die-besten-autoanzeigen-blog

[grogusmum]

I don't want to be a wet blanket, I love Halloween in pretty much all its ways of being... but when the decorative merch, t-shirts, etc, come out each year with the "witch this," "salem that" all emblazoned with "est 1692"...

Well, it always sort of leaves a bad taste in my mouth... because in the village in that year something really horrible happened.

Whether because of politics, land grabs, ageism/sexism, personal vendettas, economic competition, or ergot poisoned rye grain causing hallucinations and faulty thinking, it was all wrapped up in religious zeal and innocents were murdered.

So, every year at our Samhain program, I say their names and light a candle.

Bridget Bishop Age: 50s

George Burroughs Age: 42

Martha Carrier Age: 33

Martha Corey Age: 70s

Giles Corey Age: 70s

Lydia Dustin Age: 60s or 70s

Mary Easty Age: 56

Ann Foster Age: 70s

Sarah Good Age: 38

Elizabeth How Age: 50s

George Jacobs Sr. Age: 80s

Susannah Martin Age: 71

Rebecca Nurse Age: 71

Sarah Osborne Age: 40s

Alice Parker Age: not known

Mary Parker Age: 55

John Proctor Age: 60

Ann Pudeator Age: 70

Wilmott Redd Age: 50s

Margaret Scott Age: 77

Roger Toothaker Age: 58

Samuel Wardwell Age: 49

Sarah Wildes Age: 65

John Willard Age: 20s

I say your names and honor you today.

[parisoonic]

last ones i swear

[ba1laur]

you know what sure heres a ridiculously massive dump of all my old art from my side (tinteduse) that i kindof regret making. had and still having weird feelings about how all over the place my art tends to be (which is how that account was born) now i feel bad that they arent on my main becuz who cares. my blog my posts my images my art my mess etc. drawing those was very fun i enjoyed what the turgles did to my style back then. sorry for the toxic colors pensive emoji

[ozzyeelz]

hey I'm normal haha. um. what if u draw some more heavy and medic cuddling haha that would be crazy hahaha.........

HAHA THAT WOULD BE CRAZY….. *hands you these then runs away*

[electrozeistyking]

this has been locked in my brain me since I first made this au, so I finally drew it. how are we feeling tonight chat

[frankiebirds]

every day i think about elle and morgan going on vacation together and at least morgan wanting reid to come with. what were their intentions. were they bisexual in nature. also im also almost certain that this is the first time morgan calls reid "pretty boy" and it's while he's inviting him on vacation with him. it's 2005/2006 you cannot be this bisexual at your government job.

bonus:

yeah i think elle also wanted him to join them.

[bruciemilf]

I wonder how many times Clark and the batkids + Alfred revived Bruce with the Lazarus Pit and just never told him abt it

[friendlyengie]

I am so normal

Update! Ive been updating their designs! See them (most of them) here!

Refs for the fem fortress designs I threw around in this post!! Because I am a big fan of woman and also a little bit insane abt this little idea

tldr for anyone who doesn’t want to check out the og post: I wanted to make a counterpart team to the og mercs that was all girls but also like. Vaguely genderbend-adjacent? Genderbending but cooler. Some of these characters resemble genderbends more than others but they’re all their own characters that exist somewhere within the universe (a couple are even canon characters because I think Zhanna Deserves a Gun!) why are they also a RED team? I don’t know! And I’m too tired to try and bullshit some canon-sounding excuse for it. The administrator wanted to fuck with the og mercs or smth for fun

I probably have more to say about them but I’ll save anyone reading this from what would probably end up being multiple paragraphs of personality and relationship descriptions ! Enjoy a bunch of women with traced weapons (bc you’re insane if you think I was gonna draw them freehanded)

[voltaical-art]

more modern bishop + wyll

[parisoonic]

i am not immune to a meme

[hajihiko]

Multilingual 🌍

Fuyuhiko: its beneficial to understand when rivals are talking in secret

Sonia: diplomacy is easier when you speak their language too

Hajime: duolingo library forced speedrun

Akane: worked in customer service

Kazuichi is just more of a Language of Numbera guy 😋

[fisheito]

before mirage of scales: I NEED YAKUYA EVENT

after mirage of scales: ah. um. i . i don't need yakuya event so much, anymo.re... hah..a...

[weevmo]

Get Booped Idiots (lovingly) - with some Team Fortress 2 arts!

My Main Fellas Scout n' Solly + some doodles as I work to figure out how to draw these dudes simply.

[jokzs]

I yearn for engiespy cuddling in some corner in the middle of a match like the others aren't being blown up by each other just a few feet away... do you see my vision...

I hope I do see it!

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts.