#is this rosquez...it's entirely possible

[meelonkurb]

i love disco elysium with moto twinks

i love sketching random stuff so why not vatino as harry

[moonshynecybin]

I found this interview if Marc and Alex and it’s now one of my favourites. Also Marc’s first words being it’s better than Italy and talking about still having vales posters that there just in a box.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fdXmkEli6Is

interview lady is out of pocket lmaoooo... this being 2019 and marc still having the posters/mini bikes kept in a box like a haunting shrine of relationship keepsakes. okay! him immediately sensing that is an insane thing to admit and being like I ALSO HAD MICK DOOHAN BIKES even though we saw the footage of his bedroom when he was 20 and it was. entirely valentino bikes. also okay.

anyways she also asked vale about marc in this video and he made this face which was also very funny. a tumblrina fr.

[twiceeshy]

mi casa es su casa

Read on ao3.

Summary: Marc moves in. Vale has a crisis.

Set in end-2026.

T, rosquez, 4355w.

--

There had been the weight of something guilt-adjacent pressing on Vale's chest ever since the start of Marc's moving out party.

Initially, he didn't think too much of it when they decided that Marc would be the one to uproot himself and live with Vale. After all, Vale had a perfectly nice house - clean, spacious, well-organised - and he had his own track. There was plenty to keep Marc happy. Why wouldn't he want to be there?

He only realised that this was a considerable sacrifice on Marc's part when Marc spent his party tearing up at the most random things, between loud laughs and stupid jokes.

"You're thirty-three, it's about time," Alex said, probably only partially in jest. But a man would have to be oblivious to ignore the way they stuck by each other's sides for the night, despite the small crowd of friends and family who were present. Like twins, they were. Alex's girlfriend looked highly amused. Vale felt disturbed.

Their living room was filled with large boxes of Marc's possessions. A courier company would pick them up the next day. Vale did not put himself in proximity of the boxes when he could avoid it. He was suddenly itching to head back to Tavullia as quickly as possible in order to clear out drastically more space for Marc to make himself at home. If he could, he would tell Marc to stay here for a few more days while Vale did a better job at making room for him. He'd left him half the wardrobe and an entire room for his office, but what if Marc needed more? What if he secretly hated the bed or the furnishings? They could redo the interior from scratch if they had to.

He'd never considered that he was asking for so much when he asked Marc to stay with him. Marc didn't complain or use it as leverage against him. He never seemed to use anything as leverage. Even when they first got back together and Marc had misgivings, he had been too kind, too quick to forgive. Vale kept waiting and waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Marc to realise that he actually was still angry. He never did.

Vale decided that he would never take more than he gave to Marc again, but here they were.

When the party dispersed, Marc detached himself from Alex to nestle into Vale's side. He had a glass of red wine in hand and a light flush to his cheeks, but he never drank very much anymore for health reasons, and no amount of alcohol had ever been enough to make him clumsy in the first place.

"Let's sit down," Marc said, leading them to the living room sofa, the only clear space amidst the boxes. He laid his head on Vale's lap once Vale was seated. Somehow, he did not spill a drop of wine. Vale took the glass from him to place on a box. He ran his fingers through Marc's hair, clean and conditioned. Marc washed it too frequently for oil to accumulate.

He smiled softly, rather like a satisfied cat.

"Alex says he arranged for the courier to come in later so he can drive us to the airport tomorrow," he said.

"That's good," Vale said. He wasn't sure if he and Alex would ever see eye to eye, but Marc deserved the send-off he wanted. "Are you looking forward to going?"

He knew the answer wasn't a clear yes. He wanted to hear what Marc would say- if he would lie.

"I always look forward," Marc said philosophically. "Back is where you have regrets."

Vale sighed. "Brat. That wasn't what I meant."

Marc shrugged with one shoulder. "But it's my answer."

He looked simultaneously keyed-up and exhausted. Vale nudged him up and into his bedroom. He could afford to be selfish and let his brother take care of the house for him one more time. That, and Vale didn't like being surrounded by all of Marc's things when they were packed away.

Marc took a detour to rinse his wine glass. Vale was otherwise gratified to have him follow.

--

They arrived at Vale's home the next day with Marc's gigantic suitcase. Vale needed Marc to unpack everything so he would take up his half of the wardrobe instead of living as a guest, but he found himself tongue-tied on the subject, and didn't say anything when Marc went straight to taking a shower.

"You are not going to live out of a suitcase, are you?" Vale asked afterwards, hoping he didn't sound too perturbed. He had followed Marc out of the bathroom - now with the addition of Marc's basic toiletries - to remind him where the laundry basket was. Vale's very yellow basket, which Marc would never purchase for himself. Vale had the strange urge to throw it away and buy a neutral one. Maybe in grey, since Marc's entire house had been weirdly dull and spartan.

Marc gave him a inquiring look. "I'll unpack after a nap. Are we cooking dinner?"

It was five in the evening, and if Marc's idea of domestic bliss included a habit of cooking, Vale would need to restock his fridge. "We can drive out to pick up something you like."

Marc perked up. "Pizza?"

"Whatever you want," Vale said, shamefully relieved to have a request to fulfil. He didn't know why this- this thing about getting Marc to be more obtrusive was so uncomfortable. It sat like a lead weight in his chest. He would flay himself to get it out. "Just ask for more Marc, please," he wanted to say.

"Let me get ready too, then we go," Vale said, putting his hands against Marc's waist to move around him. Marc leaned into his touch and slanted a glance at him. He puckered his lips for a kiss. It was sweet, corny nonsense that Vale should be working harder for, but Marc wanted, so he gave. And Marc was too easily satisfied.

--

Vale emerged from the bathroom to see that Marc had quickly put away all of his clothes. His suitcase stood neatly in a corner, tucked beside the door. A bag of chargers and cables sat at the centre of the foot of the bed, not claiming either side.

"I thought I would pack everything," Marc said with a little grin.

A suitcase of clothes had far from enough clothes to fill a wardrobe, and Marc and had missed out on a nap for this. Vale regretted speaking. He should have left Marc to his devices, so he could have walked out of the bathroom and tripped over Marc's luggage spread out on the floor. Then he would have cursed and acquired a bruise, and maybe Marc would laugh because he always did, this time from bed, with the lackadaisical approach of a man who had made himself too comfortable to move.

The neatness was bothersome.

It would be better when Marc's things arrived by courier.

"Of course, make yourself at home," Vale said. He sat down in the middle of the bed and signalled for Marc to join him. When he did, clean and barefoot, Vale took him in his arms and tipped them over. He arranged them carefully to avoid aggravating any old injuries. Marc's head was pillowed on his upper arm. They faced each other from a hair's breadth away. Eye contact with Marc was interesting; he never looked away first. Back when Vale had been wrong, he used to find it sinister.

"You should pick a side of the bed," Vale said.

Marc curled himself up more comfortably; compact and cat-like. Vale had always been fond of cats. "Like this is good. I don't mind," Marc said.

"You will make my arm numb," Vale complained. Marc laughed brightly.

"Then we are the same."

It was a rare acknowledgement that his arm troubled him. Vale marvelled every time he was open. Sometimes he said things that made Vale cringe, and Vale would probably have to die before he could return the sentiment.

Vale pulled him closer so his lips grazed Marc's forehead and inhaled the sweet scent of his shampoo. Marc closed his eyes. "I'm finally here," he said.

--

When asked later that evening, Marc claimed that he had not many possessions.

He looked through Vale's collection of DVDs and vinyls with interest, but little recognition. "They look important, you don't have to get rid of any of these," he said, turning down Vale's offer. "I don't have a lot of stuff that belongs here. Maybe leave a space for my Playstation."

"It's small, there's already space for it," Vale said. He was imploring, though he did not know what for. His collections were painstakingly put together and organised. He did not want to give them up, but he couldn't rest until he did something.

"That's good, no?" Marc asked. "Everything is on Netflix for me. I can use this for my pictures," he said, waving at an empty space next to the television.

"Everything is not on Netflix," Vale said, aghast. One could even argue that none of the good shows were on Netflix.

"Like MotoGP and football," Marc agreed. "Anyway, I have nothing."

Vale exhaled deeply. Marc wasn't trying to be difficult, he told himself, he was being considerate. "Are you sure?" he had to ask once more.

He watched Marc train his eyes along the shelves, pausing briefly at the photos of his current rivals - Vale's protégés - and his model bikes.

"No it's fine, you can keep your things. I don't have a lot that fits here. I don't like a clutter," he said.

Vale did like a clutter. He had an treasured collection, full of taste and personality, all put proudly on display. He briefly considered throwing it all away just to murder the thing that sat on his chest.

--

Marc mainly took up little unobtrusive sections of the house that had been cleared up for him in the first place. One had to look carefully to ascertain that he lived there. Maybe that was how he tended to occupy a home.

He repurposed the vanity in their bedroom to serve its actual function, and lined it up neatly with little glass bottles of skin products that he used with disciplined rigour. There was a day routine and a night routine that required different products, he explained. And since he needed to wash off sweat after exercising, he needed a good moisturiser to offset the dryness caused by soap. Vale didn't know anyone else who took so many showers. It seemed to be an entirely self-inflicted problem.

Marc had products for bags under his eyes, even though his eyes were already nice. He had products to soothe his skin, even though his skin was clear.

Vale didn't understand this. There was a logic to the little rituals of self-care that only women and gay men were privy to, he supposed. He could admit to himself that he was slightly bisexual, but attraction to Marc didn't mean he had adopted the rest of the package.

