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liam lawson hanahaki disease helmet reveal photo

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“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

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i put some ideas down, have like,,, 500 words of mostly set up, i just know that will all go to the bin at the rewrite but whatever

ok i’m officially starting my Ducati polycule wip tonight, this has consumed my mind

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ok i’m officially starting my Ducati polycule wip tonight, this has consumed my mind

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I don't wanna talk about the race anymore but I will talk about the fact that @certainstarfishllama has posted part one of her ducati polycule (you made remember my asks about it) - you can (and should) read it here

@certainstarfishllama we love you, you're amazing

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i think riders should snitch more, y’all are lame if you think this is indicative of a flaw in their character

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why do you keep reaching for my hand | 7,4K, lawsunoda

after jeddah 2025, omegaverse, omega yuki beta liam

blurb :

“Yuki,” Liam called again, though softly. This time, Yuki opened his eyes, staring at him with a heavy gleam in his eyes. Liam was trying to remember if Yuki had looked unwell this morning. He had only seemed sleepy, nothing particularly wrong.

“I…” Yuki started, his voice rough, “I think I took the meds too late.” He said under his breath, almost embarrassed.

Meds. Meds. Liam’s brain ran through all the possibilities, scrambling to gauge the situation.

And then it clicked.

Heat blockers.

or : Liam doesn't have a hotel to stay at in Faenza and Yuki let him sleep at his place

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interviewer: thoughts on davide tardozzi saying ducati has the king of motogp by marc and the prince of motogp by pecco

marc: we are in the castle of motogp that is ducati

pecco: for the age it's normal, he's older so yeah,,, he's the king

Pecco Bagnaia and Marc Márquez

the ‘i’ll let marc be ungentlemanly’ quote had me thinking about Pecco as a prince and Marc as a knight

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Pecco admitting he's fucking balding lmaooooooooooooo

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what do u mean charles leclerc has an actual book called words of wisdom where he adds funny quotes from his engineers and hes been keeping it for seven years. what do u mean when he said let's add that to the words of wisdom he was being dead serious and literal. help

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this is my comeback to that hellhole I guess

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Okay so,,, i keep thinking about the ducati polycule

so we know via Marc’s stories that Gemma take online italian classes, do you think Pecco and Domi would be helping her afterwards with her homework

they would be all four of them in Marc’s place or at a race wherever they are staying and while Marc would be a menace, Pecco being rather type A would be the only thing holding the study session together

Domi wouldn’t be as much of a menace but would kiss Gemma each time she replied correctly both for praise and to distract her, after getting bored her and marc would 100% make out to make Gemma and Pecco horny want to stop it

and it would 100% end up in sex but only after Gemma finished the homework and practice (Pecco would probably just give her the answers by the end, if Marc had worn them down enough)

also i remember Marc telling Pecco after a race that he should learn catalan and i 100% see him asking gemma to teach him basic sentences and additional words and after a race he would try praise and say something very sweet to marc in catalan

And because it’s after a race and he is exhausted he would say it slightly wrong and marc wouldn’t understand and then they are swept away for podiums and interviews and there are too many cameras

And the whole thing is probably a good thing because you know how your first language just hits different and is less emotionally distant cause you cannot get away from the words? yeah so Marc would fold so quick and it’s a good think no one is around when Pecco finally tells him want he wanted to tell him :)

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would anyone be interested in beta reading a fic i almost finished doing my first rounds of editing

7k word - rated E - Liam POV - beta Liam x omega Yuki

I started working on it before Liam was even announced for redbull so it went through a lot of changes and i fear the emotional arc and pacing got a bit fucked

also english is not my first language so i probably missed mistakes or awkward phrasing or messed up the sequence of tenses (aka my nemesis)

and finally there is smut and i am hashtag not that great at writing it so,,, id appreciate some feedback

anyway, if that sounds like something you’d be interested in, feel free to reply to that or to dm me <3

Edit : I posted it :)

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turbulent : bez/marc, 1.7k words. pt.11 (pt.10 here)

An empty water bottle hits the TV screen and bounces to the concrete with a hollow noise. Seconds later, the feed cuts: a smiling, champagne-drenched Marc replaced with black. Uccio’s irritated laugh bounces around the box. Bez wipes his face again, holding the wet towel over his eyes.

His disappointment is less acrid than usual. P7 isn’t a podium, but they’ll be playing his battle with Marc in every highlight reel for the rest of the year, and a little bit of satisfaction had sliced through him at how Marc must have felt the need to cut the way he used to with Valentino; rough and raging and completely unstoppable, win or crash.

