#this wasn't suppose to be so long lol

[inkskinned]

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

[caffichai]

@praxinas warlock Harlow, for the very last day of Artfight 2023!

I love the Eliksni armor from Season of Splicer and the aesthetic, just in general

[mmso-notlikethat]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3k Ι cw: Blood, Gunshot, Major injury

[read below or on ao3]

Buck’s world came back in flashes.

Pain—sharp and burning, radiating through his arm. Muffled voices. The distinct smell of metal and blood. A whisper—no, a voice he knew. A voice he loved.

“Come on, Buck. Come on, wake up.”

Dammit Tommy, it’s Evan, he thought.

The words were low and urgent, threading through the pain, pulling him toward consciousness.

“Hey, Hey, just open your eyes for me. You’re fine. You’re good—just wake up, okay?”

A hand pressed against his arm, steady and firm, keeping him anchored. The pain sharpened, burning through the fog in his mind.

Buck groaned, blinking against the blinding overhead lights. His throat felt raw, his limbs heavy. He heard a sharp exhale of relief.

“—What happened?” Buck barely managed to ask, his throat dry, words slurring.

Tommy’s face hovered above him, eyes sharper than usual, scanning him like he was an emergency call. His hands were pressing something—his own flannel, bundled tightly—against Buck’s arm. Blood soaked through.

“Just stay here,” Tommy whispered. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—controlled tension. “You’ll be okay, just don’t move now. I called 911. Help is on the way.”

Buck tried to shift, but Tommy’s grip on his injured arm tightened, keeping him still.

“Don’t move,” Tommy murmured, his voice quieter now but firm. “You got shot, but it’s not bleeding too bad. No exit wound, so the bullet’s still in there.” His gaze flicked over Buck’s arm, assessing quickly. “I don’t think it hit anything major, but I can’t be sure. Probably just the muscle.” He adjusted the pressure, tightening the fabric over the wound. “You’re stable, but you need to stay still, okay?”

Buck swallowed hard, trying to process the words through the throbbing in his skull. Shot. Bullet still inside. Probably just the muscle. That meant it wasn’t that bad, right?

His eyes flickered past Tommy, and that’s when he saw the gun in the distance—the shooter, pacing erratically near the overturned tables and shattered glass.

Buck’s breath caught, but then his gaze dragged back to Tommy, to the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were squared, body coiled tight like he was ready to move at any second.

His throat felt raw, but he forced the words out. “Are you okay?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. His focus remained locked on the shooter, assessing, calculating.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, voice even. Too even. His grip on Buck’s arm didn’t loosen, though—steady, grounding, a silent reassurance.

The man was yelling. “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?!” His voice cracked with unhinged desperation.

Tommy inhaled slowly and got up.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. They were supposed to meet up, talk—just talk. Buck had been anxious, uncertain, but then Tommy walked in—steady, put together, looking good, he always did. And when Tommy smiled— small, warm, genuine—hope flickered to life in Buck’s chest. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as he thought. But now, none of that mattered.

Buck blinked. “Tommy—” His fingers barely caught at Tommy’s wrist, but Tommy had already straightened up, stepping forward with careful, measured steps.

“What’s her name?” Tommy asked, voice low but steady.

The shooter’s head snapped toward him. “You—You know her? You her new boyfriend?”

Tommy didn’t flinch. “No, I don’t know her,” he said simply. “But I know you don’t want to do this.”

The man’s breathing was ragged, his grip on the gun unsteady. “She won’t even talk to me! After everything I— I just want to see her. I just want her to listen.”

Tommy nodded, keeping his hands visible, his body loose. “I hear you, man. Feels like she shut you out, right?”

The shooter’s lip curled. “She’s been ignoring me for months! Like I don’t even exist! And then I come here, and—and she’s not even—” His voice cracked, his eyes darting around wildly.

Tommy took a slow step forward. “That’s gotta be frustrating. You came here to talk, and now all this happened instead.”

The man’s jaw twitched. “Yeah. Yeah, this—this ain’t what I wanted. But I just—” He exhaled sharply, voice shaking. “I just want to know why. Why she left. Why she won’t answer me.”

Tommy’s hands were still up, his body still calm, every movement carefully controlled.

“I get it,” Tommy said. “I really do. It’s hard when someone walks away and you don’t get answers.” His tone softened, but not too much. He had to keep the shooter engaged, not coddle him. “But, listen—hurting people in here? That’s not gonna get you those answers, man.”

The shooter’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching around the grip. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. “It’s not fair.”

Tommy didn’t break eye contact. He took another slow step forward, careful, controlled. “I hear you. You didn’t come here to hurt anyone, right?”

