#the way this bit is casually over three decades old

[becausethathappens]

remember that? (inspired by this post)

[thankskenpenders]

And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

[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

[deafsignifcantother]

if music be the food of love chapter 11

♥ here you go lovies, it’s series time | chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten ♥ summary: the two of you go on an outing and find a familiar place, but everything is different. he is different. ♥ relationships: aroace Alastor x deaf female reader (now purely romance) ♥ word count: 3.2k ♥ pinterest board ' it has outfit inspo in it now ♥ notes: they argue for like 60% of this chapter, reader cries and gets angry at him, is he gaslighting or is it true but even he doesn't know, they lie back and forth, this gif has been setting the tone this entire time and now it's obvious

Without death, there would be no warmth, no motivation to live a long life.

That's what you had told him many decades ago.

He thinks about that now as he buckles his sock garters, hiding his hooves. Did he once have the motivation to live a long life? He wanted to make mama proud, but he never imagined himself as an older man. Raising kids was out of the question, and he had never met a person he'd pictured himself being with for years on end. Plus, imagine how funny it would be if he'd encountered his partner in the afterlife, too.

He scoffs and laughs to himself. What a nightmare that would be.

And then he thinks about you. You can handle your own, and you're not any weakness of his. Not necessarily.

But his giving into emotional affection throws a wrench in it all. Alastor loves you, that's true. But his love is a drawback, and his deal requires him to overcome any liability that can doom the Hazbin Hotel.

He called upon you to defend the hotel; that much is true. What is he going to do now? Will he send you away or make you fight?

He could make you fight. He has the power, the authority. He could, if he must.

He has yet to decide.

Meanwhile, you're trying to calm down your purposely bunched fabric to one side, but it's overlapping in a way that seems clustered. He shouldn't mind the disorganization. It's his shade of red. You couldn't help yourself. It feels almost mandatory.

With one tiny jump, the fabric cascades in the way you intend. The dress is longer than you predicted, but the beauty of it is worth whatever guts and sticky substances will end up staining the ends.

Thankfully, once you two start walking, you elevate the gown enough to get by. Alastor knows these streets by now, yes, but you only vaguely recognize the new structures. You've been outside twice: walking to the hotel and visiting the overlord meeting. These buildings are much taller than you remember; even the bars have at least three stories. In this day and age, it appears people can live above bars. How distasteful.

Nothing is more distasteful than the eyes Alastor gets once you cross the threshold into Cannibal Town. Young ladies swoon over him, and he'll smile and wave. You almost want to smack his hand. He even ignores your music, how some violin strings audibly snap whenever you make eye contact with some of the girls. Don't they see the ascot? It's unmistakable that he's yours.

"Now, now, now," he wiggles a finger at you, his body tilted towards you as he walks. "Don't be like that, darling."

All you do is roll your eyes with a frown and place a hand on the small of his back, a casual touch that makes him cringe in place. His body is gone within the second but reappears by your opposite side, offering his elbow for you to interlock into.

You pull him a bit closer. "Is there a place here you like? I wonder if that old cafe is still open. Do you remember which one?"

He looks down at you with a wide smile, his lips curving into a sweet oh ho ho. "That tacky old place? I doubt it's still here. Why don't we go check?"

Before you can respond, he makes a b-line to the sidewalk across the street, stepping onto the road without a care. Red buildings, most lined with white pillars, pass by, and dead trees litter the gardens, proof of how rare flowers are. The only flowers that can be found are roses covered in too many thorns to grab onto. You eye them as you come by, the blood-stained petals reeking of a fresh kill. Maybe you'll ask Alastor to snap a rose into fruition. Or, hopefully, he'll do it without being asked.

A small two-story building with broken windows comes into view, tucked between two much higher stores. It's dim even under the red streetlamps.

Still, Alastor perks with excitement, dragging you along, not caring for the slight oomph your mouth lets out at his yank. He points a clawed finger towards it, eyes flickering across the wooden tables inside the rusted gate. Paint was chipped on the sign proclaiming the shop's name, and as expected, the place has been long abandoned.

"Marvelous!" He removes himself from your touch to sign with both hands. "Look at it! Oh, what a sight!"

You stare up at the sign; you can't take your eyes off it. You used to explode with happiness whenever you saw that sign, but now it's rotted with time.

Alastor takes both of your hands, pressing them to his lips before letting go. "Darling, here we are!"

"It's different," you state the obvious. But one glimpse at Alastor's cheerfulness reminds you to be grateful. You lift your head. "I suppose it still has its charm."

He watches your face, not following your eyes when you look back up at the sign. There you go, thinking about the past again.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you along as he opens the door, pulling it rough enough to break it from its hinges. But he drops it to the ground and uses it as a stepway over glass; he even slips his grip on your wrist to your fingers when he gracefully helps you step across it.

The flowery wallpaper is still up; some panels are torn but most wholly salvaged. The cash register, however, has been stolen from its place. The glass in front of where the pastries would be is cracked open, with shards scattering across the floor. Each step is crunchy under your shoes; you can feel it.

He pulls out a raggedy wooden chair for you and helps you sit before seating himself across from you. A relatively soft tablecloth remains.

"The ambience here certainly isn't what it used to be!" He signs, eyebrows raised. His facade is evident, but you're unable to see through it. Is he as saddened as you are, or did he predict this much? Is he even happen to be in this building again?

He summons a cup of coffee, sipping it without hesitation—a more genuine smile forms on your lips. You even laugh.

You raise your palm, motioning for him to summon you a drink. But he just waves a finger at you.

Alastor puts down his mug slowly.

"You've been behaving strangely today, my dear. This might be the first time I've seen you smile."

Your eyebrows contort into surprise before you can stop them. The tilting of his head has your brain stumbles over itself. His challenging eyes can only make you speak honestly, but your goal is to avoid as much trouble with him as possible.

"I've just been a bit anxious. You know," your fingers can hardly form the shape and motion, "the extermination."

His face darkens. As much as he'd like to sidestep that topic, he can't ignore how painfully you reacted to his question.

With one hand, he taps his nails against the tablecloth. "Anxious, hmm?"

It's an invitation for you to continue, and it's not an invitation you're accepting.

"Charlie and the others are preparing, yes? I see them scurrying around sometimes."

He nods slowly, eyes narrowing. You both share a similar thought, this will be interesting. Ever since he's led you to the hotel, you haven't gone a week without a disagreement. Things didn't used to be like this. He wasn't like this.

He prompts again, "Yes, they are. And Charlie is making progress, surprisingly. What are you worried about?"

Your mind races, but you're a quick thinker, as an Overlord should be. "Exterminations are always scary, and if you remember, I haven't been involved in one. If Charlie has it under control, then good for her."

Alastor leans forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "They are scary, yes, but I asked what you're worried about."

"Confrontation, simple."

Neither of you continue to sign. He leans back, bringing the coffee to his lips, eyes darting to the floor in thought before flickering back up to you. He lets out a slight, hidden hum. Your body language isn't showing any sign of stress, your hands are still, and your face has returned to neutral. Your shoes are planted on the ground, and your body is in a regular posture.

"Fighting," he says the word for you, "is a very fair thing to worry about."

"Yes it is."

Something gives you away; he notices it more deliberately than he'd prefer. Your eyes hide a bitterness towards him. You stare at him intently as if trying to figure out his intentions. He has to admit, it is a bit unnerving. He can tell you've brought up the topic for a reason, but he decides to give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Did you find out his original plan? Ah, he realizes. You know.

He pieces together your thoughts quicker than you had conjured them. You've been let in on a secret, making you doubt him entirely. But you know he cherishes you deeply, so your head is battling your heart. You're wondering if love is clouding your judgment; that's it, isn't it?

What can he do about it?

And at this same table, you had made the joke, one he still thinks about. "You're someone I should fear, aren't you? But you're such a sweetheart. How lucky am I?"

He holds your gaze, keeping his face calm, signing gently as if you'd scurry away if he made sudden movements.

"You're not... scared of me, are you, my dear?"

"Scared?" Your fingers barely flicker, the signing equivalent to a whisper. Your heart pounds in your chest, but it doesn't stop you from lying. "Scared is not the word, I'd never be scared of you."

His smile grows. You're hiding something, still fighting him, refusing to admit what he wants to hear.

"Not scared? I suppose that's reassuring, somewhat." And then he pauses, not taking his eyes off of you. He tilts his head to the side, the smile on his face never faltering. "Just... cautious, sweetheart?"

"Always cautious." You determine that to be an acceptable thing to admit. "You wanted to kill me when we first met. Losing cautiousness would be ridiculous."

But there were times when you let him drag you off to who knows where whenever he pleased. There were many times he could have killed you, and you would have had no defenses.

He lets out a bark of a laugh, placing a hand on his chest. He knows that very well, it's something you both joke about, but now you're bringing it up with seriousness.

Unintentionally, he bares his teeth. "Very true, I did want to kill you. Can you really blame me, though? But that's in the past!"

He takes time to fiddle with his jacket sleeves before continuing. "You know, dearest... you trust me. Don't you?"

This is more an interrogation than a conversation. You huff, eyelids falling, evidence of how annoyed you are with this discussion, the emotion building up. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

He raises his eyebrows, a subtle hint of irritation. He drums his fingers against the tabletop. "Hm, no need to get smart with me, darling. I was simply curious is all."

"You know, this was supposed to be an enjoyable outing but everything with you feels like an interrogation, so don't mind me if I can't seem to not be cautious around you." Your cheeks heat, and you gulp, still trying to push down your bitterness, your defensiveness. You're aware of how irrational you seem, but you're tired of Alastor trying to pick you apart piece by piece.

His smile grows as he squints at you, his irritation slowly building into annoyance. He leans forward, signs clustered because of his tense claws. "So it's my fault this outing is turning sour? My, my, you seem to be quite upset because of my harmless questions."

"Enough with that! You know fully well what you're doing!" You point a finger at him and lean closer. Your breathing gets heavy, and your eyes start to water. This is absurd, foolish, laughable, but you can't stop yourself. "I hate when you talk to me like this, why can't you let go of this persona you put on? Who's watching? There's no one else but me, and you're talking to me as if I'm just vermin!"

You drop your hands, dig your nails into the tablecloth, and shred it, destroying the only homey object that remains in this omitted cafe.

All the negative feelings in his chest mix to produce anger. He scowls at your frantic hands before glancing up into your firey eyes, eyeing the tears forming in them. They don't bother him at all. His smile tightens as he tosses the coffee across the room, letting it splatter against the flowery wall. His usual cheerful demeanor is long gone as he rips the speaker from your chest and drops it to the ground. "Watch your tone, love, or you're going to regret it."

"What are you going to do to me? Tell me. Are you going to send me off into battle to watch me die, because I know for a fact that that's what you want to do to me!" The moment you say it, the moment you shatter.

He grinds his teeth together. He should get a trophy for his patience with you. His eyes go black, and his arms get longer and thinner. "I'm going to warn you, my dear, to shut your damn mouth." He blinks, and the radio dials appear, but he blinks again, and they're gone. It's a cycle. "As for your little theory, you're wrong."

When he gets a good look at you, it finally hits him how desperate you seem. You have tears running down your face. Wrinkles have formed on your dress, which you picked out just for him. He had found it in himself to proclaim his love for you, but you still hold this distrust within you. Has he not proved himself to be loyal enough? He will not allow you to think of the extermination as a means to an end.

