Violence Tw - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
Alright my people I’ve got a fun question/story for you
My little brother constantly tries to get me to argue with him about feminism and other social issues. As in why I’m a feminist and why he thinks feminism is stupid.
My favorite singer is Emilie Autumn, you might know her song Fight Like a Girl from her album by the same name.
Now back to my brother:
He thinks it’s ironic that I say men and women should be equal, but I also listen to music that says women and men fight differently. This bothers me but I can’t exactly explain to him why it does. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s about empowerment, not separation. If you listen to the song she says “Even if you’re only a boy you can fight like a girl.” Now if I told him this he would get caught up on the “only a boy” part and he would see it as degrading to men. I am quite certain it is not meant to be interpreted like that, I just don’t know how to explain it to him.
He also says I’m stupid for liking characters that are gay. I mentioned that in Overwatch the one you expect to be the typical Straight White Male (Soldier: 76) had actually experienced same sex attraction. I personally take pride in being a lesbian and although others don’t agree with being proud of one characteristic, I’m going to be proud of the journey I’m taking. Anyways, I also cannot ship things like Widowtracer or McHanzo because “the only reason I like them is because they’re gay, you only like gay things.”
He says homophobia and transphobia is okay if you’re religious. Seeing as I know more about Christianity than other religions and I don’t want to say something insensitive I’m going to talk about the Bible. It talks about slavery quite a bit, is that okay? No of course not because it also says to love and respect everyone.
He says being trans is sexist. (I am definitely not an expert in being transgender so feel free to tell me more correct information if I get something wrong, I’m always open to learning about my trans siblings) He says that if you think you’re in the wrong body that’s saying one gender is worse or “wrong.” Now I believe it’s actually more like the gender you were assigned at birth doesn’t fit you or isn’t right for you?
He says rapists aren’t horrible people. He says rape doesn’t have much of an impact on the victims life. He thinks it’s more important to make sure the life of the rapist is not ruined because of a mistake.
He just said the police and military have every right to shoot and tear gas protesters. They should use whatever means necessary to stop protests. He says protesting gets people nowhere, it’s useless.
Y’all, what the hell do I do???
Like I said, please tell me if I get anything wrong, I sincerely do not want to offend anyone and I want to learn.
This post has taken weeks to complete so some of these things are recent while some are from a while ago
HEY IF U GO TO CAL STATE UNIVERSITY NORTHRIDGE PLEASE STAY SAFE!!!
I want the perps arrested and I want Yanil to receive all the help he needs after this traumatic and violent experience. The video is horrible.
The poor child is just left lying there, holding his face while none of his "friends" do anything. How are they so calm. Who filmed this??? I hope they trace it back to the perps! They clearly felt proud about attacking a child to the point of laughing about it and recording it with their phones, 10-20 vs a single boy, how noble, how brave. Hope they get jail time for like traumatizing Yanil for life.
Whumptober: All Work and No Play
Leonardo was usually the one who got captured or hurt. Of course, Donatello only thought it logical, as much as it distressed him. Leonardo was the oldest, the leader, and now, their sensei. Taking him down would most likely destroy the rest of them as well. A simple, but efficient, way of taking what remained of the Hamato clan off the face of the planet.
Somehow, Donatello managed to overlook the fact that, being the person who knew the most about medical things and the smartest of the group, a bright red target would be painted onto his shell, too.
The first month in enemy hands was brutal and violent- Well, more violent than recently. He was tortured almost everyday, only given a week or two at some point to recover before they brought him back, shoving him underwater and pretty much trying to tear him to pieces. Eventually, he gave up, desperate for the pain that clouded his mind to stop. What they wanted was for him to build for them. No information on where they were hiding, not their weaknesses, nothing that he would have expected. They just wanted him to build them weapons.
At first, he had complied as best he could, working through the agony caused by injuries. Almost immediately after starting, he tried to be half hearted about his work. He didn’t work as well as he could, he went slower and pretended like he needed more than he actually did. Of course, those attempts to slow them down were quickly put to a stop. His head still felt scrambled from that chair, he could still feel the metal gag in his mouth and the restraints around his wrists as electricity coursed through his body-
It was bad. He didn’t like to remember it.