So, at least he’s a worthy opponent. And at least, after his debrief and a shower, he can zip his suitcase up and follow Marc to his jet, to Madrid.

They meet on the tarmac. Marc has this look on his face like he’s on the edge of self-flagellating, but Bez bites it from his lips once the cabin door is sealed and finds himself staring into the endorphin-bright smile of a winner when he pulls back.

“Better,” he says, to which Marc snorts, and then laughs, and then covers his mouth with bashful fingers.

The week in Madrid melts like butter in the sun. There’s no adjustment period, no baby steps in learning how to spend this much time with each other. They spend half a day on Marc’s favourite cycling track, and Marc dutifully massages the knots from Bez’s calves and thighs the evening off, complaints endured and laughed. There is swimming, because it’s almost too warm not too, and one night where they break their diets and put a pause on the easy home cooking routine they’d fallen into.

Valentino calls the night before they’re due to split and fly in for the next race, and Bez takes it with Marc warm against his chest. The conversation isn’t anything groundbreaking: Valentino checks in, briefs him on some media duties for the weekend ahead, and, in the final thirty seconds, asks again if they’re alright — if Bez is doing okay.

The tension doesn’t drain from Marc’s shoulders when the call ends, when Valentino says, “Allora, it is late here, at least, maybe the same where you are. Sleep well, yes?”

Marc wriggles further down the couch and tips his head to peer up at Bez half-upside down.

“He cares about you all very much,” he says, and there’s enough bitterness in the words to turn Bez’s stomach. It’s difficult, managing the capacity in which he has Valentino and knowing Marc had that and more — had Valentino promising to look out for him, calling him the next best thing to anyone who’d listen.

Bez hums. Marc looks away. His voice is choked when he speaks again.

“I really would — if that stopped for you because he — found out, I would,” he cuts himself off, swallowing hard. Bez sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. He brings his hands around to find Marc’s, catching his fingers where they’re fretting at the hem of his shirt.

“But it wouldn’t have anything to do with you.”

Marc barks a dry laugh.

“You can say, but I know. It jeopardises for you — your team, and in the academy, and —”

Bez squeezes his hands.

“It’s not the same as it was when he did it to you,” he whispers. It feels cruel, saying that, but it’s true. Valentino’s Godhood status has waned in the court of public opinion, even if the man himself seems blind to the fall.

Dredging up the past ten years down the line will do that, eventually. People tire of it.

“And I have the guys,” Bez adds, “they would lose it if he tried to fuck me over.”

It eases a laugh from Marc’s chest, what must be the image of Pecco abandoning his Type A reticence in favour of giving Valentino a serve. They fall quiet again. On Marc’s TV, the protagonist saves his love interest from a bubbling vat of acid. Bez has no clue what’s happening. He’d stopped paying attention twelve minutes in.

“Are you thinking about it, then?”

He can’t stop himself from asking, mind whirling at what had sparked this line of thought in Marc’s head. Marc makes a questioning noise, and Bez blinks down at the crown of his head.

“About — them finding out. Or telling people.”

“Oh.”

“It is — I don’t expect you to want to now, or — ever, I mean, it’s—”

“No, maybe. It would be most dangerous for you, right?”

Dangerous. Dangerous like the vat of acid — like a volcano, a snake pit, a saw trap. Ten years of Valentino’s anger concentrated into a single shining moment, levelled at the pair of them like the barrel of a rifle. Bez doesn’t know how he’d react. If it’d be fire and brimstone or cold, quiet fury. If he’d wake up the next day to a broken contract in his email inbox, to news headlines about a lost seat and a scandalous affair.

He swallows a pearl-sized ball of dread, feels it land like a cement block at the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t think it would be the worst thing,” he allows. It’s Marc’s turn now to slow his nervous fingers, locking their hands together. “Not yet, maybe. It is nice now, while it’s quiet.”

Marc makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. He pulls away suddenly, shifting till he’s beside Bez and not on him, able now to meet his eyes.

“You could tell Pecco.”

Bez blinks.

“Really?”

Marc shrugs, pulling a face.

“He seems like the most reasonable, after Luca. And then you have two people on your side, in case anything — you know.”

It’s not a bad idea. They’ve been so fucking careful, but Luca had seemed to work it out, if not completely without confirmation. The risk of something getting out before they’re ready is never zero, not when they’re creeping back and forth between motorhomes and sharing jets.

