#disgusting human beings

[usermuller]

so where are all the celebrities who prayed for i*rael? where???

[enigmaris]

Red Hood held out his now uncovered hand as if to ask for a hand shake. Danny floated a bit closer and reached out with his own gloved finger. He poked into the back of the guy’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Dude, what if you’re contagious?”

“Can ghosts get sick?” Nightwing asked.

“There are ghost diseases, yeah.” Danny answered, still poking at Red Hood’s hand. “No ghost antibiotics, though. You just have to tough it out.”

“Is that what I have?”

“No.” Danny said. “You have something easier to fix.”

Danny floated back so that he was eye level with the two taller heroes. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Red Hood.

“So, like. Is there a private place we could chat?”

“Private?” Nightwing asked. “Why? It isn’t fatal, is it?”

“Uh no? It's just personal. What’s it called Hippo? The doctor thing.”

“Are you talking about HIPAA?” Red Hood asked, sounding confused.

“That’s it!” Danny snapped a finger and pointed at Red Hood. “It’s personal medical info. We are on a rooftop in the middle of the biggest city I’ve ever been in. Do you want to go somewhere private?”

“I uh... No, here is fine.”

"Okay.” Danny said. “Cool then. So, these Lazarus Pits? I’ve never seen one, but I have heard of them from other older ghosts. Except we don’t call them that. They’re relatively common in the zone, but the locations are secret, you have to know someone who knows someone ya know?”

“Well, what are they?”

“Distilleries.”

“What?” Red Hood managed to look absolutely flabbergasted even with the full faced motorcycle helmet covering his head.

“Ghosts can’t eat human food, right? I mean we can, but we don’t taste anything. We don’t have the physical parts to digest human food and enjoy it like we did when we were alive.” Danny explained. “It’s the same thing for things like alcohol and drugs and things. So, a lot of adult ghosts still want to get drunk even though they’re dead. I died before 21 so I wouldn’t know, but like, there’s a desire for it.”

“What does this have to do with the Lazarus Pits?”

"Well, in order to make something we can taste, it has to be made with ectoplasm. Alcohol is not as easy to make as other stuff for ghosts. Alcohol is made using fermentation, right? Well ectoplasm doesn’t really. Do that. I mean ectoplasm is either inert or charged with emotional energy, if it gets charged enough it will form a ghost or spirit or something. It’s basically impossible to like, make ectoplasm ferment without risking your alcohol becoming the ghost of wines past.” Danny said, throwing a joke on the end there. Nightwing gave him a smile while Red Hood managed to glare at him through the full red facemask.

“There are ghosts who have figured out how to force ectoplasm to ferment. They basically invented ghost yeast, a sourdough starter of horror if you will. It takes centuries for ectoplasm to get good enough to be considered drinkable alcohol. So, what an enterprising barkeeping ghost will do is find like, an abandoned cave or something, fill it with ectoplasm dump the ghost yeast in there and leave it alone for like a thousand years to ripen. Then they’ll come back, bottle it up and sell it in the zone.” Danny continued.

"Are you telling me Red Hood is ghost drunk?” Nightwing asked.

“I’m saying he has a yeast infection.”

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[irhabiya]

anyone remember when a zionist on twitter recounted an incident that they claimed had happened on october 7th but turned out they were lying through their teeth, and even worse, the reported incident was actually from the sabra and shatila massacre? anyone keeping count of how many times zionist pigs rehash the vile, cruel things they've done to palestinians only substituting themselves in as the victims of the story? isn't it remarkable that any evidence of examples of the incomprehensible evil and violence that they swear by to justify everything they've done since october always turns out to be distinctly absent from reports of october 7th, and always present in reports of daily palestinian life for decades now?

