#Marc Marquez Gloves

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[burirammin]

Marc having so little cool footage from cota this year is a sin. I pray he slay the whole grid next year 🕯️🔪

[soldiersareyourprotectors]

Marc Marquez had just completed the first round of the MotoGP race at Mugello, leaving the crowd roaring with excitement. His Honda RC213V performed flawlessly, and Marc felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The race had been intense, but he was confident about his chances in the next round. As he walked back to the paddock, he felt a sudden urge to visit the restroom.

Marc slipped away from the crowds and entered the secluded bathroom area behind the pits. The noise of the roaring engines and cheering fans faded as he stepped into the quiet, dimly lit restroom. He was just about to close the stall door when a figure in a pit stop worker's uniform suddenly appeared behind him.

"Sorry, Marc," the worker muttered.

Before Marc could react, he felt a sharp prick in his neck. His vision blurred as he turned to see the worker holding an empty syringe. Marc's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, the world around him turning dark.

When he came to, Marc found himself tied up, his mouth gagged. He was still in the restroom, but his racing gear was missing. The pit stop worker was standing above him, holding a strange scanning device that emitted a soft blue glow. The worker’s appearance began to shift, morphing before Marc’s eyes. In moments, the worker's face transformed into an exact replica of Marc’s own. The imposter smiled, a chilling mirror image.

The fake Marc then methodically began putting on Marc's racing leathers, boots, gloves, and helmet, each piece fitting perfectly as if custom-made for him. Marc struggled against his bonds, trying to shout through the gag, but it was no use. The imposter had planned everything meticulously.

"Don't worry, Marc," the imposter said, adjusting the helmet visor. "I'll take good care of your motorcycle. And your life."

With a final glance at the real Marc, the imposter left the restroom, leaving Marc tied up and hidden in the stall. Marc could hear the distant roar of the engines starting up again, signaling the beginning of the next round. Panic surged through him as he realized the enormity of what was happening. An imposter was out there, pretending to be him, racing under his name.

Suddenly, Marc heard footsteps approaching the restroom again. Hope surged within him, thinking someone had noticed his absence. But as the door opened, his heart sank. Three men entered, their expressions cold and determined. They were dressed like pit crew, but Marc didn’t recognize them.

One of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, sneered down at Marc. “Looks like the boss was right. He said you’d be here.”

The men quickly untied Marc, only to bind his wrists and ankles even more securely. Marc thrashed and tried to yell through the gag, but it was futile. They hoisted him up, carrying him out of the restroom.

Marc was dragged through a series of back corridors, away from the bustling paddock area. They finally reached a storage room at the far end of the complex. It was dim and cluttered with old equipment. The men shoved Marc into a metal chair and tied him securely, making sure he couldn’t move.

“Make sure he stays quiet,” the scarred man ordered one of the others, who immediately produced a roll of duct tape, silencing Marc further.

Satisfied with their work, the men stepped back. “The boss said to make sure no one finds him,” the scarred man said, casting a final glance at Marc. “He’s got big plans, and there’s no room for two Marc Marquezes.”

With that, they left, locking the door behind them. Marc was left in the dark, his mind racing. The realization hit him hard: the imposter had allies, and they were intent on making sure the real Marc Marquez never resurfaced.

Out on the track, the fake Marc continued the race, flawlessly mimicking Marc’s style and movements. To the outside world, nothing seemed amiss. The crowd cheered as “Marc” sped off, ready to dominate the next round.

[moonshynecybin]

Your takes on Marc always feel so accurate so I’d like to hear more of what you think in reference to that ask

i thinkkkkk this ask was about the pre argentina post sepang period where marc is like. attempting to mend his relationship to valentino by pure force of will and also being very sweet but vale is a lil reticent if sometimes polite... estranged but still hanging on to that lethal chemistry. death would be kinder if your name is marc marquez. but im going to take a HARD turn into omegaverse land here so sorry to god and his motorcycle racers

SO i think marc obviously like. doesnt really want to believe its over. hes soooo in love here (and as a canonical late bloomer i dont think hes EVER had a heat without vale?? and he is discovering that he is in fact quite bad at dealing with them by himself?) and i really do think that, as hurt as he was by the sepang fallout, he really thinks vale will get over it with time ! and that eventually theyll be able to be as close as they were previously! as soon as he unblocks me the wedding is back on ! truly cannot imagine doing a heat with anyone else he feels literally cold down to his bones thinking about it. and its not even just the dynamic stuff... he misses the grabby hands on cooldown laps and the hugs in parc ferme and the way vale used to put his long fingers in marc's hair to put him where he wants him when they were fucking and the soft skin of his neck and how when vale would touch him everything in marc's brain could just go quiet. truly he feels it in his TEETH like the longing is LETHAL the longing is PHYSICAL the longing has marc IGNORING HIS BODY'S BASIC NEEDS and refusing to go out and find someone to spend a heat with that would actual resolve the hormonal part of his biology reaching for vale (and break that mf bond). so the heat never quite fully resolves! and he feels antsy and feverish and smells literally crazy for weeks at a time. every alpha in the paddock bristling when the wind changes direction... vale staring at the sky with his nails digging into his palms

so marc's already shaky self control is pushed to the limit by his body's insane hormonal situation (motogp doctor is like. technically he can ride !) and so for a few years he decides to kind of. wage this tentative little campaign to see if he can get vale to smile at him or literally touch him at all and relieve a little of the tension swimming around in his body. ANY relief. so he says hi to him every day. goes up to him in parc ferme. small little touches on the podium. just making vale smell like him a little bit. hind brain rejecting the reality where they havent really touched skin on skin in months. waiting for vale to take off his glove before he shakes his hand. BUT because this is omegaverse and i love DRAMA, what marc doesnt realize is that he is sort of. fortifying the beginning stages of a bond that they had started to form when they were fucking. a bond that WOULD have just died if he left it alone or found someone else, but he canttttt because hes oblivious and in love... AND THEN he gets another heat, and its SO much worse... like the effects are compounding, and he can barely see straight and he's feverish and shaking with big eye bags all pale and sad... and eventually alex notices and pulls the plug. says you will NOT get on a bike like this and marc gets permission to stop and basically COLLAPSES