In the coming days, Marc's gorgeous RC213V would arrive with his contingent of training bikes, and he informed Vale of his idea to have it accompany Vale's M1 in the bedroom. That, Vale understood better, and it was the statement of presence he looked forward to. The two bikes would stand side by side in violent, erotic glory: his elegant blue lady, and Marc's happy-go-lucky devil in disguise. Marc didn't use to keep a bike in his bedroom, but he said that having only a Yamaha in his proximity felt imbalanced.

"They'll be watching us," Vale said gleefully. Marc gave him a look that suggested his thoughts were weird, but he laughed anyway.

--

The lead weight in Vale's chest kept twisting over the next week. He told himself that things would improve when Marc's cartons of possessions finally arrived, but he didn't convince himself it was true.

Knowing Marc as he knew him, the transition was not as painless as he pretended. No doubt he was able to handle the changes well, but his happiness was another question. Vale should have considered this problem a long time before the move. Even if he could clone himself twenty times, he could not produce Marc a social network. They should have started working on one earlier.

In Tavullia, Marc's physio and training were done under the supervision of professionals recommended by Vale's contacts. They were good and knowledgeable, but they were not friends. Marc was accustomed to the little gang of Spaniards he had known for years. He was hard pressed to assemble one here.

Vale had the academy to provide all of these systems for himself and the boys, but he could not do the same for Marc, because Marc was cynical to the idea that the persistent companionship of his competitors would do him favours. At the most, he would take advantage of free track access and take part in a few friendly races. Based on experience, Vale unfortunately agreed this those were reasonable measures.

He decided to tweak his waking habits to accompany Marc when he went cycling on some mornings, and Marc smiled at him as though he lit up the sky. Making him smile was so easy sometimes, though it shouldn't be.

--

"These all go in the wardrobe," Marc directed, once he grouped his boxes by category. He'd written the labels in Spanish, and while Vale could hazard a guess at what they meant, it was easier for Marc to sort through them himself.

Vale balked at the number of wardrobe boxes. An entire wall of cupboards and shelves had been set aside for Marc in their walk-in wardrobe - or, more accurately, Vale had never populated them himself in the first place. Girlfriends used to keep their clothes there; now Marc. There was a reason he built it so large.

Marc's clothes and shoes would probably fit with ease. Then he had a handful of things left for the rest of their house. Vale's concern grew.

"Do you have more things to send over?" he asked, even though he knew that he had pressed on the issue one time too many. Marc, no matter how oblivious he chose be (and he really wasn't that blunt), was sure to realise that there was something more deeply-rooted underlying these quetions than mere consideration.

Marc studied him, and Vale knew he had been understood to some degree. It was a nasty, unwanted feeling.

"I'm ordering another coffee machine because I prefer mine, and I still have to do up my office," he said. He offered a pretty smile with all of his teeth. "I love you," he added, as though it was sufficient reassurance.

They set to work unboxing all of Marc's clothes and shoes with demoralising efficiency. A dark corner of Vale's mind said that if everything could be unpacked in a day, they could be repacked within the same time.

He slowed the process down, catching Marc by the waist whenever he walked past and distracting him. It appeared that Marc was in a mood to humour him, so he pushed. Vale unfolded one of Marc's plain beige T-shirts and covered his face with it. He was fully capable of low-grade slapstick humour that Marc was never immune to.

"Vale," Marc began, amused, though he was likely going to nag.

"I am getting used to your scent," Vale said meditatively. "Smells like five baths a day."

Marc, predictably, laughed. He shoved at him. "It smells like detergent. Which I'm changing our brand for, by the way."

Change whatever you want, Vale didn't say.

By the time they took a break for lunch, their wardrobe was less than half done. Vale gazed upon their slow progress with the same victorious feeling that he once took pole positions with. Maybe Marc would have a difficult time moving out after all.

--

The worst moment of Vale's life concerning Marc was quite possibly when his autographed helmets were taken out of a carton. This sounded innocuous, but it was not. It at that moment that Vale realised he should have been more guarded, because Marc remained the same conniving personality he had always been.

He accepted that this was a part of Marc's character, but he didn't enjoy being taken by surprise by it. Marc didn't do things like this and forget. He was always intentional, but he had alluded to nothing on the subject. Until now.

In a translucent plastic box, tucked beneath a bubble-wrapped Aleix Espagaro helmet, were his weapons. Vale hadn't thought about them in a long time. He knew, factually, that Marc once owned them. He feigned ignorance about the whole subject. If he'd bothered to ponder a little bit more, he might have wrongly suspected that Marc had thrown them out in a fit of betrayed rage. That would be the most reasonable course of action, after past events.

Of course, it would not be accurate to describe Marc as a reasonable person. Vale never actually thought that he would have to confront young Marc's lovingly assembled collection of VR46 model bikes.

"These should be yours," Marc said as he presented Vale with the box. His eyes were opened too wide in the way he had when he was up to something. He didn't always do casual or underhanded, sometimes he stabbed from the front.

Vale took the box as though it scalded. "I will put them up, if you want," he said, his mind churning to figure out what he could make of any of this - what it meant for his weaknesses, for his levels of tolerance in their relationship. What it meant for Marc's residence in this house. The implications felt loaded. He didn't know where they began.

"You can decide," Marc said. He covered Vale's hands with his own. His palms were tender, large and warm. His familiar calluses reminded Vale that he could scar. "I don't have all of them - the newer ones." He didn't have to explain why.

Marc left to put his helmets into Vale's display cabinet. His presence hovered. Vale could feel him watching, even though he could not have eyes behind his back. They had always been overly conscious of each other.

Vale traded his own bikes for Marc's, painstakingly, one at a time. It was a special kind of torture. Marc's bikes were indistinguishable from his own. They were perfectly cared for, the dust cleaned away before they were packed. He'd purchased good quality models ones. The colours didn't fade.

The miserable feeling from Marc's going away party was more present than ever. It was going to suffocate him in his sleep. He didn't know what to do. He'd been trying so hard to make peace with it over the past days.

He only stopped when all of his own bikes up to 2015 were in the box, and Marc's were fully on display. Marc stood by his side to watch him put the final touches.

"They're where they belong now," he said, with a small smile. "When I was a kid, I never thought..." he didn't finish the sentence.

Vale looked at his living room. Marc had left his fingerprints, but only Vale would know. He'd asked for something, and Marc had delivered.

He hated it. If Marc ever left, he would probably leave the bikes here for good now. He couldn't imagine him putting them back in a box one at a time, now that he'd gifted them away. It was impossible. But Vale would never be able to get rid of the knowledge that these bikes once sat in the shelf of Marc's childhood bedroom. They existed in the liminal realm of ownership between them.

Vale's things stared back at him. His furniture, his vinyls, his television, and Marc's bikes with his number on them, blending in as though they had never been Marc's at all.

"It is weird to put them there," he allowed himself to say.

Marc's smile turned wistful. He pulled Vale in by the neck gently. "Yes. But I had to bring them along, you know? They don't mean a lot to Alex, but they mean a lot to me."

Again, there was Marc's propensity for saying sickly sentimental things without shame.

Vale couldn't decide how to respond, so he held him close.

--

That night, Vale sat up with a start after drifting to the verge of sleep. He had an epiphany.

Marc was already in deep in slumber. Well rested and at peace, this was the least difficult he could ever be. When Marc was awake, he was wilful and complicated.

Vale traced his silhouette with his eyes in the dimness. He would very much like to keep Marc around, and he had figured out how to. He opened his browser with feverish instinct. He had solved the problem.

The easiest thing would be to search for the most recent model, the championship-winning Desmosedici, but Vale needed the symbolism - something with meaning.

He sifted through several second-hand listings of 1:12 Minichamps models for Marc's capricious, violent terror of a 2015 bike. It was the one that ended it all, before they built themselves back. He needed one in mint condition. He would prefer if it could arrive within the week.

It would be Marc's. Vale would receive it and gift it to him, the same way he had been given those bikes on his shelf. Marc would have no choice but to accept, cornered into the same game that he had forced Vale into. He couldn't ever trash them because he would love them. He couldn't leave it behind if he moved out - how could he be angry and allow Vale continue owning his beloved 93 bikes? It would be absurd. He would have to hold on to them, and be forced to remember exactly who they had come from.

This was perfect. This was the only way to tackle the situation. Now Marc couldn't simply leave.

Vale placed an order. Then he laid back down, too stimulated to fall asleep for the night. But the load would be lifted from his chest. He knew what he had to do.

--

"I'm clearing a shelf for you," Vale told Marc over breakfast. He had scrambled them eggs since he was already awake, and it was increasingly obvious that Marc was better utilised relegated to table-setting and operating the coffee machine.

Marc regarded him with mild intrigue. "I told you I don't need one," he said.

Vale smirked. "You will."

Marc raised his eyebrows in response, and the beginnings of a smile twisted his lip. His expression begged to be challenged. Well, he wouldn't be there if he wanted Vale to be easy.

--

Six days later, Vale handed Marc a little red gift box tied up in a red bow.

"Welcome home," he said.

Marc looked at it, stared at Vale, then tugged the tail of the ribbon without taking his stare away from Vale's face. The knot fell apart in his hands.

"What is it?" he asked levelly. It was clear that this was no ordinary gift.

Vale was impatient as all hell. "You already opened it," he said, gesturing for Marc to continue. He would not spoil his own surprise.

Marc lifted the lid carefully. He would be able to tell on sight which year the bike came from. They had come to ruins over it, and they had mended themselves. They still never discussed that year.

A crease appeared between Marc's brows. "Why this one?" he asked.

"I will give you the rest another day," Vale said. Suddenly, he wondered if Marc would understand what he meant. Marc usually did, but there had been a few times in the past when everything Vale said just served to push him further away.

