#dani is yapping

[dani-ya-dig]

I just watched a really shitty movie so I’m gonna rant about how The Balance did this better when it was made by one dude voicing most of the characters.

So The Balance is a great series with where it’s at so far, but what I mainly am focusing on (as far as this little rant goes) is how Erik introduced Elliott.

Erik did a good job with introducing and endearing Elliott to the audience before the all of the events that take place in The Balance really occurred.

Which I understand seems like such a “yeah, fucking duh that’s what you should do” thing. But I watch a lot of horror movies, and obviously a lot of these horror movies have horrible things happening to the characters in these movies. But somehow these movies, some of which are made with huge teams by large production companies, fail to do this seemingly very obvious thing even half as well as A FUCKING BOYFRIEND ASMR CHANNEL.

Starting off point, Sunshine and Elliott were already best friends even before Elliott’s first audio and that was a good choice. The dynamic between them is already there, and that kind of gives off an immediate sense of familiarity with the character. Putting the listener in the position of someone close to the character already endears him because, yeah that’s our bestie!!!

And then along with this in his first two audios you learn enough about him to make him a lovable character. Just small things like him being afraid of open water, his love for the stars especially ones that people can’t see that well, having used looking at the stars as an escape from his life as a kid, him actively helping Sunshine with their nightmares when they met even if they never became friends, how despite him loving his powers he prefers to live in reality over dreams because reality is complex, and flawed, and unpredictable, and real.

My point being, that is not a lot of time between Elliott’s first introduction, and when him and Sunshine get thrown into all the cult shit. Yet still even with that little time I’ve learned enough about Elliott and who he is that the stakes feel serious when he gets put in a horrible situation, and I can actively route for him to get out of said situation.

And yes, Erik does have more time to do that given that it’s a series rather than a movie… but ONE DUDE WITH A MICROPHONE DID WHAT SO MANY PEOPLE WHO WRITE MOVIES PROFESSIONALLY SUCK BALLS AT!!

(Feeling very “TONY STARK WAS ABLE TO BUILD THIS IN A CAVE!! WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS!!”)

Like yes, I can watch a character going through a horrible situation and feel base empathy for them of “oh that would really suck to go through”. But if I know nothing about that character, or you don’t give me any information about this character to form an opinion off of, it’s never going to go beyond that base level empathy. I’m not going to be actively and hopefully routing for your character to get out of the situation, I’m just gonna be passively watching as things happen to them.

tl;dr

Watching horror movies sucks sometimes because ya gotta go through a bunch of bad ones to get to a good one, and redacted audio good.

Also 10 dani points to whoever can guess what movie inspired this rant

[silliestgirlintheworld]

The demons in my brain refused to let me rest until I drew Phyuri so here you go :)

(some headcanons under the cut bc I love yapping)

I feel like Dani and Fi during the peak of their career would accidentally get slotted into the 2010's niche of "not like other girls" content and they'd both have really complicated feelings about it, especially due to their sexualities and how they each feel about gender.

It would confuse Fi, as she doesn't want to imply that she thinks less of women around her but she also feels deeply uncomfortable with expressing herself femininely. She knows she wants to dress more masc and explore that part of herself (butch fi forever!!) but she lacks the self confidence, so for most of the peak of their career she just comes off as very uncomfortable with femininity in an internalized misogyny sort of way. Cue think pieces about how "Fi is setting a bad example for young girls by not embracing her womanhood" and extremely uncomfortable viewers pick my outfits videos where she's forced into dresses. Eventually after cutting all her hair off in 2018 and coming out she'd figure things out and be much happier and more free and I think a lot of people would feel bad about how she was treated while she was trying to work shit out.

I think Dani would lean into it, the idea of being "not like other girls" feels very in line with old danisnotonfire sketches and it would be a way of coping with feeling like she can't measure up to the societal expectations of women as a deeply closeted lesbian. She'd dress femme in a 2010's tumblr grunge sort of way and wear a lot of makeup but it would never feel fully authentic. Post coming out this would all fuck with her head, both in terms of reckoning with a lot of problematic rhetoric she spread due to her internalized misogyny, and also now she finally feels free to express herself how she wants, but what does she even want? I think Dan in every universe would always have some gender stuff going on and I can clearly in my mind imagine Dani going on tangents about how differently straight girls and lesbians express their own femininity and whether or not she even wants to be feminine at all deep down because her only experience with it is years trying to conform to heteronormative ideals of what femininity is whilst closeted. She's on a long journey to figure out a form of expression that feels right to her and I don't see her identifying as a femme lesbian because I think no version of Dan would want to fully commit to a label and she's got her own secret third thing going on. Danigender.