Knowing what they had done in the beginning, sometimes he would completely stop or go on strike. They knew he was afraid, though. They could tell, they always did. Stopping wasn’t a privilege he got. When he tried to just not work, they starved him until he started doing what they said again. “You work if you want to eat”, they had said.
So he did. He worked long days and even longer nights without sleep, constantly telling himself “they’ll come”. Every night as the lights went out so that he had to work in near blackness, he told himself again, “they’ll come”.
For a long time, they didn’t. Obviously, he didn’t blame it on them. He knew that they had to be looking everywhere for him, the same that they would do for any one member of their clan, but everyday that nobody came, his hope diminished just a little more.
Just a little more, every time they would hit him again or drown him.
Just a little more when he went yet another night without sleep.
He was locked to the desk, of course. They didn’t want him trying to escape when they weren’t supervised, but that posed some… Problems.
Such as when things blew up.
The fire was so close to his face, and he couldn’t breathe through the smoke. Heart beating a jackhammer, Donatello grabbed a wrench from the flames, crying out when the fire wrapped around his hand greedily, trying to tear away the flesh to eat. He tore his hand back out almost immediately and began beating the chain, growing more and more frantic by the second. The fire was still growing, still reaching out and trying to take him for its never ending appetite.
Donatello had broken himself out from the chains, and the guards came in almost immediately after, allowing him to reel backwards while they put the fire out.
Because he broke the chains, he was punished for it.
He sat at a scorched workstation, fidgeting and tinkering to make up for his lack of ideas that would most certainly get him injured, when he realized that somebody was behind him.
"You're still not dead?" They asked, sounding like they were mocking him.
“No Mx.” He couldn’t tell their gender and, honestly, didn’t want to risk offending them. He knew what that would do for him.
They scoffed, “Good, keep it that way.”
He was scared to death when they hovered behind him, clearly not leaving any time soon. Eventually, he started bouncing his leg to try and soothe himself, but stopped working in the process.
A hand connected with the back of his head and sent stars flying across his vision. He went back to work.
Shortly after, they finally left him alone, and let out a breath of relief.
They’ll find me, he told himself again.
%%%
Surprisingly, they had given him a break.
It was unusual, and sent his nerves into a frenzy, but he was in no way ungrateful for the rest period. He wasn’t quite sure when the last time he slept was, and with no coffee, he was barely functioning. So, he took the break as a chance for a nap, even if it meant waking up to pain for sleeping over his break time.
God, he was tired. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to be home where Leonardo would eventually mother hen him off to bed, or Raphael would drag him out of the lab by the edge of his shell, or even have Michelangelo come running in and messing with his experiments. Anything would be better.
With a groan, Donatello realized that he couldn’t sleep. Homesickness was getting the best of him, and the hunger gnawed on his stomach, keeping him from any real rest. So, he tried his hand at lockpicking. He certainly had the things for a makeshift lockpick, if he just tried hard enough he was sure that he could get out-
As he began, somebody appeared behind him again, and he briefly wondered if he was clocking out for long enough that they could get in without him noticing.
“Don't do that,” They warned with a low growl.
Donatello flinched. “Sorry Mx.”
“I know what you were doing,” They ventured further, voice rising a bit in an accusatory tone. He couldn’t deny it, it only meant that he would probably get sent back to the chair.
Instead, he let them hit him harder than before, and bit his tongue to keep the cry from escaping him.
He was so, so tired. He thought he might die from it.
Suddenly, there was something crashing behind him, and his adrenaline got going, screaming at him to go go go there’s a fight get up right now.
The genius obeyed the frantic call of his body, standing up and spinning around to face the source of the sound.
Or, at least, he tried to.
When he went to get up, he crumpled to the ground, dropping to his knees with the only thing holding him up being the chain that held him by his wrist. New pain blossomed there and, honestly, he couldn’t force himself to care.
The crashes stopped and somebody called his name. There were hands on him, warm and calloused, friendly. A few clangs followed the calls, and then the hold on his wrist was released. Instead of hitting the floor, he fell into waiting arms, holding him off the ground.
“Donnie? Donnie, wake up. Please, wake up.”
He knew that voice. That was a friendly voice. That was one of his brothers.
“Hey, come here- Please, keep your eyes open, you can’t close them now.”
