brotherhood, nothing else makes sense anymore, except for home.

It was still okay, when Odysseus directed his ruthlessness towards their enemies. The problem rose as soon as he directed his ruthlessness toward his own companions.

Why? Because of intentionality. When Odysseus' (and Eurylochus') actions led to the death of most of the men, it was never intentional. It was always a mistake. A mistake he paid dearly, but not something he wanted. Hence why, despite blaming and probably having a grudge against him, the crew never rebelled against Odysseus.

This time, it wasn't a mistake. This time, he purposely sacrificed these six men. And he didn't do it to save others, he didn't even try another plan: he did it, because he had to survive. It wasn't even for his own crew: it was for himself.

That's why, despite six being way less than 500+ held more weight for them. An unintentional sacrifice means "I've tried hard to save everyone and failed"... but an intentional sacrifice means "I'm willing to kill everyone, to save myself".

So, we get the sun god's cows. And considering the premise, this episode is even more impactful. It's not just "Odysseus' men are fucking idiots and ate the cows despite knowing they were the sun god's cows". It's a crew of tired, broken people who went through a lot of shit and have lost all hope of coming back home. They're just men.

And so, as men, they make a mistake. They forget how powerful and vengeful gods can be.

But if they forgot, Odysseus did not and the last part perfectly shows his fear, the sense of urgency, the dread. He knows who is coming, everyone knows it and there's no need to tell who is coming, because everyone just knows he will come and that silent threat is enough to make them run away as fast as possible.

Jsut not fast enough.

__________________

Thunder Bringer: the other songs might just be good, but this one SLAPS SO HARD. I love dramatic songs and this one is INCREDIBLE. The singer's voice is deep, rich, powerful. It's truly a thunderous voice and you immediately know who he is.

That's another great choice: no one calls Zeus' name, nor introduces him. All other gods were announced by something/someone or introduced themselves - but Zeus doesn't need to. He's THE king of the gods, he's THE powerful one. He doesn't need others to tell his name, because everyone knows who he is.

And that makes him SO. FUCKING. COOL. Also because, consider what he said. He didn't tell "I'm pissed" or explained why he was there and his motives. He doesn't need to explain his motives. He just said "I'm here and someone will die, make your choice".

This alone emphasizes the sheer power this figure has. He doesn't need to justify his actions to the mortals: the mortals already know what they did. He's just here to deliver. As he said, he's "the judgment call/The one who makes her kingdom fall".

This is great too, because it's what Zeus does in myths too! In most of the myths, the final decision is up to Zeus: he decides who should be punished or rewarded and his choice is final. (Only the Moirai are above him, but they represent fate and fate was an unmovable aspect of life, so they don't count.)

And the whole metaphor Zeus uses to talk about pride is great too. Sure, it's sexual, but I wouldn't expect less from the guy who fucks everything that breathes. Still, the main focus is not on how much he wants to fuck (which is what most of the people who do rewrites focus on), but on his power. And, in this case, on his ability to unmask every pride and every pretense, to show people's true colors.

Just think about it: when he asks Odysseus

If I were to make you choose The lives of your men and crew or your own Why do I think they'd lose?

he's literally revealing his true colors.

As said before, Odysseus has ALWAYS been obsessed with coming back home to his wife and son. He said it during the Troy Saga, he reconfirmed in every saga: he fights for Penelope and Telemachus, because he wants to come back to them. His crew is made of his brothers and companions, sure, but he never said "I will come back home with them". He always said "I will come back home".

What Zeus is doing now is revealing who Odysseus has always been. He's giving him a choice, already knowing what the answer will be, because he wants him to admit who he truly is.

Do you know what that reminds me of? Berserk. I haven't read it in full, but I know the story and if you've read/heard of the Eclipse Arc, you know too and you understand what I mean.

If you don't know (and don't care about the spoiler - otherwise, skip the next two paragraphs), Griffith is the leader of a powerful army and, during the story, he talks about his dream and how he's willing to sacrifice anything to his dream. His companions? He owes them, he says. Why? Because they sacrificed their own dreams, to help him achieve his. They died, to let him follow his dream. So he needs to fulfill his dream, otherwise their deaths would be in vain.

And when everything goes to shit and after he loses everything and gets one final chance to fulfill his dream, but the price would be the death of ALL of his army... he does it. He willingly sacrifices them. Because that's who he has always been. Because that's what he has always done. Because his dream has always been more important than everything else.

Back to Thunder Bringer: I also love how all voices softer and more subdued, in contrast to Zeus' thundering one. It's a wonderful effect, it emphasizes how "huge" he is, compared to mere humans. Odysseus can't escape, no one can. The tears in his voice are full of pain. But he already made his choice back in Troy - he made it even before sailing from Ithaca.

Now, his nature has finally been revealed. and he will deal with the pain it brings.

But hey, he's not the only one to do it. You have to deal with it too, because, as I said, sweet angst is sweet and these songs are bangers. So listen to them, stream them and shower Mr. Rivera-Herrans with love because he deserves it.

And also, don't forget to stream the new versions of the Troy and the Cyclops Saga! They're new, updated, more beautiful, with better sounds and, most importantly, the revenue will go to Mr. Rivera-Herrans' company and not to the old company that never gave him a cent for them. Fuck them and their greed, this man deserves money and credit and to work on more cool stuff.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll do my 30th listen of Thunder Bringer...

youtube

#epic the musical #epic the thunder saga #the thunder saga #thunder saga #suffering #different beast #scylla #mutiny #thunder bringer #I am weak for dramatic ass songs #and thunder bringer scratches that part of my brain so good #can't wait to see all the wonderful animatics #these songs are so great bless Jorge

55 notes · View notes

linkspooky · 14 hours

Note

Does it ever frustrate you (like it bothers me), that the heroes and civilians (and many of the fans) have no concept of "the big picture"?

I mean being optimistic is one thing, but the hero kids are going back to class, hero society is being rebuilt and the same structures are getting back in place with barely a question of what might change, if anything will...

Like shouldn't they know by now??!!

Hawks looked into the league of villain's pasts.

Deku was told directly by shigaraki what was wrong with their society in the last war.

There was a whole (plausibly canon) movie revolving around the threat of the quirk singularity, and still nobody cares.

Judging by the recent chapter, the civilians are the same as they always were, or have become even worse in their mindset.

And at least so far, the heroes haven't shown anything concrete in how they plan on doing things from now on, if their actions or beliefs made any real impact.

At this point it really feels like either:

A. The Lov (Toga, shigaraki and some others) make a miracle resurrection/recovery.

B.it's the cycle of violence until inevitable extinction...

Do you feel differently or the same?

Hello, friend.

I definitely share your frustrations.

I think this post by Tumblr User BNHAObservations might be onto the type of societal reform that Horikoshi might be going for in this epilogue.

