#va paint masterpiece

[rosebelikova]

dhampirs’ night out! 

part 3 in the va paint masterpiece series

[tea-moon-ster]

Sublime

dare I say...mamma mia? Here we go again?

hello and welcome to my work for O'Knutzy Week 2024! This is the second part of last year's Cubs in Italy fic, always for the Fest. all characters belong to @lumosinlove and thanks to @oknutzy-week-2024 for organizing the Fest! read it on ao3 here.

Prompts: romance novel, sunglasses, swimsuit, sunscreen, vacation, racing, chest.

Finn scrunched his nose as he felt something tickling him. He stirred, but resumed his light nap.

It was so easy to be lulled back into sleep, there. The cicadas and waves singing together outside. The warm sun of the evening coming in dots from the blinds. The memory of tanned bodies against the white sheets, pressing into his, everywhere, surrounding him. Surrendering to them.

Something tickled him again.

He squinted one eye open.

“And what are you doing, exactly?”

Leo smiled. “I’m counting your freckles.”

Finn huffed out a laugh, stirring and turning to face a warm, naked Leo. The old bed creaked a bit—Finn didn’t remember if it had been creaking before last night. Oh, well.

“You’re counting my freckles in the dark,” he repeated.

“By now I know exactly where they are.”

“Italy is making you cheesy, Butter.”

“Italy is making your jokes even worse, Harzy.”

Finn yawned and made a noise half-stretch and half come here, you. He pulled Leo close by the waist, smiling at the ceiling as he felt kisses pressed on his neck.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

A happy sound vibrated in his chest, against the trail of kisses Leo was tracing. Finn’s hand found curls soft with sea water and the sun. He could feel himself warming up and hardening. Words went blurry in his mind and dry in his throat.

“You…you already wished me a happy birthday.” He closed his eyes as the stairway to heaven Leo was working on headed down, down. “Many times. It’s, what, seven pm?”

Crystal blue water looked up at him behind heavy eyelids. “And I’ll keep saying it as many times as I want.”

Finn smiled at the ceiling, pressing his hand harder amid golden, sunshine curls.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

…

“There you are.”

Logan looked up from the rope he was undoing, one foot on the ground and one on their motorboat.

Because they had a motorboat. In Italy. Leo had rented a motorboat in Italy and took them around wonderful coasts full of mesmerising, colourful villages that, Finn swore, had escaped from ancient paintings. Finn loved his life.

“There you are! You left me to prepare the boat by myself.”

Finn wanted to argue that he wouldn’t have been of much help anyways—not with that task anyway. He wasn’t Leo. But all tentatives of defence died a sweet death as his eyes stilled on Logan.

Logan looked…obscenely Logan. Finn felt a warm feeling settling in his stomach. He’s mine. My man. The tan on his forearms completed the masterpiece that were his full lips and dark curls, longer in their off-season glory, pushed back by black sunglasses. Leo’s fingers had looked heartbreaking in between those curls.

This vacation turned my already gorgeous boyfriends into Greek gods.

Finn found he couldn’t help but stare at the way tanned biceps tightened against the short sleeves of Logan’s linen shirt. He hummed in agreement to whatever Logan had said.

A sun-kissed smile mirrored his, and a scoff.

“Ça va pas.”

“Shaa-vah-pat.”

“Non.”

Logan didn’t protest any further once Finn got close enough for their lips to brush. His hands flattened the cotton of Finn’s own, blue shirt as he pushed more into the hands covering his hips. Logan hummed, hands stilling on Finn’s chest for a moment.

My man.

“Were you being horny with Leo without me?”

“I was barely being anything, he did it all by himself.”

“Whatever you say,” Logan laughed. He passed his finger under Finn’s eye a few times. “Sunscreen. Right here.”

He kissed that spot, as if to seal the protection.

…

The sun, low and heavy and orange, was about to meet the sea at the horizon. It would ignite the water, and for just a few, blissful seconds everything around them would turn golden. They’d watched the sunset every day of their week in Italy, and then two days more—Leo and Logan still hadn’t told Finn why they’d decided to postpone their return flight home. Just trust us, chéri. Don’ you like it here? Finn liked it too much, that was the problem. The sight of his boyfriends’ hands dangling in between them as they explored narrow, cobblestone streets could never tire him. The face Leo made every time he tried a different kind of pasta at the little restaurant on the beach. Logan’s arms around his neck as they played and danced in the water.

Sublime.

Finn caressed the clean, blue surface with his fingers. His tears had mixed with the Mediterranean Sea, years ago, miles away. It held memories and hurt. He could see it in Logan, too—the night the two of them took a walk on the shores, he could see it. Logan remembered. He’s kissed Finn’s hand, his check, his eyes. Oh, mon Rouge...they’d held each other in the water, in silence. Fearless, and listening to their deafening love. That, too, had been sublime.

Finn placed his romance novel down, using the ticket from the nearby focaccia bakery as bookmark. He stared at the pink sky for a total of six seconds before turning to look at where Leo and Logan were snuggling despite the heat, swimsuits still dripping.

My men.

“We could buy a house here, you know. For summer. Look at all those nice villas.”

Leo smiled from under his hat—Logan’s hat. “You’ll be the next poet in the bay, eh cher?”

Finn shrugged. “I’m just saying. It’s not far from Nice, and it’s beautiful. We could bring our families here. It’s not like we don’t have the possibilities.” I want you here always.

Logan left a kiss on the goalie’s neck. “Rouge, you say the same thing about every place we visit.”

“Uhm, yeah, because we visit dope places!”

He got up, careful to the balance game that was standing on a boat with waves lapping at the sides. Logan and Leo made the identical, happy sound the moment Finn found his way on Leo’s chest.

“You two bring me to dope places.”

“Ouais.”

“That we do.”

“He loves us, Peanut.”

“Yeah, he does.”

Finn started playing with Leo’s fingers. “You still haven’t told me why we’re spending my birthday here, though.”

“You’ll see it, Harzy.”

They stilled as the sun disappeared in one last, fire glow. Finn pressed a kiss on every finger.

Leo kissed his head. “You’ll see it very soon.”

…

Notte di San Lorenzo.

Saint Lawrence’s night.

There was an actual scientific explanation behind the fame of that night—a meteor shower, the Perseids, so many shooting stars to lose count. An occasion to lay down and look at the night sky for every Italian. Leo, in his mind, thanked again the lady who’d explained him the tradition. Sir, ma no, you can’t leave so soon. You have to stay here for the 10th of august! It’s the night of shooting stars!

He turned to look at the nest of pillows and blankets Finn and Logan were laying on, heads close and legs intertwined.

And what better way to celebrate a birthday.

Leo turned off the motor and looked around—nothing but dark water, and the dim lights of a village in the distance. They wouldn’t miss the show.

“Butter, come here.”

