#but he should still reap what he sowed

[aelinsattitude]

I would kill a man to be able to read all the iconic Aftg lines again for the first time.

#Aftg #tfc #the switch from Neil to Nathaniel? #you’re a pipe dream #I did #reap what you sow or burn the field down #tell me I can have your game #you should be court #every inch of you doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you #YOU GAVE ME A KEY AND CALLED IT HOME #THANK YOU YOU WERE AMAZING #I won’t be like them I won’t let you let me be #I’m going to be the deadliest piece on the board #ID ASK HOW IT FEELS BUT I GUESS YOUVE ALWAYS KNOWN WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE SECOND BEST YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT #YOU KNOW I GET IT… #will you still teach me?… every night #help me… let me #Neil josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag #Hope was a dangerous disquieting thing but he thought perhaps he liked it.

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple finale - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: so um ignore how long every part of this took to come out. i have no excuse. anyways we are finally here at the end!! almost 10k words of proper regency soap opera type shit and it all ends happily i promise. i hope u enjoy because damn this was supposed to be a short one shot and ended up being over 40k lmao

wc: 9k

warning(s): angst, reader is a lil insecure, slightly steamy make out scene, happy ending<333

You’d never been this restless before. 

Your dreams had a part to play in it. They insisted on tormenting you, though not in the usual way. 

No, these dreams would have been pleasant had they come any sooner. For Anthony Bridgerton appeared in near every single one, with his charming smile and soft eyes and hair you always desired to run your fingers through. 

He would smile at you, offer his arm and walk with you all around the park and the city as you talked for hours. He would compliment you, and you would compliment him, and he would court you as a perfect gentleman would. 

He would kiss you, ravenously so. His hands would touch you where no one had touched before, leaving trails of fire in their wake, would unearth feelings you never could have imagined. He would revere you, near worship you, because in this world you never made such ill-advised choices. In this world, you never dragged him into a worthless scheme that ended with a ruined reputation and a broken heart.  

In this world, he loved you just as much as you loved him, and you never did a single thing to make him doubt that. 

But you were not there. 

You were here, in the real world. Where you were in the midst of reaping what you spent a whole season sowing. 

You were roused from that less than peaceful attempt at sleep—though thoughts of Anthony took longer to disappear—by the opening of your door, and despite your visitor attempting to be quiet, you found your eyes fluttering open against your will.

“Oh, dearest,” your mother lamented, “I did not mean to wake you. I apologize; I merely wanted to check on you. I will return later—please, rest.”

“No,” you murmured, and you rubbed your eyes as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Small movements were much easier, which at least meant a step in the right direction. “No, stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. When you nodded, she closed the door lightly behind her and sat on your bedside, laying her hand over yours. 

She whispered your name, her voice already thick with tears that she was trying to hide. “I am so glad you are alright.” 

“You say that every time you come in here,” you said.

“And I will continue to say it.” She shook her head. “You nearly perished. You should consider yourself lucky I am not in here at all hours of the day.” 

You managed a smile, and she sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “I am still sore, but much better.”

“Good,” she said. “All I can ask is that you continue to get better.” 

“The rest has certainly been nice,” you said. “Am I still a true lady despite my late wakings?” 

“You have always been a true lady,” your mother assured with a slight smile. 

“I believe you may be the only one that still thinks so.” 

“If you are feeling ready, there is a ball in a fortnight,” she said. “It could be a good way to garner good will again.” You gave her a look, and she held up her hands. “I understand how you feel, but your presence is important. There are… rumors floating about, and we must lay them to rest.” 

“Rumors,” you muttered wryly. “That your daughter is an ungrateful wench and will die a spinster?” 

She said your name sternly, and you shook your head. “I read what Whistledown wrote about me—she’s likely written a hundred more. I do not care what any of them think of me, Mother. I am only sorry for the pain it has caused you and Father, and the Bridgertons.” 

“The Bridgerton name is strong enough to weather scandal,” she said. “We have to work a bit harder. And making an appearance in society again, especially with Lord Cardew by your side, will help.” 

You suppressed a scoff at the mere thought of him. You’d been granted such a reprieve from Lord Cardew because of Anthony’s influence, and while you were recovering, no one but family was to see you. But soon—very soon—he would be your entire life. 

“That brings up another question,” your mother said wryly, and when you met her eyes she was giving you a very pointed look. “Are you still sure about this?” 

No, you wanted to say. You couldn’t be less sure about Jonathan Cardew. But you’d dragged your family into this mess of yours, so it was your duty to fix it. 

Plenty of women married much more dreadful men every year. You should have considered yourself lucky that a man of his breeding, of his standing was interested in you at all—especially after the season you’d spent distancing yourself from him and the scandal you’d caused. 

“...Yes,” you finally said. “I am sure.”

Your mother sighed and said your name. “You are sure? You have not reached out to Anth—” 

“There is nothing left between us,” you interrupted. “I know it is not the best situation, and I know it is my fault, but I am making the best of it. All I ask is that you support me. It is hard enough attempting to make my way through this world—I need my mother to be there for me rather than constantly pushing against it all.”

“...Of course,” she said quietly. “And I am so sorry that I have ever done differently. My dear, all I ask in return is that you understand me, as well as the decisions I make. All I want is the best for you, and I know that marriage is not what you desire, but there are things we must do.” 

“Of course,” you said, and your echoing words spurned a small smile from her. “I am sorry that I have always fought you so much. All I could see was my hatred for any kind of union, but all I managed was hurting you and Father, as well as myself, and— and I cannot think of any apology that will be enough.” You shook your head with a mirthless laugh. “I’ve no idea how you put up with me for so long, truly.” 

“I’ve never had to put up with you,” she said. “I realize I may not have done the best job at showing it, but— but I love you more than anything in this world. Everything I have ever done has been for you, my darling. You are the future of our name, and I know you will do an excellent job at carrying on our legacy.” 

“Truly?” you asked softly. 

Your mother nodded as she took your hands and smiled at you. “Truly. Nothing in this world can change my love for you. You are our greatest accomplishment.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat as you smiled as well, and you pulled your mother into a hug. She reciprocated, and tears filled your eyes. You’d missed the comfort of her presence so dearly. 

“I love you too,” you whispered. 

-

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

Your lady’s maid's words snapped you out of the stupor you’d found yourself in, and it was all you could do to attempt a smile. 

“Yes, Julia,” you said. “Quite alright.” 

Her brows furrowed as she draped a pendant around your neck, the cold metal turning your exhale slightly shaky. “Pardon my plainness, my lady, but you are not believable in the slightest.” 

“You have been around me for far too long,” you said dryly. “I request another maid, one that cannot read me so easily.” 

Julia offered a wry smile. “You are stuck with me for now, my lady. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?” 

You stared yourself in the mirror as you turned the question over. It was not as easy to answer as it should have been, not when everything was so out of order. Not when you hardly recognized the reflection staring back at you, wrapped in orange silk and adorned in jewels courtesy of Lord Cardew. 

You were not yourself—you were to be Baron Jonathan Cardew’s wife, a baroness and status symbol to hang off his arm and smile prettily, and Baroness Cardew was who stared back at you. 

Only a few more balls remained until the season came to an end, and though Lord Cardew was doing your family an immense service by giving you a second chance, he did not want to wait much longer to make it official. 

It was all planned out. Your relationship would truly enter the public eye tonight with your dances, you would promenade in open parks to have as many eyes on you as possible. He would call on you and your meager staff would be encouraged to spread rumors. Another ball would pass together, enough to hopefully weather some of the scandal you’d created, and then…

Then, he would propose. 

You would accept. 

And the fate you’d been so intent on avoiding would be sealed. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the impending tears. 

“I am nervous,” you admitted. “My decision didn’t exactly feel… real. Not until I was standing at the modiste getting fitted for this gown with one of Cardew’s maids. And all this jewelry…” Your fingers trailed across the raised designs on the pendant. “It makes it even more so.” 

“I can only imagine,” Julia said. “He has certainly put in effort.” 

“And yet it all feels hollow.” You moved away from the mirror and stopped in front of your vanity. The light blue reticule sitting near your jewelry box felt as if it was mocking you. 

Julia said your name with a sigh. “You made your choice. You pushed him away.” 

“I know,” you murmured, tracing the embroidery with your finger. “But feelings do not disappear so quickly.” 

“He wrote letters,” she said. “After you moved from Bridgerton House to recover here, after I refused his calling on you for the hundredth time, he wrote letters and delivered them by hand.” 

You picked at a loose strand of white thread on the purse, jaw clenched so tight you thought your teeth might crack. 

“He told me he did not care if you didn’t want them,” Julia continued softly. “He just needed you to know how he felt.” 

“This is how it has to be,” you finally said, voice shaking. 

“And what makes you think that?” Julia challenged. “You believe you have to live a life of misery simply because half the ton does so in the name of reputation and riches?” 

“Two things I no longer have any of,” you murmured. “Cardew’s pedigree is enough to get both back for my family. It is my duty, Jules, and I can no longer hide from it.” 

Your lady’s maid looked at you with desperation in her eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by your mother calling your name. You nodded your permission and she opened it.

“Lady Worthing,” she said, curtsying just so to your mother. “I’ve finished getting her ready—I’ll give the two of you some time alone.” 

“Thank you, Julia,” your mother said with a smile. She turned back to you, her eyes softer than ever as she moved forward and set her hands on your shoulders. 

“My darling,” she said, “you look so beautiful. I did not lie when I called you the crown jewel of our family.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Thank you, Mother. I’m glad I can make you proud.” 

She murmured your name, turning you so you faced the mirror. You saw yourself more this time, feeling more assured with your mother standing behind you holding all the stars in her eyes. 

“I have always been proud of you, darling,” she murmured. “Even if I did not show it in the best way. I love you more than words can express. I meant it when I said you are our greatest achievement.” 

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against her. She allowed you to sink into her and you felt the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“...I’m afraid, Mother,” you whispered. “To marry. To be a wife.” 

She was silent for a moment, busying herself with adjusting your jewelry before she spoke.

“I was afraid too,” she admitted. “I hardly knew your father outside of a few promenades, and one lovely bouquet of flowers. It was almost fully arranged by our parents. But when he proposed, he vowed to always be my friend, and to always take care of me.” 

“Has he?” you asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “We did not love each other on our wedding day. But he has always been kind to me, and he has always advocated for me, and we have always been there for each other. We love each other now, in our own way. And,” she smiled, smoothing down the lace on your sleeves, “together, we brought you into the world. I would do it all over again if it meant I would get you in the end.” 

You could not imagine considering Lord Cardew a friend, nor the opposite. He saw you as just another pretty jewel to adorn himself with. 

Anthony saw you as a friend— as more. He always listened to what you had to say, always entertained your jokes with some of us own, never talked down on you. He saw you as an equal. 

 “I do not know if any woman is prepared to marry,” she finally said. “Even those that marry for love still have initial doubts. There are so many expectations of our behavior when we are told so little of what we must actually do.” 

“How do you do it?” you asked. “You married a man you didn’t know. You raised a child. You held face against a society that shamed you for only having a daughter.” 

“All you can do is trust in yourself, and in those around you,” she said. “If you are with the right person, everything will feel as natural as breathing. You will not care what anything thinks of you, because there is only one opinion that matters.” 

There was one man you felt natural around, one who you felt you could speak your mind around and not be judged. One man that you’d fallen in love with, that surely hated you in return for what you’d done to him. 

Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. “What should I do, Mother?” 

“You know what you must do,” she said softly. “All I can do is support you.” 

-

You’d rubbed your palms on your dress at least fifteen times since you’d arrived. A fruitless effort, considering you were wearing gloves, but you could not stand still. 

Your conversation with Lord Cardew had taken everything out of you, your dance with him even more so—an especially damning fate seemed ahead of you. But you could tune him out well enough, at least. 

It was an entirely different deal when the Bridgertons showed up. 

Violet walked in arm and arm with Anthony and Benedict, and Colin had a loose hold on Eloise. And to make matters worse, Daphne Bridgerton, alongside her husband the Duke of Hastings, were making an appearance. What an honor, to have the chance to embarrass yourself in front of such highly ranking nobles. 

Eloise branched off immediately after they passed the threshold, much to the protests of her mother, but your mother immediately pulled you in their direction. You could only imagine her thoughts—if she could get the Duke of Hastings touting for the Worthings, that would make things much easier.  

Anything for the optics, you supposed. But when you met Anthony’s eyes for the first time, you had to avert your gaze. He just looked so damn sad. 

“It is good to see you again, Violet,” your mother said. “And it is an honor, Duke and Duchess Hastings.” The both of you curtsied, and you could see the Duke’s slight smile. 

“I consider it my honor to meet the woman who has been the center of such conversation this season,” he said. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and thankfully Violet stepped in. 

“It is good to see you as well, Cecilia.” Violet smiled as she looked at you. “Especially you, my dear.” 

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, Duke Hastings. I am grateful to be here.” 

Benedict smiled, the notion warmer than anything you deserved. “You look lovely, Miss Worthing. Especially for someone who escaped death with such recency.”

Anthony’s eyes remained on you the entire time, and more than anything you wished you could read this mind. The man probably hated you, and he had every right to do so. You just wished your feelings for him weren’t so insurmountable. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled as believably as you could. “Thank you, Mister Bridgerton. You also look well.”

Your mother nudged your shoulder and your gaze met Anthony’s once more. He still hadn’t looked away from you. 

You bowed your head once more. “Lord Bridgerton. It… is good to see you.”

No wonder you actually ended up falling in love with Anthony. It was the only way anyone could believe this ruse—you were quite an awful actress. 

Anthony lowered his head as well, his poise stiff. “A pleasure, Miss Worthing.”

“We’re glad to see you’re doing well,” Violet said, her smile a bit thin. You could only imagine the conversation that would occur between her and your mother later. “You caused us all quite a scare.”

“Oh, Anthony was so worried,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m thankful we have the chance to attend this ball so I could see you in person.” 

“I’ve recovered well,” you nodded, and you looked at Violet. “My family and I thank you immensely for your kindness and your doctor’s care. We’ll be in your debt endlessly.”

“There is no need for that,” Violet said. “It is enough that you are still here.”

Your cheeks burned but you tried to smile anyways. You wanted to burrow into a hole and never come out. It seemed the Bridgertons were capable of endless grace in public when they surely had to despise you. 

“Eloise has run off somewhere over near the strings,” Benedict provided in the silence. “I’m sure she would appreciate your companionship tonight.”

You glanced at your mother and she nodded, and your smile at Benedict was much more genuine. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to talk with her.” 

You mouthed thank you to him when your mother could not see, and he nodded. He’d always been so decent to you. 

You could not help but glance at Anthony as you went, and his gaze followed you. He would resent you if he had any sense, but it seemed the opposite—the sadness in his eyes was fatal.

You took a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table when you passed it, needing something to do with your hands. You found your way to Eloise’s side soon enough, and her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you.

“It is so good to see you,” she breathed. “I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already had to fend off suitors. They just cannot seem to understand I hold such little care for them.” 

“I am just as glad to see you,” you admitted. “I do not think I can get through this night alone.” 

“I cannot imagine why,” Eloise said sarcastically. “I’ve heard the news. And I must say, it is your poorest decision this season.”

Your laugh was mostly out of surprise, and you nearly dropped the flute of lemonade you were holding. You were on edge far more than you expected—you almost wished your glass was full of champagne. 

“At least somebody is speaking plainly,” you murmured, your gaze distant and unfocused. “I think the rest of your family must hate me, but they’re all too kind to say it.” 

Eloise frowned. “Why would any of them hate you?” 

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Because I caused an immense scandal and then ended things with Anthony?”

She huffed a laugh, her eyebrows now rising. “Our family has weathered many a scandal, and we are still here. Or have you forgotten how Daphne’s dearest husband chose to court her?”  

“That is different,” you insisted. 

“I think it is worse, actually,” Eloise said plainly. “Simon is a duke, and Anthony nearly killed him before Daphne knocked some sense into him.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Truly, it was a disaster. We Bridgertons have a knack for them.” 

“As do I,” you said with a loose laugh. “I was stabbed, Eloise. I nearly died in your brother’s arms.” 

“And we nearly died in our drawing room,” she said. “Anthony, most of all. He cares for you immensely.” 

“Surely he cannot,” you insisted. “Not after what I’ve done.” 

“I am not blind,” Eloise said, “and neither are you. So do not demerit our intelligence and pretend as if you do not see it.” 

“I— I know.” You wrapped your arms around your midsection, and you grimaced as the jewelry on your wrists brushed against your skin. You were covered head to toe in finery that didn’t belong to you, and you itched from the inside out. “But I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Eloise looked across the room, where Lord Cardew stood talking to your mother, and then over at her brother, who couldn’t have been less interested in the lady trying to strike up conversation with him. Then her gaze fell to you. “You’ve got a choice to make.” 

“I’ve already ruined things,” you murmured. “I— I can’t just back out of this.”

“I can tell you that you certainly haven’t ruined things with my brother. And Lady Whistledown’s speculation is the only thing binding you to that lecher.” Eloise shrugged. “You’ve already broken off one courtship. What’s another?”

Your eyes met Anthony’s from across the room. Once again, he’d already been looking at you. You averted your gaze quickly, feeling the heat rush to your face, and you tried to steady your breathing. He had no right to still have such an effect on you. 

“I need some air,” you murmured. “Will you—”

“Of course,” Eloise said. “You are simply touching things up in the powder room.”

You nodded your thanks and slipped out of the ballroom, finally able to drop the facade you’d been trying to uphold. You truly felt as if you were overheating, and the cool air was hardly of aid once you reached the outdoors.

Everything was all wrong—your dress, this damned tiara, the bracelets and the necklaces and every jewel that Cardew thought he could buy you with. 

It all belonged to him. You would not be another prize on his shelf. 

You couldn’t help yourself. You began to shed the jewelry as your pace sped up, ripping bangles from your wrists and pendants from your neck—by the time you reached a deserted area of the gardens, you were considerably lighter and considerably close to tears. 

You let out a frustrated sob as you slammed your fists against some artistic stone structure. It earned you nothing but pain, but it grounded you in some strange way. You tore off your gloves and threw them to the ground, a shaky breath escaping you as you screwed your eyes shut and  pressed your palms to your forehead. 

You could not marry traditionally, you could not follow through with your feelings for Anthony, and now you could not follow through with this ill-advised plan. 

Were you truly this useless? To bring ruin to two families with your knack for destroying things for it all to amount to nothing? You waxed poetic about the life you thought you deserved to live, about going to university and gaining your independence and never marrying, and yet here you were, near tears in the gardens of the ball you were meant to reenter society at. 

“Miss Worthing.”

The whispered words blared through the silence, and you knew who it was without having to turn around. It still sent a shock through you, your breathing faltering for a moment. Your eyes stayed shut. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice watery. 

“You do not know me if you think there is anywhere else I would be,” he said. 

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the trail of jewels. You’ve left an awfully expensive path in your wake.”

“All of it is worthless,” you mumbled, finally letting your hands drop. “It all belongs to Lord Cardew.”

“You’ll have made a magpie very happy.” 

“Enough with the jokes,” you said. “Why are you here?” 

“Why do you think?” Anthony asked with a slight laugh. 

“I do not know,” you responded. “That is why I asked.” 

“I am here because I want to talk to you,” he said. “You cannot just avoid me for the rest of the season.”

You turned away. “I can try.”

“I will not let you,” Anthony enunciated. “I will not let you make the biggest mistake of your life because you believe it is your duty.”

“If you are here to change my mind, you are wasting your time,” you said stiffly. 

“I don’t believe I have to do anything,” Anthony said. “It looks as if you’ve come to the conclusion yourself.” 

“And what makes you think that?”

“You have not even glanced in Cardew’s direction this entire night,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me instead.” 

“Because I have felt your eyes on me with every moment.” 

Anthony huffed. “Can you blame me? This is the first time I have seen you since that night.” 

“Then you should remember my words from that night,” you bit out. 

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away?” Anthony begged. 

You scoffed. “Why are you so intent on bothering me?”

“Because I cannot stand here and watch you marry another!” he exclaimed.

Your brows furrowed and you turned around. Anthony stood in front of you, his outfit impeccable but not at all looking put together. Desperation colored his eyes, and you saw how truly undone he’d become. 

“I— I thought I could, but I cannot.” He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he glanced away. “Every moment you are in the vicinity of that man is a test of my strength. And I do not know how strong I am.” 

“I don’t understand,” you said hollowly. “You should hate me.” 

“I could never hate you,” Anthony murmured. “I thought I could, when you first told me of your plans, but— but I could hardly even dislike you.” A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “My mother had been bothering me for nearly a decade to find a wife and settle down, but I thought love was a fool’s game. I would have my fun as a bachelor, and then settle down with the most advantageous match. There was no need for further emotional baggage—when you love, you can lose. And I refused to lose again.” 

For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. He lost his father, he nearly lost you, and then you pushed him away like he meant nothing. 

“Anthony—” you whispered, but he shook his head. 

“Please,” he said. “I have a lot to say.” 

You nodded, and he did as well. 

“Our deal was perfect for that. You were nothing but my sister’s nuisance of a friend—a bad influence that I could never see as more.” You could not help your soft laugh, and Anthony’s smile turned a bit more genuine. 

“But then we spent more time together. I… truly began to know you.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You shattered every preconception I had of you. I began to look forward to our meetings, to our promenades—I would get home from calling on you and could think only of the next time I would see you.” 

“Throughout it all, you made me realize I was worthy of love,” he said. “You— you made me realize that I wanted it. That I wanted you.” His throat bobbed, and you could see his eyes glistening. “That I loved you.” 

You could hardly find the strength to speak. You felt as if you could melt into a puddle at his feet just from his words. You were so intent on avoiding Anthony because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him anymore— you believed he would be better off without you, without the scandal you’d dragged him into. 

But he… he loved you. 

He loved you just as you loved him. 

“I do not expect you to share any of my notions, and I know you value your freedom more than anything,” Anthony murmured. “So if it is not me you wish to be with, I understand, and I will accept it without complaint. I just beg of you—do not become that wretched man’s wife.” 

All you could do was stare at him for a moment more, words beyond your reach before you finally managed to speak through your emotions. 

“I tried to tell myself the exact same thing,” you said softly. “That you could not be happy with me. That I could never be happy chained to another—truly, that I could never love. Not when freedom is what I have always desired most. But Anthony…” you moved forward until you were mere centimeters apart, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through you at the proximity, “I have never felt more free than when I am with you.” 

“Miss—” Anthony started, but he paused and shook his head before saying your first name instead. His eyes were softer than anything. “Are you truly…?” 

“I could never fathom you sharing my feelings,” you said thickly. “That is why I pushed you away. But I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I think I have loved you for quite some time.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, turning away so as to not betray the fullness of your emotions, and though you opened your mouth to provide some excuse, you were not granted the chance. 

Anthony’s hand encircled your wrist, pulling you back around, and just as soon did you feel his lips against yours. The tightness in your chest dissolved almost immediately as you all but fell into him, Anthony wrapping his arms around you to support you as your hands found purchase on anything they could. 

Your focus became devoted solely to the feeling of him, his soft lips against yours even as they plied for access. Anthony held you as if his only desire were to protect you from the world, and it made you feel a way you’d never even imagined. Only when air became a necessity did he pull away, his labored breaths in contrast to the pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Never in a thousand years did I think you would feel the same,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face on either side as he gazed into your eyes. “I thought myself a fool, falling for the one woman I could not have. You’ve no idea the relief it brings to hear you share my feelings.”

“I suppose I am just as foolish as you,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it could burst. 

The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. “I cannot imagine what my mother would think—that after so long spent searching for a wife, I fell for the one woman who never wanted the title.” 

You let out an airy laugh, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. “Nor did I see myself falling for the one man who resented the chains of marriage as much as I.” 

Anthony pressed his lips against yours once more, and your hands traveled up until they tangled in his hair. You kissed until you were nearly breathless, but Anthony still managed to pull a very unladylike sound out of you as he bowed his head, kissing down the line of your jaw, your neck, until his teeth nipped your skin just above your decolletage.

“Anthony,” you gasped, clenching your fingers as they buried themselves further into his dark locks. You had never been this close with a man before, never this intimate — you never thought you would even desire it. 

But Anthony lit a fire inside of you that only he could quench, and yet the only thing he seemed to do was stoke it further. It was equally maddening and dizzying, the control he so effortlessly had over you. 

“I never knew how much I would delight in hearing you say my name,” he murmured, his lips trailing against your skin. “No more Lord Bridgerton, I beg of you.”

“I should think I’d like to hear you beg—” you breathed, but Anthony cut you off yet again as he pulled you into another searing kiss. You could hardly stand it anymore as your hands fell down to his shoulders, and you pulled away for just a moment as you began desperately undoing his waistcoat, Anthony taking the hint and removing his jacket. 

“These buttons were not designed with the needs of a lady in mind,” you huffed in frustration, fumbling fingers failing to make progress, and Anthony chuckled breathlessly.

“Have we finally found something I best you in?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Just take it off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

You groaned as you looked at him. “If you insist on teasing me this way, Lord Bridgerton, I shall go back inside and act as if nothing has happened.”

“There is no need for idle threats,” he defended, and you bit back your smile. Anthony made deft work of his waistcoat, and the second he tossed it aside he was back on you. 

“Besides,” his voice was a whisper a millimeter from your ear, and warmth blazed in your core, “I believe I told you to call me Anthony.”

“And I believe you should have to try harder than that.” You smiled into his kiss as you trailed your nails down his back, the thin fabric of his dress shirt doing little as you felt his involuntary shiver. 

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me,” he groaned, once again dipping his head as he peppered even more kisses down your neck, sliding down the sleeve of your dress to allow himself better access. 

The night air on your newly freed skin did little for you, any coolness of the breeze instantly negated by the heat of Anthony against you. Your nails dug into his back as he moved down, each spot where his lips touched your skin erupting with fire. 

You gasped out his name, barely able to handle it—the feeling was so foreign yet familiar, as if you had been waiting all your life for Anthony in this way. 

You could hardly believe you nearly lost it of your own accord. 

“It appears I do not have to try hard at all,” he said, “the way you cry out for me.” 

You laughed breathlessly, though his words were indeed true. You knew, in this moment, that you would do anything for Anthony Bridgerton—and he would do anything for you. “How I fell for a man as irritating as you, I haven’t the slightest.” 

You caught the slightest glimpse of his grin before he ducked his head yet again, and he had only just begun pushing both sleeves of your dress down when a woman’s voice could be heard behind you. 

“Anthony— oh!” 

The unfamiliar voice struck fear into your heart you had never felt the likes of before. Anthony moved away from you quicker than you’d ever seen, you just as hasty as you tugged the sleeves of your dress back to where they belonged and attempted to smooth out everything that Anthony had so easily sullied. 

You’d never imagined this was how your reputation would be ruined, with Anthony Bridgerton in the gardens of some ball, but when you finally had the sense to look and see who had caught you in a most uncompromising position, you could hardly stifle your incredulous laugh. 

“Sister?” Anthony questioned in disbelief, so many emotions warring on his face you had to turn away to cover up your growing grin. 

“Anthony,” Daphne greeted in kind, fighting to conceal her smile as her eyes drifted to you. “Miss Worthing.” 

“Your Grace!” Your shaky fingers were hardly of use to you as you pulled your gloves back up to where they belonged and once again ran your hands down the skirt of your dress to smooth out the wrinkles. Your cheeks burned under her gaze and you were innately aware of the fire underneath your skin brought about by Anthony’s touch in contrast to the cool night air. “What brings you here?” 