but meanwhile vale is being driven INSANE this entire time because the bond wont DIE but its also not COMPLETED, and marc keeps TOUCHING HIMMMM and smelling insaneeee like hes in heat literally constantly and vale doesnt know what the ISSUE is.... and hes caught up in soooo much resentment but theres literally a base part of his body that cannot physically ignore marc whatsoever. so its an escalating arms race of horny frustration until marc suddenly pulls out of the race one weekend (the official line is for "dynamic reasons" which vale stares at for full minute wondering. is anyone taking care of marc like he would. caught between wanting him to be okay and feeling SICK thinking about another alpha helping him through any of it...) and then theres a knock at his motorhome door. and its alex marquez, looking tired and a little nervous. and he just says. i need your help. its marc.

[letmeinimafairy]

Let's talk about devil figures, spontaneous cults, traumas, cheap symbolism and racing gloves. And the fact that I'm too obsessed with myth-making to watch sports quietly. Marc Marquez and his Red Right Hand.

[ray935sworld]

VR's academy of supernatural riders (Part 4: Vogelfrei)

TW: description of a motorcross accident and physical symptoms of an injury (no blood or flesh wound description), allusion to feeling like dying

I don't know a lot about the technical aspect so it might be unrealistic

Summary: Luca, Marc and Alex go motorcross riding. Something goes wrong...

Riding with the Marquez brothers was fundamentally different to riding on the ranch.

Riding on the ranch meant interacting with many people. It almost always ended in a party since Vale made sure to provide food and drinks and the boys had playlists on their phones and speaker in their bags. The main academy riders, which were already a group of 6 people, sometimes even more when the former ones and the SBK rider joined them – not to mention the 100km of champions – often came with their partners (unlike Luca). Additional to them each of them had a at least one assigned engineer for the day and someone helped them overview the data. Not to forget the bunch of other people working on or around the ranch. Sometimes even Luca was curious about his brother’s net worth. He knew ‘It’s a good number’ but how the finances and sponsorships of the academy worked, was probably a science for itself. All he knew was that he didn’t want to know more. For legal reasons.

Right now it was only the three of them, two Spaniards and an Italian, which definitely had a certain advantage. Less people to look out for, meant more focus. And the bickering and colourful insults in the breaks were limited to sarcastic comments. On the ranch he still learned new words, especially from Bez. That guy was the king in making up letter combinations and new orders of words to achieve the biggest insult possible.

But the missing presence of Vale, even if it’s just as the spirit of the ranch, was something he noted. He didn’t even wear his ranch gloves. He wore his private, plain suite and helmet without sponsors and the sign of his brother. VR46 was nowhere to be seen.

Marc noticed it, but decided not to say anything. Alex didn’t thought about it. He was too busy adoring his boyfriends leather ass. Another difference to the ranch!

Normally Luca would be chasing Bez or Pecco, followed closely by Franky, Cele or Migno while Vale overtook them all with a laugh over the headset. They once had a mass-coalition in the early days of the ranch. Fenati had gotten to optimistic and accidently kicked Franky out while overtaking. Bulega had to crash himself out to not to end up in them, while Luca had gone wide. Pecco was able to stop the bike. The boys had looked at each other, making sure none of them were hurt before bursting out laughing.

Now Luca was a little bit behind Marc. He watched his shirt flutter in the air as they passed the part of the track with small hills they had to jump. Vale hated those things, so he never included them in the Tavullia track. He called them unnecessary risks since they weren’t rally rider and the bump in Austin alone didn’t justify it.

The younger brother loved them anyway. They were great to rider over and jump. He felt the air and he sometimes just laughed while passing them. It was a technical part, one not meant for racing but to learn how to control the bike. Overtaking would be idiotic. The loss of focus and the increased speed could make a difference between crashing and staying on the bike.

Luca gave the bike another push. He needed more speed to surpass the heaped up dirt. Some more. A little bit more. Just a tiny-Then it was enough. It was like an instinct at that point. If he didn’t had enough speed he would only make a small jump and he had to adjust his weight to land properly. If he had to much speed he risked hitting the beginning of the other hills which would cause him to get stuck.

They needed perfection for this part and that was a strength of Luca. He was a calculating rider, not someone that headless run into something and just hoped it would work. He preferred to understand the track. Sure, it took more time but it was just another way to ensure his mother didn’t had to rush to a hospital, like she already did so many times for Valentino.

He basically grew up on a bike. He had heard a motor and knew what it was supposed to sound like before he learned to play with other kids. It was engraved in his DNA, given in blood and taught with the burning passion of one of the greatest brother who happened to be an... Okay rider himself.

He looked up. The sun hit him and he was happy to have a coloured visor that absorbed the light a little more. A movement took him pit his thoughts. A shadow flew in front of him.

Marc felt free. The feeling of freedom was rushing through his veins and the racing gave him a kick like no drug ever could. He drove above the small hill, hitting the air once more. He had learned from experience how to ride this track. He had ridden here a few weeks ago and a few months ago and few years ago, many years ago as it was one of the first Alex and he used to train.

Accelerate, break, stop. Maybe slow down. Fly. Focus. Lift the front of the bike just a little bit. Bend your knees. Lift your ass. Let the bike touch the ground. Accelerate again. Take a look back. Luca behind. He’s giving you space. Lean to the side to hit the curve.

He kept repeating the motion like a prayer performed by his body. His foot only lightly touching the pedal. He felt the dirt bike speeding up and his grip tighten. He would have seen his knuckles turning white if he weren’t wearing gloves.

He hit the air like a bird. He felt the high and for a moment everything around him disappeared.

