#so I am taking it as a win. very low bar but one I am very glad to have met. you know?

[tj-crochets]

Bad news: the coworker I was covering for was supposed to be back today and wasn’t, so I was once again dealing with three times my usual workload*. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow but then I am covering for a different coworker being gone until like mid-next week Good news: I finally figured out what activity my brain has been craving for the last several days! I got stuck in one of those like “cannot start new task until The Task is completed but I do not know what The Task is” loops. It was cleaning! I cleaned a whole bunch and feel a lot better, so I should be able to actually finish something tomorrow Side note, do y’all ever have your brain assign a task Utmost Priority without being able to figure out what task it is? It’s like craving a food but not knowing which food you’re craving.  *it’s difficult to describe why his work is twice as hard for me to do without saying what industry I work in. He’s not doing twice as much work as I am, it’s just transitioning from one person to another makes everyone he works with extra antsy in a way that makes my job harder?

[weaveandwood]

Midnight at the Elfsong

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav Words: 3.6K, NSFW Summary: After arriving at the Elfsong Tavern a few nights ago, Gale and Tav spend the night drinking with their friends and reconnect after facing the realities of their new sleeping situation. AN: Here is the Community Choice Smut One-Shot you all voted for to help me celebrate 300 followers! I hope you like it - I really am pleased with the options that won my poll! Winning Prompts: A whispered "please" slipping out of kiss-bitten lips & Held back noises because they don't want anyone else hearing them

comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Warnings: NSFW (fingering, vaginal sex)

Midnight was a magical time when one was drinking. It was late enough that everyone was in high spirits, yet not so late as to really regret anything the next day. Tav’s new favorite way of passing any evening she wasn’t utterly exhausted was with all of her friends sitting around a large table at the Elfsong Tavern while wine flowed from the bar. Taking a long swig from her cup, she felt a hand brush along the outside of her leather clad thigh before resting on it, halfway between her knee and her hip. She smiled into her cup, glancing at the handsome wizard seated next to her. Of all the times to find love, it never crossed her mind that an abduction by mindflayers would lead her to someone like Gale of Wat- no, Gale Dekarios, as she had learned a couple of days ago on the rooftop in Rivington. She rolled it around in her mind. Dekarios. She meant what she had told him as he pleaded with her to keep it secret - she liked Gale Dekarios better than Gale of Waterdeep.

“Have I ever told you how much I love the leather pants you favor?” his warm voice said softly in her ear, sending a tingle through her body that settled deep in her abdomen. She sat her drink down and turned to face him while the rest of the group was watching an arm wrestling match between Wyll and Halsin. She thought she saw Astarion taking bets in her periphery.

“Only every morning. And every night, before you take them off of me,” she smiled wickedly. She knew from the look in his eyes that he was in a certain kind of mood this evening. She didn’t blame him - she was as well. Staying at the Elfsong, while nice, was also…tricky. They were staying in a large communal room with no privacy at all. She never thought she would miss a tent, but after two nights spent alone…she missed her tent. She missed her bedroll. She missed Gale’s weight on top of her. 

She felt his fingertips slide higher up her thigh, the one thing on his mind now the only thing on hers. Cheers erupted as Halsin bested Wyll, his fists above his head pumping in celebration. A small line of would-be contenders for the arm wrestling champion began to form, each hoping for their chance to take on and beat the ridiculously muscled elf. Gale and Tav clapped and cheered as a defeated but laughing Wyll walked over with his head hung low, Karlach following closely behind.

“I must say, Wyll, you lasted much longer than I would have,” Gale said, pouring some of the nearest bottle of wine into Wyll’s cup before raising his own. “A toast to the Blade of Frontiers, for inspiring the competitions we are all about to witness,” he said, motioning with his eyes to the person currently straining red-faced against Halsin.

Tav leaned in while everyone was sipping their wine after the toast. “I certainly have no complaints about how long you last,” she whispered, smiling to herself when he choked a little on his wine before straightening back up in her chair and refilling her cup with the remains of a bottle. 

The night passed, wine flowing from bottle to cup to mouth, laughter filling the main room of the Elfsong. Gale’s fingers had traversed nearly every inch of Tav’s thigh and were currently snaking under her shirt, toying with her soft skin around the waistband of those leather pants he loved so much. Tracing featherlight circles on her spine. Making her body feel like a coil ready to snap. If she could, she would clear off the table and ride him into oblivion right then and there. 

She reached over, her fingertips brushing his thigh through his pants - a sturdy canvas that fit him well. She made sure to tease him in exactly the same way as he did earlier, slowly moving her hand closer and closer to his hips. She could not resist the temptation to brush across where she could feel the fabric starting to strain against him, his sharp intake of breath indicating her teasing was working. It pleased her to know that her touch had that effect. That it wasn’t just her who felt like she was on fire. He reached across her, his arm brushing against her breasts as he grabbed a bottle of wine before filling both their cups, the small hint of contact causing her to gasp softly.

He looked at her from the corners of his eyes while sipping from his wine, his fingers resuming their lazy journey across her lower body from their previous location on her back. They traced a slow, agonizing path around her, using the waistband of her suddenly too-tight leather pants as a guide. Goosebumps trailed across her soft, sensitive skin in the wake of his touch. She was intently focused on each sensation - the prickling of her skin, the heat of his fingers, the din of the Elfsong becoming muted as her heart pounded in her ears. Everything was amplified, everything was beginning to become too much.

Karlach leaned across the table and began a conversation with Gale, though from the way he applied slightly more pressure as he reached the fastenings of her pants, Tav never would have guessed his thoughts were doing anything other than figuring out ways to make her feel like she would be set ablaze. She took another drink - how many bottles had they gone through this evening? Not that it mattered - every day they ambled back into camp was worthy of celebration. Another battle survived, another day won. Her thoughts came back to the present when his fingers began their slow descent down the front seam of her pants over her lower stomach. She looked at him out of her corner of her eyes, but he was fully engaged in conversation. She felt his hand reach the meeting of her thighs, and her breath caught in her throat while her legs parted slightly for him in her chair. Thank the gods there wasn’t a chair next to her, she thought while feeling his fingers touching her through the thin leather. Surely her cheeks were going pink by now, but she would easily be able to blame that on the wine. 

She closed her eyes as she took another sip. Nothing existed outside of the feeling of his hand now resting between her thighs, his middle finger pressing against her in a smooth, slow motion. Her breathing slowed and she willed herself to maintain her composure, no matter how much she wanted to rip her pants off and make him kneel before her and use that practiced tongue he bragged about so often. Cheers sounded out again around them - Wyll was going back for a rematch and Karlach left to be his moral support and coach. They were alone again. She smiled to herself and leaned over. 

“Having fun tormenting me?” She teased, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his neck, her hand moving back to his lap where his pants now strained even further. She wasn’t sure how much more they could take. How much more she could take. 

“I always delight in making you feel good, my love,” he said in that smooth way of his, the devilish look in his eyes betraying the innocence and sincerity of his words. She felt him twitch beneath her hand. It would be so easy to tease him, to torment him the same way he was delighting in tormenting her…but it had been two days, and she needed him inside her. Desperately. 

“I’m going to the room. It looks like everyone is going to be occupied here for some time, and I’d like to get these pants off,” she whispered into his ear, feeling him still as she nipped at his earlobe lightly, hoping her message got across. Follow me, while we have it to ourselves. He made eye contact with her and nodded. He placed two fingers on top of her hand. Two minutes then. Plenty of time to make it look like they weren’t leaving together just to go defile their new campsite.

She kissed his cheek and stood up, saying goodnight to no one in particular as she made her way through the crowd and up the staircase to their room on the top floor of the Elfsong, the sound of lively music and cheering following her. She could feel his eyes on her back, burning through her as she walked. 

The door to their room creaked softly as she opened it, the vast space lit only by the dim moonlight coming from one side of the sleeping space. She padded over to her area of the room, the most communal of all the spaces with no semblance of privacy - just four beds against the walls. More beds were scattered in the other sections of the room with a sitting area in the center. Who would ever need a room this large? She sat on her bed, testing the angle. The door was difficult to see from where she was - at least if someone came in unexpectedly, they wouldn’t be immediately exposed.

Tav quickly stripped out of her clothing, not wanting to waste a second of their precious time alone. It lay in a heap on the floor - out of the way and carelessly discarded as she made herself comfortable and waited. Not long after she found herself settled on the bed, the door to their room creaked slowly open, the warm light of the hallway flooding the entry of the room briefly before it shut, the faintest silvered glow coming in through the windows across the room now the only light once more. The floor creaked softly as  Gale made his way to her. A delighted smile grew on his face once his eyes adjusted to the almost darkness and he saw her waiting for him, completely naked. 

“Gods, Tav,” he whispered, climbing on to the bed beside her. “I will never get used to the sight of you before me.” He kissed her deeply, roughly, their lips immediately parting and their tongues sliding against each other, while hands grasped at each other like they hadn’t touched in months. “I have been wanting to do that all night,” he smiled before kissing her again, his fingers trailing up her thighs as they had all night. With no leather to act as a buffer, Tav’s skin blazed in their path as if he was branding her with his touch. Her body could only be his, she wanted it to only be his. His fingers continued the path they traveled down in the tavern, quickly finding her center and parting it to find her already slick with want for him. He kissed her neck, moaning against her skin as he easily slid two fingers into her, needing to feel her around him. 

“Please,” she moaned softly, the sound slipping through her kiss-bitten lips. “I need you, Gale,” she whispered, pulling his shirt from his tight trousers so she could put her hands on his skin, warm from drink and arousal. Her hips rocked as his fingers slid in and out, curling against the sensitive spot inside of her. Gods, he knew just how to touch her to drive her wild. 

Abruptly, he pulled his hand out of her, bringing the two fingers to his mouth as he licked them clean. “It is a travesty I won’t be able to taste you fully tonight. I long to have your legs slung over my shoulders and my face buried between your thighs.” He gave her a wicked grin and he quickly pulled off his shirt, tossing it on the heap of discarded clothing before unfastening his trousers and pulling them off along with his underwear in a motion so smooth and quick, Tav was mildly convinced he used magic. 

Tav took a moment to appreciate him - his lean athletic build, his muscular thighs, his perfect forearms, the fine dusting of hair that covered his chest and led down his stomach to one of her favorite body parts. Pulling him out of that portal was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Since that night beneath the stars a tenday ago in the Shadow Cursed Lands, she had never known such pleasure though she had been with plenty of others in the time before the tadpole. That was how her life was divided now - before and after the tadpole, and looking at Gale, resplendent and naked before her, she wouldn’t change a thing.

“You are a work of art,” she smiled before grabbing his arm, pulling him on top of her. She could feel how hard he was as he brushed against her thigh, leaving a small drop of moisture on her. He was as turned on as she was. Good, she thought. “Now, Gale Dekarios,” she emphasized the Dekarios, “would you please fuck me until I see stars?” 

He laughed and kissed her deeply, using his thigh to push her legs further apart so he could settle between them more comfortably. His tip brushed against her, and grabbing the base, he parted her just as he did moments ago, sliding up and down from her entrance to her clit and teasing her as he loved to do, “My love, when you put it like that, how can I resist?” he said before pressing into her just enough for her to close her eyes and moan loudly. He looked down, watching himself enter her fully. Her warm tightness wrapped around him and she fit him like a glove. There would never be a better feeling than this, even the Weave itself could not compare to the magic between Tav’s hips. He pulled back out, leaving in just the tip, admiring the way his length glistened with her wetness. Knowing he affected her that way, that she wanted his body as much as he wanted hers…that more than that, she wanted his love, his soul, his mind - it drove him crazy. He couldn’t hold back. He drove into her, their bodies hitting as he fully seated himself inside her. He repeated. In, out, in, out. His gaze was drawn to her breasts as they bounced with each thrust, those lovely breasts he loved to knead and suck. His eyes moved to her face, her eyes closed and head thrown back in absolute pleasure. He sped up. He wanted so many things - wanted to take her roughly tonight, wanted to make up for wasted nights spent in solitude, wanted to hear her scream his name so all the Elfsong could hear. She panted and writhed underneath him, her nails digging into his thighs and marking him with little half moons. 

“Please…Gale…more…I nee-”

Warm light flooded the room again as the door opened, the sound of drunken companions stumbling in. 

“Shit,” she whispered while Gale summoned a sheet to quickly cover them entirely as he leaned down and laid on top of her. They both stifled giggles at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“Do you want me to…?” Gale asked, starting to pull out of her. She grabbed his arm tightly. 

“Don’t you dare. Finish what you started, wizard,” she whispered before kissing him deeply, pulling away slowly to minimize any noise. “We will just have to be quiet,” she smiled against his mouth. Luckily no one would be using this area beside her tonight. The area of the room was also where Dame Aylin and Isolbel usually stayed, though they were not here tonight. Probably doing the same thing Tav and Gale were. Good for them, she thought to herself before her focus was pulled back to her current situation. Gale had pulled out of her and was turning her so she was on her side, facing the outside of the bed while he pressed against her back. He reached down, lifting one of her legs, balancing it on top of his before guiding himself slowly back into her. 

His body was so warm and it felt like he was everywhere. His chest was pressed to her shoulder blades, one arm was wrapped around her, just under her breasts, and the other grasped her thigh tightly to keep it in place as he moved in and out of her once again - slower, less frantic. His hips rolled against her, and he let out the softest moan into her ear. This was even hotter than being taken roughly. Their friends were half a room away and here she was, feeling the highest bliss imaginable. He adjusted his arm, grabbing one of her breasts. His fingers kneaded the soft flesh and pinched her hard nipple. Tav had to bite her lip to keep from moaning out loud - he knew how much she liked that. She could sense his playful smile against her skin as he kissed her shoulder. 

“I can’t resist,” he whispered, pinching her other nipple and kneading her other breast while keeping his steady pace, making her bite her lip again to keep silent. The hand that once held her thigh was now gripping her hips, pulling her back against him with each slow, steady roll of his own hips - he wanted to get even deeper inside her, as if that were possible. 

