#Language barrier

[dcxdpdabbles]

all of your au's are so delicious how does your brain come up with so many good ideas???

if possible, would you be able to continue Demon Summoning? demon Danny with a language barrier tickles my brain

Danny's eyes snap open. He springs upwards, shouting, "I'm alive! I live, and I shall conquer," throwing his arms into a double fist bump. A distant glow accompanies his cry, but he ignores it.

It must be his powers. They are always a bit hard to control first thing in the morning.

Usually, if he can wake before his alarm clock, he does this little ritual because when he was seven, Jazz read in a Kamra of the mental power." how being able to pump himself up without someone or something needing to wake him would control his day.

He rarely wakes before the alarm clock, but when he does, he tries to shout his self-affirmation.

He waits for the accompanying "My boy lives! Fear him!" that his dad will usually shout from down the hall. When all he hears is silence, Danny realizes something is horribly wrong.

The darkness around him, for example, didn't come from his closed blinds. He seemed to be in a naturally dark place, sitting on a bed that was only visible because of the burning candles nearby.

The most obvious thing was the stone walls covered in random symbols that looked like a cult had been told to vandalize them.

Danny slowly lowered his arms, feeling less like he was the man who could conquer his day with fortune cookie advice and more like a character who got sacrificed in horror movies.

He glances around, but a soul doesn't seem to be near him. Just four walls made of stone covered in black ink and various colored candles.

"Hello?" He calls out cautiously. "Is.....is this a prank? Jazz?"

A low glow of purple springs to life around his bed, spreading through the symbols. The light spreads across the floor in four different directions, and the moment it reaches the stone wall, it slowly goes upwards.

It's brighter the higher it goes until even the ceiling Danny had been unaware of shines brightly. It gives him a better view of the room when he realizes that one of the walls is made of bars.

He's in a prison cell.

Ancients, Danny is in a prison cell!

How did he get here? Where was here!?

The lights go out in seconds, plugging the room into the darkness, which is only affected by the very dim lighting of his candles. Danny grabs the blankets, pulling them up to his chin with a tremble, shifting his eyes back and forth.

He prays his sister will jump out with her usual cackle, claiming this entire creepy set-up was one rather time-consuming prank. It would be far better than the idea that he was kidnapped in his sleep.

"Jazz, this isn't funny. I'm not laughing. Also, Mom and Dad are going to kill you for getting me arrested, just so you know." He shutters, pulling his protective barrier (the blanket) closer to his chin.

The purple returned and vanished just as fast. Danny blinks, lowering the soft material slightly as he says, "Hello?"

Once again, the light returns.

"Is this voice-activated?" He asks the air, watching more purple. He pauses briefly before blurting out the chorus to one of his Humpty Dumpty songs. The symbols go in and out like a rave light as Danny starts to get into it. He drops his covers to pool around his waist, shaking his shoulders up and down and shimming in place.

Eventually, he switches to beatboxing, one hand covering his mouth and the other pumping a fist up and down as the symbols suddenly become cool and switch between various colors in the color circle.

Danny springs up from his bed, boxing and dancing in place as if no one can see him. An idea forms after he nearly chokes on his spit- he's never been the best beatboxer. He fished his phone out of his pocket, clicking through his downloaded ringtones to find the one EMD song he had.

He turned his music as loud as possible and watched the pretty colors flash around him to the beat. He laughed manically and danced around the room to his own personal rave.

He is about to start attempting to break dance when the cell door suddenly groans. Freezing in place, with one foot in the air mid-boggie, Danny can only stare wide-eyed at the thing swinging open to a man in a bat costume who watches him disapprovingly.

"Oh, I forgot about the prison cell." Danny hisses under his breath.

The man opens his mouth, and the sounds that fall out are sounds that might have been a language. He just doesn't know what any of it means but-

Wait. He recognizes those sounds. It was what the cult people were speaking in

Danny gasps, "I forgot about the cult!"

The man narrows his eyes behind the strange mask before stepping back and slamming the door shut. Danny watches him walk backward into the darkness until the man vanishes.

Slowly, Danny lowers his foot to the ground. "I don't feel safe."

Not even the company light show can make him feel better.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Well?" Bruce asks once he's back in the central part of the cave. His family, Raven, and John Constantine surround the Batcomputer, which displays the cameras set up in the demons' containment unit.

He would have preferred more secure holding, but the magic users assured him that natural stone walls with protective wards would be far better for a demon than any man-made prison.

"I'm not sure what he's saying." John fiddles with his pocket lighter, but his eyes never leave the screen. "But that is definitely a high demon."

"He's more powerful than my father," Raven confirms with a grim frown. The curve of her jaw is tense, which only appears when speaking of her parentage. Damian places an arm around her shoulder, offering his girlfriend some support. "It only took him a few seconds to push the wards to their limits after waking up. Then he went around doing a ceremonial dance that was about to shatter the wards, all of them, had Batman not intervene."

"I thought those were your strongest wards?" Dicks asks

"They are," John answers gravely, and the room falls into a troubled silence.

