#not bungle??? shocking...

[ushatpomoyev]

got inspired after seeing the goofy ahh mv for puss

[dullahandyke]

HEAD WRITER OF AKUDRIVE IS THE SAME GUY WHO WAS HEAD WRITER OF DR3???? HUH.

[alpha-mag-media]

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death | In Trend Today

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[ur-mag]

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death | In Trend Today

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[schmergo]

Today I learned a fact that kinda blew my mind, and I'm almost astonished I didn't know this before as someone whose chief interests include zoo animals, the U.S. Presidency, true crime, and D.C. history. What an opener, right? How could those topics possibly combine?

Well, buckle up and get ready to hear how negligent National Zoo leadership potentially could have killed a US President or started a local epidemic. Spoiler alert: They didn't. But only because luck was in their favor.

First, the part that I DID already know. In 2004, Lucy Spelman stepped down as the director of the National Zoo after a spate of controversial zoo incidents, including a string of unfortunate (and often preventable) animal deaths, misleading and missing zoo records, and other signs of negligence. The AZA even "tabled" renewing the National Zoo's accreditation for a year until they made some significant improvements. Spelman was also a vet and some of the cases she was accused of bungling happened at her own hands, not just under her supervision. It was a major disgrace for a zoo that was meant to represent the nation's capital.

I was in elementary school during these fraught years and I remember devouring articles about this in the newspaper, riveted with shock and dismay. Some of the deaths were just bad luck, but others were obviously negligent. The most infamous case was two red pandas killed by rat poison shallowly buried in their enclosures as a slapdash solution to the zoo's pest problem. A young zebra died of starvation and hypothermia after Spelman ordered the zebras' feed be cut in half, an orangutan was euthanized due to a recurrence of cancer that didn't exist (she actually had salmonella), a lion died after being administered over twice the usual amount of anesthetic, and more. I remember the names and details of these animals from when I first read these cases 20 years ago. But the one I'm talking about today is that of Nancy the elephant.

Nancy was a 46-year-old African elephant whose health had been steadily declining for several years. She suffered from a bone infection in her foot that seriously affected her mobility and quality of life. She had lost a lot of weight, she was fatigued, she even lay down at times. Nobody could be blamed for deciding to euthanize the obviously ill animal.

But they could be blamed for what was discovered in the necropsy after she was euthanized. While she did indeed have a diseased foot, the bone infection was only "moderate." Why, then, was she so obviously unwell? Her lungs had been destroyed by the effects of untreated tuberculosis. It was the tuberculosis, not the sore foot, that most contributed to her decline in health.

Here’s the scary part: nobody knows how long she'd had it because she hadn't been tested for tuberculosis, a known concern for zoo elephants, in TWO YEARS. All this despite the fact that it's MANDATORY for all zoo elephants to receive a tuberculosis test once per year-- and in fact, it was a National Zoo staff member who pushed for that reform in the first place. And the elephant was on Prednisone for her foot issues, which zoo staff noted in her records made her more vulnerable to illnesses like TB. In fact, none of the zoo's elephants had been tested recently, which meant any of them, including one who was pregnant, may have had tuberculosis, too.

There are documented cases of humans catching tuberculosis from elephants. Now, Nancy the elephant had bovine tuberculosis, which seems to be less contagious to humans and which elephants haven't so far spread to humans... BUT it has spread to humans from black rhinos, a fairly close relative, so it seems likely that elephants COULD spread it. It can also take a while for TB for incubate (and can also be latent without symptoms), especially for elephants, so the elephants OR keepers who were around Nancy were at serious risk for TB.

NOW HERE IS THE PART THAT I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT UNTIL TODAY:

Spelman actively tried to COVER UP the situation, potentially putting many more people at risk. The elephant house was closed to zoo guests, but they were only told it was for "renovations." (The actual renovations, incidentally, were to improve ventilation so that illness would be less likely to spread.)

A BBC news crew that came to film the elephants was asked to keep a healthy distance from the elephants for their emotional health and the crew's safety-- the explanation given was that the elephants' group dynamics had been thrown off by Nancy's death. Spelman instructed zoo staff not to mention the TB situation to the BBC crew and, if asked why Nancy died, they were to respond that it was for multiple reasons and that the official test results weren't all back yet.

And here's the most shocking part of all, the part that made me GASP out loud. Spelman still personally gave some special VIP behind-the-scenes tours of the elephant house during the months that the elephant house was closed, a time when the remaining elephant inhabitants could potentially still develop active TB.

One VIP who received an elephant house tour was PRESIDENT BILL CLINTON and five family members!!!!

BILL. CLINTON. THE GOSHDARN PRESIDENT.

While zoo staff says that the tour was deliberately distanced and nobody got close to an elephant, there are photos of Bill Clinton's nephew about a foot away from an elephant's trunk. You know, their nose. The part they can spread disease with. So, uh, definitely in the danger zone there.

Hillary Clinton's brother, Tony Rodham, was on the tour and he said that nobody in the party was warned about TB risk or asked if they had any medical conditions that might (a. make them susceptible to communicable disease, or (b. be contagious to the elephants. This is especially egregious because according to zoo guidelines, all behind-the-scenes tour participants MUST be asked these questions-- not just when there's a very real possibility of a TB outbreak at the zoo.

Fortunately, none of the zoo's other elephants OR keepers ever tested positive for tuberculosis. But it was certainly a close call! And imagine what would have happened if a US President caught TB from a close encounter with an elephant thanks to poorly managed zoo staff.

Presidents meet a lot of people. In fact, this zoo visit happened only 2 weeks before the inauguration of President George W. Bush, which Clinton attended. He very well could have started a TB outbreak there. Heck, TWO US Presidents could have been infected!

Now THAT is something I will be thinking about for a long time!

[yandere-paramour]

What happens if your yanderes first attempt to kidnap their darling fails?

Atalanta is SHOCKED. Like, legitimately shocked. How tf did you evade her squad of experienced kidnappers? She hired actual underworld men, men who kill, fight, steal, and poison for a living. These guys are professionals so how did you get away? They probably underestimated you. That makes her smile a bit; her sweet little Darling, clever enough to outsmart the strongest and most dangerous men in the area. Atalanta sighs. It's cute the first time, but it won't happen again. No matter how good/lucky you are, you can't hold these men off for long. They'll get you and transport you safely to Atalanta's arms.

Vivien is angry at himself. He's had lots of experience killing since his first murder was at 16, but he has no experience kidnapping. Logically he knows that he shouldn't be mad at himself, but he still is. He bungled up the first kidnapping of his Darling. Only thing for him to do is go home, take a hot shower, masturbate, then get a good night's sleep. He can start planning for the second kidnapping tomorrow. Remember, Vivien will only kidnap you if he feels like he has to so he's really upset. If he fucks this up a second time, he could lose his Darling and that's inconceivable to him. Maybe he needs better knockout drops or even just another opportunity, he'll gladly wait. This is for the fate of his life after all. He'll wait months if he has to.

[ziggyzolch]

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: maybe bungled the medical stuff and process of being admitted, suicidal ideation, aftermath, descriptions of self harm kind of? its not like currently happening. Bulimia and what comes with it. Those r the main things I think. Previous Chapter

----------------------------------------------------

-------the shame is manifest in my resistance------- ❅❅❅

“So they’re admitting you?”

You could feel the snow being crushed beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and your best friend was sitting next to you on a random curb, taking the pack of cigarettes from your hand.

It was mid-winter. The city streets bustled with the cheer of festive Christmas decorations and the harmonies of carolers. It almost makes you feel better. You never cared for Christmas, or religion in general, but the joy in the little kids’ faces at the snow blanketing the streets, and the laughing of teenagers having snowball fights was cute.

It helped.

You sigh, turning towards your friend, “No, I don’t think so. Most that’ll happen is I’ll be in therapy, I guess.”

She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm up, “I think I’d kill myself if I got caught. Kidding, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

You scoff, “Thanks,”

You snatched the pack from her hand, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You had gotten over the fear of throat cancer a long time ago. It’s more of an expectation than a fear now. Smoking and purging at the same time kind of makes it an inevitability. The thought of death didn’t scare you. Not that you were cripplingly suicidal. You didn’t desperately want to die anymore, you just wouldn’t mind if you did. If you died from all of these habits, it was fine, great even. If not, whatever.

Passively suicidal.

Tomorrow, you’ll have your long awaited psych evaluation. You were shocked that it wasn’t the first thing they’d done. You weren’t that big of a risk anyways. A week has passed since your parents caught you, and you’d been made to take a number of medical tests to determine the severity of your bulimia, or something.

The first one was a general physical assessment, the most simple yet most uncomfortable. You had been made to wear a hospital gown, which you felt was overboard but whatever. They wouldn’t be able to admit you just based off of a BMI measurement, you were sure. You weren’t very underweight, most bulimics you knew weren’t. In fact, most of them were normal, sometimes overweight, but you just assumed it was because they were bad at it. You didn’t feel anything looking at your weight. Numbers mattered, sure, but with every binge and purge, your weight fluctuated like crazy, so you learned to just look for signs of weight loss via mirror.

She read your BMI out loud, you knew it wasn’t low enough to be a concern. You internally celebrated, until you noticed her eyes glancing down to your arm.

Shit.

Burning was your preferred method of self mutilation. Cutting was unsatisfying, messy, and a pain in the ass. Burns look disgusting when they heal though, which was the only downside. The scars are easily passable as cooking accidents and such. When they’re still healing, though, charred, blistered, and disgusting, they’re almost impossible to excuse. Your mom had caught you once, with your worst burn nonetheless. One offer of taking over the chores for the day and she was off your back, already taking her place on the sofa.

The burns weren’t fresh, not at all. Most of them were years old, but you panicked nonetheless. You’ve seen how batshit they get at any sign of self harm. You watched as she glanced towards your arm, then turned back to her clipboard, writing something down. Subtly moving your other arm behind your back, you cover up the bruises on your knuckles.

You also had to go to a dentist appointment. Last time you went, you had just gotten your braces off and permanent retainers in. You still have glue on the back of your teeth from when your top retainer broke, they had never gotten rid of it. With how often it fell off, you were glad the dentist had given up on putting in replacements.

You were more worried about this appointment than the physical assessment. You couldn’t keep food down, smiling with your eroded teeth was uncomfortable, and your breath was horrible. The dentist would definitely notice something, at the very least that you were a smoker. Your mother would hate that more than bulimia.