You wipe the tears away, taking a moment to stare at his chest as he takes deep breaths. He's calming himself down for you. He can rip you to shreds, but he isn't. It would help if you focused on that. He's not going to kill you with his own hands; that's apparent. For the best, you hone in on that. You also hone in on how ridiculous he looks in an ascot.

The pause in responses lets you gather your thoughts. Being mad means Alastor wins. You need to be more precise with your words, but you've consistently failed to do that around him. He can see right through you, he's always been able to.

The two of you breathe in sync, calming down. Alastor's sadistic smile fades into a thin line, anger dissipating, a look of concern falling upon his features. He knows you are wrong in some way. He has no plans to kill you or send you to your death, not like that. But you don't trust him, which hurts more than he cares to admit. His eyes glaze over with contemplation. What's worse, confirming your beliefs or lying and denying them?

Even more, what is the real truth?

"You know, dearest, it's disheartening to see that you'd think I have some nefarious plan for you. I'll have you know, I have no intention of letting you die."

It's the most sentimental thing he's said all day, and you cling to it, logging his words into your memory. Everything in you wants to keep the truth close, but it fades away by the second. Truth? No, he's changed. He loves you, and you shouldn't forget that.

For a second, you consider an apology, but all you can muster is a simple, "I believe you."

He returns to the man you know so well when he laughs, waving you off. "Believe me? That's a start, at least! Don't try to lie to me, I can tell you're still suspicious, my dear."

You roll your eyes, sniffling and ignoring his attitude, your hand falling to your empty chest. Your hand dips into the gap, feeling your slowing heartbeat. Deep breaths. Everything is okay now. "I'll get over it."

"Good. I much prefer a calm, happy you instead of the accusatory one."

It's another jab, a small one, but you let it go. Some parts of him are never going to change.

"Oh my," your still-watery eyes avoid his, falling to the rips in the tablecloth. "I certainly hope no one will notice."

And you look up at him with a weak smile.

His smile forms into a wide smirk. "In this deserted, forgotten, excuse of a cafe? The whole town will notice!"

"I'll have to go on the run."

"Oh yes, the owner is just around the corner, waiting to throw you in the slammer for destroying the precious thing."

"I can only imagine." You chuckle, the last of your tears wiped away. You fidget with the end of the tablecloth. "I'm sorry for yelling."

You miss his gaze softening. You're apologizing?

He knocks on the table to get your attention. You look up at him, his widened red eyes, open smile and upward eyebrows.

"My sonnet, my agony," one of his hands grabs yours, stilling it. "There's no need to apologize. I pushed a few too many buttons. I hope you're not still too cross with me, hmm?"

You squeeze his hand, accepting his poor attempt at an apology. Surrounded by dust and broken glass, the atmosphere couldn't be more peaceful, slowly repairing itself.

"I'm not, it's okay."

He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand softly. "Good. I honestly can't stand it when you're upset with me, darling."

"And yet-" you stop and bite your lip, pausing your movements. With your hand in the air, you change the movement, leaning forward and pinching Alastor's cheek with a mother would a son. Before he would be able to swat you away, you pull back, "How can I stay mad at you?"

His smile widens, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You can't! I'm afraid you love me too much, isn't that right?"

"Yes," you agree. You try to match his expression, mimicking the lightheartedness, but in the corner of your eye, glimpsing your speaker, which lies on the floor, evidence of his aggression. "Evidently."

"Evidently, indeed." His gaze never leaves yours. He enjoys the sound of the town's ambiance and the pleasant sight before him, how gorgeous you look after the tears. He can't stop himself. "You know, it's quite endearing to see those doe eyes look up at me instead of the anger from before."

"I'm sure."

Even though his smile is bright, it cannot conceal his sharp teeth. You think of what this has accomplished. He picked you apart at the seams, yes, but you also got a semi-confirmation that his plans have changed. He's not going to let you die, that's acceptable news. He got mad at you, more mad than he's ever been. He's never threatened you before, either. That's not something you're going to brush off. But most importantly, he smiled when you pinched his cheek. That's new.

[thatbadadvice]

Help! The Woman I Have Been Stalking for Years Is Disinclined to Engage With Me

Carolyn Hax, WaPo, 1 June 2023 (originally 11 March 2009):

Dear Carolyn: About five years ago, I began to realize that a woman I dated 25 years earlier was someone I had stronger feelings for than I was mature enough to appreciate at the time. I had questions for her about why we hadn’t blossomed into the kind of relationship I now think we both believe we were destined for. In the past five years, I’ve continued to have those questions, then dreams, etc., which led me to do a paid search for her address. I wrote her twice and left a voice mail. My messages have been about old friends I bumped into who reminded me of her, what I’ve been doing and how I’d like to hear from her. That is, nothing too serious or about what’s been on my mind. I haven’t received an answer. I’ve thought through the reasons she hasn’t corresponded, and why I needed to talk with her, and am still at a loss. Would asking her my questions directly in a letter be a way to coax her to reconnect? Telling her that, apart from this midlife crisis of mine, I’m happily married and successful, and that all I want are answers? -- A 30-year-old question

Dear 30-Year-Old Question,

One might expect a happily married person to do all kinds of things, but topmost among them is paying to find the contact information of an ex-girlfriend and sending said ex-girlfriend multiple unanswered messages, repeatedly and through a variety of means, over the course of many years in the hopes of deceiving her into heady conversations about the details of your long-ended relationship. Yes indeed, when the Bad Advisor thinks of "normal stuff a person who's very happy in their marriage would do," her mind immediately goes to "pretending to ask innocuous questions about old friends in the hope that a woman I dated 30 years ago believes I am solely and only asking her innocent questions about old friends, when in fact I am explicitly and admittedly not."

Women are famously unable to clock the intentions of men, who are very clever, extremely stealthy, and never creepy or dangerous to the extent that they would unsettle people from whom they have demanded interaction and who have time and time again ignored them. Probably this woman received your incredibly blasé letters and voicemail and thought: "Gosh, it seems like this dude who deuced out on me three decades ago is trying to rope me into responding to him multiple times despite my obvious disinclination to engage only and exclusively on the subject of our old friends, what a boring conversation, I shan't respond unless he sends me a lengthy bit of written correspondence detailing his many thoughts and feelings about how our romance ended, I simply can't imagine having a conversation with him unless I know for absolute certain he wants to rehash what happened between us, which is the only possible way I could fathom entertaining such a reconnection, one which I would never have reason to pursue otherwise, as I am so desperately in love with him and have been lo these 30 years but could not in good conscience find a way to broach the subject unless he sends me just one more letter finally making his bonerful intentions plain, that sly dog."

Might you have neglected to include a return address on the previous correspondence about which you were extremely desperate, but in a very casual way, to receive a response? Does your ex-girlfriend own the only cellular telephone on earth that does not log the return-call number of people who leave voicemails? Mayhap she simply does not know how to contact you after multiple attempts over half a decade! These are highly probable reasons she has not sought you out! Vastly more likely than the fact that she sees entirely the fuck through your pretenses and wants nothing to do with you whatsoever.

If you wish to receive a concrete answer about the status of your relationships, your best hope is to CC your spouse on any future correspondence. I think you can expect a prompt response.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Isn’t Alycia’s latest post a perfect picture of the #MBFW Cabo trip? Could we have a peek at whatever you are working on for #MBFW? 🙏

Tiny sneak peek if ch3

///////////////////

Lexa never really saw herself as much of a ‘chiffon and ruffles' kind of girl. 

Apparently she had slept-walked through the phase of daydreaming adolescence that seemed to have infected the greater population of her peers whenever homecoming and prom had rolled around over a decade earlier. Her general disposition and distinct lack of enthusiasm meant she had remained mercifully unscathed through most banquets and dinner parties, even managing to slip through the cracks of a few ill-conceived appearances at more distant friends' nuptials-to-be.

She'd thought she'd flown under the radar of pomp, frills, and satin for the entirety of her life. Safe in her cotton blends of sundresses, dress slacks, and half-undone button downs.

And yet there she stood, surrounded by shocks of bunting, bows, and lace.

It honestly made her feel a bit queasy.

Yet, the bridal shop had felt like a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the brunch turned midmorning affair. Eggs Benedict and half eaten sausage laid in discarded puddles of ketchup and syrup as everyone had moved from the sanctuary of their assigned tables to use the rest of the allotted time to catch up with old faces. But with a time crunch at hand and a very ‘Not Here To Mess Around’ Abby taking the reins, Lexa had found herself ushered out of the banquet hall and into Clarke's death trap of a convertible, right along with the bride-to-be and (soon-to-be ex) groom yet again. 

A lead footed trip across town had them screeching up in front of a small boutique that would've vaguely resembled any other dress storefront, if it were not for the general appearance that someone had thrown up pepto bismol coated taffeta all over anything that would sit still.

They'd been met inside by the shop owner herself, Abby having apparently taken an immediate liking to the stout dictator of a woman whose vaguely threatening aura was only enhanced by a thick European-esque accent that Lexa couldn't quite pin down. But between fluttering lashes and clasping hands and smiles that betrayed nothing short of gratitude and a willingness to do whatever the woman decreed, Lexa had been able to tell from the second they'd walked in that Abby was positively smitten.

She'd ushered the group in pairs, waving the bridal party toward her right in a bored jab of one calloused finger, while waving the other hand toward the tuxedo rental outlet that connected next door with a droll, “Anybody who wants a suit, you go there. Unless boys, you want dress as well. I can do that. Otherwise, you go. Go.”

Which was how Lexa had found herself standing awkwardly off to the side in a sea of her family, mixed in among people she'd only met about an hour before as each getting prodded, poked, and pinched by tiny but mighty hands in the name of getting their measurements. 

"I have been on dates that haven't felt this intimate," Raven grunted from her place on the pedestal before being unceremoniously spun around, just to have her arms yanked out to the sides the second she found her footing. "Ow, shit, lady."

"No curse in my shop. Only smiles. It's happy day," the owner droned out in hollow, monotone clips, before planting a hand on Raven's back and all but shoving her off to the side. “You're beautiful, yes, perfect. Okay, go.”

Raven stumbled out of the line with a backward scowl, making her way over to where the bride and maid of honor waited for the rest of the bridal party to finish their turn. "Who fuckin' let her outta the gulag early?"

Clarke barely paused in her casual perusal of the closest rack lined with dress options. "Hey, uh-uh. She's the only one who could promise to have all four bridesmaids dresses done in three days and do alterations for everyone else. Her work is supposedly immaculate—"

"And that's great, I'm in awe of her tiny bridal kingdom, but she doesn't have to give me a pap smear and a smack on the ass to get that done."

"At least she didn't actually feel you up," Lexa offered with a shiver at the memory of her turn in line. She double-checked that no one was paying attention to their little huddle before lowering her voice and bringing her hands up to roughly cup her own breasts. "Oh no. You have metal on your bosoms," she imitated the shopkeeper in an accented, disappointed whisper, "This will be no good. You take those out day of, okay?"

"Lexa—"

"They're nice, though, yeah," she continued over Clarke's chiding in the same mysterious accent, giving an added flick to one piercing studded nipple in question. "Not cross-eyed. Very nice. But no good for big day."

The trio worked to smother their giggles as Clarke reached out and dragged Lexa's hands away from her own chest. "Seriously, stop," Clarke whispered through her own fit of laughter. "If you offend her, mom is going to go ballistic."