"What's he doing now?" Bruce asks, walking up behind the group but still feeling unsettled. When that- thing- turned to him, the bright glowing green of its eyes felt like the Lazurus Pit waters trying to drown him. He had to retreat quickly, or the screaming voices that appeared when he locked eyes with the demon would have driven him mad.

"He's rattling the bars of the cell," Tim reports, the only one sitting at the controls. "It looks like he is attempting to summon some of his powers as if those twin rings were meant to do anything besides go over his body. Now he's falling to the ground. He's taking the fetal position....he's crying."

They all watched as the demon rocked himself in fetal position with tears streaming down his face. He had a very human face, were it not for the flowing green eyes.

"Well, now I just feel bad," Jason grunts.

"Mate, demons pull this trick all the time. The moment you feel bad for them is the moment they know they won." John sighs. "It's an act. Higher demons are known for doing that. Look. He already broke through the first three levels."

The bottom and wall symbols on the screen shattered in a lovely shimmering boom. The demon screamed, rolling on the ground before it leaped up and broke through the bars in a mad dash.

Everyone gasps as the demon twists around to look right at the cameras. He points towards it while saying something in his strange, chilling language, and the image is lost as the camera fails.

They all twist on their heels, rushing to the containment room only to find that the demon is long gone. On the ground is a disregarded old phone that none of them has seen in years.

It looked like one of the earliest cell phones, with a buttoned keyboard and a tiny screen. Bruce lets his team search for clues as he turns the phone over and feels his heart fall to his knees.

On the screen is an image of Jack Roux.

The boy that they had rescued from being sacrificed only a few days ago. Was the demon not willing to let him go? Was it hunting him down!?

"We have to move." He says, feeling more than seeing his children fall behind him as he runs to the batmobile. "A young life is in horrible danger!"

[aventurineswife]

Reader speaks sometimes in their native language when they are frustrated/excited/in the middle of a rant switch languages. And it intrigues Aventurine, who secretly starts to learn the language too, just to listen in secret.

One day, maybe during a light argument between them, reader drops a cuss word that does translate to "f*** you" and aventurine takes this moment to reply, while grinning from ear to ear "oh? Youre offering for once?"

Stunned silence.

Reader starts freaking out in their native language while aven just stands there with that shit eating grin.

Established relationship. No, they never done the deed, but he wanted to catch reader by surprise, and he did. He so proud of himself.

“You think you’re clever, but just remember: I’m one step ahead”

Summary: You and Aventurine are sharing a relaxed afternoon, and a playful argument about his so-called "inspirational mess" turns into teasing banter. When your frustration leads you to mutter in your native language, Aventurine—who’s secretly been learning it—seizes the chance to tease you in return. Caught between embarrassment and laughter, you realize he’s been one step ahead, and Aventurine is all too proud of himself for the surprise.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Playful Banter, Lighthearted Argument, Language Barrier, Teasing, Humor.

Waring: Slight Swearing.

A/N: THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY REQ!! I LOVE IT HONESTLY!! 🤭 (As someone's who's native language is not English, this is very funny and cute at the same time🥹🤧like imagine your s/o learning your language just so you can communicate freely or learn what you have been saying 🤭🫶💖🥹)

You’re both lounging around his suite on a lazy afternoon, a stack of paperwork untouched as the conversation somehow spirals into an easy back-and-forth about each other’s quirks. It’s all lighthearted and playful, but it doesn’t take long before you’re teasing him for his incredibly deliberate way of never quite cleaning up his cards and dice, always keeping them just a bit scattered, “for inspiration,” he claims.

“Inspiration, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Well, maybe my inspiration would be higher if I didn’t trip over your cards every time I’m here.”

Aventurine raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m telling you, darling, you can’t rush art! It’s all about atmosphere.”

“Atmosphere?” you scoff, switching to your native tongue as you get more animated. “More like a mess that you just want me to overlook!”

He smirks, feigning offense. “My ‘mess’ is a masterpiece—unlike someone’s habit of muttering incomprehensibly every time they don’t get their way.” he teases, with that knowing look in his eyes. He’s clearly waiting for you to switch languages again.

You roll your eyes, slipping into your native tongue almost instinctively. “Maybe if you weren’t so infuriatingly full of yourself, I wouldn’t have to mutter at all.”

Aventurine chuckles, his grin only widening. “Full of myself?” he repeats, pushing back just enough to keep the mood light. “Look who’s talking—every time you walk into this room, you practically take over.”

“Take over? Oh, please,” you huff, slipping deeper into your language as you mutter, “if anything, I’m saving this place from turning into a pigsty.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the right moment, and finally, you let slip a particularly choice phrase—a cuss word that, in your language, translates a little too directly to “fuck you.”

He seizes the opportunity, his face lighting up with a triumphant grin. “Oh? You’re offering for once?”

The world goes still. You blink at him in shock, the realization dawning as your mind scrambles. He understood you—completely. Your cheeks flush, and before you can help it, you’re sputtering in your native language, tripping over words and trying to make sense of how he even learned it.

Aventurine just stands there, that infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his face, arms crossed in satisfaction. “Surprised?” he drawls, clearly reveling in your stunned reaction. “Turns out you’re not the only one with hidden talents.”

