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About Varied / Student Official Beta Tester JessicaFemale/United States Groups :iconamerican-rebel-club: American-Rebel-Club
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Journal Entry: Sat May 2, 2015, 6:50 PM


The Great Blue by SamZ31Thunderbirds 4 by KuRue02Ooh Nuthin' by PopmytartIn the circle ! The Circle of Lifeeeee! by SnakeySWEscape by katharinagoette11 pm coffee by DiannnaaID Spring 2015 by SayuriMVRomeiOut of the Shadows by Miguel-SantosJPEG_1430602560607_92922742 by Typo401Thunderbirds 9 by KuRue02Vanishing Point by burningmonkThunderbirds 5 by KuRue02Angel by porbitalMay by SoDark10spilling light by KatomanPlumita Being Cheeky by DiamonEyesLost on the Streets by skygazingIMG_3337 by Tamayo-AnconaHITS Thermal 2015 Jumpers Grand Prix Ring by MLIFAStare by WraithWolvesSaule Portrait by jelinjerblue sky by veronica-p

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Ancient-Hoofbeats's Profile Picture
Ancient-Hoofbeats
Jessica
Artist | Student | Varied
United States
:flagus:
===========:star:===========
.: Read the comments :. Stamp by Beti-Kot
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My Stock Account: Ghost-Rebel-Stock

:heart::star::heart:
SOmething people need to understand about me right off the bat: I AM A GRAPHIC DESIGN STUDENT and a MIXED ARTIST! Yes I have a LOT of photos and lit but that's because when I started here on DA, that's all I did. Now I'm shifting into more of the traditional and Design elements!

I support ALL of the US Military branches, WITHOUT the politics of war.
I run 8 clubs on DA, including American Rebel Club and Hero Rebellion International (aka HRC).
I am a photographer, writer/poet, digital artist, and I feature aproximately 200 artists a month (deviantART news articles).
I have been horseback riding for 19 years and teaching it to kids for 6 years!
I am very interested in learning about other cultures and religions.
I am an artist of MANY talents, and highly involved in the community.
I do NOT tolerate: stalkers (I have over 25 now), cyberbullies (I have blocked over 50 so far), porn freaks or porn art, disrespectful talk toward my beliefs (although I am pretty peaceful these days), nor threats of ANY kind.

Some of my heroes/heroines include:
Moonbeam13, DreamingMyth, DancesWithHorses (now deceased), and Apophis906.
As you can see, I have MANY friends here.
Please be respectful to me, and I will TRY to be respectful towards you.

Thanks for visiting my site! :)
:heart:


Current Residence: Pegasus Galaxy!....oh wait, you meant on earth?, deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium, Favourite genre of music: Celtic Spirit; Christian Rock; Christian Rap; TRICKY TRICKY (Radio Edit), Favourite photographer: unknown, Favourite style of art: ...LIVING HOPE!!! www.lhbustrip.com, Operating System: Windows XP, MP3 player of choice: I guess it'd be Audiovox., Shell of choice: selling seashells by the seashore...uh bullet-proof vests/pants, Wallpaper of choice: Horses; SG-1/SGA; other Sci-Fi; Third Watch; MILITARY!;EMTs; JOHN DOE, Skin of choice: mine i guess....although snakeskin is kinda chewy., Favourite cartoon character: Filmore; Spirit; Donald Duck; Recess, Personal Quote: The greatest movements in history started with just one voice.
Interests