No sound, no people, no worries, no problems.

He laughed. He was free.

Then he came crushing down.

Things happen to fast to realize. He felt the wheels drift away and next thing he knew, he was on his way to hit the ground. His body reacted faster than his mind could. He felt his knee lifted closer to his body to prevent a broken shank. As it turns out, a broken leg was his smallest problem. He felt a pressure against his head while he was falling. His head had hit the bike. The pressure was too much too soon. The tapes didn’t stand a chance with that angle.

It was like the worst combination of things. Bad luck once again came to haunt him. The straps of his helmet broke. He felt his cheeks break free. It hit him. He realized what the air against his skin meant. For a moment the world froze.

Time was going slower than usual. His helmet was being torn off his face. His hair broke free. It seemed to just break. There was no way to protect him. He couldn’t just pull a signature Marquez move and get rid of the situation. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t safe himself. He wanted to lift his arms. He wanted to wrap his arms around his head and neck to at least protect himself a little bit. But he couldn’t. Too many things happened to fast.

He felt the gravel hitting his face. Small cuts, hurting him deep. He was glad his body had already closed his eyes. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t need it down his throat.

Then everything stopped.

He was laying on the ground, facing the air.

The pain hadn’t hit him yet. It was as if his body hadn’t noticed they crashed yet. His veins were full of adrenaline. He was just laying there, his body limp. He knew what would come - pain, like every time he landed in the gravel.

He expected it to come and that felt weird

It was like being a 6 year old again. He would wake up and knew his baby brother would sneak in his bed in a few minutes – or hours depending on when he woke up. But every day like an unbroken tradition once Alex woke up, realizing that most of the night had passed and they still had time, in need for a cuddle and love, Marc would soon have a 3 year old plastered to his side. On his birthday he knew it even more. On this day, his baby brother would had a messy picture in his hand. He knew that it was a drawing of a little boy on a big bike with a trophy on the side. “Cause you me winger” he had said in a tired voice.

Marc knew that it was coming. The pain would hit him once the adrenaline had worn off. He tried to move again. Maybe he could run away from it? But all he felt was his mind becoming more cloudy and his focus left him.

When he was younger and he was watching the street in front of their house when he knew his relatives were visiting. He knew it was happening. It just didn’t happen yet. In the same way he was now lying on the ground.

He was laying there, watching the sun. He saw dark clouds in his vision. He hadn’t noticed them before.

When did they appear? There weren’t any when they arrived.

Why did the sky darken? Did something so terrible happened that the sun thought it’d be more appropriate to hide? Something that should be kept hidden?

When he was a kid he would always lay down in the grass of their garden. He just throw himself to the ground to breath. He smelled the fresh grass. The smell stronger after one of the rare rains. He loved to do it after a training when he was still sticky with sweat and his weak muscles were acing, not yet used to pain and exercise. Back then the feeling had fascinated him. He didn’t knew what it was and didn’t understand it. His brother used to giggle about his actions and did the same. Just stomach first, flat on the ground. Sometimes including a proper face plant in the mud.

“Mak! Mak, look!” he said excited. He didn’t had a care in the world. He didn’t understand anything. He was just happy to spent time with his brother.

Marc had smiled at the little child whose face was now dirty. Their mother was used to it at that point, she was just glad her children were alright so they didn’t had to worry about making her angry with their action.

All that mattered to him was that Alex was safe. Back then and now.

All that mattered to him was that Alex was happy.

Alex.

Alex who was dating Luca.

Alex who was with Luca and him at the dirt track.

Alex who was here.

Alex.

The thought of his brother took him back to reality. He was no longer lost in memories of passed days trying to relieve them. He was back to reality and the reality hurt. It hurt like a bitch. The pain of his injury hit him. It was in an amount he never felt before. It was so clear, so full and all over his body that he felt like he was drowning in it. He felt the need to scream. He wanted to scream, get up, wipe it off his body. He wanted to run from it. Hide. Or run until he forgot about it. Until the pain in his lungs and legs, the pain on his side was so strong he didn’t feel the pain of the injury.

At least he had control over that pain. At least he created it. He chose it. He understood it. Unlike this. He was looking for some kind of relief to get rid of it. He wanted to stretch his muscles, ease the burning. But he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t add pressure to his forehead to ease the pressure on the inside like he usually did. Neither could he grip an imaginary handle tightly to help his body steady. He felt dizzy. He felt so dizzy. It was like he was about to break down.

But he already broke down. He was already laying on the floor, unmoving, unable to react or help himself.

How could he break down even more?

Didn't matter. He needed to do something. He had to simply because - cause - Alex. Cause Alex was here. He had to calm down and save himself, the same way he always did.

He breathed in. It was almost impossible, like he had a cold and kept his mouth completely closed. He felt like he was suffocating. He hated those feeling. The combination of symptoms made the moments even worst to the point of unbearable pain. His head hurt like nothing he ever experienced. His past shoulder injury was a love bite compared to that. He just wanted the pain to end.

“When nothing helps, you just have to take a good, long nap” his mother once told him. Her voice was ringing in her ear. “And when you wake up, Corazón, everything will be okay again”.

She was usually right. He trusted his mama. Maybe she was right now. He tried breathing one more time and failed. Instead the pain made him close his eyes. He wanted to sleep. He wanted it so much and when he woke up he’d be okay again. Yes The pain would be gone and everything would be fine. Then he would be so tired. Physically and mentally.

But as always, he didn’t get what he wanted. Like he was cursed to never fully get whatever he desired.

He wanted love and he got it until it broke him. He wanted success in MotoGP and he got it at the price of being forever doomed as the hated villain. Now he wanted to sleep but a hand kept him awake.

It made him open his eyes. He had to check. Someone had taking his wrist in their hand. He hated the feeling of restriction. He couldn’t identify the pressure exactly but he knew he didn’t like it.