The shooter hesitated, breath still ragged. “No, I— I just—” His fingers flexed around the trigger, shoulders tensing. “She won’t even listen to me. After everything I did for her—”

“I believe you,” Tommy said smoothly, voice steady. “I believe you just wanted her to hear you. And you deserve that. But this?” He nodded slightly toward the shattered glass, the overturned tables. “This isn’t gonna bring her back, man. You know that.”

For a moment, the shooter wavered. His grip on the gun loosened—just barely.

Buck barely heard the rest. His arm throbbed, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage Tommy had left behind. The coppery taste in his mouth made his stomach churn, but then—

A whimper.

Buck turned his head slightly, vision still hazy. A kid—barely five, maybe six—curled up behind an overturned chair, shaking, tears streaking his cheeks. His small hands clutched his knees, and he was whispering, repeating the same words over and over.

“Mommy, I want Mommy.”

Buck swallowed, forcing himself to focus.

“You’ll see her soon,” The kid’s eyes darted to him—red rimmed, terrified. “I know it’s scary, buddy, but we’re gonna be okay. See that guy?” Buck nodded toward Tommy, who was still keeping the shooter talking. “He’s strong. He’s gonna get us out.”

The kid’s lip wobbled. His small body trembled. “You’re… you’re dying.”

Buck forced a small, pained smile. “Nah. Just got a scratch.”

Tommy’s voice was still steady, but something about the way he was holding himself didn’t sit right.

His movements weren’t as sharp as before. His breathing—was it slower?

Buck frowned, barely able to focus through the haze in his head. His own arm pulsed with pain, but somewhere beneath the chaos, something felt wrong.

The kid didn’t believe him. His little hands clenched into fists. “I don’t wanna die. I want Mommy!” He hiccupped, panic rising, his breaths coming too fast now, too sharp. His small frame shook violently.

No.

Buck saw it an instant before it happened.

The kid snapped, bolting forward, little feet slapping against the floor, toward the chaos.

Straight toward the danger.

Buck’s stomach sank.

“Wait—!”

The shooter snapped toward the movement, instincts kicking in. His expression twisted, something between panic and rage flashing in his eyes.

“HEY!” His grip tightened on the gun—

Buck barely had time to react, his injured arm slowing him down as he lunged forward to grab the kid. The shooter lifted the gun. Buck saw his finger twitch on the trigger.

A flicker of movement.

A blur of motion.

Gunfire.

A choked sound.

Buck flinched, expecting pain—expecting the worst

But it wasn’t him.

Buck barely registered the body colliding with the shooter, the gun clattering to the floor, Tommy’s grunt of pain as he twisted, bringing the man down hard against the shattered glass.

Then—sirens.

The piercing wail cut through the air, growing louder, flashing red and blue outside. Someone shouted, but Buck didn’t hear the words.

Tommy wasn’t moving.

Buck struggled to sit up, adrenaline forcing him through the pain. “Tommy?” His own voice sounded distant, the rush in his ears deafening.

Tommy was on his side, breathing shallowly, fingers still twisted in the shooter’s jacket, keeping him pinned even as his strength faded.

His other hand—Buck’s stomach dropped.

Blood.

Pooling beneath his fingers. Dark. Spreading.

Buck sucked in a sharp breath, his vision narrowing. No. No, no, no—

He scrambled closer, ignoring the fire in his own arm, pressing his good hand against Tommy’s.

It wasn’t just pooling—it was creeping outward, slow at first, then faster, seeping into the cracks of the floor, staining everything it touched. The warmth of it spread beneath Buck’s palm, slick and wrong. He pressed harder, but it kept coming. Too much. Too fast. The coppery scent thickened in the air, curling in his throat, making it harder to breathe.

“Tommy,” Buck rasped. “Hey, Hey.”

Tommy’s fingers twitched weakly against the shooter’s jacket, his breath uneven. His eyes barely opened, unfocused.

Then, voice barely above a whisper— “The guy?”

Buck swallowed hard, blinking through the sting in his eyes. “Yeah, out. He’s out. I think he hit his head.”

“…Good.” Then his fingers slipped from the fabric of the shooter’s jacket. His body sagged, the last of his strength givingout.

“Shit—Tommy.”

Buck shifted quickly, his free hand moving from the wound to ease Tommy onto his back, trying to keep him steady as his body went slack.

Tommy grimaced, a sharp, pained inhale slipping through his teeth.

“I got you,” Buck murmured, his hand pressing down firmly on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “Just stay with me, okay?”

Tommy gave a slow, unsteady nod.