“Gods,” Tav whispered, finding it nearly impossible to keep quiet - she was overloaded with sensation. She felt his hand move from her breast down the center line of her stomach, further and further until he reached her clit, circling it lightly. She jerked roughly back against him and clasped a hand against her mouth, turning her head into the pillow. She wouldn’t be able to keep it in much longer. Her free hand clasped around the wrist on her hips, using it as leverage to grind back against him as those wonderful, magical fingers rubbed her in time to his thrusts. Her body flowed against him and she was molten, lava filling her veins. The sheet trapped their body heat, a thin layer of sweat now coating both their bodies. She felt herself starting to lose composure, her hips moving quicker as the fire in her veins settled low in her abdomen where the two of them were joined. Soft pants were the only noise filling the space surrounding them.

“Come for me, Tav,” he whispered, so soft she almost couldn’t make it out. He knew she was close, he could feel how tight she was getting around him. He pressed against her clit a little harder, his fingers bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She felt every inch of him slide in and out of her, a perfect fit. 

“Gale…I don’t..I don’t know if I can keep quiet,” she whispered, desperation in her words as she got closer and closer. 

“This is what you wanted,” he whispered, his hot breath warming her ear and the side of her neck before he kissed it in that spot she loved and continued rubbing her clit, fucking her slowly, deliberately, deeply…so deeply. Gale knew she was normally loud when she came, and he loved it. Hearing her cry out his name as her body shuddered around him, knowing he could bring her to such heights was a thrill for him. He was so close to his own release, and had been thinking about spilling inside her all night. The thought of feeling her pulse around him was enough to drive him right to the edge. “Come for me,” he whispered again. “Now.”

As if on command, he felt her tighten around him before crashing over the edge. A gasp sounded from her, and he quickly clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle it, to avoid alerting anyone to what they were doing. She turned her face back into the pillow and panted against his hand, breathing heavily as she came. Her entire body shook as she contained what would normally be exclamations to the gods about how good he fucked her. He buried his head against her shoulder, using her skin to muffle his own pants and stifled groans as he felt himself topple over that same edge, filling her just as he longed to do these past days. He held on to her tightly, pressing every inch of her body against him as he pulsed inside her. 

Their breathing slowed and he pulled out of her, laying on his back and throwing the sheet off of them to feel the cool air of the room against his skin. The room was silent except for the sound of drunken snoring from their companions, their plan a success. Tav turned to her other side, facing him, and he traced the curves of her body with a finger. He would never tire of it, every dip, rise, curve, and scar was part of the topography of her body he wanted to memorize. Her breathing slowed and her eyes fluttered - sleep was near for both of them. 

Pulling the sheet back up, he kissed her softly. He pulled her in next to him - the bed was hardly big enough for the both of them, but it was worth it to feel her next to him.

“I love you, Gale,” she whispered before sleep took her. 

“I love you, Tav,” he smiled and whispered back. He stayed awake for a few moments before sleep overcame him as well, the night’s events replaying through his dreams.

[emma23]

Outflirted:

Poe dameron x reader

Summary: Poe Dameron meets his match in a flirty battle and is so caught off guard that, for a brief moment, he forgets his own name. But in this game of one-upmanship, sparks fly, and Poe finds himself losing more than just his usual cool demeanor.

————————————————————————

The cantina on the outer rim planet of D’Qar was buzzing with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and a cacophony of voices talking over each other. It was a rare night off for the pilots of the Resistance, and they were making the most of it. Poe Dameron sat at the bar, his usual charming smirk plastered on his face, as he sipped a drink that tasted vaguely like space rum. He scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow fighters, all enjoying a moment of reprieve.

His eyes landed on you, a pilot he had seen around but had never really talked to. You were standing by the dartboard, your posture relaxed, with a confident smile on your lips as you chatted with Jess Pava. You were dressed in your standard pilot gear, but there was something about the way you carried yourself that made you stand out. Maybe it was the way you threw your head back when you laughed, or the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. Whatever it was, Poe found himself captivated.

“Well, well,” he muttered to himself, draining the rest of his drink. “Guess I’ve found my entertainment for the evening.”

Poe slid off his barstool and made his way over to where you were standing, the smirk on his face growing wider with every step. He was Poe Dameron, after all—the best pilot in the Resistance, the hero of the galaxy, and a notorious charmer. People fell over themselves to talk to him. This was going to be a piece of cake.

“Mind if I join?” Poe asked as he reached your side, his voice smooth and casual. “I’m a bit of a darts aficionado, you know.”

You turned to look at him, one eyebrow arching in a way that made Poe’s stomach flip. “Aficionado, huh?” you replied, a playful lilt in your voice. “That’s a big word for a flyboy. Did you learn that in pilot school?”

Poe was taken aback for a split second before he recovered, flashing you his signature smile. “Actually, I learned it from a very wise old Jedi. You might’ve heard of him—Luke Skywalker?”

You laughed, a sound that was both melodic and challenging. “You’re full of it, Dameron. But sure, you can join. If you’re as good as you say, maybe you’ll actually give me some competition.”

He grinned. This was already more fun than he’d had in weeks. “I don’t think you’re ready for what I can do,” he teased, stepping closer, so close he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo. “In fact, I’m not sure anyone is.”

You leaned in, not backing down in the slightest. “Careful, Poe. I might just hold you to that.”

Poe blinked. He was used to being the one who did the flirting, the one who threw people off their game. But here you were, matching him move for move, word for word. It was... exhilarating. He hadn’t felt this alive since his last dogfight.

“All right, then,” he said, picking up a dart and aiming it at the board. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The two of you spent the next half-hour throwing darts, each round punctuated by a volley of playful insults and banter. You were good—really good. Poe could tell you weren’t even trying to win; you were just enjoying the game, toying with him, pushing him to see how far he could go.

“You know,” Poe said, after missing the bullseye by a fraction of an inch, “if you keep making me miss, I’m going to start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

You laughed again, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your voice low and teasing. “Or maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are.”

Poe’s jaw dropped. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. His mind went blank, his usual quick wit abandoning him. Who was this person, and how were you making him feel like an awkward teenager with a crush?

You seemed to notice his momentary lapse, and your grin widened. “Cat got your tongue, Dameron?” you asked, stepping closer. “Or am I just too much for you to handle?”

Poe shook his head, trying to regain his composure. “Oh, I can handle you,” he said, his voice a little huskier than he intended. “Trust me, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

“Is that so?” you asked, your eyes glinting with challenge. “Well then, why don’t you prove it?”

————————————————————————

The next thing Poe knew, he was back in his quarters, with you pressed against him, your lips locked in a kiss that was both fiery and demanding. The room was spinning, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or from the way you were making him feel.

You broke the kiss, just long enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. “You’re not so bad, Dameron,” you murmured, your hands sliding under his shirt. “But let’s see if you can keep up.”

He growled, pulling you closer, his hands roaming over your back. “Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” he said, before capturing your lips in another kiss.

You didn’t waste time. You pushed him back toward the bed, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, each touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. Poe fumbled with the zipper of your jumpsuit, his hands shaking slightly, but you were there to help, shrugging out of the garment and letting it pool at your feet.

Poe paused, taking in the sight of you, your skin glowing in the dim light, your eyes dark with desire. You were beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever imagined. He reached out, his fingers tracing a path down your arm, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“See something you like?” you asked, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Everything,” he breathed, pulling you down onto the bed with him.

You both fell into a frenzy of kisses and touches, your hands mapping each other’s bodies, learning every curve, every scar. There was an urgency to it, a hunger that neither of you could deny. Poe kissed his way down your neck, nipping at your collarbone, making you gasp. He loved the sound, loved knowing that he was the one making you feel this way.

“Poe,” you murmured, your voice a breathy whisper. “I want you.”

“Say it again,” he demanded, his mouth moving lower, tasting the salt of your skin.

“Poe,” you repeated, your hands tangling in his hair. “Please.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He positioned himself above you, his eyes locking with yours as he pushed into you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain. He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. The sight of you, lost in the moment, drove him wild.

He began to move, slowly at first, savoring every thrust, every gasp that escaped your lips. You met his rhythm, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, each movement sending waves of pleasure through both of you.

“Faster,” you urged, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Poe obliged, increasing his pace, driving into you with a force that made you cry out. The sound of your voice, raw and unfiltered, was like music to his ears. He was close, so close, and he could tell you were too.

“Poe, I’m—” you began, but the words were lost in a moan as you tumbled over the edge, your body tightening around him, pulling him over with you. He groaned your name, his vision going white as he found his release.

You lay there for a moment, both of you breathing hard, the afterglow of your passion settling over you like a warm blanket. Poe rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, so you were lying on his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

“Well,” you said, after a long silence. “That was… unexpected.”

Poe chuckled, his fingers stroking your hair. “Yeah, it was.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a mischievous grin. “So, Dameron, do you still think you can handle me?”

He grinned back, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m sure as hell going to enjoy trying.”

You laughed, a sound that made his heart swell. He knew then that this wasn’t just a one-time thing. This was something more, something real. And for the first time in a long time, Poe Dameron was looking forward to whatever came next.

Back in the cantina the next evening, Jess Pava leaned over to Finn and whispered, “Looks like Dameron finally met his match.”

Finn followed her gaze to where you and Poe were sitting together, heads close, talking and laughing as if no one else in the room existed. He smiled, raising his glass in a silent toast. “About time,” he said. “About time.

[dr-spectre]

Ranting about Salmon Run...

As someone who loves this mode and thinks it's the best multiplayer mode in Splatoon 3. The scale system in it is dogshit and needs to change in the next game. It's genuinely awful and terrible game design in my opinion.

In order to get scales you must encounter a King Salmonid, the amount of scales you get is determined by your current rank and if you win or lose. Now to even get to a King Salmonid, you must do several matches to increase the chance of encountering one. Guess how long each Salmon Run match is... 300 seconds/5 minutes. Actually it's a little bit longer than that because you have to take into account queuing times, the wait time at the start of the match and the 10 seconds you get to prepare in each round.

Let's say you need to do 5 matches to even encounter the King Salmonid, you have to go through a little over 25 to 30 MINUTES to get a CHANCE to fight the king. AND GUESS WHAT! EVEN IF THE ICON IS FULL! THERE'S STILL A CHANCE YOU WON'T EVEN GET TO FIGHT A KING!!! WHY!??!? WHY IS IT LIKE THAT!??! I WENT THROUGH 5 MATCHES WHEN THE BAR WAS FULL AND YET I DIDN'T ENCOUNTER A KING AT ALL!!!! IT WAS A GIANT WASTE OF TIME!!!!!! (aside from ability chunks i guess) I GOT OTHER GAMES TO PLAY!!!!!

This icon is a fucking lie, a god damn lie i tell you! Even if it's full, your other teammates have to have theirs full as well apparently. So.. YAY! AWESOME! ughhhh........

Now let's talk about when you actually get the scales, there's a very high chance you will get barely any scales because you lost and you're in a low rank, OR, you won't get a single gold scale for several Xtrawaves. Meaning you have to go through the process of building up the meter again and again AND AGAIN to get a chance to get a single fucking gold scale. Do you see the issue here? The insanely long grind? It's fucking horrible.

Oh yeah and by the way, the chance of you getting a gold scale gets higher when you're in a higher rank, however this becomes an issue when you realise that the higher ranks are REALLY REALLY hard and it's near impossible to make it to the Xtrawave unless you have an amazing team. So yeah, good luck trying to maintain a high rank and actually beat the King Salmonid to get a chance of getting a gold scale!!!!!!!

Man... This is giving me a god damn headache.

Now, let's talk about the rewards you get. I'm gonna come right out and say it, you are never EVER getting any of these rewards.

Unless you actually hack the game or you abandon every aspect of your life just to get a bunch of fucking pngs for your splashtag, you will never EVER EVER EVER GET THEM! They are flat out impossible and if you see someone have any of these, they are a hacker and need to get reported.

And the gear that people actually want, well... LOOK AT THIS!

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY 800 BRONZE SCALE ITEMS!??! WHY?!?!?! WHYYYY?!!?!? Sometimes in Xtrawaves you may not even get 10 OF THESE! SO WHY MAKE IT TO WHERE MOST OF THE GEAR PEOPLE ACTUALLY WANT 800 GOD DAMN SCALES??!? If you got like 30 or 50 each time then maybe it would make sense, BUT NO! IT'S LIKE 5 TO 12!! WHYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have been playing this game since launch and i only have the Octoleet Armor. THAT IS IT! There is a difference between rewarding the player and just doing monotonous grinding.

I am glad that Splatoon doesn't do what other games do nowadays and just has microtransactions to skip through grinding and pay an insane fee for currency. But like... Overwatch 2 is less grindy than this, you can comfortably get skins in that game for characters you like just by doing challenges and playing a bit of the game every day, and that game has SKINS THAT COST 58 BUCKS AUD!

That's all i wanted to say, I'm getting a headache just typing this because my god man, this is just awful game design and a poor way of rewarding the player and keeping retention time. Truly awful.

[moonshynecybin]

Any updates you’d want to share of your incredible marc 31&unfucked/airport rosquez wip? Or do you move in silence

twink for sale. never fucked. part one here, part two here ! yet again i have not reread the previous parts so these idiots might very well be talkin in circles. c'est la vie i am what i am.

Marc leans against the counter of the bar, a thick slab of slightly sticky wood covered in a mess of elbows and drinks. It’s not exactly a dive, but it’s unpretentious, laid back. Marc likes it. Likes the sound of the music and the smell of cigarette smoke.

The Ducati crew are all here, plus the Gresini people— celebrating an all-Ducati podium that saw Pecco roaring away into the distance before anyone could figure out a way to catch him, shades of Jorge Lorenzo. Marc had snapped up P3. Whatever.

He sighs. Studies the menu like he isn’t just going to order the same thing he always does.

Alex is feeling sick— staying at the hotel— and he doesn’t even know why he’s here. It's nice, but he doesn’t really know anyone. He wants to text Santi, see what the people at Honda are up to, but he balks. Someone might run a headline, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He'll call them later, when he gets back to Spain, and link up for dinner then.

He orders his mojito and pauses, caught as a warm hand lands on his shoulder. He looks over, expecting one of his mechanics or someone from the factory team. Instead— Valentino. VR46 must’ve been invited as well. 

A grin splits his face before he can help it. 

“You still order the same drink.” Vale muses, like poking that particular bruise doesn’t even hurt him. He just— remembers Marc’s drink order like it’s nothing,

Marc ducks his head. “Shut up,”

“No, it’s just, you said– you are older now, yes? I thought maybe you would make a change?”

