#REVIEWS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED

[nico-di-genova]

In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 4

Read on AO3

“Be safe,” Lance says, leaning down into the car enough that Fernando will hear him through his helmet. It is a bit like Deja vu, pulls at the dregs of a memory, Lance’s last moments in his own car that are still muddled.

Fernando glances up at him through his visor, nods, “Be back soon.”

It is a promise, soothes at the anxiety that prickles along Lance’s spine. Fernando is exceedingly careful in the car these days, in all the ways he can be when he’s doing 300 kph, because he knows Lance is sitting in the garage waiting for him.

Lance cannot race anymore, he’s prone to migraines, his right leg can’t withstand the force required to push down the pedal, the g-forces are a threat to his body that he’s so carefully spent a year putting back together. The FIA will not clear him, no matter how much money his father had tried to throw at them. Instead, Felipe has taken up permanent residence on what used to be his side of the garage - permanent until Yuki replaces him next year. The number 18 exists now only on the small decal Fernando has added to his own helmet, beside the victory cross. The gesture had only fueled the rumors about them, Lance being the first person Fernando greets when he gets out of the car now hadn’t helped.

They’re not subtle, but Lance has earned the luxury of not needing to be. Silverstone especially owes him this, considering it has tasted his blood, nearly claimed him like Lance was the sacrificial lamb brought to the alter. This was the race they had been preparing for, mentally, since Fernando first sat Lance down and explained he wasn’t ready to give up driving.

——————————————

There is an itch under his skin, one he can’t quite reach, when he sits behind a wheel - even if it is the leather wrapped wheel of his Aston Martin as he drives Lance to his physio appointment. His grip tightens around the brown leather, his foot presses harder on the pedal, Lance shoots him a look like he understands. Fernando thinks it looks a lot like jealousy.

They don’t talk about it, the F1 sized car that follows them like a backseat companion, the silent elephant in the room. But Fernando knows the further he pushes the gas, the more Lance looks like it physically pains him. He eases off, lets the speedometer drop back down to a safe range, grabs Lance’s hand that had been tensing around the fabric of his sweat pants and squeezes reassuringly.

Lance doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, Fernando can see the tick of his jaw out of the corner of his eye and knows they are close to the breaking point anyway.

———————————

“I want to go back,” Fernando says over dinner, when Lance is chewing a mouthful of roasted veggies and cannot immediately bite back. He tries to be gentle about it, even as he sees Lance’s shoulders tense.

They have been toeing this for months, Fernando snapping because they’ve been stationary in his London home for too long and Lance snapping back because it’s his body that is broken, not Fernando’s, as he likes to point out with spitting frustration. There have been fights, small at first, growing in the past few weeks. Fernando tries not to be mean, but Lance is good at cutting to the bone. They’ve been sleeping in separate rooms.

Lance swallows, stays quiet, his grip on the fork in his hand goes white knuckled. He does not meet Fernando’s eyes, but instead stares down at his plate with resolute defiance.

“I have talked with Lawrence-.”

Lance scoffs, drops the fork so it clatters against the glass top of the dining table. It skitters across the surface before reaching the edge and falling to the ground. Last week it had been Lance’s plate, glass shards exploding across the wood flooring. They’d been fighting about something stupid, the dishes Fernando had left in the sink, a distraction from the conversation Fernando is starting now.

“Lance-.”

“Fuck you,” Lance spits, shoves back from the table with enough force it shifts along the floor, scrapes the hardwood. Lance has been leaving his mark on Fernando’s home like he is trying to prove that he is still there.

“Lance, please-.”

He’s speaking to the retreating back of the man, standing himself because Lance is heading for his room and he wants to stop him before he’s speaking to a locked door.

“Lance-.”

He gets one hand around Lance’s bicep, the fabric of his hoodie, before Lance is jerking away and turning to face him.

“Don’t,” he warns, eyes already dark with the promise of a fight, lips already twisted into a pained scowl. Fernando can see the hurt in his expression, hates that he’s the one to keep putting it there.

“Please, let me explain,” he pleads, reaching for Lance again, needing to soothe the pain from him.

Lance steps back, shakes his head, “Fuck you, Fernando.” His voice is thick, clogged, promises tears even if they haven’t appeared yet.

Fernando swallows back the rising tide of his own.

“You said you wouldn’t go back until I did. You said that.”

“I know-“

“So you’re a fucking liar.”

“No-“

“You talked to my dad. Behind my back. To what? Set up another contract? Was it easier to negotiate now that you could hold caring for me over his head?” Lance wants to hurt him, is trying, stabbing with brutal efficiency because he is tired of being the only one hurting. Fernando gets another hand on him, Lance jerks back away from it like he’s been burned. They’re standing in the living room with their dinner forgotten behind them and Fernando can see the tears forming in Lance’s eyes but he doesn’t know how to stop them anymore.

“I would never Lance, you know this.”

“Do I?”

“Lance-“

“Just stop! Stop. I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Go back to racing, I don’t fucking care. Crash your own car into the wall and then maybe you can join me here again.”

Fernando swallows, blinks, sees Lance’s blood seeping between his fingers in the millisecond of darkness. Lance is still bleeding, and Fernando cannot stop it.

When Lance walks away again Fernando lets him go, jumps at the sound of the door slamming and tries not to think of the way it sounds like an Aston Martin crunching into the concrete.

