#jorge Does Not Care

[batsplat]

stop your tags on that jorge post are so funny cause real, he’s actually like here’s my guy casey. here’s my special guy dani. here’s Those Two Weirdos (ignore them like they’re ignoring you). yep, that’s it. no one else comes to mind. thats my gang. cool.

there are four people on this planet jorge fully respects. he has regularly fantasised about strangling three of them. the fourth has regularly fantasised about strangling him. everyone else on this planet is on thin thin ice. valentino and marc are the token two nutjobs he's bizarrely ride-or-die for. he's actively nostalgic about the times they deliberately rode their bikes into him and even jokes about it, somehow. he's been obsessed with dani for years and eventually decided he adored rather than hated that man. he's been obsessed with valentino for years and eventually decided he both adored and hated that man more than he already did both of those things. he started rating casey circa 2011 but as far as he's concerned they're now bonded #forever. he went from trying his best not to hate marc to genuinely not hating marc almost by accident - and now that annoying child is part of the team too. he's gotten into instagram beef with pretty much everyone from all time greats to random current riders to andrea dovizioso. not his crew though... he's the type of guy who would base his new racing number on adding up the numbers of his greatest rivals (apart from the bloke he actually fought for both his 250cc titles). he's the only alien who can truly claim to have managed open animosity with all his fellow aliens and now he just can't get enough of them. he's had several dozen work divorces, but those guys are the only ones he's ever actively decided to un-divorce. they're a team for life. not that you could get them all in the same room together without a gun to their heads and possibly not even then, but apart from that they're a team for life

[moonshynecybin]

what's like. your dream rosquez au. other than the ones you've talked abt already

hmmm juicy question.... i love an amnesia au tbh like i consider soapy melodrama to be the food of life... like. the marc of 2024 just starting his tenure at gresini gets magically bonked on the head and forgets the last ten years for an indeterminate amount of time. insane to meeee. in this his memory stops at the tail end of the 2014 season where he was insanely dominant, so its baby marc with a different bike different body different team moved out of cervera vale hates him now he knows no one on the grid besides his brother and hasnt won a race in two years. neurotic lil contol freak babychamp NIGHTMARE ! so my man marc is losing the idgaf war but throwing himself into figuring out that goddamn ducati like its a LIFE RAFT. and of course vale catches wind somehow (open secret in the paddock) and he gets curious... baby marc... none of that history... very flattering crush on him... like truly maybe he's been spending the last little bit thinking things through about their past (hello marc helping franky. welcome to the narrative table.) and thinking of toe-ing the waters. shooting marc that text... truly maybe he has forgiven marc/realized its more nuanced but he hasnt mustered the courage to broach the topic with marc bc of the ego risk... like he thinks theyre too far gone to save maybe. marc hates him now. BUT! then there's this version of marc who ISNT dragging all of that around... and talking to him would be like time travel, a chance to pretend all the bitterness never happened, and this marc still likes him (LOVES him...) so vale says hi. and marc says hi back with a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at valentino that hasnt been around for ten years

[zeb-z]

Bad has so many reasons to be cautious, even paranoid, as anyone else on the island. From Federation nonsense to Dapper being kidnapped to the whole purgatory nonsense to whatever fuckass suit of armor “old friend” was setting up cameras in his house. But it compounds on his regular overly aware paranoid self to this state of hyper-paranoia. And as a demon who can and usually will lie, cheat, steal, and use sneaky underhanded tactics, he expects the craziest extent because he thinks of it, realizes it’s possible, and would use it himself. We saw this very obviously in purgatory - when he thought greens desperate last ditch effort to balance the scale was a super planned out tactic to tip the scale, so he did it first, all the hardcore base hunting, the spawn killing, there’s a reason every other tactic he used usually followed a main channel qsmp post with updated rules - all usually things he was surprised no one else thought of. But then this also piles onto the fact that he has to have things go his way, all the time, and that he’s argumentative as all get out, which led to the debate between him and Bagi yknow. Especially because he’s not just doing it for the sake of being right, he doesn’t think he’s paranoid, but that he’s exercising the right amount of caution.

So like. Listen dude. Yeah he’s got reasons to be paranoid. But his thought process around building vaults for separate cookie caches like they locked up the risus pills, only to scrap it because it’s not perfectly impenetrable, is extreme. His character has hardly been a leading example in someone who has reasonable reactions to things. And even when there isn’t his own children’s livelihoods potentially on the line, he has a need for control, and the most control he has is if he keeps the cookies in his inventory at all times. If he makes himself the sole point in which the others can get ones in a case of emergency, then he can control the variables. The problem is he’s unreliable about himself when he’s at his most rational and healthiest, and he’s far worse with the current memory and health issues he’s been mostly unaware of.

I dunno it’s like. There is never going to be a purely impenetrable base. And it’s not just a case of “Bagi just hasn’t lived through __ yet!”. Bad’s own logic about keeping the cookies on him at all times is flawed under his own logic, because Bagi is right - if someone has enough drive to break into separate secured cookie caches purely for the downfall of eggs, they more than certainly have enough drive to find a way to kill Bad and just take them from his inventory, or to just kill the eggs themselves. All it truly does is give Bad a sense of control, and soothe his paranoia.

[kingofthering]

motogp riders as hockey players

This has been a long time in the making but we are finally here. Promised myself I would take care of MotoGP after doing F1 two years ago and I landed on some stuff. Probably couldn't have finished this without the help of @moonshynecybin, @vanillow and every other person who had opinions on this in my polls and ask box.

I am not known to know how to make choices. I struggled to make some of those decisions (it's a miracle they didn't all end up on the wing). Also I've kind of been in a hockey break the last couple of years so the real players comparisons weren't coming to me as easily as they did for F1, sorry.

Would love to hear your opinions (don't be mean about my choices or I will cry) (okay bye).

2024 grid

Aleix Espargaro : I rewrote this one so many times because to me Aleix could play any position but everyone sees him as a goalie and I will agree on that. Big Flower vibes except Aleix was drafted in the 5th round and arrived in the NHL and started establishing himself later. At some point his team’s captain leave and they don’t name a new one (team just has 3 or 4 As like it happens sometimes) and Aleix already had one of those As but he's nicknamed Capitán anyway. Has a rookie leaving with him pretty much every year.

Alex Marquez : Defense baby, very evident to me. He blocks a lot of shots (part of the best PK of the league and all) and always gets into fights to defend Marc.

Alex Rins : Calm, defensive d-man. Moves teams a bit but never needs long to be given an A.

Augusto Fernandez : I am sorry I know so little about Augusto this is a little bit of a struggle. We’ll do center that mostly manage the 3rd line.

Brad Binder : Also someone I struggled to pinpoint so I tried thinking about hockey players he reminded me of and the first guy that came to me was Morgan Reilly. Then I thought of guys with little brothers that are a little more feisty and brain supplied me with Quinn Hughes so that’s probably a sign to go defense.

Enea Bastianini : Top 5 pick. Winger that lost the Calder fight to Jorge Martin (did you know that they technically were born only 30 days apart because I just realized when checking their draft class). Kind of a little shit on the ice but so good at what he does. Will bitch about having to speak English at any occasion. The media adores him anyway.

Fabio Di Giannantonio : 3rd round pick that arrives in the league 3 years post draft. Feels a little scrappy to me despite the fact that he has the softest of voices in interviews. Position? Hm. Also a toss-up. I’ll go defense. PP2.

Fabio Quartararo : First round pick that everyone criticizes until he proves everyone wrong by winning the Cader the season right after the draft. Winger, very talented, almost wins the Art Ross in his second season before struggling in the last quarter. Calder Trophy winner. The comparisons to Marc go crazy that first year (Fabio is star struck the first time they're face to face on the ice, thank god they're not dealing with FOs).

Franco Morbidelli : I think he’ll forever be a little enigma to me but I want to say goalie. Makes attempts for goalie goals every now and then. Succeeds at least once.

Jack Miller : 4th liner center that would deserve to go up and down between the AHL and the NHL but alas, he’s no longer on his ELC :) Definitely talks too much (both in and out of the ice), gets into a lot of fights, doesn’t win that many of them.

Joan Mir : The one that everyone predicted would be first overall but he wasn’t (Shane Wright vibes, sorry) (I’ve seen both Slaf & Pecco with my own eyes and they indeed have a big size difference so we’ll end the comparison here). Oh, and that’s a center baby.

Johann Zarco : Genuinely can’t even imagine him on ice skates. Maybe defense.

Jorge Martin : Center. Gets drafted lower than he expected but does beat Enea to get the Calder despite a big injury in his rookie year. Lives at Aleix place when he arrives in the league, spends so much time with the kids, etc etc

Luca Marini : My instinct was defense (while being aware of my ‘taller guys go play defense’ bias) and I have seen some arguments about putting him at center. I think putting him on the offensive line puts even more pressure on him re: being Valentino’s brother and I do like d-man Luca. Can’t imagine his beautiful face marred by a puck/stick/elbow bruise (or god forbid a broken tooth) but hm, we’ll ignore that.

Marc Marquez : Speedy crafty winger. True mix of Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid (yes they’re both centers, I know, I do not care) (if we wanna name actual wingers, Callie also said Travis Konecny and Johnny Gaudreau and I approve very much). Boy wonder that the media has been following forever. Angel face that does get into fights sometimes (Alex has to defend him so much because he’s tiny and good so obviously big guys come after him). 1st overall. Calder winner. Art Ross winner. Hart winner. You can’t really win the Stanley Cup on your rookie season when you’re first overall but he wins it early on anyway (think Sid in 2009, Kane/Toews in 2010).

Marco Bezzecchi : Winger. Connects with Pecco so well. Gets into fights and trash talks a little too much while having his mouthguard out of his mouth more often than in (think Matthew Tkachuk). Always plays it up for the camera when their photos are being taken when arriving at the arenas (and loves to have fun with some of his fits).

Maverick Viñales : Another one I could see in various positions. Definitely a first overall that had huge hopes put on his shoulders during his first years and then things faltered a little (bunch of trades, struggling to find his place within teams, etc). Fighter that went calmer with age. Since I can’t have an Aleix/Maverick d-pair, I think I’m gonna keep him at center.

Miguel Oliveira : I think solid center. Takes care of the second line. Probably has an A.

Pecco Bagnaia : Center and it’s not negociable in any world. Could be a 1st overall that disappoints a bunch of people by not getting the Calder. Very clinical play. Could see him as a two-ways forward (Anze Kopitar is coming to mind). Played college hockey with Bezz & Cele (was living with Bezz but Cele was at the house all of the time anyway, already in that first year where he was assigned to the dorms) (inspiration here being my beloved 2021-2022 UMich team).

Pedro Acosta : Winger. 1st overall. Calder trophy winner. Gets compared to Marc a lot and is so tired of it. Trash talks so much when he’s on the ice and on the bench (and in the penalty box). Was the very last rookie to live with Aleix, the last year before Aleix’s retirement. Scores a Michigan goal somewhere in his first 10 games in the NHL.

Raul Fernandez : I kind of want a brothers d-pair so I’m going to go defense for the Fernandez brothers. Arrives in the league the second year after his draft despite being drafted halfway through round 2.

Takaaki Nakagami : I can see him as a center, captain of his team at Worlds/Olympics. Has the best fits for rink arrivals (sorry Bezz).

retired riders

Valentino Rossi : So. Listen. Valentino is obviously a legend of the sport, maybe of Gretzky’s level. Obviously a 1st overall. Won the Calder. Won the Art Ross & the Hart on several occasions. Several Cups and one Conn Smythe trophy. You get the picture. Now, he’s a forward, we all know that. I posted a poll about his position and literally got a 50/50 split between center and winger. My initial gut feeling was center and then several of you gave arguments for wing and talking with Maddie led me to the changing positions at some point / playing both options (like all the guys who have double availabilities when you do fantasy hockey, real life example could be Leon Draisaitl occasionally). Anyway. I’m gonna be a little stubborn there and stay with center (although I was very delighted when my brain came with the idea of Jorge Lorenzo having to center both Vale & Marc). The intensity of those blue eyes at the dot? 70% faceoffs wins ratio ✨ Additionally, not much of a fighter (not until he bulks up please) but he definitely has a mouth on him when he’s in the mood. Very loud. He wins the best shootout goal + celly thing at the ASG at minimum 3 times in a row.

Jorge Lorenzo : Center and not taking any criticism on that one. Very good at faceoffs. Definitely challenges Valentino for his spot on the first line when he first gets in the league and yet, they connect extraordinarily well on the PP. Moves teams a bunch toward the end of his career and retire early because of an injury. 