Honestly, despite all of these effects, you got the benefit of barely having a gag reflex. Which, now that you think about it, doesn’t really matter considering you don’t even like men.

Surprise was clear on your face when your dentist complimented you on the health of your teeth and sent you on your way.

You didn’t really know what the other tests were, something about heart arrhythmias and electrolytes. You didn’t care, you were so over it. It was all bullshit. You weren’t sad. You weren’t suicidal nor were you a danger to yourself or others. You were just bulimic, not on the brink of fucking brain collapse.

All of this was bullshit.

❅❅❅

Wanda’s senses come back one by one. Her ears pick up the soft whirring of machinery and occasional beeping of monitors. The soft footsteps of nurses and patients walking past, the opening and closing of a door as doctors enter, the scratching of their pens against their clipboard. The lingering scent of antiseptic reaches her nose, and the bitter taste in her mouth makes itself known. Her fingers pinch the stiff material of her gown, and she can feel the IV in her arm. Finally, she opens her eyes.

Waking up in the fiery depths of hell would’ve been better than where Wanda was right now. She mumbled curses under her breath as she looked around, taking in the hospital equipment around her.

“Natasha?” She croaked out when she caught sight of her friend sleeping on the hospital chair in the corner of the room. Natasha jumped up, wiping the drool off her chin and rushing towards Wanda. “Oh, thank god.” She sighed, pulling Wanda into an awkward hug.

She pulls back when she realizes Wanda wasn’t hugging her back. “How do you feel?” Wanda cringes at the pity on Natasha’s face. “Peachy.” She turns away, not stopping Natasha when she reaches to grab her hand.

The widow sighs, rubbing circles into Wanda’s hand, making her fingers twitch slightly. They sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Wanda was glad Natasha had found her. She didn’t want to be found at all, but at least it was Natasha.

She was so stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. She should’ve just shot herself in the head, like a man. She’d read somewhere that men have higher suicide rates because they carry it out in more extreme ways. Girls usually go for lighter, prettier deaths. Overdoses, slitting their wrists in a rose petal filled bathtub, and such. More survivable, and less of a burden for whoever cleans up after them. Men don't feel the same obligation. So what if it's more work for the cleaners? A shotgun to the head is easier for them, that's what matters. They don't think about how puffy their face would get if they hung themselves, or how awkward they'd be positioned on the ground if they jumped off a building. They don't think about the possibility of surviving afterwards and dealing with the deformity.

Pietro’s lifeless body flashes in her mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wanda finally notices the iron grip she had on Natasha’s hand.

She didn’t want to talk about Pietro. Never. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her friend looks away, “You’re suspended until you get help.”

“What! No!” Wanda sits up, snatching her hand out of Natasha’s grip, “This was the first time! Bruce tried to kill himself, why isn’t he suspended?”

“That was before he even joined.”

Wanda sighs, “So, what like, therapy for a week?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, “Wanda, you tried to kill yourself. You need to be monitored.”

“I’m not a fucking child. Jesus, Nat!”

“It’s not up to me, Fury’s orders. Either get help or you’re fired, basically.”

“Don’t I need a psychological evaluation or some shit?”

“Wanda, you swallowed a whole bottle of whatever-the-fuck pills. I can evaluate you right now. You’re fucked in the head, babe.” Natasha attempts to joke.

She sighs in relief when Wanda huffs out a laugh, “So, you’re sending me to the loony bin?”

“Yup. It’ll be great though, perks of being an Avenger.” Natasha places a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“How long will I be there?”

Natasha grabs Wanda’s hand that’s picking at her gown, “Until you’re better.”

The sound of a girl yelling stops their conversation.

❅❅❅

“Inpatient would be the best option…”

The ringing in your ears blocks out whatever the doctor was saying. What the fuck. You were not crazy. So what if you were bulimic. You didn’t constantly starve yourself and avoid food so you were chill, but you also were not getting fat, so you were hot. It’s like a win-win.

You’re sitting with your parents, a doctor across from you. He must be a therapist, or psychologist…psychiatrist? Potato, Tomato.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Tears are pooling in your mothers eyes, your father is sighing into his hand. “What about my classes? My life!”

“Lower your voice. You aren’t being sent away to the fucking Alcatraz.” Your father grits out.

The doctor chimes in, “I’m sure you’ll be able to do your school work, most institutions let you have books and supervised computer time.”

You push your mothers hand off your shoulder. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She scoffs, “Me? Why are you doing this to yourself!”

“You can’t make me!” Passersby can hear your voice through the closed door of the office.

It was true, they couldn’t really. You were a legal adult, they couldn’t make you do shit. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to your father expectedly. You look back and forth between them with an eyebrow raised.

“We won’t support you anymore if you don’t do this.” He finally pushes out.

“What? As if you’ve ever supported-”

Oh. Financially. College and such. Housing and such. Food…and such.

You’re not that level of adult, yet.

“What the fuck-”

“Language!”

“No! What the actual fuck! I’m not sick!”

Your father’s face contorts in anger, “Did you not hear a single word the doctor said? Your potassium levels, electrolytes, and heart are all fucked! You could have a heart attack!” He takes a breath,

“You are killing yourself.”

“What?” You don’t know what to say. Why is your heart beating so fast?