Oh, yeah. He would’ve loved to, but he could barely do just that. Before, he had such a hard time sleeping. Now, he couldn’t stay awake. Sleep tugged at his mind and the longer he had his eyes closed, the more he slipped. Rest sounded really nice. Maybe he would…
“Donatello Modesto Hamato, open your eyes right now.”
Oh, that was his full name. Not just Donatello, or Hamato Donatello, or that switched around, but his full name, with the middle name he assigned himself. He had really liked that name, it came from the same era that his first name did. Not the point- That was his full name, which meant something important was happening.
Slowly, Donatello cracked his eyes open, squinting in the harsh light. He could see blue and brown and green, behind that was orange and brown and green. Those were good colors. He was almost certain that if he looked up, he would see the same color combinations, except with red. “Wha’s happenin’?” He mumbled instead of looking up, tempted to squeeze his eyes shut again.
“Get up,” The blue said urgently, “We need to go now.”
“Alright,” Donatello didn’t try to get up, even though he agreed to getting out of there.
Somebody hooked their arms under his and lifted him up, then let him lean against them, trying to go fast and forcing him to stumble along in an attempt to walk. He frowned. That wasn’t very nice. His legs were asleep and he was tired. Wasn’t it rude to wake somebody up like that?
“C’mon,” The same person who called him by his full name whispered in his ear, “We’re going home now.”
Katt’s therapy session (pt2; final)
Katt’s therapy session (Pt1)
I want to show y’all a comic that I’ve been working on it’s a little bit angsty but I am proud of the expressions

Katt has had a hard past, and the night terrors don’t help her situation
ok this addition is fucking me up because of parts of the dream I didn't elaborate on. Namely: 1: Claw Lady and Deer Lady were a couple 2: Claw Lady accidentally killed Deer Lady 😬
There was a show about a group of superheroes who, at the time, seemed like they had compelling powers, but now that I’m awake I realize how lame they were. It included characters such as:
A woman with “deadly claws” (They were just long fingernails)
A man who couldn’t be seen as long as light wasn’t touching him (Literally just how darkness works???)
A surgeon (His power was being a surgeon)
Some kind of deer lady (No powers outside of being a deer lady, but it’s still something at least)
At some point there was this shocking episode where, on an infiltration mission, most of them died in brutally gory and tragic ways. There must have been backlash somewhere, because the next episode was a goofy comical retelling of the infiltration mission where nobody died. I woke up before learning which version was canon.
TTYD is a wild ride
The recent remake got me to reminisce about this game. There's just something so wonderfully out of place this game is in regards to the Mario franchise as a whole. In summary: Prologue: Welcome to this absolute hellhole of a city! Experience assault, gang violence, and robbery within mere minutes! Interludes: "...TTYD Peac, who gets naked 10,000 times per scene, is a statistical outlier adn should not have been counted." Chapter 1: Local dragon amasses absurdly high kill count via appeals to greed and foot fetishism Chapter 2: "Were... were they intending for this to be a metaphor for...?" (See: WoolieVS playthrough) (insights that make you go "oh no" 😬) Chapter 3: Mario is on the wrong side of the class divide, and needs mafia connections to proceed. Also, surprise! There's murders happening! Chapter 4: Mario's adventure suddenly becomes an allegory for gender dysphoria! ...You don't remember that? That's because the Gamecube-era localizers were COWARDS! (Remake-era, not so much 👍) Chapter 5: Don't worry about the fact that you released a murderous pillaging ghost-pirate out into the world for your own benefit. It's fine. Probably. Ch. 5 Bonus: ...What do you mean you also gave an endangered species brain damage???? Chapter 6: A nice, low-impact story arc to unwind and- OH GOD THEY'RE EVERYWHERE AAAAAGGGH Chapter 7: Mario reactivates an old Cold War-era Soviet weapons system. By now this sort of thing feels par for the course. Chapter 8: funny bing bing wahoo man fights the harbinger of the End Times
Blursed anomaly of a Mario game that shaped my youth, 10/10
TTYD is a wild ride