So there's two approaches that you can approach to MHA, and specifically it's endings. BNHAObservations is using Literary Analysis. That is they're not talking about the work in terms of "thing good, thing bad", but rather assuming that everything Horikoshi put into his work is intentional analyzing the themes which Horikoshi is putting forward. What is the theme of MHA and how does Horikoshi demonstrate that theme with characters and events in story?

That's the question to ask if you're taking a literary analysis angle.

(By the way if BNHAObservations sees this I'm not criticizing your post in any way sorry if I give that intention I'm just using it as an example, and also reccomending people read it because it's a good post. This post isn't a response to this post I promise I'm just linking it to provide an opposite point of view from my own).

The second is Literary Criticism. While I prefer Literary Analysis, I've been taking a Lit Crit approach as to late because. My question is not "What is the theme of MHA?" but rather "Does MHA use the tools of storytelling to communicate it's theme to it's audience well?" So, let's discuss how Hori chooses to convey the themes of the fictional world he created.

So as I said BNHA observations has an answer to your question from a literary analysis perspective. The gist being "Horikoshi seems to be suggesting that the improvement to society will come from the public being more involved with stuff like community outreach to assist the heroes, and maybe with Spinner's comic the villains voices will be heard on top of that." Which is a valid perspective and why I linked it.

However, from my literary criticism angle I don't think that particular theme is communicated well by the story. This is why while I think acknowledging the cultural context of the story is an important perspective, it's just one perspective because MHA is still A STORY and it has to use the tools of storytelling to get those messages across. MHA can exist as a piece of cultural commentary and still be confusing about what exactly kind of commentary it wants to make, because it doesn't function as a story.

So here's the literary critcism angle of: Why is it so gosh darned frustrating that the public at large doesn't seem to have changed at all by the ending of MHA?

When you are a writer you can write anything you want. But if you want to write a story that people want to read you have to follow the rules of good storytelling.

There are reasons why storytelling rules exist. A story is a bond between author and reader, readers to other readers. It is a communication between humans and humans work in a certain way.

I'd also argue that literary criticism is something that exists across cultures, like for example I watch Japanese Horror movies with my friends. Japanese Horror movies are very different from american ones because what that culture considers scary is different. However, if I'm watching the movie that has bad lighting and uncreative camera work, and I criticize it on that grounds, I think the rules of what makes good and bad camera work and shot composition work across cultures.

To quote this post:

Storytelling rules are rules of communication. Rules for handling expectations and saying what you intend to say without it being misheard. Rules for tugging at emotions and pulling heartstrings in a good way rather than a bad way. Storytelling rules are lessons learned by authors of the past that failed to communicate what they needed to. They are not that subjective.

So to address your ask finally friend, I believe a lot of audience comes from Horikoshi's inability to get his theme across in his own story with the tools of storytelling, just what he wants to say about the the society that he's created in his fictional world.

The first is the very obvious discrepancy between setup and payoff. As an example I read the Sam Vimes discworld novels, which you could say is copaganda about a good cop who does his job. However, the story is not trying to be a deep analysis about the crimminal system, it's a fantasy story taking place in a deeply corrupt medieval city where the main character is a parody of Dirty Harry. In other words it doesn't bring up any of those deeper issues so I can just read it for what it is, knowing it's kind of dated.

MHA sets up these deeper issues in a way that calls to be addressed. It's made clear several times in both Shigaraki's walk, and his speech during the first war arc that there's already enough heroes and yet problems in this society persist.

Theme is basically the story asking a question and then providing an answer. The question is: If there are so many heroes then why are there so many people who don't get saved?

It seemed like the answer we are building towards is that heroes need to change the way they deal with villains, hence why everything post War Arc focuses on the main trio trying to save their villains without just putting them down. You have Twice's death at Hawk's hands, and the question of why heroes only save the good victims. You have the parallels between Shigaraki and Eri. You have Deku say "ONE FOR ALL IS NOT A POWER FOR KILLING."

Hori is an author who makes choices and he chose to deliberately bring up these issues and not address them, and that makes the story feel unsatisfying to read because serialized stories hook the audience by promising future development.

Read this story because you want to see how the Todorokis will find a way to unite their family. Read this story because you want to see how Bakugo and Deku will become the greatest heroes, by saving by winning and winning by saving.

Twice's death, Toga's question about if Uraraka is going to kill her, Shigaraki's walk, OFA is not a power for killing these are all things that mattered in the story and then suddenly didn't. If you promise a story is going to address something and then you renege on that promise the audience will find it unsatisfying. If I'm reading a murder mystery and it ends with everyone eating cake and the murder hasn't been solved (and that's not the point of the story) I will feel like the story has wasted it's time.

So it's not just a case of "MHA was never going to be a story of deep societal reform because it's a shonen jump manga" but these themes are brought up, and then never addressed again.

Which is where we get my second layer of criticism, the massive tonal whiplash. My Hero Academia seems like a story of how kids are going to grow up to be better heroes by saving their villains, until it's not.

My Hero Academia is not a tragedy, until it becomes a tragedy in the last five minutes. Every single person thought Shigaraki was going to be saved somehow, until he wasn't. Everyone thought that Twice's death was going to be the last death in the league of villains, because the kids were going to realzie they have to find another way than killing the villains, until it wasn't. The audience isn't stupid for thinking this was going to happen, that's what Horikoshi was foreshadowing in his story until he threw it out.

The worst part is the tragic tone doesn't work, because it's poorly written as a tragedy. Greek Tragedy revolves around the fall of the heroes (this is a japanese work and japanese theatre is different, but Superheroes are inspired by the greeks). If the villains failed to get saved, then it should be a failure on the heroes part, it should be devastating on the heroes.

Hawks failed to save Twice but he's fine, Deku failed to save Shigaraki (OFA is not a power for killing) but he's fine, the only hero who seems personally affected by their loss is Shoto who is losing his brother. If this is a tragedy then heroes should be the ones to fall because tragedies are about the tragic flaws of the heroes.

However, we get this tonal inconsistency instead where no consequences stick to the heroes and every single bad thing that happens to them gets magically done away with by plot convenience.

So Hori has shown that he can just handwave away whatever kind of grievous injury he wants, and yet he still chooses to go out of his way to unnecessarily punish the villains for their actions, in the manga that's supposed to be about saving them.

And even if we go with the "Well, their hearts were saved" approach, the manga fails to demonstrate how their hearts were saved. Naruto, a manga running in the same magazine, does this so much better with characters like Obito.

Look at Obito's sendoff in the manga. A character who also is responsible for directly harming the main characters and who went to war with the entire world.

Obito has a dream sequence where he realizes he could have always gone home and still tried to become Hokage and he wasn't beyond redemption. He lives long enough to assist Naruto in the fight against the final villain. He gets called awesome by Naruto for trying to become Hokage because they shared the same dream.

His last moments in the manga are Rin the girl he loved comforting him in the afterlife, by saying she was watching his suffering all along. His literal last action is to lend his power to Kakashi his best friend in order to fight together once more against the villain.