You let out a frustrated shriek, getting up to leave. They don’t know what they’re saying. You storm out of the office, narrowly avoiding passing nurses and stretchers, trying to ignore the sense of dread building within you.

Heart attacks were a lame death. You could imagine how stupid you'd look; jaw wide open, leaning back in your desk chair, clutching at your chest. The door to your room is always locked, so your parents wouldn’t care to check for a while. They’d just assume you were isolating yourself.

Stiffening up in that position, rotting and decomposing. So lame, so ugly.

It didn’t scare you.

Your head ricocheting off a wall interrupts your spiral.

Natasha winces, peaking over the door to find you on the floor, rubbing your head. Wanda had asked her to check what was going on, and you happened to be passing by at the same time she opened the door. You push yourself off the floor before Natasha could help you up. Black spots appear in your vision and you start swaying. You must’ve stood up too fast.

Natasha holds you up as you fall into her for a second, before you regain your bearings.

“Get off me!”

She lets go immediately, raising an eyebrow when you double-take at the sight of Wanda.

‘She’s so skinny.’

Wanda looks up at you, confused when she takes you in. You could’ve been the same weight as her, if not a little more. She doesn’t read people's thoughts if she can help it, but yours were so loud. You blush when she makes eye contact with you, turning and stomping away.

Your footsteps fade as Natasha closes the door, making her way back to Wanda. The widow smiles at Wanda, poking her side, “I think she has a crush on you.” Wanda’s eyes widen, “No way; she said I was skinny.” Natasha tilts her head, “Like in a disgusted way?” The witch looks down at her hands.

She assumed it was envy at first, but you didn’t look like you weighed significantly more than her. Nor was it disgust, based off of how you looked at her.

“Not…really. I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs, “Well, it doesn't matter. We’ll fatten you up in no time.”

She winces at Wanda’s obviously forced laugh.

She didn’t like being skinny, but it was an effect of her depression. It wouldn’t be that easy to reverse. The only reason she was open to this treatment was so that she could go back to work. She’ll just pretend to get better, go back, and work until she can’t take it anymore. Next time, she’ll use a gun. Actually, would she subconsciously stop the bullet with her powers? The pills almost killed her, maybe she’d just lock her door next time. She could pick up smoking, maybe that’d be like a backup. A slow, eventual death could be happening in the background while she found short term options. Multitasker.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Wanda is taken out of her reverie as Natasha pokes at her stomach again. She smiles, shaking her head and curling up into the bed. The older redhead pats her shoulder, “The squad’s going to visit before you leave. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wanda groans, she didn’t need any more people up her ass.

She stiffens at the sound of sniffling, looking up when she feels her shoulder dampen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Natasha leans over her frame, hair masking her face. The brunette stammers, racking her brain for a reply. She’d never seen Natasha so emotional. It was like hearing Steve use slang.

She sighs, curling further into herself and ignoring Natasha. She wishes she could reassure her. Tell her that even the thought of trying again made her nauseous, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t live the rest of her life seeing her brother's corpse every time she blinks.

Living with the memory of Pietro’s death for the rest of her life was worse than any torture she’d ever endured.

She ignores the flashing images as her eyes drift close, falling asleep to the sound of Natasha’s sniffling.

❅❅❅

A/N: I lowk regret writing in in second person but yolo. reply to this post if u wanna get tagged in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @mathxa @nikkinss

[centuryberry]

What are some of their attempts to convince Wukong? What Modern dating methods do they try (and occasionally butcher)? Old ones that don't quite translate (or Wukong pulls Amnesia)?

I sense shenanigans.

(And also have been struck by the image of Wukong opening a door to find one of the trio laying in bed with a "F*ck me" sign above them.)

(I was then subsequently struck by the image of Wukong responding, "Uhhhhh, I can't read? *closes door*"

When RinRin, Macaque, and Shanzha started their attempts in luring their husband to bed, they were completely blatant…in traditional standards.

Romantic gestures in that era were subtle. A simple exchanging of gifts would be a proclamation of eternal love. And there are so many secret languages: the language of flowers, the language of fans, etc.

(Warning: Slightly suggestive)

RinRin preferred slipping in sly, subtle innuendos in conversations and teasing Wukong like she used to do when they were young. She also likes using food as a tool to be touchy and suggestive. (Those poor bananas.)

Macaque would drag Wukong out to walks in the garden and anywhere else pretty. He would cling onto his arm during walks while wearing all the pretty hairpins and jade pendants that OG!Wukong had gifted him throughout the years of their marriage.

Unlike the other two, Shanzha doesn’t have any history with Wukong and is in an unstable position, so she’d be less blatant. She’d show off her skills in archery and would spar with him to encourage contact. She’d also wear clothing that would turn slightly sheer with enough sweat during these sessions.

When all of this didn’t work, the three of them would outright ask Wukong to come visit their rooms.

All of this, of course, flew over Wukong’s modern head. The first time he accepted, he thought it was a sleepover. Shanzha and RinRin were too shocked to correct him when he visited them for the night (he tried to recreate scrabble lol) but Macaque doubled down and scared Wukong off when he made it clear what he invited him into his room for.

It was a little heartbreaking for Macaque but that sting was quickly eased when Wukong came to him with flowers the next morning and babbled about his amnesia. He played dumb and would continue to play dumb.