[derangedbookworm]

"you can't defend regulus and not defend snape"

actually, yes, i can. watch me.

snape was a child abuser, who regularly insulted, embarrassed and physically injured his students on a daily basis. he only was part of the order bc he had an unhealthy obsession with his childhood bestfriend, who he called a slur on several occasions. who he, on top of trying to kill her husband, didn't care about her child or family until her life was in danger. he only became "good" when the woman who had rejected him several times might have been injured. he was such a terrible teacher and human being, that one of his student's BIGGEST FEAR was him. he was racist and a blood supremecist, even though he was a half a blood himself. he was not "morally gray", he was a horrible person.

regulus black was forced to become a death eater by his family, and in the end, betrayed voldemort and gave up his life to try to end the war. he loved his house elf, and did everything to make sure kreacher made it out alive. he was not an abuser, he was the abused.

so, yes, i can defend regulus and not defend snape.

[bitchthefuck1]

I actually really love that we see Helena's palpable hesitation about going back to the severed floor. We know that this has all been a publicity thing for her and it's about helping Lumon, so she's really invested in the outcome, but like. from her POV, she's literally letting someone who actively hates her and everything she stands for, and also has a proven willingness to hurt herself if it means hurting Helena, who now knows who she is and her significance to Lumon, pilot her body for 8 hours every day in an environment where they've repeatedly failed to control her. If I were her, I'd be genuinely surprised to wake up with my limbs intact.

You already questioned why on earth she'd come back after Helly's suicide attempt, and the identity reveal explains the reasoning, but on a human level that's still a wild thing to have to think about. This person (who is you but also isn't) almost succeeded in killing you, and like a week later you let them pilot your body again like nothing happened. How could you not be terrified?

[effieotto]

The Capiton, Star edition (2286)

1.

i saw someone doing the Capitol Magazine once and i thought it was brilliant, so i did my version. We all agree that Effie was a junior model since a very young age, right? A real real Diva since childhood -the capitol darling, the newest golden apple of Panem

credits of the idea: @sunsets12

[ruporas]

hello there, angel

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. Vash is sitting facing the viewer and holds a rose between his clasped together hands, but he’s looking to the left, upwards, at Wolfwood, with an awed expression. Wolfwood hovers over him with wings sprouting from his back. He has a cigarette lit between his lips, his arms and legs are crossed, and he looks back at Vash with a neutral expression. The both of them are covered in a blue shadow, casted by Wolfwood and his hovering form, while warm light hits the back of his wings and over Vash’s legs. Small feathers sits next to Vash. End ID]

[the-kinning-hour]

Kurogiri doesn’t remember what it’s like to be human. He didn’t even really know that he was human, at any point in his life.

For this reason, caring for Tomura was often hard. Despite being hardwired as a protector and a guardian, he was much less naturally proficient at the delicate empathetic touch that parenting needed. He didn’t know the smallest of things. That was very obvious the first time Tomura fell ill under his care. While the boy himself didn’t seem super concerned despite his abject misery, Kurogiri panicked. He couldn’t possibly ask All For One for assistance—the man clearly wanted to leave the nuances of raising a child to Kurogiri, and bothering the Master would prove no good for anyone.

Thus, Kurogiri taught himself how to use the internet. He scoured every forum he could understand how to open, searching for just what Tomura could be afflicted with (the amount of results were extremely worrying, just how fickle were humans?) and how to treat it.

Eventually, he settled for simply gathering as many of the offered treatments as he could. Over the counter medicines, antibiotics, vitamins, a humidifier, what are these patches even for again?, heated blanket, but also plenty of ice packs, is there a difference between chicken stock and chicken broth?, vapo-rub, hydrating lotion and oils, so much honeyed tea that Tomura became repulsed by the scent of it, and more cough drops than any sane person should have in one building.

These things quickly became Kurogiri’s fallback for any illness. Tomura would sometimes hide his sickness, when it came about, to avoid the intensive remedies, but Kurogiri insisted. It always worked before, hadn’t it? The misty nomu was proud of his ingenuity and his medical abilities.

At least, until the League came in.

When Kurogiri had broken the news that Tomura would not be present—sick, with what could probably range from influenza to appendicitis to a moderate cold as far as Kurogiri was aware—it garnered a myriad of reactions. Spinner, Magne and Compress at least had the mild manner to look a bit concerned, to varying degrees. Dabi just laughed.

All of them responded with bewilderment when Kurogiri began rounding up his usual treatment measures, however. Dabi asked rather bluntly, “Hold up, the fuck is all of that?”