“Why should I? I like what I like.”

Vale flags the bartender and asks for a Negroni, curls his long hand against the glass. Marc catches his eyes on the bones of a wrist, the way it looks in the low lighting. He blinks.

He doesn't know what’s going on with him lately. 

Vale leans closer, looks around, conspiratorial. Grin white sharp in yellow light, shirt gaping at the collar to expose the long lines of his neck. He raises a finger at Marc.

“You know, Bez has a bet about you,”

“Bezzecchi?” Marc asks, pulling back into himself— he’s never called him Bez, isn’t about to start now.

Vale tilts a chin over to the corner, where Bezzecchi and Pecco seem locked in some sort of boozy, animated discussion. Marc catches snatches of words in Italian: tattoo, turbo, braking.

“What bet?” He asks, turning back to watch Vale take a sip of his drink. It’s a wonder there’s not a camera on them. Although— he thinks about that headline. Friends again. Maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“That you will not win another title,” Vale says casually, smacking his lips around the bitter of his drink. 

They’ve never been two people known for playing it safe.

Marc hums, fiddles with his bar napkin. “Oh, does he?” He doesn’t mention the bet he’s been told Uccio has. Four thousand dollars towards the same.

Vale nods. Places an elbow next to Marc on the bar and leans. Marc catches a whiff of his cologne— something spicy.

“Why should I care?” Marc shrugs, plays confused. He doesn’t— it’s Bezzecchi. He’s always been a bit weird about Marc. After Valencia last year, Marc has just written him off completely. One of Vale’s devotees too caught up in their history to think clearly for himself.

Vale laughs. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

“And what about you?” Marc prods, a little spiky. He's pretty sure he knows the answer. “What do you think? Will I win?” 

Vale tilts his head. 

“You could do it,” and Marc stares. “—if it rains.” Is the punchline that drags a smile back to him like a punch to the gut.

“Ah, I see. Master in the wet.” Marc waggles his eyebrows and Vale chuffs a laugh, scrubs a hand down his face like he’s embarrassed he finds Marc funny. 

“No no, but you’re the only one crazy enough— Brno 2019,” He reminds Marc. “Why was it raining for us and not for you?”

Marc doubles over, presses his smile into his palm. He still can’t quite believe this is happening— that Vale still knows how to twist the knife enough to make it sweet instead of making it hurt, teasing in ways that make Marc bark a laugh instead of blink away the burning feeling in his stomach. Now the joke is— how bad it got is almost funny. The ludicrousness of their falling out. His injury. Vale retiring. Leaving Honda. and Marc shouldn’t be laughing really, but Vale’s always found a way to thrive in the comedic incongruity of a situation. How the hell did we even get here? Is the question, and they both seem to find it abruptly hilarious, tension snaking ephemerally away from them as they giggle like children.

Vale regroups, catching his breath, “Bah, anyways. Pecco will be very, very strong. Hard to beat when he is giving 100%.” 

It’s probably the truth. It’s what he should say. Marc doesnt think he means it, and his smile grows.

He pretends to think. “Yes. He is. But I'm not trying to be greedy— nine is, nine would be a good number.” Continuing their theme—half a jab, half a joke—a test. Are they there yet, he's asking, can Vale take the same treatment from Marc? Daring Vale to confirm all his worst assumptions. If he’s going to pull back, get it over with. Pull him down to earth from where it feels like he’s floating away.

“Not as good as ten, no?” Vale says smoothly, and it would sound like taking the bait but his voice is still a tease, and his smile is still there, and he’s still next to Marc. Leans closer, even.

Marc doesn’t think he’s blinked in the last 45 seconds.

“No,” Marc lets every bit of his confidence into his voice. Nine times world champion is good, but Vale is right. He wants ten. “No, it’s not.”

“Ah, so that is the plan? Beat me?” Vale pulls another sip from his drink, leaning on the bar like he owns it. 

Marc shrugs, grins hugely. “Beat everyone. These guys— they are not better than you, and they are not better than me.”

“Maybe not.” Vale’s looking at him, eyes sparkling, and Marc’s melting down, like sugar dissolving into tea.

He clears his throat. Maybe the mojito is stronger than he thought. He hasn’t— they’ve never talked about it like this. He hasn’t wanted to talk about this. But he likes that it’s happening now, somehow. That it’s happening like this, like it’s the past instead of the present.

“Eh, you know, you’ve been coming to a lot of races.” 

“I have people I want to see.” Vale says, which could mean a lot of things, and “Old friends included,” which could mean less things but also isn’t necessarily any less confusing. Then he taps a finger on the edge of Marc’s drink, a non sequitur. “Can I try?”

Marc nods, feels like his brain is running a step behind his body. Watches Vale move the straw to take a sip from the rim, then think through the taste hitting his tongue.

“Do you like it?”

Vale shrugs, noncommittal, then pushes his glass towards Marc. He puts his hand on the back of Marc’s neck. 

“Here. Try mine.”

“No, no no— I have had Negronis. Too bitter.” Marc says, even as he raises the drink to his lips. There's no straw in this one, just lips against glass. He wonders if it’s the same spot Vale had been drinking from earlier.

Bitter aromatics burst in his mouth. He makes a face against the strength of it, feels Vale’s laugh through his hand on the back of his neck. He shivers a little, it’s— he doesn’t know why he's doing that.

He decides not to think about it. It could be cold in here, he hasn’t really been paying attention.

“Ah, you’re one of those with a sweet tooth?” Vale takes his drink back from the well of Marc’s hand, and their fingers zap a little static shock that makes Marc feel brave.

Marc winks. “I am guilty.”

Vale just— looks at him. And they’ve done a lot of that in their history, looked at each other, tried to ascertain the next move to make on track or the next mind game to use in a press conference— but this feels different. Marc feels different. His skin feels tight and his head feels dizzy and his heart is pounding, and through it all Vale keeps looking, and he doesn’t quite know what to say or what to do, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

There's a big cry from the other side of the room, breaking his train of thought— some mechanics in a rowdy conversation of some sort, and Marc becomes hyper aware of how exposed they are right now. Anyone could see— well, he doesn’t know quite what, but he knows he doesn’t want them to see it. He shifts, darts eyes to the exit.

He wants to leave, and it could be the alcohol, but Vale’s face is pretty much the exact thing that Marc wants to see right now.

“Want to head back?” Marc asks, feeling a little reckless— it’s a flyaway, he’s pretty sure they’re all packed inside the same hotel.

Vale considers him for a minute, and as Marc waits for him to speak he wonders if the booze is catching up to him. The world feels like it’s rushing around his ears. 

“For sure.” Vale murmurs, and when he takes his hand off of Marc’s neck he can feel it slide all the way down his back.

When they get into the Uber, Marc looks at his phone and gives a little groan. Tries to shake it off. Feel more sober. Reassert some normalcy from their earlier tension. Vale and him– they haven't been friends in eight (Or nine? Marc thinks, Is it nine?) years. There’s bound to be growing pains.

“It’s so early.” He groans.

Vale nods. It is.

“I’m old.” Marc continues, reminded of their conversation in the airport. It’s true now— with Aleix going, he’ll be the veteran. How did that happen. You can’t talk to me about old, Vale had said. But he finds that he wants to.

“You are not old,” Vale echoes, with emphasis, like Marc’s insane. What does he know, he’s even older.

Marc puts a hand on his bad arm, which hurts. Slides down in the seat a little, loose with alcohol. He's such a lightweight now. He lets out a big sigh.

Vale nudges him. He's got a look on his face— that same conspiratorial one from the bar earlier, and Marc cranes his neck up.

“Marc,”

“Yeah?” God, his eyes are blue.

“Tell me— do you want to pay Bez back?”

“What?” Marc croaks, not really processing what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to talk about Bezzecchi— he can still see the skin between Vale’s shirt and his neck, can’t stop looking at it. He leans in heavily. Thinks about a world where Vale puts a hand on the inside of his thigh and leans right back.

“Yeah.” Vale flips up his hand to flash a hotel key card. probably Bezzecchi’s. He grins, waiting for Marc to get the joke, and after a moment— it clicks. Laughter explodes out of Marc’s chest. 

It's been a minute since Valentino and him were on the inside of something. In cahoots, instead of at odds, and he feels— energized. Adrenaline creeping into him like an old friend. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel old at all, and he wants to get out and do something— sweat, dance, move, fuck. Get Vale to keep smiling at him. Ruin Bezzecchi’s day. Win another race this year. Win a championship.

For once, he sure that Vale feels about the same.

It's quick work for them to break in and hide all of Bezz’s socks.

Marc overhears him, the next race in the paddock—that Vale wasn’t supposed to be at but is anyways. They’re talking about the missing socks, and Vale is loudly and smoothly blaming it on Pecco. When Marc passes, Vale catches his eye, easy,  and shoots him a sly wink.

Marc floats on air all the way back to his box

[williamsracinggf]

you don't go to parties * vrau

what would life be like if they'd never resolved their issues after their crash in montreal?

word count: 1.8k

notes: hi posting on here again bc the lack of applause is kinda driving me crazy idk sue me i guess

in case you're not aware, disneyprincemuke got shadowbanned and i reFUUUUUSE to not be the centre of attention when i poured my whole pussy into a fic so here i am using my main to post </3 (i live for the applause)

(series masterlist) | (📂 in every other life)

she looks around the bar, heart pounding in her head as she tries to sift out for a familiar face in the crowd of the club. her face and name are plastered on every single screen of the bar, as per max’s drunken request when he got here before she could. apparently, winning your first championship doesn’t grant you the immunity to escape media commitments; it actually gives you more. especially when you’re the first woman, and you’ve set the new record as the youngest driver to ever win it.

everyone she loves and wants to celebrate with is here in this club with her right now, except the one person she prayed and hoped would show up for her.

realistically, she should be happy. in fact, she should be ecstatic that she’s finally managed to prove all of the doubters wrong. but her heart is heavy and she’s got tears in her eyes as she continually looks around with hope that the person she wants to be here, changed his mind. but no.

she’s walked about 3 rounds in the club, went high and low searching for the familiarity that his company brought her. alas, he is nowhere to be found.

she didn’t want to believe sebastian at first when he told her that he saw logan leaving the paddocks shortly after the evening was over for him. and he knew that for a fact because the american had bid him a cheerful goodbye before leaving the paddocks with his girlfriend.

“why are you all alone here, world champ?” max hums, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. he pulls her into his side and presses a kiss on her temple as he guides her through the crowd around them. “you’re supposed to be with us celebrating — not hanging out here by yourself. everyone’s been waiting for you at the vip area.”

she looks up at him, lips turned down into a frown as she follows him willingly. she hesitates asking her question — they’ve been over this several times since it had blown up in her face — but she does, anyway. she takes a deep breath and cranes her neck back to look at logan. “have you seen logan anywhere?”

“oh.” max stops in the crowd, earning them a couple of curses from intoxicated clubgoers. “you’re looking for logan.”

max isn’t saying that he’s upset to hear the question. although, if anyone were to ask him, he’d prefer not to discuss this right now on one of the most important nights of her life. plus, they’ve talked about logan over and over.

“yeah. i haven’t see him at all since we stood on the podium tonight,” she says softly in a shakey voice. “have you seen him?”

she saw him very briefly as she was presented with the race trophy. she caught his gaze as he watched from the crowd below, hovering not too far away from the crowd that had formed, his jaw clenched and his arms folded over his chest. she tried to smile at him, but the older man simply turned and walked away before she could.

she tried searching for him in the paddocks, but she couldn’t catch up to him the one time she saw him. a reporter had stopped her before she could make a run after him.

max presses his lips together and looks down at her. should he just tell her the truth? but something tells him that she already knows that logan isn’t in attendance tonight. perhaps sebastian told her and she just needs another person to find reason with? “mate…”

she laughs dryly, immediately wiping the tear that’s fallen out of her eyes. “yeah. okay, let’s just go.”

she pushes max away slightly and starts walking back in the direction they were heading originally. she doesn’t know why she’s still so upset over it. the season has come and gone without logan’s friendship — that’s about 5 long months of attempting to get over their downfall.

“mate, come on,” max sighs, pulling her back into him. “you can’t keep dwelling over it, you know? you approached him and he simply didn’t want to be friends anymore. you did what you could.”

perhaps max is right. to an extent, she thinks. she will tell you that you are right to an extent when you bring up the fact to her — the fact that she did eventually tried reaching out to logan after she put her pride aside and apologised to him.

“i could have done more,” she says firmly, grabbing max’s arm to tear his grip from her. “i shouldn’t have been so stupid in canada. i wound up fucking winning the championship, anyway.”

max shakes his head. it seems that no one can get through to her. it’s been 5 months since the incident where they crashed out in montreal and when she fell out with logan. he never thought that there would be another falling out as bad as this in the sport.

when it first happened, sebastian had tried to talk the girl out of her anger. she was insistent, for a week after the crash, that she was right and logan’s wrong; that logan should be the one apologising to her. he desperately scraped at what he could to get her to talk to him, knowing how bad it’s gotten — she didn’t even bother heading back to their shared apartment after that weekend, she stayed in her parent’s home for the next week after the canadian grandprix.

mark had also tried stepping in to talk her out of it, but nothing the australian said to her ever stuck. oscar had finally stepped forward as well, eventually, to try and get his best friends to make up. even he wasn’t enough of a bargaining chip.

and then the most unexpected duo decided to come together, much to their own dismay, to try and talk to her. lewis and nico spoke to her together and snapped her out of her blind anger. she would wind up showing up to their apartment with an apology and 2 tubs of ice cream.

only to find out that logan had already moved out over the 2-week break without saying anything to anyone.

she tried reaching out and approaching logan in the paddocks thereafter, but the older man was simply not interested in rekindling the friendship. he would be civil with her when he had to, but overall, he would avoid her like they hadn’t spent the past half of their lives under the same household and growing up together.

as hard as it was for her, imagine how difficult it was for oscar to be in the middle of all that. it had gotten increasingly difficult to manage hanging out with either. when he had taken a step back to reflect and think about it, logan realistically needed him more than she did.

so when she thought she’d only lost one best friend, she’d unknowingly lost two at the time.

but she didn’t lose oscar the same way she lost logan. while oscar kept some distance from her, choosing logan’s plans over hers and talking to her less, his way of going about it hurt her more than logan’s disappearance from her life ever did.

it’s like he was there, but not there.

which is why it’s a shock that oscar stayed in the paddocks for her after she cleaned herself from the champagne showers with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

at that point, she hasn’t hung out with oscar since their weekend in barcelona for their race, so she didn’t ask any questions. she just left the paddocks with oscar and mick, trying to brush off the odd and uncomfortable feeling that would rise up whenever she remembered the state of their friendship. but what’s important was that oscar showed up for her again when she needed him.

she just wishes logan would come out and do the same.

she stumbles forward as a body hits her shoulder on accident. “oh!” oscar screams with a smile. he slings his arm around her shoulder. “we were looking for you, mate! we’re gonna order the house special for the world champion!”

it hurt oscar to distance himself from her — he didn’t only lose her when he did that, he also lost blythe, ciara and dalton in the process.

while the 3 younger siblings understood and kept their distance as well after the fight, he couldn’t help but feel empty at the way they were so good at doing that out of respect for their older sister.

he just wishes it hadn’t gotten to this point. he missed her, really, but he couldn’t just leave logan’s side. she had more people supporting her than logan did when they were in the paddocks.

he would only catch glimpses of her life on her instagram and sometimes when they would have a chat to catch up. if he’s lucky, lily would tell him what they discussed over their frequent hang outs. even then, it simply isn’t the same as hanging out with the girl he thought would be his best friend forever.