Unfortunately, upon every “failure,” the three became more and more bold. (Thus, the hilarious scenario you painted in your ask. They had to spell it out for him at that point.)

When it was revealed that Wukong came from another world and time, everything clicked. They shifted gears. Instead of approaching all of this like spouses, they would then approach this as suitors. This would be a courtship.

After wiggling as much info about modern day courtship out of Yue, they took a try at this “dating” thing. It was…fun. There was a bit of flower giving and hand holding. They would watch plays together with snacks (a try at a movie date). They would try to make homemade food with varying results (RinRin and Macaque burnt their offerings). They snuck out of the palace in disguises once to have a casual date without the pressures of court.

(Though they did bungle up the “Netflix and Chill” idea and flustered the hell out of Wukong lmao. Yue only added that one as a joke.)

Wukong would see all this effort and be so, so flustered and yet so, so happy. He’s a bit of a romantic so he’s a bit of a sap about these things. Even if the results aren’t perfect, he appreciates the effort and he tries to reciprocate traditionally (though the three are beyond subtleties at this point and prefer the modern straightforwardness.)

[megan0013]

Number 12. “I spent so long in the darkness I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

For the Halloween prompt thing, Stricklake. (thought it's exactly the soppy thing Strickler would say).

The wedding is off.

Probably.

At least, Barbara sure hopes it is after she’d managed to bungle her vows oh-so-spectacularly that Pastor Vendel had declared her resistant to marrying and sent her away from her own wedding rehearsal. Which is fine with her. She absolutely does not want to marry a rude, condescending man like Lord Lake anyway. Who cares about his money and his land and his title?

Well, okay, fine. A lot of people do.

Including her overly nouveau riche parents, who are obviously more concerned with climbing society ladders than the happiness of their own daughter. Just because they chose to marry for position and not for love doesn’t mean she should have to, too.

“I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life with a man I do not love,” Barbara declares softly, fingertips ghosting along rough capstones as she crosses over the bridge leading out of town. “And I do not love James Lake, nor will I ever.”

The wind seems to sigh in agreement, sending fallen leaves sweeping up off the misty road to dance around the hem of her skirt before skipping ahead down the path.

Absently, she follows them along the long and winding road.

“He may be charming and handsome,” she continues as her path veers off to the right, away from town, “and he may have everyone else fooled, but I know in my heart Lord Lake is not a good man. I have seen the places he frequents. I know he is a cheat, a swindler. And not even a very good one if the rumors surrounding his gambling losses are to be believed.”

The road narrows under the thick canopy of trees.

“I fear he will drive us into the poorhouse if left unchecked.”

A crow caws ominously as she passes.

“That is if his visits to those other types of houses do not put us there first.”

Something howls in the distance as the buzzing of cicadas grows louder.

“At least I know of my fiancée’s poor character. The new Mrs Palchuk only learned of her husband’s vices after they were already wed. The awful things I have heard him say to her... Well, it’s no wonder she has changed so much these past few months.”

Her fingers curl into fists at her side.

“He is a monster. And I will not tolerate the same treatment from my own husband.”

A sudden gust of wind sends the dead leaves swirling into the air.

“Oh! If there was only something I could do to stop this wedding once and for all! I would do anything!��

She stomps her foot.

“Anything!”

The leaves drop like stones and all the insects go deathly silent as the world around Barbara comes to an abrupt stop. It’s enough to shock her back into awareness, and she heaves in a great breath upon realizing just how far off the road she’s wandered.

Everything is eerily still for a moment and then:

Bang!

The sound is immediately followed by the crack of a tree splintering in half and Barbara whirls around, her eyes wide with terror, just in time to watch as a creature – tall and jade and made of stone, with horns and fangs and bright yellow eyes – emerges from its depths.

She chokes on a scream.

“It sounds to me like you need not a husband,” a grin stretches clear across its face, “but a murderer most foul.”

[yarpharp]

Dragon Age Veilguard ramble (with some spoilers about the ending of the whole thing)

I... I know there are plenty of people defending this game. But on a story level, I am kinda confused. And frustrated. So The Veil is powered by the Evanuris who are immortal and trapped in a special alternate space veil prison thing where they serve as batteries until somebody cracks open the Veil.

So First Question: how the fuck didn't they (the Evanuris) escape from their prisons during Inquisition? I'm... I'm really confused how that didn't happen. I mean, Solas/Corypheus bungled it so bad it cracked a huge hole in the sky! TWICE! Once in the beginning of the game and then again at the climax! And what about the small rifts? I mean, Solas' knife ritual cracked open a hole in the Veil that WASNT MUCH BIGGER THAN A RIFT. Why didn't one of the Gods escape then? And you can't tell me those dumb little devices we helped hunt down for Solas were somehow keeping the Gods back. Most players didn't even find them all!