Activity


Long Way From Home by Ancient-Hoofbeats
Long Way From Home
LAPD in Washington, DC for Police Week
:star: 
©WMM-AH 
Please do not use my art for any purposes without my written consent. If you wish to share it on other websites, then you must credit me.
:icondonotplz2::iconusemyartplz2:
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Red for the Blood That was Shed by Ancient-Hoofbeats
Red for the Blood That was Shed
Honor Flight at the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC
:star: 
©WMM-AH 
Please do not use my art for any purposes without my written consent. If you wish to share it on other websites, then you must credit me.
:icondonotplz2::iconusemyartplz2:
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What is your favorite meat?
20%
1 deviant said Fish
20%
1 deviant said Buffalo
20%
1 deviant said Other Seafood
20%
1 deviant said Other meat
20%
1 deviant said Elk
0%
No deviants said Goat
0%
No deviants said Chicken
0%
No deviants said Beef
0%
No deviants said Venison
0%
No deviants said Frog
Picturesque. That's what her mom had called it. A picturesque neighborhood. And, until recently, it was. Bright blue skies rested on lush green grass. Rows of cottage-style houses lined perfectly maintained streets and culdesacs. A row of pine trees sheltered the east hilltop with shade from the mid-day sun, and the gracious American flag would be fluttering proudly from nearly every porch, in a light spring breeze. A woman walked to the playground that was in the center of the development, pushing a stroller slowly. Any other day, the sounds of children playing would be reverberating through the neighborhood. There would be laughter and cheers, and you would hear the repetitive song of the ice cream truck as it made its way down each and every street with a trail of kids behind. Mr. Lanard would be out mowing his lawn—and subsequently arguing with the mower when it got stuck in one of the many gopher holes. Mrs Gomer would be tending to her precious rose bushes, primming them and picking out the weeds with great care. Mr. Matthews would be walking from house to house with the daily mail. Neighbors would be walking with their kids to daycare of the playground. Dads would be headed off to work...things would be routine, and routine would be pleasant and warm...and safe...
But the neighborhood was silent, and the air chilly and dead. There was no laughter, no greetings, no cheers, no ice cream trucks and no children running after it. The sky was still a crystal blue with a few pleasant clouds, and the grass was still a vibrant and lively green, but the world was empty and hollow. The beautiful roses that usually bloomed with majesty, lay withered and choked with weeds, after not having been tended to for weeks. The quaint cottages were shuttered, curtains pulled tight and doors bolted—some even barricaded from the inside. In some homes, hardly-touched dishes still sat on the table with rotting food left as when they had been abandoned. In others, faces occasionally [but rarely] peaked out from dark windows, fearful of retribution, but curious at the noises of the lost that remained. The few that ventured outside did so at their own risk and peril, never daring to stay out long (and certainly not after sunset), their faces echoing the silent numb shock of reality.