[yenyu1s]

hi.. *throws wips at you* trust!! ya'll will be fed. taglist open for all of these <3

[star-s-631]

Team tiny and Maxiel, I just feel like these duo is similar

Marc and Max who is the star boys of red bull Honda, came up to highest class when they are young, Dani&Daniel was already there, doing fantastic job.

But they couldn’t be kings because younger ones got crown. and after young man’s success, the older teammates stays friend with them. Max and Daniel is surely close friends on the grid. Marc called Dani for his advice when he left Honda. know each other since they are in lower class.

Marc and Max, who succeeded early age, people said they are dangerous. But respect their teammates and loves them. Big brothers.

Dani and Daniel, “the prince who failed to become a king”, the kind ones, never speak ill about younger ones disrespectfully and still have a good relationship with them.

Don’t take this seriously I just thought so and ofc I gonna draw these four 😌

[tzpscuckchair]

okay but hear me out, firstprince who start out as tinder hookups. when they finish henry goes in his bag and pulls out a gold star that says ‘amazing orgasm giver’ and smacks it on Alex’s chest. Alex is immediately like “Really? Yes I am. I deserve this thank you :D” But then Alex would just be like “you carry them in your purse?” at Henry who scrunches his nose in disbelief and says “Yes of course, where else would I carry them?” and they would move on but 12 minutes later Alex would be like “okay you’re right where else would you carry them” and Henry would fall in love on the spot.

[mastersofunlocking]

thinking about elster and ariane and how elster is a combat engineer so her first compulsion upon noticing a problem is to fix it resulting in her never truly allowing herself to grieve ariane (or herself for that matter), only ever seeing the entire situation as something that she MUST fix. she sees her failure to kill ariane as something that's actively happening instead of something that's already happened

in my personal interpretation of the artifact ending she lets go of that. she accepts that she still loves ariane and ariane still loves her. this grief, this anger, this rage isn't going to do anything and it hasn't done anything — this isn't something she can fix or assess, just something she can accept. something she can love.

things will never go back to the way they were and ultimately their love served naught in the grand scheme of things; they were always destined to die. but whether they died in love or not was the one choice they had, and in the artifact ending, they choose to love

[pedripics]

the boys at Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys 💙❤️

[adanieline]

ROLLO FLAMME CHARACTER ANALYSIS.

It's a shame that not many people realize how well written of a character Rollo Flamme is. In today's episode (lol) we'll take a look at Rollo's character in another perspective.

Rollo Flamme's character is tied to Sinfulness and he considers himself a sinner. Why is that?

Let's break this down.

Rollo Flamme considers himself a killer—a murderer—not in the literal sense, but because he believes he bears the guilt of not preventing his little brother’s death before it was too late.

As a child, Rollo noticed the recklessness in his brother's actions but failed to intervene, unable to grasp the danger looming ahead. It wasn’t just him, though. Everyone around them—parents, elders, mages, teachers—saw the same recklessness but did nothing to guide his brother or stop the tragedy from unfolding.

When the tragedy struck, Rollo froze in place, watching helplessly as his own brother was consumed by flames. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do a thing. The horrific scene etched itself into his mind, an endless loop replaying over and over. And guess what? The mages—those with the power to save his brother—stood by and did nothing.

From that day forward, Rollo Flamme branded himself a sinner. But it didn’t stop there. In his eyes, everyone who stood idly by became killers too—a collective guilt they all shared for his brother’s death.

What made it worse was the cruel irony of his own magic. Over the years, the very thing that killed his brother, fire, became the power he manifested. Every day, he feels as though the ashes of his brother cling to him, an unseen residue woven into his existence.

To Rollo, this vile force coursing through his veins is a curse—a repulsive reminder of his failure. In his mind, he is the murderer. He killed his own brother. And no matter how much time passes, he cannot escape the truth: it’s all his fault.

