#why we use violence

[sissa-arrows]

Rereading Fanon’s speech at Accra in Ghana (March-April 1960) and I had completely forgotten that the French colonizers used the exact same argument as the Israeli colonizers. “They hate peace that’s why we have to fight them”

I love Fanon’s answer to that argument.

“No, the violence of the Algerian people is neither a hatred of peace nor a rejection of human relations nor a conviction that only war can put an end to the colonial regime in Algeria.

The Algerian people have chosen the unique solution that was left to them and this choice will hold firm for us.

De Gaulle said “We must break the Algerian people”. We reply “Let us negotiate, find a solution that is commensurate with contemporary history. But know that if you want to break the Algerian people, you will have to accept seeing your armies break themselves against the rampart of the glorious Algerian soldiers.””

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Chat, I regret to inform you that I have added a new hyperfixation…so…

Agatha All Along Incorrect Quotes!

Alice: Hold the fuck up.

Also Alice, crawling into Lilia’s lap: It’s me. I’m the fuck up. Hold me.

Rio: I have an idea!

Jen: No murder.

Rio, sighing petulantly: I no longer have an idea.

Lilia: I have a bad feeling about this…

Agatha: What do you mean?

Alice: Don’t you ever get that little voice in the back of your head that tells you if something is going to get you in trouble?

Agatha: No.

Jen: That actually explains so much.

Lilia: As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had this little voice in my head telling me to “live it up today, because there’s not gonna be a lot of tomorrows”.

Agatha: You do realize there’s medication designed to get rid of those kinds of voices, right?

Teen: A bird flew in through my window and I’m trying to befriend it.

*later*

Agatha: Why don’t you quit bothering me and go talk to your bird friend?

Teen: Matthew and I are not speaking at the moment.

*the coven, huddling together behind a makeshift shelter to shield themselves from repeated gunshots*

Alice, hastily shoving the others behind her so she can return fire: Agatha, do you have any idea who would want to shoot you?!

Agatha, squashed between Jen and Rio: Many people want to shoot me. I take great pride in that!

Jen, glaring at the group as she hands over bail money:

Alice, tapping her shoulder: What about Teen?

Jen, glaring more: I’ve got to bail him out too? Where’s Agatha?

Teen: No one called her. We used Lilia’s phone call to call Alice and Rio’s to call you. Then Rio used my phone call to vote for American Idol.

Rio: :)

Jen: Rio isn’t answering her phone.

Agatha: Here, I’ll try.

Jen: Alice and I have tried six times each, what makes you think that-

Rio, picking up on the first ring: Hey, sweetheart.

Agatha: The ends always justify the means!

Jen: Do you know who said that?

Agatha: Was it Oprah or someone nice and great like that?

Jen: It was Machiavelli. A decidedly non-Oprah like person.

Jen: I bet you didn’t even finish the thing I asked you to get done!

Agatha: For your information, I most certainly did! Got it done last night!

Teen, whispering to Agatha: You didn’t get it done, did you?

Agatha, whispering back: I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

Lilia: I am at a loss for words!

Teen, glancing at the camera like his mom like he’s on The Office: Despite being lost for words, Lilia yelled at us for the next 45 minutes.

Agatha, carrying Señor Scratchy out of the room:

Señor Scratchy: *snuggles under her chin*

Agatha, kissing his head: You are being punished. Please stop being adorable. I love you.

Teen: I got a trampoline tent for summer sleepovers!

Jen, whispering to the other adult witches: …think of all the sex.

Alice: There are two types of people.

Rio: If you wanted to eat someone, you could put a fire under it and slowly roast them :)

Lilia: …three. Three types of people.

Jen, cautiously: I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before, but…Teen, you are a little crazy.

Teen: Aren’t we all a little crazy here, Jen?

Jen: No, I mean you’re aging-ballerina, child-chess-prodigy, professional magician kind of crazy.

Teen: It’s my mom’s fault. You know, we come from a Jewish family, but she used to tell me the reason Santa didn’t come was because my room was too dirty.

Rio: I’ve come looking for trouble. And if I can’t find trouble, I WILL create some.

Alice: Do you trust me?

Lilia, smiling proudly at her: Yes.

Alice, who has been completely panicking: Wait, what? Why?!

Agatha, awkwardly glancing around for help: Er…Alice, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what to say to people who are crying. So I’m just gonna hope that the tone of my voice makes you think I do, okay, sweetie?

Alice, sniffling: …thanks, Agatha.

Agatha, patting her on the back with a bit too much enthusiasm: No problem, kid.