The recent remake got me to reminisce about this game. There's just something so wonderfully out of place this game is in regards to the Mario franchise as a whole. In summary: Prologue: Welcome to this absolute hellhole of a city! Experience assault, gang violence, and robbery within mere minutes! Interludes: "...TTYD Peac, who gets naked 10,000 times per scene, is a statistical outlier adn should not have been counted." Chapter 1: Local dragon amasses absurdly high kill count via appeals to greed and foot fetishism Chapter 2: "Were... were they intending for this to be a metaphor for...?" (See: WoolieVS playthrough) (insights that make you go "oh no" 😬) Chapter 3: Mario is on the wrong side of the class divide, and needs mafia connections to proceed. Also, surprise! There's murders happening! Chapter 4: Mario's adventure suddenly becomes an allegory for gender dysphoria! ...You don't remember that? That's because the Gamecube-era localizers were COWARDS! (Remake-era, not so much 👍) Chapter 5: Don't worry about the fact that you released a murderous pillaging ghost-pirate out into the world for your own benefit. It's fine. Probably. Ch. 5 Bonus: ...What do you mean you also gave an endangered species brain damage???? Chapter 6: A nice, low-impact story arc to unwind and- OH GOD THEY'RE EVERYWHERE AAAAAGGGH Chapter 7: Mario reactivates an old Cold War-era Soviet weapons system. By now this sort of thing feels par for the course. Chapter 8: funny bing bing wahoo man fights the harbinger of the End Times
Blursed anomaly of a Mario game that shaped my youth, 10/10
TTYD is a wild ride
The recent remake got me to reminisce about this game. There's just something so wonderfully out of place this game is in regards to the Mario franchise as a whole. In summary: Prologue: Welcome to this absolute hellhole of a city! Experience assault, gang violence, and robbery within mere minutes! Interludes: "...TTYD Peac, who gets naked 10,000 times per scene, is a statistical outlier adn should not have been counted." Chapter 1: Local dragon amasses absurdly high kill count via appeals to greed and foot fetishism Chapter 2: "Were... were they intending for this to be a metaphor for...?" (See: WoolieVS playthrough) (insights that make you go "oh no" 😬) Chapter 3: Mario is on the wrong side of the class divide, and needs mafia connections to proceed. Also, surprise! There's murders happening! Chapter 4: Mario's adventure suddenly becomes an allegory for gender dysphoria! ...You don't remember that? That's because the Gamecube-era localizers were COWARDS! (Remake-era, not so much 👍) Chapter 5: Don't worry about the fact that you released a murderous pillaging ghost-pirate out into the world for your own benefit. It's fine. Probably. Ch. 5 Bonus: ...What do you mean you also gave an endangered species brain damage???? Chapter 6: A nice, low-impact story arc to unwind and- OH GOD THEY'RE EVERYWHERE AAAAAGGGH Chapter 7: Mario reactivates an old Cold War-era Soviet weapons system. By now this sort of thing feels par for the course. Chapter 8: funny bing bing wahoo man fights the harbinger of the End Times
Blursed anomaly of a Mario game that shaped my youth, 10/10
I was content with the brutality that was associated with war, reveling in the chaos and finding my place at the front lines of most of my squadron’s strikes.
I used to be a Bladedancer, trained in the art of the sword and scythe.
Now? Now I’m something more....
~—————~
“Look, on the horizon!” The scout’s panicked yelling woke up my squadron from a much-needed rest. We had been traversing the cliffs and dunes of the Middle East for weeks on little to no sleep, and I honestly don’t like being woken up so rudely.
I reached for my set of kunai, but the squadron leader glared at me- No more weapons. We were living at the cusp of a new era, one without bloodshed. (A bit boring, if you ask me.) I reluctantly obliged, and settled for the pair of hunting knives I always kept strapped to my chest under my clothes. I never told anyone about those, just in case.
Stepping out of the tent was like emerging from the womb. A new challenge lay before us, and with our greatest advantage -me- out of commission by unanimous decree, I was almost certain this wouldn’t end well.
The scout clambered out of the tower he was perched on. We called him Canary, because he was tiny and loud and had bright yellow hair. He couldn’t have been older than 23. (In a squadron picture I had sent back to my family, my brother replied with a note stating that he looked a bit like an anime character. Not that I’d know, I’d never watched it before.)
Canary tossed down his satchel and ran up next to the leader. He whispered something in the leader’s ear, and pointed to me. I couldn’t hear him, but I knew what he was saying: “Are you sure we can’t just let her go and kill them?”
The leader shook his head. “Rules are rules,” he said, a little too loudly, making sure I heard him.
Oh, I heard you, captain. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen, though.
