At This Point I Start To Think That Fabio Is Cursed ( My Poor Boy😭)

Referring to the post I made earlier this morning, do u all think vale played a roll in the way pecco , Marco , Franky or other riders from the academy view Marc ? Especially that now Marc and Pecco are teammates and seem to get along most of the time + plus Marco at silveratone and some small interactions with Franky

Remember when I said how funny would it be if vale would handout the prize to Marc at mugello , someone did god’s work on ao3

I read not so long time ago a ff on here ( gonna tag if I remember the username) about Marc being a VR46 rider . Let’s say , what IF , Marc would have actually become on in real life , with everything still going on the same , especially the 2015 incident . Do u guys think that the outcome of vale and Marc would have been different??

Ok u all , ignore my editing skills, but keep this wonderful picture in mind for future use )

Anyway , it would be so crazy if that picture was actually real

“Shadow of the Champion”

Imagine a world where the winds of fate blew differently—where it was Alex Márquez, not Marc, who rose first, who burned brightest, who became the unstoppable force in MotoGP history. The elder Márquez, stoic and relentless, carved his dynasty with cold precision, claiming title after title while his younger brother, Marc, chased shadows and expectations he could never quite eclipse.

In this alternate timeline, the infamous Sepang Clash of 2015 never happened. Valentino Rossi never accused Marc of sabotage. There was no war, no fractured paddock, no great divide—only uneasy peace and mutual curiosity between the Doctor and the overshadowed younger Márquez.

But everything changes in 2025.

As Marc grows disillusioned riding in his brother’s colossal shadow, he shocks the racing world by signing with VR46, Rossi’s team, searching for a new identity away from the Márquez legacy. Valentino, takes Marc under his wing—not as a rival, but as a prodigy too long eclipsed. Whispers swirl in the paddock: is Rossi building the champion he never had? A younger reflection of himself, full of fire and scars?

But in this twisted mirror world, history has a cruel way of repeating itself.

When the VR46 team rises to dominance, Pecco Bagnaia, the golden boy of the factory Ducati team and Rossi’s original heir, sees Marc’s arrival as a threat—not just to his career, but to everything he thought Rossi stood for. Tensions brew. The championship closes in. Elbows sharpen. And in a dramatic twist of fate, Sepang becomes a battlefield again—this time, not between Marc and Rossi, but Marc and Pecco.

A shove. A stare. A controversy that will define a generation.

First time writing something like this , hope u all gonna like it ;)

Genuinely going insane right now . I’m not gonna be home for the mugello gp this weekend ( my mom gonna watch it for me lmao ) SO OFC THEY HAD TO MAKE THE CUNTiEST CONCEPT KNOWN TO MAN KIND 😭😭😭😭 . Idk why I feel that this go gonna be MESSY ( Valentino I’m looking at u )

Marc better keep his ass on that bike or I’m genuinely gonna crash mine 💀😭

Domenicalli is going to Mugello😭😭😭

Every time he goes to a race Marc crashes on a Sunday

god no!!!!!! i don’t want marc to crash in front of all his opps

It’s so funny to me how Marco was going for Marc’s neck a couple of years ago cuz he “made” him crash and now at silverstone they were just two cuties together😅 ( someone is getting locked out the ranch together with pecco )

Going trough a writing impulse so enjoy

CHAPTER THREE: Fire Doesn’t Apologize

Monday morning hit like a highside.

Marc Márquez stepped into the VR46 team’s base surrounded by silence. Not cold—just waiting. Mechanics looked up from their screens. Engineers paused mid-keystroke. Conversations died mid-sentence. Everyone knew the numbers. Everyone had seen the headlines.

But it was the way they looked at him that had changed.

Not with pity. Not with awe.

With caution.

Marc dropped his backpack, nodded at no one in particular, and moved toward the briefing room.

He’d felt this before. Not on track—but at home. At ten years old, when Alex won his first junior title. When their father smiled a little longer. When the cameras started showing up for the other Márquez. Marc had always known what it felt like to be noticed too late.

Not this time.

He had forced the world to look.

Even if it hated what it saw.

———

Inside the briefing room, the air was thick. Pecco sat on the far side of the table, arm in a sling, bruised but not broken. His expression was ice.

Marc took the seat opposite. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize.

Valentino entered last.

No VR46 hoodie today. No sunglasses. Just a black t-shirt, a cold stare, and the weight of an empire on his shoulders.

He didn’t sit.

“Let’s begin,” Rossi said, voice flat.

The room stilled.

The head of strategy started in a shaky voice: “We’ve reviewed telemetry, onboard footage, and external angles. There was contact. But no breach of technical rules. Race Direction ruled it a racing incident.”

Marc exhaled, once.

Pecco said nothing.

Rossi turned to Marc. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Marc met his gaze. “Then ask what you want to ask.”

The room tensed.

Valentino’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

“Did you mean to push him off?”

Marc’s silence was an answer.

Valentino stepped forward. “This isn’t about what the stewards say. This is about who we are as a team. What we stand for.”

Marc leaned back in the chair, jaw locked. “You mean who you are.”

Wrong words.

Pecco stood. Chair scraping behind him. “You wrecked everything. The team. The race. My season.”

Marc shrugged. “You left the door open.”

“You forced it off its hinges.”

“Enough!” Rossi barked. For a moment, the Doctor was back. Commanding. Ferocious.

He turned to Marc.

“You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know what this is? You want to be noticed. You want to matter. But this? This is how you get remembered for the wrong reasons.”

Marc didn’t move. But his voice, when it came, wasn’t angry—it was razor-sharp.

“Then why did I hear my name louder than his?”

Silence. Even Pecco looked away.

Because it was true.

The people had cheered. They had hated him—but they had watched. For once, he wasn’t a side note. He was the story.

“You taught me to fight,” Marc said. “You picked me for this team because you saw fire. But fire doesn’t apologize.”

Valentino stared at him for a long, brutal moment.

Then: “You’re suspended for the next round.”

Gasps. Even Pecco blinked.

Marc’s jaw tensed. “You’re serious?”

“This isn’t about punishment,” Rossi said. “It’s about control. And you’re losing yours.”

Marc stood. “And if I walk?”

“Then walk. But you’ll do it as the rider who was handed everything—and chose chaos instead.”

The words landed like a punch.

Marc didn’t respond. He just left. Walked out of the room, through the paddock, through the stares and the whispers and the storm he had started.

And yet… outside, the fans waited.

Not just one or two. Dozens. Then hundreds.

They chanted his name.

They held signs.

They wanted pictures, autographs—even if they hated him.

Because love fades. Hate fades. But legends don’t.

Marc stopped. Signed a VR46 cap. Smiled at a kid with his number scrawled in marker on his cheek.

He looked up at the cameras watching him from a distance.

Let Rossi suspend him. Let Pecco hate him. Let Alex be disappointed.

He was no longer the shadow.