“i love that drink!” max screams. he pushes her forward with a small and apologetic smile. “come on. we’ll have fun with you tonight. the club is ours — yearly tradition of the world champs.”

“yeah, but–“

“hey, i’ve been looking for you all over the place.” as oscar steps away from her with a laugh, another arm slings itself around her shoulders. she turns her head, furrowing her eyebrows as she meets with blue eyes that shine through the dimness of the club. “you’re just right here all along.”

she laughs sheepishly, throwing her head back with a soft laugh. “yeah, um,” she shakes her head, “just scoping out the place. it’s different when you’re the one the night’s dedicated to, i guess.”

and when logan had pulled away from her, another person had stepped in and tried to be there for her. she doesn’t know where it came from — perhaps it’s her association with sebastian, or that they were in prema together — but mick came forward and started being there for her more.

which then, well, led to this.

“ah, i thought you’d escaped to the peacefulness of our hotel room,” mick laughs, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “ready to get drunk tonight, love? promise i won’t marry you this time around.”

oscar snorts, walking around the three of them. he pushes them all forward in the direction of where the rest of the grid — and her team — is waiting for them. “not until her dad stops fanboying over the fact that his eldest is on the path to being an actual schumacher.”

mick snorts, pulling her into his body. “i need to get over the fact that my girlfriend’s the youngest world champion in formula 1.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @nikfigueiredo @darleneslane @happy-nico @namgification @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @inejismywife @love4lando @trouble-sistar @localwhoore

[shadowisles-writes]

Too Sweet 🍯 Elucien Week Day 7

You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me - Too Sweet, Hozier

A/N: I hope everyone had fun with this week, the amount of elucien content I've seen on my dash was unreal and I'm so excited to go catch up on all the fics that have been posted over the past few days! To finish off well, I've kept this fic in my docs for a while because the only right way to finish elucien week for me is definitely a smutty AU <3

Summary: Lucien believes Elain is too sweet for him, and she's very quick to prove him wrong. (smut, ice play, light choking)

Word count: 4530

“Which one is she?” Lucien tilted his head in curiosity.

There were three girls sitting at the table a few feet away from them. Two of them had to be twins, with perfectly matched dark skin, identical features and raven black hair. The other one was a brunette in a yellow dress patterned with tiny flowers. The dress was more suited for a summer picnic than an evening in a bar.

“The brunette.” Jurian jutted his chin as she laughed at something her friends said, her hand shyly coming to cover her face.

“You’re not serious,” Lucien chuckled and took a sip from his whiskey. “You know that’s not my type.”

Historically, pretty girls in pretty summer dresses truly weren’t, and Lucien wasn’t their type either. He rode a bike no matter the weather rather than buy a car, wore a leather jacket to go with it, and the lip ring didn’t scream “meet the parents” type of guy. If that wasn’t enough to scare them away, the brutal scar that ran in three jagged lines from his forehead, across his eyebrow and all the way to his cheek usually did the job.

“Your type is girls you can fuck and leave in the morning without causing a fuss.” Vassa scoffed. “You said you wanted more, I found you a girl who can be more.”

“Not this one.” Lucien knocked back the rest of his drink, determined to win this argument.

What he didn’t account for was that Vassa didn’t care enough to argue with him. She got up from their table before his glass touched the table again and headed for the girl she had met in the bathroom less than an hour before.

She turned, and it was only then that Lucien saw her face. Too pretty, too sweet. He knew it from one glance and tore his eyes from her before they could make eye contact. He didn’t need her thinking that he was interested or that he’d make a move on her.

“Here we go,” Jurian grinned a few seconds later.

“Vassa can be mad all she wants, I’m not going over there.”

“You won’t need to.” A foreign voice interrupted.

Lucien had no choice but to turn and face her. A laugh muffled into a cough came from his left, followed by a sound that had to be Vassa punching Jurian’s arm. A scrape of a chair, then Lucien knew he was alone.

“Evening,” was all he said to the girl.

She was beautiful. Her heart shaped face was framed by wavy hair, and her pretty pink lips were still smiling. Lucien counted a couple of seconds before her eyes went to his scar and trailed the whole length of it.

“I’m Elain, may I sit?” She rested her hand on the back of the chair across from Lucien and he nodded. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” She asked as she gracefully took the seat.

“Lucien,” he pushed his glass aside with his knuckles and rested both of his forearms on the edge of the table as he really took her in.

The dress was out of place for the bar, but it suited her. The way the square neckline framed her chest made it hard for him not to let his eyes dip low, but he remained focused on her face. Lucien gave her another minute before she’d conclude she hated him.

Elain smiled wider instead. “How eloquent.”

“If what you’re looking for tonight is conversation, I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong table.”

“Mmh, what am I signing up for then?”

Lucien wished he didn’t feel a spark of delight at the defiance in her tone. He wasn’t an asshole—Lucien was raised too well not to hate being rude, but he couldn’t let her go on. “I’m sorry, Elain. You seem really nice, but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Jesus Lucien,” she laughed. “You’d think I asked you to marry me.”

Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle with her. “I’m not husband material.”

“Good,” Elain beamed. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

She was pure sunshine. Happy, beautiful, bright sunshine. 

Lucien sighed, “I’m not boyfriend material either.”

“That’s not what your friend said.”

At this, he actually laughed. “If you think Vassa is trustworthy, your judgment is severely off.”

Elain set her hands on the table and asked in a serious tone, “are you going to fight me every step of the way, or are you going to buy me a drink?”

Lucien raised a surprised brow silently waved at one of the bartenders for their attention.

A fruity mocktail and a whiskey neat later, he knew he was in trouble. Elain was beautiful, and funny, and she managed to smile and make a joke of every dry answer he threw at her. Lucien was smiling so much that his reticence was hardly believable. 

Even alone in the bar’s bathroom, Lucien had to grin at the mirror like an idiot.

“Dammit,” he cursed softly and tried to convince himself he’d tell her to leave once he got back to their table. He could do this, save himself the struggle of any sort of attachment before it was too late. They weren’t compatible. He could tell her to leave.

Elain was talking with her friends when Lucien emerged from the bathroom. They had jackets on, but hers was still on the back of a chair. She beamed when she saw him and walked over, forcing Lucien to notice how short she was compared to him. How easy she’d be to pick up and throw on his bed. How comfortable it might be to have her nestled in his arms on the couch.

Tell her to leave. That was his task, but Lucien was distracted by the pretty honey of her eyes and the way she had to crane her neck to look up at him when she stood so close to him.

“You’re too sweet for me, Elain.” He breathed out.

Elain cocked her head. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Honey,” Lucien looked down without lowering his head enough to risk doing something stupid like kiss her. “Go home with your friends.”

“Why don’t you take me home yourself?”

He almost screamed. Was there nothing he could say for her to stop tempting him? “You’re not getting on my bike in a dress,” was his last argument.

She smiled wider and shrugged. “I have a car.”

“You really have an answer for everything,” Lucien laughed in disbelief.

“If you don’t want to go home with me you can just say that,” Elain was serious then, her feet shuffling just a step back. “It’d be quicker than your half assed excuses.”

He knew he should say it, but the words that came out of his mouth were “Get your jacket, Elain.”

.

Her home was cozy. The lights were dim and warm, and the place was neat while looking lived in. Her couch looked like sitting meant sinking into the cushions forever and Lucien had half a mind to drag her there and sit her in his lap already.

“Do you want some water?” She dragged him out of his filthy thoughts with a polite offer, so Lucien cleared his throat.

“Sure, thank you.”

He curiously kept on walking to the next door. He found a blue themed bathroom, with a flowery shower curtain and the matching bath mat. There was only one other door, so he stepped into her bedroom and took in the postcards lined up on one of the walls.

“I get them from museums wherever I travel,” Elain explained as she stepped in behind him.

“Cute,” he commented and took the glass of water from her.

She had put a few ice cubes in, and he almost dipped his fingers in to hold one to her skin. He wanted to trace her neck, her chest, watch her nipples harden, then follow that trail with his tongue.

As if reading his mind, she smoothed her hands down her dress. “You didn’t come here to talk about postcards.”

“Unless that’s all you want to do.”

“It’s not.” Elain removed the glass from his hand, put it on her nightstand, then reached for the fabric of his shirt. “It was hard work getting you here in the first place, I’m not about to change my mind.”

“Good,” Lucien cupped her cheek and finally allowed himself to kiss her.

Elain let out a tiny whimper, the smallest of noises that had Lucien’s free hand flying to her lower back to press her against him. All of the restraint he had been grasping at since she first talked to him flew out of the window. Lucien let his hand slide back to tangle his fingers in her hair, he twisted into the strands at the back of her neck and tilted her head up to better claim her mouth with his.

Elain whimpered again, her hands grasping at his shirt in all the wrong ways in a pathetic effort to get it off. Lucien groaned when her nails scratched at his skin and kissed her harder. He’d expected her to be chaste, or at least to ease into things, but Elain was kissing back just as ardently, their lips and tongue meeting in a mess that made his head spin.

She only hesitated when her tongue teased at his lip ring like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Lucien slowed down enough for her to figure out how to play with it, a quiet moan coming from the back of his throat when her teeth lightly tugged on the metal. His blood rushed south too fast, urging him to move his hands to her ass and bring her even closer.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Lucien left her mouth to start trailing kisses down her jaw, her neck. He found the spot that made her breath hitch and grazed it with his teeth before sucking on the sensitive skin just long enough to leave a mark. At the same time, his fingers began to tug at the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, the other hand still on Elain's perfect ass. Lucien exposed her breasts, his lips following the hem of the dress until he could finally suck her nipple into his mouth.

Elain moaned, a hand flying to his head to guide him where she wanted. Her knees nearly buckled when he caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged just enough to send a hot wave of pleasure through her.

"I need this off," he groaned in annoyance when the dress wouldn't go any lower than her waist, and Elain chuckled breathlessly.

"There's a zipper," she turned and offered her back to him. "Can't hurry everything."

"My bad," he pressed an apologetic kiss to her neck.

Lucien's fingers fumbled with the fabric to find the zipper, then pulled it all the way down to let it fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties, so he wasted no time turning her around to guide her back until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Elain sat and gasped as he immediately fell to his knees in front of her.

Lucien was rushing this, but a nudge at her knees was all it took to spread her legs and see the glistening wetness already clinging to her inner thighs. He tore his eyes from the pink pussy he was dying dive into and latched on to the soft skin of her thigh instead, biting and licking on each side until light purple marks began to litter her thighs. Elain was growing impatient under his touch, writhing and lifting her hips to get him closer, but he denied her every time.

“Stop teasing,” she eventually grabbed his hair to put his mouth where she wanted it.

Lucien caved, at least as desperate as she was. Her taste spread on his tongue and wetness coated his face, but he’d never minded getting messy. He tried not to get lost immediately and paid attention to the way her breathing hitched when he did certain things. Lucien kept a hand on her inner thigh and felt the way her muscles clenched every time his tongue stroked a sensitive spot. He mapped her out with his tongue until he knew exactly what patterns worked to make her moan.

Elain loosened her grip on his hair, no longer guiding but accompanying as she relaxed into his touch. Lucien looked up at her with eyes wild with desire and echoed her moan with one that vibrated against her pussy. He licked and sucked eagerly on sensitive skin until she was close to seeing stars. Elain threw her head back on the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut as she got lost in the sensations.

She didn’t see Lucien reach for the glass of water just close enough for his hand to wrap around it, didn’t dare complain when fingers replaced his mouth on her clit, thinking he might need to catch his breath. Then, his cold tongue stroked her and Elain lost a cry.

She jolted to look at Lucien, whose eyes were full of mischief as he sucked her clit into his mouth until the cold sensation was replaced by warmth. Elain would have complained if he didn’t choose this moment to gently press two impossibly thick fingers inside of her while his tongue still moved on her clit. Whatever she was about to say came out as a garbled whine and gasps.

Lucien curled his fingers just so, and the dragging against her sweet spot combined with his tongue began to make her thighs shake. He kept his pace steady, building the pleasure up, and up, and up until Elain came on his fingers and tongue with a soft cry. She panted, eyes rolling back with each wave of pleasure while Lucien hungrily lapped up everything she gave him.

Elain had to shove his head away for him to finally lift himself from her pussy.

“That little trick was mean,” she said breathlessly.

“Yeah?” Lucien chuckled as he wiped his face with his hand and came back to hover atop her body. “What are you going to do about it?”

He had expected an eye roll, maybe a half hearted slap on his arm. Instead, Elain took him by surprise and used her hips to roll them over. She perched herself in his lap and carefully placed her hand on his neck. She wasn’t pressing down, but Lucien stopped breathing all the same.

“How about you take your clothes off and find out how I play?”

Yes please, was what he would have said if he could still speak. Lucien nodded instead and wordlessly began to move to remove his shirt. Elain lifted herself from his lap, freeing his neck so he could hurry to undress. She watched without an ounce of shame, eyes filled with lust the more she got to look at him.