The stroller squeaked as the woman pulled it to a stop at the edge of the playground and put the lock on. Tucking a few loose strands of black hair behind one ear, she surveyed the playground for any danger, before quietly unbuckling the blond-haired, blue-eyed child from her stroller, and giving the girl a light push towards the swings. She said nothing, but simply watched the young child play, her innocence still intact, even as ghosts swung next to her. Sitting down slowly on the nearest park bench, her eyes vacantly watching the child swing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the woman let herself think back for a moment to reality. Past the rows and rows of houses. Past the rolling green hills. Past the bright blue skies. Past the long drive that none of the true residents had gone down (and actually come back) since the night the raids had started. Down to the gates where armed guards stood watch...and where the lost left and never came back.
A tiny voice and innocent face, both full of life and full of pain, interrupted her thoughts. “Nanny? Do you think Mommy and Daddy will come home?” The girl's lip trembled. “I..I didn't make them mad, did I?” The quiver in her voice was quite audible. She held out a cupped hand and opened it slowly, revealing tiny red rosebuds. “I want to give Mommy the flowers I found for her. Do you think she'll like them?”
The nanny swallowed back her own tears and forced a smile. “Yes, sweety, I think your Mommy will love the flowers you picked.” Then, picking up the young child and placing her in the stroller, the woman lied “I'm sure your Mommy and Daddy will come home soon. Why don't we go back home and make some cookies, and maybe Mommy will already be there?” The nanny knew the child's parents were gone, taken during the last major raids, but she couldn't bring herself to tell the little girl yet. She bit her lip to keep from crying, then turned the stroller back towards the house, praying that they weren't the next to disappear in the night.
Mature Content Filter is On. The Artist has chosen to restrict viewing to deviants 18 and older.
(Contains: violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
“Mommy, why does that man have clown shoes? Is he a clown? If he's a clown, why doesn't he have a red nose and funny hair and a big red smile?” A little boy with blond hair and big blue eyes asked, tugging on his mom's pant leg. He had been asking her questions for the entire thirty minutes that they'd been standing in the airport security line about everything and every one. Some people had chuckled, others shifted uneasily and focussed on their phones, others looked annoyed, and some looked amused.
“Shh, Timmy.” She sighed. “Why don't you help Mommy put her stuff in these bins? She hoped that would keep him busy for a few minutes. Unfortunately, his eyes focussed on a man standing in the next line over, who looked ill. How he'd gotten through the first security check was anyone's guess.
“Mommy,” The questioning voice piped up again, once more tugging on her leg.
“Shh, Timmy. NOT. Now.” She scolded sternly, setting her purse in the closest empty grey bin. He didn't listen.
“Mommy, he looks sick. Do you think he needs some of Granny's noodle soup?” He stared and pointed at the man, who had just reached the grey bins in his own line, which happened to be in the dead center of the packed TSA lines. Others glanced over at the man who had a pale olive complexion, sunken eyes and seemed to be sweating a little more than usual. He shifted uneasily at the attention and stared ahead; his hands began to shake at his side. TSA also turned to look, and seemed in inch closer, making him even more nervous. His dark eyes darted around the room and he nearly jumped when a bored agent spoke to him.
“Sir, please put your bag in the grey bin in front of you, then take off your shoes and put them in a separate bin.” The man nodded but started with his shoes first, untying them slowly. He took his time as the agent moved rhythmically to the next person and people turned back to their own bags and bins.
An annoyed traveler sighing sarcastically in his ear, bumped past him with a huff, muttering under her breath “Stupid foreigners. They should just go back to their own country and leave us alone!” She had the thick accent of a New Yorker and the posh clothing and nasty attitude to go with it. She tossed her blond hair in his face and 'accidentally' stepped on his bare foot with the heel of her Prada Ankle-Strap Platforms. He grimaced and bit his lip but said nothing.
He waited until she had slid her bins forward and stepped into the body-scan line, before carefully setting his bag in a bin and glancing around to see if anyone was watching. Only the boy was, and his mom was desperately trying to get him to pay attention to the security line he was in instead. Breathing in deep to calm his nerves and his racing heart, he remembered what the man on the phone had said. There'd been no call-backs, the number was unregistered and he had no idea who the American was on the other end, but his Imam had told him to trust the stranger and do whatever he said—that it would be the highest honor for the Caliphate—so he did. The man had sent him everything he needed to carry it out and had reminded him that the pain he'd experience would be nothing compared to the eternal paradise he was heading to. He wished his family, especially his father, was still here so they could be proud of him, but they'd been killed in an American drone strike the year before. Remembering this refueled his anger and contempt for Americans and the cruelty they bestowed on others, and steeled his nerves and resolve for what he was bout to do. The virus raged inside him and he felt dizzy, but brushed these thoughts aside as he clasped his hands around the device in his bag. It was time to show America the punishment for their crimes—to usher in a new era of justice, as the man on the phone had said. And it was time to go home to his family and his paradise. Pulling out the grenade quickly, and pushing the bin with the second device closer to the scanner, he smiled calmly and jumped up on the belt, much to the surprise of everyone.
“Look, Mommy, it's the sick man! What is he doing?” The little boy pointed at the man from the next line over. His mom's eyes widened. “What's in his hand, Mommy?”
The man, sweating and gravely ill, used his last bit of strength to hold the grenade high in the air, as he shouted the phrase the American had told him to say. “With this, I usher in a new age, free from the tyranny and oppression your government has laid upon us all! May the hands of Allah smite you and may sickness eat at your souls. ALLAHU ACKBAR!” He released the pin and searing heat, a blinding light, and two massive explosions drowned out the screams of stunned and terrified passengers, even as several agents rushed to stop him. Infected flesh and bones, super-heated metal, nails, and other forms of shrapnel flew in every direction. A third explosion rocked one of the terminals across from the checkpoint as something hit the fuselage of a plane that had just taxied in, killing everyone on board and seriously injuring hundreds of others in the terminal. The death toll would be in the thousands before the day was done.

