#conversational gestures

[ahb-writes]

Fantasy Worldbuilding Questions (Communication)

Communication Worldbuilding Questions:

What is the most widely spoken language in your world (and why)?

What are common reasons for miscommunication (e.g., faulty, decaying or glitchy communications infrastructure)?

Who has access to which forms of communication? Is everyone literate (and if not, why)?

Who controls communications, to what degree are they free, private versus surveilled?

Where did languages (or mysterious communication signals) originate? What is mysterious or surprising about language in this world?

Where is communication harder or riskier, and why?

When does each type of communication reach its addressee (does it take an instant or days, weeks, years)?

When people converse or meet, what are typical conversational gestures (such as shaking hands)?

Why is communication vital in this world?

Why have new words or terms entered this world’s lexicon (what economic, ecological, technological or other factors contributed)?

❯ ❯ ❯ Read other writing masterposts in this series: Worldbuilding Questions for Deeper Settings

[vaguely-concerned]

the barista lady in the treviso café fucking giggles every time you buy the fancy coffee lucanis likes from her btw. can't believe the game is calling out rook and me like this

[unloneliest]

in the lonely hearts club job leverage asks the question "does romantic love exist?" and answers it by having eliot buy parker a venus fly trap on hardison's behalf, expecting no recognition and revealing eliot remembers a throwaway comment parker made on their second job together.

we all know this.

but was anybody going to tell me hardison already had a browser window open looking for restaurants to buy eliot in portland in response at the start of the episode immediately after that? or was i supposed to figure it out on a rewatch all by myself?!

[raviola-triggers]

Please little Sunday and little Aventurine meeting..

lil beans

[veerbles]

I know it's certainly been said before, but I just know in my heart of hearts that ronan (impulsive, romantic, religious, all or nothing) woke up with a ring in his palms the morning after he and adam kissed for the first time. and then he probably didn't dream for a while, after his mom and gansey and cabeswater and noah - but once he started again and also started sharing a bed with adam I just know that he dreamt rings again, and I just know at some point adam caught onto it, and I just know adam (practical, logical, love-skeptic, took a year to consider his feelings before making a move) freaked the fuck out. and I think that's hilarious.

[casualavocados]

If anyone allows Zhang Teng to get in again, I'll kill them!

AI DI + talking about & attitude towards death KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[marlynnofmany]

Human A: "Holding the finger and thumb like this is the sign of a heart!"

Human B: "What are you talking about? That's the sign of money, like rubbing two coins together!"

Alien A: "Hahahaha, you two are both saying that you have small genitals, and are seeking another who is similarly poorly-endowed!"

Alien B, whispering: "You made that up."

Alien A: "Yes I did. Their argument was annoying. And everybody knows that's the sign for 'time to eat' anyway."

[recurring-polynya]

It has been 14 hours since I found out that, according to Kubo, Byakuya calls Renji by his given name "because Rukia does" and I am obsessed with this information.

This is both the best and worst possible answer to this question. I feel like if you asked Byakuya, this is exactly the reason he would give. However, if Rukia were present, she would lose her damn mind. While I do think Rukia's assertion that Byakuya didn't look at her even once in 40 years is hyperbole, over that time I can imagine Renji's name coming up in conversation once, maybe twice tops.

Like, two weeks before she goes on her fateful mission to the Living World, B's been shortlisting Vice-Captain candidates, and over dinner, real casual:

B: Rukia. You know your friend?

Rukia: My who now?

B: That friend of yours who shouts too much. The boorishly tall one. With the red hair. Is he in Squad Eleven now?

Rukia (wracking her brain frantically for people Byakuya would consider 'her friend'): You mean Renji?

B: Yes, him.

Rukia: What about him?

B: Is he in Squad Eleven? The Sixth Seat?

Rukia: ...maybe? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The next day, Byakuya's office, Renji shows up for his job interview.

B: You must be Renji.

Renji: uhhhhhhhh sure why not?

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith walks into his room after a deliciously vigorous training season, wiping his sweaty face with a towel, and immediately notices something is off.

He freezes, towel clamped to the back of his neck, and carefully scans his room from corner to corner. His lock was still intact when he walked in, so unlikely break-in. His bed is still exactly as messy as it was when he left it. His dresser drawer is still left cracked slightly open, as he always leaves it, because it’s harder to put a drawer back to the same level of open it was before than to close it (he’s caught Hunk snooping through his shit many a time with this method. Thanks, Pa’s paranoia).

His gaze lands finally on a nondescript black book on his nightstand, and his eyebrows shoot up. He finished his book this morning and returned it to the library on his way to the training room.

He did not leave that black book there.

Wary, a thousand anxieties running through his brain, Keith approaches his nightstand bayard-first, sword extended and sharp. He pauses before he comes in contact, taking time to analyse it, attempt to puzzle out any kind of traps or discrepancies before they jump out at him. He can’t see any — the book is on the newer side, with a roughened black hardcover, gold detailing on the spine but no title or author. The paper looks thick and it’s strangely uncut, raggedy.

Hesitantly, Keith pokes it.

Nothing happens.

Less suspicious, now, he prods at it with his hands, and when that does nothing, he picks it up. It’s heavier than he expected. He cracks open the cover to reveal a red paper lining. Stuck to the inside of the cover is a baby blue post-it note, crookedly place, with only a neatly drawn heart in glitter gel pen. Keith can’t help the smile, even as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What even…”

Pinching the first page from the bottom corner so as to not accidentally rip any paper, he slowly turns it over.

He gasps, fumbling with the book as he nearly drops it.

“How did it…”

He recognises the first page — it’s his. Or he made it, anyway. Scrawled in every white space of the nearly parchment-esque alien paper is his own doodling, from a boring meeting several weeks back. He recognises the slightly mean drawing of the Capnir leader and his snooty expression in the left corner, and the ninety games of tic-tac-toe he played with Lance on the bottom half of the page (Lance insisted he won because he is a nasty cheater. Keith didn’t even know it was possible to cheat at tic-tac-toe, but it is. It’s crazy).

Gobsmacked, Keith begins to flip through the rest of the pages, eyes getting wider and nose getting closer to the book with every corner he turns. These are his doodles and drawings — hundreds of them, loose papers from meetings and scrawled diagrams from mission plans and notes to other paladins and dorky little drawings he made for his friends or because of his own boredom. There are grocery lists covered in drawings of engine parts and knives and strange alien vegetables, hand-to-hand manoeuvre diagrams, several drawings of Shiro as Captain America, of Pidge and Hunk covered in soot except for the line around their eyes from their goggles, of Allura with the mice in her hair, Coran in the wackiest outfit he’s ever seen, Shiro with his eye twitching from Slav, Matt making goo eyes at Allura. Some of Kolivan, even, with over-exaggerated eyebrows and a frown that touches his neck.

And dozens, maybe even hundreds, of drawings of Lance. Smirking at Keith from across the kitchen table before he instigates a Pidge-Hunk argument, crowing in victory after making a shot, serious and focused mid battle, face drooping and sad and fixed on a glowing blue Earth projection with his chin hooked over his knees. Drawings that itched at Keith’s fingers every hour of every day, that he barely tried to resist; snapshots of Lance that plagued his mind ‘til he finally found time to grab a pencil.

Drawings that he had, apparently, left scattered all over the castle without thinking.

He cradles his flaming face in his free hand, heart pounding in his ears. He’s sure — he knows he threw half of these out. Some of them he left lying around, sure, and others he left out deliberately for his friends to find, but — Keith knows he threw out the full-page and coloured portrait of Lance, bright and beautiful in a dozen shades of earth, smiling softly at Keith in the low-light of the common room well after midnight. He can see the creases and smudges from where he’d crumpled it, embarrassed, and where someone had fished it out of the trash and carefully straightened it back out, brushing dust out of the crevices.

“Oh my God.”

Hunk would never have been able to keep the secret with how long it would have taken to bind this book — by hand, by the looks of it. Allura couldn’t either. Both Pidge and Shiro would have been gleeful in mocking Keith about the clear affection in every pencil stroke. Coran would have probably stuck it proudly on the fridge — he did that, once, Keith remembers, with a sketch he’d done of the whole team during a movie night. It’s still there; it’s been so long that Keith doesn’t notice it anymore.

There’s only one person who would pick up the discarded slips of paper and slide them in his pocket — only one person who’s that kind of sentimental. One person who prints every photograph he takes of every planet they’ve ever been on, who pins up every drawing gifted to him by young children no matter how objectively horrible, who tears off notes written in the margins of battle plans and keeps them in a jar on his dresser. Only one person who has a scrapbook with a dried blade of grass from Arus and piece of sea glass from the mermaid planet and a napkin stained with food goo from their food fight all those years ago. Hell, there’s only one person on this castle with enough skill with a needle and thread to bind a whole ass book.

Keith drops his bayard to the floor with a clatter, book clenched in his fist, and sprints out of his room. He flies down the hallway, ignoring the startled shout from Pidge as she jumps out of his way and the wide-eyed stare from Allura. He almost runs straight into his brother, spinning to the right at the last minute and rushing past him without bothering to entertain his questions. He runs all the way to the MedBay, where he knows Lance is taking inventory for Coran, and nearly crashes right into the pods because he’s too pumped up to slow down properly.

“Whoa there, cowboy, cool it before you give yourself a concussion. Christ.”

Lance places a cool hand on his shoulder, concerned, bin of counted bandages left abandoned behind him. Almost immediately his face coils in disgust.

“Aw, gross, you’re sweaty.”

But he doesn’t move his hand.

Keith stares.

How did he — how did he miss it, before?

“Keith?” Lance asks again, alarm clouding his face. “You okay, buddy?”

His fingers curve absentmindedly along the junction of Keith’s neck, and he leans in closer, and he smells so fucking good and he always does and Keith is lightheaded from more than just his cross-castle sprint.

“You’re in love with me,” he blurts, and he didn’t mean to say it like that but there’s no doubt in his words.

Lance startles, yanking his hand back in shock. Keith darts out to stop it, fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping him from going far. Lance’s breath hitches.

“…What?”

“You’re in love with me,” Keith repeats, steadier this time. He waits a moment, then says, much more urgently: “The book.”

Mortification rings off Lance in waves.

“Oh,” he croaks. His pulse is so loud and so fast that Keith can feel it in his wrist. “I didn’t think it was — oh.”

There’s a strange quality to his voice, besides the embarrassment of getting caught, and then it clicks — he’s afraid. Of rejection, of disgust, of Keith. Keith isn’t sure. But he hates that it’s there.

Faster than he can talk himself out of, he cups Lance’s face with his free hand, relishing in the sharp intake of breath, and leans in and kisses him. There’s a moment of rigid shock on Lance’s part and it could spell trouble but Keith holds steady. He keeps his hold loose and the pressure soft and soon Lance — melts, into him, there’s no other word for it; he sinks in close and sighs and the hand Keith has gripped goes slack. His lips are soft, and his hair tickles Keith’s forehead, and Keith can still feel his jackrabbit heartbeat, and he still smells like that intoxicating mix of flowers and — sunshine, somehow, straight from the brightest days in Earth. Keith’s hands have never been steadier.

“You collected my doodles,” he says, staying close when Lance pulls gently away. He can see the deeper browns in Lance’s irises, the places where the gold gives way to near-black. They look like the flecks of the precious metal Keith would see at the bottom of the river mud in the mountains of Arizona.

“They were worth keeping,” Lance says quietly. He holds Keith’s gaze. The tips of his fingers trace Keith’s temples; they’re rough with old guitar callouses.

“You think everything is worth keeping.”

“Only the things that — bleed.”

Keith thinks that they’re both right. Lance can’t leave anything behind because he aches for the soul he finds in it. He finds the worth in everything. He found the worth in Keith.

He found enough to make Keith stay.

Keith grips the book in his right hand, left still cupped around Lance’s cheek. The difference in textures is startling, grounding.

“No one has ever done something like that for me before,” Keith admits. There’s a lump in his throat but Keith thinks it’s manageable, thinks he can talk through it. Thinks he might hold the strength for it.

Lance waits patiently.

“I want to —” Keith stops. He opens the book. The drawn Lance smiles up at him, beautiful. He looks up and Lance smiles over at him, breathtaking. “I —”

He doesn’t know how to say it. It’s there, bubbling in his chest, spilling out of him; obvious. But he doesn’t know the words for it. He’s not sure anyone’s taught him before.

“Okay,” Lance says. He tugs his wrist out of Keith’s grip then laces their hands together, squeezing. His smile only widens and he — sparkles, almost. Keith’s throat goes dry.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Lance repeats, teasing. He leans in again. “I’m going to kiss you again, now.”

“Please,” Keith begs, and he does.

———

based on this post

[aingeal98]

So I know Cass gave Steph Batgirl and bounced right before the reboot due to editorial interference trying to push her out of the family. But it made me think of what an actual passing of the mantle would look like on Cass's terms. Because if she's actually ready to give Batgirl to Steph it's because she's either got the Batman mantle or her ideal next step on the road to being Batman.

So Cass is ready, but she also knows Steph. And she wants Steph to feel confident in taking it. And because she's Cass she's not going to use her words and give Steph an uplifting speech about all the ways she knows Steph will make her legacy proud.

No, she's diving into her deep catalogue of reality trashy TV knowledge and creating The Ultimate Batgirl Trial. Survivor meets Ninja Warrior meets Total Wipeout meets the Chase but if the Chaser catches you due to you messing up questions she punches you in the face. With a splash of Love Island thrown in there because it's important to know how to read people and play them if needed.

Barbara is in charge of monitoring everything to make sure Steph doesn't die. Cass has complete faith in her best friend because she designed this all knowing Steph's abilities. Steph looks at the swinging axes with razor sharp edges and wonders if perhaps she accidentally exaggerated her CV to Cass somehow.

(She passes of course. And only throws up twice. Tim, Damian and Duke all attempt it once they hear about it and none of them make it past the fire breathing dragon statues. Tim gives up at the hologram of Lady Shiva, Damian fails the height requirement to swing on the lava rope and not fall in, Duke actually makes it a respectable amount but again those fire breathing dragon statues are just too vast and uh. Flamey.)

[fursasaida]

every once in a while I'm just overwhelmed at the terrifying convenience of The Supply Chain. it viscerally feels like it shouldn't be this easy. of course I am well aware of the political economy behind it, but what I'm talking about is an affective reaction to the action of that system. the sensation is like very low-grade cosmic horror.

today it's because I 1) remembered that having a second monitor is really helpful for online teaching, 2) remembered I don't have the right adapter, 3) while looking to buy said adapter remembered that actually the issue is that my existing monitor is so old it's incompatible with my computer and this just hasn't come up in a long time, 4) in light of the fact that my first teaching day is tomorrow, went on the Best Buy website and ordered a new monitor to be ready for pickup 15 minutes from me within an hour, for less than I expected to pay. and then got the text that it's ready in 20 minutes.

like, in the immediate sense of "I have to teach tomorrow," I am grateful. but I absolutely feel like a fairy-tale character who's gotten Nice Things 1 and 2 waiting for the other shoe to drop on Plot Incident #3. if there were a Marxist spidey sense, mine would be tingling. it's just too much like getting something for nothing.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Do cis men even realize that they barely know anything about the people they’re seeing or do they think knowing very shallow aspects of their partners is “knowing them.” even “feminist” cis men are included bc one time I was dating someone I thought had a pretty good handle on reality but when it came down to gift giving, I made him a mug in that followed the magical system he made for a dnd project and when I asked him what he might get me as a present later he was like, full sincerity, not hiding anything, “idk a knife?” Oh. Interesting. I guess I don’t have any special interests or projects you could reflect on. what if I drove my car thru your living room. what then.

[buttonhouseparty]

I had a customer in the bookshop today who was like, 'There's a book that's just come out, it goes with – well, there's this TV series called Ghosts, I don't know if you've ever heard of it...' I was like oh. yes. I am Aware

[misspermitted]

I finally started Love Like the Galaxy and I gotta say I love the fact that

All of Shaoshang’s family: Shaoshang must be educated and corrected before she even has a chance of attracting a suitor.

Meanwhile Probably the most powerful general - yet alone person - in the empire, after experiencing Shaoshang for five seconds: 😍😍🥰😘

All of SS’s family: And she has no chance of attracting a scholarly family, given her lack of education

Meanwhile the Most successful and renown scholar in the capital, after experiencing Shaoshang for five seconds: 😍😍😍🥰😘

[the-one-that-weeps]

Once again thinking about how love shapes language. I only use "^^" because a mutual taught me it was a way of affection. Another mutual has increased their use of "😌/😔" immensely since I butted into their life one day. I taught myself basic sign language to befriend a neighbour I had for 2 weeks. When I talk I speak in phrases and words that changed and were passed down from generation to generation because they loved the world they lived in enough to not let it go.

I just think it's neat.

[thegreatyin]

i think if there was an ES centered around lark it would be like. so incredibly looney toons. one day your character arrives in their lodgings to discover their most treasured item, (insert a vast number of tie-ins here), has been stolen from their very own home and under their very own nose and the entire story is just chasing the culprit around london scooby doo style. the culprit being lark himself of course. how does this all end? i don't know. but it's definitely goofy and light-hearted and dare i say a little bit silly