“Mother was quite… nervous about tonight,” she explained. “She indulged in one too many glasses of champagne, so she is taking her leave with Benedict for aid. She requested I find you to alert you of her departure, but it seems she was not the one whose disappearance should have been questioned.” 

“I’m sure you know this is quite compromising.” Thinly veiled amusement crossed Daphne’s face as she eyed you pointedly. “I am afraid you must marry him at once Miss Worthing, else I shall have to duel you to protect my brother’s honor.” 

You laughed breathlessly as Anthony looked up at the sky, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you had ever seen. “Your Grace, are you suggesting that I have ruined him?” 

“Indeed I am,” she confirmed, and you could see how it took every muscle of her being to retain a serious image. “This is not a light matter, miss. I do not understand why you are laughing.” 

“Daphne,” Anthony groaned, avoiding her eyes as he occupied himself with his jacket. “Why do you insist on being a nuisance?” 

“Anthony,” she inflected his name the same way he did hers, “I cannot have this woman sullying your name! I know it was of no will of your own, but this can not stand as is. But do not worry; I am prepared to defend your honor to my last breath.” 

“My sincerest apologies for what I have done, Duchess Hastings,” you responded gravely. “I am prepared for pistols at dawn.” 

Anthony huffed as he buttoned his waistcoat back up then went to retrieve his jacket from the bushes. “You exaggerate, the both of you. This cannot be what I was like last season.” 

“You were worse, brother. But do not worry,” Daphne said with a grin, “I should think a taste of your own practices is only fair after all you put Simon and me through.”

Anthony sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “I… suppose… that it is what I deserve.” 

“Thank you, brother,” she said. “I only wish we had a witness just so your confession is forever remembered.”

“I wish Mother had not sent you to seek me out,” he responded dryly. 

You and Daphne exchanged smiles with each other before your expression sobered slightly. “ I ask quite a bit of you with this, Your Grace, but… may I count on your discretion? I know we jest, but my reputation truly could not handle something like this. I do not know if…” you glanced at Anthony before looking back to her, “if we are yet ready to seal our union.” 

“Of course,” Daphne nodded, and a relieved smile tugged at your lips. “I shall not tell a soul.” 

“Thank you eternally, Your Grace,” you expressed, but at your short curtsy she shook her head.

“Please, call me Daphne.” She offered a smile of her own, slightly coy. “After what I have just witnessed, I’ve no doubt you will be joining our family soon enough.” 

“Sister!” Anthony scolded, and when you glanced at him his entire face was dusted pink, even the tips of his ears. It was enough to make you swoon. “You cannot just say things whenever you see fit.” 

Daphne merely shrugged, joyfully indifferent to her brother’s protests. “I outrank you now, dearest brother — I believe I can say whatever I see fit, particularly when it is the truth.”

“You are truly impossible,” Anthony muttered as he shook his head. 

Daphne just smiled before she looked back at you. “I believe it best if the two of you leave at separate times, so as to not allow room for any rumors. Miss Worthing, you should go first and return to your mother; you can claim you simply needed fresh air. Anthony and I will stroll around the grounds for a bit before allowing ourselves to be seen — we are simply catching up after such a stretch spent at Clyvedon.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smoothed your mussed hair and wrinkled dress for the last time. Anthony certainly did a number on you, in more ways than one. “Thank you again, Your—” you caught yourself, correcting your error with a small smile, “Daphne. 

“You may count on me in the future whenever I am in London,” she reassured. “It is my hope anyway that I shall be able to welcome you to the family officially.”

“Daphne!” Anthony exclaimed yet again, glaring at her. “Might you take your leave so we may have a moment alone?” 

“I believe you just had quite a few moments alone,” Daphne said, but a pointed look from her brother had her conceding with a smile. “Alright. I will be by the trees when you need me.” 

Anthony turned to you with an odd look in his eyes when Daphne was out of hearing distance, and when he did eventually speak, his voice was far softer than usual. 

“Do you truly believe I would not marry you?” he asked, and the underlying hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Even if there were not the risk of a scandal, I would not hesitate. My entire heart lies with you.”

“It is not you, Anthony,” you sighed with a slight shake of your head. “I do not… I do not know if I am even capable of marriage.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I have spent my entire life running from it,” you said, chuckling softly, “and yet, here I am, the one thing I never thought I would be.”

“In love,” Anthony realized, and you nodded. 

“It has always been easy enough to denounce marriage when I’d never experienced anything of the like. The union of my parents was for convenience rather than love, and for as long as I’ve been alive my mother has tried to drill it into my head that my feelings did not matter — so long as the man had the means to provide for me and was not completely awful, he was satisfactory.”

“A future like that— it was so completely absurd to me that denouncing it all was the easiest thing in the world. And then I nearly died and my entire world changed, and I decided that Cardew was the best option to allow myself to completely separate emotion from marriage, but now…” you looked at Anthony, feeling more vulnerable now than ever. “I have found a love in you I’ve never thought possible, and I cannot stop imagining a life with you. And that terrifies me more than anything.” 

“But…” you trailed off again and you turned away from him as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “But I do not know how to approach my future, especially one where we are so closely intertwined.” 

Silence hung in the air for a noticeable period before Anthony cleared his throat, and it was obvious the care he put into his words. 

“You know I never imagined I would marry for love. Truly, I never intended it—I expected to be miserable in marriage. I saw it as nothing more than another duty to take care of. I believed that love was trivial, a ridiculous distraction. You are the one who made me see differently.” 

You turned around with slightly wide eyes, your arms wrapped around your midsection doing little to ward off the cool night air that seemed far colder than it was before. Anthony’s gaze never left yours, the softness in his own at odds with the pure, unbridled passion. 

“I love you. Though I have only just allowed myself to accept the fact, you are someone that I cannot imagine living the rest of my days without. There was…” his throat bobbed as his voice crackled slightly, “there was a moment when I feared the worst, that you would permanently disappear from my life. And ever since you were all but brought back from the dead, I have known that you are the only woman I wish to be with. It is why as soon as I left you, I asked my mother for this.” 

Anthony took a box out of his pocket, and you gasped as he got down on one knee, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. 

“This is the ring my father proposed to my mother with, and their love was beyond anything I have seen before. But it is the love that I feel for you, something so strong, so overwhelming— something I never thought I would experience. And yet here I am, madly in love with the one woman who scorned me with every word, and only pursued me because of my brand as a lesser evil.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound slightly muffled through your gloves, and you could not help it as your eyes began to fill with tears. 

“I admire you; all of you. The part that loves her family with every part of her being, that looks out for those with less than her when those more fortunate turn a blind eye. The part that fights for the rights of her sex when it is so much easier to just bow one’s head, that puts her happiness on a rightful pedestal— the part that is so terrified to share herself with others and yet deserves a love of the purest form.”

“And I am aware of how the unknown is a fear of yours, as it is one of mine. But I assure you—” Anthony’s voice was filled with such passion, his eyes with such love, that you could hardly stand it, “—I will be there for you every step of the way. We will face our fears as one, and we will shape the future ourselves, not to be bound by anyone or anything.” 

“I do not know where my future will lead me, but I know I do not want to face a single second of it without you. If you do not feel the same, I understand, but I will not be able to live with myself if I do not at least try. It is why I ask you,” Anthony said your name with more love than ever before, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, a smile breaking across your face even as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!”

Anthony let out a sigh of relief as he grinned, and after he slid the ring on your finger he stood up and pulled you into a breathless kiss. Nothing picture perfect like you’d heard about as a young girl, the kind of effortless gentleman’s act— Anthony kissed you with pure passion, love, desire, and it nearly brought you to your knees. You thought it would have, were it not for Anthony’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him and supporting you. 

You could hardly believe the same man who treated you as if you were glass after your injury was the one standing before you now, the one who handled you in such a way that could get the both of you exiled were anyone to see—the one that you thought hated you.  

And you were more than willing to allow it to continue, to surrender yourself fully to your baser instincts, when you remembered something that made your eyes widen.

“Your sister,” you murmured between kisses until you finally managed to pull away, albeit reluctantly. “Daphne is still waiting.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back in, and your earlier protest was shown to be completely nonsensical. “Let her wait.” 

You grinned as he peppered kisses down your neck, enjoying the sensation until you pushed him away. “Anthony.” 

He groaned. “Why must you be a better person than I?”

“Believe when I say it pains me,” you said. “But the last thing we need is yet another scandal by my hand.” 

“Let them know,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Let all of London know that I love you, that we will be wed. I do not care what we have to face so long as we face it together.” 

“The thought has never been so tempting,” you murmured. “But you should at least alert your sister. It would be improper to make her wait out here all night for nothing.” 

His grip tightened on your hands. “So you do wish to leave together?” 

“Anthony, I just accepted your proposal,” you said with a laugh. “I wish to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

“I believe tonight is a good place to start, then,” he grinned. 

Anthony would not let you leave his side, so you went to Daphne together. First she saw your smile, then her gaze drifted down to your hand—she looked knowingly at her brother, though she could not hide her smile either. 

“It would appear as if I was right,” she mused. “I am always right when it comes to you though, Anthony, so it is not much of a surprise.” 

“Do not mock me,” Anthony said. “I could have left you waiting by the bushes all night.” 

“If you had not proposed to her after the conversation we had the other day, I would have questioned your sense,” Daphne said. “Trust me, I would not have been here long.” 

Your eyebrows rose. “What conversation?” 

“We do not need to start on this,” he said with a pointed look at his sister. “I have already bared my entire soul tonight. I do not need my sister embarrassing me further.” 

“Oh, I would never,” Daphne drawled. “After all, there will be plenty of time for us to gossip together when I come to visit you all.” 

“Won’t you be busy with your child?” Anthony asked. 

She shrugged. “You may be busy with one as well by the time I see you again.” 

You looked at Anthony only to find his gaze was already on you. There must have been some shred of doubt in your eyes, because he only took your hand in his. 

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We will take things as slowly as you desire.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and nodded as you squeezed his hands—you knew what was expected of you as a wife, and you wanted it with Anthony, but you could not lie and say that his reassurances did not bring you relief. 

“My best wishes to the new Viscountess Bridgerton,” Daphne said, her voice full of affection as she clasped her hands together. “It is an honor to have you join our family.” 

“It is an honor to be accepted,” you said, bowing your head. 

Daphne smiled. “I assume you want to reveal this on your own terms.” 

You nodded. “I’ve dealt with enough attention from the ton lately.” 

“I am afraid to say that will not go away,” she said wryly. “But I will cover for the two of you.” 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Thank you.” 

“It is only proper to welcome my sister in such a way,” she said with a wink, and you could not help but smile. “Now run along, you two. Before rumors start.” 

Anthony chuckled, and the two of them embraced before you started on your way.

“Viscountess Bridgerton,” Anthony murmured in your ear. “I love the sound of that.” 

You hummed in agreement. “As do I.” 

You laid your head on Anthony’s shoulder as you walked back with your hands intertwined—not to the ball, but to a carriage for the promise of time alone. You glanced over at Anthony and he smiled, and you pulled him to a stop as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with hunger, the same vigor he displayed when you first stepped into the gardens together, and you could hardly believe he still had it left in him. 

Far too many minutes passed as you kissed and kissed and kissed, not a single care in the world of someone catching you. What could they do? You’d already endured enough scandal to weather anything, and there was no way to punish you and Anthony — you were already engaged. 

Your lips were sure to be bruised once you finally pulled away, Anthony gazing at you with complete adoration as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my wife,” he murmured. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my husband,” you breathed. “When will we reveal it?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said, intertwining your hands with his own. “Tomorrow, we will tell everyone, and we will deal with everything that comes along with it. But tonight…” 

“It is our secret.”

Anthony nodded. “Tonight, we start the rest of our lives together.” 

“The rest of our lives together,” you murmured. 

Truly, it sounded like a dream. Months ago you could not even consider the thought of marriage without an air of disgust—now, here with Anthony, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were to be his wife. 

The rest of your life with Anthony would be anything but simple.

And yet, somehow, you could not think of anything more perfect.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

[glacierclear]

ISN'T BITE ALSO TOUCH?

fuckboy!leon x gn!reader (maybe a few gendered terms oops)

content: hurt/no comfort, angst, arguments, passive aggression, mentions of drugs/alcohol

Your best friend is a fuckboy. He ditches you at a party. You argue. Maybe they were right about him.

[ao3 link]

They all tried to tell you. Every single one of them.

He’s bad news, don’t bother. You would scoff.

He’s nothing but a walking penis. He doesn’t care about anything. And you’d roll your eyes.

Every red flag. Every warning sign. Every flashing light. You refused to heed any of them. And you tilled, and you sowed, and you fed. And now? You were reaping.

“I don’t get what the big deal is. You’re a big kid. You don’t need a damn babysitter.” His hands remained clenched, balled up and shoved into the pouch of his hoodie. His posture was lax. Noncommittal. He stared into a wall, his expression detached and unreachable.

“When you called me up tonight to drag me to some stupid frat party, I at least expected you to like, stay with me,” you countered. “We weren’t even there for an hour before you up and ditched me. Streaking across campus like a moron.” The base of your neck throbbed, the fledgling burn of an oncoming migraine. Your clothes still reeked of burnt weed and the cloyingly pungent whiff of cotton candy vape smoke.

“You should be fucking grateful. Wouldn’t have gotten into that party without me. Shit was the best thrasher of the month.” He lifted his head, scorching you with that know-it-all smirk. It huffed the coals of your stomach. You felt like puking.

“I didn’t…oh my god, Leon. I didn’t go for the party. I thought you…I don’t know. I thought you actually wanted to hang out. Have a good night.”

Your fingers burrowed their way through the folds of your sheets and you stayed perched at the edge of your bed. Leon hovered at your doorway, barely present in the space of your dorm, his contour fuzzed with casting light.

He didn’t say anything. Your eyes pulsed and stung. “Look. I’m not mad, I just–”

“You should be.”

“What?”

It’s then that he finally dared to meet your eyes. Blue hues swallowed whole by the pitch of his pupils, seeking you past tendrils of mussed, blonde hair.

“You should be mad. Why aren’t you? Cuz’, you’re right. I fucking ditched you. Like a moron.” He flung the word back with acid and you winced away. “God forbid I have some fun, right? Forgot you’re too much of a buzzkill to actually have fun at a party.”

There’s a throttling impulse to scream at him. Tell him off for being unreasonable and kick his ass to the curb like last week’s trash. But you’ve danced to this song before. The repeating pattern and pervasive enigma of Leon’s refusal to invest himself; emotionally, or otherwise.

So, you sucked in a steadying breath, filled your lungs with patience, and spoke softly.

“It’s not just about the party,” you began, and passively, you noticed him shift. “I mean…streaking? You realize that if you got caught doing that…you wouldn’t have a scholarship anymore. Hell, maybe you’d be expelled.”

The realization settled on him like a poison and you caught his face darken. As much as he denied and disguised, Leon was a smart man. Excellent standing in his classes and a whopping GPA to match the third leg he swung in his pants. It meant a lot to him.

There’s a gap of silence before he opened his mouth again.

“...well, I wasn’t caught. And it was my choice. I don’t need you nagging me like a fucking mom, alright?” His body shrunk in on itself. Caging his softer parts from the reality he narrowly avoided. On a better day, perhaps you’d chase him. Push and fight for a break in his shell, a crevice that gave way to the man you knew he was capable of being. But, God, your head was shattering. Your nausea was worsening. You weren’t making progress.

“Right, well, sorry for caring, Leon,” you relented, turning away from him to click your phone into its charger. “I’m going to bed. Don’t bother inviting me to any more parties.”

Your gaze left him, you weren’t fully aware of his body, but in the fleeting moments following your surrender he’s on you. Lurking above you like the baleful firmament of a roaring summer storm. You hardly had the time to open your mouth before he’s speaking. No, he’s growling. Revving the engine of his fury.

“...so that’s it? You’re not putting up with me anymore?” It could be the headache talking, but you swore you heard a tremble in his voice.

“Huh? The fuck are you–”

“We’re not friends anymore. That’s what you’re doing, right?” You searched the raging sea of his eyes for a raft. But all you did was drown. “I fucked up one too many times and now I’m just another shitty dude you had to put up with.” You watched the chipped black of his nails dig into his arms, tensed up limbs shielding him from what he’s most afraid you’ll confirm.

“Leon, that’s not…we’re still friends, okay? I just don’t want to go to parties like that anymore. Just give me a few days to cool off and we can…I dunno, we’ll hit up that burger joint you love.” It’s a pretty weak bargain, but maybe he’d bite.

And he did bite. He bit and he tore and he sought out blood.

“You’ve always had shitty taste in guys.” He practically spat at you, a scornful wrinkle deepening in the bridge of his nose. “Fucking stand up for yourself. You always let people walk all over you and act surprised when they turn out to be shitheads.”

He leaned in. You smelled him. Overpriced cologne. Underpriced shampoo. Crappy beer he drank even though he hated the taste. Despite it all, you yearned to hug him.

“Leon, I–”

“...and you know what? I don’t fucking need you. I don’t need your little dates. Your pity sex. I don’t need you looking out for my damn scholarships and I especially don’t need you making me look bad when I’m trying to let loose at the party I’ve been looking forward to all goddamn month.” You wanted him to stop. You wanted to bridge the chasm and devour his violence. If only he’d let you. But all he did was bite harder. “I won’t bother inviting you out anymore. Actually, I won’t bother talking to you at all. Have fun with your fucking life, I’m done being your fucking charity. Goodni–”

At the edge of his precipice, the void he dug for solace, Leon plummets. He straightened his spine, eyes widening and jaw hanging lifelessly. You were crying. Tears bursting without prejudice. Staining your face in vulnerability you so often only used to comfort him.

He went too far. And now, you were crying.

Neither of you moved for an eternity. From the hallway of your dorm, you hear the thundering trots of drunken friends laughing and yelling. The noise swelled and faded. The only evidence of a world beyond your room.

He called your name. His voice was so much quieter, held together with twine and stinging regret. You lifted your eyes and your throat barely allowed your words to pass.

“...Great job, Leon. Now I’m mad.” In an act of self-preservation, you tore your gaze away, burning a stare into the ground below his shoes. They’re blotched with dirt and chlorophyll, still damp from his midnight misdemeanor. “I won’t bother you anymore. If you hate me that much, I…I’ll leave you alone.”

His arms unfolded, one hand reaching out, a fragmented attempt to soothe you. But it was too late.

He repeated your name.

“I didn’t…fuck, I shouldn’t have said…hey–”

“Go home, Leon.” Your voice was unwavering, and he flinched back, your ire the open flame he’s too human to touch.

And then he left. Your dorm vibrated with the slam of the door, and you buried your face in your hands. In the place of his feet, soil stained your carpet. In the place of his warmth, sandalwood smoldered the air.

In the place of your love, all you wanted was to die.

#my writing #resident evil #leon kennedy #fuckboy!leon #angst #wahhhhhh wahhh wahhhh wahhhh

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

[magicpotatothoughts]

I NEVER REALLY UNDERSTOOD LUO BINGHE UNTIL NOW

Holy shit I was so swayed by SQQ’s POV that I honestly never truly understood LBH’s intentions until I read this line In Ch 2 (SVSSS Seven Seas)/Ch 13 at the demonic evasion arc:

When a person is affected with Without a Cure, starting from their wound, their spiritual flow becomes disconnected. This schism slowly spreads to their entire body. In the end, not only does their spiritual qi coagulate and stagnate, so does their blood."

So then when in Ch 6 (SVSSS SS)/Ch 34, LBH fed SQQ his blood and subsequently used his blood to seemingly "torment" SQQ during the water prison arc, all of this got me thinking....

What if everything LBH did with his demonic blood this entire time was to save SQQ from Without a Cure?

Like yes, he probably did have other intentions such as tracking him, making SQQ horrified at the fact that he has demon blood inside him when he hated demons so much but I honestly think the main reason LBH forced SQQ to drink his blood, and I would even go further as to say that his main motivation when he trained under Meng Mo, was not to become the “strongest” in the general sense but to heal SQQ. Hear me out. The first thought white lotus LBH has when SQQ got poisoned in Ch2/13 was

the demons had harmed his teacher to the point that he might be crippled—he might even lose his life. And all because of him.

LBH probably was a direct witness to how a whole team of Cang Qiong mountain peak lords needed to revolve around SQQ, with Mu Qingfang constantly providing prescriptions and LQG clearing his meridians and probably YQY hovering around SQQ dying with worries, to maintain his health post the SHL -demon evasion, he must have felt absolutely terrible about it! And that guilt literally haunted our bing-pup like he never once stopped thinking about it; no wonder he offered himself to take care of everything including the nutrition of SQQ's food, snaccs, water, small-big errands, and even wanted to pick that "Snow something Lotus" flower for Shizun! Without a Cure affecting SQQ was on LBH's mind ever since he was 15 and for all 3 years he was in the Endless Abyss.

This is absolutely evident when black lotus LBH returned and started to chase SQQ, SQQ's inner monologue was cursing how Without a Cure is stagnating his ability to coordinate and run, I am certain that LBH was not blind to just how much SQQ was struggling with that poison in his body. My theory was further confirmed when LBH finally caught up to SQQ:

“While Shen Qingqiu was still in the midst of confusion, Luo Binghe flipped his hand over. “You were infected?” .....“This hand of Shizun’s is plagued with misfortunes.”

Bruh, LBH may be giving the sadistic energy of an abandoned demonic child (thanks SQQ unreliable narrator) but here is clear evidence that the thing he was most worried about is SQQ's blood coagulating and him dying of demonic poison. What this tells me is that Without a Cure seemed to be activated and/or further exacerbated by other demonic poisons. LBH was also clearly still carrying the guilt of SQQ saving him with that hand! Following on immediately, what he did was 1) punch SQQ, then 2) says "An eye for an eye. Since Shizun sowed the seeds, he should reap the bitter fruit himself. Shizun should personally make up for himself" and 3) straight up fed SQQ his demonic blood.

White Lotus LBH never died. Both actions are for the benefit of SQQ, 1) I think he did this to get SQQ to cough up coagulated blood after SQQ was poisoned by that Jin Lan City sower and 3) LBH's quick return from Endless Abyss was so that he can feed Shizun his heavenly-blood to help cure him. I have reason to believe that LBH's demonic blood is the CURE to WITHOUT A CURE. Why else pay such specific attention to SQQ's hand out of literally any other body-part after a 3 year reunion?

But what I find most fascinating is 2) LBH’s words are nearly always laced with double meaning. “An eye for an eye” here isn’t necessarily just him blaming SQQ for kicking him and unlocking his demonic heritage but he wants to repay SQQ for taking on Without a Cure back then by giving him his demonic blood as a cure now. Another interpretation is that LBH deflected feeling the guilt of indirectly harming SQQ by verbally jabbing him. He tried to make SQQ feel guilty about tossing him into the Endless Abyss when he himself couldn't bare to think that his Shizun got hurt again on the same hand that saved him all those years ago. SQQ of course is an unreliable narrator and tricks us into thinking that LBH's actions matched his words when if we look closer, they're LITERALLY THE EXACT OPPOSITE.

Right after the reunion, SQQ "didn’t know how he made it back to the Jin Zi Weapons Shop," which has me believing that LBH must have been doing something to surpress SQQ's Without a Cure's effects with his demonic blood.

During the Water Prison arc, LBH seems like he is tormenting SQQ by demonic blood manipulation but if we really read carefully:

…strange sensation of something crawling inside his blood vessels....Luo Binghe said leisurely, “Spleen, kidneys, heart, lungs.” Though it wasn’t to the point of extraordinary anguish, it was still awful to suffer through.

Doesn't this sound like LBH trying to get the blood in SQQ flowing again to prevent coagulation after SQQ had been in presumably a seated position for a long time jailed in the Water prison? Once again, LBH's intentions behind his actions are the opposite of his words, he may be emotionally hurt by SQQ's silent response to him asking whether Shizun regrets kicking him down the Endless Abyss but his first and foremost concern is SQQ's health. This totally explains LBH's extremely low anger points! SQQ seemingly mistook LBH’s worry as anger! If SQQ asked the System for LBH's worrywart points, it would have been like ~the limit does not exist~. 🤯🤯🤯

Bruh, it’s so telling when Gongyi Xiao went to untie SQQ's immortal binding cables two days later when SQQ noted:

His spiritual energy was unmistakably back in operation and flowing smoothly. When he’d been imprisoned, he had been in the middle of a random Without a Cure flare-up, but after two days of being tied up by the immortal-binding cables, the poison had unexpectedly been suppressed again. Was this following the same principle as fighting fire with fire, or how two negatives make a positive?

No SQQ you oblivious gay, LBH was circulating your coagulating blood for you and suppressing the effects of your poison! We as readers can get so misled by SQQ constantly worrying about how Without a Cure randomly stops his spiritual powers that we forget about the actual main issue, blood stagnation and coagulation, which can absolutely kill him. Also, when SQQ escaped the Water Prison, LBH didn't try to manipulate the blood in SQQ's body because now he didn't need to, he’s done it already. He never wanted to do more than what was necessary for Shizun’s health. LBH tried to convince SQQ to come back when he could have used his powers. SQQ always had agency because LBH loves and respects him too much.

The next time SQQ got poisoned was by that sower who hid amongst the Huang Hua Palace disciples in Hua Yue city right before his self-detonation. He couldn't attack the sower with fire but then complained that it must have been Without a Cure that flared up again. Somehow, silly SQQ kept randomly getting himself poisoned so doesn’t it make sense that LBH keeps track of his Shizun so that his own demonic blood could notify him of any potential future SQQ demonic poisonings?

Bruh, the worrywart White-Lotus LBH never fucking died, SQQ ah SQQ you silly silly man. LBH has always been, even if he says hateful words, worried about you and your health and made it his top priority. What made LBH lose his mind though were

everytime LBH tries to save SQQ, SQQ thinks that he is using his demonic blood/demonic poison to do all these unfathomable things when using demonic poison is literally the last thing LBH would do because he has literal guilt trauma around it.

SQQ keeps calling LQG, GYX and literally anyone else to save him when LBH has been the one doing all the work.

Then we arrive at Xing Mo’s recoil exacerbating LBH’s insecurities.

“Shizun, look at what I’ve become. Am I strong enough? Do you know how I spent those years within the Endless Abyss? For three years underground, at all times and all moments, my mind thought only of Shizun. I wondered why Shizun would do this to me, why he refused to give me even a single chance to explain or plead my case.”

He did so much for Shizun’s health but never got a chance to explain why! And then when SQQ self-detonated, LBH thought:

Didn’t Shizun hate his blood more than anything? Wasn’t he unwilling to even be near him, to associate with him at all? So why, at the last moment, had he so gently helped to contain Luo Binghe’s mind, as tender as he had been in those years long past?

The blood here doesn't just have racist but literal connotations, LBH literally thought that SQQ hated the very demonic blood coursing through his veins, so that's why he kept forcing SQQ to drink it. LBH's every action, with me now looking back at all this evidence, is SO fricking justified. From his POV, isn't it more like SQQ is the constantly sick child throwing a tantrum about not wanting to drink bitter medicine? LBH, After all this effort of forcing himself to go through literal hell, training himself, chasing SQQ, imprisoning SQQ (LBH is giving Lan Wangji energy here) so that his Shizun can stop accidentally poisoning himself, SQQ somehow got put in harms way again but on top of that, died because of him. SQQ died whilst also restoring and reaffirming himself as the Shizun who had once been so good to him. 😭😭😭

All this absolute adds so much more weight as to why LBH was never ever going to let SQQ out of his sight ever again, as a corpse or alive, from that moment onwards.