Then blue eyes hit him. Beautiful blue eyes that looked like the ocean had coloured them after it’s own image. He knew those eyes. His gaze was blurry enough not to notice the different shades between the Italian brothers and a helmet covered the featured that gave his mistake away.

It took him back. Just for that moment. He was able to be young and naïve and stupid again. No consequences this time. His brain had given up the capacity to understand and realize that Valentino was in Italy training with the academy boys while his brother – whose features were hurtfully similar to his– was here, right in front of Marc.

Maybe it was the injury. Maybe it was the need to believe it once more, maybe for the last time. He believed that Vale was here, holding his hand one last time. If he was here – that meant something, didn’t it? It had to. Vale never did anything without reason. He wouldn’t stop an academy training for no reason. So if he was here, he was still worth something. Right?

Maybe Luca had been right all those years. Maybe not everything was lost. Maybe this time it wasn’t Vale that drove them apart. Maybe it was his time running out that separated them this time. He could accept this fate.

“Marc! Fuck!” A thick Italian accent yelled at him. Italian accent. Blue eyes. Vale. He said that so many time with countless different emotion. His voice sounded strange, but he was also blurry so he didn’t mind. Marc didn’t even notice it actually. He felt dizzy but his happiness was outweighing it by far. He was just happy.

“-ale” His voice had failed him but he grabbed the hand that was still lingering around his wrist. He grabbed it tight, clawing himself in the skin with the little bit of physical strength he had left. He refused to ever let it go. He was holding it like an anchor, as if it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Don’t worry.. Just focus on me. Focus on my voice and my hand. Okay? You feel my hand, right? Focus and stay with me”

He had lost the warmth and the love that these hands could hold once. He would never let it go again. He never wanted to lose it. He’d do anything to keep it. And now he was speaking so peacefully to him. His voice was worried and he just wanted to calm him. It was like years ago, before reality had destroyed him. But now reality wasn’t an issue.

Marc knew deep down in his bones that this injury was worse than anything. He thought about Marco Simoncelli. Nicky Hayden. Jason Dupasquier. Did they felt the same?

How had they reacted, looked in their bodies, unsure if they would open their eyes again or not. Did they even had the time to feel their souls slip?

He swallowed hard as his mind kept spinning. Vale had been right after all.

His riding got him here. Maybe he was dangerous. But this was just a stupid mistake, no risky move.

Still, his words were stuck in his head. It was like back then when Vale scolded him for riding dangerously and scaring him to death. “I’m not as young as you are anymore. You and those god damn kids will give me a heart attack before I’m 40 if you keep riding like that!” he had said, more scared for his safety than actually angry, not like a few months or years later.

Marc had just laughed. He now wished he had listen. “You love us” he had replied with a cheeky grin which earned him a warning look. The young Spaniard, barely a single MotoGP champion, had smiled innocently and took his face in his hands. “You are not that old” he had dismissed the comment, knowing Vale was still worried about their age difference.

He dead-panned with “I was riding in 125cc when you weren’t even in Kindergarden.” What the Italian didn’t expect was the way the eyes of the other man got a little bit wider and his smile dirtier. “That shouldn’t be as hot as it sounds” “You got daddy issues” “Maybe” he agreed “But you love me anyway and because I only ride risky not suicidal, you’ll have to deal with me for a long, long time, old man”

He had smiled at him. That wonderful, beautiful smile that had made him think everything might end up okay. “Good… Little brat.” “And your kids got the best rider to train them. They’ll be okay. I know you take good care of them” “Mmm… Can we stop talking about the bunch of kids I accidentally adopted when I want to focus on taking care of you?” he had asked sheepish and so he did.

Once more, the Italian took him back to the now. “Alex is calling help. You will get help. Everything will be okay.” He said.

Alex. How could he have forgotten the most important person in his life?

The past was behind him. But one thing would never change. He had to protect him. He promised it to himself. No one would harm Alex. Not even menatlly.

He’d be okay. He’d be alright. He couldn’t be so selfish and only care for himself now, thinking about past relationships when he needed to focus on getting back to his baby brother.

“Alex.” He choked on the little of breath he had. He focused, taking another breath as deep as possible. “Vale-“ At least he got his name now. What a kick of fear for his brother could do to a boy. “Pro- Protect- A-Alex”

That was the most important thing. And he was happy to entrust this task to Vale. He already took care of a bunch of kids. He knew what to do. He was an expert in handling adult men with the personality of a child. He would hopefully agree to add Alex to the mix. Maybe that wasn’t so bad. He could be with Luca.

There would no longer be those long breaks in between where the two lovers couldn’t see each other. It was perfect. Alex would be with Luca and Vale at the ranch. Alex got along with Franky very well, since their day’s as teammates in Moto2. Since the relationship with Luca, he had already befriended Bezzecci and Pecco. And from what he knew Cele and Andrea seemed like good guys. Without Marc in the equation he would definitely earn the hearts of the Italian fans.

Didn’t Franky mention that the academy took care of him when his father died? That Vale embraced him even more, connected with the grieve about Simoncelli. Maybe it was the same now. Vale taking care of Alex because of Marc’s-

He didn’t end his thought. The dizziness had stopped and his gaze became unbearable. He was tired. Fighting for words and consciousness while his mind was still racing had tired him out. His eyes had become smaller and smaller. He was still looking at Valentino’s eyes praying that those he loved would be okay. Then he couldn’t make out the silhouette of the Italian anymore

He fell into a deep darkness and drowned in.

[uwabbittuwabbit]

why is ferrari ss24 giving marc marquez with these colors and those gloves...and the glasses like BE FR

[cyclecruza]

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[marquez-junky8920]

Request for Alex Marquez? One where he has a really bad race weekend and you comfort him and Marc tries to cheer him up? 🥰

Author's Note: This is literally tHE SOFTEST PICTURE I'VE EVER SEEN OF THIS MAN AND I WANT TO CRY. 🥺🥺🥺❤️

Bad Day

'Oh my god, babe are you okay?' you asked in a panic as Alex rode back to pit lane after a nasty crash. He high sided, but luckily is was small enough to where he was still able to walk away from it.