"Tell me about it. Jake needs to get here pronto ‘cause I give it like another half hour tops before Abby’s ready to open the marriage."

"Besides," Clarke stressed, ignoring Raven entirely. "Don't listen to her. You know I don't care if your piercings show through your dress."

"She's telling you she wants you to put the girls on display,” Raven added with a sultry shimmy of her chest.

"Dude. My mother is fifteen feet away."

“Well you're the one telling her you want her highbeams on full blast.”

Clarke's face heated into a deep shade of pink as she leveled Raven with a glare and snatched another hangered dress off the rack. “That is not what I said. What I said was that it's not an issue. Lexa's nipples won't be an issue.”

“I've been your friend for a long time, Clarke. When has Lexa's nipples ever not been an issue?”

Lexa weakly interjected, “Maybe we could all stop talking about Lexa's nipples now. Maybe that's the real issue.”

“You brought ‘em up, cutie,” Raven husked with a smooch of her lips and a lecherous sweep of her tongue over her teeth. 

Lexa merely rolled her eyes, while Clarke piped up, “Stop flirting with my maid of honor, Raven.”

Raven snorted a laugh. “You first.”

Clarke made a garbled sound of dissent and whirled around, walking over to the connecting wall covered in mirrors without bothering to dignify that with an answer.

Seemingly pleased with her effect, Raven slung an arm over Lexa's shoulder and met her look of disapproval with an evil smirk. 

“You guys really make it way too easy.”

[universallydestinytaco]

A Wild Nerve-Ending on a Friday Night (Oneshot)

*mood music*

Well, tonight is the end of S2, beautiful friends…it’s been a lot of fun. I’d like to thank each and every one of you who made this off the wall, chaotic shitposting journey with us. This blog wouldn’t have been anything without y’all! Hopefully this show left us with some good memes….

So, until S3, I’m gonna keep writing silly little fanfics like this! Stay gold, critters.

….bang. /ref

Inspired by this post from @friendlysmiler

Pim is canonically quite the party animal himself from what we saw in everyone’s favorite episode so who knows what hijinks the little pink imp gets into? XD

Side Note: Bill and Smormu are not only both alive here but they’re a wlw couple here, Bill is a he/him lesbian and Smormu is transfemme and sapphic, because that’s how I roll.

Monday, 7:15am

A fresh start to a brand new week at the Smiling Friends charity has officially began as everyone punched in and awaited their breakfast Alan theatrically-prepared while he channeled his inner Joichiro Yukihira in the breakroom kitchen.

Charlie was scrolling through his phone while smirking at old Rage Comics from over a decade ago with Glep watching on his shoulder and making a similar goofy smirk while Pim happily drew a picture of his co-workers in colored pencils to stick onto the fridge while quietly singing a song from one of his comfort shows.

“Take a moment to think of juuuust, flexibility love and truuust~”

Once Pim colored inside the lines, he hopped out of his chair and scurried to the fridge to display his masterpiece. “Excuse me, I’m just going to grab the cheese to melt over our deluxe omelette.” asked Alan in his usual monotone voice while Pim let out a nervous squeak while stepping out of Alan’s way. While Alan grabbed what he needed he inspected Pim’s drawing a with an impressed smile. “I really like your picture here, you even perfectly replicated my scales.”

Pim started excitedly fidgeting his hands as he chirped: “Thank you, Alan, I always find it weird whenever people draw you, they tend to forget or deliberately leave it out. I think your scales are beautiful!” Alan got a bit bashful while trying to stay focused on finding the cheese grater, uttering a somewhat-shaker “Thank you, you’re too kind….damn can’t find it, don’t want to burn the omelette so I’ll just-“ Alan grabbed a knife and precisely peeled thin-layers of cheddar to gently lay on top of the fluffy eggy clouds seasoned with garden-fresh herbs and spring onions.

Charlie couldn’t resist making a cheap shot at his slinky red co-worker: “Hey guys, Alan cut the cheese.”, such was a line that caused him and Glep to burst into laughter as if they where in grade school. Alan, who was serving plates carrying slices of the omelette, wasn’t amused and was tempted to gift the two wisecracking ingrates each an equally-tasteless surprise of pulling a Glep into their food, but took the high-brow road with a classy remark: “Let’s switch the conversation to a topic with actual substance…so, how did everyone’s weekend go?”

Charlie piped up first: “I played through the entirety of this one cool RPG for two days straight then when I finally beat it I celebrated getting wasted at the bar before getting kicked out for starting another brawl and spent all Sunday sleeping off my hangover.” He lifted his right sleeve to reveal the cherry on top: “On the way home I got this bitchin’ tattoo.” Lovingly detailed on Charlie’s arm was a crudely-drawn snake-dragon thing with arms breathing fire.

Alan then turned to Pim, asking: “How was yours?” to which Pim casually replied: “Oh, nothing much, the highlight was me and some friends hanging out at a pool.”

…

Friday, 6:00pm ~ Three Nights Ago…

Pim was sneaking around with a group of familiar faces as the moon hung in the sky like a charm on a bracelet, a chorus of snickering harmonized with the chirping crickets and the hooting owls. They stop at their final destination: the fence barring access to a familiar estate from the common folk….that didn’t stop the wild bunch from helping each other break in by climbing over and slipping through. Greeting the mischievous party was a grandiose pool yard just begging for the crowd to jump in. “Ah, the perks of having connections with an A-List Celebrity….” Pim monologued to himself, before taking his shirts and shorts off revealing underneath was a hot sparkly teal one-piece with a star-shaped hole at the back for his pollywog tail to peek through. Smormu, who wore a pink floral-print bikini under her button-up and capri-pants whispered to Pim: “Are you sure we’re not going to get caught?” Pim replied with a grin: “Don’t worry, love, Mr. Frog’s out and about somewhere, probably at a crummy bar, and probably causing his usual commotions there so he isn’t too concerned with whatever’s happening here.” As Duncan and Dj Spitz set the mood by the former playing a 90s bop out of a retro boombox and the latter breaking out the booze, Everyone stampeded over to the pool in unison, each individual jumping in the cold crisp waters in various amusing ways as the loud victory cry of “GERONIMOOOO!!!!” bursted out of the ever-excitable Filmore’s mouth like a firework into the sky. It was a rip-roaring time with just a hint of good-old-fashioned chaos, just the way Pim liked it.

Just three nights night ago around this time, Pim was uncontrollably sobbing to himself in a pillow over the fact that his fickle sister Amy invited literally everyone she knew to her wedding… except for her ever-loyal and loving baby brother, bragging about having Mr. Frog as a celebrity guest. Sick of crying his eyes out and being excluded from his family’s lives on a daily basis, he figured he could have a celebration of his own! The only downside was his co-workers having plans of their for that weekend, otherwise he would have invited them over for this late-night dive.

“A toast to our dear comrade and member of the Pennsylvania UFO-Hunting Squad, the ever-lovable Pimling!” Bill proposed as he raised his glass, everyone followed suit, chanting Pim’s name, except for a heavily-intoxicated Dj Spitz pounding in his chest and hollering out: “FUCK YEAH ROCK ON LIL PINK MAN!!!” Of course Pim immediately got flustered, his face turned a vivid shade of hot pink as a result of all the positive attention while mustering the confidence to reply until grinning sheepishly and raising his own glass, stuttering: “T-thank you everyone, you’re all too kind…all this hype about little ol’ me.” In a rush off of the praise and the sheer audacity of his actions, he chugged his drink down without a second thought. Everything after that was a string of vague, discombobulated visions of what happened in-between the rest of the night…

Saturday, 5:02am

It was a very early morning when the dizzy, light-headed Pim woke up front-facing the twilight sky melting into daytime, getting up and finding himself floating inside Mr. Frog’s grandiose fountain in front of his house until he immediately snapped out of it upon just noticing the strewn toilet paper and graffiti all over the statue. In a panic, Pim swam out and scurried around looking for everyone else and making sure nobody was left behind, his heart raced discovering more of the shameless if not karmic defilement of Mr. Frog’s property: overturned lawn chairs with one thrown into a window, discarded junk inside the pool and the jacuzzi, more TP strewn around like party streamers and someone’s trunks (presumably Duncan’s) hung like a flagpole like a comical take on a windsock. It seemed everyone except Pim had taken off before sunrise if not gotten arrested. Combined with the panic attack he was getting and the unambiguous symptoms of a hangover reeking havoc on his body, Pim tried to reach for a trash can to stress-vomit until he collapsed and relieved his bile in the jacuzzi. Minutes went by as Pim felt weak like a newborn kitten, prepared for the legal trouble he was about to get himself in if Mr. Frog wasn’t going to maim him Spamtopia-style first….just then a familiar voice rang in Pim’s ears that filled him with relief, Pim’s eyes cracked open as he started upward at a sober Bill holding the hand of his stumbling partner, Smormu. “Morning, buddy, need a hand?” Pim responded without so much words as it was a tired grunt and raising his stubby pink hand to initiate Bill and Smormu helping their friend up. “Let’s hurry and get out of here, unless we wanna throw a party in the county tank.” Bill chuckled.

Later that day saw a double-dose of tea and drama Pim was secretly and gleefully catching up with, from Pim’s mother recanting to Pim how much of a disaster Amy’s wedding was when Mr. Frog showed his ass once again by getting drunk and trashing the place, even spilling red wine on her wedding dress. Then the news that Mr. Frog came home to his place utterly savaged, claiming he’d seek revenge on the purp but considering the type of person he was, everyone assumed that Frog did it himself after coming home from the wedding he was invited too and was too drunk to remember.

Monday, 7:27am

Pim finished with an uproar of laughter from his co-workers plus Mr. Boss, all of them in shock and awe that the one always perceived as the cute little “goody-two-shoes” of the Smiling Friends charity was capable of getting up to some serious frat boy-level shenanigans. Charlie felt as if he wasted his time spending his weekend the same as the last, so he asked his best friend: “Hey Pim, you think I can hang out with you next weekend?” Pim made an innocent pose, putting his finger on his lips as if he was a kid who got caught stealing from a cookie jar. “Well, maybe not same-the-same-place but I know another celebrity’s pool yard to break into! I hear the Krombledashians are hosting the Meep Gala next Saturday…”

[comtedelafere]

So I just read this afternoon that Ray Stevenson has died at the age of 58 (which is absolutely no age, the poor fella, what a shock).

I'm not gonna pretend to know much about his back catalogue of work or say I was an especial fan or anything disingenuous like that, but I do really want to talk for a quick moment about the one role I really know and love him for - Porthos in the 2011 adaptation of The Three Musketeers.

Now, I know and you know that this version of The Musketeers is massively unpopular for a whole host of reasons - most notably the silly airship storyline (personally, I have such a well-trained suspension of disbelief that I can 100% deal with the airship aspect of it, but I totally get why it's an unpopular addition to the story) - but I will happily die on the hill that it is the closest combination of writing and portrayal of the Core Four yet (sorry, BBC version). Logan Lerman's d'Artagnan was a cheeky 19-year-old rascal who thought he was all that and a bag of chips and didn't care who knew it. Matthew Macfadyen's Athos was sullen and morose (but in a really hot way obvs, cos yknow - Athos) and didn't waste a word of dialogue. Luke Evans' Aramis was quiet, sober, extremely spiritual and didn't go around trying to seduce everything that moved the whole time.

But Ray Stevenson's Porthos? Oh. Oh this was sublime. Up until this adaptation, Porthos had more often than not been played as the comic relief: the large, overweight, affable drunk of no fixed IQ whose prowess at fighting was more down to luck and subtle slapstick than his good judgement. This version of Porthos couldn't have been further away from those portrayals.

He was a quick-witted, smart, physically powerful and agile fighter, whose hand-to-hand combat skills were so notorious that he never needed to use his sword. My absolute favourite moment that showed this fact so beautifully was at the end of the big fight scene with the Red Guards ("Four against FORTY? And you beat them like a drum?! *snort*!" oh, Louis!) when the Guards were reeling a bit, and trying to decide whether to go another round. At that point, Porthos casually pushed his sword from the scabbard with his thumb by about 2 inches - and that was enough to send the Red Guards running for the hills!! I screamed!! Perfect characterisation!! Porthos to an absolute T!!!!!

Not only that, but his version of Porthos was an unashamed yet impoverished dandy, a dedicated follower of fashion who took his time to choose exactly the right cut of new clothes in exactly the right colours - while his rich, married lover happily picked up the tab for him. He understood the way the right clothes and the right combination of appearance and demeanour in any given scenario could give him the upper hand, not only in fighting but also in all of his interpersonal relationships and encounters.

This is the Porthos I had wanted for years. This is the Porthos I cheered and applauded for when I finally saw the version that had lived in my head all those years had finally made it to the screen.

Don't get me wrong, of course the BBC Musketeers owns a huge part of my heart and soul and I love so much about them - but the 2011 Musketeers was so special because for me it was probably the very first time I finally got to see the Musketeers as the book described them, rather than just as the standard accepted carbon copies that had been passed down by Hollywood over the decades, and which bear little to no resemblance to the actual characters in the book. I have no idea if I've actually seen any of Ray's other performances or not, to be honest. Porthos may not be his finest hour onscreen, I really don't know. It may not be the part he's best known for. But if nothing else, Ray finally gave the world a Porthos that Dumas would have recognised.

Despite the fact the film as a whole was received poorly, his portrayal was a genuine gift, and I am privileged to be able to remember him as having given this Musketeer fangirl the abject joy of finally seeing Porthos played as he should have been all along. Not as a large, loud drunk who was just there to be big, strong and funny - but as a highly skilled, intelligent, audacious soldier with a sharp sense of humour and an even sharper dress sense; and who, rather than simply bringing up the rear as The Other Guy or the Big Fella, showed that he was quite possibly the Musketeers' MVP.

Thank you, Ray. Goodnight, and rest well.

[meetmyothersouls]

Darling Death

A collaboration with @sufferingstarlight

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

Warnings: toxic male behavior, talks and mentions of death and dying, cemetery, not proof read

Chapter 5 - Day 5

"So, grim reapers can cook too? Let me add that to the list of random abilities you seem to possess," I said as I took in the array of food on the dining room table. Bacon, eggs, oatmeal. "You made pancakes too?"

"Actually, they're crepes." He seemed proud of himself, but also the slightest bit timid, like he wanted to make sure everything was to my liking. He stood in the entry way as I took a seat. I filled my plate with three glorious pieces of bacon, a hearty scoop of eggs and two of the crepes-not-pancakes.

"I gotta say," I said, as I shoveled a fork full of the stuff into my mouth. "Pancakes are better." I looked up, my cheeks stuffed with food. Timothee stood there, staring at me, a hint of a smile plastered on his face and I realized he looked more like he was lost in thought...and maybe admiring me. He quickly realized I noticed shook his head, as if erasing the expression from ever existing.

"Are you not gonna eat?" I asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the amount of food I had on my plate.

"I don't really need to eat," Timothee said, shrugging. "But I'll sit with you."

I watched him as he walked effortlessly to the table, if I didn't hear the slightest clack of his shoes on my hardwood floor, I would have assumed he was floating. He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

"Lemme guess, grim reapers feed off of a portion of the dead's souls, giving them sustenance until the next victim they reap passes?"

"Yes, actually."

My eyes snapped up, meeting his. There was a mixture of seriousness and amusement in them, and it was a mixture that made my stomach flip in a way that I wasn't expecting. This time I shook my head and scooped up the rest of my food with my fork.

"You're fucking weird, man. Speaking of, I've got work today and a date tomorrow, so would you mind keeping the gloomy stalker show to a minimum? I can't have another outburst like I did the other day. Josie is already sick of my shit as it is."

When he didn't respond I looked back over at him. His hands were in white knuckled fists on the table, if he were holding a glass, I'm sure it would have shattered into a million pieces. His dark hair curled over his eyes, so this time I couldn't make out their demeanor, though if it matched his fists, it wasn't a good sign.

"A date? Really Y/n?" Timothee finally said.

"Uhm, yeah? Why is there some rule that bars me from going on a date before I die?"

"No, but maybe I should make one," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked, hearing every word he'd said. Was he jealous? All he was supposed to be here for was collecting my soul.

"Nothing. Is this date with a boyfriend?"

"Not that it's any of your business," I said even though the thought of Tristan and I being more than just friends almost made my breakfast come back up. "He's an old friend that's liked me for at least a decade. Last week, before you showed up, I agreed to give him a chance over dinner and a movie."

"So, there's no boyfriend?"

"Why do you care?" I pretended to be annoyed.

He smirked at my tone, and even though the fact that he seemed so interested in my love life, or lack thereof, should have bothered me, it did the exact opposite.

"I don't. It's just that sometimes the goodbyes are messy when there's a lover involved, so you might not want to make him any promises on this 'date'." He put the last word in finger quotes.

The rest of that day went by shockingly quick and uneventful, though Timothee couldn't resist a casual jump scare or two. He'd walk behind me, unknown to anyone else and run a finger across the back of my neck or blow into my ear. Each tease made me want him to push me against a wall again, run his nose against my neck and breath my 'underworldly' scent in. And weirdly enough, I started to like the sound of that.

Darling, you smell like the underworld.

Day 5

I slid on my strappy black dress, the one I pretty much reserved for dates, disappointed that Timothee wasn't around to see it on me. I hadn't seen much of him, which was weird considering I couldn't get rid of him lately. I tried to push away that feeling. The feeling of missing someone you have no right to. The empty chest feeling that is only cured by one person's presence.

The only thing I didn't like about that dress was how much it showed. It wasn't as revealing as it could be, but it still showed the one part of me I always tried to cover. My collar bones. It wasn't that they were bad, they were actually quite nice. It was the dark, swirling birthmark staining my skin on my left collar bone. I'd tried everything from makeup and concealers, that eventually just melted off of it. To removal that even lasers couldn't touch. It was just...a part of me. Every time I wore this dress, I watched as my date's eyes travel down to it. Normally, I'd wear a cardigan to cover it up, but with mine and Tristan's fifteen years of friendship, he saw it before.

I made my way to the semi-fancy Italian restaurant, already limping in the heels I shouldn't have worn. It wasn't until I walked inside and met Tristan at the table, he already reserved for us, that Timothee took a seat. Right next to Tristan. I wasn't unaware to Timothee's eyes sweeping over my body. The last few days he'd only seen me in casual clothes, nothing this fancy. Then I saw it. His eyes locked on my birthmark.

I shot him a look, the irritation evident in my eyes and face. Tristan looked in the direction of Timothee, a confused look on his face, but, of course, couldn't see him. Tritan looked around the room, wondering who I could be giving this look of disdain to. Little did he know he was sitting right next to him.

"Thanks for giving me this chance," Tristain said.

I hid my cringe. Why did he make it seem like he was interviewing for a job.

"We've been friends forever, Tris, why wouldn't I give you a chance."

Beside Tristan, Timothee rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching me in amusement.

Tristan perked up at my answer, hope filling his eyes. Timothee pushed out his bottom lip into a pout shook his head in mock sadness. Then I remembered what he said the day before. Don't make any promises. So instead, I just smiled at him.

We placed our orders and drank our drinks awkwardly while we waited. I hated how strange this felt, even if Timothee wasn't sitting in between us, Tristan and I had dinner together many times, why did he have to make something as causal as eating food together feel so different this time.

"So, y/n," Tristan said, breaking my train of thought. "I've been thinking and, I really think you should open up a bit."

Timothee made a face of mock shock and put an index finger to his mouth in thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, not able to hide the slight attitude brewing inside of me.

"It means I know you like me. And for some reason you won't let me in. So, I think tonight is the night that that happens."

"Let you in? Wha the fu-"

Sensing the mood, the waiter approached with our plates and politely placed them in front of us and walked away without asking any questions.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I finished my sentence.

"It means that this is the way the rest of tonight is going to go: we're going to eat this food, and I'm going to pay for it. Then we're going to go to the movie you picked out at 8, which I am also paying for, then you're going to take me to your house and we're going to do what I say from that point on."

I was shocked into silence, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I'd known Tristan for fifteen years and he'd never once acted this way. I looked over at Timothee and I almost wished I hadn't. His face was almost dark with rage. His eyes normally a greenish-blue color was now completely black. His furrowed and close to his eyes and he worked his jaw in a way that I'd only seen people do before a fight. Then, he stood up, the chair behind him fell to the ground causing Tristan and a few people in the surrounding area to gasp. Our waiter came over and picked up the chair and whispered a polite and confused "I'm sorry." Timothee made his way to the front of the restaurant and slid out of the door once a busboy held it open for a older couple to come in. And suddenly, I felt a lot less safe without him sitting at the table with me. This new side of Tristan seemed sinister.

Tristan shoveled a ravioli into his mouth, glaring at me. "Are you not going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," I said through my teeth.

The door opened again, and I heard the sound of a familiar voice. I turned around and there he was, Timothee. My grim reaper. I didn't hide the smile on my face, I couldn't help it. This time it was clear everyone in the room could see him. I watched as he spoke in a whisper to the busboy at the door. Timothee glanced in my direction and winked. Then the busboy looked over at us and nodded. Instant relief flooded my entire being.

I wasn't sure how he was able to change so quickly, but he was now wearing a very expensive looking suit, all black with small accents of red and a pin attached to the collar that was none other than a scythe. The entire restaurant quieted and watched as he walked, in seemingly slow motion, to our table. All eyes, including mine and including Tristan's were on him. The busboy followed behind and quickly pulled out the chair that Timothee was sitting in moments before.

"Y/n," Timothee greeted me, pulling my hand into his and kissing the top of it. Already, I felt my core turn molten. His lips felt like fire and ice on my skin.

"Who is this man?" Tristain said, disgusted.

"You must be Tristain," Timothee said extending a hand. When Tristain didn't take it, he elegantly curled his fingers into a first. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but it's unfortunately the exact opposite. Tell me, does it bring you pleasure to try and take advantage of women, or do you do it because your dick is small?"

I snorted and spat out some of my drink. I could see Timothe's smirk forming along his profile.

"Excuse you?"

"What do they call that these days? Small dick energy?"

I covered my mouth with my palm, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a...close friend of y/n's." Timothee said, putting an emphasis on the word close that made me bite my lip.

"Wow, I've waited all this time for you to give me a chance y/n and you just take in some twink off the street?"

"Tristain!"

Timothee shrugged, "I've been called worse." Then he leaned in closer, luckily the rest of the restaurant went back to their food and conversations. "Allow me to tell you how the rest of tonight is going to go..." Timothee's gaze hardened and instantly Tristan's eyes glossed over, his mouth hung open, and he was transfixed on Timothee, as if he was being hypnotized. "You're going to get up from here and you're going to leave."

"I was just about to leave, yeah," Tristan said calmly.

"And when you leave, you will not contact y/n again."

"Who?"

"Good, good," Timothee praised and selfishly I wished it was me he was praising instead. Then, he took a fistful of Tristans shirt and pulled him closer, "and if you do," Timothee spoke so softly I could barely hear what he said. "I will kill you myself. And trust me, you don't want to see what kind of death a reaper is capable of."

Tristan nodded and stood up and waved. "Enjoy your meal," he said as he made his way to the door. I watched until he left, waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn't reappear and turned back around. Timothee was already sitting in his seat.

"Will he be, okay?" I asked.

"You still care about that?"

"I mean I don't want him to die on the way home. He seemed out of it."

"Unfortunately, he'll be fine."

The waiter stopped by and took away Tristan's plate. Timothee nodded politely and focused back on me.

"You don't own me you know," I said, in a voice that should have sounded headstrong but was anything but. As time went on it seemed more and more to me like that's exactly what I wanted. "You're just here to collect my soul."

"Technically, I do. I am sent here to watch you, look over you until your time is up. I am meant to protect you. Though, this situation is unlike one I have ever encountered."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"You should eat," Timothee said, changing the subject. "Eat your dinner, and I'll take you to that movie."

"Okay, but you have to keep talking."

Timothee nodded. Only resuming the conversation once I scooped a bite of lasagna into my mouth.

"Most of the souls, at least everyone I've collected have not been able to see me. I wasn't expecting it to have this type of effect on me."

I swallowed my lasagna hard as he said the words.

"I don't own you. No," he started, then reached out and brushed my hair away from my collar bone. He let his finger graze my birthmark. I shudderd at the touch. "But I'd like to. Very much."

Fuck.

He scooted up, his chest flush against his side of the table and one of knees made their way in between my legs. He dropped a long arm beneath the table and slid his palm up my leg. I dropped my fork. "I wish I could be the blood that traveled through your veins, the air that you breath into your lungs." His index finger grazed my core through my panties and I jumped, hypersensitive to the touch. My plate clanging against the table, my glass tipping over.

"Can we go?" I pleaded.

"Eat your food. All of it."

I started to protest.

"Or do I need to feed it to you?"

I shoveled in the rest of my lasagna and downed my entire diet coke. My skin tingling as Timothee gave me small touches under the table. We walked out moments later, my knees weak. Timothee laced an arm around my waist, holding my up and against him. His temperature freezing against my hot skin. We began walking in the direction of the movie theater, but somehow between soft touches and him pressing his nose into my hair we strayed off the path.

"Look!" I said, pointing to a cemetery. "Let's go in there."

"What about your movie," Timothee called after me.

"It's already 8:35, it's already started."

"I loathe cemeteries," Timothee groaned.

"What!?" I pulled his cold hand into mine and drug him into the foggy gates of the local cemetery. "A grim reaper scared of a graveyard!? This is where the bodies of all those souls you take go!"

"I didn't say I was scared. I just don't like them."

"Why?" I teased. It was getting dark, the cemetery would close soon, but for some reason I felt compelled to go in there. Like I needed to be there. "If you're scared say you're scared." I climbed upon a stone bench next to a large oak tree. Timothee stood in front of me and for the first time I was eye level with him. Then it hit me. "I've got eight days to live." I said it out lout without even meaning to. "Eight days to live and...I've not even gotten the chance to live."

Timothee looked at me and maybe it was because we were eye level for the first time, but it seemed like he really saw me. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, taking my arms and draping them over his shoulders. He circled his around my waist, pulling my closer into him. He ducked his head slightly, running his nose along my chest, stopping at my birth mark. He kissed it lightly causing my back to arch. His touch there felt like dark magic and sin. "I wish it was anyone other than you."

"Why?"

"Because now that I know you exist, I don't want you to cease to."

And before his lips found mine, they hovered there, his cold breath swirling and mixing with my warm breath, becoming too intoxicating for me to pretend I didn't need him now. His lips skated across mine effortlessly, like a dance we'd practiced for eternity. My hands slid into his dark, curly hair. I wrapped my legs around his waist, earning a soft groan from him. He turned us around and sat on the bench. He kissed me like it was the first and last kiss he'd ever have. Like sadness and hope mixed together to form a melancholy war between life and death.

A kiss can change a human life. And that one did.

This has been a Sufferingsouls production

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @roseboysareprettier @onlyenoughiamweird

[warwickroyals]

I love when you answer world building questions!! So I want to know little bit more about Sunderland role in the American Civil War. Also I know you answered an ask about Queen Rosalyn, but can you explain her story again with the backdrop of the war. Sorry for the long question.

Warning for general talk about slavery and one brief mention of child loss in my family tree.

Sorry for the years it took to answer this! I ended up thinking about this one so much that it became unproductive, so I'm just doing to give a brief overview of Rosalyn as a character.

Yeah, Rosalyn's time was actually slightly before the American Civil War. She was Queen from 1858 to 1860. Her entire point is to explain what would happen if the King were to marry a woman who was wildly unsuitable for a myriad of reasons, both political and moral.

Rosalyn Briar (get it, she's like a Rose) grew up on a plantation in one of the Carolinas during the twilight years of the Antebellum South. During this time the American southern elite was panicking. They knew slavery's influence was dwindling both in the US and abroad. Remember, by this time the British had abolished slavery decades ago, and slaves were escaping another into British Dominions (Canada).

The South needed allies who would support the them during the unavoidable Civil War. Sunderland at the time was doing what it does best during times of crisis: riding the fence, trying not really to meddle in foreign politics. King James was very old, but less impulsive than his brothers. Sunderland's population saw slavery as barbaric and James understood that. He also didn't want to risk Sunderland's allyship with the United Kingdom.

All changed when James died, leaving his 17-year-old son Louis IV on the throne. Louis was a small and sickly boy, the only child of King James and Queen Caroline. His mother in particular spoilt him. She had a hard time telling him no . . . and it went to Louis's head in the worst way possible. He had the same view on being king as young Simba in The Lion King, basically.

Look at my family tree, with Louis IV, and Caroline and James's other dead children + James's casual 11 bastards just chilling on the far left. Post continues below.

So, when Louis met Rosalyn he grew infatuated with her. At the time, the king was limited by the Constitution politically. There were no checks and balances that extended into the king's personal life. So basically, Louis did what he wanted and Caroline wasn't trying to tell him no. So, Louis and Rosalyn married.

It was a disaster. A near monarchy-ending disaster. Rosalyn was legit one degree of hatred off from having rotten tomatoes pelted at her wherever she went. She was blamed for everything, despite being more affably evil than a literal foaming-at-the-mouth white supremacist (it's up to you whether that's better or worse). Her public image itself was political, so the worse thing got in America, the more she was hated, and blamed for stirring the pot. Her attempts to import Southern culture to Sunderland were strongly resisted. For example, Roslyn wore a lot of magnificent clothes in various hues of blue. Dyed with indigo. Which, urm. Now, the Queen obviously influences fashion, so when other high society ladies also started wearing these deep blue garments, controversy was kicked up. Sunderland's elite were now basically keeping indigo plantations in operation. This really shows how even things that are incoucous (fashion, music, etc.) can have a deep political impact. Rosalyn's mere existence is political. Even if she came to Sunderland with no intentions of being a Confederate propaganda tool, her living and breathing still fed into that system.

Louis and Roslyn had one child, a daughter named Louisa, who many still argue wasn't even Louis's to begin with. Rosalyn's "failure" to produce an heir combined with Louis's ill health is what lead to her having very little influence over the country. She was queen for three years. Alexandra, for context, was queen for sixty. Irene, around forty. Anne, twenty-six. This was very little time for her to actually get anything done. There was half-hearted talk about the infant Louisa becoming queen reagent. But two seconds after Louis IV died, his big dick, chad cousin George took over. You see, in Sunderland you only become king after you're "sworn in" in front of Parliament. The period in between monarchs is known as abeyance. During the abeyance between Louis IV and George I, Rosalyn was convinced to leave the country. George had Parliament's support, in fact he had been colluding with them for years, and Louisa was a literal baby. Not hard to predict how that turned out.

George was king during the Civil War and he reversed thing: he turned a blind eye to the slaves escaping into Sunderland all while distesting slavery and funding the Union privately. The guy was a bleeding-heart Liberal and he supported all sorts of wacky ideas: emancipation, Darwinism, class welfare, etc. Any political block that Rosalyn had formed promptly collapsed.

All this will be talked about more during the series I'm planning.

[dreamy625]

Total rock star - ficlet

Sometimes good things happen to Steve in January

Content: There’s one period-appropriate slur (not used aggressively)

Words: 985

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January 1978

Steve frowned at himself in the mirror over the sink, wishing he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He’d cut himself twice while shaving, his hands were shaking that much. He patted at the one that was still bleeding with a piece of toilet paper. Great first impression that’ll be, blood all over the place! His hair was also a disaster; he’d washed it the night before, as it took so long to dry, but it had gone fluffy, and smooshed up on one side where he’d slept on it. The perm was great, just what he’d wanted, but it did tend to end up looking like a dandelion if he didn’t put the right stuff on it. He wet his hands and tried to smooth down the bump; how did girls manage this so much better, he wondered? He wiped his hands on his jeans then, regretting it, turned and craned his head to check he hadn’t got shaving foam or toothpaste or anything on them. Phew, all clean still. The jeans were newly washed, so he’d had to lie on the floor to get the zip done up. He hoped they’d loosen up a bit on the way into town so that he’d be able to sit down without wincing. 

The reminder of where he was going made his stomach lurch again, and he took a deep breath to quell the incipient nausea. NOT an audition, he reminded himself. Just a rehearsal, just hanging out. But still he’d practised those Zepp songs he planned to oh-so-casually trot out for hours every night this past week. He knew he was good. Quite good. Not bad. Fuck, what if I’m terrible and everybody laughs? Another deep breath. It’s fine, if it’s awful I’ll just leave. I don’t have to see any of them ever again. I’ll just never go in the common room, or the canteen, or the Limit, or the Wapentake… Stop it! Forcefully he pushed himself away from the sink and headed back to his room to finish getting dressed. 

He picked up the t-shirt laid out on the bed and pulled it carefully over his head, trying not to make the fluff situation any worse. From the three shirts he’d tried on - black, white, and the blue one with the Gibson logo on it - he’d eventually settled on the white one. It was the perfect fit, sitting just above the waist of the jeans. He’d rolled the sleeves, and carefully removed the size 10 label* (girls’ clothes being the only way he’d found to get that cropped length without taking the scissors to it, which just ended up in a frayed mess). Oh he’d nearly died of embarrassment sidling into the ladieswear department of BhS that first time. Rock stars like Bowie and Marc Bolan might wear women’s clothes, and that was probably fine down in London, but if anyone from the factory saw him within 50 feet of a dress shop he’d be branded a poofter for life. With long hair and minimal interest in football, he was on dangerous ground as it was. ‘It’s for my sister’ he’d mumbled unprompted to the disinterested cashier, who most likely didn’t give a toss what he did with it as long as he paid his £2.50.