Then his eyes fluttered open, and for the first time, Buck saw it—the pain breaking through the steel.

“…Fuck,” Tommy muttered, voice weak, a bitter, almost amused breath leaving him. “Didn’t—didn’t even feel that one.”

Buck barely breathed. His hand pressed harder against Tommy’s side, warm blood slick against his fingers. Too much blood.

Tommy exhaled sharply, shifting just slightly—and then he winced. His brow furrowed, like he was noticing something for the first time.

He blinked down at himself. "...Huh." His voice was almost puzzled, like the thought barely registered.

Buck followed his gaze and froze.

A second patch of blood—darker, smeared along Tommy’s jeans. His thigh.

Not from the gunshot just now. From before.

Buck’s stomach dropped. “Are you—” His voice broke, panic surging through him. “You were already shot?”

Tommy let out a breathy chuckle, dazed. “Guess so.” His fingers weakly gripped Buck’s wrist, half-hearted reassurance. “Didn’t notice.”

Didn’t notice.

Buck wanted to cry. "Okay, okay, you're okay—just breathe."

Tommy’s lips twitched—or maybe they were just trembling now. “Didn’t I t-tell you not t’ move?”

Buck let out a strangled laugh, something close to a sob. “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

A noise outside. Help was here. But so was the blood pooling beneath Tommy.

Buck leaned closer, grip tightening, his pulse hammering in his ears. “You stay awake, okay? Help is here. Just—just please stay with me.”

Tommy’s fingers curled weakly into Buck’s sleeve, his grip barely there, but there.

“Bu—Evan…” His voice was thin, broken by a sharp inhale. His body shuddered.

Buck’s breath caught in his throat. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Tommy’s hold tightened for just a second.

“Evan, I—” His voice cracked, a faint wheeze threading through his words. “I wanted… I wanted to apologize—”

A cough tore through him, wet and weak. His breath hitched, and Buck felt the tremor beneath his hands.

“Tommy, stop,” Buck pleaded, panic thick in his throat. “You’re gonna be fine, just save it, okay? You can tell me later.”

But Tommy shook his head—just barely.

“Had to say it,” he murmured, voice slipping. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. “Was h’rd the…’thout you…”

Buck swallowed hard, eyes burning. “I know,” he whispered.

Tommy’s lips barely moved, but Buck caught it.

“…Loved…” It was barely more than a breath—a whisper, slipping between them.

The word faded on his tongue, unfinished. His grip on Buck’s sleeve slackened.

“Tommy?” His voice cracked, sheer terror ripping through him. “Tommy, hey, no, stay with me—”

“Tommy!” Buck’s voice rose.

But Tommy wasn't answering.

Buck pressed harder against the wound, his palm slick with blood, his hands shaking.

“Tommy,” Buck rasped, shaking him slightly. "Come on, open your eyes baby, just—just look at me."

Nothing.

No response.

The flashing lights flooded the room, red and blue bouncing off shattered glass. Boots pounded against the floor, heavy and fast. Someone was shouting orders.

A hand gripped Buck’s shoulder, trying to pull him back. but Buck fought them, twisting, shoving—he couldn't let go.

"No—wait, wait—he's not—Tommy!"

But the world was spinning, voices blurring together, hands forcing him away.

But all Buck could see was Tommy, unmoving, eyes slipping closed, blood staining his shirt, and the word echoing in his mind over and over.

Loved.

Loved you.

Loved me?

Loved.

-

The world swam back into focus slowly, thick and disoriented—white lights, the steady beeping of a monitor, the distant murmur of voices. Buck sucked in a sharp breath, his chest tight, lungs struggling to expand properly.

A hand pressed gently against his shoulder. “Easy, easy, Buck. You’re fine.”

Buck’s head turned sluggishly. “…Chim?”

“Yeah, you got me,” Chim said. “Maddie was just here—she’s coming back in a minute.”

Buck barely processed it. His body felt heavy, numb, like he was floating—but then—

Tommy.

Buck’s pulse spiked. "Tommy—? TOMMY!"

“Breathe, Buck—”

“No, Chimney, Tommy, he was—he was—”

“Buck.”

A new voice.

Buck whipped his head toward it, eyes still bleary but instantly locking onto Maddie as she entered the room.

“He’s fine, Buck.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. "Fine?"

Chim nodded, his tone light. “He’s alive, Buck. Just got out of surgery about an hour ago. Woke up for a minute, but then drifted back off. Surprisingly, you’ve been out longer than he has.” He gave Buck a teasing grin, trying to lift the mood.

Buck sucked in a breath, his throat tight, burning. “I need to see him.”