Lilia: I told Agatha about it weeks ago!

Teen: She WHAT?

Agatha: What??? Lilia says insane shit all the time, how was I supposed to know this one was true?!

Lilia: Bank accounts are a sham created by the shadow government!

Agatha: SEE?!

BONUS:

Wanda, watching from the afterlife: so…when exactly do kids grow out of that whole emo, rebellious stage?

Lorna, shrugging: I don’t know. Alice is still in it.

[doux-amer]

[bromcommie]

Steve Rogers Needs Therapy is a great tag because like yeah obviously we all know that but we also know that he is absolutely not getting it. Like there is no way in hell that man is seeing a classic therapist one on one. Not even because of the infamous "He's from the '40s!!!" Reasons™️(even though yes, also partially because of the he's from the '40s reasons, although not just the whole usual “men didn’t use to talk about feelings” spiel, in any case) but because a) while everyone loves to write Bucky as paranoid I am 100% certain Steve would match that (if not be worse when it comes to certain things, especially after the whole SHIELD shitshow) and b) more importantly even if you beat him with a stick until he went to a well-prepared, good-intentioned one he could objectively trust or whatever he'd be one of those annoying motherfuckers that're like "oh no I actually know what all my problems are! it's all good but sure we can talk about it I guess" and then proceed to just lie his way through the entire session

[dxxtruction]

Louis' "You're boring!" Could mean so many things, but I think what's most apparent about that line is that Armand takes no initiative just for himself. He's not really anybody, because he never goes out and finds himself or gets attached to anyone but Louis. Without Louis as his guide he's literally just sitting on a couch picking lint! That's the thing.

He orbits constantly around what would make Louis happy, and never really fully going what would make me happy? Ultimately that drive to please Louis is what drives him to torturing Daniel, not so much that he'd care to just do it. Ultimately, not giving proper care to Louis is just a way to make sure Louis knows he has to orbit around him as well, with shoving Lestat onto him just that other nail on the coffin. So, even if he fails to figure out how to make Louis happy with him, he still knows what Armand is good for, and better than.

That dependency is what drives Armand's abuse. It really just comes down to that. Armand doesn't even realize how suffocated he is by his own dependency. This is just how life is to him. (It shouldn't be lost either that dependency is a theme considering this episode also deals with addiction).

Daniel's fascinating because he's just so driven to be somebody. He's largely independent, he seeks things because he wants them. It's his drug to poke and prod at all the things that he shouldn't. Daniel's exciting because he lets Louis in to something different, lets him in to all this potential in another person that he can also do the same with for himself. It's a real connection. A two way street. It's easy to tell how Armand can be smothering then because he's never introducing him to anything really new, and most the ways both of them connect are all painful and traumatic. It's never just fun because there's always that layer of that pain. Fun died with Claudia.

50 years on they've gotten to a lot better place, both of them, but it's still that same shit. No seriously, "How is this any different from last time, Louis?"

Well... Because Armand's going to be, at the very least, making one [1] decision only for himself - and that's to hold power over Daniel's life. Fucking sick foreshadowing.

They aren't driving each other to the brink anymore but "The vampire is bored" STILL. Maybe it's even worse, despite being in better places, because Louis' sort of just been defeated by it. (I mean, can he even really leave this either?). He's accepting the dependancy cause he kind of has to. He'd literally ended up letting all the enjoyment be up where he can't reach [The book shelves]. Armand so desperately wants Louis happiness but what really ends up happening is that Louis ends up having to give Armand all his own. He's got no one or anything else to get it from. But like an iPad and an over the top eating ritual. Two extremes of what's just more lint picking.

This whole relationship is one I find just tragic inside and out. You have to just pity it, really. There's ways in which you can find yourself feeling bad for both of them. But you can only really be mad at Armand for any of it. Armand, who isn't even 'free' in any sense, having so little concept of his own independence, but is at the same time so controlling over other's. It's a tragic cycle. It's an infuriating one.

Louis at least has the mind to know when enough is enough. If just needing that extra push to get there. Armand's too scared of it being over to even try.