Second Question: did they seriously retcon Morrigan and her fucking son? And what is the deal with the Mythal lore? I mean, I ain't SHOCKED Solas probably once fucked Mythal or had feelings for her. That seemed obvious to me. But what the fuck about Mythal/Flemeth's scary warnings in Inquisition and DA2 about "reckonings" and "finally getting her vengeance"? ONE OF THE DA4 ENDINGS IS MYTHAL SOMEHOW REACHING OUT FROM MORRIGAN (oh and apparently Morrigan, she who feared her mom and feared becoming her mom's new meat suit for extending her life, decided to become Mythal's next host I guess???? Seriously???) TO TELL SOLAS TO LET GO OF HIS MISSION AND GRIEF? Are... Are you serious? What happened to all that fucking anger and plotting? Was that the ultimate plot of hers? Make Solas become a battery with the remainder of her killers? I... What. And what happened with the Old God Soul? Seriously, what about that? Is that supposed to be how Solas transforms into a fucked up hyena dog? (Sorry the design for the dread wolf is kinda disappointing to me.)

Third Question: Why is there a path option where somehow the Inquisitor Lover actually finally manages to persuade him to do the right thing? BRO, WHAT WAS TRESPASSER FOR THEN??? IF SOLAS IS WILLING TO DOUBLE-CROSS HIS LOVER AND ROOK TO GET HIS WAY, WHY WRITE THAT ENDING SCENARIO?

Fourth Question: Did the developers forget that Solas is actually pretty neutral about Blood Magic? Because there was a whole scene in the game where he claimed he abhorred blood magic and then proceeds to reveal the Veil is definitely partially a blood magic ritual. Or was it supposed to be a really lame "oh look he lies!" moment?

Fifth Question: Does this mean we retconned all those codex entries and Cole ramblings about how Solas was a spirit of Wisdom once and he LITERALLY HAS THAT SCAR ON HIS FACE BECAUSE HE BURNED MYTHAL'S VALLASLIN OFF WITH MAGIC? Because this makes the whole "Mythal and Solas are lovers and Solas did this all for her, blah blah" feel far more fucking malicious if that's still canon. I mean... Isn't it a bit weird to have at one point opposed the woman/god who quite literally owned you as an advisor/agent of her will, and then you burn her slave markings off your face, and somehow you became lovers somewhere in all of that? What kinda toxic bullshit is that? WHY TRY TO DESTROY THE WORLD FOR A TOXIC EX? Wanting to kill the Evanuris? Valid. Wanting to tear down the Veil to restore the elven people after seeing what happened to them? Fucked up but strangely valid. But arguing that he went through all that bullshit for his ex-lover because he "wanted to honor their promise and memory" feels really fucking janky and sloppy as a plot point.

And Sixth Final Question: Did bioware really not give me the ultimate bad ending of "Tear Down the Veil"? Because that's just plain disappointing.

[pretentious-art-love]

Album Reviews #47 - Disco Volante by Mr. Bungle

Mr. Bungle were always inspired by David Lynch’s style of combining dream-like surrealism with the uncomfortable and the nasty. They had included some samples from Blue Velvet in their self-titled record, and now, they have gone ahead to create a full album of Lynch-inspired oneiric reverie. Disco Volante's music evolves with its own logic; the songs shift from moments of intense and scary other-worldly emotion to completely dissipate into miscellaneous sound collages, and then evolve into more miniature samples of wrecked music.

As with any David Lynch film, the atmosphere in the album can be as thick as it is ordinary. While the music seems dissipated and random in most senses, it is only so in its structure. I have always said that Disco Volante shares many sound similarities with Jeux des Dames Cruelles, an album by the band's first album producer, John Zorn. However, while the music of Jeux des Dames lets itself spill like the paint of a splashed canvas, the music of Disco Volante turns into something at the same time less and more tangible—not the world of smeared paintings, but the world of dreams. There are so many miniatures of music composed in a wonderful tapestry of influences, ranging from Nuevo Tango and Psychedelic Pop to Klezmer, Raga Rock, and Acid Techno. All these miniatures of sounds can be as catchy as they are cinematic. While these moments can be memorable on their own, Disco Volante dissolves instantly into a cacophony of banal musique concrète sounds and field recordings or changes its train of thought to a completely different genre or composition without losing its character. For example, "Phlegmatics" starts with a Thrash Metal section, only to suddenly stop and slowly build up where both guitar and voice seem to be independent of the rest of the song in a beseeching lament while the drums are still on a chase. This way, "Phlegmatics" blends the sensation of yearning and anguish, which you can experience in nightmares or delusions caused by sickness. "The Bends" is composed mostly of an atmospheric piece exuding different ominous melodies per minute around a sci-fi flair. "Violenza Domestica" has momentary bursts of violence around cheap sentimentalism, slowly deteriorating into a creepily possessive song. This is something that many Bungle-inspired bands were unable to understand: Bungle’s eclecticism is more about genre-bending rather than song-swapping. The songs do not change one after the other in the same track, but they can explore wildly different sounds around the same idea while staying cohesive as a single, albeit broken, piece. Even when the jar is broken, it is assembled with the same parts it is composed of, rather than pieces from different jars, and that’s where its genius lies.

