#i'll even take your year

[kaciidubs]

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

[triglycercule]

nightmare's gang but they're one of those youtube family channels that extorts the kids. HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

i mean cmon man managing his multiversal takeover scheme must take a lot of money. nightmare needs a source of income. so what better than to torture and extort his gang even more. he makes them behave and act entertaining for the camera because if not they get beat and punished. he has cameras everywhere in the castle for content and to monitor everyone. people online are worried about the "kids" on the channel because they are CLEARLY being abused and exploited. nightmare gets a feast of negativity from these peoples' worries. now do i think that he would be cruel enough to force his gang to act like children for this channel?? i dunno,,,,,,,, perchance (YOU CAN'T JUST SAY PERCHANCE)

idk there's definitely a lot more than could be done with this stupid idea. but i just think,,,,,, i just think it would be funny,,,,, think about it,,,,,,,,,,

[deoidesign]

.

[dailyloopdeloop]

You think Loop would give the family spacey nicknames like they did with Sif because of the obvious name aversion they got goin on?

See I don't know because "stardust" is given a pretty specific meaning ("because you're what's left (of me)" it's not just aesthetically coherent. I am quite attached to "little star" for Bonnie (stealing from my mewtual startagainaprologue here) because it's cute though. :) To be honest I've never really settled for postcanon nicknames for the party but I do think the fic "ghostlight" brings up a pretty valid point that after a certain point overly formal nicknames like "Housemaiden" or "Researcher" kind of feel a bit rude. So I think Loop would have to innovate something eventually. I'm just not particularly attached to space-themed nicknames (without cause) specifically given there seems to be some genuine weight behind the terms, what with how significant stars and other astronomical objects are to the Island's faith.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[tricoufamily]

yeah hugo Never liked being around jacques as a kid even before his mom died and before he even really knew why. always hated it when he had to hug him, wanted him to stay longer on his business trips, bristled and got angry every time he heard jacques's childhood nickname for him that he hated ("bush baby"). his mom just kinda didn't register any of this and thought everything is fine hugo is just very very clingy and the nickname is cute surely he's not actually upset over it and

[blujayonthewing]

pitched battle inside my brain between the part of me that's desperately shaking myself by the shoulders going "YOU HAVE GOT TO ACTUALLY LIVE THE KIND OF LIFE YOU IMAGINE INSTEAD OF JUST SITTING AROUND IMAGINING IT UNTIL YOU DIE!!" and the part of me that's clutching my face going "is this allowed? is this allowed?? is this allowed???"

[jaarijani]

legally i cannot say im gonna set my school on fire-

yet.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i have officially returned. ask me anything.

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[skunkes]

if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.

[icewindandboringhorror]

finally finished all of one character's entire quests/optional dialogue/questions/etc.... 100,000 words... .... aughhh

[invinciblerodent]

Y'know, puttering around with my recordings, I think I really am going to give Davrin's romance with Ver a pretty serious twisting around. Rewrite some things a bit, change things around, keep most of the "slow burn" of it intact- but also add in the "friends with benefits" elements that I feel match what he says in the check-in scene after the point of no return better.

I think I have a post from like, months before release, when all we knew about the character was "charming Warden (who may or may not have been the Storm Coast team's commander in '41)", about how I sort of expected his to be the romance that starts off more casual (with the expiration date all Wardens have, it's not surprising that someone who's been one for at least ten years would be hesitant to enter any genuine emotional entanglements, platonic or romantic), and then for him to find himself falling for Rook unexpectedly (and kind of against his will) anyway.

And from some of that late dialogue, I still think that that may have been the exact intention, initially, but maybe they didn't want to create too big a disparity between the different romance paths, or like they didn't want for it to come off like they weren't taking him as seriously as the rest, so the path sort of ended up getting a bit... I don't wanna say "subdued", but I can't think of a better word lol. Brought to match the pacing of the others and the overall story more, that's more like what I mean.

.... Anyway, I kinda think I wanna have them sleep together for the first time either after his personal quest (no more distractions, clearly established romantic interest in- and some commitment to one another, but with still an opportunity to angst about everything else) or preferably, that night after drinking with Lucanis.