Maddie exhaled, already knowing there was no point arguing. “Buck, you just had sur—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chim cut in, sighing as he got up. “He won’t listen. Let’s take him to his room.”

"You need to be checked first,” Maddie insisted.

The minutes the nurse checked him, and the surgeon explaining his injury, felt like a lifetime.

-

Tommy was awake.

He lay still in the bed, his face pale, but he was breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly. When he turned his head and saw Buck, a faint smile tugged at his lips, weak but sincere.

“Hey, Buck.”

Buck sucked in a sharp breath, something tight, angry, relieved twisting in his chest.

“Tommy, if you try to leave me again in any way, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Tommy huffed out the smallest, breathy laugh. “Violence? Really? I just woke up.”

Buck’s throat burned,, a mix of worry and relief. His hands curling into fists. “And it’s Evan!”

Tommy blinked at that, lips twitching like he wanted to say something smart, but all he did was nod, slow.

Before either of them could say more, the door swung open.

“Oh, you’re up.”

“Sargent grant.” “Athena.”

Tommy’s gaze sharpened immediately. “The guy?”

“He’s in custody.”

Tommy exhaled, half-relief, half-exhaustion.

“He was on drugs,” Athena continued, arms crossing over her chest. “Apparently, his ex-wife used to come here a lot. He must’ve been high, looking for her.”

“Anyone else?” Tommy asked.

Athena shook her head. “Just you two.” She paused. “Because you were sitting closest to the door.”

Tommy shifted slightly, trying to sit up, but winced, the movement clearly uncomfortable. “Huh.”

Buck studied him. “Huh?”

Tommy looked at him with half-lidded eyes, his voice slow and groggy. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

Athena watched them both carefully, then sighed. “I’ll be back later for your statements, and I’ll let the nurses know you’re awake. And—” she shot Buck a pointed look “—that you snuck in here before you were cleared.”

Buck didn’t even react, his focus locked on Tommy.

A nurse came in to check Tommy’s vitals, adjusting the IV and making sure everything was steady. After a moment, she helped him sit up, propping him against the pillows. Then, she stepped back, nodding to the surgeon who entered next.

Then the surgeon explained Tommy’s surgery— The first shot, the one in his thigh, hadn’t gone deep—just a graze, but deep enough to bleed. The kind of wound that looked worse than it was. The kind of wound Tommy had barely even noticed at the time.

The second bullet had hit his spleen, causing major blood loss. The surgeons had been able to repair the damage, but in the end, they had to remove it.

He’d be okay. It would take time, but he’d be okay.

And then they were alone.

Tommy let out a breath, then huffed out something resembling a laugh. “No appendix, and now no spleen. What’s next?”

“Not funny.”

Tommy blinked at him, then shrugged one shoulder weakly. “A little funny.”

Buck didn’t even bother responding. This wasn’t funny. None of this was. And then the words slipped out before Buck could stop them— “You said loved.”

Tommy blinked. “Did I?”

Buck didn’t waver. “You loved me.”

Tommy opened his mouth—then closed it.

Then, slowly, he sank deeper into the bed, exhaling softly. His gaze flickered away for just a second—like admitting it would make it impossible to take back.

Then, barely above a whisper—raw, honest, a little tired— “I did… still do.”

Buck let out a slow, shaky breath. The weight of the last few hours, the last few months, settling all at once.

His fingers moved before his mind could catch up.

His fingertips ghosted over Tommy’s knuckles, tracing along the edge of his hand, before finally curling around it.

Warm. Steady.

For a moment, Tommy stayed still—then, with a quiet inhale, he shifted his hand, palm turning slightly, fingers twitching before curling weakly around Buck’s. Holding on.

Buck swallowed, held Tommy’s gaze, and nodded once.

“Good.”

[flamestar126]

Don't let the robot teach you Irken

(Click for better quality)

[loverofpiggies]

I STUMBLED ACROSS YOUR FIONNA AND CAKE COMIC AND WAS LIKE 'WOW THIS IS SO GOOD I SHOULD FOLOW THE PERSON MAKING THIS' AND THEN I LOOK AND I SEE LOVEROFPIGGIES!??!??? I USED TO FOLLOW YOU BACK IN YOUR UNDERTALE DAYS THIS IS SO SURREAL TO ME

HA HA YO WELCOME BACK TO MY HUMBLE LITTLE BLOG OVER HERE!!! you're not the only one who said that! I hope you enjoy what I got planned, it's gonna get nuts!