You start freaking out, half-laughing, half-ranting in your language, swearing at him all over again. He just chuckles, standing back and drinking it all in, proud as ever for catching you off guard.

“Oh, please,” he says with a chuckle, “keep going—I’m starting to enjoy these rants.”

You cover your face, torn between embarrassment and laughter, and finally shake your head. “One day, I’m going to get you back for this.”

He leans closer, his voice low and challenging. “I’ll be waiting, darling.”

[lizardboiii]

Tongue Tied┃One Piece

[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]

│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark an empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

・❥・

│cw: 18+, SFW, violent undertones, f!reader, mihawk's eyes, terrible nicknames

│wc: 1.8k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: poneglyph writing/speaking in different font. normal font is any other language as written. enjoy <3

・❥・

│Chapter I: Bird of Prey

Squawking.

Soft and high pitch, the incessant cries of seagulls flooded your ears like a symphony. You groaned audibly at the noise. An action you almost instantly regretted as a sudden rush of frigid sea water seeped into your cracked mouth. 

Hacking up a storm, you were quick to come to your, mostly delirious, senses. You laid sprawled out on a strange gloomy shore. The water, almost too calm for your liking, combined with an eerie fog rolling in from the seemingly endless coastline, felt as if you entered purgatory. 

Stumbling to your soaked feet, you tested your balance. Though your legs wavered slightly, you managed to pull yourself from the water’s surprisingly strong tide. You felt like you might be sucked back out to sea. 

Swallowing nervously, you grimaced at the bitter taste of salt still lathered on your tongue. It was a sickly reminder of your current predicament. You were completely stranded, alone. Clenching your eyes shut, you replayed the moments before the disaster. 

Your rickety fishing boat swayed innocently on the open water, unaware of the massive storm brewing overhead. You had no time to prepare, no time to act, no time to ensure any self-preservation. In the blink of an eye, the sky blackened.

The small white capping waves surrounding you abruptly grew in size and violence. Your small boat stood no chance. The futile struggle to stay right side up only lasted moments. With one final wave, your boat capsized from the continuous abuse.  

Shrieking, your body was thrown into the raging sea like a rag doll. You struggled hard against the current, only managing to break the water’s surface every couple of seconds. 

Eventually, your arms grew too tired, too weak, too heavy. It became more of a struggle to convince yourself to stay afloat than to fight the waves dragging you beneath their depths. Then, the world went dark.

Taking a deep breath, you willed away any more dreadful thoughts. The sooner you could find another spare ship the quicker you could go back home.

Scanning your surroundings, you searched for any ships, abandoned or not. Immediately your eyes caught a shocking scene. Nestled far beyond the shore, a massive crumbling castle towered over the island. You couldn't help but remark how fitting it was.

The discovery did little to encourage you. An abandoned castle meant no life, and no life meant no ships. You threaded your fingers through your hair. How could this get any worse?

The sound of thunder mocked your internal monologue. Groaning loudly, you began your venture towards the lonesome castle in an attempt to escape the rapidly forming storm. 

You managed to reach the half point mark before your skin began to crawl. You couldn't help but feel like something, or someone, was watching you through the underbrush. Though you tried to chalk it up to paranoia, you swore you saw something red glowing within the trees. It was just your luck to be marooned on a haunted island.

Whether it was divine intervention or simply uninterest, you managed to reach the chipped steps of the castle unscathed. Although that didn't stop you from hightailing it inside. 

A closer look inside the fortress told you just how regal it once appeared to be: large stained glass windows, tall decorative pillars, and corridors that seemed to stretch for miles. You were in awe from the moment you entered.

In due time, you found your way to an equally extravagant dining room. The wood of the table was scratched and weathered, but ultimately well taken care of. However, the real centerpiece of the room was a massive chair befitting the end.

The plush seat was adorned with gold trim and a deep red leather. You wondered if someone had lugged it in there from the throne room. Swiping a finger across the armrest, you rubbed your fingers together. A thick layer of dust slowly floated to the ground.

You hummed more so to yourself, “𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍.”

Spinning on your heel, you shamelessly plopped yourself down on the gaudy throne. It wouldn't hurt to live in a palace. For a short while at least. You could stay there until you were able to either build another boat or be lucky enough to be rescued.

You smiled, “𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗.”

・❥・

After a month of trial and error, it seemed like you greatly overestimated your raft crafting capabilities. The trees on the island were far too thick for you to cut down with no ax, and any driftwood washed up on the beach seemed to crumble from even the gentlest touch.

You were starting to wonder if you’d be trapped there forever. 

That was until you ventured out on your daily search for partly salvageable driftwood. Aloft the gentle waves was an all too strange… ship? Raft? Casket? To be honest, you weren’t exactly sure what it was.

There was only thing you knew for sure, the small vessel was currently barreling towards your remote island. You could barely contain your excitement. 

You were going home.

Dropping the withered planks in your hands, you allowed them to shatter against the plush sand before bolting to get closer with the ship. Your eyes remained locked in on the crossed shaped mast that grew ever closer. Its black sails signaling “Freedom”.