The boat rocked back and forth as Leo took his place at Finn’s side. A kiss found him before he could even lay down. He knew his smile would find them even in the dark. He could feel Finn’s on his skin, Logan’s in the air. And it would have been perfect and enough like that, Leo thought. Without the shooting stars, the birthday cake and candles hidden in a basket under the steering wheel. They would have been perfect in every universe.

Finn gasped.

“Did you—guys, did you see that?” An incredulous laugh. “Guys, that was…”

“Try to keep count, Rouge,” Logan said, leaning on the redhead’s shoulder. “I’ll race you.”

Leo’s smile grew as Finn looked at him and Logan in confusional awe. “What…”

All three of them saw the next shooting star, and they laughed together. A hand found Leo’s and gripped hard. Finn’s voice faltered.

“Babies…”

Leo brought the knuckles to his lips. “They say the stars are the tears of a saint.”

Another gasp. Another flash cutting the deep, dark sky. Another grip of hands.

…

The reverent silence in front of the celestial show was only interrupted by did you see that one? And wow’s. The I love you were part of the whole thing, really. Finn only moved to fish the notebook he’d been writing poetry on from his sack. Leo glimpsed a single line; every shooting star feels like a kiss and every kiss feels like a shooting star.

Logan had gotten up to prepare the cake when Leo felt a finger tracing his cheek.

“Can I keep you here forever?” Finn whispered.

Leo leaned into his palm, looking up at the soft, open eyes on him.

“Harzy, didn’t you want to jump into the water, too?”

“I meant in this moment. I want this moment to last forever.” I never want you to disappear. I don’t want to bat my eyes. I’d lose too much.

…

Sublime.

The way Finn and Leo bent to look better at colorful stones embedded in gold and silver rings made something to Logan’s heart. Something huge and scary and wonderful. Sublime.

That was the world that Finn had repeated so many times in the last few days. A feeling associated with the strong emotion we feel in front of intense natural phenomena, he’d explained. Apparently, Romantic poets were obsessed with it. Logan could relate. One could have thought it was the closeness to nature, or the thirty-something poems on the sublime Finn had read to them just that morning. But no. Logan found that it was just another name for the huge wave of feelings that overwhelmed him every time he stared at his boys for too long. Love and fear and passion and everything in between.

He looked at Finn pointing at an ocean blue stone in a golden band, excited. He looked at Leo nodding as he gently pried Finn’s finger from the glass, and fingerprints appeared in the light.

He made a small run to stop them from looking further in the little shop, one of many in the colorful, busy little street in the village. There was no point in buying rings now—not when two small boxes had been sitting at the bottom of his bag for weeks now.

Sublime, sublime, sublime.

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Given To The Wild [Javi Peña]

three four parts, three four The Maccabees songs from their Given To The Wild album.

pairing: javi peña x f!reader

word count: 3.4K

summary: "One can always find a way to blame Stechner," Javier offers, a flicker of humour lighting up the dense air, drawing a fleeting lift of her lips. It’s bashful and beautiful. And Javier wants to capture it. Lock it away somewhere safe within him for those days when everything else feels like it's sinking.

warnings: reader is she/her, drinking, cursing, overall safe to read

Part 01 - Ayla | Part 02 - Go | Part 03 - Free To Follow | Part 04 - Unknown

There is a woman on Javier’s lap tonight. 

But, Javier is hardly aware of her being there. Even as she straddles him; puts her mouth to his neck. 

She is attractive. Skin kissed by the sun, soft and silken. Feels like a dream. 

Coy when she had approached him, her laughter had been light and her touches fleeting. Now, her demeanour has shifted; coyness replaced by boldness as her fake nails trace a path through the neglected hair at his nape. Whispers and words are tumbling from her lips into his ear. Into his space. Uninvited. 

His hands, though engaged, seem to move without any direction, wandering beneath the thin fabric of her skirt, now gathered at her waist. Her own are restless, moving down his neck, skimming the collar of his shirt, putting her dainty fingers around the first fastened button—her breaths laden with requests of what she wants; what she needs. 

She is there, body close, tangible in her warmth and weight upon him. 

She is there, but in Javier’s mind, she might well be miles away. 

“Espérate…,” Javier breathes out. “No va—”

The woman stops in order to respond, not with words but with a purr: a sound that replaces her question. 

She waits. Expects.

But all Javier can do is look at her. Swallow a lump that sits uncomfortably in his throat. 

She's a pretty thing. Lips full and inviting. A painting; a masterpiece that breathes and smiles, and yet, he cannot bring himself to admire. To explore. 

When he doesn’t elaborate, she gives him a smile. It’s not innocent or bashful. It’s wicked, carrying a tone that Javier fails to enjoy. Some other night, perhaps, yes, but tonight, not so much. 

"¿De verdad?” she asks. Tilts her head a little. “¿Necesitas una mano?” 

Her hand is quick, determined as it slides down his torso in order to palm him through the coarse denim of his jeans. But Javier’s answer to her directness is as resolute as his hands when he grabs her by her waist and lifts her up with ease and away from him. She yelps a little, out of surprise than anything else. 

The woman is now on her feet, trying to figure him out, but Javier doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t even try to give her an explanation. What he does, though, is give her a resolute instruction to leave.

Watching him busy himself with lighting up a cigarette, she waits for a moment. Probably thinks that he’s joking, that he isn’t being serious. Then, she’s grabbing her shoes—irritation simmering as she hastily pulls them on and collects her purse, doing as she is asked to.

Only when she slams the door, Javier hears the echo of her farewell, ringing out in the hallway: 

“¡Pendejo!”

—

It isn’t the first time Javier feels it. 

Sure, it’s been a long time, but he recognises the feeling. That heart-sinking, self-loathing, restless nights and second-guessing feeling of regret. Familiar as an old enemy. It creeps back into his heart with a vengeance. Only this time, Javier doesn’t even try to ignore it or fight it. 

Instead, he welcomes it; gives it space. 

He gives it enough room to turn into a raw, burning frustration. The kind that makes him angry with everything and everyone a little more with each passing moment. With Stoddard, and Feistl; Van Ness, too. And that frigid fossil of a woman that guards the archives and denies him the documents he needs. And his old man, for not answering his damn calls, and Stechner, for merely breathing. And whoever leaves the coffee pot empty in the kitchenette. And jammed traffic. The tepid air and the sudden storms over Bogotá. The wrinkle on his shirt; the stain on his boots.

But most of this anger, Javier reserves for himself. At his own actions, his own failings, and the maddening gap in his knowledge on how to mend what's broken. 

And he isn’t blind. He sees the avoidance, the quickened pace in corridors, the averted gaze at the mere chance of eye contact. He doesn’t fault her, though it hurts more than anticipated. So, the same way he accommodates his regret, he extends the same courtesy to her—he gives her space. Convincing himself it’s better this way. Thinking that the distance will ease the tension. Make it somehow less frustrating. 

It doesn’t. 

Left with no other choice, Javier lets his days blend together, fills them with voluntary stakeouts, paperwork and chasing leads—some successful, others best left unmentioned. And it’s good, sort of… at least, at work he has plenty of ways to distract himself. But, when he walks through the doors of his apartment in the evening, he feels odd. Numb, even. He barely sleeps and every night's a date with a bottle. He steers clear from going out, too, and keeps to himself with no desires to bring anyone home or seek out company. 