#Im truly sorry if this was all incredibly obvious information for the rest of the fandom but my pea-sized brain exploded ok #svsss spoilers #svsss #svsss meta #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #scumbag system #scum villian self saving system #ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong #mxtx #mxtx svsss #svsss analysis

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT IV: REAP WHAT YOU SOW ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— your reputation matters more than you think, superheroes aren't good with emotions, mindy and chad are always ready to fight each other, and ethan can recognize you by your smile alone.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore, blood, murder, death, reader is overly flirtatious, reader & ethan had trust issues

#AUTHORSNOTE— ethan and the reader are so 'she fell first but he fell harder' coded, also this was supposed to be one long part but i spit it into two bc tumblr wouldn't let me edit so i'm sorry in advance xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

you still couldn't believe that you had brought the hero over into your apartment.

your promise to catch ghostface with him was followed by a pregnant pause as you both sipped your glasses of water. the hero was still playing with your cats (they loved him) as he drank water, his mind trying to process what had just happened.

from behind the mask, ethan wanted to cry. he wanted to sob and break everything in his path because he had just lost quinn, and he blamed himself for it all.

the sound of your feet shuffling away from him made him look at you in interest. you were moving carefully, the stitches he had done to your side inhibiting your movement. ethan could see how uncomfortable you felt, but you hid it from him as you began taking out two pots, putting it into your sink to fill both with water.

"should i go?" ethan began, carefully picking up your cats and putting them on the floor. he stood up. "you seem.."

you pulled out two ramen packets, looking at him with a raised brow. you then walked to your fridge, pulling out two eggs.

"you seem busy. making food." he swallowed thickly, watching as you placed the eggs to the side and put your pots of water on the stove before turning on the heat.

"i am kind of busy," you said pointedly, glancing at your pots of water before looking at the hero. the upper portion of your face was still hidden by your black mask, but ethan could see your indifferent gaze as you studied him. "why, do you wanna stay?"

the whites of his mask blinked at that. his mask, still pulled up to reveal half his face, revealed how he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking about your offer. he seemed unsure. distrustful. exhausted; which honestly, made sense.

you gave him time to think as you turned to your now boiling water. you put the two eggs into one pot before opening the packets of ramen. but your actions faltered when you heard his response.

".. do you want me to stay?" the hero asked you, tilting his head slightly.

a beat. "no." you stated dryly, putting the ramen noodles into the water. "but i feel like you've been eyeing my food ever since i asked— it's kind of hard to tell with the whole mask thing —but i'm guessing you're hungry."

the parts of his face that were unmasked turned a soft shade of red at that. ethan cleared his throat, walking towards where you stood, he leaned on your counter with his back to the countertop. you could feel his eyes on you, watching you as you used a fork to mix the noodles in the boiling water.

"so you do want me to stay," he said with a ghost of a smile.

"no, i don't. but you're staying regardless, aren't you?"

"just for the food," he hummed. "and your cats."

"not for my presence, spider?" you asked, your flirtatious side coming out of you.

"your kind presence?" he tsked. "no." he said, making you roll your eyes. but he saw that rare, downturned smile that tugged at your lips.

his sister. quinn is his sister.

the sudden pause in your actions made ethan peer at you from behind his mask. the realization of what he had said dawned on him, his eyes widening from behind mask.

"she was like a sister to me."

he was lying to you.

you were both playing an unspoken game, two brilliant people with incredible abilities constantly one upping each other, catching onto the clues and making conclusions before the other could reach them. pushing and pulling, trying to solve a string of killers all while hiding who you really were from someone you found stitching up even though you knew you didn't have to.

you quickly returned to stitching him up, your hands now steady as you pushed the needle into his skin again. it reminded you so much of your past, how your world and your idea of your father turned completely sideways when you patched him up. the mere action of patching someone else up who wasn't you made turmoil brew in your eyes.

you were a selfish person. you had stepped on other criminals to get what you wanted, stepped on other people in order to achieve the highest reward; the criminal world knew better than to trust you completely for fear of your lies and manipulation. but to you, patching up someone's injury was something akin to sacred.

it meant you cared.

and that terrified you.

you came to one conclusion as you stitched up his wound for once, your memories were muffled, overtaken by the connection you had made.

ethan was spider-man.

and he knew you made that connection. just by how quiet you had gotten, just by how your hands, once trembling with the weight of the past, steadied.

you couldn't say anything. not without compromising your own true identity. not without compromising the deal you two had, because who would the police care about more, the identity of a superhero or the identity of a woman who had been stealing since she was a child? who had stolen files from their department and gave them to others without another word, who at times stole evidence just to be able to pay the rent.

you couldn't have him know. and you couldn't have him turn you in.

always one step ahead of him. but for some unknown reason, he could read you like his favorite book, and you could study him as though he was your favorite painting. it was as though your mind had chosen to learn his sincerity, and his learned the hidden meanings behind your written words.

but if you knew his family relations, just how close were you to the group? the fact that you most likely knew who he was behind the mask terrified him, because not only did he not know who you were, but you were only working with him because of a deal.

he couldn't turn you in if you helped him catch the killer.

feeding into your suspicions would only give you leverage above him. something to feed to the mafia, to the criminals, to anyone. and more people would get hurt.

you were untrustworthy. maybe it was because his sister died, or maybe because ethan had been stressing over everything so much that he found himself shutting down his emotions again and again for the sake of finding the killer.

he needed to get you away.

"i have to go." he stood up abruptly, his wound only halfway stitched up.

"what?" your eyes widened at his words. "now? i'm not even done stitching you up—"

"i'll do the rest myself."

"like hell you will," you snapped, the sudden change in his mood making you not only confused, but curious. "i'll finish it—" you protested, walking after him as he made his way to the window. but before he could shove your window open, he turned to you.

"why're you helping me?"

his question made your breath hitch, the words on your tongue dying as you blinked.

because i'm not as heartless as you think i am. oh, i also need you to not turn me into the police, so i can't have you dying in gale weather's apartment. but there's more to that.

"you patched me up," you forced out, "i'm returning the favor."

"you and i both know that you don't just patch people up like this." the whites of his mask narrowed at you, his heartbeat pumping loudly in his ears.

"what's that supposed to mean?" you asked slowly, suddenly annoyed at his words.

the hero let out a huff, his filter completely gone and manipulated by the constant stress and turmoil he had felt over the past week. "even the police know that you've manipulated your way around criminals and mafias because everyone knows you work alone," he said through gritted teeth. "you don't act kind just because you care—"

"fuck you," you seethed, but you couldn't deny it. you had a long history of manipulation, of acting for your own benefit and choosing yourself over others. and the deal to never get caught by him was still weighing on your mind.

"you act like you care to get your way. but if i'm wrong, then tell me." from behind the mask, ethan studied your face, brows furrowed when he looked at you. "tell me that you're not known for doing that. that you're not still in this because you're just trying to make sure i won't turn you in to the police in the future. tell me that you're genuinely starting to care, that you aren't just using me. tell me."

there was a beat of silence. your jaw clenched as you looked into the whites of his mask, not backing down from his stare. he was so close to you. his breath fanned over your lips, his own lips slightly parted.

it seemed as though the tension thickened with every passing second as you wracked your brain for what to say. for what to tell him.

because as much as he was correct, if you were to just agree, it didn't feel honest. there was more to your actions, but even you didn't know what it was.

but that was a lie too. you knew exactly why your actions were becoming more selfless, why you found yourself thinking about others more and more. thinking about him more and more.

you were getting attached.

and because you couldn't say anything, because you had never been good with speaking about your emotions, you did what your gut told you to.

you hooked your finger on the collar of his suit and tugged him in, pressing your lips to his. you felt his breath hitch before his hand went to your neck, slowly moving up to hold the back of your head as he pulled you closer to him, his other hand pulling your waist closer to his body. your senses were full of him and only him, how he smelled like like cedarwood and musk, how he tasted sweet despite the blood he spat from his mouth earlier, how he was so warm, like a furnace that soothed your cold limbs.

you pulled away from him, your forehead resting on his. a single string of spit connecting the both of your lips with a single horizontal swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip, the connection was broken.

his adam's apple bobbed as his heavy breaths matched yours. "please tell me you're not just in it for the deal anymore."

your lack of a response made his heart ache. he searched for any sign of hesitancy in your eyes, something, anything to showed that you cared, but you avoided his gaze.

the deal still mattered to you. you were using him to evade police. his face fell at the realization.

the hero scoffed in disbelief, pulling away from you. just like that, your limbs were pulled away from the heat, your world didn't smell like cedarwood and him, and the taste of pennies was all you could feel on your tongue. "right." his finger hooked over where his mask was pulled up, pulling it down over the rest of his face as he opened your window. without another word, he swung away, making you clench your fists in frustration.

in the end, you always had yourself.

you tore your mask off your head, frustrated tears burning behind your eyes as you moved to your window and shut it, this time, making sure you locked it behind you.

"you're a liar! let me go—" you kicked against the man's arms that wrapped around you as though you were practically nothing but a box he had to carry. tears blurred your vision as you looked at the man in front of you, his grey eyes cold as he looked at you.

you used to look up to him. your father used to bring him into your home— the only person you ever remembered visiting —introducing him as frank costa. uncle frank.

he had taken you in after your father had died. cared for you, fed you, provided you shelter. you were 16 now, making it six years since he stepped in as your father figure. six years since he claimed that as your father's best friend, that he felt like it was his duty to care for you.

it was all a lie. it was all a lie, because he was the reason why your father was caught escaping prison. it was all because of him.

"let me go!" you cried, your screams of betrayal turning into sobs as your head hung low, tears dripping onto the concrete floor. he was using you. using you to continuously steal for him in exchange for the simple necessities you needed to survive. and as you grew older, as your skills became more precise, so did his greed. your thefts grew larger. pick pocketed wallets became jewelry from houses, and then that became jewelry from museums.

you were being used. used for your skills, trained to become some thief simply to survive a day.

"i always guessed that this day would come, you know," frank said, looking at you as though you were nothing. as though those years of pretending to care was finally coming out for what it truly was; hatred. pure contempt. "you were always so clever. just like your fucking father." he punched you in the face, making you groan in pain when you felt a crack in your nose. "so fucking stupid. refusing the biggest crime family in new york for what? for nothing." another punch to the other side of your face. his crony let you go, making you fall on the floor.

a swift kick to your side made you taste iron. another kick to your back made you nearly lose consciousness.

frank grabbed you by the collar, lifting you up to study you cruelly. there wasn't anything in his eyes as he admired his work of bruises and injuries, watching as blood flowed from your nose like a continuous faucet. your eyes were half lidded as you drifted in and out of consciousness. the weight of your head was too much for you, and you found yourself struggling to keep it up.

and when you found the little bit of strength to do so, you spat in his face, the splatter bloody along the expanse of his cheek. but as you spat, your hand also curled around the gun he kept at his side.

"you fucking bitch," frank sneered at you before shoving you to the ground again, making you skid against the concrete. the rough graveled ground made gashes all along your exposed arms and legs, and you found yourself lying in a fetus position, cradling the gun to your chest to hide it from them.

and as he and his worker advanced towards you, ready to beat you to death, you pointed the gun towards them and shot them both. his worker in the head, frank in the chest.

you listened as frank choked on his own blood next to you. you sat there in that empty warehouse, listening to the squelching sounds of blood pouring from frank's mouth. pulling your legs to your chest, feeling the continuous pain from all over your body, you cried. you cried like the 16 year old you were, your back heaving with every gut-wrenching sob you let echo around you. when that was all you heard, when you were surrounded by your own sobs, you realized just how lonely you were. how you had no one, and how you wished that someone would come in to care for you. but no one did.

no one was looking for you, no one comforted you. because all you had was yourself.

patrol was quieter when he was alone.

ethan realized that now, as he watched policemen fix the caution tapes around the carpenter sisters' apartment. usually he wasn't one to shy away from playful banter with the policemen (as he felt as though they all had sticks up their asses in some way), but he had no energy. no drive. he hadn't, not for a while.

without you shamelessly commenting on everything and humoring him with your dry humor, he found the nights to be quieter. not necessarily more peaceful, but quieter regardless. ethan wasn't sure if he appreciated it, but it's what he wanted.

his mind was full of the killer, his sister, and most importantly, you. how you seemingly oozed distrust, how your appreciation and oftentimes liking for your position as a criminal made you the last person many people would choose as an ally.

but then his mind drifted to how you didn't hesitate to drag him into your home and patch him up. how, despite the memories that obviously plagued your mind, you forced yourself to continue on.

but then brought up the question of your possible knowledge of his identity. why didn't you say anything? admitting his true name did make him realize that you probably did know him outside of his mask. and that would make him suspicious of your identity.

it was all too complicated, and ethan felt so many emotions at this point, that he just felt numb. apathetic. like a mindless robot going about his day, eating with no appetite, drinking with no thirst. just surviving.

it had carried on even in his day to day activities outside of superhero work. it had been three days since the last attack, and everyone was surprised that there had been nothing. no threats, no calls, nothing. but even though everyone was surprised and only mildly pleased, they were still all on edge.

the door to his and chad's dorm opened as tara walked in with mindy. ethan didn't look up from his position on the couch, only raising his hand in a half assed wave towards them. his eyes were set on his phone as he mindlessly scrolled through social media, ready to drown out whatever they were talking about.

"we were gonna stay in tonight, maybe order takeout. it isn't safe for us to all be split up," tara said to you as you hesitantly walked into chad and ethan's dorm.

"you should join, y/n. you know, just so that we can watch over you," mindy stated, and you shrugged as you closed the door behind you. if anything, you appreciated mindy's honesty more than most.

"why not," you said in response, face falling when your eyes landed on ethan's. he seemed to not expect your presence either as he stared at you, his lips slightly parted, throat suddenly dry, face slightly flushed.

there it was again, that sense of familiarity he felt.

"hi," ethan said awkwardly, swallowing thickly as he quickly moved a bit to the side of the couch just in case you wanted to sit. "i— uh, haven't seen you in a while."

but he had. you forced a tight-lipped smile, one that didn't really reach your eyes as you took his silent offer and sat on the other side of the couch. "thanks," you murmured, looking away from him to stare at the t.v that played some show.

a beat of silence. "are you okay?" he suddenly asked you, making you glance at him. those brown eyes of his— the same eyes you always wondered were behind the mask —stared at you expectingly.

"i should be asking you that," you replied smoothly, easily lying past your emotions.

"but i asked you first."

"so?"

"so, you answer first. c'mon," ethan pushed, worry flashing in his eyes as he noted your lack of sleep.

you blinked at him. "i'm fine. i feel.. fine." another lie. "your turn to answer."

ethan shrugged, looking at the t.v show. "better than before, in some ways. i guess."

"hey—" mindy walked out of chad's room to look at the both of you, her hand covering the bottom of her phone. "i'm ordering chinese takeout right now. what did you two want?"

you thought for a second. "is it from the place on mott street?"

she nodded.

"i'll have the braised noodles and beef." you caught the look ethan gave you from the corner of your eye. "what? that place is good."

a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "i'll have the same thing," he told mindy, who gave them both a thumbs up before disappearing into chad's room again. "d'you eat there a lot?" ethan asked you, unable to stop his curiosity.

"i did. used to be my favorite place when i was younger." you tilted your head slightly as you turned your body a bit to face him. as he spoke, it made more and more sense for him to be the web-slinging hero. ethan was more serious when he was behind the mask, sure, but the way he talked was the same.

"i haven't had the time to try as many restaurants around here as i wanted to," ethan said.

"i can bring you to my favorite spots some time." the offer fell from your mouth before you could catch it, but it made a genuine, hopeful smile appear on his face.

his smile was the same too.

you turned your body away from him and didn't speak to him after that. you had to keep yourself away from him. there was no reason for you to care.

an hour and a half passed before the food actually arrived. the entire group— tara, sam, sam's boyfriend (danny, you learned his name was), mindy, and chad —all sat in the living room, some of them sitting on the floor.

"we are not watching a scary movie, mindy! this is arguably the worst time to do that!" chad said to his twin, who only rolled her eyes stubbornly.

"the original nightmare on elm street is literally a masterpiece— chad, give me the remote!" she lunged towards him as he held it away from her, their bickering making you watch on interestedly.

you slurped a noodle, chewing it briefly before swallowing. "are they always like this?" you murmured to yourself, watching as mindy finally snatched the remote from chad. sam and danny occupied the other half of the couch, making you (much to your chagrin) move closer to ethan.

noodles slipped from his chopsticks again, a frustrated huff escaping him as he tried to pick it up again. his focus was honed into trying to pick up the noodle, so much so, that he didn't answer your question.

you turned to him, the past promise you made yourself to try and not engage faltering as you watched him amusedly. you watched for a minute until he realized you were staring, his cheeks flaring in embarrassment.

"thanks for the help, y/n," ethan muttered sarcastically. he watched as a genuine smile tugged at your lips. a downturned one, one that fit you so well, one that made ethan's eyes widen when he figured it all out.

"not for my presence, spider?" you asked, your flirtatious side coming out of you.

"your kind presence?" he tsked. "no." he said, making you roll your eyes. but he saw that rare, downturned smile that tugged at your lips.

it was you. it had been you the entire time.

and you saw the slow realization dawn over his face. the way his face paled, the way his chopsticks fell into the takeout box. the way he breathed, "you," as he stared. he finally figured it all out.

"i have to go," were the first words that fell from your mouth right as the movie began. you ignored the protests from the others as you carefully moved past them, grabbing your coat from the hook near the door.

"nightmare on elm street was about to start!" mindy protested behind you.

"y/n," ethan said, hurriedly putting his takeout on the side table. he would've nearly dropped it if it weren't for his quick reflexes, catching the box before it could drop. and spill. further. but when he looked back at the door, the door was already shutting.

the cold air hit you harshly as you walked out of the dorm building. the starless sky only held the moon as it shone down onto you, joining the street lamps as you walked down the pavement trail. hugging your leather jacket around you, your steps were quick as you made your way to your car, heart beating quickly in your ears.

"y/n!"

ethan's voice called after you, making your blood run cold. "go away," you snapped, ignoring the hoarseness of your voice as you tried to keep walking away. but he was quick to follow.

"just talk to me—"

"talk to you?" that made you turn around and look at him, an incredulous look on your face. "after all the shit you told me? after what you said?"

"you didn't deny any of it, did you?" ethan retorted, hurt and guilt flashing in his eyes. "when i asked you if you were starting to care, you said nothing." his eyes looked over your face. "i asked you to say you weren't just using me and you said nothing. you couldn't even deny it—"

"why does it matter?" you laughed in disbelief. "why do you care so much? you said it before, right? i'm the criminal? you're the hero?" you demanded, jabbing a finger to his chest.

ethan's jaw clenched in frustration as he looked at you, feeling every jab of your finger. "i didn't want you to just see me as some way to get away from the police—"

"then how do you want me to see you, ethan?" you bit back.

"as someone you can fucking care for, y/n!" he snapped. "as someone you can trust! as someone beyond just a guy you made a deal with!" his confession rang in the air, his chest heaving at his outburst. ethan's gaze was hard as he stared at you. "i wanted you," he breathed out, "to care for me as much as i was starting to care for you."

your cold gazed faltered for a moment at that. ethan was searching your eyes for something, for any sign of care, but as soon as he saw it, it disappeared.

you only had yourself. you only had yourself. he did not deserve to have someone like you.

he deserved better.

"most of the mafias knew nothing about the killer. some even admired him." you avoided his gaze, turning slightly away from him. "i'll go with the group to the theatre tomorrow, and after that, that's it. my part of the deal is done." you tried to walk away from him, but his hand took your wrist, stopping you.

you turned to look at him, eyes shining with the possibility of tears. the once lighthearted eyes of his had lost all the spark in them as he looked at you. studying you like you studied your favorite paintings. taking in your every feature, your every angle, your every imperfection. "do you really not care about me?" the question came out as a breath, his heart beating loudly in his chest as you looked at him.

you could feel tears threatening to feel. your nerves were going haywire from the argument, but also because of the fear you felt. the fear of caring for someone so much.

how could he care for you as much as you cared about him?

you shook your head. ethan's heart broke.

ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— sorry again for the fact that i had to split the last part into two parts. there's still the next part left & the epilogue!

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods , @gcidrvsh , @theapulidooo , @volturi-girl-imagines , @duolingofanaccount , @buorke , @grxcisxhy-wp , @strangerdangerwrites , @mrslandryy , @michaelangdonsslut

#scream 6 imagines #scream 6 smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x y/n #scream fanfic #scream 6 fanfic #ethan landry fanfiction #to fault a net—! #scream 6 imagine #scream vi imagine #scream vi smut #scream vi imagines

[the-solar-system52]

I was listening to Sun's Help Wanted 2 voicelines again and noticed something interesting I wanna discuss (spoilers: Fazbear Entertainment is doing something shady again)

First, we need to clarify something. It pretty clear that our POV character in HW2 is an adult, and someone who works at Fazbear Entertainment. Once more, I think this minigame is supposed to be like a test simulation of how Sun would act around a child, which explains why we are a grown adult playing arts and crafts. And explains why there are no other children present. The player and Sun have to act out the situation of Arts and Crafts, as a test of some sorts, like employee training.

I think this is why Sun's personality is so inconsistent throughout the minigame. He will go from calling us his 'friend' to insulting us in a second. Sun isn't perfect, but I doubt this is how he would actually act around a child.

His personality is changing because some voicelines are him playing along with the role play, and pretending our POV character is a child. And the others are him going off-script and making jabs at Fazbear Entertainment by insulting us and our work.

This is also why he compliments our artwork and then proceeds to shred it. Because its not real, its just a role play, so there's no need to keep the artwork. I dont think he'd shred a real child's artwork. The player character probably isn't even offended by it.

No matter what DCA lore you believe, it always circles back to Sun being treated awfully by Fazbear Entertainment. Mainly, they refuse to properly fix the Moon problem and I think this explains some of Sun's weirdly out of character voicelines in this. His attitude probably stems from the fact our characters works for Fazbear Entertainment, and he has a huge grudge against the company and all who work there.

"Ha, I should turn off the lights myself."

"Do it again, and you're taking a nap."

Sun is absolutely terrified of the Moon and the dark. From all his other behaviours in other games, it doesn't make sense for him to joke about the lights going out and a child getting hurt. But if our POV character isn't a child, then it makes more sense. Since it's Fazbear Entertainment fault that Moon is so violent, he doesn't mind using some dark humour because he feels like the employee deserves it. Reaping what you sow, in a way. Sure our character is just an employee and doesn't make big decisions like that, but Sun doesn't know that and I don't really blame him for being distrusting to any adult human he meets.

A lot of people, mainly Moon fans, try to use that first line about the lights to reason that Sun isn't actually that scared of Moon. Because he can joke about it, which obviously means he would be willing to turn the lights off out of spite! And he isn't as afriad as we originally thought!

But if you listen past this line into other voicelines, you can see this obviously isn't true. At some point, Sun mentions that it will be naptime soon, and is obviously very scared. He pushes the player character to finish the art quicker and generally becomes more and more anxious and frustrated from that point onward. So it's clear he is still very afraid of Moon, and probably wouldn't be okay with our character getting murdered.

(Also, literally everything that happens in the hard mode of this level confirms this.)

Anyway, this is where it gets really interesting in context. Because when he mentions it's nearing naptime he says,

"Don't work in the dark, never work in the dark."

And then, after a second, adds

"You'll...hurt your eyes if you work in the dark."

This is obviously a cover-up as to the real reason you can't work in the dark, Moon. But it's not like this employee wouldn't already know about Moon.

(Probably my favourite peice of worldbuilding in SB is that Sun literally has a warning for Moon at the back of his head, so this cover-up isn't so the employee doesn't learn about Moon, because they obviously already have.)

But with the context that this is supposed to the employee acting out the role of a child, this made me realise something.

Fazbear Entertainment doesn't allow Sun to talk about Moon.

Listen to the line again, and tell me you don't hear it! It sounds like he just remembered the employee was in the room and had to add the excuse on quickly so he didn't get in trouble.

He never calls Moon by name, and always uses some sort of riddle or metaphor to explain what is happening to him. At first I thought that was just how he talked, but maybe it's because he's just not allowed to tell people whats going on!

He omniously warns Gregory to keep the lights on, but doesn't tell him why. Even when Gregory gets closer to the security desk he only says "that area is off limits" and doesn't try to explain how dire the situation really is.

Hell, even when the lights are out and he has nothing left to lose, he doesn't say anything direct about Moon that would help Gregory.

Maybe part of the reason he banned Gregory from the daycare is because he felt he had no other option, it would be pretty hard for Gregory to stay if Sun couldn't explain what just happened.

And you could make the argument that he's just trying not to freak out Gregory, but what about a situation where he has no hope of not freaking someone out? Why doesn't he say anything about Moon then, if he once again, doesn't have anything left to lose.

When he meets Cassie he says

"I am trapped in a nap!"

And in Help Wanted 2 he says

"He'll wake up if the lights go out."

Both use sleep as a metaphor for not being in control of the body, even though I highly doubt Moon is actually unconscious during these moments, since Moon always seems to know where is his target is, so I'm guessing he has Sun's memories.

Again in Ruin, he instructed Cassie to turn on the generators, warned her when it wasn't safe, and even sang a creepy metaphor-ridden version of Daisy Bell! And yet he never mentions Moon by name??

He also never mentions Eclipse by name, and instead just asks Cassie to make them "whole".

And in Help Wanted 2, there was no reason he couldn't properly explain the situation to the employee in the hard mode, since they weren't in the role play anymore.

For whatever reason, Fazbear Entertainment has pretty much brainwashed him to never directly mention Moon. I think this was probably to keep up the false narrative they have made with the Moondrop Candy posters that Moon is a good guy. And Sun telling the kids, or other people, the truth about Moon would be bad for publicity.

I feel really bad for Sun though, that he couldn't properly warn anyone if the lights were about to go out, or talk about his problems at all.

What I'm really interested in is if he has just been told not to say anything OR is there something in his coding literally stopping him from saying Moon's name. Like, if he tried, he would just go mute and not be able to talk.

Although the latter is an interesting concept, I don't think it's true.

First if all, Moon mentions Sun by name in his Ruin voicelines and I wouldn't really make sense for this coding to only apply to Sun.

Second of all, even if his code prevents him from talking about Moon, if he was really determined to say something, he could just use substitute words, write, draw, or in any other way communicate what he wants to say and bypass the coding.

No, I think it's a little more psychological. It could be possible Fazbear Entertainment has simply just told him to keep his mouth shut, and since they have control over everything in the Pizzaplex, he's too afraid to go against them. I wouldn't put it past them to threaten to turn the lights off if he speaks up either. Or to scrap him.

Sun has always had an irrational attachment to rules, which would also be explained by Fazbear Entertainments threats. He determined to keep things clean in the Daycare, but his room is an absolute mess. He doesn't bat an eye at Gregory trespassing in the Pizzaplex at night, but does care when he goes into an "off limits" area. His hypocritical and confusing take on rules can be explained by these not actually being his real opinions, but just paranoid habits brought on Fazbear Entertainment's treatment of him.

"You're gonna get us in trouble..."

As far as we know, he doesn't have any friendships with the other animatronics. And besides Moon's patrols, Sun never seems to leave the daycare. Dudes just a paranoid loser with no friends. (real)

In conclusion, fuck Fazbear Entertainment and I hope the next game involves a robot uprising of sorts.

Edit: I have no clue how forgot this, but thank you to @technowingsgs for reminding me of Sun's line,

"Not me! The OTHER me!"