Your tunnel vision made you stumble and trip over your own feet as you ran. And when you weren't running - you were crawling. Your hands desperately clawed at the damp sand in order to lift yourself back to your feet. You could not bear to lose your fleeting chance of leaving your island prison.

Eventually, the gothic ship docked. Its black sails were slowly being pulled into bundles when you finally managed to reach it. And reach it you did. 

You met the ship with little discretion. Squabbling and frantic, you made no effort to contain your emotions in front of the ship’s presumed Captain. Manners could wait until your safety was secured.

Thrusting your hands in the air, you made your presence widely known, “𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎!”

The man before you hesitated slightly before releasing his hold on the black stained linen. Turning his obscured face, you noted the lackluster expression he wore. He seemed neither surprised nor unsurprised, merely…inconvenienced.  

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞,” you laughed awkwardly, “𝙸 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗, 𝙼𝚢 𝙶𝚘𝚍, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚎�� 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝙰 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠!”

The man greeted your pitiful tangent with a stagnant silence. If you hadn't noticed his previous disinterest, you definitely noticed it now. Taking a deep breath, you internally assessed your newly appointed “savior”.

He stood tall, extremely so. He was taller than any man you knew on your home island. You assumed you'd only reach his chest if you stood side by side. However, he certainly did not lack in the muscle department either. He was broad, thick even. You wondered if his shoulders were as firm as they looked.

Gradually, your eyes wandered to an elegantly crafted coat. The dark red of his sleeves were a stark contrast against his unnaturally pale skin which, unsurprisingly, he left on full display. Not that you minded of course.

However, the most striking attribute he bore was his eyes. They shone brighter than any golden jewel found on the Grand Line, rivaling the sun itself. You certain even Helios swooned over his canary colored irises.

Entranced, you allowed yourself to be captivated. The thick black rims surrounding his pupils produced an almost stained glass appearance. All you wanted to do was consume more, read into them like a devout worshiper. It was as if they bore scripture.

You unconsciously shifted forward, trying to get a closer look. That was your first mistake. Abruptly, those very eyes sharpened with hostility, sizing you up like a hawk. It seemed your sudden movement labeled you a threat.

“Who are…”

The temperature felt as if it plummeted. Icy and thick, you didn't need hands around your neck to feel like you were being strangled. You couldn't understand why this was happening, mainly because…

“You?”

You had no idea what he was saying. 

Hands trembling, you stared at the man above you in confusion. You were sure if you did not respond he could, and would, take action. Maybe if you weren't quick enough in answering he’d kidnap you and sell you off for some pocket change. Or worse, he would kill you for just causing him trouble.

You racked your brain for any semblance of a response. What could you have even done to warrant such an intense reaction?

“…𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝,” You swallowed hard, “𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍?”

The tense atmosphere gave way slightly, releasing its invisible hold on your throat. 

Sighing quietly, the ravenette grumbled to himself, “It seems we don’t speak the same language. How inconvenient.”

Annoyed, the taller man searched your person with his honey laced eyes. Satisfied with his findings, he returned his attention back to his vessel. You pondered if your lack of weapons made you into a problem that could be “dealt with later”.

However, you didn't want to be tossed aside until later. You wanted to return home. And if that meant attempting communication with a hostile vampiric asshole, you'd have to try!

“𝚄𝚖,” You scrambled to the other side of the man's ship in an attempt to regain his attention.

“𝚂𝚒𝚛, 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝!”

Goldy, newly nicknamed, paid you no mind, favoring to strap down his ship without haste. You chewed on the inside of your cheek in frustration.

Shuffling beside him, you implemented drastic measures. However, your hand only managed to move a centimeter towards Goldy’s arm before your wrist was swiftly snatched in a painful grip.

Not wasting a moment of Goldy’s notice, you began frantically pointing at yourself with your free hand, “𝙸!”

You motioned at the ship, “𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

Goldy released his iron grip and stood to his full height, “Stop being troublesome.”

“𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎!”

The ravenette merely continued to stare at you disinterested. Perhaps he was debating if cutting you down now would be easier than listening to nonsensical ramblings.

Nevertheless, you waved your hands down your body, “𝙼𝚎!” 

You gestured at his ship, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

You clasped your hands together, “𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎!”

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

Goldy easily ignored your pestering and walked around you, “I don’t have time for this.”

“𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝!” You ran after his form, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝! 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝! 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

You followed Goldy with continued pleas. Yet, his long legs persisted across the desolate beach to the hidden pathway located in the tree line.

Your brows furrowed at the observation. It took you a week to find the secret trail that led from the beach straight to the castle. How could he have found it so easily?

You finally fell silent as Goldy traversed the path like the back of his hand. He walked confidently. It was as if he had been on the island before.

A sudden thought crossed your mind. 

Goldy lived here.

・❥・

[dontforgetukraine]

Kharkiv's Faktor-Druk printing house has resumed operation after being severely damaged by a Russian missile strike on May 23. The facility is only partially restored, and they have shifted focus to printing essential educational materials such as textbooks for the new school year.

According to Tatiana Hryniuk, the general director, damages from the Russian missile strike exceed €10 million, with losses still being calculated. The attack claimed seven lives and destroyed almost 100,000 books.