Dani Pedrosa : First place my brain went was ‘he’s so tiny please let him go on a wing’. It also allows him to be centered by Jorge when they play together during World Juniors and they’re soooo good (despite the rivalry that obviously also exists in there, don’t worry). I will say, I could see him centering with Nicklas Backstrom vibes as well.

Andrea Dovizioso : Winger. Second rounder who wins the Memorial Cup during his juniors career (with the London Knights, because I said so). Does get into fights, especially where Marc is concerned.

Casey Stoner : Center. Valentino is very bad at faceoffs against him, it's a thing. Casey is named captain of an ASG team in like his second year being invited (Valentino is obviously captain of the other team). Starts taking the game ban over going to the ASG at some point (Ovi who). Has a concussion that takes him out for over half a season, struggles to come back and eventually retires. Also, very canonically, the biggest fisher of them all.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 5 MATCH 4

Derek propaganda:

“Extreme hot take but Derek is the best OL1 love interest. He has the best and sweetest confession in the game. You play video games together. He seems reserved until you actually start dating and find out that he's actually just a gentleman who didn't want to be overly forward with someone he's not in a relationship with. He's a family man. You get to blatantly abuse your 'dating' privileges in front of his brothers. He's just so insanely sweet and caring and makes me wanna cry whenever I play his DLC.”

“- Impossible to dislike

- No, like, literally impossible. OL1 will allow you to be indifferent to it's two other LIs, Cove and Baxter but you actually can't pick that option for Derek. Game decided that You Will Be (at least) Friends With Derek

- This boy is so good!!!! He's a sweetheart and has your back in the best way and he's constantly doing his best to make sure the people around him (especially you) are happy

- This is also a complex flaw of his because he feels like he needs to be the best that he can be and to be worth something

- This both manifests in how he treats others (he's exceedingly well-mannered and does everything for others because he secretly hopes that someday someone will do the same for him) and his career prospects (he takes on excessive practice to get good at football/soccer so that he can potentially get a scholarship and become famous all so he can potenially feel like he's worth something. This is actually a major conflict in his Step 4)

- His DLC also has some of the best moments in the game

- He also has a family and they're also really good and you get to see a lot of them

- His dad is hilarious, his mom is gorgeous and their relationship is very cute

- Meanwhile, Derek's brothers are great. I wanna gush about them because I love them but also play Derek's DLC yourself!!! See how good they are for yourself!!!!

- I will say that these three have a really good relationship dynamic and the development it takes in the 10 years between when you first meet Jorge and Nico as little kids to Step 4 where they're adults (and a teenager, Nico is 16 in Step 4) is genuinely very well written

- If you're into the steamy stuff, Derek also has the best make-out session out of all of the boys

- He's also just. Very funny. This boy will invite you to a waterpark and then ask you if its a date so he knows whether or not it's ok to check you out in your swimsuit

- Or, if you aren't dating by that point (but you do want to to date him), the narration will note how he's trying so so hard not to check you out, he's just trying so so so hard

- Puppy dog face. Look at it. Tell me you can look at that face and not want to smooch him

- His confession is also the best, did I mention it's the best? Because it's absolutely the best one in the entire game

- He has a whole thing about having to confess to you on a ferris wheel and he's so committed to it that he actually avoided ferris wheels for a long time before this confession because he promised himself he'd do it the next time he went on one

- And then he went on one...and he literally doesn't confess when he does it because he lost track of time and he had to get off

- so he asks you to go on the ferris wheel with him again so he can actually confess this time

Just. Just vote for him!!!!”

“He's sweet, polite, and out-going and is always willing to put you first (sometimes too willing).”

“polite responsible jock u r NOT immune to this”

Asra propaganda:

“He GIVES AWAY HALF HIS HEART TO REVIVE YOU okay but like. He's the MCs roommate and they were together for a few years before the MC caught a plague and died and he obsesses over a way to bring them back before succeeding by making a deal with a god to trade half his heart for MC and betraying the emperor. And then when MC comes back but without any of their memories, he takes care of them and teaches them how to live all over again and he never asks for anything in return. On all the routes where you don't choose him he's really supportive and helps you out despite your history and overall he's just really nice and supportive of the MC and is their rock no matter what route you go down. Also he has a pet snake named Faust and I love her she's so <33 

Idk I just appreciate him so much”

"He gave you half his HEART!! He would literally go to hell and back for you!! He wants to take you on adventures all around the world—doesn’t matter where, as long as he’s by your side!! AND he’s nonbinary!!!"

[dangermousie]

My favorite dramas of first quarter of 2024

We are a quarter in, so time for a list. Once again, my subjective list, blah blah blah.

10. Destiny (Japan) - drama as only Japan does it - melancholy, secrets, complications and a messy relationship that is irresistible.

9. In Blossom (China) - somehow, this feels like a cracky, delicious web novel come to life and it's so beautiful to watch, to boot.

8. Unknown (Taiwan) - a quiet, slice of life BL that often feels like peeking at real people.

7. Fortune Writer (China) - smart and surprising, this has both really grey protagonists and an interesting story about fighting the narrative.

6. Goryeo Khitan War (Korea) - an old school war and politics epic in every sense of the word, with uniformly amazing acting.

5. Derailment (China) - a rare cdrama modern I love, this one kept at the edge of my seat both due to plot and the insane OTP chemistry.

4. Lovely Runner (Korea) - time travel, second chance romance, high school love, celebrities - it throws in all the tropes and makes them fresh.

3. The Legend of Shen Li (China) - I rarely like xianxia because I often find it cliche and emotionally unengaging. This one made me care desperately and genuinely not know where it's going. If you watch only one xianxia (that's not CLJ), make it this one.

2. Eternal Brotherhood (China) - smart, funny, bleak, visually out of this world story about friendship and war and politics and trauma and love and just - AAAAA! It would be in serious running as my n1 not just of the quarter but the year except for:

1. Tender Light (China) - yes, a modern cdrama is my favorite for the quarter and likely for the year. The world is indeed about to end. This is as if an arthouse movie was a drama. Or perhaps a jdrama and a BBC prestige production had a baby with a dash of Jorge Amado's darker novels like Teresa Batista - I am naming all my favorite things because it is all my favorite things. The emotion, the twists, the bleak view of the world with a shred of hope, the cinematography, the acting. This is a perfect drama, the end.

[transbutchblues]

could you please elaborate on your feelings on the gods' characterization in the wisdom saga? Not forcing you tho!

sure! keep in mind that i love EPIC and that even if i complain about things here, i totally respect the choices that Jorge makes. it’s his musical and i admire all the work put in the songs.

disclaimer : most of the time i try to dissociate EPIC from the Odyssey in my mind, because thinking of EPIC as an adaptation tends to make me upset due to how different it is. but it’s also amazing on its own! there are creative liberties that i deeply love (like having Odysseus know about Scylla but not telling anyone, and changing the context of the mutiny), others that i don’t like that much but that i can get behind, and others that i really dislike. i understand why everything is done the way it’s done, but i still have opinions.

before talking about the Wisdom Saga i’d like to explain how i felt about the gods in the other sagas. as a classics student and a hellenic polytheist i tend to dislike most modern portrayals of the gods, mostly because they’re usually flat and lack nuance. up until this saga, i had never been disappointed by any choice done regarding the gods in EPIC. they were all so interesting.

i loved Zeus in Thunder Bringer. it’s one of my favorite songs, and i found that Zeus was beautifully portrayed. he’s the villain, sure, he offers an awful choice (for the second time), but the situation was created by Odysseus and his men. i loved the lyrics and their double meaning.

this all fell apart in God Games, for me. it just didn’t feel like the same Zeus anymore. and as much as i try to dissociate EPIC from Homer’s epics, i love the Iliad and the Odyssey too much not to point out that Zeus would never be like that. in the Odyssey, Zeus immediately agrees with Athena on the fact that Odysseus must be freed from Calypso’s island. Poseidon is the only god who really wants to stop Odysseus, Zeus doesn’t exactly care about him. he knows Odysseus’ fate and he won’t go against it. besides, Athena is Zeus’ favorite daughter in Homer’s works. he loves her. he doesn’t like it when she defies her, that’s very clear in the Iliad, he even threatens her when she does that, but he loves her dearly and he gives her nearly everything she asks for. he would simply not strike her down like that. and Zeus has no reason to go against his own word. if he sets a challenge, he respects the terms. he’s a fair god, he’s a ruler, he’s all about divine justice. i don’t mind changes, but i dislike these ones.

and Athena… Athena was always the deity i felt the less sure about in EPIC. don’t get me wrong, i love her in the previous songs. but i never knew where exactly her character arc would bring her and i felt uneasy. now i know i was right to feel this way.

there had to be an explanation to the fact that Athena hadn’t helped Odysseus during the years he was imprisoned by Calypso. i understand why in EPIC, this explanation is that Odysseus and Athena fought and fell apart. in fact, i love My Goodbye. i think the way Odysseus is portrayed in the Cyclops Saga makes him way more of an asshole than he is in the Odyssey (and that’s alright by me!), because he’s stupid and hubristic and he refuses to listen to Athena. in the Odyssey, Athena never abandons Odysseus, she helps him during his entire journey. but if he had talked to her like he does in EPIC, she probably would have left him! i find their fight interesting, how cold Athena can be, how betrayed they both feel.

but! here comes the Wisdom Saga. and i love Athena in Little Wolf. i like her in God Games too. maybe even in Love in Paradise. but i can’t get over We’ll Be Fine, it just doesn’t sound right to me. i like Telemachus. but i hate that this is how Athena suddenly decides to go back to Odysseus. "i could sleep at night", really? why would she feel guilty about leaving a hero who refused to listen to her? i enjoyed how cold she was in My Goodbye, it was an interesting choice, and i would have liked for her to remain this way. or to change more slowly. the loneliness aspect could have been great if it had been explored more in depth (which i know wouldn’t have been possible since she doesn’t have enough songs to allow for slow character development). this just felt rushed and strange.

i would have liked for Athena not to reach out until Odysseus does. the moment where he cries out her name at the end of Love in Paradise is heart-wrenching, i love it. that’s when i would have loved for her to suddenly hear him and go back to him, instead of already being there. that would have been a moment where she could have decided to help him despite what he said and did, because she still cares about him and she sees him being so desperate. that could have been a moment where she feels guilty or lonely.

i know it’s done that way so that Telemachus saves Odysseus’ life by giving advice to Athena. it’s fine, it’s a nice idea. i understand why people like it, and i’m glad they do. it just feels off to me.

regarding the other gods: firstly, Calypso is great and i love her! now, on the other ones: i think instead of all this weird Zeus portrayal in God Games, it would have been nice to mention Poseidon. if there had to be a reason for Zeus not to want to release Odysseus, it could have been something to do with his brother. Apollo’s appearance felt unnecessary, his argument was weak, i’m still glad he was there but i didn’t love his portrayal. my opinion for Hephaestus is similar (though i liked his portrayal better, he just felt unnecessary), with another thought: i’m already starting to see more art of him and i really wish people would depict him as disabled, because not everybody does. i liked Aphrodite’s and Ares’ part, and Hera’s was fun. i don’t necessarily like the overall vibes of God Games but that’s just a matter of my music tastes, there are multiple songs in EPIC that i don’t really listen to because of that while still enjoying their role in the storyline.

obviously most people disagree with me, and i’m glad everyone seems to love that saga. some parts were just really not for me, namely, We’ll Be Fine, the beginning of Love in Paradise, and the end of God Games.

[muxas-world]

" you are gona act as jurno you gota leave a question to jorge .... ok jorge ¿ducati has say something to you? (Marc litle laugh? My girl does not care love him my crazy girl )

[fall0utmind]

MEDICAL LEAK AU PT 5 UP NOW

AO3 here

Gonna link pt 1-4 below tomorrow (I need to sleep) but for now, find them on my medical leak au tag on my page :)

I am so fucking sorry for the delay!!

Work has been manic, I basically rewrote this whole thing cause I hated it and now I am sick - woooooo

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, I'm actually proud of this one, after the long rewrite.

Please, please, please come talk to me about what you think and what you wanna see!!! I need motivation to finish this.

Normal tags and warnings apply :)

(Tw/ suicidal thoughts, overdoses)

Alex had warned them that this is how Marc deals with things. He bottles it up until he can’t anymore, and then he goes somewhere private where he can lick his wounds and let himself fall apart. Watching Marc be so vulnerable, his usual mask of untouchable indifference falling away, is devastating. Jorge holds Marc closer as he trembles, small tremors wracking his frame. He looks incredibly young, curled up in between the older riders. Marc is completely lost in his thoughts now, distress radiating off him. He has been mostly silent, apart from the occasional miserable noises. Now though, he begins to cry, his face moving to press into Jorge’s shoulder as his body shakes with the force of his sobs, uncaring of who he’s clinging to. Marc and Jorge have never been that close, but the older man feels protective of him, in part because the 2015 fallout centred so much around his championship win, but also because of Dani’s soft spot for Marc. Jorge knows it was a big sign of trust for Marc to allow him to stay and witness this, especially from a man who is usually so guarded.

It’s unclear what Marc is imagining in the depths of his mind, but he has begun to slur words in between his sobs. Most of the words are incoherent, but Valentino’s and Alex’s names are clear, alongside the interchanging wrecked pleas to both end his suffering and let him live. Seeing so clearly the devastation Marc has suffered is horrific for them all, but Alex most of all looks gutted, like his heart has been shattered. He has heard those pleas before, back in 2015 when he found Marc and when he had saved his life.

It is this that prompts Jorge to gently shake Marc to awareness, knowing the pain is too much, too dark. Once the medication wears off, he will be ashamed of his weakness. It does not matter how natural or understandable his reaction is, especially after all the shit he has had to deal with; he hates vulnerability. The only thing his friends can do is sit with him during the fallout.

“Marc”

The younger man stirs slightly, choking on a breath as he sobs. He clutches at Jorge weakly, trying to catch his breath in between his cries.

“Cazzo, Marc, you’re ok, you’re ok.”

*

Marc returns to his body with a pounding head and a sore throat, which only ever occurs when he has cried himself dry. He’s a mess; the memories which assaulted him are still at the forefront of his mind, making him feel sick to the stomach. He is in the weird stage where the medicine is wearing off but still making him feel hazy; everything is soft around the edges. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out. He rubs at his face and notices his cheeks are wet. He would usually be mortified by the idea of crying in front of everyone, but he can't bring himself to care in the circumstances. He feels wrung out and over-tired. He knows his eyes will be red and his face blotchy and he frowns at the thought. Dani breaks the silence first, handing Marc some water.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but also somehow better. I’m sorry for losing it like that-”

Dovi interrupts him before he can finish that thought, fury simmering in his voice.

“Don’t you dare apologise. I don’t care what he taught you about having to hide away, but you don’t have to with us. We know you’re strong, but you don’t have to be strong right now. Not here, not with us.”

Marc gulps back more tears and instead smiles sadly at Dovi, unwilling to touch upon the reference to Valentino. Instead, he turns to look at his younger brother, who looks distraught; it makes him frown slightly. He hates the thought of causing his brother’s sadness. In Marc’s opinions, it is the worst thing he can do, and he has done it often in the last few years. Guilt spikes through him. Alex catches his eyes and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Marc is thinking, as fine-tuned as they are to each other's emotions.

“It’s not your fault, germà. I would take all your pain if I could.”

It makes Marc’s heart break a little. He addresses all of them, his little group of friends, of protectors. These people have seen him at his worst; they have refused to leave when Marc was on rock bottom, and they stuck with him when the world hurled abuse at him. Without them, he would be unmoored in the ocean, drowned by the waves.

“Thank you for staying.”

It’s Jorge who answers.

“Of course.”

*

The waning effects of the medication become clear as the bruises splashed across Marc’s body begin to ache. His shoulder is sore, and the muscles surrounding the joint are tight and stiff, causing him to shift uncomfortably. Alex catches his brother’s poorly concealed winces and hands Marc the rest of his approved dose without a comment. Marc tries to protest; the thought of having more drugs, of needing more, makes him feel queasy. Marc’s relationship with the medication is still rocky. It makes him feel weak and defenceless. It reminds him of dependence, hospital visits, and overdoses. Every time he has those little white pills in his hands, he sees Alex’s blurry face hovering over him, shouting his name, his panic choking him. He hates it. But he knows that if he wants to sleep tonight, he needs to take the stronger stuff that he is prescribed. After Jerez and his arm, normal ibuprofen doesn’t do much for his pain. Alex's eyes are pleading, desperately attempting to convey that Marc is safe here. That he can be vulnerable; he doesn’t have to sit with the pain. The others watch on sadly. Dani feels guilt clawing at him that he didn't notice in 2015 and beyond. When they were still teammates, Marc wouldn’t take the pain medication he was given. Dani always thought it was some weird pleasure of the pain that came from racing and crashing. And then later, perhaps a sick self-punishment for making a mistake. Although he now realises the latter is partially true, he is kicking himself for not digging up a further meaning. He’s not the first to notice Marc’s aversion to medication; it had been a weekly fight with Honda between 2015 and 2020. Nobody was aware of the reason. Why Marc went from hating the sight of the tablets to taking as many as he possibly could after Jerez was less of a mystery. For Marc Marquez, when choosing between not riding or traumatic memories, he’ll always choose the emotional anguish. He swallows the pills.

Alex smiles gently at him, pushing a container of pre-prepared food towards him. Marc turns up his nose; he had already eaten something earlier.

“Eat, you’ll be high as hell if you don’t”

“Not hungry”

Marc pouts, and Christ Alex forgot how obstinate and immature his brother could be, especially after taking his medication. The image of 31-year-old Marc behaving like a toddler makes Dovi chuckle in amusement.

“Marc, you have to eat something-”

“No.”

“Marc, for God’s sake, you can’t just not eat.”

“But I don’t want that. I’ll have a protein bar.”

Their fight is interrupted by a loud knock at the door and a voice calling from outside.

“Marc?”

Anxiety grips Marc, argument forgotten. Instead, he imagines another fervent Rossi fan clawing at their door. Alex jumps to his feet, freezing as the voice speaks again.

“Marc, come on, I know you’re in there, the lights are on.”

Confusion engulfs Alex as he approaches the front of the motorhome, trying to place the somewhat familiar voice. He cautiously unlocks the door and peeks outside, blinking against the darkness. Shock colours his features, his eyes widening as he stares before he comes to his senses and attempts to slam the door shut. The only thing keeping it from closing completely is the foot of their surprise visitor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex practically growls

“Is Marc here? I want to talk to him. Please.”

Dani joins him at the door, ready to help if things get out of hand. Pecco glances between the two Spanish men before letting out a melancholy sigh. Bez is fidgeting behind the world champion, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Alex definitely fancies slamming the door then, even more unimpressed by the sight of the younger Italian.

“I hate that all of this has happened, and I hate even more that we’ve been pitted against each other for no reason. I just want to talk; please can I come in?”

Pecco looks so forlorn standing outside their motorhome, his face open and honest. Marc must recognise the voice more than Alex does, as he calls out to his brother.

“Let him in, Alex.”

Marc is most likely not thinking clearly, and Alex is on the verge of saying no. Instead, with a disgruntled sigh, he steps aside to let Pecco in, looks at Bez, and then grudgingly concedes that he cannot tell him to fuck off. After shooting an exasperated look at Dani, he follows him back to the group of athletes lounging on their couches.

It turns out 7 fully grown adults are a few too many in the cramped space. Pecco takes the empty seat next to where Alex has sat back down, Bez awkwardly squeezing next to him. Marc stares with wide, clouded eyes, his hackles raised; he wasn’t expecting Bez. Although his relationship with Pecco is fairly neutral (probably due to his ambivalence to the whole Valentino situation) Bez and Marc have never been on good terms, the younger always jumping at the opportunity to defend his mentor. Marc frowns at them, untrusting, while his friends protectively shift closer to him. Clearly, from their baffled expressions, Bezzecchi and Bagnaia did not expect to see Marc huddled with Andrea Dovizioso and Jorge Lorenzo on the sofa.

*

Pecco is trying his hardest to comprehend the scene before him; he had not anticipated meeting the three retired riders alongside the brothers. He tilts his head slightly, examining the way Jorge and Dovi appear exasperated but pleased to have a clingy Marc Marquez sprawled on them. Marc himself looks pretty content at their proximity, which is strange; he didn’t think Marc was that close to either of them. Bez and he have clearly intruded, obvious from the disarray of everyone in the room. Marc has been crying, which is surprising in and of itself. Additionally, he appears to have taken some pretty strong painkillers – unsurprising after his crash but surprising after the most recent news reports. He turns towards Alex to voice this, but the younger Marquez beats him to it.

“He doesn’t need supervision these days, but if he is bad or, you know, unhappy, I keep his medication and watch over his dosing. He’s fine.”

Pecco nods in understanding, some of his concern lessening. An awkward kind of quiet falls over the group, no one knowing what to say. Strangely, Marc cannot guess the meaning for their visit, too used to other riders only turning up to pick a fight. Pecco is not one for dramatics, preferring to reign in his emotions, unlike his mentor and his friend. Marc breaks the silence first, curiosity beating pride.

“What are you here for, Bagnaia?”

That earns him a wry smile.

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

The others tense in anticipation as Pecco visibly steals himself. He has found the last 24 hours difficult, fighting an internal battle of morality versus loyalty ever since the fateful press conference.

“I don’t hate you, Marc, and I don’t want to. Honestly, I think with time, maybe next year, we could be friends. I respect your talent, and yes, of course, sometimes I think you ride like a maniac, you take risks, and you are brutal on the track. But that is what makes you so good, so impressive. It is why you have 8 championships; I would be a fool to disregard that. Not only that but you love fiercely. I have seen the way you treat your friends and family, and I admire that.”

Marc thinks he might be dreaming; he pinches himself to be sure. Jorge notices and pushes his hand away with a scowl.

“Don’t lie. You all hate me because of him and his lies. I do not need you messing with my head as well. I see the way your academy copies him, echoing his venom, believing every word and taking his side. My life was hell back then, and you weren’t there to witness it. He ruined my life and tore everything from me. I know he thinks that I ruined his career and whatever other poison the man he calls a best friend fed him. I know he was angry and upset. But I was so young. It has been a decade. He won’t leave me alone. Don’t you understand? I raced to die; I risked it all in a passive attempt to not return to the pits. I just wanted him to look back at me; I wanted my hero to forgive me. Then after Jerez, when he didn’t even say anything and I gave up hope, I just took medication to cope. But Valentino and your precious academy can’t see that. No, instead I am reckless and selfish, only thinking of myself. It is not fair; none of it is fair.”

He feels Jorge tense underneath him and that revelation and knows that he has shared too much, but it is too late now. Pecco is observing him with sad eyes and Bezzecchi looks horrified.

“No, Marc, I do not hate you. I am sorry for the loathing you have felt. People like to push Valentino’s legacy onto me. We are not the same person. This is not my battle, and I refuse to be sucked into Vale’s fights from before I was even on the track. It is stupid.”

His eyes are glazed over and wet as he looks directly into Marc's. The anguish in them makes Marc flinch.

“My sister fought similar battles; it was the hardest time of my life.”

He meets Alex’s eyes, sharing a look of understanding at their joint hurt.

“I know you don’t believe me; I see that you have been hurt before. I hate that you have experienced such awful things, and I hate even more how you are being treated for it now. I am sure Alex feels how I do about Carola; it was the worst pain in the world. I would have given my life ten times over for her. It still hurts you and maybe it will always be raw, but I wish it was not like this.”

Bez lays a hand on Pecco’s shoulder, a show of silent support, prompting Marc to turn towards the youngest Italian.

“And you, Bezzecchi? I know you hate me; you have made that abundantly clear, so why are you here?”

Bez looks away at the accusation, guilt filling him. It is not in his nature to question someone he is loyal to.

“I- I realised I maybe took too much at face value. It is true that I did not like you, or more so the way you ride. But I also didn’t understand you or what you were going through. I guess that I want to make amends for that. And I did not want to leave Franci alone.”

Marc hums, considering Bez’s offer, before he nods, too exhausted and intoxicated to give it any more thought. Whatever, if Bezzecchi wants to be here, then fine, so long as he doesn’t cause any more pain. Rather, Marc returns his attention to Pecco with genuineness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your sister. It is difficult. I hope she’s in a better place now.”

Pecco’s eyes widen in shock, and Marc huffs out a laugh.

“She’s doing better now, thank you. I think you will get on with her well next year; she comes to all the races with me and the team.”

The Italian smiles tentatively, and Marc smiles back, quietly pleased about this admission from his future teammate. Bez glances between them with a frown, still unsure about the tentative truce they have formed. Instead, he turns towards Dovi, who is still eyeing him suspiciously, and shoots him his very best puppy eyes. The older man rolls his eyes at the display before roping Bez and Pecco into a conversation in rapid Italian about the season so far. Dani and Jorge are whispering quietly, the latter still petting Marc’s hair gently. The atmosphere has returned to its tranquil state, once more lulling Marc into a hazy headspace.