[wandringaesthetic]

Really like it, in Final Fantasy XIV: Endwalker, where, as the remnants of various dead civilizations are telling you why you should just give into despair and die, and as your companions are sacrificing themselves one by one in order to make a path for you, this shade of a dragon is like "give up, because war and conflict and violence are neverending and you yourself are going to be used as a tool of violence if you don't give up and die now" and Estinien Varlineau, called Wyrmblood is like "no, that's fucking stupid" (paraphrasing) and stabs him

[valzhangism]

i know i said i was happy about how mel's story went, but the more i think about it the less i'm sure about that. this is very much connected to how the themes of classism and wealth disappeared in s2, but mel in the beginning was the epitome of piltover. she wanted to advance piltover to prove herself to her mother. to "put piltover—" and by extension herself, "—on the map."

she wanted wealth just to have it. and i'm not blaming her for anything that happened, especially with hextech! she, just like jayce and viktor, could not have known what it would lead to. i mean yeah heimerdinger said so but who the hell listens to heimerdinger? but anyway i think mel changed throughout s1, much in thanks to jayce. by the end she's become more cognisant of the mistreatment of zaunites. she's the first to vote for their peace. she was a good person all along but now she knows how to act on it. it's also seen more in s2 act 1. when she covers her painting with gold, it's symbolic—she won't act according to what her mother might think. she won't let her desire for approval dictate her anymore.

so somehow i wish those themes were. continued, somehow? like again they were dropped not just with mel but the whole show and it makes her story a off to me. there's no meaningful commentary on war or classism or how her ideology stands opposite to her mother's. like some people have said, it feels like she doesn't have much agency, even if she is really cool. and that to me is a shame because agency felt like her thing. "to shape your own destiny" as she says to jayce in s1. i know her collaborating with the black rose (but not fully joining them) and learning magic is supposed to represent becoming independent from her mother, taking her own path, but some other aspects of her character were thrown away... the more i think about it the more i'm thinking they kind of #girlboss-ed her a little bit. maybe to sell another champion. i can't help but feel like even though i enjoyed seeing her on screen, the payoff didn't feel proportionally satisfying compared to her setup in s1.

[numberonetribble]

Stuck at my mom's house until the 27th, can't finish the comic I was working on until then :( here's a rough Cowboy!pinup sketch of Bumblebee and some Breakbee + Piston angst:

[truths33k3r4]

Indie TMNT Comic Dub - Episode 16

EPISODE 16 of Indie TMNT is up!!!! :)

STORYTIME ~

This one was both so much fun and so much difficulty to make. (I only had around 9 hours to both record and edit because of my work schedule this week), and things just kept going wrong! XD Had to re-record nearly four times cause the mic peaked, then my tablet decided “Ha- ya know, I’m just gonna not work right now”, and a few other little annoying things happened one after the other. So- after all that, I stopped and prayed for strength and patience. Ya know, this kind of prayer~ “LOOOOOOORD GIVE ME STRENGTHHHHHHHHH.” And after re-starting my computer, my tablet worked again, and eventually the other problems righted themselves too. :) Very grateful I was able to make this in time. Thank You, Lord, for that!!! :)

All credit for the comic itself goes to @indieyuugure, while I edited and played the Voice Talents. Epidemic Sound covered the many sound effects and the music! :) 

Now we’ll see where the story goes from hereeee~

Feel free to share and reblog this video! Thanks for watching!

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[t-u-i-t-c]

Taiya Hando in Bakuage Sentai BoonBoomger 01x37 Two Spies

+ bonus

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

At first Minato thinks the sound he hears is his eardrums popping, but a moment later he realizes that it came from a distance– a distance they’re closing as they sprint onward, in fact.

In front of him, Sanada stops short. “What–?” Minato can barely hear him. “Dammit… Both of you, hang on!” He takes off again, not even short of breath. 

Minato is almost jealous. Despite all of his time spent with the track team, he feels dizzy and ready to collapse by the time the alleyway behind Port Island Station comes into view. Every breath might as well be filling his lungs with tar instead of air.

The shadows in the alley sharpen and focus into human shapes– not two, but three of them: one sprawled on the ground; one standing as tall as it can; the third looming over them both, arm extended towards the smallest figure, taking aim–

“Takaya!” Minato’s voice sounds foreign in his own ears. He wouldn’t have guessed he’d be able to speak at all, much less shout.

Everything happens all at once after that.

Takaya’s whole body jerks towards Minato’s voice. 

The shape on the ground lunges up and forward, taking the smaller figure crashing back down with it.

The gun goes off with a sound like–

Like a gunshot.

It isn't a clap of thunder. It's not at all like the crack of a whip. 

There is no metaphor that can soften the truth. 

The noise that tears open the silence of the Dark Hour is a gun being fired: a spark igniting powder propelling a bullet at shattering speeds towards the soft, vulnerable bodies of his friends.

Speckles of something dark and reflective fan through the air, glittering obscenely where they catch the light of the moon. Takaya almost seems to glow under that sickly light; pale skin and hair and eyes and shining silver gun gleaming ghost-bright in the murk of the alley, in stark contrast to the dark shapes huddled on the ground.