Source: Kharkiv’s Faktor-Druk printing house resumes operations after Russian missile strike

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

we need more language barriers in whump because it's so fucking good no matter if you use it for whumper and whumpee or whumpee and caretaker or especially carewhumper and whumpee or any combination!!!!

Whumpee not being able to know what the fuck is going on no matter how many times they ask, only being manhandled into various situations because they don't understand how to comply with whatever is being told to them (gently or not is up to you >:3c)

Having to rely on tones and facial expressions to get a vague sense of what the other person is trying to get across, despite all the repetition of sounds and slow pronunciations and childish gesturing

Those little moments where a word just finally clicks for someone, the one piece of common ground, even if they can't fully repeat it back due to an accent that maybe earns them an amused chuckle or a scowl

Endless frustration and exploding so many pent up feelings for a rant that falls on deaf ears, because why is this so hard to comprehend, why can't you just understand my words, why do I feel like such a fucking idiot??? And what do they get in return? Silence...or more foreign gibberish.

Not bothering to keep quiet about their thoughts, agreeable or otherwise, vulgar or polite -- what does it matter? No one is going to understand a lick of it, they can say whatever the hell they want (unless maybe someone does catch a couple words or phrases hmmm)

Whumpers using sweet coos and nice smiles while saying the most awful shit. Caretakers being endlessly patient in trying to foster some kind of trust and feasible communication. Carewhumpers being stern and hands on because there's no time to waste in getting Whumpee to grasp what they need from them.

The longer they're in each others company, the more quirks and micro expressions they start to pick up, long before they ever fully understand a word of what's being said, including when someone is lying or when a nerve has been struck

Realizing which words mean "bad thing" and which words mean "good thing"

[bloggingboutburgers]

Conversation with a coworker from a bit ago that won't leave my head

…And yeah I do get the irony of translating this conversation into English so y'all will understand, it's part of the joke I guess

[pupuzo]

Please don't just use Google translator to write something on Russian.

And if you do! Make sure to point out the gender!

If your character says "Will you be mine?" To another character<3 It can be translated to "Ты будешь моим?" (FOR MALE) AND "Ты будешь моей?" (FOR FEMALE) AND ALSO "Вы будете моими?" (FOR SEVERAL PEOPLE/NON BINARY)

"Вы" can be used for female and male instead of "Ты", it's politer!

More realistic version of this phrase is (for female) "Будешь ли ты моей?"

Also don't be afraid to ask people who learn Russian or native speakers <3

The same applies to others languages you don't speak!

[whumpcreations]

Just thinking about a mute Caretaker trying to communicate through sign language.

And a Whumpee who's so much more scared because they have no way of understanding what Caretaker wants to tell them. How can they be good, when they just don't understand?

Plus they can't suppress their flinch every time Caretaker raises their hands.

[all-eyes-no-dragon]

I wanted to rec this for a while. This is the most amazing humans are space orcs story I've ever read. It's called, "In Search of Home".

It's an original work so there's no fandom you need to know to read it, it's over 362,000 words, which is more than decently long, and has an ongoing sequel that's surpassed the word count of the first story (we love getting closure 💞). It has a happy ending (not a spoiler, it says in the tags) so don't worry about your heart breaking too much.

I'm rereading the first story and I feel kind of cool knowing the alien words.

I cried reading it, I laughed, I felt victorious. I love it so much and want more people to know it exists because original works aren't as popular on ao3.

Mind the tags!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43547319

Summary:

[yours-trudy]

sure... anime...

[artxssa]

SING IT KING✨✨✨

Soap will never recover from this

[ultra-phthalo]

Enclosure Encounter

[Transformers Reversed First Contact AU. Your encounter with an unspecified bot held in an enclosure] Word count: 725 ------------------------------------------------------------- To not be heard. Imagine talking to someone and they don’t know that you were talking to them. Do you ever remember being distressed? Something had happened, your stress evident in the most readable wide eyes you have ever seen. Your movement hasty and you raise your voice to beg the person in front of you to do something. But the release of acknowledgement never came. Devoid of any reaction to your voice. Your distress was invisible to the person next to you. You were the unreadable one…

Looking at the light of the enclosure reflecting off the red railing in front of you. You watch your fist’s grip tighten around the railing from the memory. The metal to skin contact made an odd creaking noise that peaked above the catting crowd. The hums of accidental bumps and kids impatiently slapping the railing buzzing through your hands. The sight of the bot’s far off gaze and spent form returned that unpleasant memory. Clearly your mind is still hung up on something.

The early morning visit to this natural history museum exhibit was meant to be a last minute decision. But you had no clue that you'd got the luck of turning up here during feeding time.

A grinding noise was heard as the bot finally noticed its tray of mini pink energon cubes. It sat beside the tray. The whole set up having the energy of a regular person sitting at a cafe. Eating from a raised blocky table and sat on a cube for chair. The bot avoiding eye contact from all angles.

The bot began to slow its chewing. And looked in your general direction. “It’s going to freak out.” Murmured one voice. “Do you think it’s going to snap at us?” Another. There was excitement when the chewing stopped entirely. Energon crumbs on its face. The sight causing you to reach for your phone. *Click*

You glance at your phone screen before returning it to your bag. The bot’s optics dead centre with the lens of your camera. You felt the buzz of the crowd skip.