——————————————

Lance does not go with Fernando to his first race back. Instead, he flies to Montreal and cries in his mother’s arms when she opens the door to him.

He couldn’t drive himself here from the airport, the sun had been too bright and his head had hurt too much and so he’d been forced into the backseat of a tinted SUV and dropped off on his mother’s doorstep. He’s wearing Fernando’s jacket, stolen from his closest as a final fuck you, or maybe a promise that he would be back to return it. It smells like the man, makes the sharp stab in his gut hurt even more. When his mother answers the door he crumples.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she soothes, as Lance sobs in her arms and tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg.

Right now Fernando is probably sliding into his race suit. Right now he is thinking of plan A, thinking of winning. Right now he is speaking with Felipe who is driving Lance’s car, with Lance’s team. Lance wonders if Fernando will fuck Felipe too, tell him he’s doing a good job, crash into him and send his whole world spiraling out of control along with his car.

“It hurts,” he cries, unable to tell if he means his body, or his head, or the gaping hole Fernando has left in his chest. It’s all the same at this point, indistinguishable.

———————————

“My son is with his mother,” Lawrence accuses.

Fernando, hair still damp from his shower, skin still flushed from the podium, has the decency to look ashamed. It only makes Lawrence angrier.

“He flew to Canada. Alone.”

“He is cleared to fly, Lawrence-”

“I told you. If you stayed you better mean it. So why is my ex-wife telling me Lance was crying on her doorstep?”

Lawrence can be an intimidating man when he means to be, when Lance isn’t around to make him appear only as a doting father. He makes sure to stand to his full height, tower over Fernando in his temporary office in the Aston Martin motorhome. Claire had told him Lance had only just fallen asleep, after the migraine pills had soaked in enough to make the rest come easier. She’d FaceTimed him while she was lying with Lance in his bed, the brown tufts of Lance’s hair just barely visible from where he was passed out in Claire’s lap. When she spoke, it had been in a berating hush.

Fernando must know about the flight, he doesn’t look shocked to hear Lance is not where he left him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admits, hangs his head. “Racing, I am good at. It is what I know.”

“Yeah. It’s what Lance knew too.”

Fernando jerks like he’s been punched, looks up at Lawrence with shame and hurt.

“I wanted him to come back. I want him in the car beside me. I thought- I wanted to think he could.”

Both he and Lawrence know it’s a lie, both knew there was no chance of Lance racing again. Delusion could only go so far, and the scar on Lance’s abdomen was too large to ignore. When Fernando had asked for his seat back, Lawrence had given it to him on the condition that Lance agree. Instead, Lance is in Canada and Fernando is alone.

He’s wearing a hoodie that’s too big for him, is clearly one of Lance’s, Lawrence almost demands it back. But he is not cruel, and Fernando is hurting in much the same way his son is.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Lawrence sighs, “he’s stubborn, you’re hardheaded.”

“He is upset I came back,” Fernando mumbles, “I do not blame him.”

“He’s hurt that you could,” Lawrence corrects, places a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. It might be a comfort, or a threat, he isn’t sure which yet.

On the FaceTime Claire had demanded he fix this, while her hand was soothingly working its way through the tangled strands of Lance’s hair. He’s still trying to decide just how he’s going to do that. Fernando has been his friend, someone who he once would have trusted his son’s life with, and now he is the man who has nearly ripped Lance away from him, who Lance loves.

“You have time before the next race?” He asks, less of a question, more of a demand that he make the time.

Fernando thinks it over, nods.

“Book a flight to Montreal.”

——————————————

Lance sleeps a lot now, has little else to do to pass the time. He sleeps because the sheets he’s wrapped up in smell like home, because when his mom sits beside him he feels small and safe, because when he dreams it is the one place he can still be behind the wheel.

He dreams of winning, and wakes to the soured taste of failure. In the end, everyone was right, Lance is not a victor and he will never prove them wrong.

At some point he falls asleep and wakes to Fernando pressing a kiss to his temple, isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming. The scratch of his stubble, the scent of him, like rubber and pine, is strong enough that Lance chases it. His head lifts, his eyes flutter open, and Fernando is staring back at him.

“Nando?” He asks, groggy, reaching a hand blindly for Fernando and finding himself slightly startled when it meets his chin and doesn’t phase through. Sometimes he dreams of chasing Fernando, in the car, or on legs that sometimes don’t support his weight, watching the man slip out of his grasp when he does manage to catch him.

Fernando grabs his hand with his own, leans into Lance’s touch where he’s cradling his cheek. He’s kneeling beside Lance’s bed, in a position that would have Lance aching in two seconds if he tried it. Sometimes it’s funny to remember that Fernando is the older of the two of them. Ironic that Lance is the one who complains of sore joints now.

“Hey, churri,” Fernando greets, smiles softly. In the morning light filtering through Lance’s closed blinds his smile is muted, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The nickname is sweet, soothes over the cracked edges of Lance’s ripped open chest.

“How was the race?” He asks, as the last bits of sleep keep his mind foggy, makes him forget to be angry. Instead he is focused on how warm Fernando feels, on the fact that he is wearing one of Lance’s favorite hoodies - the one with the string pulled out because Lance had messed with it so much it had become frayed, made more sense just to remove it entirely.

Fernando grimaces, shakes his head, “I will tell you later.”

“Okay.”

“Can I lay here?” He nods at the sliver of empty space on the twin mattress behind Lance.

Lance nods, closes his eyes because his head is starting to ache again and sleep is the only way to stop it. Water too maybe, if he bothered to stay hydrated enough.

Fernando climbs onto the mattress beside him, nuzzles his nose against the nape of Lance’s neck and presses another stubble rough kiss there. His arm wrapped around Lance’s waist is gentle, hand splaying across his scarred abdomen like he’s trying to protect him from further harm.

Lance feels him breathe, the warm press of him along his back. It lulls him quickly back into unconsciousness.

———————————

Lance’s shirt rides up enough in his sleep that when Fernando wakes it’s to the rough edges of his scar against Fernando’s calloused fingers. Gross fascination has him tracing it, all the way up until he meets the end of it just below Lance’s ribs. He can feel the ghost of Lance’s heartbeat here, hear him snoring softly in his sleep. It’s healed now, the wound, which means that Fernando has not seen it since he stopped having to change the bandages. Lance doesn’t like him looking at it, avoids seeing it himself.

They stopped showering together, and they haven’t slept together since Lance’s accident. Fernando blames himself partly for the latter. Despite how much he wants to, he is afraid to hurt Lance further. Instead, he jerks off in the solitude of his room now and bites his hand to stop Lance’s name from spilling out of him.

“You don’t fuck me anymore,” Lance had complained one night, before the fighting had them sleeping separately, and Fernando hadn’t disagreed.

He is scared, afraid of the damage he has already caused, terrified of wreaking more. The scar under his fingers is proof, unfading, permanent, makes him feel sick with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and presses another kiss to Lance’s neck. Lance has told him to stop apologizing, but he doesn’t think he could ever say it enough to absolve himself.

Lance will never race again, and Fernando is already back in the car. Because he is selfish, because he does not know how to sit still, because racing is all he knows and in caring for Lance he is scared he has only hurt him further.

Lance moans in his sleep, shifts back further against Fernando. Fernando holds him, fully, wholly, and hopes it will be enough.

—————————

“If you want me to stop, I will,” he says to Lance later, when they are sitting in the sunroom of Lance’s mother’s house. It’s warm only because of the heater set to high, the snow piling against the windows doing little to help.

Lance, bundled in a blanket and a beanie on the couch beside Fernando, stares at him. Looks hurt for only a second before his brows furrow and it becomes anger.

“What?”

“I’ll retire, if you want me to, I will do it,” he means it as a gesture of trust, as proof that he does not want to lose what they have. Even if not being in the car would make him a little crazy, even if he would always yearn for it.

Lance stares at him. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, ducks down further into the fabric. It’s the comforter pulled from his bed, dark blue with grey stitching. Fernando wonders if it’s the same bedding he slept under as a teenager. Wonders if this is what Lance might have looked like when he occupied this space as a child.

“You mean more, Lance. More than racing, you know this.”

He isn’t sure what to expect but Lance’s response of, “Go fuck yourself, Nando,” certainly wasn’t at the top of his list.

“You don’t get to put this on me. Retire if you want, but don’t blame me for it.”

“That is not what I meant-“

“Yes it is, of course it is, because you don’t want to stop. You know you don’t. You just want me to tell you to and I’m not going to trap you here. I won’t be responsible for that.”

Fernando watches him, watches as the dim sunlight through the clouds catches the shine of tears in his eyes. Watches as Lance pulls the blanket impossibly tighter, like he’s trying to vanish inside of It. He wants to reach out, pull Lance to him, but is scared to shatter the feeble ground they’re resting on. Too many conversations between them have turned to arguments these past few weeks.

“Because it fucking sucks, man,” Lance sniffles, wipes at his eyes with the fabric of the comforter, “being on the other end, knowing you’re done. I won’t do that to you.”

But I did it to you, Fernando thinks. I did this.

Lance’s blood will not wash off his hands, will not stop dripping through his fingers. He is pressing as hard as he can and Lance is still looking up at him with fear blown eyes and a silent plea. He is mouthing Fernando’s name and all that is coming up is crimson that stains his lips.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers into the quiet space of the sunroom. More of you because so much has already been taken by Fernando’s own hands.

“I won’t tell you to retire. Please don’t make me.”

“What do we do then?”

Lance shrugs, muffles his response against the comforter he folds further into, “I don’t know.”

———————————

Fernando races in Jeddah and Lance stays in Canada. His mind is scattered, unfocused, thinking of a kiss in the fresh snowfall that had felt like goodbye. Which is maybe why he taps the wall on lap 6 and ends his race in the barriers of turn 23.

Lance is the first missed call on his phone when he gets back to the garage. He calls him back immediately.

“Are you okay?” Lance asks, answering after two rings, sounding panicked in a way that is new. Fernando hates it, hates how he can hear the hitch in Lance’s voice.

“I’m fine, cariño, don’t worry. It was small.”

Lance sighs, shaky across the line, “you’re sure?”

“Already cleared by medical. About to go to the media pen now.”

Lance should know this, if he’d been watching as he so clearly had he would have seen how insignificant of a crash it was. Barely anything.

“But the wheel snapped hard, your hands-“

“Lance, I am okay. Promise.”