[cantdealwiththisnow]

Part 1 - Appreciation post for all the TFP universe Autobot mugshot cameos (known and unknown) in RID2015 3x25 (even if the context is that they've been OUSTED against their will)

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

FINISHED THE VAMPIRE LESTAT WHY WAS THAT GOOD AS FUCK

[batsplat]

Hi! I saw you mention how Honda tried to kill Marc and Joan in your latest Marc post and I was wondering if you could elaborate on that? I am fairly new to MotoGP and I keep seeing and hearing fans and experts speak of Marc’s last years at Honda in this way, implying the bike was absolutely terrible, but I cannot seem to find any explanation as to how bad exactly and why everyone keeps using the specific “It tried to kill them!” expression… 😭 If you have the time and/or interest to only, of course! It does interest me considering Marc had been riding his Hondas for so long at that point and also with how well he is adapting to the Ducati now, it just seems incredible to me that he would have any such problems with a bike!

(x) haha yeah of course. I feel like this is one of those motogp stories that I know so well by now I could recite it in my sleep, so it's no real bother to quickly type it out

honda has traditionally been one of the Big Names in the sport, and got a... decent-ish haul of titles this century even before marc joined the premier class (2001-3; 2006; 2011) (could've been better hehe). the pedrosa/stoner partnership helped develop a very good bike in the form of the RC213V, introduced at the start of the 2012 season for the new regulations (aka the 1000cc era, which we're still in). when marc joined honda, this was on balance (if by a fairly slim margin) the best bike on the grid. over the next couple of years, honda would go from initially establishing a more sizeable bike advantage over yamaha to running into trouble in the 2015 season - and for a while it looked like those troubles would continue into 2016. that year brought on a massive change to the championship in the switch back to michelin tyres and how all bikes would be forced to run on 'spec electronics'... basically it represented a big shake-up in the competitive order, and it took a while to see how well each manufacturer had managed to respond. but 2016 turned out better than expected for honda while its long-time rival yamaha increasingly struggled - and was soon replaced by ducati as honda's primary challenger. the ducati project generally seemed more on the cutting edge of the bike development than honda was, especially given how much attention they seemed to be paying to improving the aerodynamics of the bike... but, well, marc won a bunch of titles during that time, so whatever. 2013-14 and 2016-19 champ, honda was on paper the dominant force in the sport, all was well

except... except there was already trouble looming on the horizon. 2019 was the first year in which marc was the only honda rider to win a race. it might have been a close to flawless season from him, but this was clearly a bike that was increasingly suited to one rider and one alone - a bloke who happened to have the kind of freakish natural abilities to ride around the glaring issues of an increasingly temperamental bike. (it should be noted that marc too was crashing far more than was advisable in order to find the bike's limits, as he does have a tendency of doing - he just managed to not do it in the races. see here on the question of marc and 'lucky' crashers.) though it wasn't just a question of marc being able to harness a naturally tricky package... the bike was specifically developed around him and his unique riding style, which meant that honda was inevitably increasingly reliant solely on marc marquez. honda didn't sign up dani in a test rider role upon his retirement at the end of 2018, letting ktm snatch him up instead... and they missed out on what could have been valuable feedback from jorge, who never adapted properly to the bike and was struggling with injury throughout that 2019 season. now, okay, this isn't ideal for a manufacturer, but also you can't complain too much when your number one rider is so good he's singlehandedly winning the team's and constructor's championships for you. honda and marc reaffirmed their mutual devotion with a staggering four year deal at the very start of 2020 for 2021-24, so it was essentially a half decade long commitment to each other... felt pretty insane, even at the time. both sides decided their fates were to be inextricably tied, and put pen on paper to confirm as much

and then marc got injured. within the span of a week in 2020, honda was essentially banished to competitive wilderness, perhaps not helped by their controversial decision to replace the outgoing three time premier class champion with marc's younger brother to complete their factory line-up. 2020 was basically a write-off as soon as it started - and not only did that mean honda wasn't winning in the short-term, but they were bereft of their lead rider who had been responsible for determining the development direction. the crisis was compounded by the impact of the pandemic, which hit all of the japanese manufacturers particularly hard - as well as exacerbating existing issues within the honda project, which at times approached development too conservatively and were not proactive enough in poaching rival engineers to provide new insight as needed. as a result, when marc returned in 2021, he was provided with a bike that was already in a pretty sorry state... but also one which, given how his arm was still causing him considerable problems, he could not ride to its fullest potential. marc still comfortably outperformed the other honda riders and was able to bag a pair of heroic wins at his specialist circuits of sachsenring and cota (tracks that honda was still well-suited to and also mitigated marc's right shoulder struggles as a result of the anti-clockwise layout), as well as an extra win at his strongest clockwise circuit of the calendar, misano (though he was helped by the two factory ducatis ahead of him binning it lol). right after that, he suffered a recurrence of his past problems with diplopia as a result of a training crash and was ruled out of the rest of the season... but you could still say there was a little bit of hope for better things to come