This is probably the most egregious and direct example of Sun refusing to say Moon's name. Since he's trying to tell Cassie that she needs to reboot Moon, but can't get away with just using a pronoun, he actually resorts to using an alias. Which may point more to the theory that its his coding that stops him from mentioning Moon, since hes ok with using an alternative name, but I'm not sure. But it could be a combination of factors.

I mean, I doubt its just that Sun doesn't know Moon's name. If MY name was SUN and I saw merch littered around the pizzaplex of a dude that looked like THIS:

Wouldn't exactly take a genius to come up with a name.

Also! A lot of people were confused at this line and didn't know why Cassie couldn't just reboot Sun in his AR body. So I want to attempt to explain what I think!

It seems that, since Moon is controlling their real body, Sun's consciousness has been pushed into the AR World. And the thing about the AR World is that it isn't exactly real. MXES can't hurt you when you take the mask off, because he doesn't have a physical body, he's more of an ghost or hologram. You can walk through walls, use portals, and enter arcade machines. Overall, it's seems to be some sort of non-physical unreality.

So the reason Sun tells you to reboot Moon and not him, is because he's really talking about his physical body and his AR body. If you tried to reboot him with the Vanny mask on, it simply wouldn't work!

This because you have to stick the fazwrench into his head, flip a switch, and that somehow merges Sun and Moon's code together into Eclipse. Their code is no doubt stored in a circuit board of some sorts, maybe even the one that's visible at the back of their head. All of these things are physical changes, that rely on the materials and mechanics inside his physical body. So if you tried to reboot him in a non-physical plane, it wouldn't do anything! Since AR Sun is more of a projection of his consciousness, like a ghost, and isn't fully connected to his corporeal body. Thus, the fazwrench couldn't reach the necessary code inside his circuit boards. That's why he asked you to turn the lights on, so Moon would freeze up and you could safely reach him.

That, and the game would be too easy if you didn't have to turn on the generators to freeze Moon! Sorry if that segment was too technical, I waffled on a bit.

#long post #rant #rant post #theory #speculation #fnaf #character analysis #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf ruin #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddy's #fnaf sb #fazbear entertainment #fnaf security breach #fnaf help wanted #fnaf help wanted 2 #fnaf he #fnaf hw2 #help wanted 2 #help wanted 2 spoilers #hw2 #security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf sun and moon #fnaf dca #fnaf moon #ruin eclipse #fnaf eclipse #the daycare attendant

[midnightsun-if]

”Probably using some of the other roommates as “human” shields…. Which would end up being interesting depending on who it is.”

how would each RO react to being the human shield?

Koda:

“Can I hide behind you for a sec, big guy?”

A warm grin tugs at Koda’s lips. “Sure!” He shifts a bit so Blake could worm into the space behind him. “Is there something you need? I’m just doing some light reading for Sloane.”

Blake’s brow furrows in confusion. “Why?”

“Something about me not understanding the core concept of personal space.” Koda shrugs. “Thought I should get a bit of a head start on learning.”

Opening and closing their mouth, Blake tries to come up with a proper response to that but, before they could, which was either fortunate or not, the door to the den slams open and you’re fuming form stands at the entrance. A sight that causes them to skink further back into the shadows and behind the considerable bulk of the bear-shifter. Good, I probably won’t be seen. All I have to do is be quiet and—

“Hey MC!” Koda waves his hand, booming voice almost rattling the glass panes of the high arching windows. “Blake and I were just doing some reading. Would you like to join us?”

Scarlett:

“Hide me.”

The panicked voice causes emerald eyes to raise from age-worn pages, an elegant brow furrowed with the barest hints of exasperation being shown by the downturn of full lips. Rising from her seated position, Scarlett scoffs at the seemingly endless audacity that Blake Herrera showcased on a daily basis.

“Do you truly think—“ Her words are cut off as the insipid hell-spawn tucks themself behind her, just as the library door bursts open and you make an appearance. At the sight, and by simply knowing the relationship between the two, Scarlett almost lets out a long-suffering sigh. She’s been alive for over two hundred years, but she’s never been quite as tired since having to deal with you both. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

Taking her book, and the rest of her wine, Scarlett arches a brow as she looks into widened violet eyes. “You’ve dealt your own hand. Now reap what you’ve sowed.” With that she makes her way out of the library, only offering you a cursory glance as she passes. “They’re all yours. Please try not to make too much of a mess. I do wish to return later on and finish my reading.”

Cyrus/Cyra:

“Think you can help me with something, hot stuff?”

A delicate brow furrows. “I thought I told you to desist with that nickname.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” Blake offers them an apologetic smile. “Still… D’ya think you can help me with something, Birdie?”

Red flashes in the dual-colored gaze before a calming breath is issued to stem whatever reaction they were about to have. “What is it? I’m not sure I’m interested in any proposition you’d have to offer me.”

“For one thing that sort of hurts my heart to hear and for another if I was propositioning you, you’d be more than aware of it.” The demon-hybrid glances over their shoulders worriedly. “I just need to use you as potential cover in case MC finds me. Simple, right?”

“That doesn’t sound simple in the slightest. You know I don’t like getting in the middle of whatever squabbles you and MC have with one another.” They pinch the bridge of their nose. “Especially since they tend to be quite ridiculous.”

Blake splays out their hands, faux-innocence etched across their face. “Aren’t I one of your subjects? Isn’t it like a duty, or something, to help protect me?”

“That’s not how that works at all, Blake.” They glance at something, an amused look briefly gracing their features. “It seems like my time here is up. I have a test to get prepared for and I don’t think a panicking demon will help me concentrate for it.”

They pat Blake’s arm, an almost awkward smile on their lips. “I do hope I see you for dinner.”

Quinn:

“You’ve eaten more of MCs food, haven’t you?”

The plea for help is born and dies on Blake’s lips as Quinn’s amused sapphire gaze meets their own— a small pout forming on their lips in its stead.

“It’s not any fun to be fleeing for my life when you already know the reason.” Blake shakes their head, crossing their arms. “How did you hear about it anyway?”

Quinn arches a brow. “We’re in the living room, Blake. A mere fifty feet from the entrance to the dining room.” At Blake’s expectant look a soft sigh escapes them. “I heard it. With my ears.”

“Well that’s just cheating.” Glancing behind them, they’re glad to see that MC hasn’t gone in full pursuit yet. Probably still assessing the damage. “Do you think you could distract MC for a bit? At least until I find someone who’ll actually play along.”

Quinn shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I’ll give you an extra five minutes to find someone.” Sapphire eyes glance towards the dining room. “I’d make it quick though. I don’t think MC will let this pass so easily this time.”

No, Blake muses, I don’t think so either…

Caden:

“Hey, Casper,” Blake says, charming smile in full effect as they sidle next to the hunched over form. “Haven’t spoken to you in a bit. How have you been?”

Argent eyes flicker with curiosity. “We rarely ever speak. In fact I can think of only three times we’ve had actual conversations.” Caden looks back down at their work, jotting down a couple more notes in various places. “Shouldn’t you be with MC? I’d assume you’d be spending the afternoon together.”

“Thought I’d spend it with you instead. Realized that we haven’t gotten some one-on-one time together and wanted to fix that.” Something that Blake will have to rectify regardless; just not when they’re currently fearful for their life. “What do you say?”

Caden looks up, eyes flickering to the entrance of the dining room before looking back. “I say that you’ve gotten yourself into trouble and wish to have a way out of it.” Closing their notebook, they stand from the table. “And, I regret to inform you, that I do not work for you. I do not wish to interfere with whatever it is you’ve done with the child of the woman that actually pays my salary. I do wish for the best for you.”

With that Caden makes a quick exit out of the room. Leaving a flabbergasted half-demon and fuming vampire behind.

Sloane:

Hazel eyes narrow into slits even before Blake can get one word out, lips curling into a snarl around the cigarette dangling from them. “Whatever you’re about to ask the answer is abso-fucking-lutely not.” They take one last drag, before they crush the remnants of the cigarette underneath a leather clad heel. “I don’t have time to deal with your brand of idiocy today, Herrera.”

Blake places their hands over their heart. “I’m hurt, wolfie, deeply and truly.” Sloane’s eyes narrow dangerously at the nickname. “I promise if you help me out this time, I won’t bother you for the next month.”

“Or—“ Sloane rolls their shoulders, lazy smirk tugging at their lips. “I could leave you to whatever mess you’ve created for yourself, which will probably keep you out of my hair for even longer.”

“You see that’s not exactly the answer I was hoping for.”

Sloane shrugs, hazel eyes locking with something over Blake’s shoulder. “Then you shouldn’t have come to me.” Pushing off the wall they had been leaning against, they brush past the demon-hybrid. Leaving Blake to contend with their irate best friend alone.

Reginald/Regina:

“Short Stack,” Blake calls the moment they clock the familiar human with an armful of books and papers. “Need a favor.”

A wide smile stretches across their lips, blue-green eyes sparkling with immediate interest. “What do you need? It’s not about another seance, right?” Their brow furrows slightly. “Scarlett told me you were just messing with me about that.”

Blake scoffs. “Beauty Queen likes to ruin future projects it seems.” Serves me right for messing around with her… She could have done a lot worse. And has… Shaking their head, Blake forces themself to focus. “But it’s not about that, sprout. I just need a place to hide out for a bit and thought that I could hangout in your room.”

“You want to hangout with me? Isn’t MC done with their classes?” Skillfully maneuvering the objects in their arms, R glances down at their watch. “It’s about that time.”

Wrapping an arm around slim shoulders, the demon-hybrid lets loose a soft chuckle, quickly pulling the small human in the direction they needed to go when they take note of their irate best friend on the other side of the quad. “Why would I want to do that when I have you right here?”

“I suppose.”

A charming grin catches on Blake’s lips. “You got any food in that bag of yours?”

#midnight sun #asks #ro: blake herrera #ro: r presley #ro: c aurelia #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: koda kingston #ro: caden randall #ro: scarlett voltaire #scenario asks

[gaybananabread]

Hello, beautiful soul!! For the fruit shop, could we have lee!Hawks and ler!LoV? With banana, orange, and watermelon? Maybe some of those tickle bites/kisses land on those extra sensitive wings...lord knows how he'd handle a raspberry. He's canonically vibration sensitive.

Fruit(s): Bananas, Oranges, Watermelon

Aww hi Anon! I’ve never written for the LoV besides Dabi, so new experience! I do have the character limit capped at four for these fics, so I just picked the league members that I thought would be most fun. Love writing for KFC, definitely one of my MHA favorites to get got (). This is gonna be pre-PLF because it’s just easier for me that way. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Hawks

Lers: Dabi, Twice, Toga

Summary: Hawks is sassing his fellow LoV members, collectively pissing everyone off. While some more violent methods are suggested, the most interested trio finds a way to get back at the birdie without injuring their “asset.” 

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

The League of Villains were gathered in their “meeting room,” though only two members were really paying attention to Shigaraki’s spiel. Kurogiri was…probably listening? It was hard to tell with him. Mr. Compress seemed to be engaged, nodding along and occasionally humming. Then again, he almost always indulged Shigi’s rants; it was just the kind of man he was.

Dabi was practically laying on the table, his head resting on his folded arms; he couldn’t care less about the precautions. If heroes ever found them, he’d burn them all to a nice crisp. Twice and Toga were trading a piece of paper back-and-forth, writing little notes and doodles to pass the time. Spinner idly twirled one of his blades, sharing most of his teammates’ boredom.

Right as Shigaraki got to the extra repetitive part of his speech, a smug yet smooth voice spoke up. “Don’cha think you should talk about something new, Shigaraki? This is getting kinda old.” 

Six pairs of eyes shot over to Hawks, though most were more excited than shocked; it was something other than the same “we’re the ultimate fighters” speech. Shigaraki, however, seemed less than amused. “Really, hero? And what would you say, since you’re so amazing at speeches?” The word “hero” was said very bitterly; his way of reminding Hawks that he was still on thinner ice.

“Well, ya really haven’t gone over the next moves for the League. We’ve tossed ideas around, but do we have a clear idea? Seems kinda important ta me.” The Decay user frowned, though he couldn’t say Hawks was wrong. He had been laying the hero slander on a little thick, but he was getting angry. Besides, he had a clear idea of what was to come next. He just wasn’t ready to share that big a plan with the bird yet.

“That…isn’t ready for sharing. I do have plans, you just… don’t get to know them.” That wasn’t a lie, either. He wasn’t telling them more than the bare minimum until the day grew closer. Upon hearing this, a few league members huffed and chuckled under their breaths. Even though they knew their leader did have plans, it was funny to see someone make him squirm. 

Hawks normally wouldn’t act like that; his main goal was to blend in and find out the League’s big plans without getting caught. That day, however, he was bored of the same unhelpful information, his casual attitude and snark slipping out without him realizing it.

That week, it had slipped out a lot. Everyone’s patience was wearing thin, to the point of them discussing various torture methods and violent solutions. A few were particularly pissy, having a group discussion about what the hell to do with their newest member.

“I’m gonna kill that ungrateful newbie.” Shigaraki growled in a scratchy, annoyed tone. “Who does he think he is, hijacking my fine meeting?!” Toga giggled, though didn’t make any comments.

Dabi spoke next, huffing. “Told you lunatics he was trouble. But no, none‘a you listened to me. Reap what you sow, assholes.” He really didn’t care about minding his language; everyone was a bit pissed, giving him an excuse. Twice decided to put his two cents in, quite literally.

“C’mon, it’s probably just an off week for him or something. Let’s main him; I’m sure nobody would mind!” Toga giggled again, catching the attention of the hothead. Dabi glared at her, crossing his arms as his snarl somehow deepened. “What’s got you all giggly, psycho? Maiming get you going or somethin’?”

The blonde just shook her head, a shit-eating yet lax smile on her face. “You boys are going about this all wrong~! If he’s making jokes, you gotta make him laugh for it to stop! Izuku-kun does it all the time~” She sounded oddly reminiscent at the end… Still, Dabi just scoffed.

“Make him laugh? And you’re still stalking that hero kid? Seriously?” She disregarded that second part, nodding and smiling widely. “Yeah! He’s looking for a giggle or snicker when he sasses you guys; why not return the favor~?” The answer was cryptic, as things usually were with Toga, but it got a certain man interested. 

“Return the favor? How do we do that, jokes? That’s idiotic, let’s just do it my way!” His first statement sounded intrigued, so Toga went with it and explained. “Well, that’s one way, but Izuku’s friends make it a lot more fun!”

Dabi interjected, sick of the short back-and-forth. “Fuckin’ hell, just say it, you nutjob! Sick of this!” She rolled her eyes, pouting. “So grumpy, Dabi! Well, I say…we tickle him!”

Every man in the room paused, looking at her with varying degrees of “what now?” for her statement. 

“Tickle him? What is this, fuckin’ preschool?”

“Toga, we’re respectable villains, not children.”

“Oh…I mean, uhm, why. What the hell?!”

“C’mon boys, you’re no fun! It would teach him a lesson, and he’d probably stop interrupting your meetings~” Toga said the last bit in a sing-songy voice, making Shigaraki huff. She had won. “Whatever, I don’t care. If it doesn’t work, though, I’m putting chicken wings on the menu.” Their leader left, done with that entire conversation; Toga had his permission, though.

“Are you really not gonna take the opportunity to get back at Hawks? Even after he called you crispy?” The flame user’s nostrils flared; she knew how to play her cards. “FINE! Fine, ya shit, I’ll help! You’re lucky I need revenge…  Twice, c’mon.”

The multi-opinionated villain jumped up, seeming mostly curious and a bit excited to carry out their plan. Well, if you could call the vague outline of “tickle Hawks until he stops being an ass” a plan. Still, they were ready.

-

Hawks was sitting at the bar counter, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He was bored, and the news was rather unhelpful in keeping him up-to-date. He was in a sort of daze, so much so that he didn’t notice the three villains sneaking up behind him. 

Twice took one more step, though that seemed to be a wrong move; the floorboard squeaked, alerting Hawks of their presence. He whipped his head around, seeing the three of them “sneaking” towards him. Oh hell no…

He immediately tried to fly away before realizing that he couldn’t; he had depleted his wings in a fight a few days prior. He was stuck with running. The hero took off, zipping into the back room of the bar. 

The villain trio followed, though Dabi wasn’t putting his full effort into it. Twice ducked through one of the roundabout doors, running through the back halls. Right as Hawks flung another door open to try and escape, he was greeted by two wide cloth eyes. Not good!

Twice tackled him, calling out to Dabi for the taller man to restrict the winged hero. Dabi grabbed Hawks, keeping his hands pinned behind his back as he practically marched the other man back into the main bar. The flame user forced Hawks to sit, using Toga’s red scarf thing to bind his hands together. “Let me go! When I get loose, you guys are-”

Toga pretty much cut him off, too eager to wait any longer. She bent her fingers into claws, running them down both sides of him. He squeaked, biting his lip to restrain the giggles bubbling in his throat. He failed pretty quickly.

The blood enthusiast cooed, speeding up her tickling fingers. “Heya birdie~! You’ve been trying to get us to laugh aaall week! Figured we could give you your turn!” Hawks thrashed a bit, realizing two things: one, dabi was behind him and very close to his wings, and two, he was completely stuck. Shit. “G-gehet off mehehehe!”

Dabi spun the stool a bit, exposing more of Hawks’ front and giving the two other villains more access. His own fingers wormed their ways between his wing bases and his back, tickling furiously; man was wasting no time. The duality of Toga’s gentler teasing and Dabi’s ruthless scribbles drew deep, panicky belly laughter from him. “H-HEHEHEY! DAHABI, NAHAT- GYAAHAHA!”

“Ooooh, bad spot~ Get ‘im, Dabi!” Toga cooed close to Hawks’ ear, her fingers teasing along his ribcage and sides. Now that the man was more exposed, Twice joined in, his hands as split as his personality. The left was lightly clawing at his stomach while the other was digging into the back of his knee. The most wonderful noise Toga had ever heard left his lips; a snorty squeal.

“Awwwww, Hawks~! That’s soooo cute! Twice, make him do it again!” The man continued to torment Hawks’ knee, pulling more loud laughter and a few snorts from him. “TWIHIHI- *snrk* FUHUHAHACK OHOFF!” “Wow, you’re ticklish! He’s like a human squeak toy!” Toga giggled, absolutely delighted; it was like a deranged kid in a candy store.

While those boisterous reactions were great and all, Dabi was out for revenge, not playtime. Looking over the bird man’s wings, he noticed just how much they were twitching from the scribbling on the bases. The most they would move, though, was when Dabi got closer, his breath slightly ruffling a few feathers. Oh…oh that’s perfect.

Leaning in closer, Dabi whispered in the hero’s ear, the smirk clear in his voice. “Get ready to sing for me, birdie~” Hawks squeaked at the buzz on his ear, his eyes widening when he realized just where Dabi was. Toga and Twice were still going to town, giving him no reprieve. It wasn’t as bad as when Dabi was on his wings, but that would soon change. “Dahahabi noho! Ihi- I’ll kihihill youhuhuhu!”

Completely ignoring the other man’s pleas, Dabi lowered his mouth to the depleted wings, gently nibbling on the very top of the frame. 

Hawks practically shrieked, his back arching as he tried to get away. Toga grabbed his waist, both wanting to continue and help out her fellow tickler. “DAHAHAHAHA! *snrk* NAHAHAT THEHERE!”

Dabi just chuckled against his wings, sneaking small kisses in with the nibbles. The other man’s reactions, while adorable, were fulfilling his need for revenge quite nicely. It was also hilarious to see a pro hero absolutely destroyed by something so simple. “What’s wrong, bird brain? Does it tickle?”

At that point, what Twice and Toga were doing was nothing; his wings were horrid, especially with bites and the like. If he could, he’d send his feathers after Dabi to get him off. His wings were left with only smaller feathers, however, and he couldn’t focus enough to control them if he tried.

As much as the man hated to do it, he was really close to his breaking point. Throwing in the white flag, Hawks tried to call the mercy plea, though he had no idea which one to use. “S-STAHAHAP! REHED, UHUNCLE, C’MOHOHON!”

Dabi snickered, taking a quick break from the nibbles and kisses to tease Hawks’ ear once again. “You gotta promise to behave, songbird~ No more sass.” Then, without giving the winged hero a chance to speak, he blew a raspberry right on the base of one of Hawks’ wings. 

That man lost his shit.

“NYAAAAHAHA! *srk* DAHAHA-” The man’s laughter went silent as Dabi blew another raspberry, the killer vibrations spreading all throughout his wings and flooding his senses. The vibration sensitivity in his wings was amazing for flight combat, but it was like an Achillies heel in that moment. Tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes, his thrashing almost tripling.

Toga, of all people, felt a bit bad for Hawks. She liked the bird a bit and had already gotten her fill of his laughter. Plus, the silent stuff was no fun. “Awe, Dabi, give him a break. We don’t wanna kill him; he won’t be able to laugh anymore!”

Rolling his eyes, he pulled his head away; it was almost cute how quickly the man slumped back onto his chest. He was exhausted. 

Panting and trying to regain his composure, Hawks giggled off the residual tickles. Both of his wings were buzzing with ticklish energy, his face red and his mind reeling. “Hoho- hohohoholy shihit…” Looking around, he noticed the expectant looks he was getting. He’d rather not risk that happening again so soon. “Ihi prohohomise to…to stohop sassing youhu guhuhuhuys. Hahappy?”

A small sound came from behind him; something strangely close to an amused snort as Dabi chuckled. “Ecstatic. You’re a mess, bird brain.” Toga leaped forwards, getting very into Hawks’ personal space and smiling. “Oh my, that was adorable! You look so cute when you beg~!” Twice chuckled behind her, both sides of him amused with what happened.

The moment Dabi untied his hands, Hawks stormed off, shutting and locking the door to his temporary room in the bar. Having achieved their goal, the three villains split ways, each going to do their respective business. Dabi went to stalk the city’s nighttime scene, Twice decided to play video games, and Toga updated her tabs on poor Midoriya. While they all did their own thing, all three of them were thinking about what had just happened. 

Even Hawks, who would have preferred to forget it ever happened, laid on his bed with the event running through his mind. He’d definitely be watching his mouth from then on…

#kasey's fruit shop #mha tickle #lee!hawks #ler!toga #ler!twice #ler!dabi #ticklish!hawks #sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle #fruit shop event #my hero academia tickle #ler!lov #my hero academia #mha hawks #mha toga #mha twice #mha dabi

[voxofthevoid]

We're at Shibuya Swap Wednesday #9, and I still can't predict an end. Part 3 was largely unplotted when I started writing it, and I think I can see the end—and it's miraculously shorter than I anticipated—but let's see how the path there looks.

I didn't write a lot this week, so the fic is at 85k and halfway through Chapter 16. There's a fuckton of conversations in this part because I'm still reaping what I sowed in Part 1. Several bits were like pulling teeth, but I'm happy with the final shape. The following section is a goyuu reunion of sorts:

Yuuji opens the door and steps into the dark.

His eyes don’t need an adjustment period; he’s always had good night vision. The tall figure standing stock-still, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight outside an open window, still makes him startle. A second later, two pools of radiant blue cut through the dark—Gojou’s open eyes, fixed right on Yuuji.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji breathes.

“Hello, Yuuji,” comes the soft reply.

The door gently clicks shut behind Yuuji, almost making him jump. His heart is in his throat, and it stays right there as the seconds stretch on, held in place by reasons better and worse than a door closing on its own. On the opposite end, Gojou is still and unmoving. His features are blank, the shadows on his face made strange by the glow of his own eyes. Yuuji’s known for a while that Gojou’s eyes have their own fire, but he’s never seen them like this.

He’s never seen Gojou like this.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, speaking in hushed tones on instinct, “I’m gonna turn the light on.”

“Go on,” is all Gojou says.

Yuuji gropes around the walls beside the door, and it’d be easier if he just looked, but he finds that he can’t take his eyes off Gojou. A part of him is afraid, not that Gojou will do anything but that he’ll melt into the shadows if Yuuji takes his eyes off him, vanishing like he was never here.

He finds the switchboard and promptly blinds himself.

“Shit,” he swears, slapping his hands over his eyes. He rubs the tears away, peering out from between his fingers and getting smarting eyes for his trouble. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Gojou says, sounding amused; the familiarity of it makes something in Yuuji unclench.

He blinks and squints until the light don’t feel like it’s stabbing his eyes anymore, and then Gojou’s there in full color, eyes bared and hair down and smiling at Yuuji, as solid as a dream can ever get.

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji says helplessly, “you’re back.”

“I am. Miss me?”

“I—yes, I was—”

“Worried?”

“…Yeah.”

Gojou’s smile widens. It’s not really a nice expression, too sharp around the edges, but Gojou means these smiles. They’re real, even if they’re poised to cut.

“I’m not the kind of man,” Gojou murmurs, “you should worry about, Yuuji.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuji shrugs. “Can’t help it, I guess. And it’s different this time.”

“Oh?”

“You were walking into a trap, weren’t you?”

“Oh?” Gojou repeats with an unholy amount of relish. “You really have been thinking about me.”

Yuuji fights down the urge to throw up his arms. “I just told you that!”

“So you did,” Gojou admits. “No need to worry about your dear teacher—I won’t be outmaneuvered twice by the same person. Once was enough. My pride won’t survive a repeat, and we’d hate that, wouldn’t we?”

“Uh, sure,” Yuuji says, not sure how to say Gojou’s pride isn’t what he’s worried about.

Gojou chuckles like he can tell anyway. “Your mother’s a wily bastard, by the way. I hope you haven’t inherited any of that. I quite like how straightforward you are. You’re not hiding some Machiavellian cunning under all that cute pink fluff, are you?”

“What?” Yuuji asks, his brain stuck on cute pink fluff.

“No.” Gojou tilts his head, humming. “No, you’re a different breed.”

“Okay?” Yuuji wrenches his attention back to the point. “How’d it go? Did you find them, did you—”

“I found the body,” Gojou answers. “Booby-trapped to hell, with the most innovative mix of barriers and seals I’ve ever seen. Maybe I should start teaching you those. See if you’ve got a knack for it. Genetics isn’t everything, but for sorcerers, it means something more often than not.”

Any other time, Yuuji would have leaped at the chance to learn more and get stronger, but right now, all he can focus on is—

“The body?” he asks.

Gojou blinks once; his eyes are glowing even in the bright light. “The brain was absent. The residuals led me on a wild goose chase for a while, but they didn’t lead to anything. I knew it wouldn’t. I was tracking that body’s cursed energy, you see. And I found it. It’s all I found. We should have killed them at Shibuya. But every version of you will be a sentimental fool, won’t you, Yuuji?”

Yuuji takes half a step back before forcing himself to stop. Gojou’s stare is a piercing thing, like twin lasers—hotter than the sun, with none of its warmth. Yuuji feels like it’ll sear off his flesh, chunk of cooked meat falling to the ground at his feet.

He can’t feel Gojou’s cursed energy at all.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuji says very gently, “about your friend.”

Gojou stills, somehow without moving a single muscle. Something seems to suck the air out of the room.

Yuuji smothers the urge to yank the door open and throw himself out of this room. It’s not real anyway. Yuuji doesn’t actually want to run away from Gojou. He’s not scared. It’s just that, sometimes, Gojou gets like this, all silent and still, and every animal instinct Yuuji has starts screaming. It happened with Sukuna too, the one time they met face to face, but Yuuji was too angry then to feel anything else, and it was only later, when the way his spine writhed as Gojou bore down on that volcanic curse felt oddly familiar, that Yuuji even realized that a part of him had responded the same way to that blood-and-bone domain and its vicious master.

