#so i gave my my blOOD SWEAT AND TEARS

[myrquez]

In Motogp there’s so much money involved, performance anxiety dominates and builds up barriers. Everyone retreats into their own pack, nothing is done together anymore. And I just adapt to it, according to the theory that it’s better to be alone than to be in a group full of fake smiles. But relationships among athletes aren’t only the ones made via some direct, classic form of communication. In sport you can actually enter into communication with someone through other ways that are more mediated but, in some cases, even more profound. With Márquez, for example, we aren’t technically friends. We think highly of each other, we respect each other, we smile to each other when one sees the other one, over the past year he’s been very fair to me, often defining me as an ideal opponent. I think it’s because he knows that I can race him very hard, but always within the rules. Which is, even if for many may not seem like it, exactly the same thing he always did while racing against me. Marc may look crazy, but he actually stands out from clichés and defies physics laws in good conscience. Unlike other riders — those reckless ones with no sense of limit, who after a crash often say “I don’t know why I crashed” — Márquez knows very well why he crashes. He often precisely crashes on purpose, just to explore that limit. He does some experiments first, then goes on to elaborate his theory. In a way, he’s an empiricist exactly like my dad was, when he purposely kept taking more and more steps forward on the track to teach me how and where to brake. It’s just that in this case, it’s the rider that does it. I like Marc. And I interpreted our famous duels in 2017 as a means to get to know each other better. In Austria and Japan we indeed were extreme, but not crazy. Adventures-seekers who like to push themselves to the limit, but not insane and neither unfair to each other […] Deep down, he isn’t irresponsible, even if he often looks for some maneuvers that have no rhyme or reason. Theoretically, and practically, they don’t make any sense. Yet I never get angry about it, not even that time in Zeltweg when it looked like I told him to fuck off. It surprises me, instead, to see what he tried to do to get a win, something like “I can’t believe it”, an amazed curiosity to see how he tried to move into this uncharted territory, the same one where, thanks to him, I consequently went into as the well. And it’s so cool. As if we both dug together a whole new vein of gold: we won’t share the prize, of course, because to keep the gold is my goal, but we still dug through it together as if we were pioneers. And this indeed does create a bond, whatever is it.

And it’s even more incredible because I exactly know what Marc is going to do in that last turn in Zeltweg. Theoretically, he doesn’t have any more weapons to attack me: at this point his Honda has less traction, worn-out tyres, less power; generally speaking, Honda is less suited to this track than Ducati. And yet he got this far, in the end […] I well know that to have Marc right behind you while going through the last corner is way too much of a problem, the worst thing it could happen to you: he’s going to try it anyway anywhere. So I’ll be there, waiting for him […] Even if we’re going at 200 km/h, I can feel upon my skin how meters get marked bit by bit. One after another. I force myself to focus on his engine’s sound to understand when and where he will attack. And when the noise is there, almost unbearable, I brake hard and leave him a bit of space on the inside line, to force him to exaggerate a bit and then overtake him in acceleration. It’s almost as if I just accepted his invite, just to deceive him later. It might look like it’s just a technical challenge, or a stunt one, but it’s actually about mind games, an hand in glove tied relationship in which our minds get connected. As in bull and bullfighter kind of way. Or, in a I know that you know that I know kind of way. To get a win in this way is a much more difficult thing to achieve, but it is much more cooler as well. When Marc gets on the inside Iine I just know that I made it, because he’s a champion, but he cannot overcome the laws of psychic. My plan gets fulfilled and the dissolving noise of his bike as he goes wide resonates with liberation. That’s when I make that gesture, automatically. Fuck off, you just got played! Real subtitle is: what did you make me do, you bastard? It’s my third win this year. It’s now clear that I am the one challenging Márquez for the title. But to me this doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t matter that much how I just won against the one who is recognized as the hand-to-hand duels master […] What matters most is that this race has been a way to get to know each other better. Márquez, with his usual Joker smile, confesses that if he hadn’t tried to surpass me he wouldn’t have slept at all that night. That’s what perfectly defines what he is: as long as he is breathing, he will try to pass you even if he had to go through a wall.