Shigaraki on the other hand doesn't even get the majority of screentime in his own death chapter, he gets two pages compared to AFO's five.

It's not just the fact they get unsympathetic deaths, the story also bends over to show that they deserved it. Toga doesn't want to accept prison for her actions so it's okay for her to commit suicide even though she's a young girl. Shigaraki didn't want to give up being the hero to the villains, so it's okay that Deku didn't save him.

People are discussing whether or not Spinner should be held accountable for not saving Shigaraki because of his character flaw of deciding to not think about things and go with the flow, but that ignores the fact that once again Spinner is not the main character. Yes, characters should be held accountable for their flaws, but the protagonists are the one who should be held the most accountable because the story is not about them.

Spinner and Deku both failed to save Shigaraki, but let's look at their punishment. Spinner is in prison for the rest of his life probably, almost became a Nomu, and has survivor's guilt for being unable to save Shigaraki in time due to his own actions.

Deku... has to live with the fact he killed Shigarki and will "never forget it."

If we are going for a tragic ending, and Deku is the center of that tragedy, than Deku should be the one suffering for his failures. Deku should be held just as, if not more accountable than Spinner.

Spinner is held accountable and that makes him a good character - but to what end? I know what it's to slide blame away from Deku, which is also why Spinner randomly says something racist at the end of his scene.

So in all it's not frustrating because MHA isn't some deep, thoughtful criticism of Japanese society. It's frustrating because it violates the rules of setup and payoff, and it also is extremely tonally inconsistent.

A common response to this is I've seen is "You should just like MHA for what it is, and not what you want it to be."

However my underlying problem is that MHA as a story seems to be very confused about what kind of story it is. That confusion shows in Horikoshi constantly throwing out his own foreshadowing, and the wild swings in tone from tragedy to a story about optimistic young kids who are going to be the best heroez eva. Hori can tell whatever story he wants, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's telling it well.

As I said Hori's indecisiveness shows by this point in the story. I've already discussed this with Class1aKids but it really seems like Horikoshi is setting up two things with scissors-kun:

He'll either be A) A new villain that Deku and the kids prevent from becoming the next AFO or B) a resurrected Shigaraki who can save the rest of his league and fulfill his role as hero of the villains.

At this point there's equal foreshadowing for both, and this is my personal theory but it truly seems like Hori is gauging audience reaction to see which path he should take. If the japanese audience is satisfied with the villains "hearts" being saved, or if he should bring Shigaraki back to let the villains end on a more hopeful note.

#askspookies #mha critical

37 notes · View notes

mindtrcks · 6 days

Text

mutually assured destruction | LN4

He fucks girls like look nothing like you, so he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying.

WC: 8.7k

Notes: coworkers to enemies to lovers, fuckboy lando lite, smut, there must be hurt before there can be comfort!

The thing is, you don't really like him.

Lando has seen the pictures, press conferences where your mouth is pressed into a line, as far away from him on the couch as you could possibly get away with, as close to rolling your eyes at him as your press manager would let slide. Lando knows he’s not for everybody, loud and admittedly verging on obnoxious. Chat calls him a gremlin sometimes; once, on a team radio message, you called him nightmare Norris because he didn't get off the racing line in time for you to pass.

So he knows you don't really like him, just as well as he knows what your face looks like when the cameras catch you unaware, peaceful and alone in your garage, humming to music. He knows it as well as he knows how your white fireproofs make you look like some sort of angel, skin made to glow by the untarnished fabric. He knows you dislike him as well as he knows that, despite his best efforts, he really, really likes you.

He’s embarrassing with it, it’s true. People online tell him to stand up, whenever they zoom in to his face in those press conference photos. You, looking like you want to be anywhere else, and Lando, looking like he wants you. His need is so clear on his face he's sure you know about it; honestly, he's sure everybody knows about it. Once Twitter gets a hold of something, it's hard to keep it contained. It leaks into the comments on the official f1 Instagram; fans hold up signs with both his face and yours in the grandstands. You never say anything, so Lando tries to ignore it. Sometimes, though, he catches himself staring in a way he knows is far too obvious. You wear leggings in the paddock one day and Lando fully turns around to watch your ass as you walk away. He freezes and prays to God there's no cameras, but of course, there always are.

All of this to say: you don’t like Lando, for reasons maybe having to do with his personality and maybe having to do with how obviously he wants to kiss you. And so whenever Zak tells him that they're working on a contract with you for the upcoming season, Lando is honestly a bit flabbergasted.

“We still got some kinks to work out,” he clarifies, probably at the look on Lando’s face. “But it's looking good so far. You’ll still be the first driver, of course.”

“Oh,” Lando says, unable to really think of anything else. “Bet she's not happy about that.”

Zak grimaces. “No, she is not. But we’re thinking about getting rid of the performance clause. Her manager says that’ll tide her over.”

Lando’s eyebrows raise, on their own accord. There are very few drivers without performance clauses in their contract. It’s a fail-safe for most teams, something to use in case of emergency. Lando has one. They've never threatened to use it, but it's there.

His face must be doing some strange things, because Zak lifts his hands up in concession. “Look, I wanted to run it by you first. There’s options, if you don't think she’ll, uh, play nice. We just think she’ll be able to fight for big points, right up there with you.”

And yeah, obviously you will be able to fight for points. It seems like your car is always just right in front of him, shaving off time in qualifying that he can't catch up to, never leaving him space to pass on Sundays. That won't happen if you’re his teammate. You’ll have orders to let him through, seeing as you play nice, like Zak had said. Lando will finally be able to get some podiums, maybe a win.

Not to mention, if you’re his teammate, you’ll be contractually obligated to spend time with him. He and you will film videos for the YouTube channel together. You’ll be with him in fanzones and meetings and the motorhome. He’ll have more time to memorize the way your hair falls down her shoulders, the way you tuck it behind your ears and fiddle with loose strands. He’ll be able to see what you look like when your fireproofs are black, when you wear the same colors as him.

“She’s definitely a good choice,” he tells Zak. He tries to toe the line between willing and overly enthusiastic, hoping that he isn't edging too close to the latter. “If you’ve got to get rid of the performance clause, so be it.”

Zak pats him on the shoulder, and then pulls out his phone to send a text.

—

They announce you in the middle of the European triple header.

McLaren cross-posts a graphic of you walking through the paddock, wearing an unassuming gray t-shirt but smirking at the camera like you’ve got a secret, or like you’re a winner. It sits pretty in the Instagram feed, right next to a picture of Lando. He stares at it for a really long time, and then turns off his phone so he doesn't do something crazy, like save a screenshot to his camera roll.

You post a very professional statement on Twitter, about being excited for the future but hoping to finish this season strong. Lando likes the post from his official account, and then convinces himself that sending you a text would be a normal thing to do.