but things just kept going from bad to worse, to the point where you eventually lost track of the number of times you heard the descriptor 'worst weekend in honda's history'. initially, it looked like 2022 pre-season testing might be quite promising, and the honda did have a grand total of one decent-ish race (where marc wasn't actually the highest honda finisher, very very rare in the post-dani days). so there was initially some optimism around the radically redesigned bike, with a completely reworked chassis and new aero and new swingarms and so on. the bike was supposed to be more powerful as well as more rideable, but this ended up being far from the reality. at the very next race in indonesia, marc suffered a vicious highside that brought with it a worrying return of the diplopia, so soon after the last occurrence, and meant he was again sidelined. the other honda riders weren't doing much better, either scrapping for lower points positions or crashing themselves. after struggling on for a while, marc made the decision to get another surgery for his arm, postponing his season indefinitely. once again, honda was directionless, and it was hard to see any clear improvements or even where any improvements were supposed to come from

the situation was so obviously catastrophic that marc actually returned to the paddock before being fit to ride again to essentially inspect honda's progress and to have meetings with key honda personnel. in austria, he held a special press conference to discuss his visit - and then said press conference had to be cut short by a storm threatening to rip honda hospitality apart. which feels a little on the nose, but anyways. marc made his return after his successful surgery, and even he could only work so much magic with that bike... his strongest race was at phillip island, where he bagged his one podium of the year and was still in victory contention on the last lap. honda had also managed to secure two high profile rider signings for the following year - the two suzuki lads who had been left in the lurch by the manufacturer deciding very suddenly to leave the sport. 2020 world champ joan mir went to the repsol honda team, and alex rins, who was really too good and too highly rated for this gig under normal circumstances, ended up with the satellite lcr squad. the hope was that at least now they might have a better chance at having more than one competitive rider, who should also be able to provide development feedback and serve as a benchmark for marc post-arm injury

and then came 2023. honda's 2020 was horrible. its 2021 was embarrassing. its 2022 was disastrous. its 2023... well, that was just apocalyptic. this time there were no pre-season false dawns. honda's most dramatic problem wasn't that they had built a bike that was too slow (although it was also that), or that they were so obviously behind the development curve in several different areas (which they very much were) - it's that they'd built a bike that was so unreliable and prone to errors that by this point it was horrendously easy to crash. a lot of this is about grip and the way the tyres interact with the surface: if you're not getting enough feedback from this interaction, then you will not be able to get enough feeling to know when you have to make a correction to prevent the bike from throwing you off... even if you are marc marquez. the rear wheel issues and the lack of edge grip are particularly nasty, because they make highsides a lot more likely - you know, the crashes that throw you in the air and are particularly likely to seriously injure riders. so you have a bike that is not only extremely likely to throw off its riders, but is also likely to do so in a particularly painful, dangerous way. plus it was exhausting to ride, and, it has to be stressed, really really was not fast enough

the season does actually start with a slight glimmer of hope, with marc's pole at portimao (courtesy of a bastianini-provided tow) and a sprint podium... and then he crashed out in portimao, taking the home hero with him and fracturing his hand. as a result, marc was again out with injury for a few races - including at his beloved cota, where rinsy ended up securing honda's first and only win since end of 2021 (admittedly pecco did help the cause by crashing out of the lead). this did lead to some debate about how maybe the bike wasn't all that bad after all... but, well. obviously it was

from then on, it's all just misery. after the first race, joan doesn't manage to finish a sunday race in the next nine grand prix weekends - but he also only makes the start in five of those, partly courtesy of a finger fracture he picks up at mugello. alex rins breaks his leg at mugello, an injury he is still limping as a result of, and only managed to start two more races that season. marc shows up to his best track on the whole calendar, sachsenring, the one it should be impossible to beat him at... and he crashes five times that weekend before eventually withdrawing from the race. he's out for two races with rib and finger fractures