He tries, and it just doesn't feel right. Especially when he finds himself looking for someone who looks like her. 

Sometimes he pretends to be watching a telenovela, or whatever crap they’re pushing on the cable that the tax-payers’ money pays for him. Other times, he just stares at the kitchen counter, forking over leftovers, cold and straight from the fridge. 

Most of the time, though, Javier just sits there. He thinks and he overthinks. 

But nothing changes. 

She still keeps her distance, and his sleep still won't come. Whiskey becomes a crutch, and the merry-go-round of thinking and overthinking persists. 

So, he pours another one, trying to drown whatever’s clawing at him, but deep down, he knows no amount of whiskey is gonna wash away the truth.

He’s got it bad for her.

—

Javier wouldn't call it hate, this feeling he's got for his profession; but calling it love would be stretching it too thin. 

It’s somewhere in the grey, he’d answer, if anyone bothered to ask. 

Sure, he enjoys the thrill of it. The adrenaline. The kind of excitement that makes dodging bullets and tailing suspects feel like the most alive he's ever been. But then there are those other moments when the same thrill plunges him into deep, dark waters of sorrow, guilt, and the kind of despair that’s hard to shake off.

And tonight, he’s right there, in those waters, and by gods, he’s sinking fast. 

He’s been hiding in his office ever since disembarking the service van earlier—whether it’s been an hour, two, or the entire afternoon, Javier can’t tell. Not that it matters. On days like today, time morphs into a cruel joke, slipping through his grasp, both heavy and utterly meaningless.

Yet, Javier knows that it’s late. It’s in the quiet that had taken over some time ago; the way the noise had died behind the walls. Typing had stopped. Printers went silent. There are no more footsteps. No doors slamming. There are no laughs or fiery discussions. Just him. Perhaps a cleaner or two haunting the upstairs corridor. And the rain, hammering against the windows. Silence inside. Storm outside. 

The weight of his tactical vest presses unforgivingly against his torso, yet, the thought of removing it feels like too much effort. Feels like moving mountains when all his body screams for is stillness. 

And Javier is aware that he should shed it, just as he ought to wash away the day’s grime from his hands. Perhaps change into the clean set of clothes he keeps at the office for times like these. But the flecks of blood, stark against the grey of his shirt, almost feel like they’ve earned the right to stick around — a bleak trophy of the day’s shitshow.

Yet what presses down on him with even greater force are the looks from his men—or rather, the looks he’s been avoiding. Because, today’s raid was supposed to be by the book. Routine. Something in their wheelhouse so familiar it should’ve been second nature. A simple in and out. No complications. No unexpected twists. 

Except it was anything but. 

For missteps were made, plans went awry, and what should have been routine turned into a debacle. 

Javier closes his eyes for a second, allowing the colours to blaze too brightly and sounds to cut too sharply. The shouting, the harrowing screams, the crackling of radios cutting through the air, the chaos and the noise, and amidst it all, his own breath, desperate and ragged as they fought to make it out alive. 

Not everyone did, though. 

Exhausted, Javier lets himself sink deeper into the couch. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to find something solid to hold onto. He tries to remind himself of the life that pulses stubbornly within him. Tries to be grateful.

As though gratitude could untangle the knots of guilt tightening around his heart.

His fingers, sore and shaking, clutch at his hair in a vain effort to pull out the remorse embedded in his mind. Then, with a deep, shaky inhale, he reaches for the flask—her flask—resting on the side table, ready to wash away what's left of his conscience.

He doesn’t make it that far.

Instead, he’s forced to pause as the sharp knocks against the window pane slice through the silence. And for a moment, Javier wants to ignore it. Wants to sink back into the comfort of pretending he’s not there. However, another row of knocks follow shortly after, breaking through his feigned ignorance. And these ones are different. They are quicker. More insistent. More demanding. 

Dragging the weight of the day's failures, Javier stands. Each step feels like wading through mud, his hand firm on the doorknob as he swings the door open.

Javier doesn’t mean to hesitate. He sure as hell doesn’t want to, but it’s as though every cog of his mind stutters and stalls at the mere sight of her. It's like his mind hits a wall, an unexpected stop he didn't see coming and sure doesn't welcome.

"Hey," she says gently, shifting where she stands. "You alright? I didn't see you head out, and your car's still out front—" She cuts herself off, swallowing the rest of her words, gearing up to keep going. "Heard about what happened today..."

He looks away. Finds a spot somewhere off in the distance to stare at. A bunch of wilting flowers on one of the secretary's desks. And after what feels like eternity, a rough, noncommittal sound is all he manages to push out, mumbling, "M'fine."

It’s a lie. As transparent to her as it is to him. 

She nods. Offers him another silent pause. A moment perhaps; ample space for him to retract his dismissal, to offer more. But he doesn’t take it. Instead, the silence just gets thicker, and Javier notices the way the grip on her leather satchel tightens. As if that’s the only thing that’s holding her together. 

“Should I go?”

Her question is soft. Careful. Thoughtful. And everything that Javier doesn’t deserve. Yet he takes it. Allows it to ignite a flicker of warmth within him; a tight feeling in his chest that has nothing to do with the gear pressed against his torso.

Javier says nothing. Rather, he takes a step aside and gestures slightly. Extends her the possibility to step inside; to join him. And it takes a beat or two of uncertainty on her part and silent hope on his, before she crosses the threshold, maintaining a cautious distance as though afraid of even the slightest contact. 

And it stings. More than he’s willing to admit.

Javier walks back to the couch, sinking in its familiarity. Breathes out. Lets his eyes linger on her silhouette, leaning casually yet somehow reserved between the door and the filing cabinet he seldom bothers to open.

"Sit." The word comes out more as a plea than a command

Silence hangs heavy, stretching into what feels like forever before she finally nods. Then, with a deliberate scrape of the chair against the floor, she places it right in front of him. She won’t meet his eyes as she settles down, fussing with her satchel between her feet, as if it's a makeshift barrier in this awkward space they’ve created.

Javier’s caught in his own battle of words. The smooth lines he’d rehearsed, turned over in his mind until they were second nature, now scatter like dry leaves caught in a sudden gust. His brain, tired as it is, offers no help in gathering them back.

Yet, the quiet doesn't hold. She's the one to break it, her voice cutting through the stiffness, despite the noticeable shyness. “I’d share some whiskey if I hadn’t already passed my flask along.”

He finds a small chuckle, the tension easing just a fraction. “Well, guess I should return this, then.. Refilled—hope it’s to your liking.” Javier’s voice is steadier than he feels as he hands over the flask.

Taking it, her eyes linger on the metal container, a softness crossing her features. Then, with a slight smile, she offers it back to him. “Whiskey? Might smooth things over?”