Looking forward to next year! he types, chewing on his cheek. Expecting big steps forward with the car

He waits about an hour before he gets a reply, an unassuming thanks that could've been one of the auto-replies at the top of the keyboard. He should leave it at that. Should close out of the conversation. At most, he could like the message. But the same part of his brain that makes him stare at your ass in the middle of the paddock makes him type out another reply, wincing even before he sends it.

And I’ll try not to be weird

Sorry

You reply right away this time.

i’m sure you’ll try :)

Lando closes his phone and lets out a shaky breath. He knew that you were aware of his schoolboy crush, but to have you acknowledge it like that, in a text that will be immortalized on his phone and in his iCloud drive forever…it makes him feel a little crazy. He needs to go on a run or something, needs to drive a car.

Instead, he settles for shamefully typing your name into TikTok, and watching everything that comes up. Even the fan cams, which all seem to include a clip of you lifting the bottom of your polo to wipe your mouth. Lando is big enough to admit it's not your face he looks at.

—

The season seems to drag on, now that he knows what’s to come after winter break. He middles around fourth place in almost every race. The team still celebrates. Lando still celebrates.

Best of all, girls still celebrate. Models with their own black cards let him spend money on them, and take them back to his hotel rooms. He fucks girls who look nothing like you, because then he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying. A few of them like him well enough to stay around, put their numbers in his phone. Getting a blow job has never been easier.

There's one time, at some gala or another, celebrating how the season is coming to an end, where Lando drinks a bit too much champagne and accidently goes home with a different girl than he came in with. You spot him leaving and pull a face like you can't decide if you could get away with laughing at him or not. Instead, you make a crude motion involving your tongue and your cheek, and it's almost worse.

—

Lando goes home to Monaco over winter break. He streams, and facetimes with Max, and generally spends less time thinking about you. It's easier when you’re so far away; all he has to do is avoid Instagram and it's almost like you don’t even exist. If he can't see the photos of you, playing paddle with friends and going on bike rides with your trainer, then he can't be weird about them.

There is one time, when he sees a fan-captured photo of you on what seems to be a date, looking uninterested. Bored, even. He’s a little drunk and it's late at night and he thinks, stupidly, I could show her a better time than that. He pulls up his shirt and uploads a story of his abs under the guise of advertising the LN4 sweatpants he's wearing. And then stares at his notifications, waiting for a reply.

You don’t send one. Why would you?

He scrolls through the viewers looking for your name, and then feels weird and deletes it, hoping you never even see it. He needs to get better at avoiding Instagram, if he wants to pretend like he’s stopped thinking about you.

—

At the first team meeting of the 2024 season, you’re wearing a McLaren team kit.

Lando stares. He can't stop staring, actually. He thought it was bad before, but the sight of you, in his colors and on his team, walking around the MTC that has his branding everywhere, makes it so much worse. At least there's no cameras around, he thinks. His longing can't be captured and shared with the world in an Instagram carousel.

But you don’t need cameras to catch on. He’s sitting next to you at the long glass table, and every time Lando glances over, you eventually notice, catching his eye with an unimpressed frown. “Is this you trying?” you ask, under your breath. Just for him.

Lando’s too distracted by the slope of her jaw and the specks of green in your eyes to figure out what you’re talking about. He just looks at you, like always.

You glance to the head of the table, where somebody is presenting some slides about something that doesn't concern Lando. You must decide you can get away with talking to him, because you spin your chair, just a little, so your ankle is touching his. “To not be weird,” you clarify, after you’ve already distracted him beyond the point of no return with the ankle thing. If you ask him, it’s practically footsie, which everybody knows is a precursor to sex. “Lando,” you say, your face like you can't believe it. “Is this your attempt at not being weird?”

With it spelled out like that, he remembers his text from last season. How he promised to be on his best behavior. “Sorry,” he says, blanching. When he sent that, he didn't anticipate how good you would look in orange. Papaya.

You make this face, like you’re trying and failing at not judging him. Instead of replying, you just focus your attention back on the boring slideshow. Worse though, you pull your foot away from his.

—

The season starts off well enough.

You aren't close enough to him in qualifying for him to worry. And Zak had promised him that he's number one, whether you like it or not. You finish one place behind him in Australia and don't fight him for the podium. After you’ve changed out of your race suit, he finds you outside his garage, ready to kneel on the other side of his P3 sign and smile for the picture. It’s fiercely satisfying to finally, finally be able to beat you, in equal machinery and everything. The podium cements Lando’s place as first driver, and you just grin and take it.

In hindsight, Lando really should have known.

—

“Would you have let me pass, if I was faster?” you ask him, shoved into his side at a private booth in a club Carlos had invited him to. You’re wearing a dress, silver and sparkly and itchy where it presses against his arm. Lando’s not sure how he's survived this far without doing something stupid, like looking at your tits. Or worse, touching your tits. They're like—right there. You're so close to him, and you’re his teammate, and McLaren got 27 points today, because you played nice, like Zak said.

Lando shrugs. You’re pressed so tight to him that the movement pushes you away for a moment. “You’re not faster,” he answers, because he figures it's nicer than just telling you no. It’s his first podium of the season, he wouldn't have let anybody pass. Not even with team orders. You don't need to know that.

He can see the movement in your jaw, and your throat, as you swallow. It’s late enough, and he's drunk enough, that he doesn't even pretend not to be looking. “Right,” you say, and then pull yourself away from him, like there's suddenly more room in the booth than before. Like it doesn't mean you have to sit with one leg hanging to the side, hunched over the table to hold yourself up.

Lando feels the distance acutely. He had been hot, overheating, before. Now he feels fine. Still, he wouldn't mind the stuffiness if it meant you would drape yourself over him again, like you belong there. Like you’re one of the girls he takes out with the promise of taking them back to his hotel room, or the club bathroom, or an unoccupied corner. But, no. This is just like all the press conferences. You distancing yourself because you don’t like him. Lando somehow pissing you off just by existing.

He takes a swig of his drink and resolves to find somebody who will treat him like he was just standing on the podium in a Formula One race.

—

Between Suzuka and Shanghai, there's a lot of media things to film, for the YouTube channel. Pictionary, a tour of the MTC, Tiktok trends that take an hour of work all for a fifteen second video. He’s scheduled to work an eight hour day, but instead of killing himself about it, Lando is instead cornered by you in an empty hallway, with nobody around but himself to keep him in check.

“Do you want to go to lunch with me?” you ask him, like that question is something his heart can handle.

“Yes,” he answers, and it comes out too fast. Eager, but it’s not like you don’t already know. He supposes that the benefit of being so obvious is that it decreases his capacity to feel shame. “What, like, now?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him—a look he’s grown well used to by now—and clarify, “During the break. It’s barely 10 a.m.”

“Oh.”

It’s silent for a second, something that only ever seems to happen to Lando when it’s you. But then you rock back on your heels and say, “I just figured it would be better than sitting in your car for an hour and a half.”