Kurogiri looked at them all blanky and responded simply, “I must look after Tomura Shigaraki while he is ill.”

The League exchanged some looks then. A silent conversation he wasn’t privy to seemed to play out before his very eyes. Twice got too bored to bother involving himself, Toga soon to follow when she supposedly caught the drift that Kurogiri was missing. Spinner shuffled his feet and looked away. Compress, Magne, and a very disgruntled Dabi broke what remained of the staring competition all at the same time. Compress in particular put a hand on Kurogiri’s arm and insisted, “Actually, why don’t we assist you? You can put all of that down, dear. We don’t need it. …Any of it. Really, put it down.”

Kurogiri watched anxiously as the eldest of the League shuffled around his own kitchen. Compress pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, letting it sit on the counter for seemingly no reason at all. He then dug around the extensively filled medicine basket for a particular bottle, plucking two pills from it. Dabi set about making the angriest miso soup Kurogiri has ever witnessed. Magne busied herself with tea, because apparently the water wouldn’t be enough.

When the three of them were ready, they all ventured to Tomura’s room. Kurogiri tried not to worry too much. Some food and water? That’s all? Compress did grab some medicine—but not much at all! He trusted his colleagues, but he wouldn’t leave Tomura’s health to anyone else so confidently. Tomura has always had a poor constitution. Kurogiri resolved to check on the boy later discreetly, when the others’ feelings couldn’t be hurt.

When he went up to Tomura’s room that night, he was stunned to see the boy peacefully tapping away on his “switch” that he normally avoided in sickness because of eye aches and nausea. When Kurogiri asked after his health, Tomura had no response beyond a grunt of affirmation. He had healed… within a day? That had never happened before, not once! What sort of sorcery was this?

When he expressed his bafflement to Compress from the other side of the bar counter, the magician only laughed and patted his arm again. “You worry too much,” he said with what sounded like a grin. “Heaven only knows what quack doctor told you to get all of that other stuff! Some water and medicine every few hours can kick even the worst of sickness.” When Kurogiri was still confused, Compress tilted his head. “Haven’t you ever fallen ill? Toughed out a cold with some cough syrup?”

When Kurogiri still did not answer, the magician sighed. “You are a mystery, my dear,” he said ruefully.

Kurogiri felt the silliest he had in a while.

[skarkkk]

— I can feel your unconditional love all the time, in my mind and it scares me. I can't take that away from you, Charles. Because I'll let this rottenness of mine consume you and I won't be able to bear to see the wreckage. Because I'll love you back with everything I have and it will destroy you because everything I touch dies.

[ghcstcd]

People are so disgusted about the very idea of old people fucking. Damn, sorry you're gonna grow old and miserable about your sex life due to societal stigmas. Couldn't be me.

[nyctalus-noctula]

CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS PLEASE HE CANNOT BE FUCKING SERIOUS NO ONE IS THAT IGNORANT

x

[littlefankingdom]

THEY KILLED MY BOY?! THEY KILLED HIM WITHOUT HAVING ADDRESSED HOW MISS "I WANT TO BE NORMAL AND NOT TREATED LIKE A WEIRDO" WAS TREATING HIM EXACTLY HOW SHE DIDN'T WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE?! WITHOUT ADDRESSING HOW THEY WERE ALL FINE TREATING HIM LIKE SHIT FOR BEING A DEMON AND NOT HUMAN, EVEN THO HE WAS NICE?! ok, cool, great.

[lilyvalerieorchard]

Oh come on! So Avatar is just Dances With Wolves meets A Princess Of Mars with the prose of Robert Heinlein, that doesn't make it "hot garbage". After all, there's no such as an "original story". If you wanted an original story, you would need to go back in time to stop the Epic Of Gilgamesh being put to tablet or The Iliad being written to scroll. Regardless, Avatar is still a good, enjoyable movie.

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Lily Orchard, let me say this thing, this teeny, tiny, little thing, from the very bottom of my heart:

GO TO HELL.

[damnamour]

GENERAL HOSPITAL ― S61E210

[avichor]

my dni exists for a reason