Thick, putrid smoke filled the airport, making people gag and choke. For a moment, all you could hear was the crackling of flames and the sparks of broken wires and machines. Then came the horrible sounds of the injured and dying. Screams and panic followed that.
“Timmy?! TIMMY!” A woman's voice cried out desperately for her son from the floor. She couldn't move, couldn't feel her legs. She craned her neck as far as it would go, but couldn't see him. All she could see were dead bodies and...severed arms, legs, hands...she gasped when she turned her head the other way—there was a man's severed head, with part of the spinal chord and shreds of the windpipe still dangling from it; he had one eye missing and a nail was in the other. She tried to scream but only panicked gasps came out. Someone's half-burned face appeared over her—by the uniform, she could tell he was a TSA agent. He was rhythmically doing checks on people, his mind and body in shock. His face looked grim as he stared down at her. Her ears had a ringing noise in them and it was hard to hear anything else. He tried to tell her something; she strained to hear him.
“Am...Am I going to die?” She squeaked out.
“You're going to be just fine, ma'am.” He said soothingly, patting her shoulder. His eyes, though, said it all.
“You're lying, I can tell! I'm going to die!” She wailed.
“Shhh...” He cooned softly, hoping her panic wouldn't cause others to start freaking out too.
“Where's my son? Where's Timmy? I need to see him. Please let me see my son!” She cried, gripping the man's tattered shirt with one hand.
He glanced around the room, looking for a kid who might be hers. “What does he look like, Ma'am?” He asked her in a steady tone. Blood trickled down between his eyes from a gash on his forehead, but he ignored it.
“Um...” She stuttered, her pale blue eyes going back and forth between glassing and semi-clear. She was dying.
“Ma'am?” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze.
“He's um..he looks like...he has blond hair and um light blue eyes like me..and he's six years old...” Tears streamed from her own eyes as she wailed. “PLEASE FIND MY SON!”
He looked around at the dead and dying for a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes. At first, he thought maybe the boy had just hidden or escaped and was okay...but then he saw the mangled body—half was under one of the scanning belts and a leg was plastered to the nearest wall, still wearing the same pant leg and shoe as the other leg that was still attached to the boy's body. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle and the agent could see part of the boy's spinal cord sticking out of his throat. His glassy blue eyes were wide open and most of his skin on the right side was gone. The agent swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the mother, his shoulders sagging as he did so.
“Oh my god, he's DEAD, isn't he? My poor baby is dead, ISN'T HE?!” She wailed. Her sobs trailed off into gasps as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes were wide, her lips blue, and her skin ashen. She dug her fingernails into the carpet in fear. He rose to his feet slowly and rhythmically moved to the next victim, even as she took her last breaths.
A man stumbled by, holding one hand to his head in an attempt to keep his brains from leaking out the hole caused by an infected piece of bone that he had stubbornly pulled out only minutes before. He stepped her legs should have been, slipping in her blood, not noticing any of the carnage around him. “Shit.” He slurred as he struggled to maintain his balance. There were lights ahead, he told himself, and he wasn't about to wait around for another blast to take him out. He kept walking towards the swirling lights and sirens, thinking about his daughters and his wife. He had to make it home...they had to be okay.
A young girl, approximately 11 years old, with lightly tanned skin and dark eyes, was curled in the fetal position against the far wall, crying quietly. She had been in the body scanner when the bombs went off, which had greatly protected her from harm. Moans of the injured and dying surrounded her and she squeezed her eyes closed tightly, wishing she knew where her daddy was. He had been waiting for her on the other side of the checkpoint when the bombs went off, but she couldn't find him and her head really hurt so she had lay down on the floor, hoping he'd come find her. A warm hand touched her back lightly and she opened her eyes, hoping to see her daddy...but it wasn't him. The masked face of a firefighter looked down at her and held out his arms. “Where's my daddy?” She whimpered. “I want my daddy!”
The firefighter nodded sympathetically and said, “I'm going to take you outside and we'll see if we can find him, okay hunny?” She simply nodded and tucked her face in fear. “It's okay, hunny. Come on, let's get you out of here, okay?” He kneeled down and picked her up gently, careful of her burned wrist. Flames licked at the ceiling above them, as he turned to go. “It's okay hunny, you're safe, okay?” She buried her face in his neck and clung to him tightly, as he wrapped a blanket around her that he'd brought with him. She didn't want to see the scary people on the floor that were reaching out like zombies. She just wanted her daddy.
The Day It All Went To Hell
Premonition, being used for WHOWMt.
Strong mature content for gore nature and sensitivity to terrorist events. 
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:icondiamoneyes:
DiamonEyes Featured By Owner May 4, 2015
Thanks for faving "Plumita Being Cheeky" :icondiamonddoveplz:
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:iconuki--uki:
uki--uki Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2015
:smallwave: V2 
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:iconluk01:
luk01 Featured By Owner Mar 30, 2015  Student General Artist
Thanks Jessica for the fav! :)
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xbastex Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you so much for the fav
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:iconancient-hoofbeats:
Ancient-Hoofbeats Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2015  Student General Artist
you're welcome :) Beautiful work!
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:iconamzimme:
amzimme Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the favorites! Your gallery is fantastic--you are very multitalented! You have brilliant macro, animal photography, spontaneous portraits, creative work, and more. And your favorites are amazing, too, haha! Thank you for looking at and liking my gallery, and for bringing me to yours! :)
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Ancient-Hoofbeats Featured By Owner Jan 25, 2015  Student General Artist
thanks :)
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luna201269 Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2014
Thanks for the fav! :D Slenderman Icon
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Onyx-Philomel Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the recent favorites. :skull:
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:iconmadam--kitty:
Madam--Kitty Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist

Hi. wanna join my group called Anti-illuminati-01? anti-illuminati-01.deviantart.…

P.S. The group is about politics in case you were wondering.

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