Vale recalled sitting in a press conference in Assen that fateful year, when Marc sank deeper and deeper into bottled-up fury, and he would not even explode so they could address it. He kept his anger, diluted it, then took it upon himself to forgive unilaterally. Vale hadn't realised when Marc stopped being angry. At that time, he assumed it went on for much too long.

"It's important, that year," he tried to explain. "I wanted to show that I am not avoiding it. It was there, we were- I was unkind. But we are here now, and I would like you to stay with me."

Marc had a few variations of a controlled smile. This one was uncommon, eyes deep in emotion, and lips barely curved. He could be difficult to interpret, but the last time Vale had seen it this face was when he made a hash of telling Marc he loved him. Marc had obviously said it first, then Vale struggled with it for two weeks; first wondering if he would even be honest if he said it back, then realising his mouth wouldn't cooperate with him when he wanted to. He'd written it on a hotel stationery in the end, a letter switched to make it Spanish rather than Italian so the meaning wouldn't be so emphatic for himself, and slipped it into Marc's hand while he slept.

It was a little bit terrible. He knew that too. Marc had made this same expression when he approached Vale about it.

"You are very bad at this," he said then, like he said now.

"Forgive me once more," Vale said, kissing him, and biting into the flesh of his lip so he would understand.

The last time, Marc had become so much easier and certain with the knowledge that Vale wanted him, that it became simple for Vale to ask him to move in shortly after. And this time, Vale was hopeful that it meant forward steps as well.

"I will put it on the shelf," Marc said, with a tolerant eye roll. The barely-there curve to his lip stayed. Vale followed him to the living room, slinging an arm around Marc's shoulder and feeling light at last.

[hotmessmaxpress]

Rosquez Horror AU

Vale turns up at Marc’s motorhome after his crash with Pecco. 

Marc stares at him, where he is on the front step, and genuinely takes a moment to wonder if it’s really happening. Vale barely looks at him, much less speaks to him. Despite Marc’s deepest desires to move forward with Vale, he can’t even get the other man to acknowledge him. 

Until now, he supposes. 

He lets Vale in the door, and stands a healthy distance away from him. Suddenly the motorhome feels entirely too cramped, too close. Marc doesn’t know why he feels like he needs space from him; it’s not like Vale will hit him. 

Vale looks at him with narrow eyes. 

“Your crash-” 

Vale gets no further before the siren starts and they both freeze. 

It’s been a long time, years, since one has appeared in the paddock. 

The mandated emergency screen in the corner of Marc’s trailer flares to life with a crackle and an animatronic voice speaks. 

“Attention all drivers, staff, and guests. A void creature has been spotted in your vicinity. Take shelter immediately. Lock all doors and windows and arm yourself if possible. Take cover and stay quiet. Do not respond to voices you cannot see. Repeat. Attention all riders, staff, and guests. A void creature has been spotted in your vicinity. Take shelter immediately. Lock all doors and windows and arm yourself if possible. Take cover and stay quiet. Do not respond to voices you cannot see. May Mercy be with you all.”

Vale and Marc move quickly and silently. Vale locks the door, while Marc checks the windows. He shows Vale how to pull down the metal safety panels in front of the doors and windows, and Vale helps him secure the rest of the motorhome. 

Marc sends off a text to Alex with a half moon emoji and waits for the avocado Alex is supposed to send in return. Their code, unable to be mimicked by an outsider pretending to be one of them, and meant to signal “I’m safe and sheltered.”

The avocado pops into his messages shortly after, and Marc lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Vale seems to be doing something similar, staring at his phone in concern. 

“Okay?” Marc whispers. 

Vale nods, but Marc can see the tension in his shoulders. 

“Bedroom,” Marc suggests. “It’s the safest.”

They carry food and water from the kitchenette to the bedroom, and Marc closes the door. Another metal safety panel comes down, and latches into place, and Marc breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Is Alex okay?” Vale whispers. 

Marc nods. 

“Safe and secure. Are all of your riders?”

Vale looks nervous. 

“I’m still waiting to hear.”

Marc nods. 

He has the urge to reach out and comfort Vale, but the space between them in the tiny room feels vast. It’s not lost on him that Vale is only here because he wanted to yell at him. The ongoing anomaly event may be uniting them for now, but Marc has no doubt that when the threat is gone Vale will be back to hating him. 

He reaches out anyway, squeezing Vale’s hand. He pulls him to the bed and they sit.

“We may as well be comfortable,” he suggests. 

Vale doesn’t relax, though. He checks his phone again.

There’s a scream, so far off in the distance that Marc wonders if he heard it. He glances at Valentino, who has frozen in place, and assumes it must have been real. 

He has a terrible thought that at least it was far away. At least it wasn’t near them. If it has to happen, let it happen somewhere away from himself and his family. 

He wishes Alex were with him, like the first time he experienced an anomaly from the void. They were so young, at home in Cervera. He remembers watching television after dinner, then the screen cutting to a news anchor. 

The news anchor had said something confusing, and Marc had looked over at Alex, who was similarly confused and annoyed that their show had been interrupted. Whatever the anchor had said terrified Roser, though. She had come running, grabbing Marc and Alex by the arm and dragging them down the hall to the small room under the stairs that they weren’t allowed to play in. 

Alex had started crying, scared and startled by the way their mother had roughly grabbed them, and Roser had hissed at him to be quiet. Marc thought she was being mean; he remembers yanking Alex out of her arms, as if to protect him from her, and he pulled Alex against him. They’d been almost the same size at this point, long before Alex had his massive growth spurt and shot up past Marc’s height. 

Marc had held his little brother in his arms, petting his hair, as Alex calmed down. He glanced at Roser, seeing her silently praying. At the time he hadn’t known the danger they were in– he didn’t understand the sirens surrounding them and the noises outside that he’d never heard before. 

Roser brushed his hair back from his forehead, and her hands were shaking. It felt like hours that they sat there in that small closet-room, legs sore from squeezing together and sweating from the close space. 

Marc and Alex hadn’t dared to complain though, sensing that now was not the time to press their mother for information or to whine. Once the wind outside died down and the sirens finally stopped, Roser had released them from the room and fed them dessert like it was a special occasion. She kept touching their faces, kissing their cheeks and their foreheads, and she spent most of the rest of the evening on the phone. 

It was only once they reached school-age and got their first mandatory anomaly safety lesson that Marc really understood what might have happened to them.  

Vale is still tense. Marc sees it in the lines on his face, lines that weren’t present the last time Marc and Vale shared a shelter during an anomaly. 

They had been in a hotel that time, toward the end of their relationship, but before things got awful, and the hotel was expensive enough that they hadn’t had to leave the bed for more than to close the curtains. The doors and windows were already secured, and it was easy to forget the void creature lurking outside, far below them. They had climbed back into bed after they ensured the curtains were closed, and they muted the TV. 

They treated it almost as if it was a thunderstorm, wrapped up in blankets and waiting for it to pass. Vale had pressed kisses along his neck, whispering reassurances in his ear. 

“You’re safe,” he had said. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

At the time, Marc had believed him. 

Marc swallows the lump in his throat, and reaches for a water bottle. He cracks the top and takes a long drink, trying to soothe the dry feeling in his throat. 

Vale checks his phone again. 

“Pecco hasn’t checked in,” he says, so quiet that Marc barely hears it. Marc’s heart jumps into his throat. His brain races through the full spectrum of possibility. It could be that Pecco was separated from his phone, and when the sirens go off it’s instinct to run without reaching for something like a phone. It could also be much worse– Marc’s ears strain for another scream. 

“He might just not be near his phone,” Marc says, reaching for Vale’s hand again. 

Vale allows Marc to take his hand, and he squeezes it. 

They sit in silence for another long while, simply holding hands and waiting. 

“I’m sorry about the crash,” Marc says. 

“No you aren’t,” Vale says, giving Marc a dry look. 

“I don’t want to crash. I don’t want anyone else to crash either.”

Vale grits his teeth, and Marc tries to pull his hand away. Vale doesn’t let him, and it reminds Marc of all the arguments that ended with Vale trapping him in his arms until they both calmed down. 

“You race like you want to crash.”

Marc doesn’t have anything to say to that, at first.

“I’m getting older,” he finally breathes. “Things are changing for me,” he adds, leaving it at that.

Vale turns and stares at him, appraising him. 

Marc wonders if Vale can see the lines that Marc himself sees when he looks at himself in the mirror. He wonders if Vale’s eyes pick up on the way that Marc’s body hurts; he wonders if it shows on his face how tired he is of being in pain. 

Vale opens his mouth to speak, but they’re interrupted.

“Valentino!”

Marc’s entire body freezes. Pecco’s voice is outside, calling through the walls. 

Marc squeezes Vale’s hand hard. He knows Vale is smart enough not to respond, but he can’t take that chance. He hoists himself up and straddles Vale, pressing his forehead to Vale’s. He stares Vale in the eye, keeping Vale’s focus on him. 

“Don’t,” Marc warns, nearly silently. 

Vale wraps his arms around Marc, and squeezes him tightly. 

“Vale, please,” the voice outside begs. “I don’t know where the thing is. I know you’re in there- I need shelter.”

Vale buries his face in Marc’s shoulder. 

“I left my phone in the garage and got locked out,” the voice yells. “Please, Vale! Please don’t let it get me.”

Marc thinks Vale might break his ribs with how tightly he’s holding him. Marc wonders how loud his heart is; if Vale can hear it from where his face is pressed against him. Marc puts his hands gently over Vale’s ears, trying to spare him the trauma of being targeted by an anomaly. He knows how it feels to have the voice of someone you love trying to tempt you into welcoming your own death through the door. 

“Valentino!” Pecco’s voice yells again. It sounds desperate, pleading, and Marc can feel tears well up in his eyes. He hopes Vale can’t hear it. It’s a wretched thing, copying the voice of another.  