Javier manages a smile, albeit a weary one, as he takes the flask back, and takes a sip. Offers it back to her, but she just shakes her head. Leans back and looks away. 

After that, they stay quiet, even though he knows he needs to say something. Anything. So he does—his gruff voice piercing the quiet. "Today was a mess."

Her fingers cease their nervous dance in her lap, pausing perhaps to iron out the wrinkles of her thoughts as much as her trousers. "I’ve gathered, and I know you might not want to," she starts, halting as if words were a terrain too treacherous to navigate hastily, "but if you want to talk about it…"

His response is a mere click of his tongue; a gesture of dismissal. "Talking won't change what happened. And I don't want you tangled up in this mess," he says firmly, making it clear he's not up for discussion. "That's the last thing I want for you."

She nods, darting her eyes around his spacious office. Then, she sighs, but doesn’t look back at him.

"Look, I know this is all kinds of awkward," she begins again, her gesture drawing a line through the air between them. As if she’s trying to acknowledge the invisible divide they're both painfully aware of. "And this time, it's not something we can pin on Stechner."

"One can always find a way to blame Stechner," Javier offers, a flicker of humour lighting up the dense air, drawing a fleeting lift of her lips. It’s bashful and beautiful. And Javier wants to capture it. Lock it away somewhere safe within him for those days when everything else feels like it's sinking.

"You know what I'm trying to say, Javi."

Yes, he knows. Understands it all too well. 

In an attempt to fill the space between them with something, Javier awkwardly reaches for a cigarette from the worn pack on the table, pulling one out with surprisingly steady fingers. Lighting it, the first drag is a small solace. 

“I didn’t think you’d come by,” he confesses, gazing at the cigarette, smouldering between his fingers.

Her response is soft and it comes in the shape of his name wrapped in a sigh. “Why wouldn’t I? I care about you.”

I care about you. I care about you. I care about you.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” Javier spats. Feels the frustration simmering. And then, in a sudden move he abruptly stands, brushing past her and nudging her legs aside as he strides towards the desk. "Fuck," he hisses, the word rough and heavy with frustration and anger he harbours for himself. "Why aren’t you furious with me? For Christ's sake, you should be."

"I am," she says, her voice carrying a weight, a sort of acceptance. "But what’s the point?" She tries to shift away from the heaviness of their conversation before her gaze catches on something. "Why are you still wearing that?"

For a second, Javier is lost, then realises she’s pointing to his vest. 

"I don't know," he responds with a shrug as he perches himself at the edge of the desk, pressing a hand against his temple hard enough to hurt.

"It doesn’t look comfortable," she comments, standing up and moving towards him. Cautious yet filled with a resolve as if he’s a cornered, injured creature.

"It’s fine," he says through a veil of smoke, his voice barely more than a murmur.

Then, with a courage that seems to gather around her like a cloak, she reaches out. Finds the first buckle of his vest. 

Javier's eyes snap shut, the heat enveloping him—a sweltering, oppressive wave that threatens to suffocate. It's too much, too intense, and he finds himself caught in a tide too powerful to swim against.

And then he remembers. The pain he’s caused. The sting of words he can't take back. The ghost of her touch against his skin, soft and inviting, clashing with the harshness of his own actions. 

As if she was anything less than everything he needs. 

As if the real issue wasn't him—his fears, his damned inability to accept something good when it's staring him right in the face.

When his eyes flutter open, she's still there. Still wrestling with the damn buckles. Still frowning at it, her brow furrowed in concentration. It's the same furrow he yearns to smooth out with his thumb, the same close distance he aches to close with a kiss—a kiss heavy with the weight of unsaid things and a desperate need to bridge the chasm he's created. Yet, he remains frozen, a prisoner of his own doubts and insecurities.

Her voice breaks through his reverie. "You know, I was talking to one of your guys earlier. The one who can’t dance," she mentions, her gaze lifting to his for just a fleeting moment.

"Van Ness," he offers, the name rolling off his tongue as he turns to pull from a cigarette he'd all but forgotten was burning between his fingers.

"They don’t blame you, you know..." she continues, her voice a gentle whisper in the heavy air. "They don’t think you are a bad guy.”

“And what do you think?” he asks, leaning back to reach for an ashtray, pressing the glowing tip against the heavy glass. 

She pauses and takes a step back. “You know what I think,” is her response. “I’m here, ain’t I?”

He isn’t sure why, but he nods. It’s instinctive, maybe, as he starts pulling at the velcro of his vest, peeling off the day’s weight breath by breath. The vest hits the couch, and suddenly, it’s like the room’s air shifts, heavy with everything he’s been trying to outrun—his mess, her being here seeing him like this, and all these tangled feelings with nowhere to go.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he slumps against the desk, pressing the ball of his palm against his eyes. He feels like laughing, or maybe crying; he’s not really sure.

"Are you okay, Javi?"

Her question hits him harder than expected. He pauses, then shakes his head, no pretences left. "No, I’m not, hermosa. Not at all.”

Then she’s talking, and her words are like something he didn’t even let himself wish for. Quiet, almost too quiet, but they cut through the noise in his head.

“Oh, Javi… come here.”

Before he knows it, she's closed the gap between them, wrapping him up in a hug that feels like it could put him back together.

Javier breathes out. Feels like he’s drowning—in his sorrows, in her arms; her scent. He curls his fingers around her blouse; her own carefully touching the hair at the nape of his tense neck. Tracing. 

And it’s soft. And gentle. And says more than any words ever could. Javier's heart is about to burst at the contact, ready to spill out every single thing he is feeling. Every emotion he’s been trying to hide from her; from himself. Because Javier is tired. Tired of hiding that he wants her; that he needs her.

Still, Javier knows he ain't a saint. Especially when the feelings are involved.

His past relationships—if one could even grace them with such a term—have been fleeting at best. Nothing more than an endless cycle of thrilling beginnings and swift endings that left nothing but cold sheets and whispers of promises that turned out to be empty.

But she's different. She deserves more, and Javier's ready to face that challenge.

"I'm not good at this..." he muffles into her shoulder.

A confession. A revelation. 

She says nothing, but only tightens her hold around him. 

And then she whispers, pulling away from him, but keeps her hands against his face. “Let’s get you home, Javi. Okay?”

Okay.

tag: @pedroschka , @idontcareihavenoidea , @avastrasposts @anoverwhelmingdin

[claudiotrezzani]

E' una condanna, la mia.

Una coazione a ripetere, come si dice in psichiatria.

La condanna/coazione d'occuparmi di fotografi bravi.

Di fotografi molto bravi, come nel caso d'ispecie, qui la terminologia si sposta dallo psichiatrico al giurisprudenziale.

Nel caso giurisprudenziale d'ispecie il fotografo molto bravo è Primo Barchiesi.

Primus inter pares, qui.

Unico suo orrendo difetto, per quanto a mia conoscenza:

si presenta col sembiante di Maigret.

Sembiante italiano, nella cinematografica trasposizione di Gino Cervi.

No, questo non va bene, Primo.