A bit sore maybe, from the straps digging into his chest, but no more than he’s already used to. Lance still sounds worried, his breath still hitching.

“Lance?”

“Sorry- fuck. Sorry,” he sniffles and it’s a wet sound, thick with snot.

“Baby,” Fernando soothes, feels the familiar guilt at the back of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening,” Lance continues, breathing worsening. “I thought- it was- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lancito. You’re okay. Breathe baby, is okay.”

He’s standing with his race suit around his hips in the garage, hadn’t even made it to the privacy of his drivers room because he didn’t think this would be much of a phone call at all. His handler is standing in the back trying to flag him down for the media duties he’s probably currently missing. Lingering engineers keep shooting him confused looks. Lance is panicking on the other end of the line though, safe in Canada wrapped in the security of his childhood blanket and it still isn’t enough to quell his choked breathing.

“Lance. Listen to me. Please. I am okay.”

“O-okay.”

“Completely fine. Some bruising maybe, but is all.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to come home, you can see yourself?”

Home meaning to Lance, he doesn’t care whose house it is, as long as it’s Lance who’s opening the door for him.

There’s static on the other end of the line, Lance’s muffled hyperventilating and then, “Y-yeah. Yes, please.”

“Okay, let me finish up here and I’ll get on the next flight. It’s alright. All okay.”

“Okay,” Lance repeats.

Fernando thinks of blood, Lance who’d been choking on it, how Lance wouldn’t have been there to pull him from the wreckage if that’s what it had come to. He wonders if Lance is thinking the same thing.

“Breathe,” he commands one last time, waits until he can hear Lance drawing air into his lungs, and then promises to be home soon. In the media pen he is short, curt, excuses himself with a speed that is unlike him off the track and then rushes back to his drivers room to change. His assistant has already booked him a flight and sent the details to Lance, all handled while Fernando was explaining to SkySports how he had ended his race in the wall.

He thinks about retiring on the plane, has a text to Lawrence drafted, but can’t bring himself to hit send. After all, the crash hasn’t scared him, just made him hungry for the chance to do better in the next race.

————————

Lance doesn’t remember his crash, not outside of the YouTube footage and Fernando’s own account. He doesn’t remember being scared, feeling his body failing him as he bled out steadily on the gravel. But he maybe feels the ghost of it when Fernando crashes.

He tastes copper at the back of his throat, far enough back that it can’t be blamed on split skin when he bites at his bottom lip too hard. They replay the crash, slow it down to discuss the details and Lance feels sick.

He calls Fernando, even though he knows the man is still in the car, only just climbing out of it, and swallows down vomit when it goes to voicemail.

It’s only the front wing that’s damaged, buried in the tire wall. And Lance can see that, but he can’t stop shaking anyway.

His mother sits with him, holds his hand while Lance tries to breathe around his tears. It is perhaps the most vulnerable he’s been with her since he was a child, with anyone, usually trying to hide away on his own before he breaks down. But the panic coursing its way through him glues him to the couch and then keeps him there long after he’s off the phone with Fernando.

He drifts in and out of sleep, takes pills that are offered to him and sips water from a glass with shaky hands when it’s pressed to his lips. At some point someone brings him food, crackers and fruit that he picks at numbly before growing disinterested and falling back asleep.

When he wakes up next it’s with a pounding headache and to the darkness of night. His phone is the only light, bright and harsh, making him squint as he paws for it on the coffee table.

There are two missed calls and six texts from Fernando, the last of which reads ‘here’ and sent two minutes ago.

Lance, barefoot and in a thin sleep shirt, stumbles to the front door with blind relief. Throws it open, despite the snow and the harsh wind, and then flings himself into Fernando’s arms.

“See,” Fernando soothes, cradles the back of Lances head, “All okay.”

————————

“I will retire at the end of the year,” Fernando promises, once they’re back indoors and warming themselves by the fire started by the staff and left running for Lance’s benefit.

They’re curled up on the couch, Lance having stripped Fernando of his shirt so he can inspect the bruises left behind by the straps of the car. Fernando sits with his back sinking into the plush pillows beneath him and Lance sits straddling his lap. He’d buried his face in the crook of Fernando’s neck after inspecting him, ensuring the bruises were just that, and then cried silently while Fernando traced patterns along the ridges of his spine. And then they’d stayed like that because Lance had gone slack against him and his breathing had evened out.

“Give me the year, yes? And then I am done.”

He’d thought about it on the ride from the airport to here, fingers picking at the edge of his phone and biting the inside of his cheek. He’d weighed the cost of his career against the cost of losing Lance and found that F1 would never win in the end. Besides, there was always endurance racing, other series he could entertain himself with. Other things Lance could maybe even take part in. He’s thinking about taking Lance karting, loops around a track, just the two of them, where Lance can maybe start to build back toward something. Because he knows Lance is the same as him, deep down, misses the feel of a wheel in his hand in the same way Fernando had during his brief breaks. When you are raised on it, when it is the only thing you know, you grow to miss the taste of it.

Even if the taste has gone sour with fear.

“One more year?” Lance asks, chapped lips moving against the soft part of Fernando’s neck, “That’s what you want?”

“I want you, Lance. That’s it. It is not the same if you’re not there.” Which is true, Felipe does not race the same, is not as sensitive to the finer bits of the car, does not have the same easy presence that Lance had. It all feels wrong, not at all like the team Fernando had signed on to, even most of Felipe’s engineers are new. And sure, their results are better, but only barely. Lance could drive the car to its limit, Felipe is still too reserved.

The grid is changing as a whole too, enough that Fernando finds himself searching for familiar faces in a sea of strangers. But being here with Lance is easy, feels right, even if the man is heavy against him and the weight of him is making the bruises on his chest ache.

He would hurt for Lance, do anything for Lance, knows that it isn’t the car he wants to be with in ten years time, but the man in his lap. Lance has been here just as long as racing has almost, once as a child who had clung to his father and looked at Fernando with adoration, now as someone who Fernando would consider an equal. He means just as much as a championship might, more maybe.

“It’s you. Always you, okay?��

The car can crash, Fernando will always pull Lance out.

————————

Lawerence has been working his whole life to make Lance smile, and yet it is still Fernando that manages it so easily. Fernando who wins in Silverstone, who stands on the top step of the podium and showers first Max and Charles in champagne, and then turns to douse the crowd below him. It is Lance he aims for, stood beside Lawerence and beaming up at Fernando as the champagne spray showers them in sticky drops.

Lawrence watches his son, the way he cheers Fernando’s name with the crowd, the way he’s sporting Fernando’s team cap backwards on his head, the new one, with the 18 embroidered along Alonso’s number. Because it is not just himself the man is racing for this year, but Lance as well.

The FIA hadn’t wanted to allow the duel numbers at first, but while Lawerence could not buy Lance his health back, he could do this. So 18 finishes next to 14 on the podium, because both numbers are present on Fernando’s suit as well. It is Fernando who will earn the points, but it is Lance who Fernando celebrates.

Lance laughs beside him, and Lawrence cherishes the sound, lets it replace the fading memory of a heart monitor and silence. He lets the champagne soak into his suit, watches it coat Lance’s hoodie and Fernando, and he envisions it soaking away the blood that was spilled here a year ago. Envisions crimson giving way to sweet champagne and the audible sound of Lance calling Fernando’s name.

Fernando is no longer hooking a finger around Lance’s pinkie, praying he wakes up, afraid to touch any other part of him, instead he has slid a metal band onto his ring finger and it glints in the sunlight.

It is nearly as bright as Lance’s smile.

[randomalistic]

I watched kung fu panda 1 & 2 back to back and Cried. MY THOUGHTS AND FAVORITE PARTS BELOW!!

‪I fucking love movies that are so confident in themselves and their identities. Kung fu panda was never unsure of itself it just went All in on amazing fight choreography and colors and animation and Awesomeness silliness . AND INCREDIBLE PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS. ALL THE CHARACTER INTERACTIONS ARE SO BELIEVABLE. No forced heterosexual romance?? (Or ANY romance.) In MY western animated 2008 movie?? What is this????!!!

I fucking love that Tai Lung is hyped up so MUCH to be unstoppable and intimidating throughout this whole movie and yet the final battle with Po is so believable. They didn’t nerf Tai Lung at all to be equal with Po, Po is just so confident of himself and his fighting style is unlike anything Tai has ever encountered. HE HAS NEVER FACED SILLY FIGHTING. That’s his weakness….. He wasn’t silly enough. And throughout the film Po is like. Really doubting who he is and hating on himself but it’s so empowering by the end. He’s just so Him! And IT WORKS!!!!!!!!

Okay ?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There were a lot of really cool shots like this😊😊😊 it’s kind of an anime .

Tai lung is so awesome and idk he’s hot too what else do I say. Great backstory too. Although I wish he had a little more.. why was he so power hungry? Was he just Like That. Fair. Also They make thr villans kind of objectively hot in this franchise. I wouldn’t PERSONALLY…. But if you said you would… I totally get that….

Tigress is the best character also. She was totally living in tai lung’s shadow I wish she got more validation from shifu it’s so sad. I LOVE HOW WELL THE FLASHBACKS SHOW DONT TELL !!!

OK ACTUALLY MAYBE OOGWAY IS THE BEST CHARACTER. I love how they made him so old and trembly. But so wise and at peace . That’s a silly detail but I liked it ok

Also shifu and po’s dynamic is so fucking good. And very cute! HAVE I SAID GREAT CHARACTER INTERACTIONS. The “you may now eat” dumpling bowl scene is the best scene in the whole movie. It’s so delightful.. probably followed by tai lung’s prison breakout and oogway’s passing.. THE RANGE OF THIS FILM!!!!!!

I love the “you’re a monster and I created you but I loved you” thing going on with shifu and tai lung.. I’m crazy.

Oops that’s another tai lung gif it was an accident!!! I would pet him and then I would die

I just wish the rest of the 5 got to have some more character development but there’s Five of them and that’s a Lot . The sprinkles we get of their characters is nice though ! I mean Sprinkles. TELL ME MORE ABOHT VIPER PLEASE SHES SUCH A SWEETHEART. WHAT WAS HER CHARACTER GROWTH WITH NOT HAVING FANGS… tell me….. do the others have something about them too…

Anyways super fuckin iconic movie and beautiful

Another thing I liked was when the characters made Animal Noises of their irl counterparts like tai lung making kitty meow (in pain) and shen making peacock calls while fighting. I just love little details like That okay!!!