Lucien wanted nothing more than to keep pleasing her. He was on his back once again in seconds, his cock painfully hard and leaking a bead of precum. Elain climbed back on him—ass low on his thighs so she wouldn't touch his cock just yet. Looking right into his eyes, Elain placed her hands high on his chest and carefully brought both thumbs to brush his nipples.

Lucien surprised himself with the loud gasp he let out, his cock twitching from the stimulation. No one had ever bothered to play with his nipples, and the wicked grin growing on Elain's face told him she was going to keep on exploiting that particular weakness. She removed her hands and leaned to the side, and Lucien followed with his eyes as she dipped her fingers into the glass to pull out an ice cube.

He would have fumbled and dropped it for sure, but Elain moved with confidence and she must have been the sexiest thing he had ever seen perched on top of him like this. A drop of cold water fell on his chest—just enough to make him jerk lightly.

"Payback's a bitch," Elain murmured as she held the ice in front of her. "Did you know that?"

"I-ah," the next words out of Lucien's mouth were unintelligible as she ran the ice cube from his Adam's apple down the middle of his chest.

His breaths were shudders as she went back and traced random lines, then suddenly followed his collarbone, swirled in an unexpected circle, moved along the lower line of his pectorals. Lucien was positive he'd lose his mind, and he nearly swatted her hand to reverse the situation. His curiosity regarding her next move was the only thing that kept him from doing so.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had wanted anyone this badly. The ice cube melted somewhere around the V of his lower stomach and Elain wrapped her still cool hand around his hard cock. Lucien tried not to jerk, and miserably failed. A few strokes of her hand and the press of her thumb at the top were enough to make him whimper like he’d never been touched by anyone in his life.

Elain shimmying up his body to rest a hand on his chest and grind her soaked pussy against his cock should have felt like a mercy, but Lucien didn’t know how he could keep himself together long enough to please her. A breathless moan escaped her every time the head of his cock caught her clit and she went from slowly grinding to adding more pressure in a maddening cycle that was about to become Lucien’s undoing.

“Fuck, Elain, I can’t—” he groaned and got stopped by her small hand on his neck again.

“Not yet.” She ordered without ever slowing down.

Lucien would have done just about anything to obey. He dug his nails into his left palm and lifted his other hand to her waist, caressing up and down her impossibly soft skin. His eyes remained torn between looking at the glassy look in her own or the way her tits bounced with each rock of her hips.

In the end, it was her small hand adjusting his now soaked cock at her entrance that caught his attention. Elain lowered herself slowly, little sighs of pleasure falling from her lips while Lucien struggled to keep ahold of himself at the sight of his cock disappearing in her perfect pussy. Careful up and down motions took her lower and lower, their bodies easily sliding together with how wet she was, but Elain was still struggling to take him.

Elain winced slightly. “I don’t know if I can, ah,” she had to lift herself to be able to keep breathing.

Lucien pushed on the mattress to sit up and carefully grabbed her ass to adjust their position. He bent his knees to cross his ankles, and Elain shifted to wrap her legs around him.

"There," Lucien licked a hot stripe up her neck and guided her hips down on his cock again, stopping before he accidentally went in to deep. “Do what feels good,”

This position gave her more support so she could control her movements without having to exhaust herself. Lucien leaned back on one hand and brought the other between their bodies to toy with her clit. Elain’s chest flushed a bright pink along with her cheeks, her pants were quickly muffled into a kiss and Lucien tried not to weep from the maddening tightness of her pussy on his cock.

Fucking perfect, was all Lucien could think when she let her head fall back.

“Too much,” Elain dug her teeth into her lower lip in a failed attempt to hold back a desperate whine. “I need you to, ah, please.”

The last word was his undoing. Lucien fell over the edge right along with her; he bit her shoulder with a groan as he emptied himself inside of her. Even as he panted, trying to catch his breath after his release, Lucien knew he’d been thinking of this night for the rest of his life.

With Elain still atop him, Lucien carefully licked the light marks his teeth left into her skin before moving up, nuzzling her neck briefly and catching her lips in a messy kiss. She pushed at his shoulders gently, and he lowered them back onto the mattress on their sides, carefully slipping himself out of her. They didn’t say a word for a minute—or five, Lucien wasn’t sure he could count anymore.

“Should we…” Elain broke the silence and traced a finger down his chest.

Lucien shivered and eagerly agreed, “Yes, if you give me a minute. Or five.”

She didn't, already pushing herself up on her elbow to look at him better. “Oh I have ideas on things to do while we wait.”

“Oh?”

It took both of her hands on his shoulders for Lucien to lay fully on his back and keep still to watch what she’d do next. Elain threw her leg over his body to straddle his torso and moved up, and up.

“I like where this is going,” Lucien licked his lips in anticipation.

“Open your mouth.” Elain said before her knees reached either side of his head. “Tongue,” she added once he complied.

She sat without hesitation, her pussy dripping their mixed fluids on his tongue. “That’s it,” she praised quietly when he kept still and let her grind herself on his tongue the way she wanted. “Just let me, mmh.”

Lucien was in heaven. His eyes remained wide open to stare at her, perfect and just a little bit sweaty as she took what she needed from him. His hands fit just right over her ass, supporting each roll of her hips. He had never been used like this before, but he’d let Elain do it until the day he died. Wetness covered his mouth and cheeks, slick on her inner thighs that made the filthiest wet noise against his face every time she moved.

Lucien groaned as the muscles in her legs tightened and her breathing grew more erratic. Elain was going to come on his face again, and he didn’t think his cock had ever been harder. He watched the way her skin flushed bright pink, his toes curling when she suddenly reached for his hair and tightened her fist in the red strands.

“Lucien,” she moaned his name as she moved faster, ground harder.

She came without slowing down, riding each wave of pleasure with whimpers that had Lucien’s cock twitching. He cleaned her up with his tongue, eyelids fluttering at the taste of her until she ground her hips to a halt. He almost begged her to come back when she lifted herself to slide back down his body, but she went boneless in his arms and he could do nothing but catch her.

Lucien ran his hand up and down her back soothingly while she recovered, he felt the urge to kiss her temple, too, but held himself back in fear that the gesture would be too intimate for people who barely knew each other. Then, his chest almost shook with a laugh that a kiss could be too intimate after his tongue had been in her pussy.

“You okay?” He asked softly when she moved again, her hips sliding to trap his hard cock between her soaked pussy and his stomach.

“Mmh,” she adjusted again so the head caught at her entrance and carefully slid down.

Her wince made Lucien frown. “If it’s too much we can—”

“It’s not,” Elain interrupted. “You might just need to…” Her weight shifted, and Lucien followed until he was on top of her, her sinfully perfect legs wrapped around his waist. “There.”

Her heels dug into his skin to urge his hips forward and Lucien whimpered.

He had tried not to push all the way in too fast considering how she’d struggled to take him earlier, but riding his face must have worked wonders because her pussy practically sucked him in to the hilt and Lucien lost his mind the moment his hips were against her skin. He gave her a couple of slow strokes, watching out for her reaction, but there was nothing but bliss on her face.

Lucien lost himself in her, thrusting harder, skin slapping together every time and dragging uncontrollable moans from them both. It was nothing like the calculated way he ate her out earlier, or her controlled pace on top of him, this was an animalistic craving. Their skin was slick with sweat, bodies more slippery as he grabbed one of her thighs and hiked it up higher to be able to pound into her.

Elain cried out, the new angle doing something to her that had Lucien cursing through groans. He desperately wanted to feel her come on his cock again, but he was already out of his mind with pleasure and he had no idea how much more she could take. Her cunt tightened on his cock with each thrust, so wet they had to be making a mess of her bedsheets, and Lucien’s mind immediately went to the mess he’d make inside of her when he came.

The thought was enough to make his hips stutter. His arms trembled from holding himself up and keeping up such a hard rhythm, and he focused on not crushing her so hard he didn’t even notice her get close. Elain came so hard she nearly sobbed, pussy clenching around him in a way that made it impossible for him to hold back.

Her small hands clutched Lucien’s back as he lost all control and thrust roughly for another few seconds before he spent himself inside of her with a groan. His cock twitched hard, spilling as deep inside of her as he could get in a moment so earth shattering he knew he’d never recover from her.

Their pants were out of sync, both of their breathings erratic until Lucien leaned down to kiss her again. Elain hummed against his lips softly and let him roll them over again so she was laying on top of him. She broke the kiss to rest her her cheek on his shoulder, their chests now rising and falling together.

“I’ve never, um finished just with someone in me before,” she eventually said, still breathless.

Lucien grinned at the ceiling like an idiot and tried not to let his ego inflate too much. “How was it?”

“Life altering, I think. You should try it.”

“Having someone in me?” Lucien chuckled.

Elain’s giggles were like sunshine. “I’m having a hard time thinking, but I don’t see why not if you’re up for it.” She turned to look at him and cocked her head pensively. “Are you?”

“I could be,” he admitted.

Something sparked in her eyes. “Do you want to find out?”

“Right now?” Lucien was both turned on and alarmed.

“Maybe later,” she laughed at his panic. “Or another time.”

“Another time,” he agreed, like he had never doubted for a second that he would want to see her again.

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 12: Hands Under the Table (Public)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Sniper x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Sniper have some fun in a conveniently isolated area of a bar

Tags: Public, dirty talk, fingering, denial, dom/sub, bars, beer (no intoxication), volume control

Word Count: 2.2k

The Masterlist

You gripped a bottle of beer in your hand, letting the condensation soak your palm. Cracking open the cap, you grimaced as it bubbled and dripped down the side before taking a tentative sip. Yup, just as disgusting as the last time you had tried beer. Why you felt the need to force yourself to adapt to this taste, you would never know.

Truthfully, it was probably for the same reason you agreed to come along to this bar in the first place- comradery. You wished your team could get a bit more imaginative with their post-victory celebrations. At the very least, they could buy some drinks and keep them back at the base, where you could at least have the convenience of retiring to your room when things became overwhelming.

Scanning the bar, your eyes fell on Sniper, who had been keeping a booth to himself for most of the night. A bowl of chips in the center of the table remained untouched, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes, as if he simply wanted to fall asleep and be woken up when this was over. Sensing a possible kindred spirit, you approached him.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come,” you said, looking down at Sniper, now seeing that he was also nursing a beer. You wondered if he actually liked the stuff or if he was just faking it like you. Maybe everyone was faking it. Maybe beer was just a grand conspiracy.

Sniper scoffed. “Well, I was practically dragged out of my van to join in.” He nodded towards Scout, who was currently trying to chat up various girls on the small dance floor. It figured that the runner would be the one to pry Sniper out of his self imposed isolation. He was one of the only mercs stubborn and persistent enough to do so. You watched him strut over to the blaring jukebox, leaning against it as if it made him seem cool. You wondered how long it would take for him to put

at least five repetitions of the same Tom Jones song into that thing.

You really didn’t want to be negative. It was a nice bar, nicer than the kind you would usually go to. There was even a small stage for live music, although it was currently empty. After such a long streak of wins, the team had decided to splurge a bit. Yet, you ultimately couldn’t seem to get into the spirit of things.

“I take it you’re having about as much fun as I am?” you asked, your voice oozing sarcasm.

Honestly, you did not enjoy going out. Bars of any kind tended to be loud, crowded, and chaotic. You would much rather celebrate with a night in and some greasy take out. Spy wouldn’t be having that though, with his greater than thou attitude towards American food. Although, based on the way he was sequestered in his own personal corner as well, it seemed this wasn’t very much to his taste either.

“At least most of us seem to be enjoying themselves,” you sighed. Although, as you and Sniper looked out over the crowd, it became clear that some individuals may have been enjoying themselves a bit too much.

Demoman probably wouldn’t be much of an issue. You were almost certain that he was immune to hangovers at this point. The others were another story though. You had a feeling that the few sober ones among you would have to guide them back to the base by the end of the night, and help nurse them back to health in the morning. Why the Medigun wasn’t effective on hangovers, you would never know.

You tried to match Sniper’s laid back demeanor, casually sipping your own beer. However, you couldn’t hide the cringe on your face as you swallowed it down.

“Darling,” Sniper chuckled, watching you try and fail to ignore the taste of cheap booze. “If you don’t like it, why are you drinking it?”

You shrugged, giving a defeated sigh. “I guess I thought if I got drunk enough, this night would seem more entertaining.” You swirled the contents of the beer bottle, only a third empty. “But with how long it’s been taking me to force down sips of this cheap shit, I’m probably not even buzzed.”

Sniper chuckled. You set the bottle down beside him, admitting defeat. He took a swig from it only to find that the drink had long since gone flat. “I might have a way to make the evening more enjoyable, if you’d like,” he suggested, returning to nursing his own beer.

“I’m not dancing,” you quickly said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sniper said, glancing towards the dance floor where Scout was once again trying to seduce girls with his rendition of some kind of indescribable dance- like a cross between the Charleston and a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. You were almost envious of his alcohol fueled confidence. “Just have a seat next to me, doll.”

He patted the booth beside him. You were confused, but also intrigued, sitting down and sidling up next to him with a playful smirk. He quickly reciprocated with an arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you close. You were a bit embarrassed by the school girl-like giggle that escaped you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Sniper’s lips grazed your ear, making you shiver, only for his next words to make you freeze up. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Wh-” You couldn’t even get a full word out before Sniper’s free hand reached over, unbuttoning your fly and slipping his hand into your pants. You bit your lip to keep yourself from gasping. “Oh my God, Sniper!” you whispered harshly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked as he began to move his fingers, still over your underwear. Even so, it still sent jolts of pleasure through you that made your thighs quiver slightly. “We’ve discussed this, doll. Remember how hot it made you, the thought of me working you over with my fingers in the corner of a crowded room?”

Recalling the conversation made you blush. “Yeah, I remember,” you whispered, thinking back to the night you and Sniper had swapped fantasies over pillow talk. “I just didn’t expect it to be happening now.”

“Well, I believe a key part of that little fantasy was the element of surprise,” Sniper said. “You didn’t want to know when I might spring it on you.” He paused suddenly, his smirk wavering. “Of course, if you aren’t up for this now, we can stop-”

“No, no! I am!” You cringed, lowering your voice and glancing around to make sure no one had noticed your outburst. It appeared that the din of the crowd had effectively drowned you out. “That is, I am very much up for this.”