Concern is vibrating through Alex as he watches his brother doze. He can’t help but feel like this has all been a little bit too easy. The boys had looked flustered when they turned up, like they had hurried over, as if something had happened just beforehand. He tries to shake off the feeling, standing up and heading into the kitchenette. He grabs a protein bar from the cupboards and chucks it at Marc when he re-enters the main room, causing his brother to startle and glare at him. Dovi snickers at their antics; of course Alex had not forgotten about their previous scrap, much to Marc’s annoyance.

“Eat it.”

Marc scowls but dutifully rips open the packet and starts munching the bar, not before sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“So mature, Marc.”

This prompts a fit of giggles from the older as he continues to eat. Bez and Pecco look on in bewilderment at this version of Marc, the drugs making him more relaxed than they have ever seen. They are shuffling awkwardly as if they’d be kicked out at any minute, feeling a sensation of imposition at seeing the soft person in front of them. Marc rolls his eyes, looking strung out but content.

“Stay?”

And that settles it.

*

In all his stubborn glory, Marc refuses to move off his friends, citing comfort and fatigue as justifications. Alex grumbles good-naturedly about his perpetual clinginess on pain medication, prompting Marc to snuggle closer to Jorge, rubbing his face into the older man’s shoulder and startling a laugh out of him. Pecco looks at Dovi questioningly, his forehead furrowed into a frown, looking for any indication of jealousy in the older Italian but not detecting any. Jorge instantly notices and does not attempt to conceal his laughter laughter.

“Do not worry about it. Dovi hogs Marc the rest of the time; I am allowed him now whilst he is still high as a kite”

Marc pulls away to pout at him, denial on his lips. Before he can begin his argument, though, Alex speaks up, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Tell me about it; you should have seen them earlier. Dovi was practically eating Marc alive with his eyes; it was fucking ridiculous.��

Marc goes bright red at this comment, spluttering out an excuse. Dovi just looks unabashedly smug, meeting Alex’s eyes.

“Hey, when there’s an attractive shirtless man on the sofa when you enter the room, what else are you meant to do?”

Marc directs his glare towards Dovi, an unimpressed frown on his face at the betrayal, but frankly, with the medication softening him, he just looks cute. Dani and Jorge are cracking up at the thought, which only causes Marc to get more annoyed, his cheeks flaming hot.

“Ah, I did not know that you two-”

Both Dovi and Marc jump to correct that assumption. Stumbling over each other to assure Pecco that they are not dating, despite what it looks like. Dani has been suspiciously quiet for most of the conversation, only now turning towards Marc with an insolent smile, meaning that he’s about to say something that Marc won’t like.

“Didn’t stop you from fucking in the past.”

You could hear a pin drop. Alex is whipping his head between his brother and Dovi, his jaw dropped in shock. Marc somehow goes even redder before shoving his face into his hands and groaning, confirming Dani’s statement and prompting the entire group to lose it. Dovi just looks proud and completely unashamed, turning back to Jorge and Dani with a raised eyebrow.

“Like you two can talk.”

“Touché.” replies Jorge with a shrug, hand on Dani’s knee.

Alex feels like he’s losing grip on reality,

“When? When the hell did you two hook up?”

“Ah, 2017, 2018, on and off” answers Dovi.

The others are laughing hard now, even Bez and Pecco giggling at the horrified expression on the youngest Marquez’s face.

Alex speaks once more, recovering quickly as though he is clearly used to his brother’s antics. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice,

“Jesus Marc, what is it with you and shagging older men?”

Pecco chokes at that comment, wheezing a breath through the shock. The others are basically in tears and even Bez is grinning. Marc just looks at his brother’s smirking face and promptly lobs a pillow in his direction - it hits him in the face, causing Marc to crack up. When they all catch their breath, Pecco broaches something that has played on his mind all day.

“Valentino had mentioned something earlier, about you and Dovi-”

Pecco immediately realises his mistake in bringing up Vale. The room pauses awkwardly, and all eyes turn to Marc, whose eyes are still foggy, his limbs lose. It causes him to speak without thinking.

“Ah, he is being a dick; he saw me in Dovi’s jumper and jumped to conclusions. Lord knows why he cares.”

“When the fuck did you see Valentino?”

“Ah, just before the sprint race, he cornered me, spilling some bullshit about ruining the race and being attention-seeking. You know what he is like. He always has loved to make sure I feel small.”

He turns his doe eyes towards Alex,

“It still hurts to hear him say those things about me. It hurts to look into his eyes and see fury and hatred. Not as much as it did then, but still”

Pecco realises then just how out of it Marc must be to let that slip. He gulps, uncomfortable with the pain in his voice, pain that he would usually hide away from the world. Bez looks away. Watching tonight’s interactions brings some new perspective to the academy riders- the quiet beginnings of doubt about their unquestioned deity. It’s difficult to reconcile Vale, their selfless teacher and friend, to Valentino Rossi, who had a rivalry with Marc so fierce the younger had been left picking up the pieces. The Marc in front of them is not the dangerous, deceiving rider they were taught about. This Marc looks at his brother and friends like they hold the universe; he is strong but soft around the edges. He is funny and unabashed in his affection. He loves fiercely and is loved unconditionally in return, a true sign of his character.

Alex is looking at his brother with such sadness in his eyes, reflecting his pain. He does not respond to Marc; he just holds out his hand. It is Jorge who speaks instead.

“I was so angry at Valentino in 2015. So angry at myself for not warning you. I saw it coming from miles away because Rossi could never deal with threats to his success.”

Bez begins to open his mouth, but Pecco elbows him, hard, well aware that now is not the time to stick up for their mentor, no matter how difficult it is to hear. Jorge goes to continue but is interrupted by another forceful knock on the door; it’s Alex who yet again opens it, finding himself face to face with an uncomfortable-looking Luca. The night is getting weirder and weirder.

“Is Pecco here? Or Bez? Nobody knows where they’ve gone.”

Alex opens the door wider, letting Luca see the two Italians on the sofas.

Luca steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him after glances outside worriedly. He gives the boys a pointed looks as he urges them up.

“Come on, we need to go!”

“What why?”

Bez was just starting to feel comfortable in this company; he doesn’t particularly want to leave right now. Luca looks away,

“Look, we just really need to go.”

There is another harsh knock on the door before it flies open. Valentino is standing at the threshold, staring blankly at the spectacle before him.

“What the fuck is going on?”

[batsplat]

Thank you so much for ur work for this community 😭

thank you!! so, listen, I need to get some casey, jorge and valentino images out into the world

this is from the 2007 qatar post-qualifying press conference. obviously it's not just the three of them given colin edwards is like. right in the middle. (and *checks notes* gábor talmácsi is also there.) but still a photo of historical significance... casey's first ever race with the ducati (which he very much wins), plus valentino with his then-current teammate edwards and then-future teammate jorge... it's a bit unclear when jorge was actually signed - lin jarvis implies it was in 2006 but if that's the case, edwards seemed to be under the impression for a little too long that he wasn't going to lose that seat. anyways! look at wee nineteen year old jorge lorenzo, look at his utter absence of anything approaching a smile... look at him

misano 2007 post-qualifying press conference and a very powerful photo imo... some nicely contrasting vibes here, good composition... jorge had already been announced as valentino's teammate, and the title is already more or less in casey's pocket (even more so after casey won here and valentino had a mechanical dnf lol - they'd basically brought the race back to the calendar for valentino so this was. not ideal! incidentally still the last race with an entirely non-european podium.)

not much from 2008 tbh. casey and vale took turns to flop in the first bit of the season and then jorge started crashing his brains out. anyway these are from indianapolis, at a time when jorge was just about in the process of getting his act together while casey had crashed in his last three races (including laguna where he picks up the bike to finish p2). quite fond of this race actually, bit of a mess due to the weather and ends up getting red-flagged

first race of 2009.... casey's scheduled annual qatar win. decent shout for his most boring one of the lot, sorry king

pre-event presser before mugello, where valentino had won seven consecutive times headed into the 2009 race. if I'm valentino I low-key never show my face again after the le mans catastrophe but whatever it's fine

the le mans fiasco in question

anyway mugello is another wet-ish race that valentino ended up playing too conservatively because of the le mans horror show. so casey wins! also jorge beats valentino! old man's washed! just about scams his way onto the podium

italian press weren't particularly kind to valentino for having the audacity to lose mugello. they said it was over... he was finished... imagine only winning a race seven times in a row. was he even trying any more? loser

valentino bounced back at catalunya 2009 in highly dramatic fashion (y'know, it's the one with the last corner overtake). moment of deep historical significance in which jorge pulls valentino down from the podium to give him a hug

first race where casey was really struggling with his mystery illness... idk if I were valentino or jorge I'd maybe check if the third guy on the podium isn't about to drop dead but. well. professional athletes, never really been known for their empathy. they did clap along with the journalists in the post-race press conference when the moderator thanked casey for actually making it to the presser, so that's something?

we all have our struggles

the very next race. immaculate vibes imo. the 2009 title fight going into assen had all three of them tied on 106 points... #heritage

anyway the race itself is pretty boring (as unfortunately are many of the races that year), but it's valentino's 100th win so good on him ig. he got out a special banner with photos of all his wins, which would've been an absolute pain to lug around if he'd not immediately won the next race after his 99th

cute. unfortunately, this is now very much mystery illness period for casey... heroic effort to get himself to the podium but not much more was possible at the time

laguna 2009 post-quali presser. jorge is sitting for the photo, because even though he'd bagged pole, he had a massive highside right at the end of qualifying... hurt both his ankles and his shoulder. he'd also had a horrendous highside right at the start of laguna '08, did a good job to banish his gremlins in order to win at the circuit in 2010

qatar 2010... can't have been after the race because casey crashed :/ valentino grabbed the win, before immediately injuring his shoulder in a motocross accident. all went downhill from there, really. damn the eruption of eyjafjallajökull we were robbed

laguna 2010 podium, most memorable as 'that time when they accidentally played the italian anthem rather than the spanish one and valentino thinks it's extremely funny' (clip here). extremely poor quality photo shows casey found it funny too. very #them thing to happen to them. valentino buddy the cap's supposed to remain off for the duration of the anthem

this is very much post-leg break btw, still pretty cordial with each other given some of the stuff they'd been saying about each other to the press during that period lol (not casey/jorge, they were basically fine by this point)

presser right after jorge and valentino's little motegi misadventure... gifs from the presser. valentino's smirk vs casey's grin while jorge is being interrogated, I think about you often...

this was casey's fourth consecutive phillip island win (of six total)... isn't that just like. an incredibly cool circuit to be goated at. does mean the fight for the victory was generally quite boring - though the battles behind casey weren't always exactly thrilling either, so you can blame that on the era too. 2008 and 2010 has decent action behind casey, 2009 is the closest casey was pushed for the win and 2011 at least has a bit of weather-related jeopardy

valencia 2010, photos taken before unfortunate events

last shared podium!! le mans 2012, a fun wet race that featured the final proper casey/vale duel at the race after casey's retirement announcement so has real sentimental value... congrats to valentino for not collecting casey this time. presser clip where he shows he's also pretty glad about how he (just about) managed this

[moonshynecybin]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A grin splits his face before he can help it. 

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

Marc ducks his head. “Shut up,”

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

“Why should I? I like what I like.”

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

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

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

“You know, Bez has a bet about you,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vale laughs. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

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

Vale tilts his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?”

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

“Here. Try mine.”

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

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

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

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

Marc winks. “I am guilty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s so early.” He groans.

Vale nods. It is.

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

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

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

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

“Marc,”

“Yeah?” God, his eyes are blue.

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

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

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

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

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

He leans into Vale’s space, sees his smile widen in return. “Let’s hide all of Bezz’s socks.”

So they do.

[ray935sworld]

I wonder what the retired riders think about Marc at the moment.

Like imagine, Dani Pedrosa sitting in the KtM facility working, analyzing how Pols bike is doing, keeping an eye on Acosta, Fernandez, Binder and Miller, comparing the data when he sees Marc overtaking Pecco, like he was overtaken by the Spaniard so many times before. He watches him fight his way up the standing and his celebration. He watches Alex pulling up next to him, to congratulate him, like he had congratulated when they were teammates. Does he remember their best races? Their shared podiums? Is he happy for him? Is he getting nostalgic?

Or Jorge Lorenzo being able to actually enjoy Marc's wins and podiums. There is no underlying jealousy that he manged to win instead of him or that he is on the podium when they are fighting over the championship lead. No nagging feeling that maybe one of that risky moved could have caused Marc going wide and losing points. He watches the Spanish hero, the man that has gotten up from a terrible injury, without a worry about his own racing career. He can interview him and finally mean his congratulations. He can finally actually enjoy seeing his home country on top. Especially in Misano of all places.