With Gojou, there’s no anger to swallow everything else, and Yuuji’s left to grapple uncomfortably with the disconnect between his instincts and his feelings. It makes him feel guilty too. Gojou’s on a whole other level as a sorcerer, as a living being, but he’s still just a person. And he’s Yuuji’s teacher. Yuuji likes him; he worries about him. There’s something profane about any part of Yuuji reacting to Gojou the way it did to Sukuna, and Yuuji has a hundred reasons to want to get stronger, but one of them, close to the top of the list, is that he wants to bear the brunt of Gojou’s power without even a sliver of his soul squirming.

He takes a step closer to Gojou, not once looking away from the violent supernova of his eyes.

Something shifts in Gojou’s expression. It doesn’t soften, but it’s less blank, less alien.

“I’d ask who’s been telling tales,” Gojou murmurs, “but it doesn’t matter, hm? You should save your pity for the ones who matter, Yuuji. My old friend lost that right years ago.”

Yuuji…has no idea what to do make of that.

But he knows one thing. “It’s not pity, sensei. I just wish none of it happened to you.”

“And what would you know of what happened to me?”

Yuuji shrugs, trying and failing to shake off the discomfort layering his skin. “Not much. Just that your friend became a curse user and, uh, died. And then Kenjaku took his body.”

“That’s not all you know,” Gojou says with damning certainty. “Tell me how he died, Yuuji.”

Yuuji looks down at his feet for a moment, breathing in deep. Getting air into him still feel like a fight, and his heartbeat is echoed all over his body, from the skull to the soles of his feet. There’s something unnatural happening.

But he trusts Gojou.

Yuuji looks him in the eyes and says, “You killed him.”

“I did. Are you sorry about that too?”

“Yes, sensei.”

“What if I told you I didn’t even hesitate? He was my best friend, you know. The only one I ever had.”

Yuuji’s eyes smart again, his chest squeezing tight. “That must have felt terrible.”

Gojou blinks.

The air lightens.

There’s a long, heavy sigh, followed by Gojou slumping back against the open window, his entire torso supported by empty space. His eyes haven’t wavered from Yuuji or lessened any in intensity, but there’s a pout on his mouth that doesn’t suit the situation at all.

“Are you for real?” he complains.

“Uh, yes?”

“I don’t believe it. Come here, I need to pinch you.”

“What? I’m not doing that!”

“I’ll come there then.”

“No—eck.”

Yuuji didn’t even see Gojou move, but there are fingers pinching his cheek and a toothy grin filling his vision, and his instinctive struggling does down as he processes the new proximity, the rest of the world fading to make room for the warmth and size of Gojou’s body. He’s so close to Yuuji, their chests almost touching, and more and more of his features burn themselves into Yuuji’s vision. His jaw is a sharp curve, the kind you could cut yourself on, and the rest of his face isn’t any better, painfully pretty. Yuuji can’t help noticing that his lips are cracked, without a hint of their usual glossy sheen. It only becomes more obvious when Gojou’s impish grin eases up, settling into a quiet, crooked smile.

Yuuji stares at them for a very long moment, his mouth drying out to match Gojou’s lips.

He looks up. Radioactive eyes gleam a hot blue, threatening to swallow him whole.

#goyuu #jjk snippets #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #wip wednesday #my fic #fic: how the story changes #divider credit: saradika-graphics

[batsplat]

do you have any more thoughts on sete&vale rivalry? ps. love your blog!

I ALWAYS have more thoughts about the sete/valentino rivalry and if there is one person on this website who wants to read them then let's fucking go. so my issue is that when I looked at this ask the first time I thought I could maybe give like. a few thoughts. just some casual fun takes. the problem is I've been doing that anyway in my other posts, but there's really only so much point in doing that if I'm not providing any context on events that are by this point two decades old. so. time for some actual context

this isn't going to be exhaustive by any stretch of the imagination. what I'm covering here is two/three incredibly interesting years of motogp that deserve to be experienced and studied in their entirety, but alas I am but one poster on one microblogging website. so this is very much going to be the whistle-stop tour of explaining feuds, before a little bit of analysis to cap things off. (would like to state for the record that I called it 'whistle-stop' when this post was a lot shorter than it is now, but I'm leaving this paragraph in because it'll get funnier the longer you scroll. it's still not exhaustive but it's a lot more exhaustive than I thought it'd be when I wrote those sentences)

this rivalry began in an odd, uncertain period of valentino's career, at a time when valentino had essentially won motogp. he had just concluded his 2002 season and sealed his second premier class title in the process, with his results that year consisting of eleven wins, four second places and a single retirement. it was more or less as good as it gets, crushingly dominant, the undisputed lord and master of all he surveyed etc etc etc. and yet it was also a time where he was ill at ease with his role within the sport and was struggling with motivation, so much so that he increasingly found himself no longer taking joy in his racing. he ended up being so disillusioned with the existing state of affairs that he decided to make a radical move to redefine himself, to control his own destiny, to take the step from a great to a legend

which is all very abstract, in a way, removed from the realities of racing or indeed competition. this was a time in which no other rider could come close to matching valentino as a competitor and everyone basically knew as much. it adds an odd flavour to the challenges an athlete faces, where the success is such that it warps everyone's understanding of what success even looks like (not helped by how the last dominant athlete in the sport, mick doohan, also had a silly good track record in his prime). you could say, if you want, that 2002 is all about sowing, all about vale having so much success that it's started to feel a bit too easy, where he was just coasting on a wave of his own brilliance. 2003? well, now we've gotten to the reaping stage, where he's suffering under the expectations he himself has created, and all this winning is maybe already getting kind of boring

the first task in sports is not to be better than everyone else - it is to win. being better helps, but it has never been strictly necessary. there was no serious question at any point during his rivalry with gibernau who the better rider was between the pair of them. perhaps even more importantly, there was no question who the stronger between the two of them should be. over the years, valentino would have to deal with more than his fair share of young talent who proved they could match him in ability, the riders who had already long been marked for greatness and had the potential to be valentino's successors to the throne. gibernau was not that man - he was older, he was less accomplished, he was a revelation rather than anointed. it's one thing to be challenged by an alien, quite the other to be beaten by a bog standard human. especially if the bar for what constitutes being 'beaten' is set pretty low - never mind full seasons, should you even be losing individual races to this new challenger?

the rivalry between valentino and sete is not one of two equals, neither in ability nor in how their success was measured. but it became one that spawned a close title fight, courtesy of valentino unexpectedly wrestling the yamaha into title contention against his former employers at the first time of asking. valentino's main pressures in those years did not come because of any other rider, including sete - they stemmed from external forces such as honda or the press, from his internal struggles, and eventually were self-imposed in his decision to take a step into the unknown and join yamaha. the shape that this rivalry took reflected the disparity between the pair of them at every stage. valentino's biggest enemy during those years only ever could have been himself - so could sete exert himself upon this narrative at all? was he only relevant as long as valentino let him be? has he been so conclusively beaten that he has allowed valentino to erase him from his story entirely?

the first task in sports isn't to be better than everyone else... but it usually isn't quite this low down on the order of priorities. when 'being better than everyone else' is taken as read, then where does the narrative tension come from? usually, this is the kind of issue that commercial stakeholders and broadcasters and journalists and fans care about - not the dominant athlete of the time. but valentino is a storyteller and he does care. he can't handle stagnation. he can't handle being bored. he needs something to fight for and someone to fight and he needs all of it to happen on his own terms. the rivalry between valentino and sete becomes about everything except who the better rider is - and they happen to be perfectly suited characters for a rivalry such as this. for something that feels a little removed from the typical pressures of competition, of simply doing all you can to win, to beat the other guy, in whatever way you can, to rack up one victory after the other... but what we're primarily talking about here isn't numbers, it's theatre. it's show. and it's about two men who are particularly in tune with the artifice of it all, who are particularly concerned with how the world perceives them. valentino always knows where the camera is, always knows to play to it - and sete knows where it is too, which is what valentino uses to unsettle him to the point of despair

so, that's the set-up. let's bring in the context. what I'll cover here is mostly limited to what transpires during the years in which the rivalry is at its most prominent, aka 2003-05-ish, and mostly stays away from its legacy or repercussions. the first bit covers sete's emergence as valentino's rival, then how he becomes honda's best hope of stopping valentino, then the controversy that ruined their relationship, and finally how sete falls apart. after that, I'll give some of my thoughts about the rivalry and how it functions as a narrative. but again, there's a lot that's being left out here - like the bits of my notes that are just a tally of every misfortune that befalls sete gibernau post-qatar 2004. remember, kids: curses are a nasty nasty business and should be wielded with care

becoming the challenger

sete's rise to becoming a legitimate title contender was in some ways as unlikely as the manner of his downfall. born in december of 1972, so six-and-a-bit years older than valentino, his grandfather was a titan in the motorcycling industry and he grew up both affluent and surrounded by bikes. he's unusually well-educated for a rider, proficient in languages even by paddock standards - and, like valentino, a bit of an aberration from the mould of the stereotypical nineties bike racer. the reputation he had was for being a bit too vain, a bit too metropolitan, too self-absorbed to be suited to the rough-and-tumble of elite motorcycle racing

by the time he signed with the gresini honda team in 2003, his track record was very far from that of a title contender. after various wildcards in the mid-nineties, he'd finally managed to get a permanent seat first in 250cc and then in 500cc. eventually racing for repsol honda and taking doohan's bike when he was injured badly enough to force his retirement, sete's initial promise remained largely unfulfilled and he was dropped by honda after the 2000 season. he joined suzuki, who were struggling immensely in the aftermath of their title courtesy of kenny roberts jr. sete did get his first premier class win in valencia in 2001 in mixed conditions - a rare race that year valentino did not win after making a conservative tyre choice at a track he's in any case always been dreadful at. in 2002, suzuki was still struggling, though the wet conditions in estoril gave sete a chance for an early duel with valentino until he crashed. valentino said afterwards he felt sorry for sete (in a nice way not a condescending way)

^sete's first ever win came in valencia far far ahead of valentino in a lowly eleventh place. incidentally, it was there that a year prior vale's late charge to an increasingly plausible rookie 500cc title came unstuck. it's fair to say it's not exactly his favourite circuit on the calendar, which some might call a sign of good taste

and then, the move to gresini honda in 2003 - to which he also brought his sponsor telefonica, who became the team's title sponsor for the next few years. as I'm sure fans of the current era are able to appreciate, while it might have been a step from a factory to a satellite squad it was a very obvious competitive upgrade. he may not have had the newest spec of honda, unlike his teammate, but he was still satisfied with his machinery and his new team

sete and valentino had already had a good relationship at this point, a friendship that extended beyond paddock walls. they'd get drunk together after races, party together on ibiza over the summer holidays - and of course there's the story of sete giving valentino advice upon his transition to 500cc. previously, valentino's most notable rivals had come from other factories, whether kenny roberts jr on the suzuki or max biaggi on the yamaha. but honda had poached biaggi for the 2003 season and - after a brief blip in 2000 -were establishing themselves once again as the overwhelmingly dominant force of the sport, boasting an embarrassment of riches both in the engineering department and in their formidable host of riders. they were the undisputed kings of motogp and were comfortable in knowing that their bikes were so good that the riders were far from essential, all easy enough to replace if they had to be. all of which meant valentino knew going into that year that his most significant challenges were likely to come from within his own house, though he would hardly have expected sete to lead the charge

but then, a tragedy in the very first race of 2003 changed things. in suzuka, gresini honda rider daijiro kato crashed and hit one of the walls, later succumbing to his injuries. kato had been a 250cc champion and was widely tipped as a future premier class champion, japan's best hope for a first in that category. even though gibernau and kato had only been teammates for a short time, sete had immediately felt welcomed within the team and had worked together closely with kato over winter testing, including helping him out in the wet conditions in which kato had long struggled

the brutality of racing is such that two weeks later, the grid were to line up again at welkom. and it was there that gibernau secured an unlikely, fantastical win from pole position holding off valentino along the way. he dedicated his victory to his fallen teammate - who he said had been with him when he was riding. he wore kato's #74 on his leathers for the rest of his career. whether rightly or wrongly, paddock consensus was that the events had transformed gibernau, had made him into someone who took his racing more seriously, had made him finally commit all his mind and body and soul to riding, to fighting, to winning

^pointing up to the sky at welkom 2003. the number 74 is prominently placed on his upper chest to the right

it also had another effect. kato's death sparked controversy due to the layout of the suzuka track, the decision of the officials not to halt the race, and the rescue workers who had failed to follow proper medical procedure in moving him. both sete and valentino reportedly said they would not race there again, and it did end up being the last year grand prix motorcycle racing came to that track. it also prompted conversations about what could be done to better protect riders - and sete was one of the main figures behind the idea that riders themselves should have more of a say in safety standards. this led to the establishment of the safety commission, which back then included fewer riders but both valentino and especially sete involved themselves in

^sete at a safety commission meeting

did the tragedy really transform sete's fortunes as a racer? perhaps, though the switch to honda and a team he grew so fond of surely would have helped in any case. still, the contrast in his results and how he went about achieving them is stark; we'll never know for certain, but it's understandable why it's such a popular interpretation. another factor, too - despite some initial resistance, sete ended up inheriting kato's factory-spec machinery and was now riding the same bike as the other primary contenders of that season. the first half of his 2003 quickly cemented his new status within the factory, winning again in le mans, and then in assen. by the time they reached the halfway point of the season after donington park, sete was in second place in the standings, just clear of biaggi and only 34 points behind valentino

which is where we get back to valentino and ask ourselves what the hell that man thought he was playing at. did he really believe that it was all right to sit on a mere 34-point lead halfway through the season? was valentino, at the tender age of twenty four, already washed? was he finished? was this the beginning of the end? had he already peaked? did he just not have it in him any more?

obviously the answer to all of those things is 'no' and also 'what?' - but these were questions that many, most notably in the italian press, were in all seriousness asking anyone who would listen. now, valentino had theoretically just won in donington, except en route he had overtaken under a yellow flag and was controversially stripped of that victory after the fact. which meant that - you may want to hold onto something here - valentino had gone for a whole three races without winning. that's right. three races. granted, he'd already secured three victories that season and had been on the podium every single race, but the pressure was beginning to mount on valentino to deliver. it wasn't just the three race losing streak, but also the emergence of sete as a serious rival and how he had gotten the better of valentino - first at welkom by holding him off, then at le mans by beating him on the very last lap. valentino had also separately fucked up in a duel against capirossi for the victory in catalunya (funnily enough not one of the valentino duels there everyone remembers), eventually making a big enough mistake he had to spend the rest of the race recovering to second. honda had expectations, the italian press had standards, and the sheer dominance of his 2002 campaign meant that even the slightest dips in form translated into criticism of valentino and speculation on the state of his mettle or lack thereof. and things were about to get even worse

last race before the summer break and they're headed to the sachsenring - and here we were provided with a classic valentino performance right until the very moment where it wasn't. when sete caught up with him, valentino let him go ahead to study him from behind and crack him at the very end. he made his move on the penultimate corner of the race and successfully got ahead - but made a mistake in picking a very tight line into the final corner and lost too much speed, allowing sete to beat him to the line by a mere 0.06s. the general perception was that this had been a winnable race, and that it had been lost, more than anything else, out of arrogance. he could have attacked earlier - and if he didn't, then at the very least he should have been smarter about the final corner. he had allowed sete to beat him in a straight fight for the third time that year, who was now on four wins that season to valentino's three. all this meant that valentino's winless streak had been extended to four. that's right. you heard me. valentino rossi, the man they call the goat, had the audacity to go a whole. four. races. without. winning. the italian press had a field day and were calling for blood, and who could blame them?

^sete gibernau posing for a photo with a washed-up loser

luckily, valentino had the summer break to go off and clear his head and think about what he'd done. it was a good chance to get away from the constant scrutiny and criticism that had come during a year in which he'd already been feeling discontent with honda from the very beginning. the perception was that valentino had had it too easy and was resting on his laurels, no longer taking racing seriously enough, coasting on past successes that he was finding it hard to replicate - never mind his 29-point lead in the championship standings. so valentino ends up doing what is sensible in that situation. has a hot girl crisis. goes to ibiza. gets his hair dyed red. rocks up at the paddock for brno with his cool new hair as a bit of a throwback - he's still that guy who knows to have fun, he won't let any of this get to him, he's not going to take any of this too seriously

here's a more in-depth post on brno 2003 including, of course, his celebrations. to summarise - he won a tight thriller of a race and this time beat sete to the line, just about. then he celebrated by having a bunch of his fans dress up as convicts and donning his own cap and ball and chain - a 'prisoner of his own success', if you will. another step was taken that weekend on the road that would eventually lead him to abandoning honda and signing with yamaha. and here he is in his autobiography talking about his disillusionment with honda. he's not the first athlete to feel unhappy within his team, not the first dominant sportsperson to struggle to find motivation. still, when you consider how long his career ended up lasting, there's something remarkable to how quickly it threatened to turn joyless to him. if he were one of those athletes who just needed to win to be happy, he would have been fine within honda

but that's what valentino's all about, isn't it. within honda, under the ferocious glare of the italian press, he felt trapped. he felt imprisoned. he felt burdened by the expectations that his own victories had placed on his shoulders. it isn't enough for him simply to win. not if the winning isn't happening on his own terms. not if it's just another way in which honda can show off how superior their bike is. just another means for the italian press to ramp up pressure on him in the future. if valentino doesn't win, then well, it'll be gibernau. it'll be biaggi. who cares? valentino isn't essential to honda's success - the bike is. and vale decided he could no longer accept that. he returned to his roots in brno with the haircut and the celebrations and the candlelight meetings with yamaha that demonstrated his determination to forge his own path. winning is a part of him; when he wins he uses it to express himself, to define both who he is and who he is not - which is where, of course, the rivals enter the picture. valentino delineates his self against the other as much as anyone does, expressing his identity both as a racer and as a person by drawing the line between himself and his enemy and making a spectacle of what separates them. you can only win when you beat someone else, and valentino has always understood that the vanquished is very nearly as big a part of the show as the vanquisher

but here, the relationship between valentino and sete was at the very least outwardly still warm. they were both as gracious in defeat as they were in victory - helped along by the awareness that whatever the frothing italian press might pretend, valentino was unlikely to lose that year's title. still, were tensions beginning to creep in, given how valentino retrospectively speaks in his autobiography about how both biaggi and gibernau complained he had superior machinery? how about when rumours began to fly about valentino's impending move to yamaha and sete supposedly said valentino won't have so much to laugh about the next year? or the glee valentino read on sete's face at the thought of valentino's departure from honda? another point, on the ibiza trips - it's unclear when and how many times they happened, but one source suggests they had stopped in 2003. on the other hand, the brno 2003 race commentary makes multiple references to how they'd been partying together on ibiza during the summer break (which you'd have to say is pretty remarkable in itself after a race like sachsenring), and I'm inclined to trust the race commentary on this one. so maybe it's 2004 the trips tail off... at what point then did the relationship between the two of them begin to transform from friends to true rivals, however genial to begin with? how wary had valentino already grown of sete by the end of 2003?

^age old tradition. sete buddy that kid is going to ruin you

in any case, the remainder of valentino's season was close to flawless, winning five of the six remaining races. in sepang, having already decided he was going to sign with yamaha come what may, he sealed the title with a dominant win over sete - and brought back the convict celebrations, except this time he had a big novelty key to open the big novelty lock, presumably to signify how he could finally escape. which is charmingly on the nose, yes, but there's something enjoyable about an athlete who is so very committed to making the subtext text. how better to conclude his time with honda, who he had grown so very disillusioned with? tell them how you really feel and all that

^after vale has sealed the title at sepang. sete gives him a nice little kiss before assaulting him with champagne on the podium

or - not quite to a conclusion, not yet. after all, there were still two more races to go in 2003. in phillip island, he secured one of the more spectacular victories of his career when he once again fell foul of the 'could you please stop overtaking under yellow flags' thing - but this time, was informed of the situation and his ten second time penalty during rather than after the race. furious at the penalty, he flew off, setting a blistering pace that not only gave him the requisite ten second margin over his closest challenger capirossi, but eventually meant he crossed the line fifteen seconds ahead of his countryman. he had a point to prove that day, and proved it. he might have been on the best bike, yes - but he was laughably better than anyone else riding it, and the world still hadn't seen yet all that he was capable of

then came the last race of the season and the announcement honda and valentino would be holding a press conference together afterwards, widely expected to be announcing a split that for much of the year the paddock refused to believe might actually happen. one more ride on the honda that valentino must say farewell to and will dearly miss - that unfortunately took place at valencia, an ugly bore of a track that valentino has always been awful at, the only one on the calendar he had not yet conquered. but he needed to say goodbye to his beloved bike (decked in an austin powers-themed special livery) in style, and he went on to win the race before telling the world that him and honda were parting ways. time to go to yamaha and prove the haters and losers wrong - including one sete gibernau

^honda or yamaha, friendship can survive anything <3 quite like valentino's unorthodox spraying technique in the photo on the right - sete was admirably determined to drench vale at welkom

honda's next champion?

the thing about 2004, right, is that the dominant rider in motogp had very nicely taken himself out of the picture for at least a year to try and turn that useless pile of junk into title-contending machinery. maybe rossi would start turning things around in the second half of the year and snatch an occasional win. maybe he'd put together a title charge in 2005, though that was by no means guaranteed - it was entirely plausible that his failure would be as complete as it would be spectacular. what this meant for everyone else was that they'd basically been given a freebie. a clear run at the title, as long as they could beat all the other non-rossi challengers. for a number of blokes at honda, this was the big year. biaggi, gibernau, anyone else who was feeling brave - this was the time. and honda, right, were going all in on this. rossi had the audacity, the nerve, the sheer disrespect to turn his back on them and imagine he could win without them. every rider dreamt of being decked in their colours, and valentino had walked away. they were going to throw all the considerable money and resources at their disposal behind a small army of riders, tasked not only with beating rossi but humiliating him

this is all a bit of an exaggeration, but not too much of one. as then-yamaha rider and then-valentino friend marco melandri put it in 2003, "if valentino did come to yamaha at least he would be able to give them direction with development, but he would not have a chance of winning". the best-placed yamaha rider in the 2003 championship standings had been carlos checa in seventh, and all yamaha riders combined had achieved a grand total of one podium finish that whole year. generally speaking, however, once this kind of idle speculation of 'oh imagine if he moved' actually becomes reality, the conversation does shift accordingly, and so the initial consensus of 'surely he can't win on a yamaha' of much of 2003 was already beginning to crack by the time they actually arrived at welkom. and the relationship with honda really did end on a pretty sour note, not least because valentino's former employers refused to let vale test the yamaha before his contract expired at the end of 2003 - which is generally a pretty decent barometer of whether a rider and team are parting on good terms. as valentino put it: "their attitude pissed me off. it will cost me four races, but I always knew things would be like that". in the end, obviously he was still able to make good use of the pre-season testing he did have and he was not cost "four races" - and at the very latest people had to reassess their outlook on the season when he hit the track at welkom. if anything, his immediate pace that weekend was distinctly un-valentino-like - who needs to already be fast on a friday? - and he led every session and qualified on pole. and then, he went and achieved what still remains possibly the greatest victory of his career after a thrilling battle with old foe biaggi right to the very end. sete was a very distant third

^sete drenching vale at welkom. I am once again going to do 2004 prop and let you know that some of the best races are available free online: welkom, mugello, catalunya, assen and qatar are all on youtube (they should upload phillip island but ah well)

of course, valentino did not have it all his own way that year. of course, sete was not suddenly replaced by biaggi as vale's prime challenger. but yes, sete will have had to readjust his expectations of valentino's season the same as everyone else. after welkom, the conversation shifted definitively from 'surely not' to 'could he really...?' - and all other contenders were informed in no uncertain terms that they were not to be granted a rossi-free season. that being said, of course this still very much looked like sete's best chance. of course this wasn't going to be as straightforward as valentino's past titles. perhaps, even, welkom had provided a somewhat illusory picture of what the competitive landscape actually looked like that season. perhaps people had been too hasty to hand the title to valentino again after welkom. a wet weather specialist, sete secured victory in a rainy jerez, while valentino struggled to get his yamaha to work in the wet and finished fourth - his first time off the podium in twenty four races. at le mans, another race in tricky conditions, sete won once again and extended his championship lead while valentino took another fourth place. the spectacle of welkom might have been a flash in the pan; it might be time to reassess the kinds of results valentino could achieve on a regular basis with that machinery

^left: valentino having fun in the wet of jerez; right: valentino's wood-themed helmet for mugello, because if you finish fourth you get a wooden medal

what followed was a pivotal stretch of three races that turned valentino's 2004 title bid from a dream to something that felt increasingly plausible, even likely. all three of these races were extremely closely fought. all three of them are very enjoyable to watch. all three of them are freely available on youtube dot com. first, they headed to mugello, a big one for both sete and valentino. valentino had won the last two races at mugello and it was the race that was more important to him than any other - so if you're sete, where better to stamp your authority on the season? the race ended up having a little bit of everything: a ferocious multi-rider scrap, a duel between the two main title contenders, a red flag and a restart due to the worsening meteorological situation that resulted in another multi-rider scrap. valentino had to make full use of his skills as well as his composure to go out and in essence win two entirely different races. after the second start he fell back as far as seventh as he figured out the grip conditions, taking his time to fuck around before eventually fucking off (or as much as you can fuck off when you only have two and a half laps left). still, sete managed to salvage a second place result and limited the points damage

^2004 is as close to a perfect season as you can get, but there is one major factor that holds it back: the colour schemes of the title contenders. extremely similar combinations of blue with a little yellow from guys who aren't even in the same factory, let alone teammates - and jorge was always way easier to distinguish from valentino than this mess. what makes this extra stupid is that valentino's actual teammate that year, carlos checa, had a RED livery and RED leathers so. okay. great job guys. anyway, cracking race, split into two halves (or well. four fifths and a fifth). apparently, sete overtook valentino at some point under a yellow flag - or, at least, valentino says he did, which is something he remembers just in time for that year's sepang press conference

so a home victory secured and a hat trick of mugello wins - time to head back to sete land and fight it out in catalunya. top five valentino catalunya duel for sure, a pretty crowded category. sete had led every single session going into the race, but in the end he came out second best in a fight that went on until the very last lap. no longer was valentino willing to let sete get the better of him in head-to-head combat, and the victory was even sweeter coming as it did on sete's home turf - and indeed valentino would establish a bit of a tradition of beating spaniards at that track. the tide was turning and increasingly it did look like valentino might actually achieve the impossible

"One hundred and five thousand screaming Spaniards roar on their hero Sete Gibernau. He's something of an unexpected hero really. After so many years in grand prix, he lived in the shadow of Alex Criville. Criville's retired, Gibernau is on the Honda, and Gibernau is leading the world championship."