Marc has never seen a void creature. He knows that people have seen them; he went to school with someone who claimed to have run from one. Marc knew that was ridiculous; you can’t run from them and live. But they have been captured on camera, and seen through windows. Marc only knows that they’re ungodly things, wrong and twisted and otherworldly. 

He wonders now what the one outside must look like. He wonders if it bothers to take on Pecco’s appearance, or if it looks like the shadowed monster his school teachers had taught them to protect themselves against. The horns and claws made from the absence of light; sucking in light from everything they are near. 

Vale is shaking now. He’s still gripping Marc tightly, and Marc still has his hands sealed over Vale’s ears. 

There’s a scream outside, so nearby that Marc physically flinches. For a minute he has a horrified thought that it could be in the motorhome with them, and he wrenches his body around to look at the door. The metal sheeting is still in place, just like the metal over the windows. 

It won’t break in, he reminds himself. He presses his lips against the crown of Vale’s head like a blessing, like it might protect them both. 

He thinks of the time he had been in Vale’s position and thought Alex was outside. They were in Vale’s motorhome that time, before they had started to put a name to the thing that was developing between them. 

“Marc! Are you in there? Please let me in!” the thing had screamed in Spanish. 

Marc had shot up from where they were seated on Vale’s couch in silence, and Vale had thankfully gotten to him before he reached the door. Vale had gripped him around the waist, yanking him backward. 

“No!” Marc had said, and Vale had clapped his hand over Marc’s mouth. 

“Marc, that is not Alex,” Vale had hissed in his ear. He had dragged him away from the door, and Marc had struggled and cried. 

“Marc!” the voice outside called, coming nearer. Marc sobbed against the hand pressed to his mouth. Vale dragged him into the toilet of his motorhome, shutting the door behind them and bracing his body against it. He forced Marc to look at him, keeping a hand over his mouth. 

“Marc, that is not your brother. It’s not him and you know that,” he had whispered desperately. Marc had pressed his face hard against Vale’s neck and sobbed silently, and Vale had covered Marc’s ears for him. 

It was a long time that they sat there, pressed tightly together while Marc prayed to every God that his baby brother was safe. 

It was after that experience that Vale had suggested Marc and Alex have a code; a way to prove to one another that they were safe. 

Marc can’t remember if he ever thanked Vale for that.

Marc thinks of that now, as he sits with his own hands over Vale’s ears. Marc wishes he could make it end, but he knows that if the anomaly is still outside now it will be a long time before they’re released from the lockdown and fear. 

The voice outside has stopped, at least, so Marc takes his hands off of Vale’s ears. Vale doesn’t let go of him, but his arms relax a little. 

“I think it’s gone away,” Marc whispers. “It’s silent, at least.”

Vale takes a shuddering breath. 

A scream sounds from outside; Marc guesses it’s a motorhome or two over, but it sounds as if it’s in their ears. Marc flinches hard. 

“Not gone,” Vale hisses. 

Marc glances apologetically at him, then sighs and wraps his arms around Vale’s neck. They’re already in too close and intimate a position as it is. They’ve crossed a line that Marc knows they’ll regret later, but he doesn’t care. His heart has been racing since the whole ordeal started, and if pressing himself against Vale makes him feel a little less terrified he’s going to do it. Vale doesn’t seem bothered, and his arms are still around Marc’s waist. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Marc whispers. 

Vale snorts. “Are you telling that to me or yourself?”

“Both,” Marc admits. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard one so close.”

Vale is silent for a moment. 

“We had one a few months ago in Tavullia. I was there with the boys.”

Marc can only imagine how tight Vale’s security is at the ranch. 

“It was you outside.”

Marc’s heart stops in his chest.

“What?” Marc asks, voice coming out just slightly too loud. Vale squeezes him a little tighter and they both sit silently for a moment, holding their breath and listening. 

Nothing makes a sound, so they relax slightly. 

“It had your voice. I almost opened the door.”

Marc has no idea what to say about that, so he rests his head on Vale’s shoulder. He wonders how the academy riders must have reacted to that; he’s surprised Uccio didn’t open the door to run outside and punch him in the face. The mental image of Uccio running full force at a void horror because of his hatred of Marc is such a fine line between hilarious and disturbing that Marc has to cover his mouth to muffle the high pitched, hysterical laughter bubbling up. 

Vale runs a hand through his hair. 

“Calm down,” he whispers flatly. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at.”

Marc shakes his head. If he tries to explain he can only imagine he’ll laugh harder. 

Once he calms down he climbs off Vale’s lap and lays down on the bed, coaxing the older man into joining him. At first Vale stays far from him, but Marc gives him a dry look and Vale gives in. It’s not as if they haven’t already been on top of one another; pretending like they need to be separated is almost funny. 

Vale allows Marc to cuddle up to him, and after all these years Marc still slots against him easily. Their bodies both still remember how to fit together; where to put their arms and legs so that they match up like puzzle pieces. 

“I miss this,” Marc says, heart still pounding. It’s a cliche, he knows; it’s a notorious joke that there’s nothing that makes you want to bare your soul like a void event. There’s just something about thinking you’re going to die that brings out the honesty in people. 

Vale is so quiet that Marc wonders if he’s pretending he didn’t hear him. 

“I do too,” Vale says. 

“What?” Marc asks, freezing. 

“I miss you. I’m still angry, though,” Vale admits. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I never hurt you on purpose.”

He knows Vale doesn’t believe him, and the silence hangs heavy between them. Marc wishes he could make Vale see the truth in his words. He wishes he could do anything that would make Vale understand. 

The next thing Marc knows, he’s waking up to the blare of the release sirens. 

“Attention all drivers and staff. The void creature has been neutralized and the anomaly event is over. You may leave your shelter and resume regular activities. Please stay alert for any further emergency communications. Repeat. Attention all drivers and staff. The void creature has been neutralized and the anomaly event is over. You may leave your shelter and resume regular activities. Please stay alert for any further emergency communications.”

“Pecco,” is the first thing Marc says, and Vale jolts up from the bed and scrambles for his phone. It’s already vibrating with incoming messages by the time he picks it up, and Marc can see as Vale’s entire body relaxes. 

“He’s fine,” Vale says, voice cracking. “He’s okay.”

Marc sits up and pulls Vale toward him, hugging him tightly in relief. They’re both shaking now, from the rush of adrenaline and relief. 

“He’s okay,” Marc repeats. “Thank God.”

Marc’s own phone is vibrating with messages of friends checking in, but he and Vale stay holding one another anyway. 

When they finally have the energy to release one another, they don’t hurry to get up. The rest of the paddock will be recovering, taking stock of who was injured. Everything will no doubt be cancelled for the rest of the day. 

They take their time opening the metal shields and restoring the motorhome to normal. They don’t move far from one another either, though they don’t acknowledge that. 

“Why did you want to open the door? In Tavullia?” Marc blurts. 

He thinks that there’s a non-zero chance that Vale leaves here and never speaks to him again anyway, so he may as well ask. 

Vale is quiet for a moment, but he puts his phone down. 

“It was a moment of panic. I thought– I thought that if I didn’t open the door for you I’d really never see you again; nevermind that it didn’t make sense for you to be there. I just thought that I couldn’t let you die.”

Marc has a lump in his throat that makes it hard to talk. 

“I know you don’t believe me when I say it but I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”

Vale isn’t looking at him, and when he doesn’t raise his head to look at him Marc turns his back, busying himself with putting away the bottled water and snacks they didn’t use when they were under lockdown. 

“I know, I think,” Vale says. “I think I know that you didn’t mean it.”

Marc’s heart is racing and he freezes in place.

“I love you, Marc. I’m still so angry but I do love you.”

“Just give me a chance,” Marc says desperately. “Let me fix things.”

Vale looks at him for a long moment. 

“Okay.”

[oscarpiastriwdc]

Hi! You probably got a million primers on MotoGP but jic, here are my thoughts as someone who transitioned from F1 to MotoGP last season:

The basic structure for the racing is the same so that part is easy! Qualifying works slightly differently: there is a session on Friday afternoons called “Practice” (as opposed to “Free Practice” for the normal practices) and the top 10 qualifiers from that go straight to Q2.

Then on Saturday, they have Q1 with the people who didn’t make Q2 already, and the top 2 from that session go to Q2 and the 13 and below order is set. And then they have Q2 right after that and it sets the 1-12 order. It took me a while to figure out how that all worked lol

Some other differences:

-not as many manufacturers, so like there is Ducati, and then they have a factory team, which gets the best of everything, and then two satellite Ducati teams. (Same idea as Red Bull and Alpha Tauri, it’s just a little more open that they work together, share data, etc.)

-much less social media content and the social media content that is available is worse. So it took me a little longer to get to know the riders who weren’t fighting at the top of the grid. The broadcast doesn’t show the mid-field fights in the way F1 does

-they crash/fall so much more than F1 so if you are rooting for someone and they’re fighting for the win, the entire race feels like an anxiety attack bc you’re worried he could fall at any moment

-you probably know the rosquez lore! Valentino Rossi’s main protegee and Marc Marquez are going to be teammates next season on the best bike on the grid so the rpf possibilities are going crazy at the moment!

You should get into it!

I’ve only watched part of one race last season and there were so many crashes in that tiny amount of time it was like wait how do y’all cope with this anxiety 😭 but this is so helpful you are an angel

[tartquez]

HELLO!! <3 if you’ve still got some space for the flower prompts, myrtle (wacky shenanigans leading up to wedding vows) for bicameral rosquez, if you’re so inclined? or for any version, columbine (how stupid did love make you)?