To atone for the immense sin he carries, Rollo decides that punishment is the only path—for himself and everyone else. In his mind, they all share the guilt for his brother’s death, and they must all suffer to make amends.

But the punishments he doles out only add to the weight on his soul. Instead of cleansing his guilt, they pile sin upon sin, a heavy, unrelenting burden he cannot escape. By the time he realizes the truth, it’s already too late.

He has become the very thing he despised—a greater sinner than anyone around him. And once again, he has failed. He has messed up beyond repair.

And so, Rollo gave up. Weighed down by his failures and sins, he withdrew from the world, isolating himself from the people he once sought to punish.

This was evident during the final moments of the Glomas event. He took it upon himself to clean up his own mess, refusing help from anyone. When the chaos had subsided and the ballroom came alive with music and celebration, Rollo was nowhere to be seen. While others danced and reveled, he slipped into the shadows, vanishing from their lives.

The only path to atoning for his sins is to forgive himself—to accept what he has done and the role he played. But Rollo knows he can never do that.

This is clear in how he silently bears his guilt, refusing to confess the truth to those who see him as a "hero." They celebrate his deeds, unaware that the supposed hero was the villain all along—the one who caused the disaster.

In his mind, if he cannot forgive himself, how could anyone else? And so, he chooses silence, carrying the weight of his sins alone, hidden beneath the mask of the hero they believe him to be.

But that is who Rollo Flamme is—a man consumed by sin, incapable of atonement, shackled by the deep-seated hatred he holds for himself.

Alas, it’s no longer the fault of the people.

It’s him. He’s the problem now.

And so, he resolves to shoulder this immense burden alone, carrying it with him for the rest of his life—forever.

[fall0utmind]

WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME IF I TOLD YOU MY DARKEST SECRETS? Chapter 4 - Crash

Hi guysss,

Thank you sooooo much for all the love you have shown me and this fic, i could not have asked for anything better for my first fic!!! SO MUCH LOVE FOR YOU ALL!!!

Let me know what you think, come yap in my asks :)

Chapter 4 (CRASH) below

HERE on AO3

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

TW/ SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ IDEATIONS - be safe xx

When Marc eventually reaches the garage, he’s a mess. He finds a deserted room, pulls the door closed and screams into his fist. His brain is flurried, thoughts travelling at 100 miles per hour. He feels wound up, taught with anger and pain, ready to snap at the next tiny mistake. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to quiet his brain, but Valentino’s cold words echo in the empty spaces. He buries his face into the front of the hoodie he stole, breathing in Dovi’s comforting scent, hoping to cling onto some semblance of kindness, of warmth. He refuses to let the tears fall, unwilling to give Rossi any more of himself. He will not continue to split his heart into pieces over a man who flip-flops between not looking at him or spouting cruelty.

Marc must race, he has to, no matter how crap he feels. He has ridden through worse before, he just needs to quiet his mind, get on his bike and do what he was made to do. He blinks his eyes open, his harsh breathing filling the otherwise silent room. There are teeth marks on his knuckles from where he has bitten his fist too hard, he revels in the way it burns. Pain is a good focus – a distraction from his racing thoughts. Marc steps out of the room and makes a beeline to the nearest bathroom. He peers into the mirror above the basin and feels his heart sink at the sight of red eyes which sting with unshed tears. He rubs his eyes furiously, splashing cold water over his face to remove the redness, attempting to make himself look less fragile. The water is freezing, shocking him back into his body, it makes him feel a little more in control. Looking a little less like he's about to fall apart is the best that he can hope for as he mentally steels himself to face down the world.

The cameras are trained on him when he enters the garage, pulling at the edges of his awareness as he begins to prepare for the race. The team decide to let Marc and Alex go out onto the grid at the last minute in an attempt to prevent any unwanted attention. That doesn’t stop the media from trying. He feels wrong-footed, like something is a millimetre out of place but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. His arm aches. He shrugs it off. Instead, he focuses on his pre-race routine, ignoring the buzz around him until they need to go.

When they finally make their way onto the grid, they are surrounded by more mechanics and engineers than usual, wrapped in a protective cocoon of familiar pale blue. He keeps his head down and his game face on, ignoring any attention as he makes his way to the front of the grid, thankful that he’s there and not in the middle of the pack. He nods at Alex as the group splits, watching his brother approach his bike. He tries to keep his features neutral, unbothered, but can’t help feeling like he’s failing, the strain of the weekend weakening his usual façade. Passing Pecco in the p2 spot makes him grimace, another reminder of the earlier disaster. He can see the Italian trying to catch his attention out of the corner of his eye but refuses to engage. Reasonably, Marc knows that Pecco is not Vale, he is too calm, too rounded, missing the ragged edges that Marc personally knows so well. Despite this, he will not run the risk of looking. He does not have the capability for mind games right now, not after Valentino’s little stunt earlier. Instead, he walks away, his eyes trained on the ground, unaware of Pecco’s concerned frown behind him.

Usually, Marc has no problem focusing before a race, narrowing his universe down to just him and his bike. But today a million thoughts are racing through his head. He tries to shove it to the furthest corner of his mind, boxing up the nerves and the sorrow. But the little voice telling him that he is not enough refuses to be silenced. Instead, he pushes his visor down, blocking out the world and its pain, and gets ready to do what he does best. He can forget about it for 13 laps, he can ignore the pain – it is, after all, what he does best.

The grid begins to clear. Marc’s heart is pounding. The green flag is waved. He can feel a thousand eyes on him.

The lights go out.

The bikes roar off the line. He gets a good start, slingshotting around the first corner, retaining his first place. He feels alive as he guns the throttle, throwing his body from side to side to hit angles that should be impossible. Marc always clings to this feeling, the bike humming underneath him, adrenaline pumping through his veins, this is what he lives for.

Halfway through and Marc is doing well, he lost a place to Bagnaia on lap 2 and Martin is riding up his ass, but he is still in contention for the podium, potentially even a win. As he enters the 4th lap, Marc unintentionally tunes into the crowd, the roar as Pecco passes followed by the unintelligible mix of boos and cheers for him. He knows he’s not popular in Italy, God he’s been dealing with it for years. He can’t help but imagine that the booing has got more vicious this weekend, pouncing on his weakness. In the moment of distraction his mind capitalises, automatically leaping to the vicious words whispered behind his back and to the hatred that he’s seen, heard, and read. It comes in flashes: Valentino telling Pecco that it’s not worth it, Valentino implying that he’s an attention seeker, that he made this up. The people who think he’s better off dead, that he has ruined the sport, or that he’s selfish for no longer wanting to live the hell that was 2015. It echoes like a mantra, carved into the walls of his brain, ensuring that he never forgets the burning hatred of those around him.

He distractedly shifts his weight into turn 10, realising a fraction too late what will happen. The back tyre wobbles, desperately seeking friction against the scorching tarmac, before the whole bike bucks from underneath him, launching him into the air and sending them both into the gravel trap. Marc feels weightless for half a second, tumbling through the air and unable to do anything about it. He comes crashing back down to earth with a thump, tossed head over heels across the track, before coming to a halt near his bike.

Fuck.

Marc lies on the floor for a moment, willing himself to not lose it then and there. He knows he should move; people will begin to think the worst – but a small, messed-up part of him barely cares. He lets out a primal scream, thankful nobody can hear him, before finally clambering to his feet, wincing in pain. He jogs over to his bike to assess the damage. His bad arm hurts like a bitch, but a quick body scan tells him that he is mostly okay, just bruised. The main collateral is his ego. His bike is a little worse for wear, but fixable, that’s what matters.

Idiota, he can't believe he got so stuck in his head that he crashed. He needs to be better. He does not want people doubting him now, not when they can already identify spots of weakness through his heavily constructed armour.

He drags his bike upright, refusing the help of the marshals, before being escorted back to the garage.

They force him to go to medical after his crash, much to Marc’s annoyance. He gets plenty of sympathetic winces at the array of bruises now decorating his body, but there is not much else they can do. He is checked for a concussion, which he has thankfully avoided, and the medics give him an ice pack for the worst of the bruising (most of it is bad). After, he slowly makes his way back to the garage, a slight limp in his step. He apologises to the crew, grimacing at the replays of the crash flashing up on the screens. He knows that people will use this against him, rumours that he can’t stand the pressures of this sport. That he’s a danger to other drivers and himself. The irony isn’t lost on him, he doesn’t have to be on track to be a danger to himself.

If he’s being honest, Marc is scared. A deep-rooted fear that his career will be derailed by this weekend, that he will no longer be known as an 8-times world champion, the baby champ, instead he’ll be the dangerous, mentally unstable rider who couldn’t cope with fame and heartbreak. He is scared that Valentino’s narrative of his character will have a lasting impression on his name in this sport.

It's Dani who eventually breaks him from his self-deprecating thoughts, pulling him into a tight hug. He whispers to Marc that the voices aren’t true, that he isn’t what they say he is, that he is a good person. Dani has always known him a little bit too well. When Marc draws away there are tears in his eyes. He knows he will have to face the press again, especially after such a disaster in the sprint. But for now, he is content to be looked after by his team and his friends.

Alex ends up taking p6, a good outcome for at least one of the Gresini riders. Marc has been avoiding the media pen since his crash and is rapidly running out of excuses not to go. He pulls Alex into a congratulatory hug, wrinkling his nose as a press officer shoos them both off to give their interviews. In a last-ditch effort, Marc sends his very best puppy eyes in the direction of Dani, Dovi, and Jorge, who, true to their word, have been in the garage since the race started. All he receives in return is two sympathetic looks and a shit-eating grin from Jorge, who has always been a pain in the ass. Marc laughs at the thought, grinning and tugging Alex with him as he leaves, racing disasters momentarily forgotten.

*

Marc is going to kill someone. The jury is still out on whether it will be himself or whoever fucked up so bad that a summary of his entire medical history ended up on the internet. (He’s kidding, it won’t be himself, he has too much to prove for that). His media appearances go about as well as expected, which is to say it’s a clusterfuck.

The kinder interviewers ask him about the crash and how he is feeling, touching on his prospects for tomorrow’s race. The meaner of them question whether the news was the cause of the crash, and how Valentino played a role, pressing on already delicate bruises. One even goes as far as asking if 2015 “ruined him as a rider”, whatever that means, he has 4 championship wins under his belt since then for God’s sake.

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that more information has been leaked. Whoever is behind this surely wants to destroy Marc for all he’s worth, he cannot believe he’d be so unlucky to have another piece of his life flayed open every time he’s on the track. The moment they ask about his arm, his pain, and his “questionable history with pain medication”, Marc simply walks out. It is surely not his finest moment of PR, but he has had enough of this weekend, of people digging up every hurt and pain he has been through and splaying him open for all to see.

The journalists clearly can’t tell or don’t care that Marc is done, pushing and shoving to get a word from him about the most recent gossip. Marc doesn’t know where to turn, every exit is seemingly blocked by people who want to profit from his pain. The world is spinning around him as tears blur his vision. He has no point of contact with the world, he is floating away, woozy with the feeling. For a fleeting moment, Marc wishes he had succeeded all those years ago, he wishes he would have put an end to all the pain and suffering in his life. The realisation rips an ugly sob from deep within his chest, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t. But he certainly doesn’t want to live life like this. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, shaking apart at the seams, before three sets of hands lead him away. Somewhere through the haze, he recognises Aleix’s gentle Spanish, clearly alternating between soothing him and conversing worriedly with someone else. Marc stumbles over his own feet, held upright by a strong pair of tattooed arms, identifying the second person as Fabio. For what feels like the hundredth time this weekend, his eyes well up; he is unimaginably grateful for the few members of the paddock he can lean upon. They manoeuvre him away from the press, earning some baffled stares from other pilots and team members. Marc guesses that it's not every day you see Marc Marquez half-carried out of the press pen. He can hear his rescuers rapidly debating where to take him before a consensus is reached to deliver him back to the Gresini garage, where hopefully Alex will be waiting.

Marc is surprised to identify the third person as Pedro Acosta. He has not interacted much with the rookie but is pleasantly surprised by his careful hands, aiding the others to get Marc somewhere safe. He suppresses a groan at the sudden realisation of the articles that will no doubt surface tomorrow. Marc Marquez, damsel in distress? At this point, he might as well give an interview saying he’s been in love with Valentino for as long as he can remember.

Marc knows that a decade ago he would have ripped his own heart out and given it to Valentino to destroy. The older rider has unscrewed all his parts, - his hero devotion and childhood wonder, before piecing him back together into the splintered man he is today. He guards himself more these days, walls built strong and high to withstand the storms that always seem to batter him. He can no longer see himself falling into a lover’s arms like he did all those years ago, instead choosing to keep them at arm’s length, decidedly distrusting. He knows if Valentino came back, it would be the end of him.

Pedro disappears at some point between the media pen and the garage, leaving Fabio and Aleix to usher him through the back corridors of the paddock. Marc is aware of the near-continuous apologies listlessly falling from his lips, despaired by the idea of being so weak. He is gently shushed by Aleix, who holds open the door for Fabio and him to enter the back of Gresini’s building

It’s Jorge who notices the three men spilling into the room first. He’s out of his seat in a flash, urging Marc to sit down whilst Dani fetches some water, working in perfect tandem.

“Cazzo, what happened?”

Dovi directs his question towards Fabio and Aleix, the former of whom answers, with a worried frown.

“He just shut down in the media pen, he fully froze. It was like he’d just gone somewhere else; we got him out of there as soon as possible. I’ve never seen him do anything like that.”

“It happens sometimes when he’s been bottling everything up for a long time, especially when he feels weak. He just loses his sense of reality. It’s always scary, it doesn’t get any easier.”

Alex takes in his brother's state from where he has entered the room. He knows he needs to take Marc somewhere where he can fall apart in private, their motorhome being the sensible option. Marc needs this, needs to let it all out so that he can race tomorrow.

“Alex, is what they’re saying true?”

It’s a quiet question from Dani, but it catches the attention of all of them.

Alex scoffs, “Which bit?”

“Given the extent of media coverage, we can assume the A&E trips happened. I remember being worried about him during those years, it was like he was always pretending.”

Alex nods at Dani, confirming his assumptions. It’s Jorge who pipes up then, voice full of unconcealed fury,

“I’m going to fucking kill Rossi, I swear to god”

He lets out a string of expletives, calling Valentino every rude name under the sun. Alex can second that, and Marc, now gaining some lucidity, let’s out a brittle chuckle.

Fabio asks the question they’re all thinking, a pained look on his face.

“And his injury? It was that bad, even after the surgeries, I know he was out of it during races, I didn’t know how much pain he was in...”

Marc replies to this one.

“Agony, like red hot knives tearing into my flesh every corner. Not helped by the Hondas tendency to play buckaroo with me.”

He gives a self-deprecating laugh

“But I am nothing without a bike so still I raced”

Dovi begins to refute the statement, but Alex simply shakes his head, this is a long fought and lost argument.

Alex sighs, resigned to an evening of his brother once again falling apart due to Valentino Rossi and the scars that remain.

“Probably best we go to the motorhome then, are you all coming?”

*

They must make quite a strange image, seven riders, both current and retired, sneaking through the quiet and unknown parts of the track to reach the safety of the motorhomes. Marc is in the middle of them, bracketed in and protected from each side. He still feels pretty spaced out, his thoughts are a mess, and he keeps getting stuck in a loop of forbidden memories that have resurfaced. Marc registers the others leaving once they arrive at the familiar blue motorhome. He clutches Dani’s jacket before he can walk away and makes the three retired riders promise to return, feeling too fragile not to have the comfort of safety in numbers. He turns towards Aleix and Fabio and quietly thanks them for their help before turning back towards his brother.

Alex helps Marc inside the motorhome, pushing him toward the shower, and telling him to clean up whilst he talks to the team. Marc turns the water temperature up as high as possible, hoping it will soothe his aching muscles since it can’t do much for his current mental state. After he’s done, he wraps a fluffy towel around his waist, heading to the bedroom to change whilst Alex showers. He feels more physically grounded now but inside he’s in emotional turmoil. He feels like he’s been cut loose, unmoored on choppy water, unsure where he can sink his anchor to weather the storm. For now, he decides his motorhome and his younger brother are the safest place.