^excerpt from the catalunya 2004 commentary

and then, the next race: time for assen

^still friendly and chatting before the first real trial their relationship faces. by the by, the commentary for this race references a cartoon proposing that all that valentino needs to do to keep sete behind him is to attach a mirror to the back of his bike - because sete would be too busy posing. which gives you a general sense of the tone people used to discuss sete with

coming into this race, sete had gotten two consecutive second places to valentino. his championship lead had shrunk to five points. valentino had already gotten the yamaha into race-winning shape sooner than anyone had expected, and now it increasingly looked like he might be able to achieve the week-to-week results that won championships. it also did not help that sete's defeats had come in direct duels with valentino - in the early days of that rivalry, this exact type of duel had been how sete had announced himself as a serious threat. if it came down to another direct fight between the two of them, sete badly wanted to get a win over his rival, not just for points but for pride. and valentino, conversely, wanted to press home the advantage, to bite harder when his opponent was already bleeding. if you will

this turned into a bit of a three-way tussle between those two and barros, but then barros crashed out and it was just the two of them - going into the very last lap with sete ahead. valentino, who was having to risk far more on the yamaha than he ever did on the honda, made a lunge up the inside of turn 12 and almost binned it in the following corner. nearly losing the front resulted in contact with sete, where sete's front wheel hit the rear of vale's bike and damaged the front mudguard - and in the end sete backed off just a touch, allowing vale to cross the line with almost half a second in hand

valentino was enthusiastic in his celebrations, shall we say, whereas sete... well. sete did not look thrilled. gone were the usual parc fermé exchanges, no more hugs or friendly handshakes or kisses. sete suffered his way through the podium celebrations as the wettest of wet blankets, popping the champagne for about half a second and staying rooted in place while valentino carried on doing his thing. the natural assumption would be that sete was furious not just at losing but at the manner in which the pass for the victory was executed, out of control and in a way that could have easily resulted in a crash for both of them. valentino certainly assumed as much, saying that sete was "for sure a little bit angry" (clip here, also includes sete's statement). but when it was sete's turn to speak... he just said he was frustrated at losing, as anyone would be in his situation. which, well, doesn't quite fit in with his reaction, and also doesn't entirely match up with other statements he made at the time. there are two more sets of quotes from the protagonists of the race, though I can't determine with absolute certainty in which order these things were said. here's the first (article dated day of the race):

Gibernau lost vital time in that clash and was not able to challenge on the remainder of the lap but Rossi insists he did not deliberately block the Telefonica Movistar Honda rider. "I came into the bend a little too quickly and I slightly lost control of the front of my Yamaha, which explains why I touched him, but it wasn't intentional," he said. Gibernau did not use the incident as an excuse for his defeat. "To be overtaken in the final meters after dominating the race, it's obviously gutting," said the Spaniard. "I was angry about the way he overtook me. His manoeuvre really was risky. He said he didn't do it on purpose, but it doesn't take away my disappointment."

and here's the second (article dated the day after the race):

"I made a mistake and had to brake early or I would have crashed," said Rossi, explaining why he slowed so suddenly in front of the Spaniard. "I did not even feel Sete touch me. He was very angry, but I explained what happened." For his part, and after having chance to cool down, Gibernau appeared to accept that the contact hadn't been deliberate. "I had a good chance right until the end but we touched on the last lap - Valentino explained that he almost fell and, if that's the case, then there's nothing for me to say," shrugged Sete. "These things happen in racing. We had a good battle in another great race."

if that indeed is the order in which their statements were delivered, this whole episode feels like an interesting exercise in passive aggressive feuding - sete could have of course simply gone up to valentino, supposedly his friend, and asked for an explanation, or stated his objections openly when asked about them in the presser. instead, it seems to have been valentino who offered his explanations after sete had denied even having any issue with the overtake, with sete contradicting himself later by saying he had been angry. even then, sete said it didn't "take away my disappointment", which suggests not all was forgiven. from parc fermé to the podium to the press conference, he'd used every part of his body with full effect to express his displeasure with the notable exception of his mouth. this incident hasn't really been brought up by either party since, but as far as the eye test goes the relationship sure seemed like it was pretty strained by this. with the benefit of hindsight, it stands out as a turning point in their rivalry, the first time the veneer of the gracious loser was well and truly discarded and a sour note was added to the relationship. this was also the race where the championship lead was taken away from gibernau on countback, which incidentally was the last time an independent rider led the world championship standings until... uh... *squints at notes* argentina 2018

^already post-assen - but no reason not to be civil, right? what's a little last lap assen controversy between friends. scholars will note that this is the race after which valentino engaged in some unsavoury parc fermé activities with sete's then-teammate colin edwards

for the sake of brevity, the next part of the season is mostly going to be skipped over, but to give you the sparknotes version: sete's results grew more inconsistent, and valentino gained more of an advantage, despite still having to over-ride the bike in a way that helped cause his dnf in rio (his first dnf since brno 2002 and his first non-mechanical dnf since mugello 2001). apart from a brief period where biaggi seemed like he was going to reinsert himself in the title fight, plus a sete win in brno, for the most part the tide had clearly turned in valentino's favour and that yamaha title was looking more and more like a certainty. so let's pick up the narrative at the next major flashpoint between the pair of them, at motogp's first visit to qatar

I've already written up a post that gives more information on that race and the specifics of the controversy, so I'll forgo another detailed summary of events here. the basic facts we have at our disposal are that valentino's team, whether to his knowledge or not, rubbered up his spot of the grid, and he was then penalised for it. he worked his way up from the back of the grid before crashing out of fourth place. sete won, reducing the gap separating the two riders at the top of the standings to a mere fourteen points with three rounds to go. valentino was furious at sete, at honda, at the stewards, at pretty much everyone. here are some of his remarks:

"Gibernau's victory is not real. They stole the match from us with the shameful farce of the penalty. A truly incredible situation occurred. Everyone cleans the starting 'box'. Is there a written rule? In Rio we all went to wash the track, which was dirty. The same thing happened here. In F1 the cars skid, the asphalt is cleaned with the motorbikes. After Friday's practice [before the Saturday race] we saw Biaggi's mechanics cleaning the track and we thought it was a good idea. We cleaned the track and Honda screwed up. The others have to attach themselves to something. Gibernau and his chief suspension mechanic didn't hesitate to snitch like kids. Something ridiculous. I didn't expect to get to this point. In the race I gave a lot in the early stages, after two corners I was eighth and after four laps I was already in fourth position. I spent a lot and relaxed for a moment. Unfortunately I went wide and couldn't find the curb anymore. I made a mistake, but I wouldn't have made such a mistake if I had started from the front. I hope to make up for it in Malaysia, fortunately I didn't get hurt in the crash. It went well for the finger, when I saw the blood I was scared. But the finger didn't explode."

^some of these websites have a habit of collating a bunch of different answers into one paragraph of remarks but personally I am choosing to believe he did actually deliver this as a single monologue

valentino also said he had been looking for an excuse not to speak to sete, called him a child, saying sete had essentially stabbed him in the back. and of course, so the legend goes, he infamously vowed that sete would never win another race again

who snitched?

everything up until now has been more or less just summarising events as they happened - but now we enter considerably murkier waters. we do not definitively know one way or another what happened in qatar, who said what, who was responsible for what. let's get the less important mystery out of the way first: did valentino really curse sete?

no, not in the sense of 'did valentino rossi really perform black magic' - more the question of if he ever really said it. a lot of journalists who are otherwise at least mildly reputable seem to take it as read, but also a lot of journalists are motivated to believe he said it because it makes for a fantastic story. when did he say it? to whom? one source talks about it being at the press conference of the following race, which I know for a fact is not the case. here's a source that is one of the ones to have swayed me more to the side of 'yeah maybe he did say it':

Rossi then did an interview with Italian TV. He’d hurt his little finger, really mashed it up, in the crash. And he famously said “I will make sure Gibernau will never win another race because of this”. We’ve all got a soft spot for Valentino, and I can remember thinking ‘oh God, I wouldn’t have said that if I were you. I really wouldn’t have said that…’

I know this is objectively not a lot to go on, but at least it's a commentator/journalist who was there at the time, claiming they remember finding out about it, giving a little detail about to whom it supposedly was said ('italian tv') and having an immediate response to it that they are also remembering. obviously, this too could be bogus. but, well, at the end of the day I'm with the journalists here: I too want it to be true because it is indeed a fantastic story. there has also been the suggestion, again poorly sourced, that valentino has denied saying this - or, and this genuinely would be my favourite option of them all, that he said he only meant it for that year. hate it when I place a curse on someone and it accidentally lasts too long

now that I've done my due diligence, here's the good bit: beyond a certain point, it does not matter whether valentino actually said it or not. what mattered is that everyone thought he said it - and, crucially, as 2005 wore on, it became ever more part of the discourse. it was part of the reporting of races: could gibernau finally break the curse? it was discussed extensively in the commentary: we're back in qatar, do curses have an expiration date of a year or not? there is no way that within the claustrophobic world of the motogp paddock sete would have been been able to avoid it, let alone be unaware of it entirely. (incidentally, the fact that this is the case and I've not been able to find a better source of valentino denying it makes me again feel like he did actually say it - though I suppose it'd also be pretty funny if he hadn't said it but was like. actually this is working out quite nicely for me.) assuming for a moment that valentino is not capable of literally cursing people, the 'real effect' the curse can have is only in tormenting its victim through the mere knowledge of its supposed existence

but we're getting ahead of ourselves here. whether the curse existed or not, it could only have the effect it had if valentino fulfilled its initial promise - by denying sete another win that season while securing the title for himself. so let's just quickly recap where we're at: three rounds to go, fourteen points between the two contenders. valentino went back to italy to try and fix the fucked up finger and presumably to cool off a bit. the motogp media did what it does best and spent the entire week hyping up the drama. and there was, of course, another mystery everyone was still trying to get to the bottom of: was sete really involved in valentino's penalty?

let's first tack on another question: does it even matter? of course, the truth has never been established with 100% certainty either way, and all it does is give the two parties a reason to blow up a friendship that was already getting a little bit strained. either way, the relationship between them was ruined; either way, valentino crushed sete. not just that - whether it really happened or not is one thing, but I feel just a touch more confident in asserting that valentino believed it happened, just from my extreme vibes-based analysis of how genuinely furious he seemed and how he was still referring to sete's dirty games a whole eleven years later. which, of course, doesn't in itself really tell us one way or another what actually happened. valentino can convince himself of all manner of things. if anything, his track record as well as how ruthlessly he exploited the situation to his own advantage count against believing his version of events. and, at the end of the day, only one of valentino and sete can speak to sete's involvement in the protest that caused the penalty with complete certainty. it's not valentino

and in a way, it doesn't really matter. sete is unsettled either way - because even if he did have some hand in the penalty, this is the kind of low level petty snitching athletes and their teams constantly engage in. I cannot imagine he would have thought valentino would react as he did. quite honestly, I'm not sure sete could have conceived of a rival reacting like that to anything. if sete was responsible, then valentino still managed to escalate to a level of hostility sete would never have been able to match, let alone be comfortable with. obviously, it would not be in his interest to retroactively admit any involvement in the matter, not least because he saw how valentino responded to the mere assumption of sete's guilt. it does, however, still matter in evaluating sete's assertions that the relationship between them changed more or less from one day to the next (which *gestures at the above wall of text* I'm not entirely convinced by), and in judging whether this is a feud that's entirely built on the back of valentino's delusions. was sete really completely unaware and, a separate question - was it an unreasonable assumption from valentino that he was involved? if both of those questions are answered in the affirmative, then you do have to say what follows must have been absolutely bonkers from sete's perspective. I mean, it's kind of bonkers anyway, but. y'know. even more so

the problem with actually evaluating the claims are that basically every source about it frames the whole thing differently and often in contradictory ways, to the point where even valentino's actual allegation has been shrouded in the mists of time. different journalists and commentators and authors after the fact have confidently asserted that either hrc or sete's gresini team lodged the protest - some seem to take it as read that sete did indeed have some kind of role in it, and there is no indication whether they have some kind of privileged information that backs this up or whether this is simply valentino's influence making itself felt. hrc is obviously a likely suspect, given they canonically hate valentino and are praying for his downfall and have invested a whole lot already to bring it about. then again, gresini are the ones who are actually in this championship battle - and, of course, there's the distinct possibility that all parts of honda were involved in this together. other figures that have been brought up are gresini team principal fausto gresini who it has been claimed was personally involved in making the protest - this from the stuart barker biography, which treats it essentially as established fact. the barker biography also says that yamaha was not found to be breaking any specific rules, but race direction said it was against the 'spirit' of the sport, which... okay, I'd also be pretty annoyed to be penalised for that, especially at that stage of the season. while it is of course possible that sete was not involved in his own team's actions, it does seem a little less likely that he would not have at the very least been informed. to add another twist, one version of the story that has cropped up more than once is that valentino's allegation was that sete and his crew chief juan martinez went to hrc to get them to go to race direction. also, it may be that ducati protested both valentino and biaggi (who was definitely breaking the rules). which, good on them

unfortunately this is pretty inconclusive stuff and at a certain point it feels like you have nothing better than gut feeling to rely on to choose which narrative is more convincing to you. which is annoying! where's the substantial evidence! nowhere, it appears, not that I've been able to find it - but there is one more tangible source that I haven't brought up until now. you see, dorna, in their infinite commitment to the bit, have been kind enough to make the thursday press conference at the very next race one of the very few of that era that they have uploaded in its entirety. I am talking, of course, of the pre-event press conference at sepang

^posing for a friendly post-presser photo <3 two guys just chillin' having fun having a laff

if you are an aficionado of awkward and tense and kind of awful press conferences, then you will have an excellent time with this one. I've uploaded pretty much all of the relevant bits that I'll link to as I go; they're not obligatory watching to understand the rest of the post as I will be covering them here anyway, but they sure are interesting (and funny, which is really the most important thing)

first, let's set the scene: four blokes sitting at a table. the seat at its centre sits empty. the championship leader has not yet arrived when the press conference starts, removing the opportunity for one of the most sacred rituals that preempts any motogp press conference: the vibe check. a lot has happened and a lot has been said since the relevant parties last saw each other face to face and it is unclear where the vibes will be at when the reunion happens. will they acknowledge each other? make eye contact? shake hands? speak to each other? the journalists have not had a chance to find out. and one of the two involved parties has not either

after some softball questions relevant to 'racing' and 'points' in 'motogp' and its 'title fight', the moderator finally gets to the bit everyone's actually here for: the drama [1]. at this point, sete dates both the presser and himself by saying he's been trying to block everything out with his "mp3", before expressing his sympathy for valentino and saying he doesn't hold any of valentino's words spoken in the heat of the moment against him. at some point, he delivers a couple of lines that possess the kind of concentrated narrative juice you get a sugar high from, saying "we all know valentino. I know how he really is, he's a good guy". just as he finishes answering the question, his eyes flick over to the side - and the camera pans over to valentino entering the room with a slight smirk and of course his big ass sunglasses still very much adorning his face

nicky hayden sits to valentino's left and is interviewed before valentino is - while valentino does not acknowledge sete, who is sitting to his right. when he is questioned [2], valentino initially sounds like he is intending to turn the page on the whole affair and if anything doesn't particularly want to comment any further on what has happened. he also manages to deliver a truly classic motogp rider line, saying "I have a hole in the finger, but I think it is not a big problem for ride this weekend". right! but already here, it becomes swiftly clear that he is still furious at what happened and aggrieved by the penalty. he caps things off with a nice line saying that at least he wasn't actually slower than 'gibernau' in qatar, before turning around and shaking hayden's hand and chatting to him

it immediately becomes clear that all the questions from the floor are going to be about the same thing [3], and sete looks miserably uncomfortable while valentino just comes across as incredibly surly, his smile at times taking on a mildly murderous quality. one journalist fires off an all time classic presser question with "in qatar you say you were searching for an excuse to not talk any more with sete" and again valentino side steps, half-making it sound like he's willing to move on - while sete continues to strike a conciliatory note, continues to stress how it was all just the heat of the moment. but a follow-up question to valentino gives the journalists and sete the clearest indication that this, in fact, is really happening. valentino says this is not in the past, that he'd already said what he thinks last week and is standing by it. sete looks over at him - with disbelief, with incredulity, with the air of a man who really can't quite believe the turn this has taken

if there had been any lingering doubt at how unfairly treated valentino feels, he dispels it in his answer about stewarding decisions [4]. at the end of his exchange with the reporter about it, he brings up an incident where sete overtook under a yellow flag in mugello - which, quite honestly, I had not known about and I haven't found any reference to, so maybe nobody did spot it at the time if it indeed happened. remember, valentino had gone through not one but two bad run-ins with the yellow flag situation the year before, costing him a win at donington and making him ride at his limit to reclaim the win at phillip island. did he speak about this mugello situation at the time, or has he really just carried it around with him silently for months? a professional grudge-carrier, you have to say, a true master at the art. at the next question, valentino continues putting space between himself and sete [5], saying they have been rivals for a long time and that "it's the same condition" (i.e. situation). the friendship isn't just gone, it's so gone it might as well have never existed. if you really want to read more into this than the short response deserves, you could argue he's saying the facade has been lifted, that the true nature of the rivalry has been revealed at last

and now, we get to the critical part: sete is invited to explain himself and tell the press whether he had any involvement in the penalty or not [6]. he's clearly put a lot of thought into this in the past week and decided what he should focus on is that he wanted all the grid slots to be cleaned in the interest of safety. interestingly, he says "they" blocked him from doing that, but it's unclear whether he means gresini or someone else within honda. (presumably honda couldn't have known valentino's team would fuck about with a scooter, and remember camel honda rider biaggi also got a penalty so probably not some kind of company-wide internal memo.) (I mean I guess it'd also be funny if there had been a company-wide internal memo but nobody had thought to send it to biaggi.) sete's argument is basically that he'd be a hypocrite if he'd helped lodge a protest after he himself wanted the grid slots cleaned up - but given that valentino is quite literally calling him a backstabbing bastard, I imagine he wouldn't consider adding the hypocrite tag a bridge too far. the safety commission element of it all is kind of interesting, given as we've established valentino will likely have attended too. if sete raised this at the meeting and valentino did end up discussing it with his team, did vale end up feeling suckered into making a bad choice? probably not, just a thought

anyway, back to gibernau's response. as the journalist who asked the initial question notes, this is all a lot of waffling without a clear, firm denial (I'm paraphrasing) - and a clear, firm denial would generally be a good way to go about these things. in his next answer, sete again fails to just keep things simple, though again he denies any personal involvement. and then, the journalist asks sete to account for his team, including the fact that apparently one of sete's mechanics gave evidence to race direction... and sete says he can only speak for himself

so there we have it. that's the best singular piece of actual evidence I've got for sete's involvement, and at least comes close to confirming that somebody in gresini was involved in the protest, however tangentially. obviously, this in no way confirms sete was himself involved. at least it does give valentino an ever so slightly more reasonable basis of suspicion, though obviously it all just raises more questions like 'why was a gresini mechanic even giving evidence and what about'. that bit is then of course immediately followed by an exchange that's as good a confirmation as we're going to get that it was hrc not gresini who made the protest. so. yeah. I've got nothing. we don't know. draw your own conclusions. the presser ends with another question for good measure about the relationship between the two riders. sete first tells them, more or less, that it's none of their business before sharing a nice laugh with valentino about how valentino is never going to talk to him again

cursed

the thing about that press conference is that it's all well and good and fun to use it to try and piece together what really happened at qatar, but there are more interesting things to say about it. it is in that press conference that valentino well and truly begun the process of breaking sete, and he did so completely deliberately. it's quite the little show featuring two guys who are entirely aware that they are surrounded by cameras and reporters and are reacting accordingly. sete is committed to being dignified, to being unflappable, to being magnanimous: whatever valentino said, he will forgive him. he is happy to move on. but as the press conference progresses, he is slowly made to realise that his opponent is the one who is not ready to forgive and is not ready to play nice - not even for the cameras. especially not in front of the cameras

^his poor pinkie finger :(

sete must have felt on top of the world after qatar. he had clawed back 25 points. a championship that had already seemed lost suddenly felt like it might be in his grasp once again. valentino could complain and whine and be furious for italian television, but surely this is the kind of thing that blows over. for too long, sete is under the mistaken impression that they will move on from this. for too long in that presser, sete is playing at respectability while valentino has already progressed to open hostility. it's unnerving, of course it is, to suddenly be completely cold-shouldered and ignored by a man you had thought you were on reasonably good terms with a week ago. it's unnerving for it all to happen in front of cameras, when for so long you have been striving to present a cordial, friendly, civilised image of a rivalry. him and valentino don't do all that nasty business, not like valentino and biaggi. sete's better than that and valentino has grown up a bit - this is one of those ideal rivalries people are always going on about, the ones that are ferocious on-track but respectful and even warm off it. and so, despite everything valentino had said to the press over the past week, he still manages to completely blindside sete in the moment. he still manages to leave him unsettled, and even disoriented

and so we get to the race itself, pivotal for sete and his championship hopes. to still have a chance at clinching the title, he really needs to be fighting at the sharp end of all three of the remaining races. alas, it is not to be. valentino is reinvigorated after the humiliation of qatar and coasts through the weekend on a wave of irreverent indignation - telling reporters after qualifying on pole that this result had been important "especially since it means we know which part of the grid to clean tonight". he thrives in the chaos and the frenzied speculation and the seething tension - whereas sete is nowhere to be found all weekend. valentino wins with a comfortable margin while sete finishes a lowly seventh place. a healthy thirty point lead in the championship has been restored. now, then, in victory valentino has been provided with the opportunity to really twist in the knife. sete comes up alongside him on the cooldown lap, clearly wanting to shake hands - and valentino completely ignores him, does not as much as glance in his direction. then, he stops for one of those whimsical planned celebrations that he's ever so fond of, and he cleans his grid slot with a helpfully provided broom. as valentino says afterwards, "this time I wanted to destroy the morale of everybody". and if that wasn't enough, he adds in the post-race press conference "for me, sete did the best race of the season. he has given me a lot of points, which is like a big present. I am really grateful". charming as ever

^he also came up with his own cleaning crew founded with his trusty crew chief jerry burgess, 'la rapida', and had shirts mocked up - to 'eliminate dirt from motogp'. so nice to have a supportive crew chief, isn't it? from valentino after the race: "I've been working with jeremy for four years, together we've seen all sorts of things and when I arrived here I saw him with an incredible face, disgusted, saddened. he and the team said we had to react and so we did". and as jb put it, "valentino is the sort of rider I wouldn't want to get angry. he can take you apart on the track". the text on the shirt: "we clear out rats. we disinfect, clear drains and clean starting grids. we also do night jobs - all done in six seconds [aka the qualifying penalty he'd received]"

two races to go, and it's match point rossi. he finishes first or second at phillip island and the championship is his for certain - if he doesn't do so and sete wins the race, it's hello title decider. there is barely any doubt left in people's minds, then, about who the 2004 champion will be... but it's not a done deal. in the very worst case scenario, valentino enters the final round with a slender six point advantage. he's not safe yet. he's not safe yet on the very first lap, which, it has to be said, is a lot of fun. vale gets a better start than sete does from pole, but sete overtakes him around the outside and vale is quickly pushed to third - then fourth, at which point he runs off track and makes a risky excursion into the dirt. at the very next corner, he makes a downhill overtake on two ducatis at once, and sets about hunting down sete who has built up an advantage of over a second

so, in fittingly dramatic fashion, the race comes down to a duel between the two of them, valentino stalking sete around the track lap after lap. if valentino holds his ground, the championship is his - but sete takes the win and can go into the next season with new confidence and self-belief and hope for something better. valentino does not just want to avenge the injustice of qatar; this is an investment for the future. a way of telling sete that he has not just lost this season but that he will always lose, when fighting valentino. there is a promise to be kept, after all - whether it was only supposed to apply to that season or not, valentino refuses to let sete win another race. they exchange overtakes but sete is still just about in the lead when they enter the final lap. it is here that valentino makes his move, not once but twice to make it stick. his riding in that last lap isn't egregiously reckless but certainly not risk-free, and could have ended with him in the gravel and the championship still undecided in valencia. but he's not and it isn't - and just like his first premier class title (a comparison valentino himself makes in his autobiography), his first title with yamaha is sealed on the last lap of phillip island. his championship-winning shirt is uncharacteristically stark, reading simply 'che spettacolo' ('what a spectacle/show') - and he's not wrong. this has been a show, it's been a miracle, and in the end it's been theatre. he's sealed the title in style while also getting his revenge. it's winning in the most satisfying manner you can win anything: by beating somebody you loathe. celebrations are nice, but isn't there just something special about seeing the person you despise look so wholly miserable?

sete puts on a brave face, determined to be above valentino's pettiness. he goes over, shakes valentino's hand. valentino accepts. of course he does - he's won. sete was a few corners away from denying valentino's curse before it had ever really sunk its claws in. would it have changed things, if he could simply have regained a little confidence and found his bearings again after the psychological onslaught of the sepang weekend? maybe, maybe not. of course, looking at valentino's 2005 season, you have to say valentino was almost certainly operating on a level no version of sete would have been able to match. but there's still a lot of room between 'fighting for a championship' and 'becoming a shell of the rider you once were' - and if things had gone a little differently, you do also have to say that a championship as open as 2006 was could have represented opportunity for all manner of rider. if only he'd been able to cauterise the wound in phillip island, rather than letting valentino dig his teeth in even further

^at least capirossi's having a good time :D

the championship sealed and there's but one round to go. once again the paddock must regrettably visit a track that some critics have described as 'drab' and 'soulless' and 'the enemy of good racing', and one at which valentino has only won once before. but the way to tease out a special performance from valentino is generally to give him a point to prove, add in a little spite to get the fires spitting, and he wins at the circuit for the second (and last) time of his career. in front of the spanish fans too, which must have felt particularly satisfying - and the race itself isn't all too bad in the first half (the way valentino gets past gibernau/biaggi is quite funny). home hero sete takes fourth, and that's a wrap on the 2004 championship

there's something deceptively comfortable about the final numbers: 304 points to 257. 47 points. no problem. but sports isn't just numbers; it's the story those numbers tell. valentino was furious in qatar and he made a mistake and he ended up in a position where things don't have to go all that differently for him to lose the title. the momentum was on the side of his enemy, whose confidence and morale had been given a much-needed boost. the genius of the entire sepang weekend, from the press conference to his jibes in interviews to his dominance performance-wise to the cold shoulder to the pointed celebrations, was that they all worked together to stop that momentum cold

maybe it didn't make much of a difference - valentino was always in the stronger position given he both had a points advantage and was the faster man. but faster men have lost championships before. ignore raw pace and performance edge and all of that: valentino wrested control of the intangibles - momentum, self-belief, all of those abstract things that defy rational analysis - and brought them firmly back onto his side. sete spent the entire weekend off balance, unsettled, forced to discuss things that made him uncomfortable, engulfed in a media storm he was ill-suited to coping with. all the while, valentino relished it and used it to spur himself on. by the time sete had regrouped in phillip island and was far cooler - if still respectful - towards valentino, it was already too late

in the interest of eventually finishing this post, we're not going to cover sete's downfall in that much depth. but there is still one last critical blow that valentino has to inflict to truly bring an end to the gibernau experiment. the very first race of 2005 was one that valentino particularly wanted to win - not just to inform his competitors that this year would be more of the same, but also because they were once again on sete's home soil. time for jerez

