#being different quotes
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nacho475 · 3 days ago
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“If I wasn’t forced to live with society, I could be myself and be different without being judged and I would choose to live in peace with myself and my Dalmatian in a warm comfy cabin.”
-Alexandra Ramsey❤️
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jennrypan · 3 months ago
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Dick: You use to be so cute and tiny..
Jason: And you use to be cool. We both changed.
Dick: Wha-?! I'm still cool!!
Jason: Okay, 'officer Grayson'. Cops aren't cool.
Dick: THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO
Jason: STILL FRESH IN MY MIND, PIG!
Dick: LET IT GO!
Jason: NO. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID FUCK THE POLICE! THOSE WERE WORDS I LIVED BY!
Dick: OH MY GOD. YOURE THE ONLY ONE THAT STILL REMEMBERS THAT!
Tim, walking into the living room: I remember it.
Duke, from another room: I heard about it! You've lost 1000 aura man!
Cassandra, poking her head in: I've also heard about it.
Dick: EVERYONE SHUT UP.
Jason: Just like a cop to order people around like that, shameless.
Dick, groans: Fuuuuck-!
Dick: All of you are going to make me age like milk!
Damian, popping up behind him: Is it wrong to say it's too late for that?
Dick, practically shaking: Damian..I swear to God.
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shadowhaert · 9 months ago
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on being left
drift, alek olsen / cheryl strayed / u.k / u.k / trista mateer / rebecca malakai / u.k / marya hornbacher / jan heller levi
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citroncynique · 1 year ago
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If you cannot break from the eggshell, the world is naught but a prison where you are blinded and confined.
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bloodanddiscoballs · 2 years ago
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Hey, in case no one told you there's nothing wrong with being an addict. You're not a terrible person just because you're addicted to something. You aren't inherently cruel, and you're not vile. Morals have nothing to do with addiction. You being a "good" or a "bad" person is separate from your addiction. Lots of us have addictions and have addictive behavior. Whether it's a substance, either illegal or legal, or a physical thing to participate in like media, addiction is something human beings have always dealt with. Stop equating morality with addiction.
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sysig · 10 months ago
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How far did you get? (Patreon)
#My art#Handplates#UT#Gaster#Frisk#A DBZA incorrect quote technically - it's just such a raw line#Even what it's in reply to kinda works in this context! ''What exactly changed between you in the future and now?'' Time travel nonsense#It feels real weird to have a piece fully finished in black and white and have that be Correct lol#I am So pleased with the composition of this ♥#Gaster vertical and the human horizonal! Gaster confined and the human-#Hint: He's not looking at Frisk#Gaster being able to see Zarfox consistently is very interesting to me#Or rather - that bit makes sense lol he got as far as he could within the confines of his world and understanding#It's still cool how much he can actually see tho - understand? Interpret? Hard to pin down and define haha#What Sans is able to see doubly interests me - he got some but just glimpses! Different from - I assume - Gaster's consistent sight#Poor Papyrus being left out haha#It's been a while since I've drawn a Vessel - weird to think about Frisk in that context haha#It's accurate! Just weird ♪#I am so in love with Gaster's post-Void design <3 The fact that his lineart is ''canon'' - however you want to phrase it just ughgjkdslafd#Any instance of The Medium being drawn attention to down to its format and details gives me the zoomies lol#Visual representation of the unfathomable! It's so cool!!#And the fact that at the Very least Gaster suspects just how limited his viewpoint is - is phased in and out of it - what he assumes is real#He knows that even with everything that makes him up now - the threads of the multiverse! - it's still so much bigger than he can understand#''More than I thought'' - and then actually getting to talk with some/thing/one(s) that make up at least a sliver of that Bigger#''Less than you'd think'' - like moving a grain of sand that contains a universe on the beach of infinity#Hghhh it's cool <3
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deadsetobsessions · 7 months ago
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Pt. 3
Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.
——
Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.
He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.
A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.
At least this time, the conception was consensual.
Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.
How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?
It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.
His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.
He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…
How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.
The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.
“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”
“Go to sleep, Bruce.”
“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.
“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”
Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.
Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.
…Nevermind.
He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”
“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”
Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.
“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”
“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”
“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”
Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.
Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”
“Please. Always.”
Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”
“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”
“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-
“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’
“But…”
“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”
“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”
“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”
“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.
“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.
——
Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.
She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.
“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.
“You as well, my beloved daughter.”
‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’
Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”
The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.
——
A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.
She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.
“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.
The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.
She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.
She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.
“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.
(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)
“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.
(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)
“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”
She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’
“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.
‘No, you were smarter.’
And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.
“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”
Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.
On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.
“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”
She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.
She offered him a short nod.
——
“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.
The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.
But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.
No.
It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.
It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.
Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.
It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.
From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.
Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.
Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”
She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.
“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”
‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.
Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.
“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.
Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.
“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”
Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.
“I will bring your bags up to your room.”
She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.
‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’
“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.
“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”
Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.
Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.
Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)
“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”
Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.
Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.
Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.
——
She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.
“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”
Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.
“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.
She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.
(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)
‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.
“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”
Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.
No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.
‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’
“….you do?”
‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.
Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”
She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.
“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”
She waited.
“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”
‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’
Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.
“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.
——
She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.
‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.
It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.
Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.
She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.
——
“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.
‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.
“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”
His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.
An implicit challenge.
“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.
“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”
Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.
——
Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.
Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.
Alfred made a note to study some more magic.
“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”
“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”
“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.