'I have to say I've been better.' he said, a sad smile on his face as he limped his way over to you and hugged you. You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him sigh in relief at being in your embrace again.

'Is anything broken?' you asked, pulling away and taking his gloves off to look at his hands. They were shaking slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but everything looked to be where it belonged.

'No, I'm alright. Just shaken up. It's been a long time since I've had a high side.' he said, listening to the bikes come around for the last time and cross the finish line. It was so close to the end of the race when Alex crashed that he didn't even bother trying to go back out. He just took his losses and accepted his fate in this race.

'Thank god. That was so scary.' you said sadly, bringing him into another hug. Closing your eyes for a moment, you fought tears off before pulling away and rubbing your thumb on his cheek.

'I'm alright baby. It's okay.' he chuckled at you and pecked your lips before sitting down in the chair in his garage to talk with his mechanics. After a tough race day, he always had this routine of talking with his mechanics about where he thought they could improve as a team and where he could improve as a rider. You loved that about him - that he could work so well with his team and take constructive criticism. But some days, the repeated bad events would catch up to him and he would hit a wall. Today was that day and Alex needed his rock.

After all of the meetings were over, the press was done, and the fans went home, Alex let himself be vulnerable and open with you. He was already a man of very few words, so when he was feeling emotional, he hardly said 2 words. As soon as he got back into his bus with you, you both went to the bedroom to get changed. This day just needed to be forgotten. Alex had changed and sat himself on the edge of the bed, looking at the bruises forming on his hand and his shoulder from the crash earlier. He watched you walking around the room getting your things ready to take a shower and he grabbed your arm gently, pulling you to stand between his legs hanging off the bed.

'What's this?' you smiled softly down at him when you felt his arms wrap around your hips as he rested his head on your stomach.

'I just need to hold you for a few minutes.' he whispered, squeezing his arms lightly before relaxing them and just holding you in the quiet bedroom of his bus. No cameras, no crews, no fans... Just you and him.

'Okay well, let's do it right.' you chuckled, pulling away from him and going to lay on the bed. Opening your arms, he crawled up to you and collapsed next to you before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. Sometimes men needed to be the little spoon too, and when Alex felt like the entire world was against him, he knew that he had you to rely on.

'Do you want to talk about it?' you asked, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

'I'm just tired of fucking up and not having things go the way I want. I feel like this bike is fighting me so hard and I can't figure it out. I always figure things out and the one thing I can't figure out just happens to be with my passion and my life. It just sucks that I'm in this rut and I feel like I can't get out of it. I don't know what to do.' he said softly, his voice trembling lightly at the end.

'I know it sucks honey. But you know what you do? You go out there like the badass that you are and you show them who's boss. You keep fighting, keep learning, and keep failing. Failing is all a part of this sport, you know that. But every time I see you crash out there, I see you come back to the garage and analyze everything that you possibly can to see where you can improve and where you went wrong. You are a Marquez. It's in your blood to keep fighting and never give up. You can do this, Alex. I will be right here to support you the entire way.' you kissed his lips and he smiled at you as his eyes scanned your face.

'What would I do without you?' he whispered, running his thumb on your chin before kissing you again. Just then, you heard a knocking at the door.

'Were you expecting anyone?' you asked him, watching him shake his head. You walked to the front door and opened it, seeing Marc holding a huge plate of food and a beer in his hand.

'I made him food. I know I can't cook, but I remembered how to cook his favorite thing to cheer him up.' he smiled, hugging you with the arm that held the beer.

'That's so sweet Marc. He'll love it.' you said, letting him in to help you cheer Alex up.

'Hey babe?'

'Yeah?'

'Come here.'

You heard his footsteps come to the kitchen and saw a happy smile paint his face as soon as he saw Marc.

'Hey brother.' Marc said, hugging his younger brother. 'I know you wanted this race to go differently and I'm sorry you crashed. Are you alright?' he asked.

'Yeah, I'm alright. Just a little bit bruised up. Mostly my pride that took the brunt of it.' he chuckled, looking at the plate of food on the table.

'Where did you get that?' Alex asked.

'I made it for you. Mom taught me how to make it and it's literally the only thing I know how to cook.' Marc laughed, handing his brother an open beer.

'Thank you Marc. That means a lot.' he smiled, hugging Marc again before sitting down and eating dinner with his two favorite people around him. Sitting back in his chair, he realized that no matter what happened out on that track, he had all he needed right here with you and his family. Because at the end of the day, when all of the cameras, fans, and publicity goes away - all he had was his family. And that's all he needed.

END

[leathercollectionus]

Experience MotoGP Performance and Style with the Red and Black Leather Gloves from Marc Marquez for 2015 2016

INTRODUCTION: The Red and Black Leather Gloves allow both beginner and professional racers to copy the look and skills of MotoGP champion Marc Marquez. These gloves are a vital part of every rider’s equipment collection since they provide the ideal balance of safety, comfort, and style. The benefits and features of the red and black leather gloves are discussed in this article, showing how they differ from the competition.

HIGH-QUALITY LEATHER CONSTRUCTION: The high-quality cowhide leather used in the Marc Marquez Gloves guarantees amazing durability and resilience to wear and tear. These gloves are ideal for both relaxed rides and high-speed racing because the premium leather offers a high level of protection and a snug, pleasant fit.

ADVANCED SAFETY FEATURES: Motorcycle gear places a high focus on safety, and the Marc Marquez Leather Gloves perform in this sense. They have cutting-edge safety features including TPU (thermoplastic polyurethane) reinforcements, padded fingers, and carbon fibre knuckle protectors that provide complete protection against impact and abrasion. Additionally, the gloves have pre-curved fingers that ensure a natural grip while riding and reduce hand tiredness.