Originally he’d planned on wearing his leather jacket, but when he’d put it on, it didn’t look right. It was a good jacket, and had been a generous present, all the grandparents clubbing together, for his sixteenth birthday. But it was brown and that was already starting to look a bit old-fashioned, a bit ‘too seventies’ even while they were still in that decade. If he ever made any money out of this music lark, the first thing he’d buy, no, the second, after a better guitar, would be a black leather jacket. The denim jacket was too small on purpose, but really too small even for that. That’s what happened when you bought things from the market without trying them on. With the oil stains from helping Dad fix the car, it had reached the perfect degree of scruffiness though.

He opened the wardrobe and examined the complete look, front and side, in the mirror on the back of the door. It had ended up sort of Thin Lizzy-meets-Status Quo-meets-The Ramones; he wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but it was the best he could manage on an apprentice’s wage. 

“Hullo, Steve Clark, pleased to meet you,” he greeted his reflection. Well that would work if I was meeting someone’s grandma. 

“Hi. Name’s Steve. I play guitar.” God, what a wanker!

“Hey, I’m Steve. Do I play? No, I just carried this all the way here for the exercise.” 

Fucksake, why can’t I just be normal? Better just keep my mouth shut unless someone asks me a question. He attempted a laid-back, friendly smile at the mirror. It came out more of a grimace.

“Stephen! You’re going to miss the bus if you don’t get a move on.”

“Just coming, Mam!” he called back.

Quickly, he added white socks to the ensemble; the finishing touch, white clogs, waited in the hall where he’d cleaned them last night. With a final desperate pull at his fringe, he turned his back on the mirror, picked up his guitar case, and dashed downstairs. 

“Oh Stephen, are you not putting a coat over that? You’ll catch your death.”

“Doesn’t go with the outfit. Don’t worry, I’ll be inside most of the time, I’ll be fine.”

“And don’t be too late back - remember you’re on earlies again tomorrow.” 

“I won’t. I’m sure the rest of the guys have to go to work too.”

“Have fun, love.”

“Thanks, Mam.”

The door banged shut behind him as he bounced down the steps and set off at a trot for the bus stop at the bottom of the hill.

-----------------------------

* A UK size 10 in 1978 would be approximately equivalent to a modern US size 4. He’s a skinny minnie! 

Author’s note: Everytime I hear Joe describe meeting Steve for the first time, I think of how nervous he must have been, and how much effort he would have put into that ‘total rock star’ look

[omniblades-and-stars]

Nilea listened to that crazy woman's incessant, flirtatious chattering and talk about human pubic hair with a great deal of disdain. She waited a very long time, probably close to an hour, to even try to move. Until then, she maintained the ruse that she was still unconscious.

Fucking techfiend mercenaries and their tricks.

Frankly, she was jealous that her omni-tool couldn't do that. Of course, this only served to make her more angry at the smallish human woman. The gall to kidnap her and use her own spacecraft to do it? Nilea was going to fucking strangle the bitch. And then take her omni-tool.

When they approached the mass relay, Nilea seized on her chance. The woman seemed distracted, and she wasn't even wearing heavy armor. It would be so easy to just sneak up while she had her nose buried in that datapad of hers.

"That's not gonna work on me, hon."

Nilea froze, save for the very irritated flanging of her mandibles. She slowly looked up to see that the bounty hunter had the barrel of her sidearm tilted at an angle, to one of the parts of her head that wasn't covered in hard plates.

Not that it mattered at such close range, but it was obvious that this human was careful. And knowledgeable.

The pair stared at each other for an eternity, caught in the rictus of distrust and pure hatred. Nilea wasn't going to be the first to move, she didn't like the idea that her brains might soon decorate the deck.

The mercenary waved her gun towards the back, "Well go on then, scooch back. You can sit on the bed for all I care. You try to sneak up on me again though, I'll just hit you with overloads until we get to where we're goin'." Still, Nilea didn't move. "You got cotton in your ears? I said move, damn it!" The woman rolled her wide brown eyes and shifted like she was going to stand up.

Nilea didn't like that one bit. She sat up with a lurch and then propelled herself back with her feet until she was firmly back against the far wall. She glared hotly at the woman, unable to stop the angry vocalizations from rumbling out, though she spoke no words.

The woman planted her feet on the deck and draped her arms casually over her knees as she leaned forward, gun still very much in hand. "I don't expect you to be nice, but here's ground rules: One, don't fucking touch me. Two, you can talk, scream, cuss, I don't care. Three, if you gotta relieve yourself, just tell me you're going. Left your hands up front for a reason. Nothing in the restroom for you to use as a weapon, I already checked. Four, if you get hungry, tell me. I saw you got nutrient paste, I also brought dextro food," the mercenary took a deep breath, pausing her rapid list. "And five, don't fucking touch me. We clear?"

"Very."

The bounty hunter flashed her a very disarming smile, "Perfect. Now that's out of the way, I was readin'." She spun to the side, so that Nilea was in her periphery and propped her legs back up on the co-pilot’s seat. Her datapad was back in her hand, and the only reason that you would know that anything had happened was that she still had her pistol held in her other hand, resting in her lap.

The bounty hunter's omni-tool started beeping again, and she just ignored it.

"You going to get that?" Nilea sneered, assuming it was whatever asshole they were flying to right now.

"Nope."

Nilea sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like decades, but was probably closer to half an hour. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, "Where are you taking me, bounty hunter?"

"Gellix."

If Nilea expected the name of the planet to enlighten her, she was disappointed to find that it had not. She leaned the back of her head against the wall. Kidnapped by a tiny human, and being taken, presumably, straight to Cerberus by said human. This bounty hunter didn't seem the type to work with Cerberus, but if one followed the threads of logic, clearly, she did. Fucking terrorists.

"Do you have a name?" Calling her bounty hunter any time she needed to speak was going to get old, quickly.

The woman turned again, lowering the datapad so she could look into Nilea’s eyes, "Call me Jimothy!" The way she said it made it sound like a joke, but if it was, Nilea didn't get it.

Nilea just stared at her blankly, unsure if she was joking or not.

"Girl, I'm fuckin’ with you. Name's Lou."

Oh, Nilea was going to strangle the shit out of her. And she was going to enjoy it.

[darkroguescribe]

Hitsuhina Week 2023 - Day 2: Sunset/ Homecoming

Rating: K

Summary: Hitsugaya and Hinamori return to Junrinan on their day off.

--------------------------

He was late. Toshiro cursed as he finished off the report and placed it on his lieutenant’s desk, hoping she would at the very least be able to deliver them to the First Division by the end of the day though, he had his doubts she would even turn up today. The moment he’d put in his notice that he was taking the day off, Matsumoto had secretly begun planning a party that was to start this afternoon. He probably wouldn’t have even known about the party if he hadn’t overheard about it from a group of new recruits who were still adjusting to the division. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed as he debated between delivering the paperwork himself, or hoping that his third seat might stop by and make sure things are in order before the party started. A glance at the clock made the choice easy as he cursed and shunpoed as fast as he could towards the Western Gate.

Momo was already there waiting, dressed in a casual floral kimono, her hair tied back with an elegant chignon with a few wispy strands escaping. The sight of her nearly made him trip over his feet as he came to a stop a few feet away from her. It had been awhile since the two of them had a whole day to spend together and even longer since he’d seen her wearing anything other than the standard uniform. She smiled at him as he walked to meet her.

“What took you so long?” She asked, reaching out and straitening the collar of the navy kimono he wore. “Don’t tell me you were working.”

Toshiro sighed, “It couldn’t be helped,” He said. “There was an incident last night between some men from my division and the Sixth.”

“And I take it Rangiku wasn’t available to do the write-up this morning?”

He snorted in response, and she rolled her eyes, always finding amusement in how a workaholic like him is able to work so well with a champion slacker.

“Well, you’re here now,” She said, leaning up to kiss him lightly before looping her arm through his. “And I’m not letting you set foot in that office again for the rest of the day.”Smiling, they began to walk to the only other place they had ever called home.

The dusty roads of Junrinan had changed much over the years. The war with the Quincy a few decades ago had caused immense damage that had taken years for the Rukongai Districts to fully recover from. But in these years of peace, the streets had finally returned to the way He and Momo remembered from their childhood. Familiar faces passed by them in the market as they searched for the largest watermelons they could find. The residents kept their distance for the most part, well aware of what they were despite their casual dress. Toshiro felt Momo’s excitement as they spotted her old friends Tatukichi and Ayumi, their arms laden with their purchases.

Momo pulled away from him as she reunited with their old neighbors while he hung back, watching from a comfortable distance as they exchanged pleasantries and news. Every few moments he noticed them glancing his way but he ignored their nervous looks and averted his eyes as he waited for Momo. Her friends were still wary of him, looking at him as though he would lash out at any moment. Ridiculous.

After the three of them finished their goodbyes, Momo returned to his side and they continued on their way.

“I’m sorry about them,” She said after the others had left.

“Don’t be,” He said, his pace quickening slightly when he spied a watermelon vendor at the corner of the intersection. “They’ve never really liked me to begin with, so I don’t really mind.”

Momo sighed, “I know, But I wish they could see even just a little bit of what I can see, you know?” She said as he brought them to a stop in front of the melon cart.

He felt his stomach rumble as he hovered over the stand, trying to decide which watermelon looked the largest first. He settled on a long one, turning it over in his hands, searching for the yellow-green spot that would be his first indicator of ripeness. He didn’t find it, so put the melon down and picked another one up. “I’m glad they can’t,” He said, never taking his eyes off the fruit as he held it up to his ear, lightly knocking on it, and smiling when he heard the desired deep hollow sound.

“The way I am with you is… different than the way I am with anyone else. It’s…” Toshiro paused, lips pursed as he looked up in thought. It was difficult to put into words how he is with her. No word seemed to be able to convey the depth of the feelings they shared and the inexplainable bond that had been forged and welded them together. Perhaps there isn’t a good word. “It’s personal,” He eventually settled on saying, passing her the watermelon he selected to hold while he searched for another of equal size and ripeness.

After paying for the watermelons, they each carried one as they made their way through the district towards the small house that had been their first real home. Situated at the top of the hill, Toshiro smiled as beloved childhood memories returned to him in great detail. The fence along the walkway was where he had found a nest of rabbits that he and Momo had watched every day for an entire summer. The field to the north was where the two of them would spend lazy afternoons making up shapes in the clouds, or run around playing whatever silly game she came up with. The tall tree right next to the house was the same one that the two of them would climb to see who could get the highest. For a long time, Momo had always won; being taller than him had given her the advantage that had often peeved him. He remembered once trying to jump for a handhold well outside his reach and then falling, landing hard enough to fracture his left leg. Looking up at the tree now, he smirked. He could reach the top with a single jump if he used shunpo.

The house had fortunately been one of the lucky residences that had remained untouched during the Quincy War. Once it was confirmed that Yhawach had been defeated and that the invading army had been neutralized, Toshiro had taken the first chance he had to check in on Junrinan and his Granny. The chaos of war had sent the residence of the Rukongai in a panic that had given courage to otherwise craven criminals who now used the lack of security as permission to do as they pleased. Junrinan hadn’t been hit by the crime as much as other districts, but they had still suffered from the shockwaves of it all. Granny had not only handled it well for herself, but had taken a small leadership role in the community. She’d offered her home for children of refugees fleeing from the greater effected districts, and had donated her time and food to help care for the people she could. It made him proud to be able to call her his Granny.