Anything for u Beca ❤️

Will ponder upon myrtle for bicameral rosquez for a little longer but in the interim! Love making rosquez stupid! Fork found in kitchen! Let’s make it a Medieval prince/ knight au!

It has been two months since the first battalion of knights rode out under the cover of darkness towards the neighbouring kingdom. Vale has not spoken a word to Marc, more than what Marc’s standing demands, in two months either.

He always knew this would be a possibility if Vale was not selected to lead the battalion, when Marc instead ordered him to stay back with the King’s guard. It could not be avoided, Marc had reasoned, with Marc hastily stepping in as Prince Regent. While his father remained incapacitated the kingdom was vulnerable to attack. Vale is Marc’s most trusted knight, he knows this. Everyone knows this.

Ever since the whispers first began building, that the King was planning to capture the neighbouring lands, Vale had informed Marc that he believed that he had earned the right to lead the knights into battle. Marc can admit his own hand in the way things played out, selfishly feeding Vale’s enthusiasm and divulging details about the unprecedented scale of the planned offensive just to watch the way his eyes lit up. Burrowed between skin warmed blankets, Vale had confided in him, his growing resignation that with every passing year the opportunities to lead his men into such a significant battle were dwindling. Would soon dry up entirely.

Marc understood. Just as he understood that while the kingdom was vulnerable, half its strongest knights riding towards an uncertain fate while their king lay unresponsive in a seemingly endless sleep, he needed Valentino here. For the kingdom.

Vale glares at him from across the round table, uncaring that there is a room full of advisors and knights who will bear witness to his open animosity towards the Prince Regent. Dovi coughs delicately. There is blood smeared on his cheek, it is bright against his skin, fresh. He will stay the evening and ride back out to battle by first morning light.

“Valentino,” Dovi clears his throat, gestures down at the map laid out before them, “what do you have to say, about the strategy to capture the watch tower of the city wall?” Adding, “your expertise would be greatly appreciated by our men.”

Vale smirks, unkind, Marc knows his own expression is too open. Hopeful, even after all this time.

“I have no view, no opinion, no expertise,” he cocks his head, smiles apologetically, “I simply serve at the pleasure of the King — ah, no, our beloved young Princeling.”

Dovi’s knuckles are white around the small wooden horse he had been using to mark the path.

Alex looks ready to rise out of his chair, face already red, Marc raises a hand to call for calm.

“Please,” Marc dips his head in a show of deference, Alex growls, Marc ignores him, “I agree with Knight Dovizioso, your expertise is unmatched, Vale — Knight Rossi, for the benefit of our men, please, I think we would all be grateful for your guidance.”

He lifts his head and Vale’s expression is stormy, lips pressed together.

Dovi scoffs and turns to Marc, “nevermind, your highness,” seemingly ready to move on but then Vale coughs loudly.

“Fine,” he mutters, “show me the proposed route again.” He does not meet Marc’s eyes.

After dinner, before Dovi retires to his room, he pulls Marc aside. Leads them behind a tapestry hanging in the corner of the great hall and ducks his head down so they are not overheard. The din of the music and general merriment of the court also provides them some cover.

Marc leans in so he can hear Dovi clearly.

“Our knights fight hard but we will need more numbers,” Dovi confides, a careful look, “we need more men, your highness.”

Marc nods, he had feared as much, “I will make the announcement tomorrow,” he sighs tiredly, “I can send no more than twenty but I will ensure they ride out before sundown.”

“Will you send Valentino?”

Marc swallows, cannot meet Dovi’s eyes all of a sudden. He knows Dovi would only be asking if he believed there was justification. And there’s not much reason to keep him here if Dovi thinks they need him on the battlefield, Marc trusts Dovi’s judgement. It is one of the many reasons why Marc selected him to lead the first battalion.

That very morning the royal physician has advised that the king will wake up in the next few days. It has been over two months since Vale has joined Marc in his bed, though he continues to keep silent vigil outside Marc’s bedroom door each night. Marc tried to ask, as uncomfortable as it was, if he should reassign his personal guard duties to someone else and Vale had sneered at him but did not answer Marc’s question.

If Dovi thinks they need Vale in battle, Marc should give him the order and send him off with the soldiers departing tomorrow. He wonders if Vale would still let Marc press a small favour, a simple embroidered handkerchief perhaps, into his palm before he rode off. Wonders whether he would see Vale again, if the state of battle is as dire as Dovi’s reports suggest.

If the last thing Valentino said to him, before it all crumbled down around Marc, was, there is a hole inside you where a heart should be — this is why the only thing you can love and be loved by is a band of gold around your head.

Marc thinks of the blood on Dovi’s cheek. The battered pieces of blood encrusted armour that he’s seen the knights bring back from the battlefield — when there is nothing else they can bring back for the families.

“No,” Marc shakes his head, “I will not.”

Marc looks up at that moment and catches Vale already watching him from across the crowded hall. A flash of — something resembling hurt chases across his features before he ducks his head and looks away. Marc opens his mouth then closes it, doesn’t know what he thought he should say.

Dovi apologises softly and Marc shakes his head, there is nothing to apologise for.

A peal of laughter catches Marc’s attention, a flurry of noise as a serving maid tumbles into Vale’s lap. When Vale looks up again, face illuminated under the candle light, the hurt is gone. He grins lazily, doesn’t bother to hide how he tugs the maid close, nosing along the sensitive skin behind her ear and making her giggle. Kisses her deeply, hand sliding up her frilly skirts and his table mates howl and bang their tankards against the table top

Marc looks away. Summons a small smile, “you ride out into battle tomorrow,” he points out softly, “it will be a long and dangerous journey.” Dovi’s brows furrow, Marc forges forward, voice dropping to a low murmur, “surely a warm bed might bring you some luck?”

Dovi blinks, his eyes dart across the room before his expression settles into something bemused.

“Your highness, I don’t think —“

“Please,” Marc stops him, “just Marc to you, Dovi,” he reaches out, lets his hand rest a few centimetres higher on his arm than is strictly proper. Bites his lower lip before letting his tongue swipe featherlight across it.

Dovi swears under his breath, huffs incredulously. A warm palm comes up to cup Marc’s elbow, “okay, okay, lead the way, Marc.”

Marc doesn’t look over his shoulder as he follows Dovi out of the hall but he can feel a set of eyes burning into his back all the same.

[twiceeshy]

Don't Believe in Modern Love

Read on ao3.

Five hours before the wedding:

"I was manipulated into marriage, Uccio. I know it." Vale scowled at his morning coffee in a way that highlighted the frown lines on his forehead.

T, rosquez, 1.3k words

--

5.

"I was manipulated into marriage, Uccio. I know it." Vale scowled at his morning coffee in a way that highlighted the frown lines on his forehead.

Uccio would usually agree - had, in fact, said something along those lines several times over the past year. But five hours before the wedding ceremony seemed a little too close for Vale to come upon a paradigm shift.

"We had your bachelor party two weeks ago, and you said he was the love of your life," Uccio reminded him. They both cringed. Such a saccharine sentiment was beneath Vale, especially directed at that horrible little man. Uccio would never understand.

"Does that sound like something I would say?" Vale asked calmly. He dropped a spoon of sugar into his coffee - god only knew he needed the extra boost. Then he tasted it, and decided he did not. He did not need strength, or sweetness, or marriage. He absolutely did not need marriage.

Uccio sighed. "I did ask if it was necessary," he said.

He had, and Vale did not require the reminder that Uccio had a tendency to be more correct about Marc than himself. Vale's fiancé had the unfortunate habit of making Vale do stupid, uncharacteristic things.

Such as propose. And argue strongly for one venue instead of another. And bring the ceremony forward from the end of the championship season to summer break, because Vale did not like the cold.

"I could be with him without marriage," Vale said. He considered. "It's still a possibility."

Uccio threw a wad of used tissue at him. "Fuck off Vale, it's too late for that," he said unreasonably.

"I haven't completely decided yet," Vale said. He poured the sweetened coffee down the sink and stood to make a new one, un-sugary and normal.

4.

Vale decided to make his bed, for want of something interesting to do while the seconds ticked away slowly to his impending fate. Well, it was their bed if he wanted to be precise, though it would not be the matrimonial home unless he dragged his feet to church later that day. He had a few more hours of calling the bed his own.

Since he mentally designated Marc to be the closest equivalent to a bride in this relationship, custom dictated that Marc spent his last night of unmarried life with his family. Vale didn't know which one of the parents he ended up staying with, but all the Spanish guests had rented some nice beach villas in the same vicinity so it didn't quite matter. The villas were cookie-cutter identical. Vale saw when he went over to give Marc flowers.

He straightened out the pillows, looked around at Marc's things neatly littered around the room, and wondered if marriage had been inevitable. He didn't like inevitabilities.

3.

Maybe the entire of Vale's life had been a mistake, since people kept throwing things at him on his own wedding day. He folded his arms and turned his head away from his mother.

"You're not wearing jeans to your own wedding Vale," Stefania nagged, as though Vale wasn't well over forty years of age.

Vale picked his jeans up from the floor. The cuff of it had whacked him in the face, though he ducked from the impact. He would quite like to wear jeans, it would give people something to talk about, and Marc would sulk. He was nice when he sulked, a little bit less egotistical and more manageable.

It was a little bit painful to imagine him sulking on his own wedding day, however. Vale supposed he should focus on making his life hard on any other day.

"Graziano will show up in jeans," he said.

Stefania gave him a withering look. He tended to know better than to mention one parent to the other.

"And that nice boy will come in a nice suit and make up on his face," she said traitorously. Uccio had been right. Marc cheated his way into Vale's heart, then his mother's, then multiple Italian teams, and even that Italian factory that hated Vale's guts. Some people had no sense of patriotism.