The emotions in the record can be as terrifying and revolting as they can be in Lynch’s movies (as, for example, in Blue Velvet itself, with its plot involving kidnappings, sexual slavery, and abuse), but there are brushstrokes of an added emotional palette in this record. It is Mike Patton’s whimsy and the band's knack for jest that give life unique of its own rather than one of a simply Lynch-inspired record. The buffoonery that embodies the record works to make it even more nefarious and depraved. With its banter, Disco Volante transforms what could be a world of pure horror and shock into a complete tapestry of depravity, making it one of the most horrifying albums you could ever hear. It is true that as it stands, this might as well become the less popular of the three mainline Mr. Bungle records, with its average dropping further every year and its overall track ratings barely managing to get a few bolded songs to date, which curiously enough seem to favor the tracks that maintain a proper rhythm instead of the more freeform ones. Still, though, I find it an absolutely incredible record, probably more so than the other two records, considering its attention to detail in creating a cohesive soundscape—a palpable, almost tangible experience in the freeform song, which is something all other Bungle bands have not either managed or focused to create. If you find it way too difficult to properly grasp, my advice would be to start with the tracks that are more freeform and climb your way up, leaving the tracks with more apparent rhythm at the end, to not let your brain get used to their momentum before it is wise. The record as a thematic piece is summarily cohesive, but if the order of its movements disconcerts you more than what it helps you, you can still take advantage that all these are different songs and that they are pieces you can independently digest as you see fit.

As it stands today, Disco Volante is one of those records that might be too difficult for most people, but its experience is undeniably unique and amusing. It's edgy, funny, hilarious, and incredibly vivid and striking. If you are interested in art that accurately represents the world of dreams, I absolutely recommend it to you, not just because of its oneiric quality, but also because it is completely evil and hysterical.

My version thing to do is putting all The Bends sections between each song, this connects the album with a thematically spooky ambience. Moving Nothing after After School Special and putting The Bends ending, Re-Entry, allows the album to end in a gust of noise and loop back to Everyone I Went To High School With Is Dead.

Everyone I Went To High School With Is Dead

Man Overboard

Chemical Marriage

The Drowning Flute

Carry Stress In The Jaw

The Secret Song

Aqua Swing

Desert Search For Techno Allah

Follow The Bubbles

Violenza Domestica

Duet For Guitar And Oxygen Tank

After School Special

Nothing

Phlegmatics

Nerve Damage

Ma Meeshka Mow Skwoz

Screaming Bends

Backstrokin’

Panic In Blue

Platypus

Love In The Event Horizon

Merry Go Bye Bye

Re-entry

8/10

[dandylovesturtles]

31 and 36 for the ask game 🏄‍♂️

Okay so I’m going to answer these in reverse because while I was thinking of the answer to 31 I ended up having a whole tangential rant and I’m going to put that part of my answer under a cut lol

36. I think Mikey is the hardest one for me to write. He’s easy enough as a side character, but when I try to make him the main character I have a harder time delving into his flaws and problems and what makes him tick as a driving force of the narrative. It’s something I would like to change, though, because I love Mikey a lot. I’m grateful to the people who write Mikey-centric fics because I can read those and learn more so I can better rotate him in my brain microwave haha

31. So it’s not necessarily that I dislike Donnie’s Gifts as an episode, but I do tend to pretend it didn’t happen most of the time, because I have no idea what to do with it lol. It’s definitely not meant to be taken too seriously and I think that’s fine, and I don’t really like taking it too seriously. But I am usually writing more serious-flavored fics, so bringing up that time Donnie put a shock collar on his brother feels…. well, it breaks the tone haha

I have enjoyed the occasional fic or comic that DOES choose to take it seriously but I prefer to just pretend it’s not there for my own work.

Mind Meld is kind of in the same boat but this is where I ended up going on a whole tangent so I’m going to put it under a cut

The thing with Mind Meld is I feel like they had a good idea but then lost the through line. I THINK they wanted the ultimate lesson for Donnie to be that he prefers his brothers the way they are, even if that means they don’t think and act like he does. And I don’t think this is a bad issue to tackle with Donnie. Overall I kind of like the idea of him using a machine to make his brothers more like him as a thing he thinks at first will be beneficial, so that’s not really where my problem is.

My problem with the episode is… it works? Like, they do the mission properly. And then the bros end up being even smarter than Donnie and better at doing things. So by the end it feels like Donnie isn’t reverting his bros because he misses them, it feels like jealousy. Especially because they start being actively hostile toward him.

If I were writing the episode, I would have them bungle the mission the second time too. And Donnie would not understand, because how could four of him have messed it up! But of course, it’s BECAUSE you have four people who all think the same way that it falls apart. They all get caught up in Classic Donnie Overthink and everything goes to shit. Mikey can no longer razz his tazz around an obstacle and Raph doesn’t want to use his fists for smashing and Leo is thinking straight forward and not in 4 dimensions.

Donnie having to come up with a THIRD plan, one that properly took his brothers’ strengths and personalities into account, and then convincing his Donnie-fied bros to think that way and thus accomplish the mission, would show that Donnie has learned the error of his ways and has come to fully understand the strengths that each of his brothers has even if they aren’t the same strengths Donnie has. Which is what Donnie’s Gifts was trying to do too but if they’re going to do the same story twice anyway might as well do it better the second time.

Anyway in conclusion Nickelodeon should hire me /j

Thanks for the ask!

[frostbitepandaaaaa]

Path of Totality, part 1, a Rebelcaptain Smut month fic

hi, hey, hello!

please enjoy my conspiciously smut-less first part of my two part smut prompt!

prompts: aphrodisiac, undercover, "tell me how much you want me" and honeymoon

thank you to @andorerso for organizing this even and for stuntreading for me. also thank you to @quarantineddreamer for generally being an angel and talking me through some of the rougher parts of this.

part 2 is coming along nicely, but i am who i am-- look for it next week. i figured since i combined so many prompts that i would just post right smack in the middle of the month (yeah that's why, not because i was characteristically late. no.).