“Okay,” he says, “if you’re fine with it.”

__________

Pecco wins on Sunday by a second and a half. Bez knocks on the door of his motorhome at midnight, when he knows the Ducati celebrations have finally wound down. Pecco opens the door in a t-shirt and sweats, freshly showered and still glowing.

“When are you due?” Bez asks, grinning as he slips through the door and ducking away from the swipe Pecco aims at him. The joke isn’t enough to dull Pecco’s heat-red cheeks or to wipe the grin from his face, and within moments they’re settled on either end of Pecco’s couch with beers in hand.

“Special detour just to visit me and say congratulations?” Pecco ribs. Bez can hear the genuine question in his tone — the miniscule kernel of suspicion tucked beneath his tongue. He grins, clears his throat, licks his lips. Pecco has the air conditioner on, but Bez is sweating. It’s not that warm of a night. He’s just — nervous.

But Marc had agreed. Had called Pecco reasonable, and from the bathroom of his motorhome only half an hour ago, had said, “You’re friends, too close for this to ruin it. He will be okay, yeah?”

Pecco’s face turns serious when Bez’s hesitation stretches on too long.

“Bez?” he prods, reaching to place his beer on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”

Bez knits his fingers together. Pictures how Marc had held his hands over his stomach just four days ago. The rough scratch of his callouses.

“Yeah,” he manages, and then forces a laugh, “this is going to ruin your mood, I think. It is lucky that you won. That’s a good buffer.”

To his credit, Pecco only sits silently, sheet-white, open-mouthed, for twelve seconds.

“Marc Márquez?” he asks, as if there’s anyone else Bez could be talking about. “What about that — the girl you were—? Ah, Marco.”

Bez cringes. He’d forgotten about that.

“I know,” he says, “I know, just — Luca is aware, no — I didn’t tell him before you, he figured it out, okay.” He silences Pecco with a pointed finger. “Valentino doesn’t —”

“Obviously, he doesn’t know,” Pecco interrupts, scoffing. “Are you going to tell him?”

Not unless my life depends on it.

“Eventually, right, I have to, if this is…”

“Serious. Is it serious? Is that why you’re — telling me?”

Bez nods. Pecco sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Bez can see him forcing the judgement back down in real time, eyes narrowed.

“Okay. Sure. Well, if you are both —”

“Ah, don’t, I hate that. Gross.”

Pecco lifts an offended eyebrow, but gives up his train of thought without a fight. They lapse into quiet while Bez counts the racing beat of his heart. That had been reasonable. Pecco was reasonable.

“You have to be careful,” he says suddenly, “if you are not going to tell him for a while. He asked me if you were — if there was something going on.”

Fear spikes sharp in his gut. Because of the interview.

“That was — I got angry. I shouldn’t have. But he’s — Marc is so — it’s. It’s hard. I can see it, what all that stuff with Vale did to him.”

He squeezes his hands into fist and takes a deep breath.

“I mean, you were there for it, right? Did you not think that — while it was happening, that it was bad?”

Pecco’s expression crumples. He looks away.

“I don’t know. I was young. Valentino didn’t talk about it to me much.”

White-hot anger replaces the sick flutter of moth wings in his stomach. Valentino hadn’t talked to them about it until he had; until he decided they were old enough to start waging the war on his behalf.

“It’s not fair,” Bez mutters. It’s all he thinks about sometimes. How unfair it had been. How things had just spiralled out of control in front of Marc’s disbelieving eyes. The thought of telling Valentino — it looms like an Everest climb. Bez wants to not care about it. Wants to say fuck him and just get past it, wants to feel like telling Valentino isn’t a chemical pit begging to melt them down.

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HELLO???????

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YOU like Yuki Tsunoda because you think he’s a yappy little angry swearing chihuahua baby who was #relatable for saying he doesn’t like to work out on drive to survive

I like Yuki because I understand his desire to be taken seriously for his abilities but not berated for having a personality and not fitting into cultural stereotypes and he has real talent, skill and the mentality to thrive and I want him to SUCCEED AND BE ACKNOWLEDGED AND LOVED AND TO BE HAPPY!!!! WE ARE NOT THE SAME!!!

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i started writing that yuki/liam fic before liam was even announced for rb and now i have to re write it all cause not only liam went to rb he then moved back to vcarb and their dynamic is now FUCKED. i just wanted to write some silly abo smut and now i’m having to ponder over falling apart friendship and because i am me this is just making me SAD