this is the breaking point. if marc can't win at the sachsenring and is hurting himself this badly while even bothering to try, the situation just feels increasingly untenable. this wasn't good for either marc or honda - what they needed by this point wasn't a star rider impatiently and miserably watching his remaining competitive years tick by, they needed to rethink everything they were doing and essentially start from scratch. for a long time, an idea of a split between honda and marc felt unthinkable, partly because of marc's deep loyalty towards that team, and also partly due to the more practical matter of his contract running until the end of 2024. but, well, the unthinkable became ever more thinkable as the season progressed. by necessity, marc had to change his approach after the sachsenring debacle, dialling back his competitive instincts and riding the bike at a slower pace in the ignominy of the lower points positions in order to not continuously injure himself. at times, it felt like he was riding slow out of protest - a very pointed 'well either I crash or I'm uncompetitive' - as honda continued to falter. a post-race test in misano prompted a further moment of crisis... marc was so deeply unimpressed by the 2024 prototype he had tested that this inevitably will have helped push him out the door and to gresini ducati. it's hard to exaggerate how bonkers this was... one of the greatest riders in history breaking their contract with their factory - and not just any factory, with honda - to instead go ride year-old satellite machinery. the move was obviously a good idea and the right thing to do, but that didn't make it feel any less crazy that it had actually come so far. how the mighty had fallen etc etc

y'know, joan has a good line about honda this year that he's trotted out quite a few times, where he says nobody leaves honda in a better state than they join it. the bike this season is somehow even slower, though *taps on wood* at least its homicidal tendencies haven't caused any serious injuries thus far. it's been a pretty miserable decline... it's not just the bodies that are getting hurt - it's also demoralising for the riders, and it becomes very easy to lose confidence in your own ability, to be unable to trust your feel for the bike, to become scared of when it will next throw you off. it becomes increasingly hard to motivate yourself, to keep coming back for more... great riders can get a lot out of poor bikes... but there is a limit. even for marc, that honda was a bridge too far

and of course marc's adaptation to the ducati is impressive... but it is a very very good bike! not just in the sense that it's fast - it's also good in that riders with very different riding styles are able to get a lot from that package. what marc is attempting to do right now is to extract performance from a package that is fundamentally there to be extracted: in spite of the increasingly obvious disparity with the gp24's, he is still riding a bike that won the championship last year and as a result doesn't have to ride wildly beyond its limit to make it go fast. he's done an excellent job of adapting his riding style to the demands of the ducati after such a long time on the honda, but fundamentally what he's trying to do here is study all the other ducati riders, see how they go fast, and put his own spin on it. once he's completely finished with the adaptation process (and yes, I'm aware he says he already has), he'll continue doing stuff with that bike that nobody else could... but from a better baseline of performance. I mean, look at where the other gp23's are this year - it's not great, but it's not honda levels bad. both in terms of their pace and in terms of whether you feel like the bike has been infested by a malicious spirit

a useful way of framing it is that you can measure how good a bike is by several different metrics. let's keep it simple and say two of those metrics are whether the bike is fast and whether it is rideable... whether it is user-friendly, if you will. the honda bike of the late 2010's was both fast and not particularly rideable - and you can say something similar of the ducati in times past. so for instance in 2007, at the start of the 800cc era, ducati does a great job in building a very quick bike... but they still had to have the stroke of good fortune to sign the perfect guy to take advantage of that speed, casey stoner. again, undoubtedly that was a very fast bike, but it's also extremely capricious - and even pretty highly rated riders couldn't get anywhere close to pulling off the kinds of performances casey did. but then, over the next few years, ducati fucked it and the bike gradually became worse pace-wise compared to its competitors while still being a nightmare to ride. which is why you have even casey in 2010 struggling to get much out of the bike, cf how he ended up finishing fourth in the championship standings behind a guy who had broken his leg during the season. and then ducati spends several years completely out at sea until 2015-ish. even the most adaptable rider who is able to push bikes beyond the limits of what should be possible cannot completely overcome a dramatic pace deficit. at some point, it just becomes too big an ask - and the honda's decline has been even more dramatic than what post-casey ducati suffered. there's a limit, even for marc... who could be fast last year, who did still manage to do exciting things with that bike. but more often than not, when he pushed, he crashed. now at last, marc can go back to simply attempting the improbable, not the impossible

[stabbyfoxandrew]

angel neil pls! 🌟

WIP Wednesday (4/24) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 172)

“I graduated on May 11th.”

“As in six months ago May 11th?" Andrew asks, in disbelief. "This year?”

“Yep,” Neil nods, the barest hint of a smile on his face. God, that’s so depressing. Neil’s life ended before it could even begin. But if he graduated a year after Andrew…

“I guess that makes you what? Eighteen?” Andrew asks. When Neil nods, Andrew asks, “When’s your birthday?”

“Why?”

Andrew shrugs. "You know mine."

“Take your pick." Neil starts. "Chris’ was September 14th. Stefan, June 23rd. Alex, December 9th. Jackie was August 4th, but I wasn’t him for long. I’ve had a few in February, one on Valentine’s Day, even—”

Andrew holds a hand up. “I want the real one.”