AIRFLOW AND COMFORT: The fingers and wrist of the Marc Marquez Gloves have been carefully perforated for maximum comfort and ventilation. Even during the most hard rides, your hands will remain cool and dry thanks to the excellent ventilation provided by these vents. The gloves soft polyester interior lining adds to their warmth and breathability.

ADAPTABLE AND SAFE FIT: Any motorcycle glove must have a secure and comfortable fit, and the Marc Marquez Leather Gloves provide both. These gloves include an adjustable Velcro strap at the wrist so you can quickly tailor them to suit your hands exactly while riding, improving control and durability.

OUTSTANDING GRIP AND CONTROL: Abrasion-resistant material of the highest quality is used to reinforce the palm section of the gloves, providing a firm grip and superb control during movements at high speeds. The Red and Black Leather Gloves also include silicone-printed fingers for better grip and touch inputs, allowing you to keep firm control over the throttle, clutch and brake levers on your motorbike.

Experience MotoGP Performance and Style with the Red and Black Leather Gloves from Marc Marquez for 2015 2016

[jashasedai]

Just Tell Me What You Want

Tame AU(motogp fanfic)

Marc Marquez and his Racing Rider double, Cove

Just Tell Me What You Want

World Motorcycle Center- 2014

[You must like some other hobby besides riding,] Marc told Cove. [Rinsy and Huir like baking. Valentino and Rasoio like to paint their room and dye their hair. Laser, Aleix, Polyccio, and Pol like to cook.]

Cove, better known as 93, stared at him, and didn’t feel anything.

Marc took his hand. [We will try art,] He waved a notepad and took Cove outside to sit on a bench by the trees. [Draw something,] He prompted.

Cove twirled the pencil between his fingers, tossed it up and caught it with a little flourish that made Marc smile.

They sat while Cove looked at the trees.

After a moment, he laid his hand on the page and traced around it. He drew the Honda logo in the middle of the hand shape. Then he held the picture up. [Look, a glove.]

[That’s great, Cove!] Marc flipped the notebook to the next page. [Draw some more.]

The matchable age foals’ practice started up at the track behind them and Cove twisted around to watch.

[Do you want to draw them?] Marc asked.

Cove turned back and stared at him. [Alright,] He said, dragging the gesture out. [Then, maybe we can go and talk to them. I could help them with their form.]

He scribbled two circles with a triangle shape between them and the Honda logo again. He thrust the notebook into Marc’s hands and jumped over the back of the bench.

[Cove, wait…] Marc called. [If you don’t like drawing, we can find something you do like.]

Cove brightened up. He nodded, taking an eager step forward. [I like riding!]

Marc frowned and shook his head. [But...something else. We know you don’t like cooking.] He smiled. [What about music? Blues like music.]

Cove’s smile stayed just where it had been.

He looked toward the track with just his eyes.

[Alright? Music,] He agreed.

Marc took his hand again and they went to the common room. There was a spare guitar there, and Marc took it out of the case and handed it to Cove.

Cove held its body in both his hands. He set it on the bench and tapped his hand, arm outstretched on the strings. Then he looked at Marc, to check his reaction.

[Hold it like this,] Marc said. He demonstrated the proper way to hold a guitar, and then when Cove was holding it right, showed him one of the chords and how to strum it.

The stallion strummed the chord gently in a monotone rhythm until Marc told him to stop.

[That is a nice sound. You can make a whole song like that.]

The smile from outside was back, pinned onto Cove’s face. He nodded. [I will make a song for you, then.]

[Great!] Marc showed him some more chords and a simple rhythm.

It didn’t take Cove long to repeat them perfectly, and to time.

Marc clapped when the song was ready. [This is so good. I am proud of you. I will ask Rev if he will teach you other songs to play.]

Cove lowered his head, like sometimes humans did when they were bashful. [Yes, Marc. I will do what you say.] His head came up again with a big, happy smile. [May we go and ride, now?]

[I know some more notes, and I saw a guide around here, somewhere. Let’s keep practicing.]

Cove looked towards the door to the outside, and then down at the guitar. [Yes, Marc.]

They practiced for a long time, and Cove learned three more songs, with Marc translating from the song book. By then it was dark and the track lights were shutting down. Since Cove had run a morning practice session, Marc decided that he wouldn’t suffer ill effects from staying in the rest of the night. They had a late dinner with Alex and 73 -Splash- and then went back to their rooms.

Marc went to tell Alex and Splash about the guitar, but Cove didn’t feel like socializing, so he stayed in their room.

Marc strode back in, a little before bedtime and found Cove sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeves before he turned around to face Marc.

He looked extremely guilty.

His eyes were red.

Marc’s smile disappeared. He hadn’t felt anything through their connection. Even now it was closed to quietness. He’d thought Cove had gone to sleep.

[Why are you crying?] Marc asked.

Blues didn’t lie.

Cove just didn’t say anything. Then after an awkward moment in which neither of them moved, he said, [I should take a shower before bed,] and started for the door.

[I would like to be able to help,] Marc said.

The stallion stood silently, radiating guilt.

[You do not want to play music?]

He shook his head.

[What do you want to do?]

He stepped forward again, eyebrows up. [I want to ride.]

[You do not have to ride all the time!]

He backed away again and put his head down. [I know. I will do what you say. I will play music. I will do what pleases you.] A tear coursed down his cheek.

[You can enjoy other things,] Marc said, more gently. [It is not wrong.]

Cove’s shoulders rose, but his head stayed low. [I enjoy spending time, the set of us, I enjoy coaching. I enjoy dinner.] His shoulders lowered, and he whispered the gestures, [I want to ride.]

[The other stallions like to do other things, Break and Casey are interested in history, X and Jorge are medics, Ricky and Ratchet are mechanics.] This was too hard to understand, and it was starting to make Marc hurt. Why didn’t Cove want more from his life than the companies had forced on him?