In Motegi it isn’t that different. Here, as well, Márquez is struggling a bit more than me, but I am sure he is going to try it in the last corner. Why shouldn’t he? We’ve been “beating” each other as if there was no tomorrow for the last six laps, in some apocalyptic conditions: heavy rain, curling-like grip, no visibility at all […] Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have thought we’d get to this point, but as soon as Márquez did a little mistake I got back on track and now we’re here, us again. Ehi, Marc, how are you doing? Our connection in Zeltweg has been restored on the other side of the world. It’s now clear that everything that is going to happen now would not be possible without the other’s collaboration. Like two alpinists in a rope team, we will get ‘till the last meter together. We overtake and we get overtaken. We give and we take. We sting like bees, fly like butterflies, and more than anything we hit like blacksmiths. At Turn 10, I change my trajectory: I’ve been studying Marc for quite a lot from behind and now I imitate him, going a bit wider. This allows me to get into Turn 11 very fast, ready for my strong suit: braking. That’s how I easily overtake him. The Ducati is very stable, everything is under control. I’d be sure to get a win at that point but an alarm goes off in my mind: I won’t give it to you this easily. Exactly. Last corner is on the right. Giving my position it’s obvious that there isn’t any physical space to get on the inside, but imagine if he does really give a damn. When I’m about to lean into the Turn, Marc abruptly arrives out of nowhere as gracefully as Hulk in a china shop. It’s not even a dirty try, more like a circus number: his engine’s noise getting closer echoes into my helmet like the drum rolls that comes just before a trapeze artist jumps. Ladies and gentlemen, Marc Márquez! Where the fuck do you want to go? You’re still sitting straight, I’m already leaning: don’t you see that we’re touching? I don’t know how, but I keep the bike in control. I suspend my maneuver for a millisecond, just enough to let him slide on the outside as I go on riding through the apex. At that point he’s way too wide, he pulls half of a miracle by leaning all on the right to keep his bike on track but has no margin for anything else. Farewell, bye, goodbye. I win today. Again. After the finish line, we stop near the track side by side. Our gloves touch. Contact. Knowledge of the other has deepened. Relationship was preserved. Despite everything, no one cut the rope and we got to the mountaintop together. It’s an awesome feeling. That’s exactly the sport that I would always like. Especially because I won. On TV I eventually admit that to win against Márquez in what he does best really excites me: this is the boost that I need for the climb to the championship, at only 11 points from the lead. Marc showers me with compliments and says that it’s awesome to battle with me for the title, the living proof that professionalism and hard work pay off. He calls me a good guy as well, and I forgive him. Actually, no. Why should I be ashamed [of being a good guy]? To pretend to be a bad guy is something that everybody can do. To actually be one when it’s needed, and to do it with a certain style, it’s something for the few.

— andrea dovizioso talking about his relationship and his duels with marc márquez in asfalto (2018)

[fivequartersoftheorange]

___________________

I found the album one sweltering afternoon in mid-summer, a month since we’d laid Gramps to rest. Rummaging through the dusty boxes and stacks of back copies of society magazines, I stubbed my toe on the trunk where it was kept, old and battered, sat in a dark corner of the attic.

I took the album, dusted it off, and sat down on a nearby stool. The cover was made of leather, cracked through with age and neatly labeled 1953-1954 in faded gold lettering. I flipped through the pages so yellowed with age, dust motes swirl in front of me as I make sense of what I’m looking at.

It was pictures of Gramps as a younger man. We knew that he was a film star back in the day, and that he was quite famous too, a real matinée idol. It seemed impossible to me then that he had a whole other life for he was always just Gramps; he seemed to always be humming and dancing, constantly moving or cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

Gramps was like magic and fairy dust, his warmth and gentleness touched anyone he came across. He was the grandfather who was up for anything, never raised his voice and talked to you like a grown-up. He was wise and funny and always pushed you to be a better version of yourself. Many a time I spent in Gramps kitchen, listening to him tell stories of film sets and the soaring lives of Hollywood’s finest.