Me???? Crying at kung fu Panda 2 ? Po finally coming to terms with his past repressed childhood memories and his village being massacred and from that still being able to embrace who he is in the present got to me ok‬!

Shen is so tragic and Delightfully Evil. He’s so unhinged and he has so much inner turmoil that he Never reflects on constructively. And He’s destructive about it! She’s a sadistic War criminal! And a little bit theater kid. very Theatrical. Kind of gay. “Your parents never loved you” PROJECTING MUCH? ?? 💔💔 AND THE WAY HE JUST ACCEPTS HIS DEATH FROM HIS OWN WEAPON AT THE END. He literally just closes his eyes and Takes It at point blank range. He was not ok. He reached a point of no return the moment he tried to kill off the pandas. AND HE WOULD RATHER DIE THAN SHOW WEAKNESS… HES SO FUCKED!!!and My friend used to have a crush on him. Did I mention cool as fuck character design. I love his metal talon things it makes him that much more menacing

Ok girl your scary

My friend made such a good observation about the inner peace/raindrop motif. The raindrop/drop of water that keeps hitting his head… annoying him… nagging at him… that’s symbolism for his Repressed Memories.. his identity crisis .. the incredible repeating urge to need to know who he is So Bad so much so that he’ll go in DEATHS WAY to know!! 🥴 AND IN THE SCENE WHERE HE RELIVES IT… IT RAINS… AND HES OK WITH IT…. THIS MOVIE IS FUCKING BEAUTOFUL AND I WASNT EXPECTING ANY LESS!!!!!!

ALSO I LOVED THE FOCUS ON TIGRESS / PO INTERACTIONS IT WAS SO CUTE. I’m so happy they’re friends now.. tigress definitely hated him The Most in the first movie . she called him a disgrace to kung fu and everything it stands for To his Face. Ouch ! But they are chill now I think.

They’re so fucking sad and wet here. I love them…

I’m also glad they toned down the fatphobia in the 2nd movie . In the first film Even though it was usually framed as a hurtful thing towards Po, it was also frequently used as a joke thing at his expense💔kinda mean spirited !! But hes still framed as cool and awesome anyways so. Ur giving Mixed Messages….

MR PING IS SUCH A GOOD DAD. WAAUUHGHHHHHHHHHH HE CARES ABOUT PO SO MUCH

There are certain details you might not pick up on if you dont watch these movies back to back also. I like how Mr Ping mentioned he wish he sold tofu in the first movie and then in the second movie he sells both noodles AND tofu now!! It’s just very cute and shows that a lot of care and passion goes into these :)

What a great franchise also. I saw the 2nd movie once on theaters and I only remembered parts of it. I’ve never seen the 3rd movie! And I just might!! DREAMWORKS DOESNT DISAPPOINT!!usually

[invisibleicewands]

Hello! I really love your film/series reviews! Could you provide your insightful look into "A Very Royal Scandal"?

Hi, Anonymous!

Well, thank you in advance for your trust, I'm not sure I can provide an interesting opinion to be honest, but since I've managed to watch it I'll try to tell you my random thoughts.

Honestly, when last year I first read the news of a movie with MS about Prince Andrew I was very skeptical. Not only for the topic, of course, but for the fear it could be a product like Vardy v Rooney.

Now, although I’ve found the movie not so essential (especially after another similar one at the beginning of this year), I think it's one of his best movies of the last decade. Maybe worthy of an award (finally!) with a bit of luck.

I had already seen the Netflix version “Scoop” months ago and I had found it good, well made, catchy. But compared to A Very Royal Scandal, I can say that Emily Maitlis was right saying that the Amazon version is 'another beast'. Not just because Scoop was more focused on Sam McAlister's research of infos about Prince Andrew's scandal than on the interview itself, but because in the Amazon version there is a deeper analysis of the main people involved in this interview, of their thoughts, of their worries, of their mindsets. Let's say that Scoop was more a kind of glossy "Working Girl", while AVRS is a mix of Frost/Nixon in The Crown environment, a real drama.

I really liked the suspence, the storytelling, the photography, the attention to the details. The story is never boring and goes forward flawless, with rythm, wisely built, even if the subject is delicate to handle, and this is not something that is so obvious nowadays. Then, the actors. All impeccable, not just Michael and Ruth but the supporting ones too. If I have to find a fault, I would say that Netflix probably chose actors more aesthetically resembling to the original characters (Keeley Hawes was a better choice for Amanda Thirsk for example), but fortunately this time the talent of the cast managed to compensate that part. Ruth really captured the essence of Emily, her grit, her spirit, her dedication to the work, more than what Gillian had done I think. She was really great, she gave a powerful performance not just as Emily but as a woman in general, brilliantly managing the responsibility of sending a strong message to the audience in the end.