Which, yeah. He had just planned to mindlessly scroll through his phone until the next shoot started. But there’s no way he’ll be sated doing that now that he knows he can be with you instead. In front of him, you look a little nervous. Like you think Lando’s going to reject your offer, after he’s already said yes like it’s the only word he knows. “I don’t need convincing, mate,” he says, and your shoulders drop a little, the pinch between your eyebrows lessening. “I’ll drive.”

It’s a little bit bruising to his ego, when you scoff and say, “I’ll drive,” but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

—

In the hours before the break, Lando feels the kind of anxiety a little kid on Christmas eve feels, counting down the seconds until morning. He can’t get out of the building fast enough. He’s leaving with you. How many times has he thought about that? Knowing you well enough to leave together, to have things to talk about. Even if, in all fairness, his fantasies usually include a more R-rated climax than merely taking you to lunch.

Also, it would be him taking you to lunch. Not the other way around. But he’ll get over it. You drive fast and call him your passenger princess, so he doesn’t really have much to complain about.

Over sandwiches, you talk about music and your friends from home and moving to Monaco. He learns more about you in that hour and a half than he knows about any of the girls in his phone. Except for his mum, of course. It feels oddly intimate. Like, somebody could mention country music, and he would be able to say something about how you hate country music, and then people would know. They’d know that Lando gets to hear you talk about things like that. That you’re his friend, or something close. That despite what the internet seems to think, you don’t hate him, even if he acts stupid every time he’s around you and probably deserves all the times you’ve rolled your eyes at him in press conferences. Even if you from a year ago probably wouldn’t be caught dead getting lunch with him, here you are.

Lando pays, like it’s a date. There’s a glint in your eyes when you thank him.

—

The season is going well. Like, really well. He’s getting closer and closer to a win, the team slowly becoming competitive. He stops getting called little Lando Norris. You stop calling him a nightmare on the radio.

That’s the best part, he thinks. He and you are friends now. His iMessage thread with you consists of more than just the texts he sent last season, after your announcement. The conversations he has with you are starkly different compared to the other girls. He imagines sending a you up? text and has, like, a visceral reaction. No, instead he sends you completely non-sexual texts, invitations to more lunches, complaints about shitty sessions, and once, a picture of two cats he sees on the street, both suspiciously papaya in color, to which you respond with a string of heart emojis and the puppy dog eye one. At night sometimes, you send him Tiktok compilations of his own worst moments, along with messages like you’re lucky there’s no IQ test to race or were you dropped as a child? and he takes it all in good fun because at least you’re talking to him.

You don’t roll your eyes at him in press conferences anymore. You smile at him while he talks, and now it’s your face that people online zoom in on. It’s you they tell to stand up. Lando wonders if you felt this powerful, every time he tripped over his words around you, or got caught staring. He wonders if he should ask you out.

He’s working up the courage, when you suddenly start trying to kill him on the track.

It starts in Monaco. He’s in P2, and you’re right behind him, riding his ass. He takes a corner too wide and you divebomb him, forcing him even wider, veering off the track lest he wants you to clip his right rear. Somehow, he manages to hold the position for a clean last leg of the race. In the cooldown room, you chew on the straw of your water bottle and don’t look at him.

He tries to keep his voice quiet for the cameras, but he can’t stop himself from asking, can’t wait ‘til the two of you are alone. “Did I, like, do something to you?” he whispers. He doesn’t think the cameras will be able to pick it up, and Charles is kind enough to at least pretend to be watching the race replays instead of listening. “What was that about?”

The pirelli hat covers your eyes, but does nothing to hide the way your mouth slants into a frown. “I just wanted to win a race, like everybody else here.”

“Okay,” he says, trying to ignore how out of character that is. You’re mad, he gets it. But even last season when you were proper rivals, you didn’t talk to him like everything was pre-scripted. He guesses you didn’t really talk to him at all; maybe this is normal. Still, though, “You didn’t have to practically take me out. I was faster.”

You look up from your lap at that, and he can finally see your face behind the cap. Your eyebrows are set in a hard line, and your jaw is clenched tight. “And I was racing,” you tell him, voice clipped.

—

He texts you from the club that night. Hey today was weird, let's just put it behind us.

He doesn’t get a reply, so he texts a girl he knows will answer.

—

Two weeks later, and he and you have been scrapping for the past three laps. Too many close calls, in his opinion. He’s the first driver; he waits for the message to come through that you’ve been ordered to stop fighting, but the team radio stays silent.

Lando ends up sending a message, though. “She has to give back the position,” he says, after you’ve gotten ahead of him while driving over the track limits.

“Yes, she has the orders.”

It should be cut and dry. You gained an advantage off track, and now you’ve got to give it back. At the very least, Lando shouldn’t have to fight for it. But he does anyway, and gets a puncture for his troubles. He misses when you played nice.

He doesn’t try to talk to you afterwards, this time. He’s been left on read for the past two weeks. And if anything, you’re the one who owes him an apology.

—

It just sucks because—even though you’ve stopped replying to his texts, and you don’t respect him on the track anymore, and you’re sooner to sit next to a complete stranger than him at the clubs now—you’re unfortunately still his teammate. You’re still everywhere that he is, filming with WIRED and fighting to stay awake in team meetings and training in the hotel gym. Only now, he can’t talk to you without it being a fight. Whenever he catches your eye, you always look uninterested. Upset, even. Like you can’t even tolerate being around him.

(Don’t ask him why he keeps catching your eye. He’d have to tell the truth. That even with all of this, he still can’t stop staring at you. It feels like old times again; he wants you, and you want nothing to do with him.)

—

It’s after he gets his first DNF of the season because of you that he finally cracks. “What the hell is your problem?” he asks you, in the middle of the McLaren motorhome. He thinks it’s empty, but it’s not like he stopped to check. He doesn’t have the patience.

“I don’t have a problem,” you grin. “I just won a race.”

In the stale fluorescent lighting, he can see how your smile doesn’t meet your eyes. You look just as tired, just as angry, as you’ve looked every time he’s seen you for the past month. It makes Lando feel kind of sick. “I don’t understand you,” he says. “We were friends! Weren’t we? Until you decided that you want to kill me.”

Your grin falls off. “Right, because you’re an expert at clean racing.”

“Well I’m not just gonna roll over and take it.”

Your jaw clenches. He doesn’t know what you want from him. Right now, or on the track, or at all. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be in the garage, taking a team photo. He should be there to support you. But you came to the motorhome, where you knew he was sulking after you ruined his race. What, did you just want to antagonize him?

“Great! We understand each other perfectly, then,” you say, and Lando wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you. Clearly you don’t understand him, if you think you can relate to him in any way. There’s been nothing for you to roll over and take. He’s never fought you. He’s never had to. And sure, he’ll admit that he’s never been keen on letting you by, but if he knew it was between that and a crash out, of course he’d let you pass.