Vale and Marc bought matching silk ties for the occasion. "We compromise - don't make me wear this. Weddings should be about comfort," Vale complained, holding the offending item up by the skinny end.

Stefania tied it around his neck herself.

2.

Luca rolled his eyes so hard that he temporarily lost sight of the road. "I should have made you drive yourself to church," he said, with a long-suffering sigh.

He was right. Vale would not have made it on time, with how cold his feet were.

"We will be sinners in the eyes of god," Vale repeated, resting his forehead on the glass of the car window while watching the summer morning pass him by. A gay Catholic marriage wedding could easily be expected to fail. At least he didn't have make up on to smudge, unlike his beloved, vain little fiancé.

"You'll be happier when you're married," Marta said from the backseat. Advice from the mouths of babes - Vale could not be less convinced.

Stefania jammed her foot to the back of Vale's seat. "He's been like this all day," she shared.

1.

Brides and grooms were not supposed to meet before the wedding ceremony, but the mechanics were a little bit different when there were two grooms. They still tried to stay away from each other for luck, but both arrived early to welcome the guests. Had Marc truly been a cooperative bride, he would have instead shown up fashionably late.

Vale was aware of Marc laughing his head off with his brother while guests arrived at the church. What could be so funny about signing the rest of your life away to a person, Vale did not know. He felt solemn to his soul.

Uccio offered Vale an apéritif. He was in a suit as well because Vale saddled him with the unfortunate role of groomsman, and he looked terrible in it. They were not made for a dapper dress code. Or perhaps it was the distinctly unhappy expression on his face.

"Just drink, you'll be happier," Uccio said.

"Shouldn't I already be happy?" Vale questioned. He was genuinely becoming concerned that this whole marriage business had been a mistake. All of those hours put into selecting the perfect flower arrangement seemed like a stupid use of time, in retrospect. They could have just eloped and spent more time planning an optimal honeymoon, no rings or vows or ceremonies necessary.

He caught Marc's eye and received a beautiful smile for his trouble. Vale smiled back.

"I'm going to talk to him," he said, returning the drink to Uccio's hand. If meeting before the ceremony was going to doom their marriage, it wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to them.

0.

"I couldn't sleep," Marc whispered. "It was worse than my first championship."

"Oh, really?" Vale asked, relieved. So it wasn't just him.

They were supposed to approach the aisle from opposite ends, but Marc clutched Vale's fingertips. Vale had grown repulsively soft with age - he thought it was nice.

Marc ducked his head. "I guess we'll get used to it. Are your socks yellow?"

"Yes," Vale said. He pulled up one side of his trousers to let his fiancé (for another two minutes or so) have a better look.

"Nice, I'm wearing my red underwear from the races," Marc said, wagging his stupid eyebrows. He was ridiculous. Vale grabbed his ass to scold him or inspire him. They could still sneak away to forsake the vows and perform sacrilegious acts.

Marc's resounding cackle could be heard down the pews.

[moonshynecybin]

please just a window into your mind palace 🙏 how does vale react when marc gets kidnapped? how does he act and what lengths does he go to save him? what kind of measures does he take to make sure marc is never harmed?

it’s really more like. okay so i think the lever that drives the purpose of the story in all of the whump fic EYE read as a young teen was. hey what if this character gets KIDNAPPED and BEFORE they got kidnapped everyone was maybe perhaps taking advantage of them/under appreciating them/not realizing they were in pain (this attitude could be extrapolated from actual observed behavior in canon towards this character orrrr ENTIRELY INVENTED. doesn’t really matter. with marc it is. unfortunately very real in many ways from vale due to their biblical level estrangement) but NOW people get to freak out and realize how much they care about them and how much they love them and nurse them back to health while whiping blood off of their bruised, pretty face as the kidnapped character sort of gazes up at them in disbelief that a WORM like them could even be cared about enough to be gently touched. in many ways this is a fun scenario to think about with ROSQUEZ. because i think marc has internalized. okay vale doesn’t care about me. and i want him to be proven WRONG ! INCORRECT BUZZER ! and this is perhaps a batshit crazy enough lever to get vale a lil stressed. like it’s one thing to see marc vaulted through the air. they do that for work. AND vale doesn’t even like THAT. but. ransom ? kidnapping ? total marquez family media freeze out? not even a cryptic liar statement from honda to overanalyze or a shirtless selfie from a hospital bed to signal he’s alive ? homie is BUGGIN. he likes INFO he’s CURIOUS he knew every detail of marc deciding to ride on that arm in 2020 he pays ATTENTION. worry despite distance. and oh boy this is the supreme worry scenario.

so anyways the wheels are off we are doing old school fandom tropes because in real life i think vale like. just stays kind of quietly scared until he’s asked about it where he has to perform the most insane feat of mental gymnastics ever put to camera. but that’s not FUN !!! so marc gets kidnapped by uh. evildoers. not important. they only really beat him up in a hot way like on teen wolf. and vale finds out through a blurry picture of marc shirt kinda half unbuttoned and mouth duct taped and on the NEWS and he looks SCARED and TIRED and BRUISED and. not very much like himself. which is thing that puts a burning pit in vale’s stomach the MOST, and he’s pretending he doesn’t care he’s pretending it’s normal he’s pretending it’s about HIMSELF (what if someone was out there kidnapping generationally talented motorsports professionals uccio ?? he HAS to be checking the news obsessively for safety THANK YOU..) but he’s really so stressed. white knuckle grip on his composure. like vale is not sleeping not eating he’s refreshing the news story obsessively because he doesn’t KNOW anything which is the scariest part. he’s calling in every contact he can he’s traveling to spain he’s getting turned away at the marquez family door. he’s still DENYING THAT HES FREAKING OUT. and he’s MIA. uccio is like vale has also been kidnapped. vale is like shut up. please. i am fine.

now in no world do i think vale actually DOES anything effective to get marc back bc at the end of the day he’s just a noodle who can ride bikes good. sorry. leave that to spy aus and the like. but he TRIES and he FREAKS and when they get marc back (bruised and pale and thin. comes into the ER like. and when can i ride my bike again. fully in tears) he arranges everything so it goes as smoothly as possible and then he stays in the hospital lobby for a full two days bundled up on an incognito hoody like a weirdo. he’s just gotta see him

[hotmessmaxpress]

Earlier today I got a nosebleed followed immediately by a terrible migraine and I don't even know how I'm still functioning. If this sucks, blame it on that <3

rosquez a/b/o au, part ??

It’s a bad arm day.

The infection of the bond has healed but it left behind permanent damage. Chronic myositis. His muscle function will probably never return to normal, and the doctors he’s spoken to have explained in placating tones that he’ll have bouts of debilitating muscle inflammation for the rest of his life. The best he can do is treat the symptoms as they come.

Thankfully for this round of pain there are no real responsibilities for Marc, so he can do a full recovery day if he wants. Unfortunately though, Vale is busy. He has business commitments most of the day and won’t be home until the evening. Marc could tell Vale to stay home, but part of him still worries that his alpha will get sick of him again. He doesn’t want to be too demanding, too needy, too omega.

Valentino kisses him goodbye, and then Marc is alone.

He stays in bed as long as he can before he gets restless, then climbs out of bed to make an espresso and stretch. He steps outside into the sun while the heat hasn’t gotten too oppressive and takes a lazy walk along the backyard track. When he’s done he slips into the pool, but his arm hurts too much to swim laps so he simply floats, enjoying the cool of the water and the weightlessness. Eventually the cooling effect of the water wears off, and his arm starts to burn again.

He calls Alex, who immediately senses it’s a bad pain day and stays on the phone with him for nearly two hours. He shows him the sausage dogs, which, to his embarrassment, makes Marc cry. He just misses them so much in moments like these, where he’s alone without Vale or the pack to sooth and distract him. It’s been a big change for him over the last few months since joining Vale’s pack, and it’s often that he misses Madrid and Cervera.

Marc is laying on the couch with a heating pad wrapped around his arm, still teary-eyed, when Vale comes cautiously through the door. “Marc?” he asks gently. Marc bursts into tears again, rubbing at his eyes to try and hide it. Vale rumbles soothingly and drops to his knees beside the couch, running a hand through Marc’s hair. “Alex called,” he explains. “He said you cried about the dogs.” Vale gestures to the heating pad. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?” Marc doesn’t want to admit that he was too insecure to tell Vale he needed him. “Marc,” Vale implores, gently chiding. “I didn’t want you to think I was needy,” Marc says, looking up through his eyelashes at Vale. The reality is that Vale would quite literally kill someone for Marc, and he’s only upset with Marc for not communicating with him. He sighs and finally joins Marc on the couch, gently arranging him with his legs thrown across his lap and his head resting on his shoulder. He makes sure not to jostle Marc’s arm while he arranges him as comfortably as possible.

Marc tucks his face into Vale’s neck. His feelings are so complicated. It’s hard for him not to remember that Vale himself is actually the one who caused all of this; without Vale’s rejection of him, Marc would never have had such a terrible infection. He would never have these days filled with pain that won’t relent.

On the other hand, Marc knows he can’t hold on to that forever. He has to focus on the good: the way Vale smells, the way he holds him in his arms, the way he pets his hair and tells him he loves him. He breathes in Vale’s scent, and feels the physiological calming hormones flood through him. His entire body screams alpha, mate, alpha, and the sense of security he feels is unmatched. He’s practically boneless in Vale’s arms at this point.

“Tell me that you need me, next time,” Vale says gently. “I’ll stay with you. Fuck everyone else.” Marc giggles against his neck. “I mean it,” Vale insists, and Marc knows he does. Marc knows now that Vale would do anything for him. He knows that Vale won’t go back to hating him, no matter how hard it is for him to believe. Vale loves him.