Eppoi: hai mai assaggiato la bouillabaisse, quella zuppa di pesce che George Simenon - creatore di Maigret - prediligeva?

Sapete, mi scrisse Alessandro Rovelli:

"ancora?!".

La dubitativa esclamazione si dovette al fatto che plurimamente m'occupai di sue opere.

Come con Roberto Besana, Nicola Figliuolo, et coetera.

Tutti bravi abbastanza da meritare più d'una solitaria menzione.

E così, mi tocca - ingrato compito!- occuparmi nuovamente di Primo, a stretto giro di posta dopo aver scritto "Coesistenze", qui.

Perché non è solo capace di bazzicare Rozzano, Primo.

Questa sua grandangolare oltreoceanica esperienza, qui, stimo degna di spiccata attenzione.

Pressochè un masterpiece, ove il termine inglese per pudicizia maschera il mio sentore di capolavoro.

Basta, mi fermo qui, per l'appunto.

All rights reserved

Claudio Trezzani

[ininsulaavalonia]

SNK officially ended today and it's been a much more overwhelming experience than I would've thought. The manga left me feeling apathetic - it killed my interest in this series for what, a year? Two? So I had 0 reasons to think the anime would coax anything else out of me.

...

I was wrong. Admittedly, not like we're talking purely positive emotions here - I still have a lot of resentment, bitter regret and the itch to shake all the yens out of Isayama's pockets. But even so. I guess I should've known better - the writing has [had] its flaws. The voice acting and the music/score, tho? Never did. Not a one.

Add to that MAPPA's mindboggling dedication and passion for the craft and source material. I'm not perfectly happy with them for very biased reasons [they did away with a few of my RM crumbs], but no sane person could ever deny that they knocked it out of the fuckin park. They did all that while juggling 9620 other major franchises [and killing it there, too]. Ufotable will always be my #1, but MAPPA has come very close these past few years. Just hope everyone who worked on SNK post-changing hands gets to take pride in their work and maybe actually like.see their families or smth, lol.

But yeah - I will never be able to stress this enough: like at least 60% of the reason SNK had the ridiculous impact on me it did, of the reason it will be remembered as a classic/ legendary series, despite its flaws, of the reason precious few fictional works, irrespective of genre/medium will hope to ever even come close to the level of pure, raw exhilaration and emotional immersion SNK served on a pretty regular basis...was [and always will be] Sawano's masterpiece. Yamamoto has proven himself to be an A+ understudy/disciple 'Ashes on the Fire' will always slap], and ofc the likes of Linked Horizon, Ai Higuchi, Mika Kobayashi and all the other contributing artists deserve their fair share of laurels. But this score will always be Sawano's baby. I've a lot of comfort/fave soundtracks and the like; I can't remember one that did so much for its story, tho. Complemented its own brilliance this incandescently and profoundly.

And ofc the seiyuus were always excellent. That was not news to me. I'll always sing Kamiya's praises and keep Yui's future roles on my radar [and Marina almost stole the show here]. But most of my respect and admiration -sheer awe of, really- has to go to Yuki Kaji. He has such an incredible body of work, but I'd be shocked if people genuinely thought this, Eren's part,*wasn't* his defining performance. The role of a lifetime. It's not just his VA chops, either- the man's a pro in every sense of the word. Despite what Isayama put Eren through, despite that BS insult of an ending [painted in the most pathetic and pitiful colours, for all the world to see] that MAPPA sadly didn't alter [...made it worse, actually, what with Isayama's revisions/ additions and all] - he still gave it his all, still tried to see things through Eren's perspective to the bitter, mockable end. K I N G.

I wish I could heap this kinda praise on the writing, too. Sadly, this will stay one of my biggest frustrations and regrets re: any fictional work I've ever consumed. Isayama's expanding on the Armin-Eren heartfelt talk at the end made me feel, either successively or simultaneously. soft, emotional and mournful... and/or horrified, outraged and baffled by what his messaging seemed to make even more explicit/ double down on: that Eren, the protag the audience/readers got to see grow, the one they came to emotionally invest in? Was really just an 'idiot with too much power'. Ultra!Hitler stripped of his perceived alpha traits: just a lonely, pathetic, petulant, ridiculous *boy*. And while the 'I'll go to hell with you' spiel from Armin was one of the things that turned on the waterworks for me, I fully reject this attempt by the narrative to paint him in similar, bloodstained colours [or maybe I don't reject it - even if that were true, Armin will always be a hero to me. And sadly, my 2nd fave character after what Isayama did to Mikasa's character].

I'm just so fucking tired and angry by this nihilistic, cynical trend of backstabbing your audience/readers for the grave offence of their placing their trust in you. GOT did it first, ofc -and Isayama went 'hold my beer', apparently-. But the thing that makes this even more frustrating and painful - is that unlike those 2 fucking hacks, Isayama is an actual writer. A fantastic one / credit where credit is due [and funnier than he's usually given credit for, as the finale reminded me]. His skill isn't the issue - his cynicism / 'nothing is sacred' attitude is. The fact that he just yeets characters' dignities out the window can and has added so much heartache, tragedy and realism to his story and his overall style. But it also leads to this sort of betrayal.

I guess the underlying message of 'how to live with the horrible things you did for others/ for your own survival' is pretty hopeful. Armin's 'I felt like I was born for this moment', the ~it's the apparently pointless, little things, and the people you share them with that you have to hold on to and cherish ~ point has always, will always resonate with me. But I doubt it will ever be enough to get rid of all the bitterness [also: not even gonna get into Founder!Ymir, that shitty parallel to Mikasa, and that entire 'BECAUSE LOVE' clusterfuck. This isn't real life, Isayama. Fiction needs a why. YOU KNOW THIS]

Sigh. Anyway. In the end, even the fact that I felt this strongly, considering... is also a testament to the insane sort of impact this story is capable of. SNK -and RM [and Levi! The one good thing not even Isayama managed to taint -*...knock on wood*- That beautiful, awkward, baddest-of-the-baddies KING. The heart, soul and embodiment of the Scouting Legion-]- have meant so much to me - were a lifeline in the aftermath of the worst thing I've ever experienced. I'll never forget that sense of unique, intense exhilaration I felt while watching the first few episodes, a decade ago, in a Durham seminar room. Or the rollercoaster every feeling I'd ever had --and a buncha new ones- went on those following nights, as I binged the remaining episodes and the manga. Or RM. I wish things could have been different. But that doesn't mean I'll ever throw it out of my mental and emotional Hall of Fame. Thank God for fanfic.

That and. I *will* always carry that weight, I guess.

[torpedofactoryartcenter]

Exploring Creativity: Unveiling the Wonders of Torpedo Factory Art Center

Nestled along the picturesque waterfront of Alexandria, Virginia, the Torpedo Factory Art Center stands as a testament to the transformative power of art. This vibrant hub of creativity has long been a haven for artists and enthusiasts alike, offering an immersive experience that unveils the magic of artistic expression. Join us as we delve into the captivating world of the Torpedo Factory Art Center, where history, community, and art seamlessly converge.