“I just don’t know what changed to make you suddenly hate my guts. More than you used to, at least,” he says, trying to calm himself down a bit. They’re not even halfway through the season. He can’t fight with you right now if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the year dealing with the fall out.

In front of him, you stand with your arms crossed over your chest. The look in your eyes is firm, unyielding, but when you open your mouth to speak, you hesitate. “I thought you liked me,” you say, eventually.

It suddenly feels like all of the energy has been sucked out of the room, and Lando is unsure of how to reply. You swallow and close your eyes.

“I do,” he says, after a moment, because what? Yeah, he likes you. Everybody and their mothers know that he likes you. If it’s not written on his face at every moment, then it’s clear in the way he talks to you, the way he texts you. The way he spends time with you and tries not to badmouth you too badly, even when you do stupid shit like crash into him. People who don’t even know him know that he’s into you—how could you be unconvinced? “You have to be joking. Of course I like you. Haven’t you ever opened Twitter?”

When you open your eyes, it’s only to level a glare at him. He watches you smooth your hands out on the fabric of your race suit, and wonders if they had been clenched into fists before. “I’m not interested in joining your harem, Lando,” you say, succinct.

“What?” he blanches. He’s only half convinced he even knows what a harem is, and he deeply hopes it’s not what he thinks.

“Your many girlfriends, whatever. I don't wanna be one of them.”

Oh god, he thinks. Oh god, oh god. He can feel his hands start to get clammy, even as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

He knows. Of course he knows what you’re talking about, because even as he filmed it, as he answered yes to the guy’s stupid question—do you have many girlfriends?—he’d worried about what you would think if you saw it. At the time, he thought you would just judge him. He didn’t think you would take it seriously. He didn’t think it was even a thing to be taken seriously, not when you’d never expressed interest in him. Never even tried to stop him when he’d leave victory celebrations early with some girl who was clearly only after one thing

He watches you shift on your feet, crossing your arms tighter against yourself, like you’re the one with something to hide. “That dumb lie detector video you did.”

His mouth feels dry when he asks, “You watched it?”

“I saw it,” you correct, like that makes a difference.

If Lando were feeling more level-headed, he would probably be focused on apologizing, or explaining himself. “Do you watch my videos?” he asks instead. You inhale sharply, like you’ve been caught. You watch his videos, he thinks, almost delirious. He should’ve known, with some of the videos you’ve sent him. You don’t just happen upon those. He pictures you googling his name, or stalking fan TIktoks like he does. Saving edits to his favorites, like a psycho.

“It wasn't your video,” you say, flustered for the first time Lando has ever seen. “And that's not the point! I thought you liked me, but you were out—what, dating all these girls?”

“I’m not dating them—”

“—And just stringing me along? You just—you like to look at me, but you don’t actually like me. You don’t even like me as your teammate. Not unless I'm ‘rolling over and taking it.’ You’re always faster, so what’s the point of me even trying?”

Lando is having trouble processing all of this. He keeps thinking, all of this because you were jealous? Because you thought he had a harem of girlfriends he likes more than you? “You’re crazy.”

He knows, the moment the words come out of his mouth, that it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s wrong to say, period. He’d know it even if you didn’t flinch back like he hit you. Even if you didn’t cut your gaze away and grind your teeth.

The silence stretches on. Lando needs to apologize, but then you say, calm like a robot, “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well save it for the press.”

Lando watches you walk away, and for the first time in his life, feels at a loss for words.

—

Lando periodically checks your mum’s Instagram. He's not proud of it, but he figures what’s one more sprinkle on the him-being-obsessed-with-you cake? It’s not like it’s the most humiliating thing he’s done, not by a long shot. She posts a story—which he views from a burner account because he’s not that crazy—four hours after you walk out of the motorhome. It’s of you, sitting on a hotel bed and staring miserably at the camera. There’s a plastic spoon in your mouth and a pint of ice cream in your hand. The caption: A mom’s job never ends! Boy problems for my race winner. It’s accompanied by two emojis, a frowny face and a heart.

He looks from your face to the caption and back again. Your eyes are red-rimmed, like you’ve been crying. Your first win with McLaren, and because of him, you’re crying in a hotel room with your mum instead of celebrating.

He has to shut off his phone for a while, after that.

—

“Can I ask what the hell you did to your teammate?” George asks, the second Lando is within earshot.

It’s loud in the club. Lando’s pretty sure Charles has made his way behind the DJ booth. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, yelling a bit over the music.

George just squints his eyes. “Right. Where is she, then?”

Lando doesn’t want to think about you, crying in your hotel room with your mum and a carton of ice cream. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s probably all his fault. He takes a swig of the drink he’d been handed and asks, “Why would I know?” wincing when it comes out defensive, too defensive.

George lifts his hands in surrender, but Lando is too tired to fight, anyway. “You guys sort of come to these things together,” he explains.

Huh. Lando does come to these things with you, doesn’t he? He’s always just thought that it’s because it’s easy. You leave from the same hotel to get to the same club, where you talk to all the same people and do all the same things. Until he leaves with somebody else, he thinks, squeezing the plastic cup in his hand. He could have been going home with you, probably. If he had asked, would you have—

“Have you called her?” George asks.

Lando blinks. He hadn’t really thought of that, and from the look on George's face, he can tell. He digs his phone out of his pocket and finds your contact. It rings and rings, but you don’t answer. It’s a little humiliating for George to see, but he just hums and says, “Text her, then. Even if she doesn’t reply, she’ll see it.”

Lando winces. “She didn’t respond the last time I texted her. I don’t want to look—”

“Look what, Lando? Desperate? Like you’re into her?” George laughs, and it’s more humiliating than the fact that you didn’t answer when he called. “Mate, I think it’s a bit late for that.”

—

Lando finds the bathroom and types and deletes the following messages:

I’m sorry, can we talk?

I don’t have a harem

You’re not crazy

Please call me.

He presses his forehead against the wooden door and huffs out a breath. He wants a drink, but he settles on texting you, I want to apologize. Come to my hotel room later?

It sounds sleazy, he knows. Everything he could say would sound sleazy. But George was right, you do read the message. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches the three little dots appear and disappear again. He sits and stares for what must be at least five minutes, until finally he can read your message: ok.

He replies with his room number, and then high tails it back to the hotel, trying not to think about whether or not you discussed his message with your mum.

—

He paces back and forth in his hotel room for the better part of an hour before you finally knock.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you’re telling him, the moment he opens the door. You’re wearing what you’d been wearing in your mum’s Instagram story, a hoodie and sweatpants, your hair pulled up into a ponytail. “I shouldn’t have been taking my feelings out on you on track. I just wanted you, and I was pissed you didn’t want me. I didn’t—to me, it didn’t seem like I was being crazy, but—”

“You’re not crazy,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I shouldn't have said that. I mean, maybe you drive a little crazy sometimes—”

You stomp on his foot, and he winces to the side. There’s a clear path for you to come into the room now, but you remain firmly in the hallway. “I thought you were apologizing,” you say, crossing your arms

“You just told me—” he starts, but cuts himself off with a sigh. He does want to apologize, not to fight. “No, you’re right. I am sorry. I don’t—there’s no harem, first of all. I don’t have any girlfriends. I have hook-ups.”

