#Hand to hand

[yoan-le-grall]

[renegadesstuff]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THEM! 🤍

DENSI FIRST MET 14 YEARS AGO. ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY. 🥹

S1E19, “Hand-to-Hand” aired 14 years ago (April 6, 2010) ❤️

[teathattast]

a starry eyed cooperative

or it's nearly equivalent

it's a pact, it's a covenant

promise you're still hellbent on keepin'

[oktaviaslabyrinth]

Hand to Hand // Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance (2012)

[fiannalover]

Later Gundam Series' Mobile Suits: Oh no! I lost all my weapons! I am disarmed! What will I do!

Gundam 0079 Mobile Suits:

[jongrub]

Raid 2 is one of my favorite action movies. Yuji vs Choso is most definitely a sweet homage to the film.

[cringefailabsentdad]

Spreen was tired to say the least. Sure, all he did these days was sleep and stay warm, but that didn't stop the cold creeping, and if this kept up spreen was going to throw himself into lava. Exercising made you warm, but that was a struggle when everytime he moved something else began to ache. He'd done a few things since he'd been back though, even starting a garden with ramón.

On that note, it had been awhile since he'd been out there, and he wasn't sure if ramón had really been watering them like he said to do. It was an easy enough choice, go see how the garden is doing and maybe take ramón along with you. Maybe they could even plant something else together.

That sold it really, more chances to hang out with ramón and really get to know the kid, like he had planned to all the months ago (he still want quite over it being months. God he hated the federation. 4 months of his life. Gone.). Sliding out of bed, he got himself dressed in some old clothes, ones he had left before he started his house up. His knees started to ache with all the movement he was doing, but who gave a damn. He sure didn't.

Coming out of his room and out of the house was easy enough aswell, fit wasn't around to say anything to him- not that he would anyways. (Sue him, he was still thinking about the warmth of fits hand. That was nice. The muscles that made up his hands started to ache as well).

Going up to ramón's house, he opened it gently, a bit surprised he was still even on the allow list. He had been sure he would've been taken off of it by now, but maybe all wasn't lost. It looked almost the same as to when he left, with the stuff he didn't remeber being there not standing out much.

Walking over to ramóns bed, the urge to wake up by dumping him out of the bed was strong, but no, he wouldn't. Instead, he shook the boy lightly, leaning over him with a neutral expression.

"Che, pibe. Despiterta."

<@inventorswag>

[fairweathermyth]

it's a pact, it's a covenant handshake deal, turning hand to hand promise you're still hellbent on keeping what else could be keeping you back from the edge?

KATY KIRBY "Hand to Hand" live at KUTX Austin

[autumnmobile12]

The D. Gray Man Crows are all supposed to have exceptional combat skills, Kanda even states they all start training in early childhood, and they use a combination of martial arts and magic.

But what I could never figure out is why they wear the heavy, red ceremonial robes.

You know, the ones in this scene. Seems like a super impractical choice. Even if they can use magic, why would a martial artist wear something so bulky that could potentially hinder (possibly fatally) their movements? Not to mention the mask and hood restricting visibility.

But then I thought of Cho in Castlevania:

If Cho can fight in Heian period dress, then sure. Mystery of the Crow ceremonial robes solved, I guess.

Now I really want to see Crows fighting like this 'cause I can watch this animation of Cho fighting all day.

[sweepseven]

[remembertheplunge]

Striking the set

On the back of a drawing  of a man on a couch that I “painted”in 1986, I wrote the following;

Over “Striking the Set” November 19, 2086: a reaction to the first weekend Hand to Hand, The Aids Plague hits.

_________________

I later felt this was a picture of Daryl Speicher in his last days here. It was a good likeness painted before I met him. He, of course, was not a couch person. But he did die 2/3/1987.

He was my first match.

11/29/1987 a day of reflection—

________________________________________

June 27, 1987

This is actually a painting of Glen Miller. His beauty so overwhelmed me. His tragic truth so shocked me, and later, his courage in death’s parlor so inspired me.

His mother called today “Glen passed away at 7 or so last night."

The angel of energy visits the couch. The final curtain descends. 

Of the four men on the couch that November day, Glenn is the first to go.

John Hickman died 10/25/1987

Al Adami died July 3, 1987

Joel,still alive and doing very well. Still with life energy.

God Bless them always.

End of entry

Note:

I have had this painting which I entitled “striking the Set” hanging for over 30 years. I took it down today to relocate it, and realized that I had written notes about it on the back of the painting. 

Those notes are included above.

I lived in Sacramento, California from about may of 1986 to August 1987.

While there, I applied to work in an Aids support group called Hand to Hand. I had to be interviewed prior to acceptance. Al Adami interviewed me. I later learned that Al had Aids. I was shocked as the first person I knew who had it. During the training for Hand to Hand, a Doctor who ran the training named Elizabeth and Al did a dying scene for we 15 or so trainees. Elizabeth helped Al “die”.Powerful experience. As Hand to Hand volunteers, we would help people with Aids through their illness and death. 

I am including a photo of the “Striking the Set” painting and what I wrote on the back in the next blog post.

I had been in three plays in 1985-1986. When a play ends, the stage set is dismantled and taken away. This is called “striking the set”.I borrowed  the term for my painting, since Aids in 1986-1987 usually meant striking the set of a life.

Glen Miller’s tragic truth was that  at maybe age 30, he had Aids and was dying. John Hickman and Al Adami were also about my age then, early 30’s.