My greatest regret was not asking him about his life when I had the chance. For no one bothered to, he was always just there, woven into the fabric of our lives. None of us really knew anything about him and the questions that had always lingered in the back of my mind resurfaced.

There were other things in the album, ticket stubs and dried flowers and a million other keepsakes. But what seemed to feature most prominently was a young man who looked to be about the same age as Gramps. He had a shy smile and a tentative look in his eyes. He was very handsome.

It seemed that he was also an actor and that at one point worked on a film with Gramps. There was a photograph of a cluster of smiling people and at the very center was the shy handsome man. His gummy smile was breathtaking but he was looking at someone or something out of frame.

As I looked through the rest of the album, a thick packet of letters fell to the floor. They were tied together by a faded red ribbon and at a glance I could see neat loopy script. I knew instinctively that these were all from the handsome man with the gummy smile.

My mind raced with a thousand questions and I burned with a longing to read them yet a sense of wrongness pervaded me. I would be intruding on my grandfather’s privacy. There was a secret buried here that much was true. For now I tuck the album under my arm and make my way downstairs.

___________________

Inspired by this post by @bigassbowlingballhead

I have absolutely no idea how I went from making a silly little edit to having an entire backstory to the silly little edit.

This also broke an almost 3 year streak of no writing. I don't think this is my best work, I'm rusty like an old bicycle but I'm quite surprised I managed to write something. So thanks for that Jon!

This is also by the way heavily inspired by a Danielle Steel novel I once read that I cannot remember the name of. In that story it featured a box, a locket and a packet of letters.

This is literally titled Hot Gramps on my laptop. You can click on the images to make it bigger.

Also did you know that the SAG was founded in 1933? And AFTRA was founded in 1952 but the two only merged in 2012. And that the first Emmy Awards were held in 1949?

[justinegreenpie]

[whoslaurapalmer]

*in tears* frog.......!!!! frog frog frog 🐸

[probablygayattorneys]

Here's a sneak peak at my piece, Castles Crumbling, that I wrote for the @aabadendingzine which is open for preorders this entire month! It's based off of Turnabout Succession and absolutely nothing bad happens at all in the entire story which you can trust because when have I ever led you astray, other than that one time we were playing Among Us and I was definitely the imposter?

It's pay what you can with all proceeds going to the Transgender Law Center, and you can preorder here, so please consider giving it a buy!

[winter-came]

"You're on your own, kid. Yeah, you can face this. You're on your own, kid. You always have been." -You're on your own, kid by Taylor Swift

[goldenboybarracuda]

@waehles gets a random text convo bc

[ sms — henry ]: i got whisked away for a weekend job at vacation spot and i’ve laying around in the sun all day.

[ mms — henry ]:

[ sms — henry ]: I dare you to fly your ass out and join me 😉

[cruell-summers]

mexico city night 3 WON the surprise song race of the entire international leg. idc what happens next I can sleep peacefully every night knowing I was in the crowd when Cornelia Street/YOYOK happened. I'm never getting over this wtf

[apricusapollo]

here we have firstprince fic inspired by the plane crash episode in greys anatomy (because I'm sick and twisted and fucked in the head like that)

[rosicheeks]

I will not be anonymous about this!

The vibe you give off is hopeful.

Right now, life is hard, but you don't give up.

You see all the bad and acknowledge it, but you don't give up.

You have been hurt in the past, but you don't give up.

Your heart is pure. Your soul is indomitable. Your will is invincible.

🥺

[graveyarrdshift]

I'M SO HAPPY YOU GOY TICKETS YOU DESERVE THEM I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU <33333

THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH 🥹 THIS IS PROBABLY THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE 😭

[placeinthisworld]

spongebob the musical on broadway was so much fun. one of the best experiences of my entire life. I am a theatre kid at heart always.

[iwanthermidnightz]

I feel like I want to scream (for various reasons) 😭

[cherrysnax]

im sure this feeling will pass but I feel like im not made for comics

[rescuefield-a]

the holy trinity of you're on your own kid / you always have been / yeah, you can face this makes me cry

[sullisuu]

guys sorry i know i ranted and raved about this but ive decided youre on your own kid is actually elevens song