~————~
“THIS IS IT, FOLKS!! THE FINAL BATTLE! REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING, AND WE MIGHT JUST MAKE IT OUT!!”
Sometimes I really hated the squadron leader. Always was being dramatic, that man; didn’t even have an inside voice. He never would’ve survived Assassin Training, what with his passion for yelling.
But being in a helicopter did give him a bit of an excuse that time.
I was to go in with Canary and five other soldiers, no weapons, relying on the morals of monsters that they too were unarmed. A completely batshit plan, and it could only go one of two ways- either we all die brutal deaths, or I end up with a pile of bodies and a prison sentence for war crimes.
Not very good, the options. I honestly would’ve preferred the later, minus the prison thing.
But I had an alternative idea, one that could turn the tide of the war. I had to get it to Canary, fast.
“WHAT THE HELL, KID?!”
Only problem was that he had already jumped.
Canary?
Oh god.
~———~
“Canary?! Where are you?!” I stumbled through the desert sand, bags of stage blood sloshing about in my backpack. The muzzle of my rigged revolver dug into my ankle, but I ignored the pain. This plan, as it was, wouldn’t work without him.
No. This can’t be happening. Did he... did he really jump? Without a parachute?
The crimson dunes ahead answered me.
I ran to the divot, although I probably could’ve used the walking time to prepare me for what I saw.
I nearly threw up. I had seen, and even caused, bodies like this before, but not of friends.
Before me was the broken form of our scout, sprawled in unnatural ways. A half-smile was stretched across his face, like he had just thought of something funny before impact. The spreading pool of blood sunk into the sand beneath my boots.
He was dead.
Canary... no... why?
I activated my com system.
“Squadron Leader, this is Bladedancer 01.”
My voice caught in my throat.
“I....I found Canary.... Estimated time of death, 14:02.”
Nothing. Just static. What the hell? Wait. Is that...gunfire? No.
“Squadron Leader, this is Bladedancer 01. Come in!”
Faint screaming, and the sounds of bullets cleaving through flesh.
This couldn’t be happening. First Canary, then the leader?
They’ll pay for this.
~———~
I met with my fellow soldiers at the regroup point. Canary’s body was slung over my shoulder, and as I emerged from the barren haze, they ran to retrieve it- him. I turned my head to see my shoulder. His blood had run down my back, pooling at a pocket on my belt. The trap kunai inside were probably drenched and useless.
They’re really gone, aren’t they? Accept it; this is war.
I met the gaze of my second-in-command, Delta.
“What should we do, Dancer?”
I looked down at my boots, then back up at him. Through my tears, I smiled.
“We give them the hell they deserve. For and from our family.”
~———~
The rules said no real weapons. No guns, no swords, not even slingshots.
Dancing is for the weak. I never danced in my life, unless you call pirouetting a dagger into an enemy’s throat “dancing.”
Faking my death, however... I’ve done that more times than I can remember.
And false weapons? Stage knives? Those were fair game in my eyes.
They never said mental warfare was off the table. Maybe after this they would actually tighten the loopholes.
~———~
We set up camp at the nearest building. At one point, it had been a home to somebody. The terrorists had ransacked the place and left it a shell. I was sitting on the kitchen counter, and Delta was laying on an old mattress. The other four were watching the doors and windows.
I had revised the plan. Delta would go in place of Canary, after the others had taken fire. I accounted for the enemy having guns, and had made makeshift squibs out of blankets, ceramic tiles and blood bags. Each soldier was wearing one, except myself.
I didn’t need that. I had other plans.
I balanced a knife on my finger. Every so often I’d slip up, and the blade would slink back into the handle. Releasing the pressure sent blood trailing along the blade. Perfect.
I looked over at Delta. He was examining my pistol for faults, making sure that it would go off properly. He held up a small plastic paintball. The sun shone through it, illuminating the fake blood inside. He turned to me, concern in his eyes.
“Y’know that this is gonna make ‘em need therapy for years, right? You could get arrested, or worse, executed.”
“Countin’ on it, Delta.” I smiled, and tapped the small canister hidden in my hair. “Countin’ on it. This, it’ll be a battle they’ll never forget.”
War, it’s a place where rules are surprisingly important. Well, at least to everyone else. Me, I have a tendency to ignore them.