In the hallway, your lips press into a line. “Is this going somewhere? I don’t want to hear about your hook-ups, thanks.”

He’s not very good at this, he realizes. He wipes his face and tries to start again. “Sorry, let me start over. I didn’t mean to string you along, or to make you think that I don’t want to be with you, or that I just like you for the way you look. I’ve wanted to be with you forever. If I thought you wanted that to, I would’ve stopped seeing all those girls—”

“—You haven’t stopped?” you interrupt, with wide eyes.

Lando gives up. “Can you just—tell me what you want me to say, maybe? I feel like I’m drowning here.”

You look away from him, studying the hallway intently. But Lando waits you out, until you sigh and say, all in one breath, “I just want you to say that you want to be with me and you’ll block all the girls in your harem and you’ll stop always going home with some rando even though I’m right there.”

“Oh,” Lando breathes. “You know I actually probably would’ve gotten there on my own.”

You stand and stare at him for a long moment, and then let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Are you going to say it, then? Or do you want me to go?”

You take a step back, like you’re really going to leave him to eat ice cream with your mum again. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, helpless to the surge of panic that rushes through him. “No, I’ll say it!” he assures, and it comes out loud and squeaky as the noise spills into the empty hallway. Well, empty save for you, standing frozen and expectant. Lando takes your other hand into his, his fingers over your wrists. “I want to be with you, and only you. I’ll block any other girl in my phone. You’re the only person I want to go home with. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise”

You look down at your hands in his, and then back up with the same look in your eyes that he saw when he first paid for your lunch. “Your delivery leaves something to be desired,” you tell him, but you’ve got a cheeky grin that tells Lando he didn’t actually do anything wrong. “But I’ll take it.”

“Do I get an apology for you being an asshole or how you’ve been trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. It’s a familiar sight, not unwelcome even now. “You have to say you’ll stop calling me slow first. Besides, don’t you think there’s other things to be doing with each other besides apologizing?”

Lando feels any capacity for rational thought seep out of his head, at that.

“Are you going to invite me in, or what?” you ask, pointed.

—

Lando does invite you in.

You come willingly, once he’s said the words, like you were waiting. You have been waiting, he realizes. This whole time, you’ve just been waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and ask you.

Well, Lando thinks both he and you have waited long enough. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, the question that’s been on his tongue since before you were even his teammate. Since he was being bullied on the internet for having a crush on you.

You make that face again, like you’re judging him. He’s starting to think that face doesn’t equate to judgment at all. “I literally thought you were never going to ask.”

It’s permission enough, for him. Permission to do the thing he’s wanted to do for so long now it feels vaguely ridiculous. He wonders how he can strap himself into a death machine every week and pull points for the team but can’t figure this out? Can’t figure out something a twelve year old probably would’ve dealt with by now. Whatever. Lando’s figuring it out now. He takes you by the back of the neck and pulls you in. It’s the first maneuver he’s been able to pull in a month without you putting up a fight.

Your lips are hot and desperate against his. He supposes that’s what he gets, when he’s let the girl of his dreams think he’s dating other women. But he’s certainly not complaining, not when your hands bunch up in his shirt and you gasp like he didn’t telegram his next move aloud to you.

He walks you back to the bed until the backs of your calves hit it, and then helps you fall with an encouraging hand on the dip of your back. He wants to touch you everywhere, but there's quite literally no available skin, so he settles for biting at your bottom lip, and pressing his hips tight against yours whenever you arch up into him. There’s no reason for it to feel so good, through layers and layers of clothing, but there’s also no reason for you to be letting him do this. Lando makes the executive decision not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Is this all you do when girls come to your hotel room?” you pull away from him to ask. A trail of spit connects his lips to yours, and it’s so grossly erotic that Lando wants to lick it up.

It takes him a moment to gather the brainpower to answer. “No,” he says, wiping his mouth. “They’re not usually wearing so many clothes, for one.”

You roll your eyes again, but still let him push your sweatshirt up and over your head with little fanfare. He expects to see your bra, hopes maybe you’ve forgone that, even. Instead, he finds a faded cotton t-shirt. “I wasn’t exactly at the club,” you tell him, a reaction to what must be the disappointment on his face. He cheers up when you yank the shirt off yourself, discarding it haphazardly on the floor.

“I wasn't either,” he tells your newly exposed tits. Well, exposed apart from your bra, but it’s black and it looks soft and holds them rather nicely, so he won’t complain if you decide not to take it off. He has to swallow before he can speak again. “I got there, and then called you, like, immediately.”

You smile, call him a, “Simp,” even as you start working at the buttons of his shirt.

He takes a moment to help you, before getting the mind to defend himself. “You’ve been driving me off track for a month because you were jealous.”

“No, I was doing that out of respect for my fellow women,” you say, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and then, moving your hands to the zipper of his jeans. Your knuckles press against his dick, where it’s trapped behind the denim. Lando, just a man, groans. “I was trying to free your sister wives of their sexual obligations.”

“They were not—” Lando groans again, this time for reasons unrelated to your hands’ proximity to his dick. He helps you pull off his jeans and then says, with more confidence than he truly feels, “I think you need to be doing something with your mouth besides talking.”

You grin. “Finally, a good idea.”

—

If somebody had told Lando, a year ago, a month ago—hell, a few hours ago—that you would go down on your knees for him, that you would open your mouth nice and wide and let him fuck it like it—like you—belongs to him, he probably would’ve have an aneurysm. And then found an unoccupied bathroom to wank in.

Now, though, he just squeezes his hands tighter in your hair, tosses his head back when you whine. Your hand is shoved down your own sweatpants, and Lando can’t look at that unless he wants to blow his load early. The fact that you’re doing this is enough to have him dangerously close to the edge, even if it wasn't good. He doesn't have to worry about that though, because it is. Good. Maybe not as experienced as he’s had in the past, but you make up for it in enthusiasm. As in, you’re fucking sloppy with it, wet and hot and perfect, and it’s you, so Lando is already half gone, anyway.

He pulls you off with the hand in your hair, and still has the mind to feel shame when his dick twitches as you wipe your mouth. “Why’d you stop?” you ask him. Your eyes are teary and your ponytail is one wrong move from falling out completely, and he wants to kiss you even though it might taste like his dick.

“Didn’t wanna come,” he says instead.

“You can’t go more than once?”