^new year, new sete! this time he's going to show that italian upstart what's what

as ever, the media had done its best to hype up this new season. sete would be getting full support from the factory (which, yes, feels like maybe they should have considered providing a touch earlier) and he made it clear he was ready for the challenges ahead, ready to get revenge and all that. the spanish had grown fonder of their unexpected challenger too, and showed up in full force to support their man in the opening race. of course, a lot of people quietly agreed that realistically speaking, the competitive picture was looking pretty ominous. 2004 should have been the season in which valentino got the yamaha project up and running, setting up a title challenge in 2005. but he was ahead of schedule and surely the yamaha would only get stronger. still, you never know, right? that's why we line up on sunday etc etc

valentino stole pole position from sete right at the end of qualifying, but crashed in warm-up and ended up using his second bike, which is never ideal. the start was already feisty from both parties, and for a while valentino was relegated back to third. but sooner rather than later, he assumed his familiar position sitting right on sete's rear tyre, showing sete his wheel here and there just to remind him where he was. remember the whole sachsenring debacle after which valentino told himself that he wasn't going to leave it that late again? well, he was actually nice and sensible here, and made a move with two laps to go, successfully passing sete for the lead

which should have been the end of it. nice and clinical, a lovely relatively stress-free culmination of a whole race's work where valentino had diligently studied his opponent's strengths and weaknesses and had formulated his plan accordingly. job done, another win on the board to start the season. except then valentino decided to make things interesting again on the very last lap by out-braking himself on the back straight and running it wide into turn 6, allowing sete back through. there's a slightly frenetic energy with which valentino immediately hops back onto sete's rear wheel, already a touch of desperation about his lunge on the inside of turn 11 where he briefly goes past - but he's in too hot and sete's back in front

what all this means is that valentino really only has one opportunity left at turn 13 and barely any time to conceive of it. there's no planning or calculation or strategy here. valentino has one option to attack if he wants to win this race. it's a dive that is instinctive rather than planned - the only calculation here is that he would rather crash them both out than let sete win the race. back then (and a bit ironic from a modern point of view), valentino's infamous dangled leg was seen as evidence that he was out of control, doing anything he could to get the bike stopped while going for a gap that wasn't really there to be gone for. they make contact, valentino manages to get the bike turned and sete goes off into the gravel, but can get the bike back on track to finish second. valentino does a wheelie over the line. sete makes a thumbs down gesture

the spanish fans decide pretty quickly whose side they're taking in this. there's booing, whistling as valentino completes his victory lap, going full ham as he pumps his fists and claps at them and does a thumbs up and waves and puts his hand on his hip and all the rest of it as they scream at him. parc fermé is tense, the eye of the storm in the midst of the deafening roars of the crowd, with sete giving vale a couple of long looks as he gets off the bike. it's all big drama, everyone consulting their teams, talks of appeals to race direction, valentino grimly satisfied while sete is aggrieved, furious - stretching out his arm, clutching it, shaking his head while shaking teammate melandri's hand. he approaches valentino, says a few words to him as he walks past - valentino is not particularly interested in engaging in conversation. the crowd demands valentino's disqualification, and also call him a son of a whore. they're also obviously still booing. and whistling. lots of noise

on their way to the podium, sete is making tortured progress, pausing for a moment in the stairwell to clutch at his arm. at this point, valentino takes a moment to take the piss out of his rival, turning to the camera with a big smile and gesturing at sete. eventually they make it to the podium and vale laps up the displeasure of the spanish crowd. valentino smirks while sete goes for a sort of pained dignity, thanking the spanish crowd for their support, claiming the moral victory and all that. the italian anthem is almost inaudible

^sete always tried to go for a kind of stoically disapproving vibe, helped along this time by his pain in the shoulder. unfortunately for him, he does just come across as thoroughly defeated. which he was

the problem that sete faces here is that, while valentino is obviously more accustomed to a rather friendlier reception, it's also not like he particularly minds the spaniards giving him a hard time. valentino has claimed his fourth victory in succession, and has done so by once again denying sete on the very last lap. he has sent a message that this new season will be exactly the same as the last and that he remains exactly as determined to make sete's life miserable. while he does seem to think sete is playing up the shoulder injury, in general sete's solemn grimaces are like catnip to him. just before the anthem, he reaches out to shake first melandri's hand and then sete's - and sete hesitates, before extending his arm to the fullest extent to shake valentino's hand with about as little proximity as is physically possible. it's good sportsmanship, but it does also as good as tell valentino he's not going to kick up too big a fuss. in a way, whatever choice he made would have played into valentino's hands. even though this time sete may have directly confronted valentino, he's still not prepared to escalate things beyond that... and valentino knows it

^one of the classic rancid vibes podiums. the hands on hips at the ceaseless spanish booing is a nice touch

this choice to avoid further escalation is one sete continues to abide by in the press conference, echoing the assen presser from the year before beat for beat. again, valentino comments that it was a great battle, that sete is surely angry but, essentially, it is what it is ("this is the racing"). again, sete congratulates valentino for the win, but refrains from complaining about valentino's actions during the race. he has since said that he talked to race direction about it and was incredibly disillusioned about their choice not to penalise valentino - but again, not a whisper of it to the media with valentino sitting next to him

the one thing he did say was that he hoped he'd be fit to race in estoril because of his shoulder. remember the whole clutching at his arm routine where valentino (and the commentators) were kinda taking the mickey out of sete's comically pained expressions? well, um, turns out he did have a lot of pre-existing shoulder problems, and indeed that was the bit of his body that caused him considerable problems for the rest of his motogp career:

Gibernau dislocated his collarbone when he crashed out of the lead of the 2002 Portuguese Grand Prix on a Suzuki GSV-R, suffered a left shoulder tendon injury during his last turn clash with Valentino Rossi at Jerez 2005, then damaged the same shoulder further when he fell in practice for the following Estoril round. At the 2006 Catalan Grand Prix, Gibernau broke his left collarbone after spectacularly tangling with Ducati team-mate Loris Capirossi at the start of the race. Gibernau required a further operation shortly after when the titanium plate inserted to help his collarbone heal was found to have weakened. The new plate was in turn damaged when Gibernau hit Casey Stoner's fallen Honda in the penultimate round of the season, again at Estoril, marking the end of Gibernau's factory Ducati - and, it seemed - MotoGP career. Before making his 2009 MotoGP comeback, Gibernau had the metal plate removed from his collarbone, only to suffer shoulder ligament damage during training - forcing him to miss the final pre-season test.

well, anyway, after the controversy has had two weeks to continue on full steam, valentino does strike a somewhat more contrite note in the estoril pre-event press conference. he says he hadn't been aware of the whole shoulder situation and that sete had been unlucky given it had been a light touch in a slow corner... but having rewatched the footage he can see how, yes, maybe the contact could have hurt sete. these things happen, right? and at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter for valentino, because the controversy blows over. what remains is the blow (psychological rather than physical) he dealt sete. what remains is that he won and sete lost, again, and sete has still failed to win since qatar

"And I really think that as long as he wins this race, even if he only takes five points back off Valentino Rossi, he will be happy with that, because it's all about getting back to winning ways. He hasn't won since Qatar last October. He's got to take a victory, just to get his season back on course. Valentino Rossi is going to take a lot of stopping, and really all he can do is try and win this race in front of his home crowd." [...] "That race in Qatar, and the problems they had in that race with Valentino Rossi crashing out after having to start from the back of the grid was really when all the problems started, didn't it, for Sete Gibernau. [...] But really that's where his problems started, both on and off the track for Sete Gibernau after that race victory in Qatar. I really can't believe he would've believed that was going to happen. He was so, so pleased to win that race." [...] "This is a big big thirteen laps for Sete Gibernau, isn't it. If he can hold off Valentino Rossi, psychologically, it would be a very very big victory for him."

^excerpts from the catalunya 2005 commentary, the sixth round of the season. valentino had said in the presser after the preceding race that he expected biaggi and melandri to be his main rivals that season. sete leads for almost the entire race before valentino makes his race-winning overtake with three laps to go and smashes the previous circuit record on that lap

what remains is one failure after another. an important thing to stress when we talk about a 'curse' is that sete gibernau did not suddenly stop being a frontrunner after qatar 2004. he qualified on pole five times in 2005 (same as valentino, funnily enough - his average grid position was actually better than vale's, 2.82 v 4.12). even so, things go from bad to worse for sete. often valentino does his own dirty work in stopping sete when he's getting a bit too close to that elusive victory, winning a close duel in catalunya, pressuring sete into a mistake at the sachsenring, that kind of thing. often, he does not even have to. sometimes he took himself out, like crashing out of the lead in the wet conditions he was once so very skilled at in estoril (not helping his injured shoulder) or in donington park, where valentino went on to deliver perhaps the finest wet weather performance of his career to take the win

"I don't think anyone can be to blame for crashing out in these conditions, can they. [...] It really is at that stage of the season for Sete Gibernau where it's all or nothing, really just got to try and win races. We're now twelve races since his last victory at Qatar. Valentino Rossi promised after that race that Gibernau would never win another race and well it seems to be coming true so far."

^excerpt from the donington park 2005 commentary, the ninth race of the season, where sete crashed out of the lead in horrendous wet conditions

valentino's favoured way of winning races played into his hands here. pressure, pressure, pressure - preferably exerted from right behind his victim, with the knowledge that valentino is waiting and studying and ready to pounce on any mistake. even if you don't make any, he'll probably get you anyway. the effect of these defeats becomes nicely cumulative, where even the knowledge that valentino will be coming (even if he isn't there yet), that eventually he will try and pass you (even if he hasn't done so yet), is enough to make his opponents self-destruct before he even has to lift a finger. what he does to sete is the most extreme version of how that tactic typically works, by slowly eating away at sete's confidence and composure and self-belief until the eventual error feels increasingly inevitable. valentino knows it is coming, sete knows it is coming, and they both play their parts accordingly

"But Rossi straight after Gibernau, now he'll start those pressure games. Pressure is on Sete Gibernau. He has not won a race for a year; the last race win was here. And the man he doesn't speak to, he doesn't speak back to him either, Valentino Rossi, behind him, and Rossi will start exerting the pressure Rossi-style as we know." [...] "A year ago, wasn't it, it doesn't seem that long ago, doesn't it, that Sete Gibernau was so delighted to win the race here. And Valentino Rossi really left in a strop, didn't he. But there we are, Sete Gibernau - but we've seen it before, and Rossi seems so have this ability to faze him, out at the front, put pressure on him." [...] "Well, Nick, you said at the start of this race that Valentino Rossi has plenty of motivation to win this race here. He wants to take ten wins for Yamaha, it would be the first Yamaha rider ever to do that in the premier class. He wants to end a drought almost in his terms, certainly since he became a Yamaha rider - he's never gone three races without winning a race before, but that could happen today if Gibernau holds this out. And of course the one thing he really wants to stop is Sete Gibernau from winning a race one year on from the day that Rossi said he would never win another one for the rest of his career." "How long does a g-'s curse take, I mean, is it just a year, the g-'s curse and then does it come off? Because if it is then he's just about right, isn't he? [...] Perhaps the curse is gone; perhaps this is just what Sete Gibernau needed."

^excerpts from the qatar 2005 commentary, the fourteenth round of the season. sete looked like he was making a break for it ahead of valentino and then melandri. six laps to go melandri almost causes valentino to crash and costs valentino over a second, but it doesn't matter. this time it's melandri who has the honours of coaxing a mistake out of sete, who goes off into the gravel as melandri passes him. valentino overtakes melandri for the victory

sometimes, he did just seem cursed in the truest sense of the word. his bike running out of fuel on the last lap while he's still fighting valentino for the victory. mechanical dnf's. other riders barging him out of the way before valentino even has the chance to. he switched manufacturers for 2006, getting a spot on the ducati factory team: his last race with honda was ended by an engine failure and his first race with ducati was ended by an electronics failure. a freak boot protector malfunction that left his foot bleeding halfway through the race. a nasty crash in catalunya, followed by his ambulance crashing into a bus fifty metres in front of the hospital entrance. in the end, it was probably the injury caused by casey stoner bringing him down in estoril that pushed him definitively into retiring - after he was dropped by ducati in favour of casey. so it goes

obviously, valentino cannot be held responsible for anything in that last paragraph. you can't mind game your opponent into having their engine blow up, at least I don't think you can. the stuff before that is fair game. what valentino did in jerez essentially stopped the title fight before it could even get started. it was ruthlessly effective in removing sete as a significant player at the top of the sport. sure, it's always hard to attribute a competitive decline such as this one to any single factor. but if ever there was a time to maybe just blame one person...

sete more often than not has kept his silence about the rivalry. in 2005, he generally did not go much further than saying that the whole thing was one-sided and started by valentino, see this (from one of oxley's books):

But don't ask me about him as a person, I'll only speak about him from a professional point of view, that's about it. I don't know why he's got a problem with me because I've never had a problem with him. I've always had a lot of respect for everyone on the grid, I just wish everyone shared that respect, because once you lose respect you lose everything.

on a similar topic, at some point he has also spoken about the qatar controversy again, saying the following:

He blamed me but it was nothing I did. Of course I didn't report him - I didn't even see what happened. I'd had a very good relationship with Valentino for many years but after that it just came around.

in 2009, at the time of sete's ultimately short-lived motogp comeback, he went along with the slight farce of a reconciliation, shaking valentino's hand and talking to him with cameras watching - the season after valentino had regained his crown in '08. but it is fair to say not all is forgotten. at times, he has done his best to draw a line under jerez and continues to refrain from criticising valentino publicly, like this from 2017:

The Catalan avoids criticizing the Italian for any controversial maneuver, such as that of Jerez 2005. "At the time I was living, based on my values, principles and education, I tried to do things as well as I knew how. And I am very proud of what I did ." Sete explains what it means to battle Vale. "We did very nice things fighting against a phenomenon, he may be the best in the history of motorcycling. I am proud to have fought face to face with a guy who is a phenomenon," he explains.

(obviously, you can read this as valentino not following whatever values, principles or education he might have possessed.) at other times, he's been a little more openly critical. in 2020, he still did not criticise valentino as much as he did the response to the overtake, which he felt set a bad precedent and has contributed to the normalisation of a more aggressive style of racing in the years since:

I don't know how many times we've talked about that corner, but the more time goes by the more I understand after that, things change. Many people were seeing that move, and from that moment on it opened the door for it to happen many more times. At the end of the race, both of us did what we thought was best for the championship, and my opinion can be whatever. But since then things have changed in MotoGP and racing is understood, which I don't agree [with].

he also adds this:

When asked if race direction would have looked into that incident had it happened today, Gibernau responded: "To tell you the truth, no. I don't think so. "I've got different thoughts on that side, which are mine, and like I said I don't need to be right or wrong. Everyone has his own thoughts, and if I put myself now in a situation where I was watching a race and I saw what happened there [at Jerez] where two guys risking their own lives touched each other in a difficult last corner, and I was looking at it with my son who would like to become a road racer, and everyone would give the victory to a guy that has touched another one, I wouldn't be wanting that to happen. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. It's one of my priorities and it's how I understand sport and racing. MotoGP is already so dangerous that in my opinion we should all put together our know how to avoid these type of situations. Is it difficult to do? Yes. Is it impossible to do? I don't think so. It's responsibility to whoever is in charge of the championship and to put the rules where we need to stay away from this type of situation because, like I say, we're risking more than just a crash."

and even more recently, in 2023, he's spoken about the jerez race being the source of his disillusionment:

If I'm telling the truth, Jerez 2005 made me lose my enthusiasm for being in the races. I tried to maintain it until the beginning of 2006, with Ducati, and when we could have won, a mechanic left a gear screw unadjusted and the gear lever fell off. That day, in Jerez 2005, I mentally retired. Valentino went inside and took me out. They didn't penalize him. It's my personal opinion, everyone will have their own opinion and it must be respected, but I think that this is not a contact sport.

also in 2023, in a separate interview, he said this:

But he didn't get a punishment or anything, and then I started to lose my faith in the sport. [...] I couldn't understand how, y'know this was not a contact sport, I couldn't understand... things happen in the championship and things had been going on inside and everything and I just lost my - started to lose my illusion in the racing.

which is later in the same interview followed by this (which is partly about his woes in 2006 - he also talked about the moment with the gear screw, but I think pinpoints that rather than jerez as the day he mentally retired):

I had done such a big effort to put myself to a position to where, I was fighting against my own demons, I was fighting against the championship, I thought no one's helping here. I was fighting against one of the top guys in the history of racing, which was Valentino, and I just thought, but, Valentino doesn't even need to do what he's doing to win, and no one is saying nothing. There was many things there and I just couldn't understand... I'm fighting against everything, you know, and I was expecting the championship to just be a little more neutral on that side, just to say, if someone does something wrong you've got to say, in my opinion, it's not a contact sport; it's already dangerous enough to being able to say you can hit someone and say, wow, that was a great move. [...] Everyone is brave on a MotoGP bike. Moto3, Moto2, MotoGP, from the first guy to the last guy, you cannot pinpoint on TV and say how brave this guy was by hitting another guy. Because if I'm a dad watching that I would not want my son to be in a championship like this. Because it's not bravery, it's not about hitting another guy - if you want to do that, go boxing. [...] And from a guy like Valentino, which is, a superstar, why accept that? I think it was wrong, in my opinion, he didn't need to do that. Since then, many things have been happening because of that movement. Because kids saw that and said that's the way to do it. And then Marquez is doing it to this guy, and the other guy is doing it to the other guy, and you get killed in racing. It's already dangerous. We should stay away from that. That's why I never understood - it got to a point where I just - oh man. It's nothing to do with me here any more, you know, and I just left racing and I retired.

for the most part, then, sete is still quite contained in his criticisms of valentino, focusing on the jerez incident and not really delving into what happened the year prior to that. he mainly questions why valentino even felt the need to do what he did to sete, and suggests valentino set a bad example to others - especially kids watching, especially future riders. his criticisms also concern motogp as a sport, those who set the rules and those who regulate them, in not doing anything to stamp down on this kind of racing. he says he felt like he lacked support from the entirety of the sport and eventually decided that he'd had enough

I haven't added this block of text just because I enjoy transcribing large portions of three hour long podcast interviews that didn't really need to be three hours long (apparently the most tried and tested method of getting riders to share their more candid thoughts about anything) - but because this, uh, average-length tumblr post wouldn't really feel complete without it. it's all very well and good to talk about how sete was mentally 'broken' by what valentino did to him. you can have whatever opinion you want about the thoughts sete expresses here on riding standards and acceptable levels of aggression. you can also maybe doubt whether it really was just 'disillusionment' with race direction's approach to valentino's jerez pass that caused his competitive decline - obviously, three hour confessional podcast interview or not, this is a narrative he's still chosen for a reason and it sells himself and his career in a certain way. but - but - especially given the exact circumstances in which his rise to title challenger status occurred and how heavily he involved himself in the safety commission... well, at the very least I'm not going to leave it out. should he have made his complaints publicly known at the time, if this is something he felt so strongly about? is this level of criticism warranted by that specific jerez move? it's tough, because from the modern perspective of course I too have gotten used to a kind of racing where that level of contact is fairly normalised - which two riders this century have played a disproportionate role in bringing about. on the one hand, valentino is right in his defence that relatively speaking, this is far from the fastest or hardest contact out there. on the other hand, it's a move that was made with the knowledge it would result in contact. and in doing so, he injured sete, because that's what can happen even as a result of relatively 'light' touches. make up your own mind! it's not an easy topic to address, and I most certainly wouldn't be able to do it justice here. let's wrap this up

of delusion and despair

valentino has always been intensely aware of the power of narratives and takes care in how he tells his own story. the most literal version in which anyone can tell their own story is, obviously, by publishing an autobiography - which he did in 2005, covering everything up until his first title with yamaha at the end of 2004. it is not presented in chronological order and is instead organised in a far more loose thematic manner, with valentino not feeling any compulsion to give all parts of his life anywhere close to equal attention. still, when you read it, certain omissions do jump out at you - and the exclusion of gibernau is perhaps the most remarkable. you could say it's because he doesn't want to speak ill of his rivals, but he has no problem going into a fair bit of detail about his feud with biaggi. you could say it's because the gibernau rivalry was still going on at time of writing, but the same is more or less true about biaggi who placed third in the 2004 championship. there is not a single paragraph in his autobiography devoted to the relationship with gibernau. every mention of him is just that: a mention. a name thrown in without care when discussing something else entirely. you are told vale passed gibernau to win the 2004 championship - but if you read the autobiography without any other knowledge of valentino, you'd be forgiven for not realising gibernau had been his title rival at all

yes, within the grand context of his career, biaggi does have to be seen as a more significant rival... but this narrative was still being written in late 2004, at a time in which valentino had committed himself to destroying sete. maybe valentino doesn't want to comment on controversies that are still bubbling along, but the sheer extent of the erasure feels far more deliberate than that. this is somebody who had been valentino's friend for years, enough so that they spent time with each other outside of work, went on holidays together, blokes who for all intents and purposes truly liked each other's company. somebody who had been his closest rival for two years, who had pushed him closer than anyone else had in his title runs, who he had experienced some of his greatest career defeats and victories against. according to the narrative presented by the autobiography, he might as well be just any other rider. it's worse than fury, worse than loathing: it's disinterest

(it has to be said, quite possibly the funniest omission is when he's talking about how "angry and disappointed" he was after qatar because of, and I quote, "honda having lodged an appeal". ... anyone else you thought was involved, valentino? .....?)

which is quite the punishment to enact. one reason why this rivalry is so tricky to analyse is, yes, it's one that's quite old by now, but also because we are drawing from a far smaller sample size of valentino comments - almost all of which were provided at the time - when you compare it to any of his other major rivalries. sure, he still talks about jerez 2005, when he's asked about it - though it might as well just have been another fun race, another dramatic victory, another controversial overtake, rather than anything that had any greater significance. (of course, there is also a clip of him forgetting about the race entirely when thinking about last corner overtakes in the premier class with sete in the room - which you can read into if you so choose.) he's talked plenty over the years about his first yamaha title in 2004, but not about the man he beat to secure it. this was his closest title battle of the ones he won (just pipping 2009), but he might as well have won it against a faceless amalgamation of the honda corporation rather than an actual living breathing rival. it's as if that title battle started and ended in welkom, where it was biaggi not gibernau who valentino had to best. even though publicly the two of them set aside their feud in 2009 and valentino even said then that they could be friends again, this feels like lip service more than anything else. in 2015 at jerez, valentino was questioned about the parallels to his relationship with a certain other rival, who was friendly with valentino at the time but had crashed out while battling vale in the previous race. valentino in response acknowledged his past good friendship with sete, but said it was different: after qatar his relationship with sete had gotten worse as a result of how sete had "played a dirty game". if he had not changed his mind about sete's character eleven years after the fact, why would he have reevaluated in the years since?

it is fair to say that gibernau was the least talented of valentino's major rivals, the least substantial figure in terms of his accomplishments in grand prix racing. biaggi is a four time 250cc champion; nobody needs to be reminded of the achievements of stoner, lorenzo or marquez. sete is the rival who wasn't even supposed to exist; he was catapulted into the position essentially overnight by tragedy. and yet, even acknowledging that, it feels like he is under-discussed in the canon of valentino feuds given the sheer quality of their on-track output (let's face it, there are more great vale/sete battles than there are for say vale/casey) and the high drama of their closest title fight. yes, you can say that's because it is one of the older and less well-remembered rivalries, because it is not quite as dramatic and significant as the biaggi feud... but still, it's quite the disparity. given the power valentino holds in writing the stories within the sport, how can you not conclude that he has played a helping hand in this erasure? being ignored is a far greater indignity than being despised - and after 2004 valentino has barely even offered sete the honour of his hatred

^sete tried to breathe new life into his motogp career by switching to ducati, but his campaign was derailed by injuries. it was probably scant consolation in his miserable 2006 season, but valentino himself was pretty cursed that year. their last on-track battle came at phillip island, in the series' first bike swap race while valentino was fighting tooth and nail to save his doomed title defence. it's admittedly one of like twenty things that happen in that race, but it is quite funny how sete really came back to life just in time to make valentino's life harder when he really didn't need him to. valentino overtook sete on the final corner of the race for the final podium spot

of course, it is a hell of a lot easier to erase a rivalry when you win it so conclusively. in truth, as an opponent, valentino got the measure of sete fairly quickly. he never lost another direct duel against sete after sachsenring 2003, having essentially vowed as much to himself even when they were nominally still on good terms. the 2004 championship was as close as it was because of valentino's unequivocally inferior machinery and the somewhat less consistent results he achieved as a consequence - but even there, when they fought directly for the win in mugello, catalunya, assen and phillip island, each time valentino came out on top. (you can argue about brno '04 - I'd say it doesn't really count since sete ended up running away with the race with a massive tyre advantage.) still, you don't have to be winning all your direct duels with your opponents to be winning the championship - and at the end of the day, sete did come tantalisingly close to a title, or at the very least forcing a title decider. whatever it is that differentiates 'very good riders' from 'champions' is what sete is lacking. he has something in him... a self consciousness, a self awareness even, that is lethal to professional athletes. he was stuck trying to manage the image of his rivalry with valentino, when valentino was moving in for the kill. valentino too is heavily aware of image, is heavily invested in how he tells his own story - but more often than not, he manages to use it as a weapon to spur himself onwards to further success. when valentino did so once again in late 2004, sete stumbled

it is not novel to suggest that valentino needs enemies to motivate himself. plenty of people within the sport have said it, including his fellow riders. that's what's always worth remembering about the 'mind games' - sure, it's great if he unnerves his opponents, but often it is about providing himself with someone to hate though there are exceptions to this, which I have a lot of thoughts about relating to one casey stoner. valentino needs to have a reason to do what he does; it's not enough to win for the sake of winning if there's no story. in 2003, he had more or less won motogp and was finding it harder and harder to motivate himself, admitting repeatedly that he was losing his joy and passion for racing. yes, this was one of the main factors that led to the move to yamaha: to give himself a reason to keep going. but it was also just the right moment for another rival to emerge from nowhere and give valentino somebody new to focus his attentions on. when you read the limited autobiography mentions of sete and his interactions with valentino in 2003, it seems hard not to conclude valentino was already feeling a little less kindly towards sete by the end of that year. the relationship did not survive contact with a true title fight, where valentino found himself pushed closer to the limit than he ever had before. the moment he was in real danger, he blew up the relationship and walked away with literal full points for the remainder of the season. at the very next race to start off the new season, he made sure sete would never be a threat to him again

it's natural to conclude from all of this that the feud was built entirely on the back of valentino's delusions, of valentino inventing a concrete reason to despise sete that was based on his mental list of sete's past transgressions, imagined or otherwise. and maybe it was. did sete really snitch? did valentino really think he did? what was it that convinced valentino of sete's guilt? and even if sete was involved, was this really a proportionate response? this is where a lack of evidence and both parties' reticence to discuss the incident in the years since works against us. but - looking beyond the specifics of what happened in qatar, it does feel likely that the relationship would have deteriorated beyond what we saw in assen anyway. that's what a close title fight tends to do to the people involved. isn't it?

