OK Guys, time to put crap up for sale. I’ll update this as things change
As far as a price goes, make a reasonable offer. Please include shipping with your offer. Contact me somewhere for more details if you want more.
Classic Heist Movies (Three-Pack Movie DVD)
Stages of Deterioration in the Human Body
The Moment Of Death:
1. The heart stops.
2. The skin gets tight and ashen in color.
3. All the muscles relax.
4. The bladder and bowels empty.
5. The body temperature begins to drop 1 1/2 degrees Fahrenheit per hour.
After 30 minutes:
6. The skin gets purple and waxy.
7. The lips, fingernails, and toenails fade to a pale color.
8. Blood pools at the bottom of the body.
9. The hands and feet turn blue.
10. The eyes sink into the skull.
After 4 hours:
11. Rigor mortis has set in.
12. The purpling of the skin and the pooling of the blood continue.
13. Rigor continues to tighten muscles for another 24 hours or so.
After 12 hours:
14. The body is in full rigor mortis.
After 24 hours:
15. The body is now the temperature of the surrounding environment.
16. In males, the semen dies.
17. The head and neck are now a greenish-blue color.
18. The greenish-blue color spreads to the rest of the body.
19. There is a pervasive smell of rotting meat.
After 3 days:
20. The gas in the body tissues forms large blisters on the skin.
21. The whole body begins to bloat and swell grotesquely.
22. Fluids leak from the mouth, nose, vagina, and rectum.
After 3 weeks:
23. The skin, hair, and nails are so loose they can easily be pulled off the corpse.
24. The skin bursts open on many places on the body.
25. Decomposition will continue until the body is nothing but skelital remains, a process that can take a month or so in hot climates, and two months or more in cold climates.
This is actually pretty interesting.
Important for writers…helps avoid either walking in and knowing someone died moments ago “from the smell” (unless that smell is piss and shit), or finding someone dead for a week that “looks like they’re sleeping.”
Reblogging for reference.
oh my fucking god I’ve been looking everywhere for something like this tHANK YOU
so i saw a post of all the sprite progressions of various pokemon through the years and snorlax looks like he spent all his time trying to sit up
alright let’s do this
wow no that was exhausting
ok baby steps time
ok so far so good
AW GOD DAMN IT
maybe if I—
When the glasses go on, you know it’s mom time.
Although, you wouldn’t know it from her picture frame.
(Another updated comic of mine.)
Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.
—The Chant of Light: Trials 1:10
so there are just so many reasons why i love dragon age 2. because, despite its flaws, it was exhilarating to watch something be born, something new unfolding with my fingertips against the controls. it took apart what we knew as what we only thought we knew—about genre, about expectations, about family—and it was an exploration and experimentation of storytelling in its purest form: this raw, painful wound that it was.
but it had these moments—like the one captured in this piece. bigger, grander, than any of the pettiness surrounding it. throughout kirkwall’s dirty streets, the literal shit of empires hawke slogs through from gravesite to gravesite, what we played was this. epic. furious. powerful. frightening and beautiful and funny and sad. a balance of elements not just in terms of heroes and antiheroes, of characters and their foils, of funny and ambitious and embarrassing and awkward individuals, but in terms of shadowplay. sleight of hand and magic. varric’s choices as a writer. what he hid; what he showed by hiding.
people and plot devices.
varric knows that to make something bigger than life you have to start with something small. a single space. one city. one champion. one heart. one center. varric knows that in order to take your breath away while you’re immersed in the story, he has to fill your lungs with laughter first. that to have a burning light mean anything—a vein of lyrium; a pulse of spirit magic; the gleam and glister of the sun across a polished white breastplate—you have to first create a believable darkness. that to make a reader—a player—weep, humor’s your surest bet. that we can love while disagreeing. that within our hearts love itself is a dual-edged sword. a spirit of justice and vengeance, even.
that sometimes, you flip the coin and it doesn’t fall.
varric knows all this. but the best part is, you never see his cards—you just hear about his card games. and in the end, what you’re left with is a single image. not kirkwall burning—but what burned in kirkwall.
the whole game is iconoclasm. it’s the face of andraste hung over a once-scoundrel-turned-chantry-boy’s crotch. it’s both sides of the mirror. two sides to every history. it’s incomplete and it’s glorious. and it has—like every mirror—a frame.
and a moment of choice. how we choose to see, so different from how we choose to act.
varric could have told this secret story in a manner straightforward, somehow ‘pure.’ it could have been the great battle, sebastian standing against anders, the very air shimmering.
but instead, he hid that inside simpler lines. simpler lies. and when we read between them, just like this…
god, how fucking exquisite.