Cove raised his head, his jaw was clenched and his neck was straining, and he opened his mind to Marc, sharing his desperation. ‘I want to RIDE.’

[My life is SHORT, Marc. A racing career is] He held his fingers nearly pinched together, [Just a tiny amount of time. Rasoio’s career is not usual. A racer might have,] He held the pinched fingers out for Marc to see, [Just a small time. Until his back begins to hurt, and his knees will not work, until the falls make him afraid, because the pain lasts too long. Rasoio’s sire raced until the last year of his LIFE, Marc, but I...I will not be able to do that.]

He looked down and around, like he was searching for something. [I will not be able to stay with you. You will live the last half of your life without me, and I will live the last half of my life without my career. Just a tiny part of our lives will be riding, and then it will be gone.] He had tears in his eyes again, and they were falling, now. His breath was ragged and his mouth was drawn between his breaths. [It is such a little time.]

He dropped both hands and hung his head again.

[I want to ride.]

Marc raised his own hands. [It is cruel of me to keep you inside when everything you want is outside.]

This time, Cove nodded.

[Is there something else you would like to do, that I can have ready for you, when it is time to retire? Or when something prevents you from riding?] Marc asked.

Cove shrugged.

Marc nodded. He stepped forward and took the weeping stallion in his arms. [If you ever find anything, you let me know and I will make it available, and until then, I will give you what you want.] He drew back and reached for Cove’s sleeping cupboard, and the helmet stored above it on a shelf. [Get ready, we are going to ride.]

[It is night. The track lights are off,] Cove said.

Marc snorted. [You paid for the refit on the new garage this year. I don’t think they’ll tell us we can’t turn on the lights. Send to Ratchet, tell him what happened.]

They got dressed for dirtbikes.

There was a rapid knock on the door.

Marc opened it to find a sleepy Ricky Carmichael standing in the hall, in striped green pajamas and bare feet. He held up a set of keys. “The lights take a few minutes to warm up. Lock the garage and turn the lights off when you are done. If anyone else shows up out there while you’re there, YOU are in charge of them.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “As a matter of fact, Marc, you just became our official track department head. Congratulations. Talk to Katja in the morning for your paperwork. Welcome to the board, there is a budget meeting every Tuesday at 4pm.” He smirked. “Valentino will talk to you tomorrow about your buy-in. Shares start at 5 million Euros, and you’ll have to upgrade your Trainer status to class 4 by the end of the year.” He looked thoughtful, then nodded to himself. “I’m going back to sleep. Some of us have stables to run.”

He turned and walked back down the hallway to the stall on the end. Ratchet’s head was peeking out of the doorway, and he gave a rumbly rev.

Marc turned around and smirked at Cove. [Things work out when you just tell me what you want. Did you know that?]

Cove snapped his gaping mouth shut.

[Wake up our brothers. It’s time to ride.]

[djs-random-blog]

What motorbike leathers can and can’t do:

(I’m so sorry this took me so long I got caught up in tech stuff but it’s here now. It’s nowhere near as long as my last one but I kind of ran out of things to say 😅)

 There was a gifset knocking around on my dash a while back of some MotoGP crashes, one in particular of a rider sliding on his arse at God knows what speed, who still had the time to throw his hands up in frustration. A couple of other users said something along the lines of, “How good are those suits if this is only a minor inconvenience to him?” and I am incredibly fun at parties so I thought I’d chip in with my two cents. Something to take into account is I am not a professional. I have, however, grown up around motorbike racing and I watch and analyse a lot of crash footage (which apparently isn’t normal or healthy, who knew).

First of all, leathers are incredibly good to use when a rider is sliding. They protect against the worst of friction burns (obviously on tarmac at high speeds, they can’t prevent it entirely) so to find yourself sliding along a track really fucking fast after a crash is actually the best case scenario for the rider a lot of the time. The gloves are also incredibly versatile, and a lot of modern ones actually have plastic bits in the palms to do the same job as knee sliders for the rider. I’m bringing this up because we have a pair of my dad’s gloves that have been completely worn out on one palm (they were an old spec so no plastic, only leather padding) because he’d used them to kind of steer himself away from the curb (he mainly raced on street tracks) as he slid. He did end up with quite a nasty hole in his hand, but he probably saved his legs so that counts as a win for a motorbike rider.

However, leathers are not incredibly good for when a rider is rolling, and bouncing off the ground at high speeds. That’s the difference between safety measures in racecars versus safety measures in racebikes. You can prevent a driver from being on the outside of the vehicle, but there isn’t an inside of a motorbike to keep a rider in. So when a rider is rolling (which is far too peaceful of a word for the action I am describing, think more like, moving horizontally incredibly fast and being repeatedly bounced off the ground as you do so) there is only so much padding you can give them. As a result, broken collarbones are incredibly common, as well as arm injuries from not tucking your arms into your body as you roll. I believe Marc Marquez dislocated his shoulder because he landed on his arm slightly wrong as he was rolling (I don’t follow MotoGP I just see the highlights on Instagram so forgive me if I’m wrong.) But what leathers can help with when you’re rolling, is making sure your body doesn’t twist the wrong way. The rider’s legs, arms and torso are incredibly reinforced to prevent really bad bending from happening. Ever wondered why motorbike racers walk like weird cowboys in their leathers? Or why they usually need someone to pull their sleeves off for them when they want to get undressed? These bad boys are incredibly tight; moving in them is not easy, especially if you’re trying to move in a way the human body is not designed to. They prevent your limbs from moving in the wrong direction, whilst also letting them move in the way they need to with strategically placed joints (in the elbows, knees etc.) Ergo, it’s actually really hard to badly injure yourself by having your limbs or other parts of you bent the wrong way when you crash a motorbike. This is also why it’s incredibly important that you don’t race in leathers that are too big for you. Your body would be able to bend and stretch in ways it really shouldn’t when you crash.

The third kind of crash as far as a motorbike rider is confirmed, is a crash with one, very big impact. These are the most deadly, as there isn’t any way to protect a rider from this. There are no crumple zones, no seatbelts, no roll-bars. If there isn’t any run off for the rider to slow down gradually via friction, the rider hits something very hard and if they’re lucky escape with their lives. This usually happens on street tracks like the Isle of Man mountain circuit rather than MotoGP tracks, and the riders are hitting lamp-posts, people’s brick garden walls, trees, sheep fences and Heaven knows what else. This is why some (okay, actually a lot of) road racing riders look down on MotoGP riders. MotoGP tracks have run off and gravel traps and in their eyes, it’s a completely different sport where you can get away with a crash. You just can’t let yourself crash at the Isle of Man, and when you do, you count your lucky stars if you survive it.

We see the difference between the sliding crash and the rolling crash very easily in the crash at the Styrian GP a couple of weeks ago (months now I guess, Jesus Christ time flies when you’re procrastinating). The overtaking rider goes down on the grass, slides along a bit, and then gets up and runs over to the marshalls. The overtaken rider ends up in the gravel trap, and as the gravel creates mounds where his body pushes it, he gets sent into a roll. Though the second rider was alright (again, I don’t know names) he did not stand up and run over to the marshalls because he was in no fit state to do so. Even if he didn’t break anything in the end, rolling so quickly is going to disorientate a rider.

So that’s just a little something about motorbike crashes (I’m very passionate and I have no one IRL to talk about these things to). Most of this was taken from my own experience growing up around motorbikes and experiencing the aftermath of crashes; from holding my dad’s hand as he got his elbow stitched up to attending his funeral, but a lot of what I found was just from googling so I encourage you to do some research yourself if I didn’t explain something well enough.

Aight, let’s see if I can remember who liked my teaser post for this (took me a while because the tagging system on this website is wack but here we are): @myimaginarywonderland​ @bubbling-wanderlust​ @justamirrorball​ @mcrmarvelloki​

I have a whole bunch more idea for these but I won’t get round to writing any of them quickly (partially because I’m busy, partially because I have terrible time management and love to procrastinate) but if anyone is really interested in reading more of my writing let me know. (Also please read my post about Chicane’s in Formula E if you think that would interest you 😊)

[moonshynecybin]

if you wouldn't mind can i have your thoughts on how the first meeting goes between uccio and marc in the same age au?

prompt #1! sorry i didnt actually do their first meeting i just crawled inside of uccio's head and rummaged around in there concerning marc in this scenario... if anyone wants more of this au PLEASEEEE go read this fic an anon wrote in this universe im obsessed with it....

“I don’t like him.”

Vale’s head tries to raise, forever unstill, and Uccio pushes it back into place. “Stay put, you’re going to make me smear it.”

“It’s hair, it’ll grow back. How do I look?”

“Blue.”

He hums, easy, and maybe that’s all Vale will say about it. About Marquez. Because he absolutely knows who Uccio is talking about—He’s been talking about Marquez all fucking week, still heated over a last-lap pass in Barcelona that had smoke coming out of his ears even as he smiled and waved on the podium. Sunflower yellow and nearly as tall as Marquez despite being a step lower. But Vale plays his cards close to his chest, and there’s a good chance he’ll go quiet, change the topic. Do the thing he does when he’s upset, where he just pretends nothing happened.

There’s a silent moment, Vale fiddling with a key ring as Uccio tries not to slop hair dye on his ears. Vale’s foot is bouncing up and down, fast. Music floats in from the speaker in the corner. The CD is scratched— it keeps catching, a fraught line of tension that drags at Uccio, raising his hackles.

Vale speaks.

“Who?” He says, head still bent down. Uccio can’t see his face. It’s a farce, Vale just wants to pretend he hasn’t been thinking about it. About him. Uccio lets him.

“Marquez.” He says. “He’s dirty, always pushing too hard on the inside. Dangerous, I don’t like him.”

It’s true. Marquez is reckless— makes Vale even more so, tearing impulsive streaks through his riding style, pushing him to lean further, brake later. Anything to keep up.

It’s been changing Vale— he’s been changing Vale, merging them together until the lines between them are blurred. Coalescing into something singular as they learn from each other. Vale’s even been hitting the gym lately, no doubt inspired by Marquez. It’s different. Odd. Vale is so himself, it chafes to see him react to others so strongly.

Marquez really is inside his head.

“Hmm.” Is all Vale says, “That’s true.”

Uccio waits. He doesn’t say anything else.

Which is ridiculous. Uccio saw them together, the last time they raced in Italy. Saw the barely restrained tension between them in the pre-race interview. Saw Vale laugh in the way he only does when he’s pissed off.

It should be normal for Vale to jump on the dog pile— easy for him to pick up Uccio’s thread here. To come up with clever insults. To jab at Marquez’s height or his laugh. Find some flaw to pick apart and spin funny stories about. Common practice. They’ve done it before, about Marquez, even.

But Vale’s not doing that. He’s picking at his nails. His foot still jabbering away at the floor.

And Uccio hasn’t just seen the two of them when they're caught in the cruelty of competition. Of comparison. He’s also seen them after the race, on the top step of the podium. Faces split wide in identical smiles. Real ones. Laughing.

He’s seen them duck out of the bathroom together, color high on their cheeks.

And he’s seen Vale looking.

It’s weird, what’s going on with Marquez and Vale. It prickles under Uccio’s skin, unsettles him. It has always been him and Vale. Always. But Marquez is— Marquez is like another Vale. Gets racing in ways Uccio can’t. Spends time with him every weekend, practically, in the paddock. Occupies his space.

And now, this.

He doesn’t need Vale distracted.

He finishes painting the back of Vale’s head, a bright dusky blue, and snaps his gloves into the trash.

It looks like shit.

[motospeeds-blog]

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[motorcycleleatherjacket]

MARQUEZ 2015 - 2016 MOTORBIKE RACING GLOVES

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