The lone bot that had its back against the corner of the enclosure got up and was walking towards your direction. “Is the glass capable to hold a bot like that back?” The thought whipped by. “There must be something more interesting to it behind me. It couldn’t have been because of me-.”

The bot sat down beside the glass. Closer than ever before. You stuck to your spot. As others stepped back. The bot had its tray of energon with it. And proceeded to break a pink chunk off and leave the share in front of you. “He’s sharing his food with me?”

Looking over the pink shimmer of the crumb of energon through the glass. And looking back up to the face of a bot taking their time calmly snacking next to you. You can’t help but let a smile slip. Before impulsively putting a hand over your mouth from the shock. Optics — giving you a wide eyed response. Puffing a sharp exhale. You grab something from your bag. Pulling out a chocolate bar, you break a row and place it on the small ledge outside of the enclosure glass. Then breaking a second row for yourself. The bot’s language as it leaned closer telling you it was intensely interested in what you were doing. With it flashing a smile back as it saw your acceptance of the gift and the gesture of giving something back in your own strange way.

They managed to find a way to socialise with one another. But with both sides finishing their last portions. You felt another tug as the bot relaxed leaning to the side you stood. With its regular glancing making sure you were still there next to him. You had to go now. Turning your back to the bot. The light of your familiarity guided his eyes through the crowd. And you left.

The two gifts, unable to be taken by either side of today’s wonderful exchange. Stayed together long after you and the bot lost sight of one another. As you gave that last, shy and real goodbye wave to the bot. Your hand seen above all else. Followed by a foolish sensation, causing you to dive into the hallway of the next room.

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick is shivering, Damian is crying piteously, they're surrounded by warriors that would give Dick a serious run for his money even if he wasn't months out of shape, and the only good thing is that they're out of Ra's' hands.

The one in charge, a man with silver hair and only one eye and a dangerous presence despite his apparent age, barks out something in a language Dick doesn't understand, and Dick's cloak is unceremoniously divested from him.

"Wait," Dick manages to say after a full two beats, they're ushering him deeper inside the long hall and he can't resist—the hall is warm and the cloak was wet and cold and heavy. He can't quite remember what he's complaining about.

He's stopped at a threshold and someone bends down to tug at the laces of his boots—which, now that he looks, no one else is wearing. He allows them to pull the sodden, muddy boots off with a muttered sorry, and hide the wince as they limp after the others, blisters painfully sore.

Damian hasn't stopped crying, and Dick shifts him in his arms, biting his lip at the tremble. He's—exhausted, hungry and weak and tired, and he wants so desperately for this to be a safe place.

It seems like one, warm and cozy, with the sounds of laughter echoing from deeper in. Dick is led to a side chamber lined with furs and has to bite back the moan at the softness on his aching soles. Most of his escort leaves, and Dick desperately wishes they'll let him stay.

He is in no shape to go back out, not in the snow, not in the storm. And especially not with Damian.

Damian is still crying, thin and weak, and Dick peeks at the two guards left with him before turning to give them his back. His shirt is a little more complicated to wrangle, but he manages to slip it off one arm to bare a breast. Damian latches on near instantly and Dick lets out a slow breath at the ache.

His baby isn't going to go hungry. Ra's' sneers still echo in his head, the patronizing way he pronounced Dick an unfit parent while Dick begged to see his child, please, just once, and figuring out motherhood with Damian on the run has been a trial of failures.

At least he's feeding now. Dick shifts on his feet, faintly dizzy, and hopes that they let him rest for the night. He'll have to pay for a stay here somehow, but he's exhausted and he just wants sleep.

Dick isn't expecting the others to return so suddenly.  He spins around, startled, at the sudden bang of the door, and everything inside of him goes cold at the narrow-eyed expression on the leader's face.

He snarls something, and his warriors head for Dick. Dick tries to back up a step but there's nowhere to go, he's surrounded with at least three people between him and the door.

"Wait," Dick says, high-pitched, "wait, please—"

Dick isn't expecting the hands tugging at his shirt. His mind goes blank for a yawning eternity and by the time he recovers, his pants are being pulled down.

"No," Dick croaks out, tears hot and prickling, "No."

It's not that it doesn't make sense. Ra's is not the only one who demands the privileges of power and Dick knows nothing about the people who let him stagger inside their home. He cannot afford to be kicked out, to fight back, to disagree, but he still says, "no," when they pull the rest of his clothes off.

At least they aren't taking Damian from him.

Dick is freezing, cold that's gone beyond pain and into numbness and the silver-haired leader meets his gaze with a forbidding expression. He says something harsh and guttural.

Heavy hands land on Dick's shoulders and push and Dick's legs give out as he's manhandled to his knees.

Damian is busy drinking, unknowing and uncaring of what's happening above him.

He keeps his gaze fixed down, on the soft fur, and not on the incomprehensible conversation above him. He—he needs to figure this out, he knows, he can't just keep holding Damian while—while they—but he's not willing to let his baby out of his sight—

Dick is startled again by the brush of something soft against his skin. It feels like a blanket, heavy and warm, and Dick looks up in confusion as someone kneels next to him, efficiently concealing his nakedness and chilled skin while not disturbing Damian.

They smile at Dick and say something. The words sound harsh but their tone is not, and Dick can't quite believe the softness of the blanket against his skin.

[dontforgetukraine]

TIFF: And so it continues...5 to ZFF

Aaand "Russians at War" is going to be at the Zurich Flim Festival. Because of course.

The Russian Canadian director Anastasia Trofimova met a soldier on home leave in Moscow's subway, accompanying him to the front lines, where she spent over a year filming unauthorized footage in a battalion near the Ukrainian border. In her film, she gives voice to soldiers who have no understanding of the war's causes and soon find themselves mourning comrades who have become Putin's cannon fodder. This harrowing and unique war documentary captures images you would never see in the news media. 'Who are the Russian soldiers who are fighting against Ukraine? What do they think of Putin? The documentary has them speak their minds. A film that revealed more to me about this conflict than 100 newspaper articles.' – Christian Jungen Anastasia Trofimova Anastasia Trofimova was born in Moscow and is a Russian-Canadian filmmaker. She first studied communications and political science and then international relations. Trofimova is a renowned filmmaker who has made a name for herself through her work in conflict zones such as Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Russia and the Democratic Republic of Congo. In her films, she addresses social inequality and injustice. She has been honoured with the Canada Screen Award and has participated as a jury member at the News and Documentary Emmy Awards five times. RUSSIANS AT WAR (2024) / CONGO, MY PRECIOUS (2017) / VICTIMS OF ISIS (2015) / HER WAR: WOMEN VS. ISIS (2015)

No mention of RT in the director's bio of course. Same shit, different film festival.

Also, if this propaganda film reveals more to you about the war than 100 news articles, that's not shining praise for the film, but rather an indictment of the sorry state of our collective media landscape in Ukraine and the West.

The West obviously has a problem of not reporting on Ukraine as often anymore. It's not "fashionable". A lot of the reporting I've come across is superficial and there is rarely a deep dive into the Ukrainian civilian aspect of the war. It seems there always has to be either a grotesque catastrophic event due to Russian aggression (like the Okhmatdyt children's cancer hospital), or an interesting enough topic in order for something to be considered (like the Mykola Hryshko national botanical garden being in danger of losing its tropical plants due to the war causing electricity cuts.) There is a dearth of human interest stories, which is the core of understanding this war and the effects it has on Ukrainians.

When there is such a story, it falls into the situation of the "box-ticking approach", as described by Dr. Olesya Khromeychuk:

It is not enough to simply ‘do Ukraine’ by reviewing one book on the war, especially if it’s by a Western journalist rather than a Ukraine-based author. It’s not enough to host one exhibition, particularly if it is by an artist or photographer who only spent a few weeks in the country. Quickly putting together a panel on Russia’s war in response to a major development at the front and adding a sole Ukrainian voice at the last minute doesn’t cut it either. This box-ticking approach is unhelpful and insulting.

Most if not all of the quotes I pull from human-interest stories are from Ukrainian journalism. If you've been following me for the short time I've had this blog up, you'll notice I read a lot. At this point I've given up on looking up Western based English media, because the core stories that define the war are just not there. If there is an interesting article from the West, I'll usually see it pop up on my Twitter feed (like the botanical garden story) and I'll take a look then because its been recommended and has what I'm looking for.

And finally, Western media can't let go of having some Russian expert talk about Ukraine, instead of actually talking to Ukrainians.

Kate from Kharkiv: Ukrainian media, both in Ukrainian and English, must improve their regional reporting. They are increasingly resembling local Kyiv media, which limits global awareness of events across Ukraine. Consequently, international media rarely cover these regions unless we die en mass. But not too often, because if often it is not news anymore.

Like Kate from Kharkiv points out, mass-casualty events are no longer "fashionable". She further indicates the lack of essential reporting in specific regions where conditions are different from Kyiv. One such example is the Russians turning Kherson into a "human safari". Initially, only Zarina Zabrisky was reporting on how Russian drones pilots were deliberately targeting civilians, and she shouldn't have to be the only one reporting on this. While there are some Western news outlets that have reported on this situation now, it's still not enough. Zarina Zabrisky is still diligently doing the bulk of the work in reporting on this. I can only imagine what other stories in other regions are going untold because there is little to no coverage.

The other obstacle I've noticed is accessibility to news in Ukraine from a language perspective. There isn't enough English language coverage from Ukrainian media outlets. While I would love to be able to read Ukrainian confidently, I'm nowhere near there yet, and the West is collectively even further away. Google translate isn't a great substitute either for obvious reasons. The number of times I wanted to read/watch a news report, and there was no English supplement is a lot. It happens frequently with the English language Ukrainian news accounts I follow. They'll post a clip from a news report with no translated subtitles and say, "look at this!", but I can't extract the information they want to show because of this problem.

This is why I hold volunteer translators as some of the most valuable contributors in the information space, and I will always credit them.