~———~
*End* (for now)
The United Nations has now decided that wars shall no longer be fought with guns. Instead they shall be fought with dancing. You are a soldier out on the front lines for your first time and you and your group have just run into an enemy group.
Book 5: Jaded Plans
The team was gearing up for another Raid. Usually, Raids went off without a hitch, but last time didn’t go so well. Echo was still slightly traumatized, and a nasty, lavender scar was forming on Nathaniel’s arm.
~——~
Falesa had been working with Natalia to help get rid of his acrophobia when Systemis walked into the virtual range. The mountain cliffs dissolved and left behind a large steel box filled with cameras and sensors. Falesa fell from the wall amid undignified screaming, but Natalia caught him with her smoke before he landed.
“Hey. Do you know where the breaching explosives are? I set them on the counter a while ago, and now they’re gone,” Systemis asked. “I swear, everything’s going missing lately. First the alcohol, then my break-in attachments, and now the explosives!”
“I know where the explosives are,” said Falesa, still catching his breath from the would-be-fatal fall. “Jade said she was going to set them up. I don’t know why, mainly because we aren’t going for another hour or so.”
~——~
Jade had a way of stealing stuff. She almost made it an art, if it weren’t for people finding out about the theft almost immediately after it happened.
Everything she stole had a purpose. Well, minus the alcohol. She just wanted that for herself.
If stealing was an art, then this was her newest masterpiece. All of it was part of a bigger plan. A plan that would rock the world of the enemy.
The breaching charged were set. Jade ran her finger along her knife. Still sharp. Now she just had to wait for the others to arrive.
Natalia and Nathaniel were first. They stepped out of the smoke and shadows, and immediately grabbed Jade by the arms.
Falesa came next. Bright blue angel wings sent gusts of wind through the alley, sending papers everywhere. He landed, and the wings folded against his cobalt armor.
Systemis has been running full tilt for an hour. The plan was for Nathaniel to escort her through the shadow dimensions, but he went straight for Jade after Falesa told them where the Raid was. Systemis had to set her legs to auto-run to keep up.
“Hey, guys,” Jade remarked. She shrugged out of Nathaniel’s and Natalia's grip. “Glad you could make it. Systemis, here’s your arm back. Sorry I took it, but I needed it to set something up.”
Jade handed Systemis the mangled robotic arm. It was missing a couple of fingers, and wires were sticking out of the wrist and elbow. The hydraulic tanks were cracked and leaking, and one was jammed with adhesive clay.
“Thanks,” replied Systemis sarcastically, her voice an annoyed monotone. She wrenched her arm out of Jade’s hands and glared at her. She held it up to the light that crept between the towering apartment buildings.
“What were you doing with it that did this? That’s solid steel that you all but destroyed in what, an hour?”
“It doesn’t matter. Trust me, this’ll work.” Jade winked slyly at Systemis, who rolled her glowing eyes dramatically.
“You said that last time,” interjected Falesa. The rest of the team added their thoughts:
“And the time before.”
“And the time before that. You have a habit of making really bad plans, y’know.”
Nathaniel smirked and playfully punched her shoulder through the shadows.
“Shut up, dickheads,” Jade snarled. “This time, it’s gonna work. That plan with the rotary was genius, by the way.”
“It would’ve been, if we had actually owned a grenade launcher at the time,” said Natalia.
“We made do, didn’t we? I mean, yeah, Nate did lose a toe, but it grew back!” Jade tried to stay optimistic, despite everyone being incredibly angry with her.
“I miss that toe,” Nathaniel noted forlornly.
Falesa cut off Nathaniel’s sad mumbling.
“Guys, focus! We’re already here, so why not just do the Raid ahead of time?”
“Fine. But when it’s all over, I get the credit for the success,” Jade snapped jokingly.
Falesa ruffled his wings and walked to the end of the alleyway. He rested his hand against the wall and closed his eyes. Blue lightning crackled along his arm.
“I can sense a small group on the other side of this wall. Jade, did you set the explosives anywhere near here?”
“Yeah, why? You don’t want to hurt them?” She scoffed. “We’ll never get anything done that way!”
“You know I’m opposed to senseless murder, Jade.” He laughed. “If I wasn’t, I would’ve taken every single one of you out as soon as I sensed your powers!”
“Real reassuring, Lindoe. Do you want to push the button, or should I take the ‘burden’ of it for you?”