Alex is already there, washed and dressed, when he re-enters the living space. He has a little pinch between his eyebrows as he stares at Marc in concern; clearly, Marc’s attempts to cover up his misery are unsuccessful. He winces as he approaches the sofas, his brother instantly picking up on that too, damn having a codependent relationship with a sibling, they know too much. Thankfully, Alex says nothing, he just helps lower Marc onto the cushions, before turning to grab the bruise relief cream, looking at Marc pointedly until he takes his shirt back off. Alex cringes at the array of watercolour blues and purples painted across Marc’s skin, still uncomfortable seeing Marc in pain, even after all these years.

“How’s your arm?”

Marc hums, considering,

“It’s pretty bad, I don’t need medication through”

Alex gives him another look, understanding but slightly exasperated.

“Marc, you still sometimes need the medication. You are not who you were then. You are in pain; you do not need to just live in it.”

Marc contemplates his brother’s argument, smiling slightly at his unwavering support.

“Not yet, I will take them later, maybe”

Their conversation is interrupted by the motorhome door opening, Dovi slipping inside and shutting it behind him. His eyes instantly shoot to Marc, who is still shirtless on the sofas, his eyes widening as he takes in the tanned skin of the Spaniard. Marc still looks gorgeous, even when battered and bruised. The thought makes him feel guilty for a second, he never wants Marc to be in pain. But still, it doesn’t take away from his attraction. Alex rolls his eyes at the pair, coughing obnoxiously as Marc’s cheeks flush pink. Dovi grins at Marc, still unabashedly staring as he shrugs a t-shirt and hoodie back on, glaring lightly back at the Italian. Look, Dovi’s not blind, he knows an attractive man when he sees one (he always has), but he is also well aware that Marc is still a bit in love with Valentino, plus he would be stupid to risk such a friendship. But he can still look and the younger still preens under his gaze.

Marc tries to will the blush away from his cheeks, well aware of Dovi’s smug look, and frankly, it’s slightly unfair that the man still has that effect on him, he thought that he was over that part of his life. But he can’t deny that he enjoys the older man's attention.

Dani and Jorge return about ten minutes later, and they settle together on the couch, joining the others. Marc feels his brain quiet, the volume of his thoughts turned down a few notches. His whole body aches after the crash, each movement burning his muscles. He eventually gives in to the pain, flashing Alex a pleading look, spurring the younger to fish out the appropriate number of painkillers and hand them to his brother with a glass of water. They’re the strong ones that make Marc a little hazy, a little more fluid and uncaring as they kick in. He ends up settled between Dovi and Jorge, leaning heavily on the older Spaniard, his legs across Dovi. Dani is on Jorge’s other side and Alex sits opposite.

*

The conversation is soft. The TV is talking to itself quietly in the background. Marc has lost track of all threads of the topics once more, tangled like balls of yarn in his brain. He allows the pain medication to soften him and lets himself drift amongst his thoughts, ebbing and flowing like the sea. He feels Jorge’s (Danis?) hand gently petting his hair and Dovi's warmth pressed against him. It’s peaceful. Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells are sounding at how vulnerable and weak he’s being in front of the others, but for now, he ignores them, allowing himself to float.

The weekend has been a mess, he will be the first to admit it. The fact that his medical records have been leaked would be bad enough, even if they didn’t contain all his biggest secrets – his mental health, the extent of his injuries, his weakness. The world has seen what 2015 took from him, about his overdoses, and subsequent admissions to A&E. They know that the doctors had looked to Alex to make sure his older brother stayed alive another day. Back then, he lived life as if he didn’t care to see another day, throwing himself into reckless situations with abandon. He was indeed a danger on the track to himself, but he never, ever, meant to drag anyone else into it. The only thing he could clutch onto was his success on the bike, it was all that mattered to him. In 2015 and the years that followed Marc would leave everything on track, he would go out not caring if he returned to the garage, and we he came back time and time again, he was empty and hollow.

Valentino had taken everything from him, everything but his riding. His hope, childhood dreams, and will to live had been snatched by jealous hands. The media had torn him and his family to shreds. His loved ones were scared to leave him alone. Marc just felt hollow. Nothing mattered to him but winning. He thought that maybe people would consider him worthwhile if he was winning. Valentino would look at him again. Would tell him he was wrong, and that he was sorry. The day never came. Instead, Marc was left with the demons, locked in his mind and told to make his own way out.