In Misano where it has always been a home race for Andrea Dovizioso. Did he watch Marc crossing the line and excitingly shaking his head? Did he laugh about him? "After all those years not a thing has changed" Does he remember the pain he used to feel at the sight of Marc's bike being parked at the P1 sign when it could have been him? Or does he forgot about it and moved on and now only focuses on texting Marc a quick 'congratulations 🎉 that was an amazing ride. Truly sick. You deserve it' because he think that he and Marc won't find each other in the chaos of the circuit.

And Casey... Does he watch the races? Some of them are in the middle of the night for Australia. Does he stay awake? Maybe not. So he wakes up, makes breakfast for his wife and children and suddenly the news reporter is at the sport part and he hears that Marc Marquez has won a race after 1043 days and then only took 7 days to secure his 2nd Ducati win. When he was new in retirement, had he been angry? Watching a rookie win races and a championship on a bike that could have been his. And now that Marc is 5 years older than he was when he won his last championship, does he wonder whatelse the used to be golden Honda rookie has up his sleeves at Ducati? Do they all? Or do they not care?

And when Valentino Rossi stands infront of the podium in Misano, trying to only look at the success of his academy, can he really ignore the dancing man who is the focus of the attention? Can he ignore the sun shining as bright as he used to do more than a decade ago? Can he really deny himself to remember the little bit of memory left of from the 2013/2014 Marc, when he was just a happy and successful rookie and Vale could still handle it? Can he really forget the feeling of happiness a shared podium bought them? Does he remember what it was like to stand up there, watching a smiling Marc, hearing his giggle while being the center of their world for just a few minutes? Or is all he feels the rage and betrayal he went through? Maybe he sees the darkness and demons that's hidden in the lights shadow.

[cassayeee]

MY LITTLE SECRET (FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER)

warnings: porn with quite a bit of plot (i can never just write a oneshot), emotional sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, slight marking, mentions of killing, death, and suicidal thoughts (this is the hunger games), just be wary fr - minors stay away

notes: so this was a request from @theBridgetopanem on ao3 and, ugh, it's just so cute. love me some soft boy finnick. once again, very quickly edited so sorry for any grammatical mistakes. anywho - make sure to like, reblog, and comment! love u all <3

word count: 9.4k

summary:

No one truly understands the deception of humanity more than those who have the power to take it away. To push innocents against innocents and make sure nothing more than blood and broken souls remains where hope and naivety once stood.

It was a horrible nightmare in your mind – trying to think like them. Trying to survive. And the shadows that followed you out of that arena as people congratulated you for being a victor? Well, they knew what the absence of humanity really brought.

Fear.

OR

Finnick Odair is your mentor for the 70th Hunger Games and you can't help but find comfort in the man who is in your life solely to make sure you don't die.

The 70th Hunger Games, ready to begin.

Your name, reaped.

All hope, lost.

Voices flickered in and out of your consciousness as you made your way up to the stage. Of course, this happens to you in your last year of eligibility, why wouldn’t it? Time sped and slowed as it pleased, having no regard for your ticking thoughts. Nor did it care for your unwillingness to let it pass.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. Why is this happening?

You weren’t a Career. You had no special talents besides swimming and spearfishing. Swimming. How for fucks sake was that going to get you through the Games? News flash: it wouldn’t. Maybe spearfishing? But that was hardly a skill that could contend with previous victors. And it definitely wouldn’t help you against the Careers.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

As you curled into the dark spot floating at the edge of your vision, you barely heard the name of the male tribute announced beside you. Isaac? Ethan? Ian? Why does it matter anyway? You weren’t going to make it out of here. This was it. The ocean was draining, and you were being sucked down with it.

You barely noticed the Peacekeepers usher you off the stage and saying goodbye to your family was now a flicker of a memory. Siblings would never see you again. You would never be able to make them laugh in your family home or try to eat your mother’s insufferable cooking again. You would never be able to brush off fishing duty to go swimming with Annie or visit the town tavern with her again.

Oh, Annie.

Best friends since birth, the two of you were practically inseparable. Many of your other friends and family joked that the two of you must have been a soul split because of how alike you were. You did everything together, but the shining break in this storm was the fact that she wasn’t standing where you were. That your siblings weren’t. If it had to be any of you, you were glad that it was yourself.

But, fuck – you wish it would have been anyone else’s name picked out of the grim bowl.

---

Stepping foot on that train was probably the hardest decision of your life. Not that it was much of a decision, really. If you wouldn’t have gotten on yourself, the Peacekeepers would have gladly thrown you on there themselves.

You couldn’t say that you were too impressed with the interior of it. Honestly, it just looks like the Capitol threw up all over it. Yes, your family home was nicer than most of those in the other Districts due to the wealth of the area, but you didn’t care about all of that. The people made a house a home, and this train was nothing more than a moving coffin.

As your Capitol lapdog, Jorge, showed you and your fellow tribute into the lounge car, a head of bronze hair caught your eye. His arms were spread wide on either side of him as he lounged on the travel sofa – seeming to be as content as a summer’s day. You could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. But, before that mocking gaggle could make its way out of your throat, the man before you turned.

Oh, shit.

Finnick Odair. You needed no introduction of his, everyone in District 4 was aware of him after his victory in the 64th Games. Youngest ever and all that, you had to respect him for making it through. What you couldn’t respect, however, was his enjoyment of his Capitol fame. He appeared on screen at least five times a month at some prestigious party, the arm candy to some Capitol prissy who you really couldn’t bother to care about. Why should you when they laugh and cheer for children to die for their amusement? It was absolutely disgusting. 

Flashing you with a stunning smile, he popped a sugar cube in his mouth as Jorge motioned for the two of you to sit across from him. His sea-green eyes followed your movements as you stiffly sat before him, like a prized pet for sale. Your shoulders were locked tight as you stared back at the man before you. Tanned skin from hours on the coast and beauty that even the old Gods would envy, you couldn’t discount his looks. But you knew those could be deceiving. And anyone who wins the Games knows how to be deceiving.

“Hey, you two,” he began as he looked between you and… Ian? Yeah, let’s go with that. “This isn’t a position I want to see anyone in, but I’m here to help make sure you make it through whatever hellscape of an arena they have planned for you and get you used to the culture of the Capitol.”

You could feel your hands shake as this terror became more real with every word he spoke. He’s my mentor. I have a mentor. I’m really a tribute.

I’m going to die.

Every ill thought you had of Finnick was immediately disposed of. He was a lifeline in this – he knew how to win. And if you had to be deceitful, manipulative, hell, even seductive through this, you’d take whatever advice he had and hold onto it with your life.

Quickly grasping your hands together to try and still them, you showed nothing but vulnerability as you slouched in your seat. You could feel another panic attack coming on, but you shoved it down to deal with later so you could talk with Finnick. You weren’t going to waste a single moment on this train that didn’t provide you with some sort of opportunity to gain skills that would help you make it out of the arena.

Finnick saw how your composure changed as soon as he started talking and his heart broke a bit from the horribleness of this. He meant it when he said that he didn’t want anyone else to be in this position, for the Games to be a reality, but he would be damned if he didn’t make sure that one of you wouldn’t come out a victor. So, the three of you got to work and talked through the whole ride to the Capitol.

---

Finnick was betting on your spearfishing skills to get you through.

“The other tributes will be spread between those who know how to hunt, how to hide, and how to survive. I need you to be all three.” He stated.

The two of you were working together before your training began in the Tribute Center, stealing your last little bit of train time to work on hand-to-hand skills. Ian was off resting since Finnick was already aware of his expertise with tridents. Apparently, the two had known each other prior to all of this. Finnick wasn’t worried about him. No, he was worried about you.

“I’ve never hunted another person before.” You reminded him. “Fish are different.”

He was showing you maneuvers that could be used for deflection at this point. Utilizing the strength of the staff would be crucial, but since the Capitol provided metal ones in the arena, there was no worry about it breaking. Being in the proper position to block vital spots was up to you, though.

“Fish are small targets,” he nailed his trident against your spear, the reverberation racing up your arms. You continued to hold on. “Humans are bigger. More places to aim for.”

“But they can fight back.” You remarked as you readjusted your hold on the spear. “They can kill me just as easily.”

“Then be faster. Be quiet and quick and they won’t know you’re there until the damage is already done.” He urged. Setting his trident against the wall, he stripped off his shirt from the exertion and reached for a bottle of water to rehydrate.

Your mouth watered at the view. He was, in the simplest of terms, gorgeous. Taunt muscles built from years of experience stretched across his expanse as sweat trickled between the valleys of them. His Adam’s apple bobbed in tandem with his swallows and you were entranced by the movement. You don’t know what he did in a past life to be graced with a body like that, but you had to appreciate it if even for this one moment.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of the distraction, you grabbed a drink of water as well, taking the time to think of your odds. They’ve been getting better with Finnick’s instruction, but it was your intelligence and timing that would get you to the victor’s circle. Confidence was starting to brew in your veins, and you didn’t want it to go away.

Setting the bottle down, you grabbed your spear once more and took a fighter’s stance with it. Finnick noticed and lifted a well-manicured brow at you.

“I’ve got the defense positions down,” you started. “Now show me how to win.”

---

You tried not to stand out amongst the other tributes as much as you could, in hopes that they would view you as nothing more than some meek and useless girl. Your plan was that if you kept your head down, they wouldn’t view you as a threat. While that could cause some to view you as an easy target, it would also keep the element of surprise tidily tucked in your back pocket.

However, you stuck close to Ian as Finnick urged the two of you to attempt an alliance – granting the ability for at least one person to keep an eye on your blind spots. You weren’t naïve, though. Alliances were unsteady, especially if it came down to saving your own skin over the others. And there was no proof that Ian would even keep his word about meeting in the arena, let alone keeping you alive long enough to hear the first sounds of cannon fire. If you were a betting man, you wouldn’t bet on him.

But he did bring in two more members to your shaky alliance, Della Remfar and Billy Churl from District 10. Not Career-material by a long shot, but they were both highly adept with an array of knife work. And, to your knowledge, both knew the cleanest and quickest ways to stab, slice, and gut something – which could definitely come in handy.

Even after surrounding yourself with the three, you weren’t entirely sold on the idea of putting any sort of trust in them. You didn’t speak of anything personal, nor did you even attempt to learn anything about them. It would be easier this way. There can only be one victor in the end, and the memories of the fallen tributes should be left to be carried on by their own friends and families, not by someone who was an instrument in their death.

And, selfishly, you just didn’t want the chance of actually liking any of them to arise. It would be hard enough to kill strangers – killing friends would probably destroy you.

---

The training scores were being announced as you sat between Finnick and Ian. Nervously, you kept bouncing your leg up and down on the plush seat as you waited for your name to pop up on the screen.

Your show to the Gamemakers may not have been anything extremely special, but you would be damned if your new prowess with a spear would go unnoticed. Finnick’s teachings were nothing short of a blessing, and every time you lifted that metal bar, you had the unrestrained thought of making him proud.

It was strange, to find comfort in a man whose sole purpose in your life was to keep you from dying. He would do all he could to keep sponsors coming your way and leave you with all the knowledge and tricks he gained from his own Games. And you would survive. If you wished hard enough that you would live through it, perhaps you could wish it into existence.

A fool’s thought, but it didn’t stop you from looking up to the night sky every night and doing just that. It wasn’t a prayer, not by a long shot. If there was a God out there, you’d hate them with every fiber of your being for allowing their “children” to do this to one another without fear of repercussion. You were already in a living hell – it couldn’t get much worse than this.

Silencing your mind, you peaked with interest as Ian’s name flashed across the screen along with his score. An 8. That was solid. Enough to show the sponsors he was someone worth rooting for and kept the Careers off his tail for being too much of a threat. But it’s not like you cared that much when your name and picture finally appeared.

From pure desperation and worry soaking your veins, you grabbed Finnick’s hand in an attempt to calm yourself. You couldn’t even look at him, not as your eyes were glued to the screen in front of you. But Finnick looked at you.

He saw how scared you were – not just from the placings, but from the whole event. He couldn’t be surprised – hardly anyone made it through the Games without being completely terrified. Even in his own Games, he was fearful. Petrified, more like. No one wants to die like an animal and, besides the vicious, no one wants to kill another human being like one either. So, tightening his own hand around yours, softly rubbing his thumb on the back, he waited with bated breath for your score.

9. Oh, fuck.

“That puts you right around the Careers,” Finnick whispered to you.