Sniper nodded, turning his gaze away from you. He sipped his beer, holding the bottle with his free hand while the one down your pants began to rub ever so slowly. Your face flushed scarlet and you bit your lower lip to keep any noises from escaping. Your adrenaline was running high, heightening every sensation. Even being touched through your underwear like this felt incredible.

“Please,” you stammered. “Keep going.”

“Of course, darling.”

Your underwear was pulled to the side, and you shuddered as you felt Sniper's fingers drag along your cunt, coating the digits with your arousal. It didn’t take much effort for him to work a couple fingers into you within a few minutes. You hooked a leg over his thigh, trying to spread your legs in a way that wasn’t too conspicuous. He allowed it, rubbing his free hand over your thigh for a moment. His palm was cold from the chill of the beer, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin.

The hum of the crowd seemed to fade into the background as Sniper began to pump his fingers faster. He kept switching it up, swapping between thrusting into you and circling your clit, keeping you on your toes, yet always bringing you closer and closer to the edge until the sensation of building, tightening pleasure was at the forefront of your mind, eclipsing everything else.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You didn’t even trust yourself to look out into the crowded bar, fearing that something in your expression would give you away. Still, you had to try to say something, to warn Sniper that you were close.

“Mundy,” you whimpered. “I’m going to-”

“Not yet.”

Your body immediately stiffened. “No, no, no! Don’t be mean, Mundy! I can’t- oh fuck!” Your plea for mercy dissolved on your lips. You kept a white knuckled grip on the table in front of you, scowling down at it like it had personally offended you. It was all you could do to keep your eyes from rolling back.

“Darling, keep it together,” Sniper whispered, although through clenched teeth, it sounded more akin to a growl. “Or else I’ll have to punish you later.”

You frowned, barely keeping the moan out of your voice as you responded with a tense and curt “Fine.”

“And I'll Ignore your attitude, just this once.”

Damn it, he always needed to have the last word. You clamped a hand over your mouth, gluing your eyes to the table. Sniper’s fingers curled inside you, stroking gently and rhythmically. It was all you could do to keep yourself from arching back against the booth.

Sniper downed the rest of his beer. Glancing down, he saw the way your thighs were trembling, even though you were seated. It was quite an alluring sight, and Sniper couldn’t help but get enraptured in it, imagining being inside you, pinning you down somewhere private, and making all those pretty sounds spill freely from your lips. He shook his head, putting those thoughts out of his mind for now, lest he be forced to hold his own hat suspiciously in front of his crotch for the rest of the night.

“You’re pulsing around my fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, aren’t you?” He whispered. You nodded, barely looking up at him, a whimper just barely escaping past your hand. “You’re about to come in front of all these people who don’t have a clue what’s going on right under their noses.” Sniper pressed his fingers firmly against your sweet spot, making you jolt.

“Mundy,” you groaned his name softly, leaning against him. To anyone who glanced over, it would look like you had just overindulged on alcohol. Your flushed face only served to sell the facade even more. It was the perfect cover, really. Still, you would rather not get caught, even though the risk thrilled you in its own unique way. “Mundy, please!”

“It’s alright, doll. You can come, as long as you think you can stay quiet.”

His permission was like a trigger being pulled. Trying not to writhe as your orgasm ripped through you was a struggle, but you managed, hunching over the table and resting your forehead on the cool hard wood. Keeping quiet was a bit more difficult, but luckily the music was loud and the bar denizens were even louder, so the few moans that escaped you went unnoticed.

You stayed with your head on the table for a while, panting, letting out a soft groan when Sniper withdrew his fingers. He was stone faced, simply looking out over the bar as if nothing had transpired. It was only when you sat up that he glanced over at you, giving you a smirk that made your heart flutter. Between the ambient light of the bar and the post orgasmic haze, he looked handsome as hell. You wanted to lean up and kiss him before you could say something embarrassingly sappy.

Sniper broke the silence before you could. “I have a feeling the rest of the team isn’t going to be in any shape to walk back to base tonight.” He nodded towards the dancefloor, where you were certain at least half of your fellow mercenaries were currently making asses of themselves. However, you couldn’t be bothered to look. You didn’t want to tear your gaze away from Sniper. “How about we head back and grab my van so that they can have a ride? Hell, there might even be just enough time to give you a little reward for being such a good girl.”

An enthusiastic grin spread across your face. “I would like that,” you said, standing up quickly. A bit too quickly, apparently, as you staggered within your first step. Thankfully Sniper was at your side in an instant, linking your arms together to keep you steady. He had half a mind to scoop you up and simply carry you out of the bar.

As he guided you towards the exit on shaky legs, he caught the eyes of another patron. They were supporting the weight of their own very intoxicated partner, who was singing- or rather, shouting- the lyrics to whatever song played from the jukebox unintelligibly as they stumbled along. They gave the two of you a sympathetic look, and Sniper suppressed the smirk that threatened to creep onto his face. If only they knew.

[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 ed.: for some reason phillip island has been uploaded to facebook)

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

[the-fiction-witch]

Pouty

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty AF + Mild Smut

Warnings Gambling / alcohol

I sat on the well-stuffed armchair that I had moved over, replacing the cheap wooden chair of the card table with my usual parlour armchair, my bare feet on the soft rug, the fire crackling and popping to my side as it worked away at the wood and coal I threw on a few moments ago. My cards on the well-polished wood of the card table, the edges slightly buffed and worn down from people's arms, my cards face down showing only the patterned back, coins in the centre of the table stacked up nicely, his cards on the other side. He sat in his armchair, well it wasn't his but it may well have been, leant back with his usual fluffy hair, his white loose sleeve shirt, his blue waistcoat, his green tie undone allowed to hang low and his brown trousers,  his chocolate eyes leaving me with no place to hide, his smirk upturned on his lips. 

I sat similarly in my chair with my arms over my chest doing my best to look at anything but him, flicking my eyes around the room that was meant to be our parlour but my father merely used it as a card room, with tables, chairs, a bar to the side and as many games as could be imagined. We were... A little, not tipsy, nowhere near Pidgeon step, but... Giggly, and giddy. Which didn't help matters. 

He never moved his gaze though giving me very little choice in my proceedings. 

"I don't know why I play with you." I snapped pushing my cards into the centre folding, 

His smirk only grew as he moved the centre pile to his little pile proud of himself for his winnings, taking my cards and having a look before rolling his eyes "You had me going for a while at the start there," He smirked adding them along with his own back to the deck and beginning to shuffle them, "Again?"

"Alright," I sighed, as much as I didn't want to keep losing I didn't want him to go just yet, "I just need to be a bit careful..."

"Careful?"

"Umm... Last week someone took home my whole allowance!"

"Shouldn't bet it, if you not prepared to lose it." 

"And you live by that philosophy do you?" 

"I do indeed."

"No, you do not! I've known you to be in the whole for more than you make in a year?" I laughed "As I recall he was going to chop your hand off."

He smirked and very fragrantly moved his hands as he spoke making sure to draw attention to them "And do I have both still?"

"Yes, because you're a crafty little..."

"Ohh go on?" He chuckled leaning on his hand "I shall like to hear this,"

"You're a crafty little... fool."

"You're adorable" he smiled blowing me a kiss across the table as he dealt the cards I glanced at mine and had nothing but I wanted to keep him going a while, I did my best not to react watching him as he checked his own but god damn it he's good! not letting a single reaction make it's way though. He moved a coin to the centre so I did so too, back and forth this went on as the pile grew both of us constantly trying to read one another, I knew I didn't have much money left and I was no closer to knowing what he had so I folded before I lost everything and he smirked taking his winnings with a wide smile,

"Jack Dawkins, must you be such a .... Person." I sighed in frustration, 

"A person?" He smirked shuffling the cards again, 

"A... Person." I snapped,

"Aww, go on. you can do it. What am I?"

I know what I wanted to say but the words stuck behind my teeth

"Go on, I won't tell," He smirked winking at me as he delt the cards again 

"Dick." I sighed glancing at my cards and for once I had something good! really good! but I kept my face still, 

He laughed at me, "You are adorable. Come on you can do better than that" Not even checking his cards,

I huffed.

"Come on, I won't tell, I think it's cute when you swear. such a cute Wittle Wady saying the words her daddy won't Wet her." he playfully joked as he moved a coin to the centre "I'll even get you started. Cunt."

"Jack!"

"What?"

"You- You can't just-" I began,

"Cunt. See nothing happens. Cunt. god doesn't come and strike you down for swearing Y/n. He did... I would be in the pits of hell five times over by now."

"Dick." I sighed adding a coin 

"Yes, we've heard that one come on you can do better."

"I- I can't," 

"Your father's not here It's safe. I promise I won't say a word" he smiled adding a few more coins 

"Little fucker."

"Ahhh! there we go, Pouty little princess."

"I'm not pouting"

"Yes you are, you're mad at me. Awww pouty wittle princess mad I took her allowance?"

"I. am. not. Pouty."

"You're a ... " I began but I couldn't say it, he just glanced up at me expectantly "Bastard."

"Ooohhh sharp tonight Y/n" He smirked "Come on," he smirked as we had reached the point where I had no more money to bet from my weekly allowance but these cards were so good there was no way I could lose! So I slipped off my bracelet adding it to the pile "Very nice," He smirked adding more coins "Go on, how you gonna get out of this one?"

"Arsehole," I sighed pulling off my ring and adding it to the pile, 

"Confident little pouty princess tonight," he smirked simply adding more money, 

"Shit." I sighed as I had nothing else to bet with, "You open to an IOU?"

"Depends what it is," He shrugs slyly, 

"Half next week's allowance when I get it."

he smirked, "Why? I'll end up winning it when I come over anyway," 

"Please?"

"Alright" He smirked grabbing some paper from the bar and writing out and IOU "Go on," he smirked sliding it over so I signed it and added it to the pile, he smirked and simply added more coins "Ooohh now what are you going to do?"

"... Another IOU?" 

"For?"

"More of my allowance next week?"

"No."

"What?"

"If I take all of next week's allowance you have nothing to play with then. I'm just robbing myself of the future enjoyment of taking it." 

"Ughhh... what do you want then?"

"Anything I want?"

"Yes,"

"Anything?"

"Within reason."

"So all anything is on the table as it were?" he smirked leaning his elbows on the table, connecting his hands and resting his chin there, 

"within reason, you slimy little fish boy."

"Fish boy? Are you actually out of swears you know?" 

"Shithead."

He smirked still with the paper from the bar in handwriting on it in a way I couldn't see and slid it over licking his lip as he did, I took it a little confused and read it 

'IOU, One on the Lips Kiss. Signed _________'

"You're kidding?"

"I am not."

"Why?"

He shrugged "The sick twisted joy of forcing the pouty little princess to pucker up?"

"You're a dickhole."

"Oohh getting more inventive now. Take it or leave it." 

"How much do you value that?"

"Let's say to the value of four pounds?"

"Four pounds!"

"That's what the girls down the cat and bagpipes charge."

"Well, I ain't a girl down the cat and bagpipes jack, Twelve."

"Six."

"Ten."

"Nine."

"Fine." I sighed signing it and adding it to the pile, He nodded and simply added more money 

"Well, now what am I meant to do?" I glared 

He smirked glancing at the paper he still had on the table and I rolled my eyes, "Fine."

"Don't bet what you can't lose. You can fold at any time little lady." he chuckled writing on the paper and sliding it over to me waiting with an evil smirk, I flipped it and looked immediately turning red at the idea

'IOU, One lap sit lasting at least one minute. Signed _________'

"You want me to do what now!"

"Sit on my lap," he smirked leaning back in his chair slightly and opening his legs almost invitingly 

"One minute?"

"At least."

"Fine." I snapped signing and adding it to the now formidable pile 

"You must be very confident,"

"So must you" I smirked "...If I win? will you give me a kiss?"

"The IOU had no name so... Yes I suppose if you won they go to you."

"So you'd have to kiss me, Jack?" I giggled leaning on the table a little "And come sit on my lap?"

"I would, little concerned if I'll fit but yes if you win then I'll do it." He smirked "So... do you fold or are we going to keep adding here?" 

"Adding. Go on. You can choose."

"Ohh how kind of you princess" he smirked clearly getting a wicked idea writing on the paper and sliding it over so I took it 

'IOU, One Touch of an intimate area of the winner's choice. Signed _________'

"An Intimate area?"

"Yes,"

"Which would be wear?"

"Your tits. or your arse. Or your pussy if I was feeling like it." He smirked 

"And If I win?"

"My arse, or my cock."

"That still sounds like it would benefit you more than me." 

"Then I can't lose can I?" 

"How much?"

"fifteen pounds."

"Fine" I smirked signing it and adding it to the pile 

"Interesting you value a kiss at nine pounds but me fondling your tit is fifteen... I could in theory fondle your arse for less than the price of two kisses"

"Your turn" I smirked ignoring his comment and noticing he now had very little left to bet with so he slid the last of his money in "Not enough."

"Ohh come on-"

"Nope. you want to keep the stakes this high then meet them."

He rolled his eyes and slid over the pad and pen "Go on then."

I took the pen thinking for a moment this was all getting a bit intense but if I won! I got everything! and he was betting with my last three weeks' worth of allowance I had lost to him, as well as his recent winnings from evenings at the Cat and Bagpipes and wherever else he scampers off too to play cards that aren't just here with me when my father's out.  And I had to admit... the idea of winning and turning his perverted little request of me sitting on his lap and him touching my intimate places into something humiliating for him to have to sit on my lap while I slap his arse was too good to resist. But what to make him do, trying to think of what would humiliate him the most...

'IOU, One spanking session. Signed _________'

And I slid it over with a smile

"Uhh? So I'd get to spank you? That definitely sounds like it's more for my benefit."

"Does it?"

"yeah. That's hot as fuck!"

"No, winner takes."

"So, when I win I get to give you a spanking my pouty little princess?"

"If you win. yes. and when I win, I get to bend you over and give you a spanking"

"You'd really spank me?"

"I would."

"You can't even say cunt in your own house when your father isn't here you're going to bend me over and spank me are you?"

"I am."

"Alright" he smirked signing it and adding it to the pile quickly taking the pad back writing quickly and sliding it over 

'IOU, One tickle session. Signed _________'

"A what?" 

"I get to lie you down, tie you up. and tickle you to my heart's content."

"With my clothes on?"

"...some of them"

"To what end?"