I'm leaning towards the latter thought, specifically because it'd be clearly a very, very bad idea.

It'd be far too fast, far too early, I got that scene like right after the Cauldron, so deep in the thick of his personal quest- plus, the mutual interest was barely expressed like one day prior to it, and there was alcohol involved. Which all kind of makes it perfect, because it's an awful time to toss that complication in there.

But, it gives me an opportunity to have the both of them keep thinking that it being just a casual, physical thing is what the other wants (despite the "well, I could see us heading somewhere, someday" of it), and to have their feelings developing sort of in the background of it-- and then!!!!! that forest kiss can also take a role more like another complicating factor, with the "heart of a halla" line being a bit more ambiguous.

Like, casually kissing your booty call/situationship/FWB you've been secretly falling for, it's a bit more touchy-feely than the previously established [they were not established] guidelines [there are no guidelines] suggest is appropriate [none of this is appropriate], but it feels right, and that alone makes it feel weird and confusing, ykwim?

But, then the whole "Most of my life, I've gone it alone. With you... I never want to go back." thing makes more sense being where it is, after his personal quest, to me at least. Because that sounds like a confession, and with being free from worries and the griffons safe (with Eldrin, in that game), there's a great time to have a long-ish, actually serious conversation about what this is and where it's going.

.... That would also mean that some of the bed scene dialogue doesn't make as much sense ("Is this all just for show"? "Just like I imagined"? Girl you know exactly if it's for show and what his hands feel like, you've been getting dicked down semi-regularly for weeks), but I can work with some tweaks to that lol. The final parts of it, about planning the future and getting soppy still make perfect sense, it's just those lines in the leadup that need some minor tweaking.

Idk, I really liked the in-game experience I had, and I love me a good slow burn, but I can't deny that it's more my style when "slow burn" doesn't also mean ".... so sex is a thing that happens only at the very end, when all feelings are resolved". I like it adding more uncertainty and confusion into the mix, and giving a sort of "oh, this is different now" feel to that first time once the feelings are also resolved.

(The date though, I wanna keep where and how it is exactly, because he mentions he got the tip for the picnic from Evka and Antoine, and I find it really cute to imagine him just sort of looking at them after speaking with Valya like.... "... they probably have the right idea of it, don't they. While we're here, let... let me just go ask. How to, uh. Do this whole. Romance thing, I guess. Make it sound, idk, casual. And chill. We're... chill." Never mind that Evka and Antoine are literally one of the most romantic couples any of them know, but yknow, nbd.)

(And then it goes all the way sideways? Love it. Love the "hey so this tea I thought would be a fun, cute thing for us to try made her trip absolute balls for a while, so maybe this outing is not a great opportunity to like, talk. Seriously. About how I may or may not be falling a little bit in love with her. And by 'little bit', I mean 'up to the very tips of my ears'. Nbd, just gonna... postpone, spilling my guts out for her perusal, I guess." of it all. A+, no notes.)

[batsplat]

jorge martin is just an off-brand motogp version of george russell. both incredible qualifiers, hard racers, have issues sometimes keeping their tyres together, have stayed in a satellite/backmarker team for three years begging the big manufacturer to accept them into the main fold and will randomly decide that they are actually done with race by beefing it into the gravel/walls on the last laps.

this is why ducati did not hire martin, he hasn’t done the power point presentation

strong last line but hm... do I agree with this...

