#translated code

[artwithkai69]

I DECIPHERD THE CONTRACT PAGE..

You are now twenty one grams lighter

This contract is legal and binding.

We reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice and small town place in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary.

Sans soul, your soul mate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing you have eyes at all. no amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember. In feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. You were birds, you were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. "Wherever we go next, whatever you choose, I will always be there with you." That's done, buddy. Congratulations! You have chosen Bill instead.

McDonald's reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you running through a crowded times square while you scream "The fries! The fries! They don't degrade in nature!!! It's an immortal food!!! They will be in the landfills long past our deaths!"

Good God, the things I've seen, me? Who I am? Oh I'm Bill's previous lawyer, he put my soul in a quill pen so I can write him legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. I used to be so hot, I was so fine, now I'm fine print. Speaking of which!

Bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object, a strange creature, a concept, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers in it. If at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied, unless you have a cool day planned for the both of you, then Bill might want to come along!

By signing this document you forfeit any rights to eat soul food, it will turn to ash in your mouth, a fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you.

Bill reserved the rights to dress your soul however deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition, Soulmakeoverrr! Your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects, this has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die.

Signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including but not limited to: Heaven, hell, purgatory, big corner, flow state, the dream house, the reincarnation processing center, axolotls tank and consequences hole.

Signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bell bottoms. signee can no longer have a puppy as best friend, they can sense what is gone. Cats are indifferent.

Signee may experience occasional demon possesion from Horcukus the Red, Plabos the Merciless, Morbus son of Mortem, Plagga the Oozing and other such common demons roaming earth searching for weakend, empty vessels.

Tips for ripping your soul out at home: Watching youtube commentary channels, attending on extended family with an open bar, using generative AI and asserting that you are creative, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed purchasing a blue checkmark.

this took me like 6 hours in total my brain is fried

[s0up1ta]

i hate them so much

[plasmapop]

28/04/24 • catullus 51 translated via the international code of signals

BC 1 Can you communicate with the aircraft? NE 5 You should proceed with great caution; hostile vessel sighted NH 1 Are you clear of all danger? EA Have you sighted or heard of a vessel in distress?  ZL Your signal has been received but not understood. QF I cannot go ahead MBP Onset was sudden.  PG 2 I am dazzled by your searchlight. Extinguish it or lift it. [IB 4 The extent of the damage is still unknown.]  MHB Tongue is dry. YS I am unable to communicate… DV 1 I am adrift. MBE The whole body is affected. IX Fire is gaining.  FD 1 My position is indicated by rockets or flares. PG I do not see any light. EP I have lost sight of you. MY 2 It is dangerous to proceed on present course. AE 1 I wish to abandon my vessel, but have not the means. GC 2 I have searched area of accident but have found no trace of derelict or survivors

[morningsaidthemoon]

Excerpt from The Song of Roland, translated by Norma Lorre Goodrich (Medieval Myths)

[ventique18]

The spotlights suddenly shine upon the residents of twisted wonderland after Jack announces to everyone that they have special guests from another world.

Halloween Town Resident: "Are these the creatures from Twisted Wonderland?"

Skully: "It's a pleasure to meet all of you for the first time. My name is Skully J. Graves..."

Sebek: "SKELETON! AND YOU OTHER MONSTERS!"

Sebek: "As you can see, we have come from Twisted Wonderland. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Sebek: "Now... For those who are further away, listen closely. For those nearby, look intently."

"FOR THE ONE AND ONLY, THE VERY MALLEUS DRACONIA-SAMA!"

Sebek: "He is an important figure who you could not lay your eyes upon so easily."

Sebek: "SO WEEP! PROSTRATE YOURSELVES! PRAISE YOUR GOOD FORTUNE THAT YOU'VE BEEN GRANTED AN AUDIENCE WITH HIS GRACE!!"

THAT'S RIGHT SEBEK, PREACH THE WORD OF THE LORD

Skully: "Sebek must be a very passionate person. I can't help but feel a special sort of kinship with him."

[rakiah]

[breath in, breath out] …… Can we talk about those lines?

[codgod]

noth1ng crazy has happ3ned

[alt version under the cut]

ended up liking the blank background more buuut this is also cool

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[thissying]

10 Years of Max Verstappen, part 1/5

F1 debut and the promotion to Red Bull Racing

[divorcedwife]

putting them in the 18th century

[hinamie]

I dive into the water and struggle on the surface where I can't stand

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[ohgreat-moretapes]

Marble what now? Who? I-It sounds vaguely familiar.. I guess...

And uhhhh... Let's just say I've been busy...

[ahalliance]

interesting lore moment with the francophone yesterday (as in, it personally gave me brainworms) ft. qétoiles’ horrible, no good, stupid (lack of) self-preservation . subs in English, transcript below the cut

All spoken in French — translated into English subtitles

[Video transcript:

Etoiles: And, actually, I have a theory. Basically what happened is that I’ve just returned from a mission from Cucurucho.

Antoine: And what was the mission?

Etoiles: To do a dungeon, and to recover something from the dungeon.

Antoine: And what was this “something”?

Etoiles: And the “something” was a book that sorta says that I’m a test subject.

Antoine: A test subject?!

Baghera: What’s up with your arm? You’ve got a coded arm.

Etoiles: Uh, it’s from holding the shield, basically.

Baghera: Ahhh

(Pause)

Antoine: Watch out that it doesn’t contaminate you, or else you’ll turn into a code, man.

Etoiles: That’s impossible, man, I can’t be a code.

Antoine: That’s what the old codes said before becoming codes, you know.

Etoiles: No— well, we’ve never spoken.

Baghera: Maybe you shouldn’t be using the shield as much then, no?

Etoiles: Well, as it stands, I’ve been using it for a really long time, and my mind is still healthy, honestly. And the proof is—

Baghera: Well, half of his face took the brunt of it instead.

Etoiles: Yeah, but it’s not all there is, you know.

(Pause)

Baghera: Let me worry, Etoiles, right now.

Etoiles: You’re right. You’re right! But everything’s going well, I’m doing very, very well—

Antoine: It’s true that you look a bit sick.

Etoiles: Uh, yeah, for the past seven years, it’s a chronic illness, it happened—

Antoine: No, but not this one, the other— you seem even sicker, still.

Etoiles: Yeah, okay. Yeah but no, I’m fine. No, no, it’s fine, honestly.

End Video Transcript.]

[2isted-chocol8-art]

hii!! Would you be cool with drawing maybe Hatch with Hal teasing eachother? (Hatch teasing about height, half teasing about the nickname?) Or whatever you want really,

Love your art!!!

I like to think about hatchy's childhood and how they probably spent most of their time with Hal- They'd be a double pack! Reminder that my requests are open ::) -> More Outer Wilds Art!

[kristiliqua]

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[lostl1sbons1ster]

me core