sete makes for a suitable foil to valentino because he too intensely concerns himself with how he is perceived. when vale takes on sete, one pretty boy to another, they are both a little too aware of the artifice of what they are doing, a little too concerned with the optics, the image, the spectacle. rivals, friends, enemies - how far apart are any of those things, really? can we be friends if you desperately covet what I have? if you take pleasure at the thought of my downfall? is this oft-touted ideal of a 'respectful' rivalry inevitably nothing but a facade for the ugly reality that lies beneath? 2004 is what happens when their relationship is actually tested - because now they are finally fighting for something real and they both know it. this is what happens in assen, when valentino decides he needs to win at any cost, when sete realises they are not playing the game by the same rules. sete had been performing graciousness and valentino calls him on his bluff

the best rivalries transform both parties; neither side should be allowed to emerge unchanged from the battle they share. sete entered valentino's life as a competitor at a time when everything was a little too easy and as a result a little too hard for valentino. at a time when valentino felt dissatisfied, underappreciated, judged harshly from all sides and pinned down by the weight of the world's glares. the blows sete inflicted on valentino were primarily symbolic, hurting valentino's pride and reputation rather than his title bid in 2003, which was never under any realistic threat. when valentino was at his lowest that season, he responded by bringing the joy back, reverting to type, with a new haircut and an ironic gag of a celebration and a daring victory to boot. in 2004, however, valentino changed. he had to - he was on a worse bike than his opponents that he was wrestling towards a title it had no right to be winning that year. he didn't have the kind of margin for error any more that he could afford in his honda years, no more foolishness like at the sachsenring. so he became a little tougher and a little meaner and a lot more aggressive in his racing. he shed some of the insouciance that both him and sete have at times been accused of and got down to the serious business of winning. not joylessly - after all there are few things more enjoyable than crushing the enemy. still, it's fine to be a clown prince in your downtime, not when you're barging title rivals aside in assen

it is here, then, at assen, that sete makes a critical, fatal mistake. because sete is torn in two: he wants to be the gracious rival, but he also thinks what valentino did is wrong and wants to communicate as much to the world. maybe it's because it clashes with sete's understanding of racing, maybe it's simply because sete is bitter that he lost - who's to say. except sete can't bring himself to actually say any of this. he chooses the worst possible strategy against valentino: silent disapproval and annoyance and frustration, played up for the television cameras, but without offering a single word of actual complaint until later, when valentino had already offered his explanations and half-apologies. so what valentino takes away from this is twofold. for one, he comes to believe that sete has a problem with his racing and cannot graciously accept his defeat, entirely failing to match valentino's magnanimity on the (rare) occasions when he loses. but unfortunately for sete, what valentino also learns is that - when it comes down to it - sete will not stand up for himself. valentino knows he can do this again

in sepang sete attempts to take the high ground once more, to allow valentino his transgressions and foibles and temper, to be calm in the face of vale's fury, to be the better man. in australia sete pulls himself together to shake hands with valentino, to be respectful of his rival's accomplishments and graceful in defeat, to be the better man. in jerez sete is beyond angry, furious enough to actually approach valentino in parc fermé and say a few words to him, but he still shakes valentino's hand on the podium and refuses to complain directly about him in the press conference - because he is determined to be the better man. does he think he can shame valentino into being different from what he is? if so, it is an unfortunate miscalculation. you cannot claim a moral victory against somebody who does not give a shit

for valentino, at least half the joy of racing has always been about beating the opposition. a new rival is presented to him out of nowhere - and out of him valentino fashions himself an enemy. sete was one of the first people to offer valentino advice when vale entered the premier class, but this was not the last thing valentino learned from him. because what valentino did to gibernau was different than what he did to biaggi. this was not just trying to get a rise out of a bloke he disliked every time he got half a chance. this was not valentino slowly chipping away at his victim's patience and self-control and sanity. what valentino does to gibernau is far more sudden and far more targeted and gets a far more immediate effect. he emerges from qatar weakened and on the back foot and within eight days flips the situation so that he is once again the one in command. sete, who had very much exerted himself in presenting the relationship in a certain way to the world, who wanted so badly for this to be a certain kind of rivalry, ever so respectful - well, valentino found out just where to hurt him. he did it with his sudden public coldness towards sete, with carefully chosen remarks to the press to make clear that nothing had been forgiven, with the jibes and the taunts at each and every stage of his victory. he married the off-track theatre with on-track strategy as well as pure performance, directly disrupting and disturbing sete whenever necessary - the kind of combination he would later find so useful in fending off first casey then lorenzo. it's no coincidence that his three most famous career overtakes are ones that are also so significant in how they affected valentino's fortunes in the aftermath of his victory. laguna 2008 and catalunya 2009 represent complete shifts in momentum within their respective seasons that his rivals never quite recovered from. jerez 2005 ends the title battle at the very first race. and it's not just sete's season that didn't recover - it's his career

of course, it's easier to mess with someone when you have the measure of them in performance. that's always something to keep in mind when talking about mental resilience: it's easier to bounce back from your rival being an asshole to you if you're just really, really good at what you do. valentino always understood himself that any 'mind games' had to be backed up by on-track performance; he's openly stated that all of his off-track "work" on his opponents only gets results if it's paired with being strong on the bike. and he himself lost his cool in qatar - but it helped that he knew he had what it took to bounce back. this was never a rivalry of equals; there was never any question between the two of them who the better rider was. all that being said: it's a really good rivalry! guys, there's some really great races. sete was a serious challenger and he did pose a serious threat to valentino, which you can tell because otherwise valentino never would have needed to do any of this. he made valentino grow as a rider and... do you make someone 'grow as a person' if you make them better at psychological warfare? yes, I think so. actually

valentino became a more accomplished rider for having experienced the sachsenring debacle, and he became a more accomplished rider as a result of the qatar fiasco. he motivated himself to become better because he wanted to defeat sete so badly, and isn't there something compelling about that? valentino was willing to take risks at phillip island that could have resulted in a title decider, was willing to make himself extremely unpopular with the spanish crowd at jerez (not something he has typically had much experience with) - all because he needed to crush sete, to destroy him so completely he could erase him entirely. at the end of the day, there's a bunch of reasons why this rivalry doesn't get the attention it deserve. one of them, however, is that valentino seems to be pretty happy with this state of affairs, and has spent the better part of two decades deeply disinterested in paying sete his dues. don't let him have his way

#sete gibernau #valentino rossi #// #sg15 #vr46 #sete ask yay #right I'm aware this is a topic nobody else actually cares about That Much but I had fun and that's what matters #you'd never believe this but there's quite a lot of this I ended up cutting. like I do have More Thoughts I fear #I don't love this as a piece of writing and it runs into some major tonal issues at some stages but well! post like nobody's reading etc #I feel like every time I try and add a read more it fucks the formatting of the pictures but I'm gonna trust it's. Fine

[accio-victuuri]

CCTV6 MTalk invited a guest (@张龙Daniel, a professor and doctoral supervisor at Communication University of China) on their show “Today's Film Review” and talked about the heated discussions online about Wang Yibo being nominated as best supporting actor in GRA.

👨: The controversy that Wang Yibo has brought about is largely due to the fact that he was an idol before. So we need to understand actors of different age groups. This is a process. Let’s go back to his performance in the film "Hidden Blade". I personally feel that at least under the influence and guidance of director Cheng Er and senior Tony Leung Chiu-wai, Wang Yibo’s completion of this role is still very high. Of course, I also saw some comments on the Internet about how Wang Yibo could be nominated with other people. The critical appraisal of the award does not necessarily require these people to be on par for the critical acclaim award itself. It should take into account diversity and encourage films of various themes. encourage actors of all ages to come to their creations to actively contribute to better performances.

They can hate all they want, but again, he said it correctly. Their problem is because he was an idol and did not have “formal training” at a drama school or whatever. But again, the award is about the performance in a film. 💯

In today’s ceremony, one of Yibo’s fellow nominee, Li Xuejian ( who was also part of the initial discussion cause he is an award winning actor ) said : “To stand on this stage with four young and promising colleagues, we are three generations of old, middle-aged and young people," 🫶🏼

He even gave the mic to Yibo so he could speak first. It’s hilarious how netizens think that these veteran actors are somehow salty with the new breed when they are obviously not. ☺️

Another example is Kara Wai! She’s so nice! Thanks to her we got that cute clip of Yibo going “jiayou”

I know i’m not the only who has a lot of feelings right now and are anxious/excited for tomorrow’s awards ceremony. But the overwhelming feeling I have right now is pride for Yibo. He is really inspirational and an example of reaping what you sow. The road to this moment right here was far from smooth and it makes the nomination more special. I really hope he wins this. Good luck Yibo, Fly high! 🦅

#wang yibo #accio victuuri translation #im praying so hard for him to win it!!!!

[bestworstcase]

thinking about those two deer in the lost fable again. out of all the assets created just for this one episode, why?

like… it’s not random. the only other animals in this story have been amber’s horse, zwei, and the branwens’ bird forms. all have some narrative relevance, a clear connection to a character that justifies the expense and effort of modeling them. and then in the lost fable—an episode that was always going to be a heavy lift technically and financially for the sheer amount of ground to cover and novel assets required—has these two deer. they’re only on screen for like two seconds.

it’s narratively motivated. the lost fable is a highly symbolic episode and that symbolism foreshadows the ever after / ascension / all the v9 lore quite strongly; it follows that the intended symbolism of this shot demanded the presence of these deer.

the god of light has deer antlers. in the blacksmith’s story, the first act of destruction is to eat; darkness eats, light does not. light holds himself at a distance, he designs, he does not live. these deer are grazing. salem appears from a plume of smoke at the base of the withered tree, and the deer startle at her approach and look up at her. the shot transitions to salem looking upon the grimm in the ruins of a town—

“she cursed the gods, she cursed the universe. she cursed everything—everything but herself,” says jinn. but her expression isn’t anger. (always check her eyebrows.) it’s more intense concentration, intense thought…

…which brings her back to the pool of grimm. jinn says that “fate” led her back here because that’s what ozpin believes. but this sequence begins with those deer, eating. destruction in its purest unadulterated form. salem visually emerges from the withered tree. she’s observing the grimm and she’s thinking. if the fountain of life had given her immortality, then surely the pools of grimm would finally take it away—not “finally let her die.”

rolls over.

the fountain of life gave her infinite life. salem hoped the pool of grimm would take it away. not kill. not destroy. infinite life. if you take from an infinite quantity, an infinite quantity still remains. this force of pure destruction could not destroy, so it created…

destruction first, to clear the wilderness away. darkness eats the tree’s brambles and through this act creation is born. jinn’s telling distorts through ozpin’s belief, but the truth is there. pure destruction and infinite life are not in conflict; rather, destruction feeds life.

the pool of grimm did take from her life—subtract from the infinite and the infinite remains—she’s torn apart and remade. creativity, to imagine what, and who, could replace the wilderness.

jinn tells this story, ozpin’s story, in a way that obfuscates salem’s real agency and her personhood, casting her alternately as tragic object of fate and inhuman monster. fate led her back to the land of darkness; a being of infinite life with a desire for pure destruction.

he believes salem wanted to die when she leapt into the pool of grimm.

did she?

the deer, the grimm, herself, the pool of grimm. wilderness and ruin. all that remained. i arrive at the edge of the world […] should i kneel?/what should i feel?/will i fall apart?/maybe that’s all i want […] and in my heart it’s there/standing tall enough to fix it all/it’s just a new beginning/it’s just a different ending […] i am everything and nothing/all at once/i’ll meet you at the horizon/where we first met/where i died, i’ll be born again…

(something. something. without you i am nothing, but because of you, i am everything. self-similar narrative.)

the edge of the world. . .

mutters. sow the death and reap the seed -> the moon will sadly watch the roses die -> a rose will grow to be a seed/from every life another leads -> some roses will never bloom. the burning rose, the shattered moon.

did. she know—did she have an idea that destroying herself would create a new world? destruction to clear the wilderness, creativity to imagine its replacement.

“they could claim the powers of their creators for themselves and in turn perfect their own design; all they needed to do was destroy their old masters.” -> “this was it, this had to be it, the brother’s grimm, the pools of black that continued to give rise to horrific nightmares” -> “we could be the gods of this world. […] create the paradise the old gods could not.”

like. it’s not just

it’s those fucking deer. eating. the grimm picking over the ruins. (grimm eat their prey.) salem, observing, thinking. “the gods had hoped that salem would learn from her eternal curse, and she did.” the god of light bade her learn the importance of life and death, and she did. and then she jumped into the pool of grimm and created remnant. a new world. a completely unfamiliar world–

…oh. ohhh

“magic was a gift from the gods that all could wield” -> “without the blessings of the gods, no one could perform magic like mankind was once capable of”

and

“aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on remnant.” we could be the gods of this world.

how does pyrrha unlock jaune’s aura? “for it is in passing we achieve immortality; through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory, infinite in distance and unbound by death. i release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.” a religious mantra echoing salem’s idea of transcendence. magic was a gift from the gods that all could wield; aura is a manifestation of the soul that everyone has, though only a select few are privileged by ozma’s institutions to learn. “with enough training and focus,” salem says, “a user’s aura can turn them into much more than just a man.” the illustration is ozpin’s silhouette—but ozma’s power isn’t derived from aura, it’s magic, and the infinite man is fond of saying that he is “only a man, not even a very good one,” and salem herself sees him as diminished, as lessened. he’s the image of “just a man.” a person’s aura can make them much more than ozma. much more than the brothers’ design.

our powers surpass all others.

salem is grimm. even if she has aura, she cannot use it to protect herself. the gods gave humans magic and then took it back; salem threw herself into the pool of grimm and it broke her apart and—symbolically if not literally—took away her aura and gave it to the people of remnant, reborn from the ashes of her rebellion. a semblance is the outward manifestation of one’s soul. she wanted humanity to claim the powers of their creators and perfect their own design, and… with enough training and focus, a user’s aura can turn them into something much more than just a man.

#mutters. knowledge then choice #she didn’t know exactly what would happen but i think she had #a pretty good guess

[flowersandbigteeth]

Blast from the past ask about the Kherae aliens based off of this lore…

“The aliens were polite, good providers, and had charming cultural differences that made relationships with them interesting and fresh…Their society worshiped women and after theirs were brutally gassed and murdered, they were protective and devoted husbands. You were pretty jealous you’d never gotten to choose a Kherae at one of their centers, where they let you look through screens filled with eligible bachelors for the right one. All your friends from college were blissfully happy with their new enormous, hunky husbands…The other married officers were polite, but looked at you with indifference. To their credit, married Kherae were pretty devoted to their spouses. They didn’t think of other women. They spoke to you when they needed to and then walked away, never stopping for any pleasantries.”

Questions (sorry this is so long!):

What are some fun tidbits of Kherae culture that make dating them fun and interesting? What’s the courtship culture?

When a human woman “selects” her potential husband, does the Kherae just go along with it cause he wants any mate he can get? Or do they go through dating like how we normally do, and meet lots of other potential spouses to make sure they’re compatible? Do the Kheare get to “choose” too, or nah?

Would the offspring of Kherae and a human be half and half? Or are Kherae genes really dominant? What’d the offsprings’ appearance be like? (I had read the post about monster and human offspring, and was wondering if the same lore applied to the aliens).

It was really fun to read the Kherae stories. And with the lore parts, it really hit me again of how scary men could be towards women because so much of what you beautifully wrote is plausible in reality, or already happens one way or another. Like the following would 100% happen if it became reality.

“When the Kherae came to Earth looking for human women to repopulate with, human men weren’t exactly thrilled and despite the alien's superior technology, wealth, and honestly, appearance, the men weren’t giving up…Human men, who committed most of the crime in the past were further and further ostracized from society as women were more and more occupied with the aliens…Most of the crime now were men protesting or causing other trouble with home grown terrorism attempts, trying to get some attention.”

It’s scary how a lot of men regardless of race, ethnicity, or nationality feel entitled to women. And you see this a lot in online incel communities and in far right groups that broadcast their messages. Women are property, and are a man’s right from the day they’re born.

This is a personal experience I had online and see occasionally, but I’ve had x race men feel specifically entitled to the women of same race, and become absolutely rabid when x race women date outside of their race. What’s even worse is that the men encourage racism themselves, and say, “You should try x race women because abc reasons.” Goes to show that women are also just trophies or are treated like some type of card collectible. It really is scary. This topic also resonates with me a lot because I’m from a culture/country that very much did NOT value females to the point laws had to be put in place to circumvent female infanticide. So you can imagine how my eyes pop into heart shapes whenever a man is written to love and respect women. It’s always funny but still terrifying that some groups of men complain about women leaving x group for literal better prospects, because it’s your groups fault for the poor treatment of women? As they say, reap what you sow.

So sorry for this ridiculous long send in. I just really loved your Kherae stories and I obviously needed to get this off my chest from rereading them again. <3

Thank you for all your thoughts! Your observations are so on point.

This is kind of a long answer 😅 but I hope I got everything, I answered your questions about the Kherae under the cut 👇🏾

TW: domestic violence

Sometimes I feel sad writing these stories. Even though they are fantasy there is a lot of reality and vulnerability folded in. I was reading something about the "women going their own way" phenomenon happening in different countries and I totally understand that. Abusive people will pretend to be nice and sweet for YEARS before they show their true colors. Why would I want to take a risk on a potentially controlling, abusive partner who will destroy everything I've built for myself when I can just hang out with my friends, read romance novels, walk my dog, and have peace of mind?

To your point, I hate the passport bros comments where they write little manifestos about how x race or ethnicity is more servile and feminine. It's a bizarre fantasy they've created to comfort themselves and justify their behavior. Like you said, there is a distinct intersection between racism and mysogyny, the racism creating another avenue to objectification.

I was reading something not too long ago about a counselor who worked at a prison dealing with domestic abusive men and he asked the men why they wouldn't stop being abusive and they all said, assuming you don't get caught, there is no downside to being abusive. You get your way, you force someone to serve you, and it's hard to be prosecuted. He was at a loss as to how to rehabilitate them because unlike substance abuse, for example, where you can point out how drugs or alcohol have ruined their lives, they have literally no reason to quit their abusive ways. Once they get out of jail, they can just find someone less likely to call the cops on them and do it all again.

I am personally in favor of rehabilitative justice, but I have no idea what to do with that. That put a lot of toxic behavior into perspective for me. You can scale that up to national laws and you can scale it down to guys on Twitter and the reality is always the same. There's no reason for them to try and change when abuse works for them. So maybe a lot of my writing is in response to that. It's nice to think about someone who uses their strength to support you, not tear you down, even if tearing you down is the easier, more profitable action.

My closest guess is that we need to cultivate a gentler world. Idk how you teach empathy, but as a society we've been dropping the ball on that. In all aspects of at least American culture we prioritize cruelty as a rule.

On a lighter note, to answer your questions:

1. The Kherae have been starved from romantic companionship most of their lives. At the the timeline I'm writing, most of them were little boys when the females were murdered, so they don't have much experience in it. That said they are enthusiastic and willing to try. They are fascinated with Earth for a number of reasons. One of them is that their planet is very monochrome. Most plants are some shade of purple and they evolved to match that environment (hence their skin tone). They love human gardens and gardening because there are SO MANY colors! A human can expect to receive bouquets, potted plants, and if he can, he'll be in your backyard planting things.

Since most of them were raised with no hope of a future, their elders taught them to exist in a constant state of orderly duty so that their society didn't fall apart. The general thought was "go into the darkness with dignity." If they did become extinct, they didn't want the universe to see their society fall into chaos before they disappeared. Because of that, most of them, deeply value respect. They can appear somewhat stoic at times, but they would never embarrass you in public and go to great lengths to protect your honor.

After the tragedy, the arts in Kherae society changed tone abruptly. There were many shrines and literary works mourning their loss. Slowly their culture became less and less interested in the arts as it seemed somewhat pointless and they were all very depressed. When they arrive to Earth and see the spectrum of art, music, and literature they are thrilled. Many of them are fascinated with human movies, love going to concerts, and art museums. They will take you on lots of culture dates. They adore museums, art shows, painting classes, movies, concerts...you'll never be bored if you like to go out.

One artistic pursuit that was not lost was dance. They are an athletic culture and great dancers. You can see them in clubs doing backflips and all sorts of crazy physical feats you would not expect these large aliens to be capable of.

2. When a human picks a Kherae there is a dating period for them to get to know one another and see if they are compatible. It's important to note that they believe in "fated mates." It's unclear if that mystical reality exists, but what's important is most of them deeply believe that it does. They interpret being chosen as fate, so they will do their very best to impress you. If more than one woman is interested in one Kherae he will be allowed to choose who he believes he is more compatible with. Despite how excited they are, they are happy to take a relationship slow. Their core values include loyalty and respect so they want humans to be very sure before they commit. When they first arrived, there were some broken hearts because humans are used to dating around and breakups being normal. Kherae want to choose a person they will be together forever and dating for fun not for a long term relationship is confusing for them.

3. When I first started writing about them, they had half and half children, some looking more like one parent than another, but many of them have skin slightly shaded purple and grow small horns and tails. So it is different from my monster fics.

---

I hope that answers everything 🙏🏾 I love your thoughts, they made me look at the stories from a different angle, which is cool 😎

#sweet asks #sweet anons #lore #oc lore #alien romance

[satureja13]

The Stables

Yang Mal and Diablo are stuck together in Britechester since Ji Ho and Vlad are here. And no Tyalindo to protect Yang Mal... Yang Mal: 'What am I supposed to do? What if he comes near me? I'm still not over that he left me for Kiri!'

Ji Ho: "I'm so sorry Yang Mal. I haven't forgotten how you cried over him. If you'd leave the lab we could try to finish these experiments as soon as possible and leave Britechester, hm?" Yang Mal: 'Ok...'

Ji Ho: "We will overcome this!" Yang Mal: 'Yeah... like you overcame him...' Ji Ho: "..."

Reluctantly Yang Mal left the lab and Ji Ho and went outside. Meanwhile in the yard. Adriano: "Tyalindo told me to watch over Ji Ho. You won't touch him.' Diablo: 'Tch.'

Adriano: 'Stay close by my side, Yang Mal.' Yang Mal: 'Thank you for protecting me, Adriano.'

Diablo: 'I am not a criminal!' Adriano: 'Yang Mal has every right to keep you at bay, cheater!' Malfoy: 'Right! You lost every right to be near him!' Diablo: 'Et tu, Brute?'

Little Goat: 'But I want a happy end!' Little Goat: 'Me too!' Adriano: 'Shut up you two!'

Diablo: 'Thanks pals!'

Diablo: 'Yang Mal, let's talk.' Little Goats: 'Please, hear him out!'

Yang Mal: 'I... I can't. Only a few days ago you made out with Kiri - again! You were even hitting on Valerian, my best friend! It just hurts too much.' Adriano: 'Now you reap what you sow.' Diablo: 'Tch.'

Outtakes

Little Goat: 'We should have a party!' Again?

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 'Putting the Boys Back together' from the beginning -> here Previous Chapter: 'Disbandment of the Group' from the beginning -> here

#the stables #simlit #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #simblr #ts4 #woo ji ho #vladimir tepesz #underwater love #yang mal #diablo #sims 4 vanilla #malfoy #adriano #britechester

[randomnameless]

Something pretty interesting I missed in my earlier Supreme Bullshit reading.

When Supreme Leader is upset at Lonato, she wonders if going to help him would be feasible, which leads to this convo with Hubert :

You want to save the man, Your Majesty? If I may, we would march all that way for...what, exactly?

Hubert, imo, thinks Lonato as basically already done and dead, Supreme Leader earlier was pissed at Lonato not following their plans, he acted on personal enemity and will most likely have to fight both the KoS and the Kingdom so...

Imagine the consequences of leaving him to die.

Here we have an example of the Supreme Leader who made this route, so interesting : it's not Hubert who has all the dastardry in their duo, Supreme Leader too, participates.

When KT forgets that they gave her a sailor fuku to be "more free", they write her to be in a similar vein as the other red Emperors like Arvis, or, Gustadolph from TS.

It's not "we must save him" or "we can't let him die", but Supreme Leader directly evacuates all that pathos, and thinks, rationally, about the consequences of leaving Lonato reap what he sowed.

We need our vassals to believe the Empire will always come to their aid. Always.

It's PR!

Going to save Lonato is not about Lonato himself, she can't give a fig about the dude, but it's all about public relationships and keeping a façade for her war of conquest : her vassals need to believe the Empire will always come to their aid.

Whether they actually do, or not, is irrelevant - they need to believe Adrestia is "trustworthy enough" to come to their help when called.

And the sheer "we need them to believe" coming from Supreme Leader herself? It's really neat, she's lying/manipulating the events to build a perfect image for her vassals, or the ones who will become her vassals (by choice).

Compare this to the Kingdom/Church "we need to help the ones who need help!" and here, instead, we have "we need to make people believe we're going to help them".

Lonato doesn't act following the plan ? It doesn't matter, Supreme Leader will seize this new opportunity to advance her own goals : aka, making people believe the Empire is "trustworthy" and "reliable".

Good. Now make our plans known to the others. I'm counting on you, Hubert.

What plans? The "we must rescue Lonato because he is our ally" or the true "we must pretend to rescue Lonato to make other nobles join our cause and believe in us"?

And what is intereting is how this exchange, of course, only happens when she is alone with Hubert.

In the following event, where Barney is here and they talk about their powers :

Ah, you should see the look on your face! Did Hubert threaten you? Don't let it get to you. Yes, he's quite good at that kind of thing, but it comes from a place of caution.

Hm... Sure. It's Hubert's way of caring I guess.

But then comes the manifesto :

I want to transform the world into a place where no one has to feel trapped by where they came from.

What's that about the place they come from? Aren't we later in this route trashtalking Annette and the Kingdom peeps because they believe in outdated values like chivalry and sacrifices to protect their loved ones?

When I am done, it won't matter where you are born, whose blood you have, or what powers course through you—everyone will be treated as equals.

When she means equals, she means people will "believe" everyone will be treated as equals, just like Lonato was supposed to "believe" Adrestia was coming to back him up and not just, play minimal part to guarantee their PR but not much more?

That's what we're fighting for, and that is what this war is going to achieve.

But Hubert said this war is a war of conquest ?

So believe me when I say this—I don't care who you are.

And yet Barney is still a nobody commoner, even if pal with the Emperor, when Linhardt is a general?

I only care about what you have done and what you have yet to do.

And what Barney can do with that power you said you don't give a crap about right? But what if Barney's abilities are basically the result of their weird powers, can we still say their power/abilities are irrelevant ?

And, hm, maybe someone can translate this for me ?

人の力に拠る未来を創るため、 すべての犠牲を私は負って立つ！

She says this when she defeats 1k peons, and Googl'd it gives... "To create a future based on the power of people, I will bear all the sacrifices!" - so what this line about not giving figs about "what powers course through you everyone will be treated as an equal"? Could Amelie the lady from Mittelfrank who couldn't end up as a diva be treated like Leopold, or what?

--

Supreme Leader's words being treated as gospel is always imo hilarious, because Supreme Leader has some instances where, when KT's not busy dressing her up with some "Scarlet Blaze Power! Make Up!", she plays the role Arvis already played before her, the dastardly red emperor who manipulates and seizes every opportunity to reach her goals.

In Tru Piss we got the Javelins - but in Nopes? We get those "heart to heart" moments with Hubert that lampshade even more how much of an unreliable narrator Supreme Leader is - she still maintains care to have a level of PR and only confides to trusted people (yay Hubert!) or, in FE16, when, curiously, she has her mask on (Flamey doesn't need PR).

That's why we still have so many pretzels over Rhea's fate in Tru Piss, yes, Supreme Leader claims she wants to spare her when she adresses her in Firdhiad, in front of her allies and the people she has to lie to about her War.

But when she was with Billy? Nah, she can safely tell them that path lead to the death of Rhea and her people, something she rejoices about in their S support.

Too bad Nopes doubled down on "Sailor Adrestia" instead of giving us more of that "Arvis with a skirt" they teased us with (seriously that power move of betraying Rhea in the third chapter was just, that awesome from her part).

#3 nopes #it's upsetting because Fodlan is a treasure trove of missed opportunities #Supreme Leader is one of them #just imagine a game where the world isn't full of pretzels or doesn't end after a S convo if a FB #and Supreme Leader has to use her skills to deceive and manipulate people #instead of them being gullible idiot who suddenly develop amnesia about Flamey in FE16 #or are drunk on 'imperialism yay' kool aid #wait wait wait #I had the wildest AU nonsensical shit right now about Sailor Adrestia #dimitri being Sailor Faerghus #and Lorenz is Sailor Leicester #and twist! the real moon people are lizards and agarthans #some humans inherited their powers through nefarious means #or less than nefarious ones #and rhea was the original sailor adrestia #fuck i'm doomed