I don't entirely disagree with the profile of racer, though jorge's a bit more in the flame bright and early mould (partly also just because of the different rhythms of those two racing series). he cut his teeth not just on being an exceptional qualifier but also a starter. even though this year, you do kinda have to say pecco's just?? uh?? he's never been a BAD starter but I swear he didn't used to be this good? some of his starts from the second or third row this year have been genuine works of art. this isn't relevant, just needed to mention it. that's part of why jorge does so well at sprints... he's really good at that abbreviated format, where it's just all out from the very start. mr russell was considered quite a poor starter in his williams days (though lbr that may have partly been car characteristics) - the qualifying's very strong and very consistent, but for a while the question was of capitalising off the line. he's got a few more drives that are about working his way through the field... like qatar last year. I just don't really associate jorge with that?

the bottling thing is debatable and we could get into that debate, but like, never mind that. we're leaving sports analysis now and getting back into vibes territory. the thing about jorge is that he has had a competitive bike from the word go. mr russell, whatever you think about how clutch he is or isn't, did not set a foot wrong in terms of making the mercedes case for himself. what happened with him was basically just... a series of unfortunate events that got him stuck in a spectacularly uncompetitive car for three years. got one shot in a good car in said three years (sakhir 2020) and delivered the perfect performance. but jorge!! jorge had 2022!! he blew it!! he did get unlucky with the gp22 vs the gp21 comparison early that season and how bastianini was able to take advantage of the early stage factory spec malaise, and he's far from the only gp22 who was struggling early on (cf one 'pecco bagnaia'). but still, some of his rides that year were. truly horrendous. and the way the whole thing played out left him with a massive chip on the shoulder.... that's the thing, right, I think what's so key about jorge is that sense of grievance, the fact that he was rejected for that factory seat and we're now several years on from that. and it's a really thin line between that being a good thing and a bad thing. like, anything that's a potential source of motivation fundamentally can be helpful, right? in 2007, casey showed up at ducati as not their first choice, kinda a stopgap, and also after yamaha had pulled the plug on a potential contract not once but twice. he has spoken again and again how yamaha and honda's behaviour towards him made him want to show them exactly what they were missing out on. he used that! it was good for him as a competitor that he had something to get worked up over! he's done it throughout his career! but on the flip side, if you're so busy feeling victimised that you're kind of already... primed for failure, then you've got a problem. like, if the takeaway is you're probably screwed anyway because you're being sabotaged by the factory, then even if that were true you're fucked before you start competing. you've already lost in your own head, you've made excuses before you've even started. it's a thin line! thinking the world is out to get you can either be a good way to get yourself to going, or it can be a loser mindset

quickly circling back to georgie boy, my main feeling is that they kinda have a different type of malaise. one is an overthinker and the other is at times very much an under-thinker. grussy actually shares the overthinking trait with his fellow 63 more than anyone else... all three kinda have this fun meeting point of a lot of cockiness and a lot of insecurity - they just balance them in other ways. and russell reminds me more of pecco in that kind of... being constantly thrown up against a Big Legacy of someone you admire, being in the shadow of greats and having to make your own name... you're very much part of a succession plan that leaves you with massive shoes to fill... (though admittedly grussy has also gone through the unenviable experience of getting to work closely with his hero and eventually having most of said hero's fans absolutely despise him. can happen, I suppose.) jorge is a bit more baggage-free. he's very much the main character in his own story, not so much faffing about with the narrative implications of all this shit. more straightforward! if jorge wins, it's about him. if he loses, it's also about him. ducati has been his world for the past few years, to the point where he's gotten a bit parochial about the whole thing. early this season, he was talking like - sure, the championship lead is important, BUT this is also giving him power in contract negotiations!! which... yes, that's true, but also that should be way down the order of priorities my man. jorge martin might be the only person in this universe who... genuinely might be more obsessed with beating pecco than marc? like, beating the marc marquez would be great and all, 8x world champion bla bla, but pecco is his personal antagonist! he's known him for years! that's ducati's golden boy! he needs to beat pecco so badly! there's something really fun about a rivalry where it feels like at least one side's feelings towards the other... kinda go beyond a personal relationship, like at a certain point it becomes about what the other guy Represents. jorge isn't worried about legacy and the shoes he's got to fill and can he truly live up to all those expectations as much as he's worried about himself and also occasionally pecco bagnaia

anyway, I've been thinking about the bottling thing... what jorge said about it earlier's been rattling around in my head since I saw the quote