A Rich History

Once a factory that produced naval torpedoes during World War II, the Torpedo Factory underwent a remarkable transformation in the 1970s when it was reimagined as an art center. The repurposing of this historic building breathed new life into the space, preserving its industrial heritage while giving birth to an environment where artistic visions could flourish. Today, the Torpedo Factory Art Center continues to honor its past while embracing the future of creative exploration.

Diverse Artistic Haven

One of the most enchanting aspects of the Torpedo Factory Art Center is its eclectic array of artistic mediums. From painting and sculpture to ceramics, photography, and more, the center hosts a dynamic mix of over 80 artist studios. Visitors have the unique opportunity to witness the creative process firsthand, engaging with artists as they mold, sculpt, paint, and craft their masterpieces. This open environment fosters a deeper connection between creators and appreciators, fostering a sense of shared artistic appreciation.

Interactive Workshops and Exhibitions

The Torpedo Factory Art Center isn't just a place to observe art; it's also a place to actively engage with it. The center offers an exciting lineup of workshops, classes, and exhibitions designed to nurture artistic talent and inspire curiosity. Whether you're a seasoned artist looking to refine your skills or a novice eager to explore new artistic horizons, there's something for everyone within these hallowed walls.

Community and Collaboration

Beyond its stunning collection of studios and galleries, the Torpedo Factory Art Center serves as a vibrant community hub. The center hosts events that bring together artists, enthusiasts, and the local community, fostering a sense of togetherness that's both enriching and invigorating. The exchange of ideas, stories, and perspectives ignites a creative spark that transcends traditional boundaries, resulting in collaborations that are as diverse as they are remarkable.

Captivating Waterfront Location

Positioned against the scenic Potomac River, the Torpedo Factory Art Center offers an enchanting backdrop that complements the creativity found within. Visitors can enjoy picturesque views, leisurely strolls along the waterfront, and even engage in outdoor art installations. The fusion of natural beauty and artistic wonderment creates an experience that's truly immersive and unforgettable.

Conclusion

The Torpedo Factory Art Center stands as a living testament to the power of artistic transformation. From its humble beginnings as a torpedo factory to its current status as a flourishing hub of creativity, the center continues to captivate the hearts and minds of all who enter. Whether you're a seasoned art aficionado, an aspiring artist, or simply someone who appreciates the beauty of human expression, the Torpedo Factory Art Center invites you to explore, engage, and be inspired by the boundless world of art.

Discover a local business https://www.themeangreencarpetclean.com that embodies community support.

The Mean Green Carpet Clean

4930B Eisenhower Ave, Alexandria, VA 22304, United States

This attraction deserves a spot on your must-visit list.

[cloudmistri]

Creating Timeless Beauty: The Best Interior Designers and Their Transformative Touch

Your home is a canvas upon which you can paint your personality, style, and dreams. The art of interior design takes this canvas and turns it into a masterpiece that reflects your unique taste and preferences. When it comes to achieving a harmonious and aesthetically pleasing living space, the expertise of the best interior designers can make all the difference. In this article, we will explore the world of interior design, the role of top-notch interior designers, and how their creative touch can transform your home.

What Sets the Best Interior Designers Apart?

Exceptional Creativity: The best interior designers are true artists. They have a keen eye for detail, an innate sense of aesthetics, and the ability to envision a space's potential. They can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary through their creative vision.

In-Depth Knowledge: Top interior designers are well-versed in various design styles, architectural principles, and the latest trends. They have a deep understanding of color theory, spatial arrangement, and design psychology, allowing them to create spaces that not only look stunning but also feel comfortable and functional.

Tailored Solutions: Every client is unique, and the best interior designers recognize this. They take the time to understand your lifestyle, preferences, and needs, creating custom designs that align perfectly with your personality and requirements.

Project Management Skills: Interior design projects often involve multiple elements, from sourcing materials to coordinating contractors. The best interior designers excel at project management, ensuring that your project stays on track, on time, and within budget.

Attention to Detail: It's the small details that can make or break a design. The best interior designers are meticulous in their work, from selecting the perfect hardware for a cabinet to choosing the right shade of paint for a wall.

Versatility: Whether you prefer modern minimalism, classic elegance, or a bohemian vibe, the best interior designers can adapt to your style and bring it to life. They are versatile and can create diverse design aesthetics.

The Transformative Touch of Interior Designers

Optimal Space Utilization: Interior designers excel at optimizing space. They can transform small, cramped rooms into functional and inviting areas. By cleverly arranging furniture and employing space-saving techniques, they make the most out of every square foot.

Color Magic: The choice of colors can profoundly impact the atmosphere of a room. Interior designers understand color psychology and can select hues that evoke the desired mood, whether it's creating a cozy haven or an energetic workspace.

Furniture and Decor Selection: Interior designers have access to a vast network of suppliers and can source unique, high-quality furniture and decor that you might not find on your own. They curate pieces that fit your style and budget.

Balance and Harmony: Achieving balance and harmony in a room is an art form. Interior designers know how to balance colors, textures, and proportions to create visually pleasing and harmonious spaces.

Customization: From custom-made furniture to bespoke cabinetry, interior designers can create unique, one-of-a-kind pieces tailored to your preferences. These custom elements add character and personality to your space.

Functionality: Interior designers prioritize functionality alongside aesthetics. They ensure that your space is not only beautiful but also practical, with layouts that support your daily routines and activities.

Incorporating Trends: While trends come and go, the best interior designers know how to incorporate them subtly, ensuring that your space remains timeless and adaptable to evolving styles.

Why Hire an Interior Designer?

Save Time: Designing and decorating a home can be time-consuming. Interior designers handle all aspects of the project, saving you valuable time.

Save Money: Although it may seem counterintuitive, hiring an interior designer can save you money in the long run. They can prevent costly mistakes by making informed decisions and finding budget-friendly options.

Access to Resources: Interior designers have access to a vast network of suppliers, artisans, and contractors. This network can lead to discounts and exclusive products that you wouldn't have access to otherwise.

Personalized Experience: Interior designers offer a personalized experience, ensuring that your home reflects your unique style and needs.

Increased Property Value: A well-designed home not only enhances your quality of life but can also increase the resale value of your property.

For More Info:-

Interior Designing in Jamshedpur

Interior Designer in Jamshedpur

Best Interior Designer in Jamshedpur

Top Interior Designer in Jamshedpur

[cutehomeart]

"A Girl with a Broom" by Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn isn’t merely a painting. It’s a unique blend of the artist’s mastery of technique, extraordinary use of light, and deep understanding of the human soul. But who was Rembrandt and how did he capture such minute details on canvas? And what makes "A Girl with a Broom" such a spellbinding piece of artwork?