“I love you,” Marc mumbles. “I love you,” Vale says, rumbling. “So, so much.”

Marc is practically delirious with how relaxed he is. His arm still hurts, but being wrapped up in Vale is soothing enough to lessen the pain. He shuts his eyes, and falls asleep easily in the arms of his alpha.

[moonshynecybin]

Okay I was watching Qatar 2013 for the rosquez of it all and they were so touchy and I thought is there an au were they hooked up during the pre season and that’s why they are so comfortable together already maybe they didn’t even hook up yet but they are touchy (insert vale saying he’s touchy off track so maybe it’s the same on track when him Dani and Jorge were asked about the contact Marc had had with them at different races) and vale is queuing in on Marc’s massive crush and goes after you win a race I’ll sleep with you think if it like a prize. like I’m not sure if that’s a possible au but i just went omg the possibilities if it did happen.

EYE think its like. okay fanfiction land lets goooo wheeee. a branch off of the iconic winners room concept, but this time its whenever someone gets promoted to the premiere class they get to choose someone to FUCK after their first race. like they MUST ! the sport is too horny not to ! court mandated ! and well. you know who marc was gonna pick (literally its been on his motivational vision board since he was umm. 14). and vale's not stupid and is also VERY assured in his sex appeal so he ALSO knows who marc is gonna pick (hes actually been picked by new guys a LOT at this point its old hat. little does he know about the life changing power. of marc's wap.) and its just some fun! here at the beginning of things ! so the entire race (with marc and vale spending a LOTTTTT of time battling it out on track and having cheeky little skirmishes the entire time) its like. the most insane, adrenaline soaked foreplay. exhilarating. truly when you dont know someone that well but you like them SO much and you KNOWWWW youre getting laid later. its vale putting BOTH hands literally on marc's WAIST from BEHIND before the podium its marc's huge smile that seems unpracticed in a way where its clear he STILL cant quite believe hes standing there with valentino its the BIG hug in parc ferme that literally knocks marc's sunglasses off of his head. gifs HERE !

and afterwards its SO happy. giddy! they love a fun on-track battle, they both podiumed (marc's first and vale's first back at yamaha) so they are floating on airrrrr and marc of COURSE chooses vale and when they manage to get some alone time he's SO eager (his first time question mark. knew he would get this from vale with the confidence of a prodigy so he saved it...) but god he learns QUICK. and its a huge thing —looking back, in hindsight— the beginning of it all. the start of them. but at the time, they dont even KNOW how huge it is, what kind of effect theyre going to have on each other's lives. they cant know. and besides, it doesnt matter here, in this moment. because marc is under vale and vale is inside him, and marc's panting wetly and sweetly against vale's neck and vale feels something building in his chest and it feels something like joy. something like inventing something. and they dont even know what kind of thread theyre building between them. they cant know yet, how it all goes wrong, here in this room, in this moment. but whatever it is will be worth it, that he knows. itll be worth this precise second, here and now, with marc's pulse thrumming against his skin

[moonshynecybin]

PEDRENZO TOXIC RIVALRY YEARS FORCED PROXIMITY CURSE. TELL ME MORE

YAYYYY okay so. for dani and jorge it HAS to be after one of the most intense races of their lives. don’t ask me which I DO NOT KNOW ! i’ll leave it up to you to decide if one fits specifically but it was CRUCIALLY a knockdown drag out fucking fight. high effort. satisfying. one millionnnnn overtakes. and eventually they BOTH podium, and the race was so bananas —kinetic and tense and somewhere HOT— that they feel like the blood in their veins is legitimately made of GASOLINE— and they HATE each other at this point, but on days like this the space between them is also filled with this like. singular electricity that makes them feel like NOTHING else. the emotional release of a hard won battle… all of those endorphins panting shiny with sweat sticky with champagne… critical awareness of where the other is at all times, leftover from the track… and then they DO decide to shake hands on the podium and there’s. a moment. a spark. something a bit different than static electricity, but not far off. and they don’t think anything of it until after the race, when dani is about to get whisked away by honda to debrief— and jorge shouldn’t even notice when dani walks away but he DOES, he can FEEL it, and something prickles and begins to TEAR. jorge feels some deep instinctual part of himself seize up with panic, and theres a shout from dani’s direction and suddenly jorge’s body is moving without his permission and he’s got dani’s face in his hands and big brown eyes are looking up at him and they are fucking ANGRY. and it’s then that he knows something is very very veryyyyy wrong.

and off they go to the motogp doctors™️ ! who are like. yep! you’re cursed ! (magic ass universe where looney tunes shit like this occasionally happens to riders who ride the edge of rivalry a little too hard. rosquez have gods biggest storm coming for them in a few years.) so you have to stay as physically close as possible to each other for a couple of months!! it’ll hopefully pass. these curses don’t effect in track stuff really so you’re are both cleared to ride 🤗👍 and PEDRENZO are both like. you have to be FUCKING kidding me. dani sitting there picking at his fingernails COMPLETELY shut down and jorge just posture tight frown dialed to ELEVEN tiny little stormcloud over their heads :) and they’re holding hands because it’s the only way they don’t feel like live ants are under their skin :) THEN the doctor is like. and you guys should probably share a bed :)

and it’s rough at the beginning! they are both VERY stubborn and while dani remains the people’s princess i think when he was younger he had the capacity to just. shut the fuck down when he was pissed. close off. and jorge is NOT shy about how uncomfortable he is about the whole thing so he’s dialed the cuntress factor allll the way up. and there’s no quick fix! it’s just time! and dani is also SELF ADMITTED !!! not a patient person. SO i IMAGINE sitting next to jorge in bed and imagining himself attempting to suffocate in his most evilest of enemy’s tits is FUN but is also not a SOLUTION. action oriented guy methinks. loves solving a problem hates when the only solution is WAIT. so it ends up being this escalating arms race of belligerent horny tension where they’re literally living in each other’s pockets holding hands touching ankles sleeping in the same bed and being TORTUROUSLY aware of the other’s body the ENTIRE time. every SLIVER of skin contact i feels like a brand. passing dani in the kitchen reaching for cereal and jorge brushes a hand on dani’s waist to lean and he feels CRAZY. INSANE. that kind of stuff. and eventually i think dani (NOT PATIENT !) fucking snaps and just. jumps him. might as well make the fucking lemonade if you have the goddamn lemons !!

the REAL problem os after the curse gets lifted (of course. the second after they fuck.) when they are USED to each other’s presence and have begun to realize how much they COMPLIMENT each other and suspect (creeping at the edges of awareness) that this mighttttt be love. but they know the other was only around for months because they were literally cursed. and now they are free to go back to the status quo. where rivalry is expected. what do they do…

[twiceeshy]

Beckoning hands made you fly [1/?]

Read on ao3.

Warnings: major character death, terminal illness

Summary: Marc would hurt less if he never made that trip to Tavullia. He wouldn't regret a moment of it.

M, rosquez, 2.2k words

--

When Valentino pulled out of all of his racing teams citing illness, Marc had a terrible feeling about it. In all honesty, he didn't keep up with how Valentino was doing in his career these days. Car racing bored him, and pondering the ruins of his long-dead relationship when he had a championship to manage was a waste of energy. They hadn't spoken in years. Marc had more important preoccupations.

But he knew that Valentino lived to race, so when his algorithm pushed the short press statement of Valentino's permanent retirement onto his social media feed, he was taken by a horrible sense of foreboding.

He didn't dare to voice his worst fears, lest he jinx the situation. Information was scarce. Neither Valentino nor his cronies provided a direct quote. Marc keyed in searches across platforms, in every language he knew, and found nothing but speculation.

It was possible that he was just getting into yet another unwanted obsessive phase about Valentino, but his intuition did not allow him to stop worrying. All he needed was assurance that Valentino would be fine eventually, and he would snap out of this.

He copied the link to an article of the statement and sent it to his teammate. Is he okay? he added.

Pecco took a long time to reply. In between, Marc walked the dogs with his brother and boiled pasta. He had yet to figure out how to cook a perfect sauce - Italian domesticity evaded him, despite his growing familiarity with everything else Italian.

Marc jumped for his phone when it finally buzzed with a message notification. He expected to see that he had just been stupid and one-sidedly concerned again.

Instead, Pecco's response made his stomach drop. I don't think so. He refuses to tell us anything. Even Luca doesn't know much. We are worried. Digging Uccio for info.

--

Marc chartered a private jet to Rimini with nothing but a haphazardly-packed bag of clothes and necessities.

He hired a taxi from the airport to Valentino's house, the address of which was still in his memory. Given his mental state, he did not trust himself to drive.

For the entire journey, he sat in an awful, jittery silence. The taxi driver didn't try to make conversation - Marc's entire demeanour must have radiated anxiety. He shook his leg and gnawed on his nails, while hiding his face with his oversized hoodie. It provided no protection from reality.

The journey went by without Marc registering a thing. Within less than an hour, he had tapped his card to make payment and was standing before a familiar gate, but it looked so different in the dark. How times had changed. Eleven years ago, he had been in love, and they were both whole and healthy.

He waved at the surveillance camera, then pressed the switch for the doorbell. Even across Valentino's considerably large yard, a faint echo could be heard of it. The bell was loud.

A few seconds passed, and no signs of life came from the house. No buzzing of the intercom or footsteps towards the door. Not even the lights going off to pretend that the owner was heading to sleep.

Marc pressed the button again. And again. Then continuously, until the chimes interrupted one another, and an unpleasant cacophony sounded from the house, muffled by distance. He continued to press viciously, though his hand was growing tired. If Valentino truly wanted him gone, he'd turn off his electricity to cut the sound.