man, it must be really tough, right? like, you don't know why it's happening... it's not just cockiness - though there is an element of someone who's kinda used to bulldozing his way through problems with sheer obstinacy and stubborn self belief (another distinction with the 63's, who are more introspective and prone to self-flagellation following mistakes). but it's also just... you can't figure out why it's such a fundamental shortcoming of your game! today, from the way pecco and also luca (apparently) were talking about it, it seems like there was something noticeable about how jorge was gradually losing a bit in his control and precision as a result of how the tyres were going off, as a sort of precursor of the fatal error. which... well, it's at least a somewhat understandable mistake, because it comes from pressure? it's not just the tyres going off each time - the mugello sprint crash was lap four, jerez was lap ten. but an interesting thing about his big errors this year is that they have all come as a result of serious pressure - as a result of pecco directly behind him in the case of jerez and sachsenring and like... in anticipation of the massive points damage he knew he was probably going to take in mugello. it sounds obvious to say pressure is more likely to generate mistakes, but of course that's not always true of our title contenders! pecco only really wakes up when he's already dug a hole halfway to the centre of the earth - but when he faces actual pressure, his track record is mostly very strong. his biggest howlers this season, portimao + catalunya sprints, both came when he was leading comfortably. martin has also made these pressure-light mistakes in the past, most memorably indonesia last year but... well

one of the most fascinating bits of sports are like... limits and ceilings and how your build-up as an athlete kinda determines what's possible for you. like, sports is sort of where you experiment with notions of fate and inevitability and all that, where you question whether it's possible for anyone to ever really change. is it once a choker, always a choker? if you know that you have this problem, this flaw that is always just there in the background, waiting to be actualised - what can you do? does it give you more or less hope that there's not a clear root cause? how debilitating that must be for confidence too, always knowing that you could cause everything you've worked for to crash down in a moment.... this is where. y'know, the thing with pecco, right, is that he's now gotten to a weird place where psychologically he has to be wary of the mistakes he himself makes - but he knows that he can also bounce back from them. he has that muscle memory, because he's done it before. he chucked it down the road in india and he won the title! jorge did it in thailand and he didn't! and the problem is that it becomes a self-reinforcing cycle of sorts, because even though the margin between the two of them at the end of last year ended up being relatively slim... one of them still won and one of them still lost. which actually means that even though pecco and jorge both have made serious mistakes this year (though pecco's track record is cleaner - in portimao the points punishment didn't quite fit the crime and in the jerez/le mans sprints he was kinda just unlucky), only one of them knows they can do this shit and win the title anyway

and now jorge has an entire summer break to go away and think about that. can be a good thing, get some distance, and it's easy to slip into a run of bad form that you can't escape if there's no interruption. can be an awful thing because you're sitting with your mistakes for weeks on end with no chance to rectify them. I'm naturally a pessimist on the 'can any athlete ever really change' question because life has very much worn me down on this topic over the last few years (aka some sports results made me really sad). but I always want to be optimistic! I want to believe athletes can fix their fatal flaws! I want to believe they can get better at managing their tyres and not folding under pressure. and pressure works weirdly... sometimes it's not really a test of 'mental strength' as much as it is of what kind of in-built margin an athlete has (btw this is my best guess for what goes wrong with martin). sometimes it's beneficial in sharpening the mind and erasing the possibility of you just... not being sufficiently concentrated (which is my best guess for what happens with pecco when he's not being pressured). can you truly get better at dealing with that? or at a certain point, have you already accumulated so much mental scar tissue that you're always going to get in your own way? who knows! maybe we're all doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past forever and ever. who knows

anyway. in response to this ask. I do think it's more a case of 63's aligned in being too stuck in their own head, too concerned with legacy, and walking a very thin line between arrogance and insecurity. all three of them, though, have a bad case of 'coming through the ranks in an era of greats they'll always be disparagingly compared to'. what's new can never be as good as what came before, right? and they're constantly struggling to manage or maybe even overcome basic flaws that seem to be embedded in their make up as competitors... maybe they'll make it, just a little. maybe they never will. but it sure is fun to watch them try!

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Aypierre just said his mods will ban any idiots in the chat being stupid about the QSMP situation, lmaooo. Absolutely based, get their asses.