You nodded your head, eyes still staring straight at some unknown point in front of you. Your hand was still wrapped around Finnick’s, neither one of you wanting to let go from the worldly anchor. In truth, you were surprised you had placed that high, and by the slightly jealous façade that rested on Ian’s face, you could tell he wasn’t too happy about it either. But Finnick, he just seemed to watch your facial response to it, ready to help you through.

There was no overwhelming emotion of happiness or disappointment, he just wanted to make sure you were okay. And, after turning your face to drown into his oceanic eyes once more, you were.

---

This was it. The clock was counting down as you and the other tributes stood atop your respective platforms waiting for the blood bath to begin. For humanity to disappear and pure unrestrained carnage to take its place.

Your whole body was shaking. Anxiety and dread were filling you up and overflowing at the top. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You wanted to be dead already to get it over with. You wanted to be with Annie and your family playing on the beach.

You just didn’t want to be here.

So, for a split second, you let your consciousness cover your mind with a memory. Something warm and happy that could perhaps get you through the next minutes or hours or days. And you indulged in it.

“Oh, yeah. My parents took us swimming all the time. For ‘exercise’ and all that, but really, I know they just wanted to spend time as a family whenever we could.”

You and Finnick were lounging in the main sitting area within your deck of the Tribute Center. While he probably should have made his leave already, he wanted to check on you after your training, and, without admitting it, desired to spend time with you.

The two of you were currently sharing memories of your families and friends and life. You don’t quite remember how the conversation happened, but it was just too easy to get lost in the words with him. A bittersweet thought of how you would miss him materialized, but you quickly threw it to the wayside so you could luxuriate in the presence of Finnick Odair.

“My mom was always about making sure that between work on the docks, out on the waves, or just helping with the catches, we prioritized one another. Blood is thicker than water, she would always remind us.” You couldn’t help the bright smile painting your face as you thought about how kind and, sometimes scary, your mother was. She truly loved life and insisted on making sure everyone in your family could see the beauty in it as well, if not a little aggressively.

“She once threatened my younger brother, Kade, that she would take away his slice of chiffon cake if he didn’t go out and play with his friends for a bit.” You disclosed. “She ate it right in front of him when he refused.”

You both laughed at the story, going on to tell him more about your siblings and Annie, who was practically your sister at this point. With each passing story, you grew less enthusiastic. He saw the way you started to deflate from the stories, sadness taking its place due to your current predicament of perhaps never being able to see your loved ones again.

He didn’t want those memories to sour from this, he wanted you to keep them treasured – shrouded in a golden cloud of light and love. With a sense of duty, he moved over from his armchair to join you on the loveseat you were curled into.

Your doe eyes followed his movements, curious as to what he was doing. He sat beside you; stern vulnerability layered on his features. With shrugged eyebrows and a twinkle of some unknown emotion in his eyes, he placed his hand on the side of your face, tenderly holding you in position.

“Don’t let them take this from you.” He softly insisted, fingers warming you where they rested. “They want to break you, to dull you, but don’t let them win.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Before your brain registered that you should reply to him.

“Wh- What?” You stuttered out in a hushed voice, much less of a conversation than you intended, but you were still confused by his words and actions. He continued to look at you, stealing glimpses into your soul through your widened eyes.

“Your memories, your love. The Games are built to destroy you of it all, leaving nothing more than a walking corpse empty of thought and emotion.” He asserted. “But don’t let them win. When you walk out a victor, hold onto what you love most and remember that the Capitol can’t take that. They can try to take your humanity, what makes you, you, but they won’t.”

You were stunned into silence, thoughts running rampant, but one began to overshadow them all.

He thinks I’ll win?

“I know we’ve only truly known each other for a short while, but I’d like to think I’ve become a great judge of character over the years.” He confessed with a small smile. “And when I look at you, I see a genuinely good person. Someone who shouldn’t have been forced into this, who should have lived their life out in peace and bliss but will win because they have something to fight for.”

You didn’t want to speak, to breathe, for fear of stopping his expression. But your eyes encouraged him, so he went on.

“You. Fight for yourself, Y/N L/N. Fight for the memories you hold in your heart. Fight for the love you have to give. Fight for whoever makes your head rush. Fight for the feelings.” He whispered out, only for you. “Just, please, fight. I know you can win. You have the skills, the intelligence, everything. So, fight for everything and nothing at all.”

Silent tears were streaming down your heated cheeks from his honesty. You knew Finnick to be manipulative and cunning when he needed to be, but there was nothing but a boy who wanted to be heard in front of you. What did he have to lie for anyway? You’d be going into that arena either way, friend or not.

Your own smaller hand covered Finnick’s as he continued to hold your cheek. Your lids gently shut as you pushed yourself into the warmth he was offering, staying close to him. He watched you hold the part of himself he presented to you, and decided he should gift just a little bit more.

Lifting his left hand to sit on the other side of your face, he pulled you close to rest his forehead against your own. With shut eyes, the two of you breathed in each other as the intimate moment closed over you.

Even in this short period of time, you’d never felt as close to a person as you did to Finnick. He knew the position you were in, for he had stood there before. He knew your emotions better than you did and encouraged them as a power, not a weakness. He was a light in this dark world, and you’d protect that flame with your life.

Pulling his head back but still staying close, he expressed one last thing. “My secrets, Y/N. I’ll give you all my secrets if you come back to me. If you fight for me. I’ll fight for you every day of my life and it still won’t be enough if you don’t come. Back. To. Me.”

He practically shook with the truth of his words. He wanted for nothing more than time. Time with you. Time to truly learn everything about you. Something in him yearned for you since the moment you had met. Your strength, your smile, your brilliance. He wanted to bathe and drown in it all at once. So, he needed you to win. To dirty yourself as he still is. Then, perhaps, you could both learn how to wear the past together. 

For a short moment, all you could do was look at him. To take him in as he was, no mask atop his face. To see what Finnick Odair looked like when there were no secrets to steal. And then you quickly tucked yourself into his torso as you wrapped your arms around him.

“I’ll fight for you, Finnick.” You declared into his chest. “I’ll fight for more moments like this.”

He hesitated for just a breath before he enveloped his arms around you, holding you tight and taking in your presence. He would make sure that you get anything you need in that arena. And that he’ll be there to pick up any pieces you left behind when you come back to him.

---

Della was dead. Ian was dead. Tributes from all the districts were dead.

The only ones still living were you and Billy, and the clock was ticking away.

Ian stuck true to his word and met you far from the Cornucopia as the two of you ran for your lives. The arena was a swamp – dirty and thick with a putrid smell that you would never forget. But the cypress and tupelo tree bunches gave what cover they could as you deftly made your way through the duckweed covering parts of the watery surface. Della and Billy attempted to steal a supply pack out of the slaughterhouse, but only Billy returned. Sticking close to one another, you made it through your first night.

Finnick also did as he promised and made sure the sponsors gave you anything you needed: spears, bread, ointment for Ian after he ran through a thorn-filled brush and ripped his leg open, even just extra blankets and water bottles – he made sure you were always supplied. His heart was in his mouth every time he saw you on screen, each day fitting you worse than the last. Exertion and fear were already taking their toll on you with mud-caked skin, chapped lips, and hair that was matting faster than a sunset. But none of that mattered as long as you made it to the end.

Ian was the next to go with a slit throat as your group battled head-to-head with the Careers. Two of the four were down before it happened, giving you all a false sense of hope. It was in that second of distraction that the girl from 2 sprinted around and tore Ian’s neck open before you could even blink.

Without even thinking, you launched your spear right into her chest as Billy finished off the District 1 boy. The two of you were unaware that each had defeated a tribute, but as your breathing slowed and you turned toward him, the realization hit you like a train.

I have to kill him.

It was a sickening thought, one you wish you’d never have to think about, but one that was entirely fueled by survival. You made a promise to Finnick that you would return. That you would come back. And even with aching limbs and short breaths, you would fight.

So, fight you did.

Billy started making his way to you as you reached the District 2 girl and yanked the spear from her concaved chest. There was no time for sympathy, no time for feelings. Billy wasn’t your friend. Sure, he may have saved you from the guy from 6 and always made sure that you got your share of food, but he wasn’t your friend. He couldn’t be your friend.

You locked down your thoughts as the two of you met in a patch of hip-deep swamp water. The muck below was forcing your feet to sink lower and gave you little grasp, but you lived in the sandy ocean. You knew how to maneuver well enough to use it to your advantage.

You were smaller than Billy as he towered over you at some number over six feet – a sturdy build for a butcher’s life. Which was a disadvantage for the environment. As you could navigate across the ground without fear of adhering to it, he was stuck, weighted down into the pit of swamp.

As he struggled to turn to follow your movements, his hands were briskly releasing knives your way. Try as you might, you couldn’t miss all of them. One lodged in your upper shoulder as another grazed your cheek, nipping off the tip of your left ear. But he wouldn’t have an infinite number of knives, and you could be patient enough for them to run dry.

And when they did, you advanced. Flittering over to him, you adjusted your stance just as Finnick taught you – bracing your arms apart so they could give and move as needed. You caught him in the side at first, until he grabbed onto the other end of the spear and pulled you toward him. He was stronger than you. If he got his hands on you, he could choke you out or drown you as hastily as he wanted, so you couldn’t let him touch you.

As he hauled you closer and closer to him, you steadied yourself. You’d only have one shot at this, and if you missed, it was all over. Taking a deep breath and focusing on the one moment you would have for this to work, you waited.

Not yet.

He was reaching the end of the spear.

Not yet.

He was loosening his grip on one hand to stretch out toward you.

Not yet.

You could feel the heat of his palm as he began to place it on your good shoulder.

Now.

In a flash, you jumped up and around him, securing yourself on his back and throwing him off balance so he couldn’t lay hold of you. Spear forgotten; you grasped his knife still stuck in your shoulder. With a cry, you yanked it out of yourself and stabbed it into his neck. And you stabbed again. And again. Tears were streaming down your face like a river flooded as you made sure he was well and truly dead.

As his heavy body dropped, you released your death grip but not before you fell into the water with him. You closed your tired eyes as you floated in the combination of blood and sludge. Nothing felt real. You were a victor, and you didn’t feel real. For a moment you could almost see your consciousness floating above you in a haze, like you were the one to die rather than Billy. But as soon as it was there it was gone. Instead, a transporter floated just where you had been, and now it was grabbing the winner of the 70th Hunger Games up into its claws once more.

---

Finnick was the first to greet you with nothing but concern on his face. As everyone else tossed cheers and ‘congratulations’ at you, he held onto you and walked you from the crowd. And he didn’t let go even when you sobbed into his shirt, staining it with tears and blood.

A doctor had to stitch your shoulder and cheek and wrap your bleeding ear, but with the Capitol’s technology, it took less than 2 days to heal. And Finnick never left your side for those days, talking about nonsense and the sponsors and the Games and how your family came to visit but you were unconscious from the medication and everything else he could think of that he couldn’t talk to you about before.

You told him about your heart-wrenching fear at every waking moment and nightmares you would have each night in the arena. Sleep was unwilling to take you, and you hardly wanted it to. Not when the arena croaked and screeched with animals and tributes on the prowl. Nothing but pure survival was in your veins, and that feeling was reluctant to leave you even now.

When you were dismissed from the hospital, he didn’t leave your side then, either. He talked to your family and Annie like they had known each other for a lifetime already. It made you happy watching them together. All the people you loved right in front of you, and you were still alive to witness it.

Even with the dark cloud looming over you, they were still the sun’s rays shining through. Small, but strong enough to keep you going.

---

Weeks after the Games and your victory tour concluded, you were nestled in a small reading nook in your home in Victors’ Village. The Games still haunted you, but you found solace in books. In romantic novels that didn’t have death sentences or tyrannical leaders – just two people who were in love and determined to display that in any way they could.

It was a way for you to escape reality, if even for a fleeting moment. Surrounding yourself with friends and family could only help for so long, and more often than not, being around so many people had you reliving the fight between your group and the Careers. The heaviness of the air and the cacophony of sounds had your stomach turning and chest tightening. Usually, Finnick would notice and quickly relieve you of the event by sheltering you outside.

It was a rather common occurrence, which is why you were happy to be in solitude. You told your family that you’d like to live in the house alone, if only for a couple of months, but they were more than welcome to visit you – which your mother did. A lot. She’d bring attempts at dinners and pies, but you were grateful for her and never discouraged her love. You couldn’t imagine the pain that she went through watching her daughter almost lose her life in the arena, so you entertained all of her antics. Almost every time she visited her eyes would drift to where your shoulder scar lay beneath your clothes, and she always kissed the mark on your cheek before she left as well. The reminders were plain to see.

But your solitude was never truly lonely.

“Hot chocolate?” Your eyes broke from the pages in front of you to look at Finnick, who was now offering the delectable drink to you.

You smiled at him and nodded, shifting your position to reach for the mug of cocoa. He sat beside you, offering more warmth than just that in your hands as he glanced at the book resting in your lap.

“Pride and Prejudice, again?” He smirked. “You have a library full and you’re reading this for, what, the fifth time this month?”

You hit his shoulder with your own as you giggled into your cup. Taking a sip and humming as the warm liquid traveled down your throat, you set your cup aside to face him.

“It’s a wonderful story, what can I say.” You confessed to him.

“And,” He reclined back in his seat as he regarded you. “Highly illegal. I still don’t know how you got your hands on that.” Shaking his head, he took his own drink of the hot chocolate and evaluated you with a raised brow.

“Perks of being a victor, as you should already be aware of.” Your smile vanished. “You get secrets, and I get tales to bury myself in.”

Any trace of playfulness withdrew from his manner. Soft eyes looked into your own as he set his cup aside, reciprocating the action to yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered softly.

Before he could say anymore, you snuggled into him, hurting for the man before you. “I’m sorry, Finnick. I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just– I just can’t understand why they would do that to you.”

Your watery eyes finally traveled back up to his, as he caressed your head with a tender touch. Finnick had finally told you what his days consisted of as a victor – of forced touches and unwanted attention; he was used in the Capitol for his looks and composure. You didn’t take it well, seconds away from marching to President Snow and killing him yourself for putting loving, sweet Finnick through that pain.

It wrecked you even more to know that he dealt with it all for the people he cared about. For his family. For his friends. For you. And that there wasn’t anything you could do to stop it without putting everyone else in danger. The worst that was done to you was parading you around like a show dog on a leash to different events. Perhaps if you weren’t scarred, they would have wanted the same for you, but for once, you could count yourself lucky that Billy hadn’t fully missed.

“Y/N,” he spoke once more as he lifted your chin to gaze down into your eyes. “Please, don’t suffer for me. You know I would do anything to protect you from them, and if this is the cost, then so be it.”

You shook your head as you wiped the tears from your eyes. “You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t have to do anything else for them. Especially not that.”

You couldn’t even say the words out loud, it was so repulsive. It made sense now, why he was always with new and different Capitol citizens at those parties. Why he never looked truly there in the way he handled himself. And it made you want to shove your spear into anyone who would ever try and do that to him again.

“It’s okay, Y/N, really.” He gently smiled at you the way he reserved only for you – with all the love and radiance he could put into it. “I get to spend the rest of my time– the rest of my life with you. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

“Finnick,” you whispered, hardly knowing what to say to him.

He gingerly brushed the hair back from your forehead as he placed a kiss upon it, hushing you. “For you, my love, I would do anything.”

Your body trembled in his hands from the emotion tumbling around inside you. After the Games, it was hard to let yourself get close to him, for the honest fear of losing him. But he was patient. He waited for you and took his time working through the tremors of the Games that still resided within you. It was hard, it still is, to make it through a day without finding yourself back in that arena, but being around him made it easier – more manageable. He was the part of you that kept you afloat and you were hanging on with both hands to make sure he stayed.

You lost yourself in his eyes – green and blue twirling in an intimate dance, the most beautiful you had ever seen. Truly, there was no other place you would rather be than with him. Every ounce of comfort that you felt stemmed from Finnick, and he felt just the same. To part with one another now would be to rip a heart in two, never fitting the pieces to another.

I love him.

It was a scary thought and, really, shouldn’t have shocked you as much as it did. You knew for a long time already that you did but admitting it to yourself was the true challenge. Everyone knew it, hell, Annie would constantly ask you when the two of you would just marry already – she had never seen two people as made for the other until she saw you and Finnick. But you were slow to let that part of yourself go. He already had your heart, but now, you would finally allow yourself to have his.

Tenderly, you reached your hands to cup his face – the slight stubble growing on his cheeks tickling your palms. As not to scare him off, you so slowly pulled his head down to yours. Only an inch apart, your mouths breathed onto one another, painting your lips with his scent.

“Y/N,” he ground out in a whimper.

“Finnick,” you echoed back. “I love you.”

The sharp inhale was the only sign that he had heard your small voice. That, and the urgency at which he bridged the gap between your mouths. A whine escaped from the back of your throat at how soft he was – how his lips molded into your own as if fated to do so. You were already addicted to the feeling.

Finnick wasn’t faring much better. His whole head was fuzzy with love and reverence for you as he pulled you up to sit on his lap, bringing you as close to you as he could. Tenderness soon turned into something more as he began to map out the curves of your body with his hands. As you gasped from his touch, he took the chance to sneak his tongue into your mouth, charting that territory out as well.

Happily returning the favor, you too began exploring the body of the glorious man before you. Tongues twisting, hands moving, both your breaths became labored as the need for even more started hazing both your minds. Pulling away for just a moment, you took your chance.

“Y/N,” he practically growled out as you began to shift your hips over his growing hardness. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable yet.”

And you knew he meant it. While the two of you had never crossed that line before, you wanted to use more than just your words to show him how much you love him. You wanted to cherish him, to give him all of you.

“I want to.” You pleaded. Then, you quickly pulled away as a thought occurred to you. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about how you might feel about this. Fuck, Finnick, I–”

Before another word could leave your mouth, Finnick covered it with his own, pushing all the love he has to give into you. He coaxed you right back into the kiss, cradling your head close, softly rubbing the flat scar on your ear’s tip. Through a deep breath, he broke the tender instant to glance back at you. Your mind clouded until he spoke.

“Don’t ever think I don’t want you, Y/N,” he reassured. “There is nothing in this world that I want more than you. What happens in the Capitol doesn’t leave me broken, not when you’re still here. And, if you want me, you already have me – I just don’t want you to feel forced into it.”

As he explained his thoughts to you, his hands were delicately rubbing up and down your sides as to console any feelings revolving around your head. He loved you without needing something physical. You were more than enough for him without anything else than just your presence.

“I love you, Finnick Odair,” you confessed for the second time aloud. “And I want to be yours – mind, body, and soul. For as long as you should have me.”

As Finnick’s eyes grew watery from the words torn from your heart, he acknowledged just the same. “I will love you forever, Y/N L/N. And should I die tomorrow or fifty years from now, my thoughts will be filled with you. Only you.”

And with the words spoken and sealed in a lover’s embrace, you sculpted your lips around each other once more. Finnick was slow to undress you, taking the time to truly admire the woman that you were. Removing your top, he trailed his lips from your neck to the scar on your shoulder and drifted further down to your breasts.

You held your breath as you watched him take your nipple into his mouth, suckling and teasing the bud with his tongue. Sighing, you tangled your hands into his hair, urging him to continue his actions. Doing just that, he reached one of his hands up to fondle your untouched breast, coaxing out more whines from you from the feeling.

Unaware, your hips continued to grind down on his lap, searching for some sort of friction for the growing heat in your core. While you had reached highs on your own hands and fingers before, you never touched a man like this – let alone felt the urge to have every part of him in you. And damn it, did you ever want to feel Finnick fucking Odair.

As he switched between ministrations on your nipples, he groaned into you every time you caught on his swelling cock. His head was filled with nothing but the thoughts of you and how he wanted to taste and touch you. How he wanted to tempt out every little noise you could make as you reached your peak over and over again. How he wanted to drown in you.  

Giving into his raging thoughts, he flipped the two of you around so your back lay comfortably on the cushions beneath you. Hot chocolate cooling and book thrown to some corner in the room, it was just you and him. Nothing else mattered.

Wandering down your body once more, he rid you of your pants and undergarments, leaving you bare in the sun. You were a goddess to him. A picture of perfection. He would never get tired of gazing upon you. Even when the two of you had grown old and grey, you would still be the most beautiful thing, sculpted by the poets themselves.

You watched as his eyes traced your body, and you began to grow self-conscious. Before you could even attempt to close yourself off from him, he grabbed onto your thighs and looked deep into your lust-blown eyes.

“Please, don’t hide from me.” He begged you. “You are the most exquisite being, never forget that. I feel like the luckiest man in the world to be able to even glimpse your beauty.”

Sentiments swelling your throat, you nodded up to him and relaxed into his touch. Seeing your newly eased state, he kneeled on the ground as he pulled your legs over his shoulders. Gazing upon your core, a growl emerged from the back of his throat. Your slick heat was practically begging to be filled by him, and who was he to deny such a pretty little thing?

He kissed up the innermost parts of your legs, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most. Before you could issue a complaint to stop teasing, he licked a warm stripe up your pussy, and you gasped. Head thrown back and hands immediately finding purchase in his hair, you were hooked.

He nuzzled his nose into your clit as he began to touch your core with his tongue, forcing out mewls and whines from your mouth. Reaching up his hands, one gripped onto your legs to prevent them from wrapping around his head, while the other spread your lips so he could dive even deeper into you. Flicking and cooing, his tongue continued to taste your slick as he moaned into you from your flavor.

You began rubbing your hips up and down his face as you continued to chase your high. He was too good at this – you’d never last long at this rate.

“Finnick, ahh,” you chanted his name like a choir of angels, and your voice went straight to his cock.

Wanting nothing but his name on your mind, he inserted a finger to begin loosening you up. The slight stretch already elicited a whine of pain from you. His digit was so much longer and thicker than your own, and you had a feeling his length was even more so.

As soon as he felt you relax around one, he slipped in a second. Scissoring around your cunt, he sucked on your clit to keep you slackened. You already felt so full. But as soon as all the discomfort turned to pleasure, you wanted more than just his fingers in you.

“Fuck,” you moaned out. “Finnick, I, shit, I want to feel you.”

He sighed into your pussy at your pleading state. Closing his eyes, he continued slipping his fingers in and out of you, getting you even further toward your orgasm.

“Not yet, love.” He insisted in a gravelly voice. “I want to taste you on my tongue first. You can do that, yeah baby? Want to cum in my mouth? I know you can do it. You’re such a good girl.”

You whined as you shut your eyes and continued stirring your hips on his face. He placed his lips back over your clit and thrust his fingers even faster into your heat. The sound of his knuckles squelching against your wetness was driving him insane, but he wanted to– no, needed to taste your essence before putting his cock into you.

As you felt your climax crawling nearer, your pussy clamped down around Finnick’s fingers, not wanting to let go. Your hips became erratic as you felt the familiar tightening in your lower abdomen – rising from your toes to the tip of your head. Finnick moved and slurped like a man starved, aching for you to lose yourself on him.

With a few more movements and a cry loosened from your lips, you released right into Finnick’s waiting mouth. He cleaned up every last drop, not wanting any to go to waste. You continued to ride out your high as he removed his lips from your bud. Once he felt you tire from your spend, he slipped his fingers out of you.

You watched with hungry eyes as he licked his fingers clean, eyes rolling back as his cock leaked from the wonder of your taste. Moaning as he popped them out of his salivating palate, he quickly moved to rid himself of his shirt. Reaching his arms back behind his neck and tearing the shirt from his torso up around his head, his eyes never left yours.

“I knew you would taste absolutely fucking divine.” He proclaimed to you as he started stripping his pants off. “I bet you feel just as good.”

Gasping, you finally laid eyes on his cock. Thick and girthy, you had no idea how it was supposed to fit in you. While it wasn’t ridiculously long, the stature of it made up more than enough. And as Finnick saw you fixed upon his hardened length, he twitched, which made you whimper up to him.

Bending back down to hover over you, he covered your mouth with his lips, allowing you to taste the salty remains of your own release. Moaning into his mouth, you gripped onto his bronze locks once more, lifting your hips to graze your now swollen clit against him.

He groaned and swiftly grabbed onto your hips to push you down. Backing from the kiss, he asked you one last time, “Are you sure?”

Breathless, you answered. “Yes. Please. I’ve never been surer about anything.”

Staring into your eyes and seeing nothing but certainty, he nodded.

“This is going to hurt, at first.” He stated. “Just try to stay relaxed and I promise you, you’ll start to feel good soon enough.”

Bobbing your head, you dug your nails into his shoulders to brace yourself as he glanced down and began to line himself up to your still-sweating heat. As he pressed the tip into you, you inhaled a sharp breath. Finnick immediately looked up to your face.

“It’s okay. Breathe, my love.” He took his hand and caressed your face. Settling a tender kiss on your lips, you started to breathe normally once again. Taking it as his cue to continue his insertion, he pressed back into you.