Glen Miller wanted to live to see his June birthday in 1987.

A group of we Hand to Hand volunteers went to his house. We brought champagne and cake. We sat around his bed once floor and laughed and talked. Glen drank some champagne, ate some cake and seemed to be happy.

As I was arriving at his house someone from in side was playing the song “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore” by the Highwaymen. When I hear that song now, I think of that haunting moment.

[distantsonata]

[cultofthewyrm]

Mineko: riot by Dao Trong Le

[aninvisiblevision]

If you’re not following, the Jujutsu Kaisen anime dropped some absolute CINEMA this week. Season 2 is absolutely COOKING.

[nspired1fanfiction]

Disclaimer: Image not mine Ichor and Pomegranate by Nspired1 Chapter 4: The Feline and the Serpent

"I warned you, sir," Jill spoke, not breaking her military position but showing her defiance every time she spoke while in it.

When at ease, soldiers weren't supposed to talk; she thought he might have noted that too.

"Such pride," Captain Wesker drew out in a breath. "Begin."

Jill held her position and waited. Historically, she relied more on her sparring partner or enemy charging her, but as the seconds ticked on, she realized that was what Captain Wesker was waiting for too.

Wesker was tall with decent muscle mass. He wasn't bulky like Barry or Chris, and Jill deduced his speed could theoretically match hers should she try for the distraction of quick maneuvers.

His footwork was that of someone well trained. Captain Wesker's center of balance without shoes was elegant and unhurried as he began winding steps in an arc.

"Have you ever seen big cats react to what they believe is a snake?" His smooth voice filled the previously dead silent room.

"No." The light was in her face from her position in front of the cubbies. She could feel his eyes swallowing her every expression while she remained still and observed him with that upturned chin.

"Snakes are known for striking fast. At about 44 to 70 milliseconds, actually. Whereas cats are faster at 20 to 70 milliseconds. Truly not much difference. Both are separated simply by electric impulses in smooth muscle." Wesker lunged without further warning and his hand snaked out to grab her forearm.

Finally breaking formation, Jill's feet snapped together beneath her before her forearm pinned his hand to her chest. With a Krav Maga strike to his inner elbow, the joint bowed out and she gave him no time to recover when she lunged forward and drove her shoulder into his large chest. Her hand slid low to cup the back of his knee in his imbalance, and Jill took him off his feet with a slam of his back into the mats.

Again, she stepped back and resumed the military formation. The smile at the corner of her lips morphed her face into the very sin of pride itself.

The laugh of her captain was a rolling thunder of hidden critique, but she wouldn't be taunted so easily. Captain or not, if he wanted a challenger, she would give him what he ordered.

"Very good, Valentine," he said while he righted himself. The left side of his face was highlighted in the streaking light filtering through the secondary room from his new position.

The look he gave her when he rose to his feet once more hit every waking portion of Jill's soul. The actions she had performed were simple in their regard of execution, but she couldn't seem to contain her ramping respiratory system.

"So." She jerked her head to brush the falling strand of her hair from her face. "Who wins most of the time? The snake or the cat?"

"What do you believe the disadvantages of each are?" he asked in a languorous drawl while he resumed an active stance.

"The snake is smaller and thus harder to see but that also means that the enemy is always larger." Jill knew he could see when she let her gaze fall to his feet before she began a trailing caress over his form. She stopped when she reached those hard blue eyes he possessed like a weapon.

"Larger means more area to strike." Her punctuated words were delivered in sharp cuts. "Also means more areas to protect from such a small creature."

Something was opening in her chest. Just like it had when he had met her eyes in his car with his fingers grasping her chin. Just as it had when he held her gaze in the mortuary.

When Albert Wesker met her eyes, she felt like he was swallowing her wrath whole.

With bounding strides, Jill was upon him, her elbow and knee strikes smacked harshly against his now defensive, guarding hands.

Even with wrath singing, Jill remained honorable and kept her hits within the bounds of legal sparring. She would be able to admit later that the palm strike she executed to the center of his chest was when he truly started to show her what he was.

What he was capable of.

What it was that answered her wrath.

When her leg came up to block defensively, Captain Wesker caught her by the back of the knee and yanked her forward. The action caused her hips to smash against his and Jill's palms stuttered on his chest when he placed her leg over his right hip and held it there by an ironclad grip on her thigh. He dipped her backwards, low, and off balance.

A bowing grace worthy of the Tango, and Jill had no answer for the live wire gaze that bore down from above.

"It also means that genetically, the big cat has evolved to be more precise with its strikes," Wesker's voice rumbled. "However, there's only one real thing that matters when the odds are so close."

Narrowing her eyes, Jill tilted her head up toward his and slid her hand up to the well-defined cheekbone of her commanding officer. Her thumb softly smoothed over his skin and the soft gesture had a flickering effect on his expression.

"Genetics can only go so far for survival. I hear you arguing nature versus nurture, captain, but I find that you're stalling," she provided.

The pull of his mouth had his cheek shifting beneath her palm and Jill made the mistake of breaking eye contact with a predator when she glanced down to his lips.

His hand tore hers from his face, and with the manipulation of her arm and joints, Jill was spun with the grace of a leading dancer, and her arm was wedged at the small of her back before he tossed her away with force.

Jill sneered as she regained her footing and turned back for him. Their dance had just begun.

[yoan-le-grall]