Climbing the hill, the two of them spotted the old woman kneeling in her garden, tending to beloved flowers; daffodils and lillies of the valley. She had planted them the week after they had graduated and joined their respective divisions, taking pride in their achievements and boasting to anyone who would listen. Momo quickened her pace, jogging the rest of the way eagerly. “Granny!” She called, putting the watermelon on the ground and leaping the fence to get to her quickly.

The old woman was slow to stand, and Momo extended her hands to help, holding her tightly as she got her feet under her before embracing her in a tight hug. Granny cupped Momo’s cheeks in her hands, looking her over, and fussing over the strand of hair that escaped the loose chignon she had tied her black hair in. “It’s not long enough yet, Granny,” Momo laughed, tugging on the hair to show her.

She frowned, tucking it behind her ear, “Suppose it can’t be helped then, dear,” Granny leaned up and kissed Momo on the forehead as Toshiro joined them. He’d left his own melon outside with Momo’s and rather than jumping the fence like her, used the gate. “Now, let me get a look at my grandson.”

His eyes rolled as he leaned down to let her hold his face, grunting as she tried to pat down his hair, tsk-ing as the unruly hair refused to obey. He heard Momo giggle beside him, and he shot her a look, “Shut up.”

Granny slapped his arm, “That’s no way to talk to her, Toshiro, apologize. Now,” She scolded. Standing back to his full height, he rolled his eyes, huffing out air that gently lifted his bangs. “I know I taught you manners.”

Momo continued to giggle and he grunted, grumbling under his breath, “She started it.”

Granny smacked him again, “Apologize.”

Momo decided then to step in, “It’s okay, Granny,” She said, moving closer to him and patting his chest lightly. “You know how he is. I don’t mind.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. He felt his body relax instantly, the corner of his lips curling, immensely pleased by the small show of affection.

“Very well, dear,” Granny said, “Why don’t you two go inside,” She suggested. “I’m just finishing up here—“

“—I can do that for you,” Momo interjected. “You just want some flowers for inside, right?” The old woman nodded. “Just put a vase out then. I’ll pick the best ones for you.”

Granny thought about it for a moment, but with encouragement from both of them, she complied, letting Toshiro help her inside before he went back out to bring the watermelons in. Placing them on the counter, he stood and looked out through the kitchen window. From where he stood, he could see Momo kneeling in the garden carefully cutting the stems of the flowers and placing them in Granny’s basket, gently arranging them as she had been taught in the ikebana club.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts as he turned to see Granny smiling beside him. She held out the small white box he had left for her to watch several weeks ago. Swallowing thickly, he took the box and opened it. The ring inside was simple in design with a diamond that glistened like melting ice; white with hints of pale blue that were more apparent under a certain light.

He’d dabbled with the idea of proposing a long time ago when the idea of being with Momo was simply a pleasant dream that he doubted would ever happen. Content to put his feelings for her aside in favor of of her own happiness; he never dreamed that the day would come that he’d get the courage to kiss her, let along that she’d kiss him back. But even once they were together, he never thought about marriage until that rainy day in the world of the living.

Rangiku had been sent on a simple mission that should have only taken a day to complete but, as he should have expected, had gotten distracted and thus fallen behind. Angry, and with her no longer answering the phone; he’d gone down there to lecture her and make sure she didn’t half-ass the rest of the job. But with no idea where she was, and the rain coming down in sheets, it had made the search for his lieutenant a frustrating ordeal. He ended up wandering down High Street in the city centre where he found himself standing in front of a jewelry store looking at the ring displays brightly illuminated in the window. That was when those long dormant dreams came back to him in full force. He could see it. He could see her. He saw her standing next to him, his ring on her finger, and hers on his. It thrilled him about as much as it terrified him, yet he still found himself walking through the doors, looking at the rings, and then leaving with one secured in the white box he now held in his hands.

Granny placed her hand over his holding the box, pulling him back to the present. She squeezed his hand gently and smiled up at him. Her other hand cupped his cheek affectionately, and he bent low so she could kiss his forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Toshiro,” She said, pulling back enough so that he could see her face. “I just know she’s going to love it.” He couldn’t say anything, and simply nodded before closing the box and tucking it safely away inside his robe just as Momo came inside, the basket of flowers hanging from her arm and a bright smile on her face that warmed him to his very core.

———

The simplicity of the day was exactly what the two of them had needed after weeks of being bogged down by work. Whenever they returned to Junrinan, Granny had one simple rule that they were to follow; no talking about work. For a few brief hours, they existed in a simpler world where hollows and paperwork were far from their thoughts and worries. Instead, they indulged in sharing bits of gossip that was swimming around, and recounting stories that were joyful and sometimes humorous over a simple lunch of yakitori and onigiri. Momo had brought with her the most recent edition of the Sereitei Bulletin, sharing with Granny the photos from the Kuchiki garden party that had taken place two weeks ago. Kuchiki had spared no expense on the lavish party had been the highlight of the month. The sakura trees were in bloom, and ponds freshly stocked with koi and the tea and food were the very best money could buy. Toshiro had even been asked to contribute a few sculptures to the event to commemorate not just the start of spring, but also the end of winter.

“You should have seen it, Granny,” Momo gushed, pointing at the picture of Captain Kuchiki giving a toast. He stood between four trees; two of ice and two of his own blooming sakura trees. The contrast of the bright pink petals and the glimmer of pale blue ice, made it look like something out of a fairytale. “The sculptures were even more beautiful in person. I swear, they looked even better than the real ones.”

Toshiro rolled his eyes, but remained quiet. In truth, they were far from his best work. He was a bit out of practice sculpting having only recently gotten back into the hobby. And with Kuchiki being rather particular about what he wanted, it hadn’t really left him much room to make it how he wanted. Evidently, none of that really mattered. Everyone seemed to like them, but their opinions were inconsequential to him.

Toshiro felt his lips curl at the memory of their arrival at the party. His sculptures were scattered around the Kuchiki Manor grounds, all the pieces varied in size but all had something to do with nature. Of all the sculptures he’d made, there were a total of fifteen sakura trees scattered among the living trees, small crystalline birds that adorned the pillars supporting the sheer awnings, and two giant koi sculptures near the pond and fountain. Momo had gripped his arm tightly, taken aback as she beheld the results of his work. So long as she was pleased with them, it didn’t matter if the sculptures were too blocky in places, or the scale was off.

As the afternoon grew late, but not late enough for dinner yet, Granny suggested it was time to make use of the watermelons they had brought. Neither of them could refuse the lure of their favorite treat and Toshiro offered to cut them up while they made themselves comfortable outside on the porch. He could hear the two of them laughing and making small jokes at his expense, which he ignored for once, preferring to focus on making sure that he cut the wedges into (mostly) equal sections for him and Momo and a smaller piece for Granny since she didn’t eat nearly as much as the two of them.

It was quiet between the three of them as they ate, and recounted stories from decades ago. Fond memories shared in this little house that had them all smiling or laughing. After a while, Granny decided it was time to start on dinner. Momo had offered their help in the kitchen, but was declined with a weak excuse about exercise and this being their day off.

The sky burned orange above the distant hilltops as Momo rested her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his knee while his arm was wrapped securely around her back. Toshiro glanced down at her and felt his pulse quicken as he took in how the light seemed to halo her head. The beat of his heart was deafening as he realized the perfection of this moment. His mind battled with his heart as fight or flight seemed to kick in. It was now or never; yet despite having played the moment in his head over and over again, meticulously picked the words he would say, when he would say them, and what he would do; he was drawing a blank. His body was stiff, and he felt beads of perspiration on his brow, and his hands go clammy.

Now or never.

Toshiro took her hand in his, squeezing lightly as he brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing each one lightly. She turned her head and smiled up at him, and he felt himself relax a little, sighing as he kissed her palm and let her hand go. His fingers trembled as he reached into his robe and shifted his body towards her, waiting for her to do the same before he pulled out the small white box and gently placed it in her palm.

Her eyes were wide as she looked at the box and watched as he flipped the top open with his thumb. His jaw opened and closed with no words leaving his lips; the carefully planned words were truly lost forever in the fog his mind had entered. Still, he had to say something. Anything.

“You were probably the most annoying person when we first met,” He said, the words being the first that came to mind. “But… your persistence eventually made you one of the most important people in my life. Everything I am, everything I hope to be is because of you.” Words started to come easier to him as his breathing seemed to settle, though his heart still raced. “And all I want is to spend every day for the rest of my life by your side.” Toshiro took a breath, reaching out to tuck a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, his lips curling into a small smile that was for her alone. “Momo Hinamori, will you marry me?” He bit the inside of his cheek, worrying as he noticed the tears welling in her eyes and felt her hand tremble in his.

“Yes,” Her voice was a small whisper, “Yes, of course.” Smiling, grabbed him by the front of his robe and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

[kumamoto-division]

“Yo. Good afternoon, kiddo.”

Casually greeted by the familiar old man with a smugly smile on his face, a certain famed actor who doubles as the infamous information broker of Kumamoto squints his eyes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here of all people, Chishio-san.”

Honestly, if there has to be a representative from Nara division, Kunio is kind of expecting the redhead leader or that pink-haired boyo to pay a visit rather than this man in front of him.

It’s true that he has known this person before since they’ve crossed paths with each other sometimes during their ‘work’ underground. Yet still, this old man looks so out of place to him because as far as he has run some research; completely no data has been found on his background except that he has been allies to Shigure Fuyugami —the previous heir of Fuyugami family and father of the Nara Division’s third member, Saigo Fuyugami, for three decades ago. 

“The Nara kids have been busy with their own projects but they still asked me to relay their ‘Happy Birthday’ to you, so it’ll be rude of me if I ignore their good will.”

Not minding the over-analyzing gaze from the young man. Chishio carefully hands Kunio the presents he received from Miratabi members. It’s a beautiful tea set that appears to mysteriously glow despite touching the least bit of daylight. 

“Ah, but the gift isn’t all the reason I came here today,” the tone in his voice suddenly changed into the more tensed one. 

“In regard to our previous corporation, the Minazuki has requested me to relay this thing to you.”

Hearing the name ‘Minazuki’ rings a bell in his mind, Kunio then recalls that this name belongs to the strange yet influential artist family in Kyoto; however, very few know that they also run some information network in the shadows. From what he has inspected, the family seems to establish themselves on the neutral side and keep a close eye on the situation as of now. 

“It contains data we extracted from some morons attempting to infiltrate Nara not so long ago. What I have in mind is that there might be someone who is after stealing Hypnosis Microphones from the DRB competitors. We’ve yet to verify who is the mastermind so please take this intel with a grain of salt —Oh, and don’t you try opening the box by force. This security craft is made by the family head himself, what’s contained inside will be crushed by its own mechanism if not handled correctly.” 

The elder man shows the actor the trick to properly open the Karakuri himitsu-bako he gave. 

“Unfortunately, I still have some errands left to run for my master, so I’d like to take my leave for now. Best wishes, and what you’re going to do with that ‘gift’ from Minazuki is up to you.”

Having bid his farewell, Chishio give the young man a formal bow and walks away until he disappears from Kunio’s land of sight.