"My amusement." 

"and when I win? I get to tie you up and tickle you?"

"If you win, yes."

"Alright" I smirked signing it and taking back the pad trying to think of something, and an evil thought came into my mind

'IOU, One orgasm. Signed _________'

and I folded the paper stroking down the fold line before kissing the fold and sliding it over to him, He watched me rather excitedly taking it kissing the fold line himself before opening it 

"Oh." He stopped short "Really?"

"Really."

"My pouty little princess wants me to make her cum?"

"When I win."

"And if I win?"

"You get one I guess, if that happens."

"You'll make me cum?"

"I will."

"How?"

"hands."

"Ohh no no."

"You're the one short on money. I get to decide."

"Fine. Hands" He smirked quickly signing away and adding it to the pile "Ohh look at that now you need to bet, so you fold or you bet?"

"Bet."

"Good girl," he smirked taking the paper and pen back and I didn't even need to check it really I knew what he was going to write and as soon as it slid back to me 

'IOU, One orgasm By mouth. Signed _________'

"So... when I win you owe me two?"

"One by hand, one by mouth to cash when requested." 

I smirked and signed adding it to the pile 

"Your turn, I'm not folding princess."

"Alright," I smirked taking the paper and pen, trying to think of something and then it hit me! god damn it why didn't I think of this earlier 

'IOU, full nude pose. Signed _________'

and I slid it back

"Pose?"

"Yep."

"why a pose specicily?"

"I can draw you."

"Draw me? why a cute little picture to keep under your pillow?"

"To display in town and humiliate you." 

"And when I win?"

"You can see me naked, I'm sure that'd amuse you."

"I'm a doctor. I see naked ladies a lot. Like... so much it's kinda boring now" 

"Boring?"

"It's just boobs. and a pussy. Yes, both of those can be spectacular but.. they are just boobs." He shrugs "Can I draw you?"

"Can you draw?"

"... I would try. and then I can put you up in my room above my bed" he winked 

"Fine."

"Deal" he smirked happily signing "My turn!" He smirked grabbing the pad back and quickly writing his own sliding the paper over 

'IOU, One Full Penotrational Sex Session. Signed _________'

immediately I turned red and he just smirked,

"No!"

"What?"

"No! No way!"

"Why not?"

"We are not betting with my Innocence Jack."

"Everything is on the table, you said so."

"No!"

"You agree to the IOU, Or you you fold." He smirked, 

"Fine." I sighed signing and smirking "I'll see you."

He smirked and revealed his cards, 

"...... you cunt." I sighed revealing my cards and he had beaten me!

He chuckled and pulled his pile of winnings to himself gathering all the IOU's and flicking them and then using them as a fan for himself "Well... isn't this just a lovely turn of events" He smirked taking one out and sliding it over to me "I'd like to cash this  one, Now."

I looked and it was the 

'IOU, One lap sit lasting at least one minute. Signed _________'

I sighed ripping it and throwing it on the fire before I got up and moved to sit on his leg, immediately he wrapped his arms around me pulling me to his chest

"Aww pouty little princess."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"You are an evil... conniving little man."

"I know" he shrugs "Now... what are we to do with the rest of our evening?" he smirked "Ohh. I have some ideas" he smirked waving his IOU's around suggestively "I have some rewards to cash" He smirked shoving the papers into the cleavage of my dress, grabbing my thighs as he stood forcing me to wrap them around him, so I quickly wrapped my arms around him so I wouldn't fall 

"JACK!" I squealed 

"Off we go then, princess. Don't worry you won't be pouty much longer" he smirked carrying me up to my bedroom... 

[altoace]

I love X-Men Evo, and I have hundreds of incorrect quotes saved. I love all of these dumb teens (as well as Logan and Ororo) very much.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Scott: No, I’ll tell you what the problem is! The problem is—

Lance: {holds his breath and covers his ears}

Scott: Great, that’s just what your brain needs. Less oxygen.

— — — — —

Pietro: Isn’t it weird that people kill mosquitoes just because they’re annoying?

Pietro: Imagine if people did that to other people? I would’ve been dead years ago!

— — — — —

Rogue: Behold, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

— — — — —

Kurt, during training: Hey, who wants to see an impression of my mother?

Scott: Kurt, no.

*Kurt teleports out of the room*

Scott: KURT, NO!

— — — — —

Scott: Isn’t it weird that we pay money to see other people?

Kurt: Plane tickets?

Evan: Concert tickets?

Kitty: Prostitution?

Scott, eyes closed, holding his shades: Glasses.

— — — — —

Lance: {walks in}

Todd and Fred: {making horse noises at each other}

Lance: {walks out}

— — — — —

Tabitha: Every now and then, I like to do as I’m told just to confuse people.

— — — — —

Kitty: {running away from mutants working for Magneto while on the phone}

Scott: Where are you?!

Kitty: I don’t know! You tell me!

Scott: Any sort of notable sign or something?!

Kitty: Umm…staircase!

Scott:

Scott: Anything else? Like a room name?! Any item that’s unique?!

Kitty: Fire extinguisher!

Rogue, muttering under her breath: She’s gonna die…

— — — — —

Kurt: When life gives you lemons—

Rogue: Squeeze them in people’s eyes.

— — — — —

Evan: Someday, in the distant future, people will once again be capable of hearing the phrase “what is love” without also feeling the primal urge to respond with “baby don’t hurt me”.

Kitty: So at that point, people will say “baby don’t hurt me”…no more?

— — — — —

Wanda: Can you pass the pepper?

Todd: What’s the ~magic word~?

*Wanda begins chanting*

Pietro, panicking: JUST TAKE IT OH MY GOD

— — — — —

Xavier: I admit, I was wrong to give up on you all so quickly.

The Brotherhood: Good.

Xavier: However—

The Brotherhood: No, no however. Just be wrong. Just live in your wrongness and be wrong and get used to it.

— — — — —

Lance: Where’s the yogurt? I thought you went to the store?

Pietro: {incoherent mumbling}

Lance: Huh?

Pietro: IT WAS ON THE TOP SHELF

Lance:

Pietro: I COULDN’T REACH IT

— — — — —

*at the zoo*

Lance: So, what are they in for?

Kitty: This isn’t prison.

Lance: So they can leave?

Kitty: Well, no but—

Lance, pointing at a penguin: I bet that one killed somebody.

— — — — —

Xavier: Do you know why I chose you as my first student?

Scott: I assumed you lost a bet.

— — — — —

Scott: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Evan: “Best smile”.

Kurt: “Nicest personality”.

Kitty: “Most likely to start a bar fight”.

Rogue: “Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one”.

— — — — —

Jean: Evan, if we get out of this alive, I will kill you.

Evan: So what’s my incentive to live?

— — — — —

Kurt: Are you a morning person or an evening person?

Scott: If I’m lucky, I get a good few minutes in during the middle of the day.

— — — — —

Scott: Sorry I’m late. I broke down on my way here.

Rogue: Is your car okay?

Scott: Car?

Rogue:

The X-Men:

— — — — —

Lance: Mystique is gonna try and have you killed.

Scott: I can’t say that surprises me.

— — — — —

Kurt, about Tabitha: I don’t know what she’s planning, but I can tell you two things. We won’t like it, and it won’t be legal.

— — — — —

Pietro: Of all the things I am low enough to do, how could you even doubt if that was one of them?

— — — — —

Todd: Why are only roosters allowed to start the day screaming?

Lance: Because we live in the same house and I will murder you.

— — — — —

Scott: We can’t tell you because you’re not a member of the club.

Wanda: What club?

Rogue: The hating Magneto club.

Wanda:

Wanda: The fuck? I should be the leader of that club.

— — — — —

Kitty: Guys! Logan just fell down the stairs!

Ororo: And what did he say?

Kitty: Should I skip the swearing?

Ororo: Yes.

Kitty: Then he fell in silence.

[ludinusdaleth]

You got any bear Artagan headcanons 👉👈

of course i do, anon 💚 thanks for the ask

-hes skinny as a twig until post-travelercon days. he never really "watches his figure" (as matt scoffed at the notion he would in a m9 ep), but something about taking in exandria with new eyes, and escaping the stress of being the traveler (and going on mai tai benders it seems), softens him. like a man truly becoming middle aged rather than suspended in youth, his body cues a slower metabolism, i suppose.

-he doesnt really notice it til a random day he doesnt fit into an older outfit of his, and hes surprised as thats never happened before, but it's easy enough to accept with a shrug and relief he didnt split his best party gear just now before he could get it refitted. his good old green cloak is a very oversized thing; he'll never have to change it.

-i like to imagine he and many other fae (barring whatever type ira & sammanar are) have always been relatively furry. he's lionlike. he can canonically grow a shitty chinbeard as of tales of exandria. it makes sense. his body hair is like a fauns fur-pattern, with normal chest hair & a happy trail as well as fur on the elbows and a back stripe. but as i said, when he really just relaxes post-tc, his body thinks, hey, you're kind of a bit older now, in a way, so he gets even hairier. he grows out a bit of a beard, patchy (his mustache is hopeless) but extremely soft. it grows down to about his adams apple. with the beard adding to his lions mane look, he seems like more of a big cat by the day.

-he has incredible love handles & a sloping, wide paunch, and pretty nice man tits too (which hes more than happy to show off in his low cut outfits and i am more than happy to imagine). his frame is predisposed to being skinny & sharp and so he always carries that vague look, but his body fights that a bit and wins in less than a decades time. he still has absolutely 0 ass though. this is important

-jester notices and doesnt really say anything, but she thinks hes so handsome, and is happy for him. when she runs to hug him, it's not just his cloak that pads her embrace. hes always been a good hugger but was bony before. now, it's perfect.

-he has always had irritatingly high charisma & charm. however he lately finds himself courted more than he has been in a long while. when he was a beanpole, it was easy to just look like another tall skinny stereotypical elf, if a striking one. but exandrians & fae alike have become very, very fond of elves of a bearish nature. elves of the dwendallian empire & graying wildlands are especially enraptured by him (i like to think hair on an elf is vital in cold regions and some societies begrudgingly have begun to accept it), and the feygrove which he helped create of course is in love with his new appearance, even influencing many of them to indulge to the point of being bigger. i feel he would not know what to do in a bear bar, nervous with the knowledge he wasn't always like this and nowhere near the size of an orc or bugbear, but any elf unafraid to show their hair & girth is welcomed gladly.

-he in all his ancient wisdom likes to assume being fat & bearded will mean no ex or court official will recognize him. he is recognized by quite literally everyone and is shocked every time (this is coming from the man who disguises himself as a ginger without fail. every. time)

-i dont think the fae ascribe to fatphobia anywhere like we do, and every fae is so unique i think beauty standards are fruitless to uphold, but i do think other archfey who see arti are often disgusted at him for how mortal he seems, and how he accepts aging & body changes without deigning to seem dignified. morrigan however is happy the old boy settled into himself; she'll never say if she plucked a few threads of fate for his body to allow this transformation. he needed it, she thinks, like a grandmother who refuses to let you go til you've eaten 6 meals in 1.

-sprinkle is canonically a bit chunky nowadays. i like to imagine the m9 conjecturing for a surprisingly long time over whether arti & sprinkle are one entity whose bodies change together or not.

-i think all the m9 would agree living to a time in life where you can get old & fat & content is a beautiful achievement. while not everyone thinks arti has exactly earned the right to be content, he seems very happy post travelercon, and the look suits him well. (though beau, veth, & yasha hold private discourse over if he should shave that terrible scruffy beard of his - obviously veth who married yeza sideburns brenatto finds it charming on him, beau finds it disgusting and makes him look half-feral, and yasha oscillates between the two as if in pain, not wanting to hurt either's or arti's feelings)

-in general i think he wouldn't mind this new look at all. he's canonically the type to sigh at his youth and how he peaked then, but when jester nuzzles under his scruffy chin he knows it's all worth it. he knows in some way his skinniest points were his most miserable, pacing around his domain of the feywild like a wild cat in a circus wagon, desperate for enrichment while laughed at under a panopticon of court eyes. now he's a big fat tomcat who rules the lavorre-stone household (especially when only fjord is home and he can terrorize him) and can get all the food & drink & experience all across exandria that he could ever want. life is good. if the man in the mirror is getting shaggier & softer & maybe, he thinks as he sees wrinkles and a gray in his hair, older, he's doing it in the best way possible.

[zedecksiew]

Whirling Mummy One-shot

(Art by Sam Mameli)

Have been deathly ill for most of this month, with barely the focus to do anything. So I've been in the dumps.

Last Wednesday I ran a one-shot for my regular TTRPG group, just to feel like I could do something---anything. I didn't have much of a voice. Just a low rasp. So all my characters that night were kinda husky, sultry folks, the kind you might find in a bar.

Apopros to the game, I suppose. I ran the Whirling Mummy, a dance-hall adventure I created for Prismatic Wastelands' ENNIE-winning bar-crawl campaign setting, Barkeep On The Borderlands:

THE WHIRLING MUMMY Madam Smiling is the never-seen proprietress of The Whirling Mummy, an undead-themed dance hall, named after Madam Smiling's ancient, still-animate consort. + Before the Keep, before goblins lived in caves – a goddess cursed a king to dance. He danced all night, he danced all season. He danced and he died. They buried him dancing. He danced in his tomb of jade mosaic. A quake split the Iron Fens, and cracked his tomb, and spat him out dancing. Tonight, in the mummy's honour: a dance-off! Various crews compete to win their hearts' desire. There has never been a wish Madam Smiling could not grant.

+++

Got my players to make characters using Barkeep's evocative background packages. The party:

Frederick the Foppish Dandy, with a big hat, dueling pistol, and a wealthy fiance called Giorgio ("Georgie!");

Alejandra the Ebullient Dancer, with a tambourine, vial of poison, and her patron the noble chanteuse Lady Gaga;

Melan the Troubled Musician, with a flute, a cymbal-playing pet monkey, and a broken heart.

Serendipitously appropriate, for an adventure featuring a dance contest!

Melan decides they have history with Kril Mouser, leader of the club's musicians.

Ironically, Alejandra spends her whole night off the podium, gassing up the crowd to win over their support.

Frederick ("Freddie!") plays out a rivalry with one of competing dance crews: a trio of voguing toffs.