Slowly, so achingly slowly, he rocked his length into you. Taking the time to pull back and forth, he was easing you through the tight pain in your cunt. You were biting down on your bottom lip and your eyes were sealed shut from the sting of it.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just a little bit more and, shit, I’ll be all the way. God, you’re so tight, fuck.”

Finnick was trying his hardest to go slow for you, but the way that your cunt was compressed around him was like a drug. He wanted more, he wanted to move, but he would never place his own needs above your own. He watched your face for any sign of unordinary discomfort, but he saw none, so he inched further and further until he was fully sheathed into you.

Groaning, he dropped his head into your neck and panted out. As you adjusted to his size, the discomfort subsided. Sighing out as well, you started to lift your hips in your attempt at receiving friction. Finnick moaned and bit down into the softness of your neck.

“Move, Finnick, please.” You whimpered into his ear, already drunk on the feeling of his cock in you. You were so full, practically pushed to the brim, but you wanted more of him. You wanted him to make love to you.

Listening to your words, he dragged his cock through your walls as he moved in and out of you. Feeling your warmth rub against him was nothing short of amazing – there wasn’t anything that would ever compare to the feeling of you.

The two of you moaned in tandem as he thrust a particularly harsh plunge into you. You were scraping his back, leaving red angry lines as you wrapped your legs around his fit waist. Even in your inebriated state, you couldn’t help but admire him. For more than just his handsomeness, Finnick was the most gorgeous thing inside and out, and you couldn’t believe that he was yours. You would do anything for him to smile at you, to give you soft kisses to your temple, to just be.

So, you took hold of his head from where it was leaving marks on your neck, and you clashed your teeth together in a heated kiss. He was quick to reciprocate and grip onto your ass as he continued drilling himself into you, mouth never leaving yours.

You were the one to break the kiss as you leaned back to moan from the feeling.

“Fuck, Finnick. I love you so much.” You were rambling now, high off nothing but the way he was making you melt into his arms. “Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t, ah, live without you. Need you here. Always here. Mmm, my Finnick.”

He continued his movements as he gazed at you, love and lust battling for dominance in his sea-green eyes. “I’ll never let you go, Y/N. You are mine as I am yours. God. I was made to be by your side. Oh, Y/N. To always be with you. Would never leave you. My heart, fuck, is yours forever.”

The two of you were incoherent, rambling sentiments of love and sweet nothings to the other. Both of your climaxes were approaching, wanting to cum at the same time as the other. Skin on skin and sweat dripping upon each other, this was a plea of love, a confessional. Never to leave, always to stay – your hands were tied together as Finnick kissed you softly once more.

In contrast, his hips picked up the pace, as his fingers found your throbbing clit once more, pushing you to reach the top with him. His movements became inconsistent as he grew closer, knowing you were on your way as well by the way you were clenching down on him.

“Come on, baby,” he cooed at you. “Cum with me. You’re so close, love, I can feel it.”

“Yes, yes!” you whined at him. “Wanna cum, wanna cum with you. Ah, almost there, Finnick, don’t stop.”

Moving your hips with him, you both panted as the light grew brighter. He sped his twirling fingers up around your bud, begging you to peak with him. And as the two of you whined and whimpered louder and louder, Finnick thrust hard and deep into you. With this one last push, you both roared a moan as you came in and around the other.

Slowing his motions, Finnick allowed you to ride out your orgasm as he spilled his seed in you. Your legs twitched around his hips as you came down from your high. Head tilted back, you breathed hard and fast as your heart pounded. Finnick wrapped his arms around you as he held you close, still buried inside you.

For just a bit, the two of you stayed like that – together as one. Your pants eventually withdrew and were left with nothing more than the beating of the blood in your veins. He tenderly pulled out of you, leaving you empty of nothing but the soreness in your hips. Rubbing small circles on the aching joints, he kept his head close to yours. He then started kissing all over your face, making you giggle.

Chuckling along with you, he saved you from the attack by pulling away and looking at you with pure love and adoration. Mirroring his visage, you tenderly stroked his cheek as he sighed into your palm.

“I’m going to marry you, Y/N.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact he knew true in his heart.

Your eyes widened at his words, stilling your actions for a moment.

“Not tomorrow,” he laughed at your shocked expression. “Perhaps not a week or month from now, but one day I will. And that day will be the happiest of my life.”

Tears brimmed along your eye line, but it wasn’t sadness blurring your vision. Joy, excitement, and love were making their presence known in this strange way, and you didn’t know how else to respond to his worrisome look except to smile at him. Smile with your heart and soul to the man who was everything to you. And he smiled back the way Finnick Odair only smiles at you: uninhibited and overflowing with fondness.

Nestling into him as he repositioned you both on the seat, you contently sighed into him. This is what you fought for in that arena. This is why you promised that you’d win.

For vulnerable moments like this. For nothing between you and the man you love except the warm skin of your bodies. For the chance to live and not survive. For him.

With those thoughts in your mind, there was only one way you knew how to respond to him: with your truth, not a secret, and not in fear.

“Yes, I will marry you, Finnick Odair.”

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 4 MATCH 8

Derek propaganda:

“Extreme hot take but Derek is the best OL1 love interest. He has the best and sweetest confession in the game. You play video games together. He seems reserved until you actually start dating and find out that he's actually just a gentleman who didn't want to be overly forward with someone he's not in a relationship with. He's a family man. You get to blatantly abuse your 'dating' privileges in front of his brothers. He's just so insanely sweet and caring and makes me wanna cry whenever I play his DLC.”

“- Impossible to dislike

- No, like, literally impossible. OL1 will allow you to be indifferent to it's two other LIs, Cove and Baxter but you actually can't pick that option for Derek. Game decided that You Will Be (at least) Friends With Derek

- This boy is so good!!!! He's a sweetheart and has your back in the best way and he's constantly doing his best to make sure the people around him (especially you) are happy

- This is also a complex flaw of his because he feels like he needs to be the best that he can be and to be worth something

- This both manifests in how he treats others (he's exceedingly well-mannered and does everything for others because he secretly hopes that someday someone will do the same for him) and his career prospects (he takes on excessive practice to get good at football/soccer so that he can potentially get a scholarship and become famous all so he can potenially feel like he's worth something. This is actually a major conflict in his Step 4)

- His DLC also has some of the best moments in the game

- He also has a family and they're also really good and you get to see a lot of them

- His dad is hilarious, his mom is gorgeous and their relationship is very cute

- Meanwhile, Derek's brothers are great. I wanna gush about them because I love them but also play Derek's DLC yourself!!! See how good they are for yourself!!!!

- I will say that these three have a really good relationship dynamic and the development it takes in the 10 years between when you first meet Jorge and Nico as little kids to Step 4 where they're adults (and a teenager, Nico is 16 in Step 4) is genuinely very well written

- If you're into the steamy stuff, Derek also has the best make-out session out of all of the boys

- He's also just. Very funny. This boy will invite you to a waterpark and then ask you if its a date so he knows whether or not it's ok to check you out in your swimsuit

- Or, if you aren't dating by that point (but you do want to to date him), the narration will note how he's trying so so hard not to check you out, he's just trying so so so hard

- Puppy dog face. Look at it. Tell me you can look at that face and not want to smooch him

- His confession is also the best, did I mention it's the best? Because it's absolutely the best one in the entire game

- He has a whole thing about having to confess to you on a ferris wheel and he's so committed to it that he actually avoided ferris wheels for a long time before this confession because he promised himself he'd do it the next time he went on one

- And then he went on one...and he literally doesn't confess when he does it because he lost track of time and he had to get off

- so he asks you to go on the ferris wheel with him again so he can actually confess this time

Just. Just vote for him!!!!”

“He's sweet, polite, and out-going and is always willing to put you first (sometimes too willing).”

“polite responsible jock u r NOT immune to this”

Zen propaganda:

"Extremely handsome, HES A MUSICAL ACTOR FKFNKSNSJ, deep and relatable family trauma, He's genuinely a good person behind the vainness <3"

[muncedes]

the lack of effort or care from merc to send off lewis in a positive way is one thing but the sheer disregard to give him a decent car for his safety is another he’s driving a literal shitbox and expected to outperform his “teammate” week in and week out when let’s be very clear, anytime jorge does better it’s bc his car is better and not in any way is due to him being a decent driver

[kingofthecotas]

fractures | read on ao3

marc & pecco, phillip island 2024 | ~800 words

happy divorciversary! i guess this is a series now so part 1, part 2

——

Valentino might kill him.

With Marc to his right, shooting him a sideways smile, Pecco can’t bring himself to care.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks, like the shadow of it isn’t still hanging over him, over Marc, over the growing picture of next year. The journalists are loving it, tangibly eager—and confused, waiting, because they’d hoped he would bite but not like that.

Marc looks back at him, says, “Today, yes,” like it’s funny. Like he hadn’t barged past Pecco in the same corner he’d pushed through on Jorge. “I take five points.”

It’s true. It’s also an afterthought, a symptom of going for the win.

And then it all crashes down on Pecco, ice over his head, trickling down his spine. Valentino was so wrong.

He blinks, tries to stutter out something like he was going for the win, he wasn’t thinking about 2015, he wasn’t thinking about me, it was a good chance, that’s all it was.

That’s all it was.

Because that’s Marc. He races. He wants to win. That’s it. He’ll beat lap records, he’ll push past other riders, because he wants to win.

And that’s all. Nothing more than that.

Marc finishes the press conference, smile bright and sharp, laser-focused. He collects his helmet and the water bottle by his stool. Pecco hovers, a sick knot in his stomach, and follows Marc into the corridor.

He feels like Valentino is following him.

But no, it’s just him and Marc, the chatter of the press room a muffled hum once again. They’re making a habit of this.

Marc throws him another smile. “I was hoping you would follow.”

Pecco has enough left in him to raise his eyebrows. “Were you?”

“Better for me if you take points away from him.”

The race. Pecco snorts. Of course. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ah, well, I helped you, no?”

“Not on purpose.”

And Marc beams, like Pecco has finally cracked the puzzle. “You understand the game now, yes?”

Pecco swallows. Thinks of Valentino nine years ago, curled around his version of events like a dragon guarding his gold, the remnants of his tenth. It’s evaporating in front of his eyes. “Hard racing.”

“Hard racing,” Marc agrees. “It is always about us somehow, Pecco.”

Of course it is. Of course it always will be. Valentino didn’t tell them that; Pecco is finding it out regardless. “I know.”

He knows. No matter what he does, he’s building on the foundations of them.

“Mm.” Marc cocks his head, sizes up his prey.

Ten years ago, in Tavullia, he’d watched Valentino with the same expression, dangerous and hungry—and so fucking earnest. Of course he went for the win. Of course he went for the track record. He’s Marc.

“They’ll keep asking things like this,” Marc continues. “They like their story. Round two.”

Pecco shrugs. “I will answer the same.”

“Will you?”

“It’s the truth, yes?”

And something—something opens in Marc’s face, cracks. Like he’s—like Pecco has taken him by surprise.

Pecco should push now, exploit the weakness. Bite down until he tastes blood and splinters bone. He should feel smug.

He doesn’t. It’s heavy. Marc’s expression sets his teeth on edge, jagged in all the wrong directions; not the same rough corners he refused to sand down until it was already too late, but something deep turned outwards, just for a second. Load-bearing fractures.

Right arm, broken and broken again in just the right way: something he works around, worked through with gritted teeth. Everything he had with Valentino, turned needle-sharp and poisonous, wound into the very foundations of him. Marc is nothing but pieces of himself pulled back together and reforged into a deadlier weapon than before.

Pecco could strike: something tells him he’d regret it, one way or another.

So Pecco hesitates, long enough for the walls to be hastily shored up. It’s something, something he could cling to when they’re both wearing red next year. First blood.

The phantom weight of Valentino’s hand, the rueful downturned smile after Portimão, the easy cut of his words when he talks about Marc—when he warns Pecco about Marc—it all sits behind his eyelids, second nature.

Marc is going to race him. He knew that already. Sometimes Marc will beat him. Pecco will just have to be faster.

And that’s all.

“Marc,” he says, and thinks of Valentino again. (He thinks of Marc, looking him up and down: you’re not him.) “Well done today.”

No slip this time, but a smile, softer than usual. “For the five points, yes?”

“Of course,” Pecco retorts, his own smile pulling up despite himself. “Better to be second and third, for me. This is the only reason you did it.”

“Of course.” Like it’s funny. Like his papered-over cracks are nothing but a sore memory. “Maybe I am Italian now. Helping you, no?”

Pecco snorts. “No.”

Another smile, snagged and cutting as a broken blade. “No.”