[rosebelikova]

lissa interrupts a very discreet make-out session

part 6 in the va paint masterpiece series

[hakesbros]

Las Cruces-area Homes For Sale Rise To $358,959 Median Price

Texas Real Estate Commission Consumer Protection Notice Sotheby's International Realty Affiliates LLC absolutely supports the principles of the Fair Housing Act and the Equal Opportunity Act. Sotheby's International Realty, the Sotheby's International Realty emblem, "For the Ongoing Collection of Life" and RESIDE are registered service marks owned or licensed to Sotheby's International Realty Affiliates LLC. By submitting this form, you comply with obtain recurring automated promotional and customized marketing textual content messages from Meritage Homes on the cell number used when signing up. "It's a really family-oriented, community-oriented neighborhood. It's very warm and welcoming... we will be here for a protracted time."

With its unbelievable mountain views and spacious panorama, the city feels downright cozy. Las Cruces is a college city -- it's the location of New Mexico State University, the one land-grant university in the state. It is also the placement of the White Sands Missile Range. Mountains surround Las Cruces, providing amazing views in addition to alternatives for hiking, mountain biking, and camping.

Homes listings include vacation homes, apartments, penthouses, luxury retreats, lake homes, ski chalets, villas, and lots of more way of life options. Each sale itemizing consists of detailed descriptions, pictures, facilities and neighborhood information for Las Cruces. We have an extensive number new homes las cruces of options for financial institution owned homes in Las Cruces, but besides the name Bank Foreclosures Sale, a huge part of our listings belong to authorities establishments. You will discover Las Cruces HUD homes for sale, Freddie Mac foreclosures, Fannie Mae foreclosures, FHA properties, VA foreclosures and other forms of presidency repo homes in Las Cruces, NM.

The typical home was available on the market for 38 days, from forty two days a month earlier. The typical 1,743-square-foot house had an inventory worth of $93 per square foot. Sonoma Ranch North is at the heart of recent development in Las Cruces, including shut proximity to varsities, churches, buying, and fitness facilities. Here, you will be handled to beautiful views of the Organ Mountains.

I extremely advocate him and his staff and would do business with them in the future. By itemizing with Silverman Real Estate Group you'll really feel assured in getting the most value out of your property. It sounds simple, but you would not imagine how many actual home builders in las cruces property groups do not present up. After reviewing the entire available homes in Las Cruces, listed beneath are our top picks. Let our group of trained space professionals allow you to by way of each stage of purchasing for and shifting.

This 4bdr/2-1/2 bath home is ready for a model new owner. Great location in a well-established neighborhood--close to NMSU. Backyard options homes for sale las cruces coated patio with 2 sheds, one has power. Home bought AS IS. Seller won't make any repairs.

And whenever you're ready to speak to an actual property agent, Coldwell Banker has rankings and critiques written by real property shoppers nationwide to help you discover an excellent agent. If you need to more information on any of theseLas Cruces actual homes for sale in las cruces new mexico property listings, just click the "Request More Information" button when viewing the small print of that property. We can give you disclosures, previous sales historical past, dates and prices of homes recently offered nearby, and extra.

There is a cause New Mexico known as the Land of Enchantment. Las Cruces, in particular, boasts a variety of the most lovely sunsets and Organ Mountain views. Swirling shades of purples, pinks, and vibrant oranges paint the sky almost every homes for sale in las cruces nm night. There aren’t many multistory buildings in this city to impede your views, so you’ll be capable of catch the masterpiece from just about anyplace within the city.

[psikonauti]

John Simmons (British,1823–1876) 

Hermia and Lysander (A Midsummer Night's Dream), 1870

[canmom]

Animation Night 76: Rankin//Bass

When it comes to naming Western animation studios, you’ve got the really old school studios from the early 20th century like Fleischer, Disney and Warner Bros. You’ve got the offshoots of Disney like Don Bluth Productions and Dreamworks. You’ve got the oddball directors like Ralph Bakshi would who hop from studio to studio, whoever would take their pitch. Head over to Europe and you find a lot of smaller studios like Cartoon Saloon, Bobbypills, Xilam or (long list of French studios) who tend to work on massively multinational collabs designed to scoop up arts funding from as many countries as possible. There are limited-animation oriented TV studios, which is to say there is Hanna-Barbera.

And then there’s Rankin/Bass!

Rankin/Bass are a bit of an odd beast, in that they were perhaps one of the earliest studios to primarily produce animation via international outsourcing - and while nowadays that usually means South Korea and the Philippines, back in 1960 that largely meant Japan.

Rankin/Bass, founded naturally by two guys called Rankin and Bass (in 1960 under the name Videocraft International, based in New York), took American money and sent it to animators at some of the oldest anime studios including Toei, Eiken/TCJ and Mushi Pro to draw or stopmotion animate their films, which they would voice act with American VAs. But the studio they’re most associated with is Topcraft, which you may remember from Animation Night 70 as the studio which old Hayao chose to make Nausicaa; outside of this rare exception, Topcraft almost exclusively served Western productions, largely for Rankin and Bass. And after Topcraft vanished shortly after Nausicaa, with the majority of its animators going on to follow Miyazaki to the exciting new Studio Ghibli, but a certain portion hung on, creating Pacific Animation Corporation. You can see the full list here.

The way things seem to work at this studio, Arthur Rankin and and Jules Bass themselves directed basically all their movies. On the Japanese side, the stop motion ‘animagic’ productions are credited to Tadahito Mochinaga at MOM production; Topcraft was led by Toru Hara, formery of Toei, before he joined the Ghibli exodus.

For the first few decades of the studios existence, Rankin/Bass specialised in, well, ‘holiday specials’ for various US xtian celebrations like Christmas and Thanksgiving. Since the official line of Animation Night is that the only valid one of these is Halloween and all others are revisionist, we are going to pass over these without much comment. Which means we’re speeding forwards to the late 70s, where they started to branch out a little. First were a series of hourlong TV specials, and then, suddenly, childrens’ books were in, starting with Tolkien’s The Hobbit.

Why did this happen at this particular point in history? I’m honestly not sure, although perhaps the success of Zuiyo Eizo’s World Masterpiece Theatre series (also talked about on Night 70) had a lot to do with it? Or perhaps they were hoping to fill the space left by a weak decade at Disney? In any case, in the space of about a decade, Rankin/Bass dived head first into adapting fantasy books - among them Tolkien’s Return of the King, The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle (certainly the best remembered), The Flight of Dragons by Peter Dickinson, and a version of The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

The particular visual style of this period of Rankin/Bass movies stands out - if not necessarily always for good reasons, those giant hobbit eyes are certainly a choice! The 70s and early 80s were a period when ‘fantasy’ had not yet ossified into its current rigid commercial aesthetic (i.e. the Star Wars money machine was still revving up), watercolour paintings and fantasy artists were throwing out some fascinating feelers into aesthetic space. At its best this led to some brilliant works like Belladonna of Sadness [Animation Night 69] over in Japan, the rise of French comics artists such as Meobius, and even disjointed but very compelling Bakshi movies like Wizards.

It may contextualise things to note that this song by Leonard Nimoy was made in 1968:

...which is admittedly a full decade and then some before The Last Unicorn, but that’s the vibe. Imagine a drawing of a hobbit with a pipe on top of a weed shop... oh, you don’t have those outside of Glastonbury? Huh.

So, let’s have a look at a couple of these movies.

The Last Unicorn (1982) is actually the only one I’ve seen, capturing a suitably ethereal and melancholy atmosphere - perhaps not surprising since the book’s author Peter S. Beagle wrote the screenplay as well. Rankin/Bass were the last animation company to be approached, initially horrifying the author, but he came around after seeing the Japanese animators’ character designs (which include a fascinating cloven-hoofed look for the unicorn herself that recalls illuminated manuscripts and medieval tapestries, apparently intentionally!) and the voice actors’ performances. @mogsk​ reports actually meeting the guy at a screening of a remastered version with additional inbetweens, and he was very happy about the adaptation, only regretting that they hadn’t had the budget for more full animation in the first place.

It was rly cool, we were sitting in the second row to the front, and the guy in front of us kept turning around and excitedly talking about each scene, and when the lights came up at the end t hey handed him a mic and he was like ,"So yeah I'm peter s beagle!" lol

A lot of the tone has to do with the score, composed by Jimmy Webb with the band America and singer Lucy Mitchell. A reviewer is quoted as calling it “an appropriately somber and sentimental blend of fairy tale motifs and dark, Wagnerian cues” and disparaging the folk ballads which became so common in other rankin/bass films, but honestly these ballads now convey a feeling of ‘hey it’s (only just ceased to be) the 70s’ and it really works here. At least I think the OP is pretty :p

So yeah that’s who’s on it, but what’s it about? It’s a tragic little story about a unicorn who goes looking for any other survivors of the magical creature genocide by a tyrannical monster known as the Red Bull, falls into various misadventures including a traveling circus, and it gets very bleak indeed when she has to turn human to evade capture.

As for our second movie... one of the Tolkiens might be an obvious pick, but instead, I’m going to take the opportunity to show @mogsk​ the one R/B fantasy film she hasn’t seen... and nor have I so this one’s a roll of the dice. That is The Flight of Dragons by Peter Dickinson, If you look at the poster you might be like, “hey bryn have you gone mad” (you fools I was mad all along), but the film itself looks like... well, a late 70s fantasy film, so high drawing counts, some rotoscopy looking scenes, often kinda-stiff animation but also some beautiful 70s-anime approaches to stuff like fire.

This one... the plot’s pretty daft, a buncha wizards get together and have an argument about the fate of humanity. Forbidden to fight among themselves, the 'good’ wizards deputise a small group of humans to steal the bad wizard’s crown. Meanwhile a young Peter Dickinson - author of the book, self-inserting here! - gets isekaied into the past and accidentally downloaded into a dragon’s body. From there we get a kind of science vs magic subtheme which honestly sounds a little painful, as Peter attempts to fit dragons into his 20th-century ontology, but we shall see...

And oh! Guess this is actually our first isekai on here. Wasn’t expecting that. I shall save an attempt to research the history of isekai for when we end up doing an actual anime one.

Anyway, it looks like it will have some fun vocal performances and cool visuals, so hopefully a chill and amusing time, and it still has something of the colouring of 70s/early 80s anime which should give some visual appeal even if it’s not quite the technical showoffiness of something like Horus. Idk, let’s roll the device.

Animation Night 76 will start... now! I know, late again. Hopefully this will be a fun one to recover from any surgeries, illnesses, malaises, and misfortunes you may have experienced in the last week <3 head to twitch.tv/canmom when you are ready!

[mokkemusic]

1-10 for the fanfic ask :)

Ahh an ask! Thank you @dbzebra !

1. When did you start writing? In general I've been writing for a while. Was I any good no. But still been writing since I was in high school. When I started writing for Hanako that was last year around a few months before the pandemic started. I didn't post anything I wrote until a few months later but technically that was when I started.

2. Favourite character? To write I assume. Definitely 1969 Amane Yugi.

3. Favourite AU? I don't actually write AU's lol. They are all what I consider to be either "deleted scenes of canon" or canon divergent. But my favorite AU's from other writers would be, Phantom of the Opera, Royal, and just the characters of JSHK living normal happy lives (cause they will never have that) Technically there is an entire ARC in the JSHK manga that is that. Where the characters live in a happy normal world with no supernaturals trapped in a painting. (It was short lived) I consider the picture perfect world to be an AU as well.

There's also my dream AU's from other anime's that I want fics of for JSHK. I got my wish recently for that with a Kimi no Na Wa amanene AU!

4. Favourite pairing? Ok this is complicated: It's Hananene BUT sometimes if it's the picture perfect world (like I just talked about) or any "normal" AU with no supernaturals it's Amanene.

Hanako's real name is Amane Yugi and Nene Yashiro is always just Nene Yashiro. Combing those two names together and depending on the universe I either call them Hananene or Amanene. But it's the same ship I am not a mulitshipper for these two lol.

5. How many words do you write per day? Heh, well sometimes none. I can only write sometimes and thats only when I am truly inspired and need to see it created. Instead I can tell you I wrote 500 words yesterday for a fic i'm working on.

6. Do you write on your phone/laptop/paper/something else? Phone mostly I just find it so much easier and less intimidating.

7. Favourite writing advice? Just write! Doesn't matter how doesn't matter if it doesn't make sense or how bad your grammar is (like me I am the absolute worst I wouldn't post anything without a beta!) just WRITE! If you have an idea? Scene? Get it down. I don't care if it's on a napkin.

8. Favourite fic from another author? Ahh your killing me there's so many amazing ones! My writer friends are EXTREMELY TALENTED.

Alright, I'll make this easier on myself. My favorite fics are mulit chapter rn. Cause that's just what I need to get invested in the world! So I can tell you my favorite multi chapters are:

Graves: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852554 which is completed it's a hananene royal au.

And

Be still my foolish heart (BSMFH): https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738776 which isn't finished but its not abandoned it's still very much on going! It is an Amanene roommate Au which... I can't describe this fic and actually do it justice it's a masterpiece. I won't butcher it by trying to explain it lol

9. Favourite fanfiction author? Ok this one is easier.

@uglierdaikon @milk-tea-moon @sunlightinourheadlights @istoleyourboat @corologs @insipidenvy @indigosienna @baronesscmd @thatsrightdollface and @thehopeelias (who wrote my dream your name au so even though she technically doesn't write a lot of Hanako fics your gonna be blown away by her largest one thats gonna have a new ch posted TWICE a week!)

and... I forgot what Kat's username is so i'm gonna have to edit this later due to my lack of memory lol

10. Origin of your username? I love hanako and I am a VA and dabble in singing so I just wanted to combine them. My A03 name is-

mokkemusic

So thats all of them again thank you so much for the ask it was fun! And I hope you also liked my very subtle way of trying to peak your interest enough to pick up the Toilet-Bound Hanako- kun manga which I would also happily provide you with. Just say the word.