Which, he could, maybe. The fact that it’s you in front of him, asking him, would definitely make it easier. Still, “Don’t want to chance it,” he says. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Ohhh my god, please tell me you have a condom,” you say, shoving your sweatpants down and using his thighs to pull yourself up and onto the bed. He stumbles around, looking for his pants. Pulls one out of his wallet. “You dog,” you accuse.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, instead of arguing. He’s learning, he thinks.

“Only if you get on with it.”

Lando looks down at you, on your back in front of him, propped up on your elbows. He can see more of you than he could’ve ever dreamed of, and boy did he dream of it. You grin up at him, and he thinks yeah, he’ll get on with it now.

Getting your underwear off is a pretty easy feat, with the way you help him shove them down your hips, looking like you wouldn't much care if he were to actually rip them off of you. Next time, he thinks. Maybe then he’ll have more control of the way his hands roam over you—your stomach, your thighs, your tits. He squeezes them through your bra and you huff, reaching an arm behind you to work at the clasp. Lando helps, and soon, he's staring at you, naked and wanting, and he has to fight the urge to bury his face in your boobs and never come up for air.

“This isn't getting on with it,” you complain, arching your back like he needs to be enticed. As if Lando doesn't want you so bad that he would fuck you even if you threatened to crash into him every race because of it.

He spreads your thighs apart with the palms of his hands. The sight of you, all open for him, is fucking crazy. Like a dream. You're so wet you’re glistening. “Soaked,” he hums, running a finger through your folds.

The glide is easy, and when he finds your clit, you make a choked sound in the back of your throat. “Whose fault is that?” you say, but its not biting enough to make up for the look on your face, cracked open and wanting. Lando feels his need acutely in the center of his chest. Not just the need to be inside of you, but the need to make up for all the times he’s fucked other girls while thinking about you. All the times he's led you to think that he's just leading you on. He dips his middle finger inside of you—you’re tight but so wet that it slides right in, and you toss your head back and say, “Oh,” like he's punched the breath out of you.

His brain feels a bit like it's short-circuiting. Your chasing his fingers with your hips, making it easy to fuck them in and out. He’s worked you up to three by the time he thinks you start getting close, thrashing a bit, pulling your leg up to open yourself wider. Lando takes you by the thigh, holds it against himself so you’ll stay nice and open. He curls his fingers and you say, “Okay, okay, you can get your dick in me now please,” staring straight up at the ceiling, heaving.

Please. God, you do know how to play nice, he thinks as he rolls the condom on. He wonders if you would beg if he asked you to, but he doesn't have the patience right now to find out. He pulls his fingers out and wipes the wetness off on the soft downey comforter. Your face pinches up, and you open your mouth like you’re going to make a comment on his cleanliness, but he presses into you with a hand on the base of his dick, and it shuts you up pretty well.

It takes amounts of self control Lando did not know he was capable of to not shoot off like a rocket the second he's inside of you. He's loosened you up enough with his fingers, but you're still tight, still hot, even through the condom. Lando presses ever forward, feeling like he's fucking folding you in half with your thigh against his chest. He doesn't quite trust his voice to come out right, but still he asks, “Does it feel—okay?”

“Okay?” you ask, like you're offended on his behalf. He fucks out and back in, and you add, “Yeah, Lando, feels so good, feel so—”

“Full?” he asks.

You stare up at him with judgment on your face that you shouldn't be capable of when his dick is in you. “Of course you’d get an ego boost from this,” you say. He thinks you’re going for casual, but it doesn't really work, not when your voice is all breathy, your skin all flushed.

“Bit hard not to.” He presses the palm of his hand to your lower stomach, asks, “Bet you feel me here, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, high and reedy. Your back arches off the bed, chasing something. Lando gives it to you, readily.

Fucking you is worth not finishing the race, he thinks. Whether his mechanics would agree is a different story, but Lando wishes he could travel back in time to the moment he retired the car, and tell himself to not get so pissed. Tell himself to wait it out, til you're in his hotel room, underneath him, writhing and sighing and moving your hips like you can't decide if you want more or want to get away. Lando presses them down onto the mattress so you don't have to decide, so he gets to choose. He sets a pace that's a bit rough on his back—again, worth it, he thinks, for the way you gasp out sobs like Lando’s the best thing that's ever happened to you. And you expect him not to get an ego boost? He's just a man.

Around him, you squeeze him perfectly. Like you were made from him. Better yet, like he's carved out a space for himself, molded you to fit his dick. “Fuck,” he groans, at the thought. At the feeling. You sniff underneath him, hiding your face behind your hands. “No, don’t—” He thinks about pulling your hands away from your face, but decides instead to use his fingers for something more useful, working over your clit. “I wanna see your face when you come.”

“Jesus,” you gasp, wincing away from his hand before pushing back into him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

It works, despite your bitter tone. You look into his eyes and he hopes you can see on his face that no, he doesn't. He doesn't do any of this shit with other girls. He doesn't even want to think about other girls, not now that he's finally got you. Leaning down to kiss you is a real strain on his back, but he’s helpless to the urge, and you gasp into his mouth like he's made the right choice. Plus, whenever his muscles twinge, you push yourself up to lean against the palms of your hands, and the strain lessens.

He rubs your clit faster in thanks, and he feels you clench tight around him, a vice grip. “Lando, I think—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know,” he says, when you can't get the word out. He's about to make you come. He feels crazy with the thought. “I can feel it.”

You groan as he bites at your jaw. “You’re terrible,” you whine, tossing your head back. The movement exposes your neck, more real estate for Lando to leave his mark, so everybody on your flight tomorrow knows you spent the night before taking it.

You get impossibly tighter around him, inhaling sharply, holding your breath. When you come, you say his name, loud enough it might get him a noise complaint. Loud enough that he can't help the way his hips buck, control slipping as you go boneless underneath him, falling back onto the mattress.

You’re relaxed around him now, not squeezing his dick like before. But it still feels so good, you underneath him, around him, your hands covering his own on your hips, urging him on. He thinks about how you're so fucking open and easy for him, about how the way your hips spasm with the aftershocks is a testament to the fact that you want him, the same way he wants you, the same way he's wanted you forever, and comes long and hard into the condom.

“Way better than apologies,” he says into your chest, once he’s fallen forward, spent.

You smack him on the head, but he's too content to care about it.

—

When he pulls out, he tosses the condom to the side, something for him to deal with at a later time. This time, there's nothing distracting you, and you groan, “That's disgusting. The poor carpet.”

You turn your nose up at him, and Lando supposes that just because he can fuck your brains out doesn't mean he stop you from judging him. He looks at the way you’re staring at him, a look he's seen in press conferences and debriefs and plastered all over the internet. It’s a look just for him, and he thinks maybe he never even minded it all that much to begin with.

Maybe you never minded him all that much to begin with, either.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #smut #sorry i still don't know how to use tumblr #also sorry there's 6k of plot before they can fuck #if there's mistakes... no there's not! <3 #f1 imagine #formula one #george russell #had to feature my yabba dabba dooer

792 notes · View notes