And Michael. A professional as usual, never doubted. He played the role at 360 degrees, unsparingly, using all his art, his tricks and his experience, you can see it. He handled the part masterfully, with confidence, without wavering or shame. He portrayed the character brushing him with all those shades that only him can give. And here lays the problem, for me. The shades. Because even if it was necessary to give a certain meaning to the story, I think his character, Prince Andrew, didn’t deserve or own a so profound introspection (I know, he said he didn’t want to show his judgement about him, but I’m not so merciful, sorry). From this point of view, I found Rufus’ impersonation more suitable to describe the character attitude. Cold, superficial, creepy, rude, arrogant, egomaniac, frustrated, vapid, childish, stubborn and opportunist all at the same time. Maybe it’s because of his cute nose (a prosthetic would have been useful here, more than the weight he gained, true or false it can be…) but honestly Michael gave him a sense of compassion and a frailty that Prince Andrew doesn’t seem to have. The result is that I saw more Michael Sheen than Prince Andrew in this movie. I saw parts of his previous Bill Masters/Brian Clough/Roland Blum/David Frost/Aziraphale there (also a bit of Nye, though I didn’t really watch it) mixed together. Even parts of himself in real life, like during Staged. I could imagine him saying some of those lines in his real life, living some of those reactions for real. He felt so ‘transparent’ in some moments, and this is not a good feeling when you watch an actor in a story like this (funny, because, on the contrary, he said “the more different you look, it really does help psychologically”, so this means that he felt he looked different from himself here, which is not the case to me). I suppose it’s because I’ve seen too much of him now that I’m not able to separate him from the character anymore. Don’t know.

I don’t deny it, his performance was great, brave, perfect and everything, especially considering the effort to make a movie like this while he was preparing for a 4 months long stage tour on theatre. But I can’t say it was a part that left me mouth open, like the one in Dirty Filthy Love, Fantabulosa, Frost/Nixon or MoS, for example.

Anyway, I still hope he gets some recognition (and that Amazon decides to show the series also in Europe), because it’s a crime that international audience can’t see what an amazing quality actor Michael is.

P.S.: There are some lines that looked like easter eggs, specifically chosen by MS. "Wait and see", "Nixon"... Coincidences?

[kym-cruz]

Now here are the links you need:

GoodReads

Amazon

Reader House

Barnes & Noble

Google Play

iTunes

[mariocki]

Betty (1992)

"You know, I wanted to ask Thérèse when I saw her in the cellar. I wanted to say: 'Show me your wound.' I wanted to have a wound, too. I've always been chasing that wound. I must be looking for pity. I'm not a victim. I'm not to be pitied. No one ever hurt me. I'm the one who did the hurting. I'm a fool. Say it! I blew it all. I've soiled everything, myself included."

[seleneprince]

Me reading your Rhysta Fic:

I literally haven't touched tumblr in a month and then proceed to get greeted by such a fic, I have such a crush on your writing more. Please more <3

AHSHDHEF THANK YOUUU😍🤧🥺💞 I'm so glad you liked it!! Rhysta has me in a chokehold lately and it pains me there's so little hype about it. I'm multishipper, and in most fandoms I'm in a ship like rhysta would be on top along with tamsand or feyssian, but instead this fandom is obsessed with protecting the "santity" of canon and throw shit at anyone that dares to suggest something different.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I enjoy Rhysta so much lmao, it makes people mad to see the potential and how feysand pales in comparison. Canon feysand that's it. Also, Rhysta is built for such a good and compelling dark romance if driven in the right direction. Even in canon, they give such enemies to lovers energy (sorry but nessian doesn't cut like that). I like my enemies to lovers with them being real enemies at first, and the romance being slowburn. And this kind of dynamic allows the morally grey version of rhysand to be prominent instead of the tragic hero bullshit sarah tries to shove down our throats every five pages.

You bet i'm gonna be writing more about them. I'm afraid I have no choice but continue this story after this huge inspiration.

[bibelots]

Paddington keyring at the ready off to see Mr Whish on stage in the big city!!!

[termina-festival]

https://youtu.be/8_6vgJLjy9w?si=sRBXaA7p8ZhDNOtG LIKE CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS

willard who is learning so many new things :)

^ me learning

[britneyshakespeare]

you know. back when i reviewed poetry submissions for [insert unnamed literary magazine here], i once got a submission containing only two poems (you could submit up to five) both of which were about the author's older brothers, whose names are dan and john (my older brothers' names are dan and jon...athan) and her relationship w them and descriptions of them were not all that unlike my own brothers. still one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Everything Under the Moon

Anthology of queer reimaginings of fairytales by mostly Australian authors

various genres, from contemporary to fantasy and sci-fi, mostly about older teens

mlm, sapphic, trans, nonbinary, demi, bi ace, and aromantic characters, some stories focusing on romance but many on familial relationships and siblings

[letoscrawls]

I posted 666 times in 2022

That's 253 more posts than 2021!

264 posts created (40%)

402 posts reblogged (60%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@letoscrawls

@/irn-bru

@/sabertoothwalrus

@/nibeul

@/bobafettuccini

I tagged 547 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#ask - 89 posts

#my art - 65 posts

#dune - 49 posts

#star wars - 24 posts

#lotr - 22 posts

#dune art - 19 posts

#long post - 19 posts

#ahsoka tano - 15 posts

#star wars spoilers - 11 posts

#srb - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#like they would have to come up with an excuse if they made him super pretty and with long hair etc and i can't really imaginr that shsjdjs

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

3,231 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

#4

See the full post

3,653 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

#3

The next generation of Star Wars and it's all depressed people

5,344 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

#2

Ahsoka's graduation day 🌟

she's doing a peace sign bc this AU is all about peace 😔

Part of the Order 66-never-happened-AU

7,834 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

We all had a cringe fandom phase, but what's that piece of media you almost were a fan of, like you tip-toed on the edge of the hole but for some reason never fall into it

10,005 notes - Posted March 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023: NONA THE NINTH by Tamsyn Muir.