He meets Minato's eyes briefly. His expression is openly astonished for less than a moment before it shifts to fury, then is immediately papered over with a mask of calm indifference. He says something, but Minato is still too far away to hear. The Dark Hour swallows him up faster than Minato would have assumed possible.

He isn't terribly preoccupied with Takaya's Houdini act at the moment though, because–

"Shinji–!"

Aragaki lies prone on the pavement with Amada pinned underneath, whose breath is coming in shallow, panicked gasps, his face pale under dark splotches of blood. The bullet intended for Amada has shredded Aragaki’s right shoulder into a confusion of gore and torn wool and glimpses of pinkish-white that Minato tries not to think too hard about.

“Hang in there, Shinji!” Sanada hauls him off of Amada and onto his back, revealing another wound in his gut, a black well of blood. More of it dribbles sluggishly from the corner of his mouth. Aragaki doesn’t cry out in pain as Sanada and Mitsuru rearrange him in their hold, lifting him off of the cold concrete and supporting his head. He hardly makes any noise at all.

Minato feels like his ears have been jammed full of cotton. He can tell people are talking, but he can no longer pick out any voices or words. His vision tunnels, phantom colors chewing at the edges. 

He stands there and watches as Yukari frantically tears out of her jacket and hands it off to Mitsuru, who packs it hard against Aragaki’s ruined shoulder. 

He stands there and watches as Junpei unties his own jacket from around his waist and uses it to dab gingerly at the side of Amada’s face– it’s only now that Minato realizes that not all of the blood that Amada is wearing is Aragaki’s. The shape of Amada’s left ear is all wrong, like some of it is just missing, but Minato only catches a brief glimpse before Junpei presses the jacket over the injury and holds it there, hiding it from sight.

Yukari tries to summon her persona. Io flickers above her like a mirage for less than a second before vanishing. She pulls the trigger again, but the result is the same. She pulls the trigger again and again and again, face contorted and body heaving with sobs that Minato can’t hear. Io stops appearing at all. He stands there and watches.

It’s no use. They’re too far from Tartarus or any powerful shadow that could be harboring a piece of its influence. They’re too close to the end of the Dark Hour. Minato has two personas that can cast Recarm, but they wouldn’t be of any use even if he could draw his evoker, if he could move at all.

He stands there. And he watches.

Aragaki is saying something to Amada, and Amada answers through his sobs. Their mouths are moving, but Minato still can't hear. Why can’t he hear anything? Why does it feel like his mind is clouded over in static? 

Something jabs hard into his side and suddenly Minato’s ears work again, like a loose wire has been jarred back into place.

“--ato! Minato! Hey, are you listening?!” He blinks, dumbfounded, and turns to the source of the voice. Junpei is staring at him. Minato has no idea what he’d call the expression Junpei is making at him, but it’s not one he’s ever seen him wear before. “Give Sanada-san your coat, man! We need to stop the bleeding!” 

Even though he can hear again, it still takes him far too long to actually comprehend what’s being said. Junpei starts to repeat himself before it finally clicks and Minato shucks his jacket and hands it over. Junpei passes it off to Sanada, and Sanada presses it against the hole in Aragaki’s stomach. Aragaki doesn’t even flinch, just looks over at Koromaru gently nudging his hand. He pets him weakly. It’s probably the most movement he can manage.

“Just a few minutes–” Fuuka says, nearly hysterical. “The Dark Hour ends in a few minutes. As soon as it does, I-I’ll call an ambulance!” 

“Did you hear that, Shinji?” With the hand that isn’t leaning on the makeshift bandage, Sanada grabs Aragaki’s, gripping tight. Aragaki grips back, much weaker. “Just hold on for a bit longer!” 

“Aki…”  Aragaki’s voice is quiet and thready, but everyone falls silent at the sound of it. “Take care of him…” He slowly inclines his head towards Amada. 

“Don’t talk like you won’t be around!” Sanada says through gritted teeth.

“Pr…promise me, Aki.” 

Sanada’s breath hitches and he bites his lip against it. “…Alright. Alright, I– I will. I promise I will.” 

Aragaki smiles and Minato’s heart lurches. It’s sad. It’s final. 

It’s relieved. 

Aragaki is smiling like a weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders. He looks so content that Minato almost envies him. “This is…how it should be…” he sighs.

He slumps in Mitsuru and Sanada’s arms. Minato’s ears ring. There is a chorus of strangled cries from his teammates. 