Kunio smiled to the himitsu-bako but after he saw the tea set,mading a mental note of thanks the nara division when he had the oportunity

Again with the himitsu-bako he smirk thinking on the contain

If inside was useful information could be useful for Kunio,or maybe could help him,his teammates and Ryukyu and Kururi with their plan

Besides,he always loved puzzles

"waah,I need to thank to the guys of Naha and Chishio San,mmh this will be fun"-said Kunio to himself and started his way to his house-"and if these data are useful Ryukyu was will be very happy...and Kururi too"-Kunio shakes when he thought on Aoba's younger sister,she could look joy and creative at first glance but she was a hidden manipulative mastermind

But Kunio only deny with the head and still walking

[delta-lethonomia]

Asking!!! How about 7, 11, and 20??

Oooh! For my fic "For All The Wrong Reasons" (not that I currently have anything else published, but future proofing haha)

7. What inspired the idea for the plot?

Astarion's Act 2 romance scene, after the conversation with Araj Oblodra where they player can offer to have a relationship with him without sex for as long as he needs. It's a sweet scene but it made me stop and stare at the screen for minutes. I wasn't playing myself in BG3, but I had to ask myself - would I be okay with a sexless relationship? Would my character? And the answer was no.

Having been in relationships with very unbalanced libidos, it fucking sucks. Strong female sexual desire gets treated as unimportant or even a bit of a joke in media, so I wanted to write a character who'd get to that scene and have the maturity to say "hey, I really like you and I want this to work, but not having sex is going to be a problem for me". Of course, now that I've actually made it to that scene in my fanfic it turned out very different hahaha!

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

Tons of the recent eldritch horror stuff. I wanted Tav's patron to be the Great Old One from the beginning (as that's what I played in my first run), but in the manual that particular relationship is described as warlocks stealing power from an unknowing being. I needed Tav to have a firm contract for plot reasons but that's not really possible if one party doesn't know the other exists. So the GOO/Cthulu-esque being needs to know of Tav in some way, but I also wanted to make it clear that that's a very bad thing.

Becoming a Warlock is supposed to be something only the most power-hungry, arrogant, or foolish individuals do, because you're basically selling your soul or sanity for power. It's important characterization for Tav to show why she chose to go through with it - but therefore, it needs to be appropriately dangerous, disgusting, or violating, so why not all three?

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

Ooooof that's a tough one. I guess there's two parts:

a.) The fic started off as a smutty oneshot that grew overtime so I feel it's not really obvious that there's a budding plot in the beginning. I worry that new readers might read the first few chapters and kind of write it off as a toxic dark romance, and not stick around for the way the mystery and romance continue to develop later on.

b.) In the fic, I don't think people have really picked up on just how repressed and depressed Tav is. There's tons of stuff she just doesn't think about. She has no goals, drinks a lot, and has no relationships (even casual friendships) after her husband died over 20 years ago. She's very stagnant. Astarion's a very dynamic character by contrast; he spends time mulling over a new piece of information, emotionally works through it, and then changes over time, while Tav is still stuck on shit that happened decades ago, still having anxiety attacks, still putting up walls and keeping people away.

As one eagle-eyed commenter pointed out, Tav was born to a young teenage mother working as a prostitute, unable to afford a contraceptive. Now, Tav works producing contraceptives for the very same brothel, providing a service that would have prevented herself from being born. That's not a great headspace to be in, and she was certainly not doing it out of the kindness of her heart.

[yamanaka-shin]

"Koooooutaaaa." It's loudly spoken in a way as to deliberately drag out certain sounds. He's being summoned.

The voice reaches his ears from what feels like much farther away than it is. With just a little sigh, Kouta trots over to the other room where his partner is calling him in an effort to prevent them from shouting again. He stands over them as they sit on the floor and thumb through a particularly old book he'd had on his personal shelf for the last three decades bare minimum. At least they had quieted down immediately when he made his entry, like a cat yowling for attention that was content the second said attention was received, though know he found himself wishing they would explain themselves as to why they needed his attention and presence in the first place. Both of his hands are placed on his hips and he tries to patiently await their verbal explanation but he makes a solid effort not to look actually annoyed.

"Do you know how outdated this thing is?" They finally properly look up at him with a raised brow. "With all this talk about the Nidaime being a cold unfeeling bastard with no sense of ethics or morals."

Kouta puts his hand out for the book but says nothing until Shin hands it over. "Thank you." He clears his throat before continuing. "Yes I'm very aware. I'm not attached to it anymore and frankly wish I'd never bought it in the first place."

"Maybe it's time you do a library purge to get rid of it and all of its ilk. Donate them somewhere but attach a warning label, perhaps."

"I've been contemplating doing something like that yes. It's better than throwing the lot of them out." And then he pivots the subject when some revelation appears to come over him. "Are those Itachi's glasses?"

Kouta thanks his incredible luck that Shin would never lie to him even about something small like this. So when they respond, he knows it'll be the honest truth. "Why yes they are."

"Are you planning on giving them back to him at some point? Preferably soon?"

"I am not." They shake their head twice to make sure he gets the picture. "These are an old-ish pair and in fact I asked him permission first to take them."

Kouta takes a couple good deep breaths and then lowers himself into a sitting position beside Shin. It's a bit difficult for him without his favorite wooden cane to help balance his weight on and it doesn't feel fantastic on his joints. But it's worth it to truly figure out what business his partner may have sporting a pair of glasses that he'd never seen them even attempt to try on casually before. Those stark white eyes that he found profoundly beautiful, faded over so much time without proper explanation, blink at him curiously but Shin opts not to speak in favor of letting their husband continue his questioning. They have plenty of time to answer all of his inquiries properly and hopefully give him real peace of mind.

"When did you get those from him? I don't remember you having them or wearing them at all in the past week. Am I just that unobservant?"

"No, it's only been two days. I got them from Haruka on Thursday per request and haven't had the time to actually use them until today. They're not really customized to me, since they're not mine obviously, but they're working well enough for my purposes."

Some sort of alarm bells begin to go off in Kouta's head when he hears them say all of this with a straight face. Not a hint of irony or play could be detected in their tone and the subject at hand could very much be considered serious so all of his attention became laser focused on his husband just then. He reaches up slowly and takes the frames gingerly off of their face so that he may inspect the light eyes behind them. Eyes as focused on him as he is on Shin, framed by bangs that had lost their silver hue in favor of a similar white tone with the natural aging process. Kouta scans their entire face first as if he's avoiding some confirmation of the worst before making himself look them directly in the eyes. Then he is able to let out a held breath in relief when he can see no signs of cataracts or ocular damage of any sort. Shin blinks at him but still chooses to wait their turn to speak, wondering what is going through the old weasel man's head.

"Shin?" Is all he can get out.

"Yeah? What's wrong? You look like you've seen some sort of ominous vision."

He sets the glasses down, folded and out of the way of harm, and then reaches both arms out to gently place one hand on either side of their head. His hands are warm and something about the touch is relaxing to them despite the fact that he's clearly doing it out of an anxiety spike. One of their own hands goes up to cover his own, savoring the warm touch while also meaning to reassure him that they're not going to combust and die in front of him. Kouta's heart speeds up just a bit in his chest but not out of some positive feeling. He's all too familiar with the capricious nature of Shin's state of health. They have had symptoms all over the map for as long as he's known them and he's no fool to pass off a single one even if it turns out in the end to just be weird luck of the draw. This requires professional attention and he's going to see to it that they get just that.

"Shin." He starts again. "Do you want me to make an appointment for you? I don't think Kabuto or Haruka are really qualified for optometry...so I could call a specialist? If you're needing Itachi's old glasses to look over some words in a book then maybe we need to get you checked out."

If the two had been a decade younger, they would have immediately pulled him into their lap to help let him know they were grateful and that this would all be okay somehow. But they knew damn well it was hard enough for him even to get this low and would probably need assistance getting back up so such a gesture was not the wisest idea. So instead, they let go of their hold on his hand and they take that as a sign to let go of them as well, and then they scoot over to properly sit beside him. Kouta looks at them long and hard for just a moment after they come to a stop and then he transitions to leaning his head on their shoulder for comfort. Shin puts one arm around him and holds him close just to make sure he feels extra secure. Not answering his question first was excusable this time because he clearly needed the physical closeness as a way to verify that he wasn't going to lose his partner of over 30 years just like that.

"Yes, I would appreciate if you could do that for me. I'm sorry I hadn't told you yet that something might be going on with my vision. Haruka kinda sorta knows...but only because I asked her to drop the glasses off to me. Itachi probably has an idea of what's up, even more than her. Sorry that you're the last to know."

"That's okay. I know you didn't keep it from me on purpose. You haven't done anything like that in a really long time." His still vivid orange eyes, now much more vibrant than his hair that had lost a lot of its color and luster, slowly closed as he spoke. He was still admittedly scared but there was a plan in place now so he could rely on that until they had further answers. "Thank you for being honest with me."

Their lips met his forehead in a kiss, another gesture to remind him that this would work itself out safely, and they held him just a little closer. The warmth he radiated was even more potent now and it reminded them of prime late summer days in late August just before their birthday the following month. All of the good he has brought into their life that they tried to return twofold, the memory of it made the weight of the current predicament lessen considerably. Kouta was very attached to Shin and they made sure to assure him that it was always going to be mutual. All of his nearly asocial behaviors through the years never once applied when interacting with them. He made sure to make exceptions for them as their bond has deepened from frequent awkward encounters to equally awkward friends to everything that trailed after. And though they had a much wider social circle than him, Shin always made damn sure to include him in every facet of their life.

While he was still cuddled up to them, they cast their gaze for a moment to the forgotten outdated reading material they'd left sitting on the floor next to their previous spot. It was as physically dusty as it felt emotionally and they were quite sure that it had to be gotten rid of the next time the two had a moment to go through the rest of the library. Who knew how many things were on those shelves that needed clearing out. And this one was different from all the obsolete tomes that had harmless guesses and disproven theories in them left over from an age when all the villages were still getting their shit together. This particular piece of literature most likely was written by someone with a malicious grudge against the second Senju brother and it favored that bias over actual history Tobirama had been part of. Kouta probably didn't pick up the book to hear an opinion on the man's life. No, they knew he was more interested in contributions made by those a book was about. So all signs pointed to this thing having worn out its welcome in their house.

"Kouta?" They verbally nudged him, not wanting to physically do so since he looked so comfortable. "Do you want me to help you up myself or am I gonna need to go get the cane?"

"Mmm, neither. We should stay here."

"That's really gonna hurt in the morning and you know it. Don't be shocked when you feel as old as you are because your back or your tailbone are screaming from sitting like this too long."

"Fine." He sighs in defeat. "You can help me up. I don't want you to have to go looking for my aid in case it's hard to find on directions alone."

He has to force himself to pull away from them so they can get up. When they're free they are quickly able to stand and stretch before offering him both hands as a lift. "I think maybe you shouldn't go playing hide and go seek with that thing when it's important for times like this. Just a hunch, though."

Kouta places both of his hands in Shin's but hesitates to actually let himself be pulled up for just a moment. Those eyes again, looking down at him, have him enraptured. He cannot believe how much he enjoys looking up into them and that there was a time when that gaze was a different color. Just like how it felt unreal that he'd managed to miss the transition of their hair from silver to white. All the time he had spent with his spouse and he still felt a sense of reverence from looking upon them. So much was he engrossed in the feelings of affection that he damn near forgot to respond.

"I will think about it." And with that, the little smirk that lightens up his face spreads to Shin too. He finally lets them pull him up and finds they still manage to be the most comforting thing in the world to him, even when their physical reality is experiencing troubles. "After I call the doctor."