It's a vicious cycle. If a large proportion of Ukrainian news media is inaccessible to Western media due to the language barrier, information has even less of a chance of being noticed and spreading. This is, in my opinion, the other side of the coin on issues in the information war.

[eroslove88]

Okay now imagine this:

Xiao successfully breeds you and you're forced to mother his child(ren). The child(ren), surrounded by parents who speak two different languages, will undoubtedly learn both at the same time. Wouldn't that sort of break the language barrier?

Oh, absolutely not. Xiao already thought this through, what's worse than having a 'lover' you can't communicate with? Having a child that you can't talk to either. He'll make sure the child can't speak English. Besides you're only really there to feed them, bathe them and other motherly things. He doesn't see why you have to talk to them, besides he knows how crushed you must feel not being able to talk to them. Especially if you still haven't developed Stockholm syndrome. However if the child does learn some English he will not shy away from separating the two of you. Same thing goes for if you have more than just one. By separating I mean he'll lock you up in one room and the child can go to the others and if that still doesn't work, sending the child to a boarding school across Teyvat isn't that big of a deal. He'll just make you have another one. 😉!

[novlr]

How do you best depict a language barrier? I have a character who doesn't understand much English and speaks even less, but most of the others don't understand a word of Japanese, which is what she speaks.

Communication is a cornerstone of any good characterisation. But for some characters there may be elements that block traditionally clear communication, and language barriers are just one example of that. Every interaction is filled with potential misunderstandings or revelations of clarity. Let’s explore how to bring language barriers to life in your writing, showing the struggles and triumphs that come with characters trying to connect across language and culture.

Understand the role of language in your story

Consider the cultural and geographical context of your characters.

Explore the historical ties or conflicts that might have led to the language differences.

Determine the significance of the language barrier to the plot—is it an obstacle, a source of conflict, or a way to deepen character relationships?

How can you use language to illustrate the power dynamics between characters?

What is the emotional impact of miscommunication on all your characters?

Why do you want to write about language barriers? If it’s just for the sake of a miscommunication trope, consider if there’s perhaps a better way for you to achieve the same aim.

Have you taken the time to understand the culture whose language you are trying to represent?

Characterisation through language

Incorporate a mix of languages or dialects to enrich the authenticity of the setting and the characters’ experiences.

Pay attention to the non-verbal communication cues that can transcend language barriers, such as body language and facial expressions.

Respectfully create characters with varying degrees of proficiency in the language they’re learning or interacting with.

Use language as a way to show a character’s adaptability, intelligence, or stubbornness.

Let characters’ reactions to the language barrier drive their development throughout the story.

Consider how language barriers may influence a character’s inner thoughts and how they perceive the world around them.

The mechanics of writing dialogue

Don’t overuse accents or continually spell them out. Use description to signal a character’s struggle instead of phonetically writing it.

Suggest broken language skills by using simple words, or incorrect grammar, but don’t resort to stereotypes.

If you choose to write an accent phonetically, don’t repeat this for every line of dialogue. Use it once as an example, and then use description to give the sense of it moving forward.

Balance readability with authenticity—make sure the dialogue is understandable to your audience in a way that is still respectful to your character.

Foster immersion through context rather than a direct translation of foreign words which often don’t hold the same meaning. Using vocabulary that characters and readers can deduce from context strengthens the narrative and characterisation.

Present the characters’ linguistic progression realistically, showing their learning curve and how it affects their interactions.

Non-verbal communication

Emphasise body language, facial expressions, and gestures to show communication without spoken language.

Use context clues and the characters’ surroundings to help convey meaning.

Explore how misunderstandings can arise from non-verbal miscommunications, but also show when non-verbal communication helps clarify things that can’t be conveyed verbally.

Consider the situational context that might enhance or impede non-verbal understanding among characters. For example, in high-tension scenes, even subtle gestures can carry heavy meaning.

Acknowledge cultural variations in body language and educate readers subtly through the narrative.

Describe the physical environment as it can also influence the way characters use non-verbal communication—proximity, personal space, and even the weather can all play roles.

The emotional impact of language barriers

Show how characters find innovative ways to express themselves and connect with others.

Describe the frustration, isolation, or desperation that characters may feel when they can’t communicate.

Use the language barrier to create poignant moments of miscommunication and resolution.

Show how shared experiences can forge bonds that transcend words and even serve as a foundation for trust.

Explore the characters’ emotional journeys as they navigate through their inability to communicate. This can lead to a deeper understanding of each other over time, despite the initial hurdles.

Consider the long-term effects of language barriers on relationships and character psyche, both positive and negative.

Research and authenticity

Study the languages you are writing about, including their structure and common phrases. If you’re writing a fantasy language, then research common language structures on which to base your characters’ experiences.

Understand the culture tied to the language to avoid stereotyping and to provide richer detail. For real languages, do research, for fictional languages, work on some deep worldbuilding for authenticity.

If possible, talk to speakers of the language you’re writing about, or speak to folks who have experienced a similar language barrier more generally.

Seek feedback from native speakers or cultural experts to ensure accurate representation and to honour the community’s linguistic nuances.

Be mindful of the socio-political influences on language and communication, presenting these complexities through your characters’ interactions either through worldbuilding, or researching real-world etymology.