Neil works his jaw a couple times before answering, “January 19th.”

“And what name was attached to that date?”

“Ronald McDonald,” Neil answers immediately. It’s not that funny, but mixed with his meds it makes Andrew cackle so hard he ends up coughing. (Damn, maybe he should listen to Kevin and stop smoking. Nah.) Andrew lines himself out before Neil can start angel CPR or something. Oh, what an idea that is.

“Classy. Though, you look more like the Hamburglar to me.”

“Thanks a lot.” Neil says with a snort. Andrew regards him for a moment. How can a man have gone by so many names? Wouldn't he have gotten them confused? Instead of asking that, Andrew has a different question.

"I already know your father's last name. Why can't I have-"

Neil worries his bottom lip. “Because I hate it."

"Why?"

"I just do. I mean, it's not the worst thing my father ever did to me, but it's up there. I can give you my middle name, if you want it." Neil says. Andrew does, so he nods. After a couple seconds, he gets a quiet, "It's Abram."

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[hikeyzz]

i'm 26 now!!!! i made it to 26!!!! i made it to my late 20s!!!! i'm growing up & growing old!!!!! i'm so lucky!!!!!!!

[sysig]

Let me chew you out a little, since we have a couple minutes (Patreon)

[Panel 1] Prismo: *mumble* *mumble*

[Panel 2] Prismo: *mumble*

[Panel 3] Simon: Hmph. “Just because it’s in your head-”

[Panel 4] Simon: “-Doesn’t mean it’s yours,” huh?

[Panel 5] Simon: Give me all the responsibility with none of the privileges?

[Panel 6] Simon: And then you get mad at me for trying to pick up your slack? Prismo: Hey...

[Panel 7] Simon: Clearly you already expect that much from me!

[Panel 8] Prismo: Hey, hey! I did the best with what I had! I didn’t expect any of this!

[Panel 9] Simon: And yet you didn’t even consider telling me, so we could’ve avoided this?

[Panel 10] Prismo: It’s not like I could’ve just- taken it out! I was locked out!

[Panel 11] Simon: You could’ve done something!

[Panel 12] Simon: Instead you let my life spiral around this thing, kept me tethered to Ice King’s Madness-

[Panel 13] Prismo: Fionna and Cake are real thou- Simon: NOW you tell me! After I find out for myself!

[yoosung-ah]

1. why is it even an option to not try lol. like, yeah, I didn't feel like being awake any longer anyway and would prefer to stress out my already-stressed-out bf. goodnight, Saeran

2. bro.. you can't just get on top of me like that, looking like an actual angel, when I was just gassed and have no idea where I am... gonna make me lose consciousness again looking all pretty like that

3. actual jumpscare. I usually love horror, but V you gotta give us a content warning for that kind of thing. Jesus

4. undoubtedly highly important information that V and his dark web hacker-for-hire can weaponize against us

I bet Rika saw him practicing his villain repertoire and rolled her eyes into the back of her skull. V also said Rika smelled like manure, and she said she's bored by having only him as company. love how these two actually want nothing to do with each other but insist on ruining each other's lives anyway

I might really have to attack this man. not even for the reasons most players would, either, but because if he wants crazy, I am more than happy to oblige given the current circumstances. maybe then he'll realize what's good for him. but since he's a pacifist: it's because you need therapy. there. now go put that secretly-loaded bank account to good use, love yourself, and get out of here before something truly awful happens. like, idk, going to prison

Chairman Han route when. everyone's like "where's the Vanderwood route at" but by the time we get more content, like a reboot, we'll be looking at Jumin's dad a different kinda way. we can fix him if we try hard enough

not a misunderstanding. I am unfortunately in love with you, just as I am with Saeran, which is why this AE pains me more than most. I even - like the unfaithful player that I am - told you that I liked you back in a previous call and didn't tell you off for being weird. let's not play coy now.

there's probably an uncomfortable and confusing tension in the house due to our shamelessness, and we should all - Rika included - just accept it before things get actually uncomfortable and confusing on day 3

[brielarsonist]

I made the lessons in chemistry lasagna!! this was my first time ever making a lasagna from scratch and it took me forever, but I'm really happy with how it turned out!! and it's very tasty!

[flamestar126]

Game Night with Douglas

Click for better quality

What happens after Douglas leaves for a second

rambling about their outfit in tags

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Head in my hands wondering if I'll have to cut the entire Chume Labs section out because it's more suited to being a different chapter, but also knowing the next chapter can't have it either so I might have to cut it from this fic entirely aaaAAAAAAAAAA