Freddie ends up being the night's star dancer. "This is the kind of music Frederick plays in his room," his player says:

+++

I rolled a new event for every turn / round of the dance-off, for maximum shenanigans:

A skeleton flapper loses her head on the dance floor. The Dancer turns that skull into a ball the cheering crowd can bounce around. Poor skelly!

A gang of electric-lute-wielding bards storm Kril Mouser's band stage in an attempt to take it over. Melan spends the round fighting them off, earning the musicians' favour. (Alejandra throws her skeleton skull, knocking a bard out.)

A paladin raid on the club for illegal necromancy. This coincides with the last round of the dance-off; Freddie is too drunk to continue, so Melan takes the stage, and duels Master Mocking Of A Million Eyes, the peacock demon and final boss.

Melan's player describes their dance as "Lizzo with a flute, but while performing a Celine-Dion-like ballad".

This means they beat an eldritch horror with a combination of this:

and this:

Nice.

+++

So the party won the dance-off. They are entitled to wishes from Madam Smiling.

Frederick asks to be the richest person in the world;

Alejandra wants to retroactively swap places with her patron Lady Gaga;

Melan selflessly asks for land back for the indigenous lizardfolk. (The industrial district in which the Whirling Mummy sits used to belong to the lizard-people; there were lizard nuns handing out pins outside the club.)

I was very pleased with this game. I think it was my first successful, self-contained one-shot? We played for about three hours, and I felt buoyed by endorphins after.

I love my players. Thank you Am, Ai and Vesha for playing with me; you have kept my love for this game stuff alive.

I lost my voice again, the next day.

+++

Final scene, one year later:

Melan is the opening act for a concert by Lady Alejandra, in a city ruled by Prince Frederick the First.

All of this happens a continent away; the city in which Barkeep is set has been totally erased. A trade agreement has been signed with the lizardfolk queendoms, however---and ambassadors report an incongruous-looking dance hall, in the middle of the marsh.

Inside, it is said, a mummy in jade shoes endlessly dances. Inside, it is said, a dance contest is held, and its prize is whatever your heart desires.

[ejzah]

hi!! could you write a draft where the whole team is together, like hanging out at a bar at the end of a case or something, and deeks and kensi are being super sweet to each other and another member of the group (probably callen) watches them and thinks about how wonderful it must be to have something like what they have. sorry if I'm asking too many prompts I'm just obsessed with your densi's fics hahah

A/N: Hi there!

You’re not asking for too many fics! Glad you’re enjoying them.

***

Here’s to Happiness

“I still say that was a lucky shot,” Sam insisted as Callen racked up the pool balls and Kensi and Deeks replaced their cues on the wall. “There was something on my cue.” He glared at the offending stick.

“Uh-huh,” Callen said, chuckling at his partner. “Pay up.” He made a “gimme” gesture until Sam grudgingly reached into his pocket and pulled out a $50, slapping the bill into Callen’s outstretched hand.

“You didn’t seem to be having any problems with your cue when you beat me,” Kensi pointed out.

“Yeah, that was before I switched with Deeks.”

“Oh no, I am not getting in the middle of this argument,” Deeks said with a chuckle as they settled back in at the two tables they’d pushed together to make one long one. He draped his arm over Kensi’s shoulders, the gesture comfortable, like he’d done it several times, before he caught himself, and hastily shifted to the back of her chair instead.

Even then, Kensi leaned back a little, like she was searching out his touch.

“Ok, who’s getting the next round?” Nell asked loudly. She’d decided to sit the last round of pool out with Eric in favor of spectating. Callen noticed she’d also taken the opportunity to finish off two more drinks in that time. Which meant she was even more energetic, and entertaining that usual.

Sam nudged his shoulder. “C’mon, spread around some of your ill-gotten winnings.”

“It’s ok, I got it,” Deeks said before Callen could protest, reaching for his wallet. “I’m feeling generous tonight.”

“Ooh, in that case, make mine a medium,” Nell requested. “Sugar on the rim.”

“You got it. Same for everyone else?”

He got a round of nods.

“I’ll help you,” Kensi offered, unnecessarily.

Callen watched approach the bar, practically on top of each other as Deeks gave the bartender their lengthy order. They were given a couple of beers almost immediately, then moved down the line to wait for the mixed drinks.

A few minutes later, Deeks leaned in closer to Kensi under the guise of grabbing the rest of the drinks. His hand rested low on her back for a moment, mouth close to her ear. Whatever he said must have been hilarious, because Kensi did that weird snort-cackle thing of hers. Or, they were so head-over-heels in love that she found everything he said funny.

They lingered at the bar for a couple extra minutes. If Callen hadn’t already known they were together, he would certainly guess they were sleeping together at the very least after tonight.

“Ok, they were all out of that fancy beer you like,” Deeks announced, setting a cold bottle in front of Sam. “So, you’ll have to deal with good old Miller. Sam made a face at that, but took a drink anyway. “Beer for Callen, frozen peach and strawberry margaritas for the Wonder Twins (Kensi set two wide stemmed glasses at Nell and Eric’s end of the table), and of course, only the best for my Ladybird.”

Deeks presented Kensi with her favorite beer with a flourish. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t completely hide a pleased smile.

Callen wondered if they knew just how obvious they were. Sure, Deeks had always called Kensi nicknames, just as they’d always bantered, and been way more hands-on than most partners. The touching and names had shifted, taking on a distinctly more flirtatious tone in the last couple months.

They hadn’t gone so far as to engage in full-blown PDAs in front of the team, thankfully. Though Nell had adamantly warned against anyone entering the burn room without knocking after an incident she refused to discuss.

“What are you smiling at?” Sam asked, interrupting Callen’s musing.

He jutted his chin in Kensi and Deeks’ direction; they were leaning into each other, Kensi giggling again.

“Mm. What are those two knuckleheads up to now?”

“Eh, the usual.”

“Thinking they’re being discreet, when I’m reality anyone within a mile radius can tell they’re stupidly in love.”

“Pretty much,” Callen agreed.

“Idiots,” Sam said fondly. He watched them too for a few moments, then sighed. “I just hope the fall out isn’t too bad when they eventually crash and burn.”

“You think it’s inevitable?” The thought bothered him more than he liked to consider.

“This is a hard job, and they’re passionate people. Mix the two together,” Sam shrugged. “The odds aren’t in their favor unfortunately.”

“I hope they do,” Callen said, drawing a surprised look from Sam. “Everyone deserves to be happy.”

“Oh, when did you become Mr. Romance?”

“Easy now. I’m just saying, they seem happy, and I’d hate to see them go back to tension of before. Or worse.”

“God, let’s hope not,” Sam groaned. “I think I’d end up shooting somebody.”

Callen shook his head as Kensi, probably with the help of several drinks, threw caution to the wind, and kissed Deeks’ cheek. Although Nell was right next to them, she was too busy teaching Eric some overly complicated looking card game, to notice.

“Of course, this all stays between you and me. Officially, I think it’s a terrible idea,” Callen stressed.

“Absolutely,” Sam agree, clinking the neck of his beer against Callen’s. “Can’t make it too easy on, ‘em.”

***

A/N: I’m almost certain this isn’t really what you were asking for, but it’s what came out. I hope that’s ok.

Thanks for the prompt!

[ratwars]

Fyodor self ship hcs

Taking him to the bar I used to be a regular at.

He likes the basement more than the upstairs. It's cramped and dark with low ceilings it reminds him of some of his various hideouts and there are less people.

He is horrified by the communal popcorn machine. He thinks it's unsanitary and doesn't understand why they can't legally serve food but can have *that*. He reluctantly tries the popcorn (read: I force a piece in his mouth when his defenses are down and he gets huffy about it) and actually likes it but does not want anymore because drunk ppl scooping out bar popcorn from a janky machine still is not his cup of tea. Did someone just use their hands? They absolutely did. "Just don't think about it" "No."

He appreciates the fact it is cash only and no one IDs him when he comes in with someone the doorman knows (of course he has fake IDs because of his shady occupation but it is nice to not have to use them)

He is amused by the cigarette vending machine "what year is it?" 💀

Speaking of tea, he is shocked to learn that despite the fact this is absolutely a dive bar the downstairs bartender keeps a kettle and a coffee maker and he can have hot drinks if he wants (he does. It is colder in the basement).

He falls under the impression that tea and coffee are free and that the drinks are much cheaper than upstairs. It takes coming back a few times to realize the guy downstairs just gives me and anyone i bring with me free things constantly and never charges me correctly.

He hacks the digital jukebox from his phone discretely to give me unlimited plays and also pushes my songs up the queue in front of everyone else's.

He is okay at darts but since it is very small and cramped and there is only one dart board shoved under the stairs and one pool table we don't get to play unless we come back other times.

Since it is so laid back and close knit with the downstairs crowd (and he has a silver tongue) he makes friends easily. He quickly realizes while he is going to spin tales about who he actually is he doesn't need to very often. He isn't the only strange person in this room and no one is going to ask him for personal information if he doesn't volunteer it himself. He definitely would come back with me again 😌

I am bad at pool but he assures me he barely knows how to play so I agree. He wants to wager on it 20 a set which is suspicious but I agree to that as well.

He lied. He is great at pool and he wipes the floor with me and takes me for at least 100 because I'm pissed and keep insisting on another set since no one else is waiting to use the table and I think I can at least win once. I don't. I just played right into his hand but he knows he can only use that trick once so next time he teaches me how to play better (no gambling involved)

[zhouxiangs]

One last thing and then I'll never darken your doorway/ask box again, but I just need to get all this pent-up Way-related madness out of my system so I can put it all behind me and move on!

Inspired by your tags on the post compiling the mind control moments, I thought how this is a great example of confirmation bias and it's really fascinating how differently we interpret things depending on our predisposition to view someone/something a certain way: those ppl who view Way primarily as a manipulative, creepy, irredeemable antagonist (each to their own!) see him using his power on Babe in ep 9 when they're hugging as the sick cherry on top of a moulding cake - it's Babe's most vulnerable moment and Way can't help himself, he's at it yet again, the utter bastard.

Whereas in that same moment what I see - someone who views him primarily as a deeply fucked up, morally confused, painfully tragic disaster - is a man watching the person he loves most in the world (regardless of how we judge his feelings, that's certainly what Way believes) completely break down, sob in his arms, and feel utterly helpless in the face of that pain - unable to comfort him, to make it better, to make Babe stop hurting. He looks positively panicked. And that's partly because of his own lies and secrets and the general complications of their situation, but it's also because he's a trainwreck himself - he doesn't have the psychological toolkit necessary to provide Babe with the solace he needs. So he falls back on the only thing Tony's conditioned him to think he's good for - he feels powerless so he uses his power. It's all he has. It's all he can do. It's such a childlike reaction, it breaks my heart - often when a child encounters someone in distress, that's their exact reaction: stop crying! Don't be sad! They're bewildered, they're hurting now too, and they don't know what to do, they just know they don't like it, so they simply order you to feel better. It's coming from the same sort of place, it's just that Way happens to have the ability to make that order a reality! And maybe I'm grasping at straws, but I think it's important that all he actually uses his power to say is, effectively, 'dont cry, you'll always have me', which, as you pointed out, is a perfectly normal sentiment to express to an upset friend! And even then you can see his hesitancy in doing it. If he really was a terrible horrible no-good very bad boy, this would be the moment to take advantage of Babe, physically or emotionally. But he doesn't. Okay, so the bar is super low, but I don't care - I'm still claiming it as a win for Way's potential redemption!

and because it took me so long to reply to the others i actually got a third ask ijbol 

ANON DON’T LEAVE ME, my ask box is open for whenever you need to get all your pent-up way-related or pit babe in general madness out of your system, so feel free.

disclaimer i should have made earlier maybe: i didn’t know nut before pit babe, so i wasn’t influenced by him playing way in any way. don’t let my username fool you; i am a hot wheel omegaverse fan first and foremost and a nut supanut fan second.

i have to say i felt so proud as more eps came out and they kept making more and more obvious what was happening with way… because i clocked it in that first scene at the pool table, on second watch iirc. it took so much effort not to point it out to my friend when i watched the ep with her later that i had to shut up so i wouldn’t say anything lol i love when they do things like that hhh

i’m pretty sure that’s the moment i started paying more attention to way too, because he uses his powers on babe

to tell him something completely normal that anyone would just tell to their friends directly. and, to me, there’s only two ways to read his motives there: either he thinks he needs to use his powers to get through babe’s thick skull because he would not believe it otherwise, or he doesn’t believe in himself enough to think babe, his best friend, would actually listen to him and believe him. (arguably you could say he wants to make sure babe goes to him and no one else, which i don’t think is the case, but i will say it here just to be perfectly clear.) whichever his reasoning actually was it made my sad man alarm go off full blast. i didn’t have an opinion on him yet at that point, only found his reactions to the charlie situation funny, so that was my honest reaction without having any kind of preconceived notion or expectation from the character.

and then, as the story kept progressing, he kept using his powers for similar reasons.

yes he still mind-controlled babe in fucked up ways into believing he wasn’t worthy of love, but now, because he doesn’t already believe that anymore, the idea wouldn’t take. it would hurt babe’s feelings hearing his best friend say that, but it was honestly something he had believed at some point, and again way was trying to protect babe in the most misguided way possible.

and then of course there’s the scene in ep 7 after babe learns about charlie being another of tony’s children and i don’t know if you’ve watched it again after way’s reveal, but you can see his thoughts and feelings so clearly in his face. he’s feeling helpless in so many ways and he wants his friend to stop hurting so he knows the only think he knows that works and it’s so fucked up, because it doesn’t really do anything. he only gets babe to stop crying, which doesn’t make him stop hurting, only makes way stop seeing it, and i don’t think he puts that much thought into it, as you said it’s very clearly a childlike reaction, but it is so telling of way as a character and of his state of mind. not least of all because we’ve seen him comfort babe a lot more with things that are nothing compared to this, but here he doesn’t know what to say or do. so yeah, no notes.

you and me anon, you and me. i do think we’re getting a redemption arc, specially with pete’s whole thing toward way, but i’m cautiously not counting my eggs just yet. 

breaks my heart when people don’t stop to wonder why someone that from what we know has the sole mission of bringing babe back home to tony couldn’t have used his powers to either do just that back then or mind-controlling babe into thinking he was in love with him, and instead has spent the last 10 years next to him every day as his best friend. love by itself is neither good or bad, it simply is.