After a while, Marc saw a shadow move past a window upstairs. Less than a minute later, he heard footsteps approaching the gate.

"Fuck off Marquez, I hate you," Valentino shouted from the other side of the wooden barrier.

"You're lying, let me in," Marc shouted back. The footsteps halted so Marc had to take more extreme action. He kicked the gate, and was pleased with how it rattled in its frame. Valentino would either need to have Marc arrested or let him in if he didn't want to be embarrassed in front of the neighbours. Marc kicked again, and wondered if this thick gate could stand up to his force. It was of no concern to him. Valentino was swimming in millions, he could easily afford a replacement.

"Okay- fuck, you bastard. Stop it, I'll get the keys," Valentino said, exasperated. Marc cheered, and gave the gate one last perfunctory kick for good measure.

A part of him didn't want to see Valentino at all. The last time they'd met face to face, Valentino was still whole and healthy; a warm-blooded being with enough energy to sustain his endless well of hatred and vengeance. He'd loved Marc once with equal measure. Marc liked those memories - every touch, every race, every caring morsel and angry word. When they last touched, a mere brush of the shoulders as they passed in a narrow corridor, it had been Marc who was staring down the barrel of a premature end to his racing career.

Marc didn't want to reach out and feel cold fingers. He'd been around dying people before, and it had been difficult even though they were old. He couldn't imagine his powerful, vibrant Valentino fading out of existence like that. It was unfair. It was too soon.

Valentino opened the gate. "Leave," he ordered, contradictory.

"No," Marc said, forcing his way in. He paused. "You don't have a girlfriend staying here, do you?"

Valentino sighed. "I sent her away before my first blood test. That's no reason for you to come."

Marc shrugged. He pulled his luggage along with him, and took quick steps over to the front door to make himself at home. He still knew where most things were based on his singular prior visit.

Valentino hovered while Marc knelt down to undo his shoelaces. The fact that he wasn't acting more hostile was a cause for alarm. Marc was more certain than ever that the crisis at hand was dire.

Only when Marc stood up did he psych himself up to take a proper look at his former lover.

He appeared to be fine. He always had a rather reedy build, but he did not look to be wasting away. His clothes still fit, and he was handsome. Marc would kiss him happily.

But the pain was all in his expression. Tired lines carved themselves deep on his face, and dark circles outlined his eyes. He looked defeated.

"Are you dying?" Marc demanded, though he was already fairly certain.

Valentino's silence was an answer in itself.

"So I'm going to live here," Marc said. He toed his shoes off and pushed down the handle of the front door.

Valentino caught his arm. It was the injured one, but it didn't hurt under his grasp. "Don't get involved," he said softly. "It's not fun to watch people waste away."

"It's my choice. You don't want to be alone, do you?" Marc asked, challenging him to argue.

Valentino smiled, the haunting, carnivorous one he pulled put whenever he wanted to make Marc feel bad. Other people called it charismatic. It was nice to know he was still capable of producing expressions like that.

"Maybe I would rather be alone than with you," he sneered.

Marc took a step nearer to him, then another, only half a step long. There was no more space between them. "Oh yeah?" he asked. Bravely, he winded his arms tightly around Valentino's waist and rested his cheek against Valentino's beating heart. He was still warm, they had time yet.

Slowly, Valentino placed his arms around Marc, delicately first, then rested his weight on him.

"I love you Vale," Marc said for the first time in years. "You can't get rid of me."

--

Vale's illness became apparent fairly quickly. He played a decent host for a short while, showing Marc around and retrieving a spare set of keys for him, but he was slow on his feet and soon excused himself to lie down.

"I had my first session of chemotherapy," he explained.

"Oh," Marc said in a small voice. "It's cancer?"

Vale nodded and gave no further explanation. "You can put your things in one of those rooms," he said, gesturing at some guest rooms that Marc had never used. "Or if you want, you can sleep with me."

"I'll sleep with you," Marc decided immediately. If given half a chance, Vale would find some way to retract the offer.

It might be strange that Marc was leaping in heart first like this, but he had no other choice. Unconditionally, he had already forgiven. He could not waste a moment so he had to let go of every grudge.

Vale's bedroom happened to be the one that Marc had seen his shadow descend from when he was standing outside. It was still early in the night by Vale's standards, but he was in sleep clothing.

He got into bed, the covers for which were already creased, and slouched against the headboard. "Will you sleep soon?" he asked Marc.

Truthfully, Marc hadn't been planning to. He was hungry, and the emotions of the day chased themselves around his head in a dizzying way that was hard to shut them off. But he didn't want Vale to be alone.

"Yes, I just need to get cleaned up first," he said. He stepped closer to Vale, and encountered the unusual experience of having Vale look up at him.

He was so beautiful, constructed with impish magic. Older than before for sure, and significantly older than when he was just a celebrity on Marc's wall, but his looks had never faded. Marc's heart ached to know that he would not have an eternity to age into his features that only seemed to grow ever more remarkable.

He bent down and steadied his hand lightly against Vale's neck while he stole a kiss. Vale lapped at the seam of his mouth. Marc had missed him so much.

"I love you, Vale," Marc said once more when they broke apart.

Vale licked his lips and appeared to struggle. "You will hurt yourself. It's one of your problems, you never know when to stop."

Marc grinned joylessly. "I can take it, don't you know me?"

Vale gave him a tired, accusing look that suggested that he did. Maybe for want of energy or companionship, he couldn't win the battle against himself to force Marc out of the house. It was for the better. For no matter how long Vale had left, Marc would make him happier than he could imagine.

"Wait for me," Marc requested, with one last kiss and a caress of Vale's face.

He made a quick pitstop at the kitchen to shove an apple and two slices of bread into his mouth, then took a very rapid shower.

Upon his return, Vale was still awake, albeit drowsy. He had settled into a lying position, and was staring at the doorway with heavy-lidded eyes.

"I'm still awake," he said, heaving himself up on his elbows.

Marc gently pushed him back down, and got into bed with him. He rolled in from the other side, then plonked his head onto the empty half of Vale's pillow.

"Hello," he said brightly.

"I thought you hate sleeping with wet hair," Vale complained.

Marc did. "You mean you hate me sleeping with wet hair," he said. He didn't mind being a bit of an annoyance. Love was all about little sacrifices after all. He was making an obvious one, and Vale would throw him out if he felt he had nothing to give in return.

He snuggled his damp hair right into Vale's face and clung to him like a limpet. Vale sighed, but he rested an arm around Marc's back.

"You're always smaller than I remember," he remarked.

"Really?" Marc asked, surprised. He was used to being seen as tiny. In fact, he had grown taller than he ever expected as a child, due to the combined efforts of a late puberty that finally granted him a growth spurt and his mother's effort to stuff him with nutrients. Once he became an adult, there was always someone shorter and less muscular on grid. He ended up being perfectly normal sized.

"In my head you're always this-" Vale gestured aimlessly with his free arm. "You take up too little space to cause so much trouble."

Marc grinned. Being reminded that he was small and troublesome always stroked the right side of his ego. It might not sound like praise, but it was to him.

"It's not the size that matters," Marc said, raising his knee to nudge Vale's cock beneath his worn trackpants. Not particularly impressive while soft, but probably Marc's favourite cock after his own. A nice, hidden secret.

Vale held him by the scruff of his neck in warning, though it didn't stop him from grinding against Marc's leg. "Obviously, since you don't use yours."

Marc pouted. "Well, you could let me for once," he said.

The expression that crossed Vale's face was pensive and unintentionally sobering. "I should," he said. Following which, he twisted to his side to grab a remote control and turned off the lights. He could be so transparent about avoiding certain things, but this time, Marc was grateful.

"Can you sleep like this?" Marc asked, and wondered if he should let go a little.

"Yes," Vale said shortly. Marc felt soft lips graze his brow and figured he was happy not to move.

Vale's breathing deepened and evened out soon, leaving Marc on his lonesome to contemplate the future.

[moonshynecybin]

sorry that strategy question is sooo funny to me how much you wanna bet vale's speaking to his base like "yes marquez has the best strategy of course. which you all know. from that time in sepang wink wink nudge nudge. nailed it" vale u r so transparent love u king

video playlist here be warned they are largely boring. funny to see these absolute egomaniacs attempt to muster meager compliments 4 their competitors though. like max biaggi gets asked who the best rider is in close fights is and does not answer valentino. which is funny. then WHO buddy. then who. likethey are all. sucking on lemons wracking their brains chewing their cheeks the whole time it kind of rules.

but ummmm the way. for the question about who has the best starts. everyone else (including marc) is answering like the people's princess dani pedrosa or dovi or some other person from their specific ass era of the sport and literallyyyyy ONLY vale is like. MARQUEZ ! which is. thats so. what im saying is. hm. hmmmmm. could be nothing whatever who cares i DONT ! and then he does it again for the best strategist question. which is. alright. sure. slightless less cwazy because most other people are answering marc or vale himself but. my dude you CAN answer yourself. many other people are!! alex rins' ass is !! maybe you are right zoe, and he is like. well being a snake has clearly worked out for him :) but they dont show us vale's OTHER answers to the other questions on these vids so maybe his ass ALSO had to keep saying marc for best braking or best in battles or whatever and he got annoyed lmao. both ENTIRELY possible 2 me. and thennnnnn you get the everybody just love one another question ("most gentlemanly rider") and rosquez are both like i would sell every single one of my coworkers to satan for one goddamn cornchip and if they tell you they wouldnt do the same they are LYING (hand in. beautiful unloveable hand.) and you hard cut to jorge lorenzo. who answers. my beautiful wife dani pedrosa.