Jade held up a small detonator. Falesa turned back to the wall. Off-white chunks of clay and wire were placed intermittently, and if activated correctly, could open a hole in the wall. But he noticed something different about the wall itself.
“I don’t think these things are going to be needed.”
“And why is that?”
Falesa punched the wall. His hand went straight through the thin canvas fabric. He tore it away, revealing a room full of armed guards.
“Just a hunch.”
They aimed their rifles at him, but he flared his wings wide. Blue lightning arced between the guards, sending them to the ground in convulsed spasms. Jade poked her head past Falesa’s wings and huffed in approval.
He turned to the rest of the group and smiled.
“Ready to get this over with? We have an Osprey to follow.”
~———~
Arti just moves so SMOOTHLY
One blow after another straight into the next, she is on a rampage and you can FEEL IT.
Incredible. So well choreographed and animated.
my part for the Hayloft II MAP!!
love animating a woman who can maim and kill <3
EDIT: process video now up on youtube!
@sinxatoned asked: “ and the saddest part of all? you’ll cling to the good memories, as if there were any. ” // Demon King @ Zeldris. Bring on the pain.
► ❪ POETRY // accepting ❫
What was this supposed to be ? Some backhanded lecture meant for his convenience ? The subject matter briefly drew Zeldris up short, cutting through the middle of his own sentence with frightening ease. It's not as if far worse hadn't been said / done before but Father must have been in a particular mood. It's the sole time he saw him these days when they were alone, an occurrence that happened all too often with the castle far more quiet, lacking Meliodas' presence.
It's almost systematic, how his body language shuts down. What little expression held in the king's presence sputtered, waning, furrowed brows smoothing out. The slightly questioning curve in downturned lips neutralized until a tense face was rendered bare of emotion. Everything perfectly measured, constantly aware of every little motion made, constantly weighing the possible repercussions of every single word spoken.
( it's a struggle not to suffocate )
When memories were but a shackle to contend with for the remainder of a life, it made sense to cling to the good ones right ? But for his own reasons Father seemed determined to poison that well. To layer each recollection ( regardless of past connotations ) with corrupted spikes / reshaped into a warped simulacrum intent to twist and tear and harm the beholder, threatening to blur the increasingly thinning line between good and bad.
A terrible thought / a hard pill to swallow. One so difficult that the king preferred to shove it down his throat; an effort to insist the verity of his biting intonation. The worst part ? It’s true. Doubt held no place here when faced with facts. That’s what made that silent hand gripping his hearts tighten, as though ready to rip them out of his chest. He should know better ( he DID know better ) than to let whatever was said get to him. It still hurt, sincerely, to hear such words be delivered from on high. But after years of hurting, it barely registered beyond a dull sting anymore. It's barely a bother, only acknowledged a slight by the flicker of an abyssal, vacant gaze.
( a blade sharpened to perfection, lovingly crafted with utmost CARE to dig under his skin, another blood ridden, jagged wound to add to the assemblage )
He doesn't think he'll ever be able to reply to his father's standards.
Zeldris' answer had a known clarity in his hands. Plenty of ❛ good memories ❜ existed to cling to. Debating whether they fit the conventional standard of good or not seemed questionable at best, if not conscientious. Most ( if not all ) of them involving him and his brother. He grew up in violence, watching his brother reap the lives of goddesses, crush skulls and take souls without an iota of mercy or regret. Nothing beyond the threadbare hints of mild boredom. Yet, Meliodas was there. The one enduring source of what he'd come to quantify as ❛ good ❜ in his life, however brief that flicker of a moment appeared in retrospect. He’d do anything to protect that. Anything it took.
But he also knew that answer won't satiate the Demon King. All he cared about was the power, about the idea of being infallible and above such basic notions. Revealing the true thoughts under the surface was akin to wrapping a weighty noose forged from his own naivety around his own neck, begging for judgemental punishment. An intimately familiar infliction he's already fallen victim to beforehand. So, he needed a different answer.
❝ Memories are just memories, Father. ❞ They both knew that wasn't the case, not for him, a memory likened to permanent snapshot forever etched into the annals of his mind. ❝ There... isn't a need to assign overly sentimental value to them, to the point where they're labeled in such a irrelevant manner. No use fretting over them when they eventually fade. ❞