Then one day, finally, the light was shining at the other end of the tunnel. After the depression, after the suicide attempts, and the self-destruction. After he had glued together the shattered pieces of himself into something that only partially resembled the old him, before Valentino Rossi. Then Jerez had happened. He came off his bike so fast he didn’t truly remember it happening, just the searing pain and a useless arm hanging limply by his side as he tried to mask the pain from the world. 

The next few years were a haze of surgeries, pain, riding, not being able to ride, pain medication, and more encompassing sadness. He knows somewhere on the internet there is now a long list of medications he was on for that pain. No doubt there would also be records of the countless doctors who were concerned about him ignoring the pain, or not taking his pain meds. It was some twisted form of self-flagellation that he told himself he should live with the burning agony to prove that he was strong. He was too weak to do it in the races and instead would take medication before, just so he could make the corners, followed by copious numbers of painkillers after, knocking him out clean. He would be so doped up that his brother would have to look after him, feeding him and putting him to bed. Marc still remembers the phantom pain that followed him everywhere, despite the medication. At some point, he took too many and became unresponsive. Alex had to rush him to the hospital. From that day on Marc had vowed to be more sensible, if only for his brother's sake. 

The memories make him feel hollow, the empty space in him aching for his loss. He does better these days, but it has taken a long time to reach this point, with countless hours spent talking to professionals about his pain and his feelings. He hates that there are records of so much of this online, that anyone can read about the worst moments in his life. It makes him feel weak. Unworthy. He stays there for some time, revisiting the pain and trying to stay tethered to real life, rather than consider the endless possibilities in a different universe. He doesn’t know when he starts travelling down dark paths, but it makes him shake with sorrow. He feels part of himself shatter, right there in his motorhome in Misano.

[midnight--sadness]

I want Dany to have children of her own because she wants them so much, but i need her to reproduce asexually.

Not a single musty man in Westeros or Essos is worthy of her.

Like i need her to magically get pregnant alone and have a baby girl she names Rhaella (who would be the third princess named Rhaella in the Targaryen dynasty, following the rule of three).

And they live with the dragons in Braavos, in a house with a red door and a lemon tree, and all the people whom she loves and love her.

[thelesbianluthor]

Emily Axford and her many monstrous and mythical creatures in game is one of my favourite things ever.

Saccharina and Cinnamon are so precious.

That's her baby!!!!

[danieyells]

. . .does RITSU know about Romeo's leg??? I bet he found out somehow and hasn't said anything yet. Or he has suspicions. The vice captain moves rather slowly. He limps a little bit. He favors his left side. A recent injury perhaps? But he's been that way since before I got here, his underlings said. So an older one that's never healed properly? He does seek the counsel of Doctor Nicolas and Professor Hyde frequently, so perhaps some sort of anomalous illness. . . . He hides it very well. No one else would notice, but I can tell. . .Romeo Scorpius Lucci, you cannot hide your secrets from me forever.

He doesn't mean it maliciously. He's not going to threaten him. On the contrary, they may have a valid injury case on their hands, Romeo could profit from this if he isn't receiving compensation from Darkwick already. That would favor them both. He wants to help in the way that only he, future best attorney in Japan, can!

[yenyu1s]

SE-MI NATION I AM AT YOUR SERVICE!! se-mi fic inspired by my fav doomed yuri, nana osaki & nana komatsu!! this will be a few parts series featuring se-mi's band, voulez-vous! "SE-MI IS STILL ALIVE!!" I wailed as i get dragged in to a white padded room.

taglist is open bbs

[mastersofunlocking]

THE LOVE BETWEEN ELSTER AND ARIANE WAS NEVER GOING TO BE ENOUGH BUT IT WAS THERE IT WAS THERE AND IT MATTERED

[maevebabyy]

More Dani fics, pookie? 👉👈

See the vision

yes… i… SEE!!! the vision

[ales-macaroni]

ok back to the topic of the latest TW aftermovie..

are we gonna pretend like we didn’t just hear the words “christian dating app” come out of dany’s mouth?????

like, what was the reason? what was the conversation about?? is dany on christian mingle???

I NEED CONTEXT BRO