PREVIEW

Cassian runs his hand through his hair, shakes his head, coughs. “I’m more worried about me… what I’m liable to do.”

Jyn quirks an eyebrow at him, incredulous. Cassian? Unable to complete an op? Bungling a mission? That’d be the kriffing day.

“Did you take your drug inhibitor?” he asks her abruptly, for probably the fourth time in an hour.

“Yes,” Jyn answers flatly. “Hey,” she states sternly when he won’t meet her eyes.

His eyes finally lock onto hers and he swallows. “This guy… Kanith… he’s kind of a—“

“A bastard?” Jyn offers, hands on her hips.

Cassian nods.

“You don’t say,” she drawls. “You don’t think I know that some second-rate drug lord is a piece of bantha shit?”

He laughs, something oddly forced about it. It’s a queer moment of pretense coming from him. Cassian is the type of person who is either entirely genuine or so good at faking it you’d never fucking notice. “It’s not just—“ he grimaces, licks his lips. “He’s a bit of a scoundrel. A pervert.”

She huffs, crosses her arms. “I know the type. I’ve handled my share of perverts.”

Cassian’s patience with her dismissals seems to finally snap and he steps closer to her, places his hands on her shoulders. “Just… he might make us do things. Have me… do things to you.” He pauses, the look on his face scraping Jyn raw. “That’s what he does. He likes to watch.”

A shaky breath leaves her as many, many thoughts swirl through her mind at once. As many, many sensations zing through her nerves. Disgust, shock, excitement. She stiffens, swallows as her mouth goes dry.

read it on ao3!

[alpha-mag-media]

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death | In Trend Today

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[ur-mag]

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death | In Trend Today

Bungling hitman with €200k bounty on head issues shock threat to ‘rat’ Kinahan thug after cheating death Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[loving-n0t-heyting]

over course of trip to seattle learned about damion searls new translation of the tractatus, which left me livid enough to overcome the local SAD. was going to write a long angry post about it until i learned aw moore had already written a much better scathing review in lrb complaining about the exact things i would have—in particular: the travesties made of 1 and 2.141. both, but the latter especially, reminded me of blooms comments on cornford in the preface to his republic translation:

There is no doubt that one can read the sentence as it appears in Comford without being drawn up short, without being puzzled. But this is only because it says nothing. It uses commonplace terms which have no precise significance; it is the kind of sentence one finds in newspaper editorials. From having been shocking or incomprehensible, Plato becomes boring.

this seems like the obvious outcome of a translation that emphasises leaving the final product natural and unjarring in the target language: genuinely jarring thoughts present in the original are penalised from the outset

there was one part of the introductory essay moore ignores i thought was worth commenting on:

partly its shocking that you would openly admit, in the course of translating a text, to simply ignoring anything it has to say about translating btwn languages. but moreso it is baffling you would choose to translate a source text whose explicit statements about the process you clearly regard with such contempt. (he tries to soften the blow by citing the notoriously obscure and evocative 6.43 as evidence of wittgensteins "glimmers of recog­nition" that searls own extreme anti-literalist stance on translation is superior; looking to correct the relatively lucid by the relatively opaque is a classic hallmark of the eisegete.) active malice is a poor foundation for textual fidelity. the fact this contempt leads him to fatuously bungle crucial passages like 2.141 is just icing on the cake

i did think this passage (it goes on much longer but this conveys the gist) from his recent book on the philosophy of translation (which i decided to hateskim) was particularly revealing. this isnt the etymology or meaning of that word in philosophical contexts at all. the root is the latin "intentus", which comes closer to "attentive" or "focused" than to anything like "intending" or "intention" as usually used by english speakers, and the meaning is about mental states that take or attend to an object or state, the way eg that vision is of some visible thing/fact. this more general use dates back to the middle ages; any association with orientation to action is incidental and/or idiosyncratic to certain authors (such as merleau-ponty, whos being invoked here—or maybe it is, ive never actually read him). looking up the term in any reputable reference book would have disabused him of this error

to some extent this is obviously nitpicking; he wants to make a point about the nature of perception and how it relates to his understanding of translation, the phenomenology jargon is just window dressing. but this is a book about translation! he is trying to convey his expertise in finding the right way to translate the right word! speaks extremely poorly to his fitness for this i would think if he makes a slogan for much of his book out of a phrase whose historical meaning he has clearly ignored outside the narrow context of one specific and atypical writer on the subject. even if you think the highly specific theory of intentionality is correct, omitting the historical context of the expression and its cognates cuts any readers off from any larger conversations to which this theory is contributing, the same way flitting freely between different words in the target language for the same word in the source will muddy lines of thought developed internally to the text

whenever i see ppl on here discussing translation it seems to be in a vein much closer to how searls writes about it. the translators task is to capture the feeling or vibe of the passages translated; literal translation, favouring preservation of sentence structure and uniformity of word choice over fidelity to sentiment and deep meaning, is mechanical, soulless, and amateurish. a major pitfall to this approach being that you can easily find plenty of cases where the translator thus interpreting their job is insensitive to the actual vibes at hand