Sometimes I do actually follow through on ideas I have late at night, so: I will be posting pics of all the books I read this year and tagging them as “books of 2023,” as both a visual log and an excuse to take book photos! My goal is 52 books by the end of the year, so we’ll see how that goes.

I started the year off strong by finishing this on January 2! The backstory was Very Much Appreciated, and I love Pyrrha and Cam and Pal so much.

[jacquelinemerritt]

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 37 Review

Originally posted January 24th, 2016

Without Goku, Team Four Star focuses on their interesting characters.

Last week I spent a paragraph (justifiably) complaining about Toriyama’s decision to take Goku out of the fight with a bullshit plot contrivance, yet I praised Team Four Star for doing their best to tie the contrivance to character driven humor. I still stand by what I said, of course, but “Catch Me If You Can-droid” has shown me that my complaints may only need to be applied to the plot of the source material, as even without Goku, Team Four Star1 is more comfortable telling their story than ever.

Now, perhaps you could chalk this up to “Can-droid” finally providing the payoff for the androids being ridiculously underpowered, and while that’s certainly a part of it, as all of the tension in the episode comes from whether or not Gero can get away from our protagonists or not, with it immediately fizzling when he is discovered by Gohan, I’d argue that it’s also the result of Team Four Star being relieved at not having to deal with their most uninteresting character and all his associated plot contrivances.

That’s an odd thing to say in an episode that intentionally destroys all of its tension for its other characters, but that lack of tension is earned, as it’s been slowly established over the past few episodes that the androids they’ve been fighting haven’t been nearly the threat Trunks made them out to be.

Goku’s presence, on the other hand, automatically removes any semblance of tension, as the show has now proven twice that he’s guaranteed victory, even in circumstances where by all account he should be dead (see: Muffin Button).2 Not having Goku around means that they’re free to focus on the characters who have to work to achieve the power they do; they’re free to focus on humans instead of a demigod.

And since they’re focusing on humans, Trunks’ arrival and declaration that they’ve been fighting the wrong androids is a gut punch, as the last two episodes have let our protagonists (and us by extension) feel deservedly overpowered only to discover that they didn’t “over train for this,” as they’ve yet to encounter the enemies that are an actual threat. The stakes are immediately reestablished, and it’s at this perfect moment that Gero shows his power is due to his cleverness, as he takes this perfect opportunity to escape and potentially kill Bulma, Yajirobe, and Baby Trunks. Now that Goku is out of the way, shit can finally get real.

Rating: 4.5/5

If you enjoyed this review, consider supporting me on Patreon.

Stray Observations

1It’s feels odd to call Team Four Star a singular entity, especially as we get further into the series, as I know that Scott “KaiserNeko” Frerichs is responsible for more of the writing, recording, and editing workload than anyone else (I feel decently comfortable saying he’s their equivalent to a showrunner from season 3 onward), but there aren’t any particular credits listed on the episodes, so I can’t really give credit where it’s specifically due.

2Again, not criticizing Team Four Star here, especially since as I mentioned before, they managed to actually imbue tension in Goku’s fight with Freeza. I’m criticizing Toriyama for writing a completely unbeatable character whose victories come by ancient prophecy and plot contrivance, rather than actual developed effort. I am also aware of the end of the Cell Saga, and yes, Toriyama deserves credit for ending it the way he did.

Vegeta: “When a goddamn Super Saiyan asks you for a Senzu you say ‘How many?’”

Vegeta: “Energy sensing is bullshit.”

Vegeta: “Get out here and fight me blindly like a man!”

Piccolo: “Call me the can opener, because I’m about to bust open your metal ass.” Vegeta: “Yeah, how about we leave the one liners to me?”

Domo Arigato is the song playing over the radio in Bulma’s car. I am pleased.

Bulma: “Did you know I never even saw Freeza? Not even once?” Yajirobe: “I’m pretty sure no one ever complained about not meeting Hitler.”

Yajirobe: “Have you ever seen what an all Senzu bean diet does to a man?” Bulma: “What?” Yajirobe: “Korin likes it.”

Piccolo: “That’s the android.” Trunks: “No, it’s not.” Gero: “Yes, I am.”

[tenshindon]

Have you read Chapter 88 yet if so what did you think?

i did, i really enjoyed it actually ! it was a cute chapter :)

[kym-cruz]

Well guys FINALLY!!! My book A Serenity Of Darkness is out on Kindle!!!

It took long enough but I’m so happy to hear it. It is now available everywhere I wanted it to be😁

I’ll mention it again though, A Serenity Of Darkness is a compilation of 18 short stories & honestly they’re pretty wild. All making the point that love is THE BEST thing to have no matter the fear & weight it comes w/. Having it is the ultimate prize in life. W/ 18 stories, I just KNOW you’ll find @ least a couple that you love. So definitely please come check it out

Now officially on…Amazon (Kindle)

Barnes & Noble

Reader House

iTunes

Google Play

[harmonybarmy]

finally got to watch scream 5 since 6 is now up for streaming worst experience of my life.