Alfred made another note.
‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.
Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”
‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.
They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.
Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas��� dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.
‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’
“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”
Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.
“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”
She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’
She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.
She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.
His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”
She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’
Alfred stiffened.
“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.
‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’
Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.
“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”
She nodded.
“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”
‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’
Alfred itched for his gun.
“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.
‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.
“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”
“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”
‘I have never tried it before.’
“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”
Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.
——
Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.
Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me
——
Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?
Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP
——
Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.
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oconist · 24 days ago
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franco colapinto + what gets lost in translation
R.F Kuang, Babel, Or the Necessity of Violence / Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quijote de la Mancha / R.F Kuang, Babel, Or the Necessity of Violence / John Ciardi, Translator's Note in Dante's Inferno
i've seen in the past days multiple interviews by franco in spanish that have been translated to english. there isn't a single way to translate, nor there is there a way to convey everything that is being said when translating. as someone that translates from english to spanish and viceversa frequently, a language does not stand on it's own. it has a culture, a context, mannerisms that don't really exists in the language it's being translated to, and all a translator can do is try and convey everything the best they can just using words.
franco is, after all, argentinian, and has spanish as first language. he prefers to talk in spanish over english, and with the rise of translations due to the amount of interviews he does in spanish, i've seen a lot of either mistranslations or translations that don't fully convey the context or the nuances of what is being said, and act like franco textually said that.
that's why i urge non-spanish speaking people to not take every translation as it is. dig a bit deeper before misinterpreting translations of what he said. language isn't just a mash of words that can be translated one-to-one and still keep the same meaning.
with that said, i want to dedicate this web weaving to @divorcedpierresteban, the ennabler of me making this.
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art-is-kayos · 28 days ago
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Everlasting A5
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#when I tried to post this tumblr signed me out of my account???#all that work and I wasn't even happy with it halfway through but now I love this thang. yay#X's clock hand has no gears on it for lore reasons and not because I didn't wanna draw it I swear#this is actually the first time I've drawn both Abram and Abel. Abram was a darling to draw and Abel had his face redrawn 14 times#I believe it's physically impossible not to make Adam look real pretty in literally anything. plus I took tattoo liberties and I like em#he's barefoot in my heart but unfortunately I cannot draw feet.#anyways. justifications:#Time Duck as an abno has its event centred around what one perceives it to be - a rabbit or a duck#this links to Fau in how it can be unclear when it is her and when it is the Gesellschaft. who she is at any one point is somewhat up to yo#and I think it links very similarly to the A5 - are they truly all one in the same#or are they different people with the same - or similar enough - starting points#especially for X - which is why he's the goopy-est - is he simply Ayin once again or has he changed to the point of being his own person#that goes for every loop's X as well. can the same shape change enough in ones eyes to become an entirely different animal#also the time theme and Fau's corrosion quote 'Thus. You cease to move. Trapped in the stopped time. For eternity'#is an obvious reference to the time loop shenanigans at L Corp HQ#they are all trapped by him in the same 50 days. never to move forward with the rest of the world. for a practical eternity#also doomsday clock on Fau's corrosion is a reference to how A and D keep paralleling eachother and probably know eachother from somewhere#the tremor on the E.G.O is like how each thing that happened brought him closer to the brink [aka the stagger threshold]#and the sinking on the gift [gestures at Abram]#plus the mechanical theme connects to how Ayin looked towards the seemingly infallible idea of the machine in his time of need#fanart#ayin lobcorp#abram lobcorp#abel lobcorp#adam lobcorp#x lobcorp#lobotomy corporation#limbus company#🌑🌘🌗🌖🌕#NEVER DRAW GEARS PLEASE JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE IT IS NEVER WORTH IT
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rcbertleckie · 5 months ago
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JOHN EGAN and GALE CLEVEN · hbo war summer gift — for @sluttyhenley
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nacho475 · 14 days ago
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bleue-flora · 7 months ago
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"He has friends, Tommy. I'm right here. I'm his friend... What are you gonna say about that? You think I'm not his friend?" — Punz —
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Thought it was only fair that I do c!Punz after doing c!Dream, so here he is, ready to fight anyone who messes with his friend. And yes, just like with c!Dream all of his Minecraft skin elements and colors are apart of the design in one way or another.
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wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt · 1 year ago
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"Deep inside, Wilson believes that if he cares enough, he'll never have to die."
What the fuck were the House writers on
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sundry-whovengerslocked · 5 months ago
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Doctor Who "Rogue" memes
I've made memes. enjoy.
(contains slight spoilers)
firstly, ones that are more encompassing:
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regarding the episode itself:
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and finally, Captain Jack Harkness stages of grief:
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mouldycakes · 2 months ago
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TRANSLATION
Steve: Hi! Danny: Wow! Hey, how- how- how handsome, he, in his suit. Steve: It's for you. I wore it for you. Danny: Thank you. Steve: You're welcome.
Steve: Hey, what are you doing?
Danny: Is that a clip-on?
Steve: It's not a clip-on. What did I say?!
Danny: Your tie is crooked. Can I fix it, love?
Danny: Darling, come here.
Steve: Thank you.
Danny: I thought they didn't wear ties in Hawaii.
Steve: They don't, but it's a special day. So I wore it.
LatAm dub once again killing me here, with cuteness.
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grandtreeangel · 27 days ago
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"I thought I was young and then all of a sudden I wasn't" 😭😭😭😭
(wwwyf 10.19.24)
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