Amada chokes like he’s been stabbed. “No–! H-he can’t–!”

“Is he–?” Junpei’s voice shakes.

“He’s alive,” Sanada gasps, still clutching Aragaki’s hand. “He’s still breathing–”

“I can feel his pulse,” Mitsuru affirms, pressing two fingers gently to Aragaki’s neck. “It’s weak, but it’s there. He’s only passed out, but unless he gets medical attention soon…” She can’t even finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to. The implication is heavy enough. 

“Still breathing,” Sanada murmurs to himself. “He’s still breathing–” He says it again and again, as though he can force the words to remain true through sheer repetition.

Without fanfare, the green glow of the Dark Hour vanishes. The murky clouds that had blotted out the stars disappear and the moon returns to its normal size. 

“Yamagishi!”  Mitsuru exclaims.

“R-right!” Fuuka is already dialing. Her voice is strained and thin but steady as she relays the necessary details, and the person on the other end of the line thankfully seems to understand. It isn’t until she closes her phone that Fuuka allows a choked sob to escape. “Th…they’re on the way,” she says, her voice breaking. 

All they can do now is wait. Nobody speaks. Most of the team crowds around Aragaki, if nothing else to assure themselves that he’s still alive. Only Amada stays off to the side, until Junpei breaks away to crouch next to him and speak quietly. 

And Minato. He’s frozen in place, staring at the battered body of a man he’s come to greatly respect as the life slowly leaves him. His eyes burn, but it doesn’t feel like the sting of tears. They don’t feel wet at all. Has he been blinking? 

A hand rests on his shoulder. “Minato-san,” Aigis says, her vocals strangely gentle. How does she feel about all of this, Minato briefly wonders. “Are you alright?” 

“...No,” he answers, voice barely audible even to himself. Minato hasn’t felt like this since… not since Back Then. Not since the bridge, and the car.

Aigis’ face remains as impassive as always, but somehow she still looks sadder than she ever has. Sadder than Minato thought she was capable of. “I am here if you need me.” The compassion in her voice feels like a brick thrown against his chest.

It’s only a few minutes until they hear sirens, but it’s the most agonizing few minutes of their lives. Even in Tartarus, where a minute can stretch like taffy, time has never seemed to creep by so slowly.

A group of punks has started to gather, trying to gawk at the sprawled figure hidden within the protective ring formed by his teammates. They scatter as soon as the ambulance pulls up, stopping right next to the huddle. Four paramedics pour out and swarm around the injured parties as fast as they can. Two police cars arrive moments later. Officer Kurosawa steps out of one of them.

The alley is filled with disorienting pulses of red and blue light. Minato almost misses the sickly haze of the Dark Hour.

There’s a whirlwind of voices– explanations and questions and medical jargon– but Minato absorbs none of it. He just watches (again– again, he just watches, and does nothing) as three of the first responders transfer Aragaki onto a stretcher and load him into the ambulance. The fourth gently guides Amada inside as well. 

Everyone wants to go with them, but there’s only enough spare room for one more person. Minato isn’t surprised when Sanada insists it be him. Nobody argues, and the ambulance takes off the moment Sanada is inside. 

The last train has already left the station, so the rest of them will have to find another way to the hospital. And they will. They have to.

None of them can bear the idea of doing anything less.

[sciderman]

(Idk if someone asked this already) since we’re on the topic of gender

sci what is gender to you and how do you see it in you and how you express it in your art?? (Just a young queer artist who wants some light shined upon them 🥺)

i 'unno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sucresanguine]

not to be throwing stones but the way people talk about having a "female" childhood as a default good thing in queer spaces is bonkers. Like the amount of abuse I and many others experienced that was directly tied to that shouldn't have to be minimized as some kind of learning experience. I don't actually think suffering in one way makes you a better person for it. I'm not out here saying No One Ever Had A Happy Girlhood but for many people that shit was traumatizing and doesn't need to be put on a pretty little pedestal nor held up as something that made you necessarily more empathetic/feminist/radicalized because imo that really does carry the connotation that all those things were potentially good for you. Being someone who went through that didn't distinctly or directly make me a better feminist or ally, it made me a very very hurt person.

[yappacadaver]

oh no not people falling for propaganda abt the shooter's alleged politics and handwringing about violence when this one guy and his action have done more to bring people together against the ultra rich ruling class and make them fear working class power than any number of peaceful actions and lukewarm philosophizing in the past 5 years

[ettadunham]

sometimes i remember the hunger games and how nobody actually paid attention to what was in those books