#How to Become an Interpreter

[faviolavalencia]

The Power of Multilingual Communication in Business

📩Did you know that multilingual communication can help your business grow and succeed? Let me help you start & communicate in your language! #MultilingualCommunication #GlobalBusiness #LanguageDiversity #CulturalIntelligence #BusinessSuccess

In a world interconnected by commerce and communication, the ability to bridge language gaps is a superpower for businesses. This blog post celebrates the transformative impact of multilingual communication and explores how it goes beyond words, unlocking doors to global opportunities. Understanding Multilingual Communication: 1. Breaking Down Language Barriers: Content: Language barriers can…

[flwrkid14]

Ghosts of Gotham: Tim Drake is a Halfa

Danny wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when he met Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, but “Red Hood smells like death and swamp water had a baby” definitely wasn’t on the list. The moment he stepped into the room, Danny gagged so hard he nearly fell out of the air.

“Holy Ancients,” he wheezed, covering his nose. “What in the name of all things unholy is that?”

Jason, already not thrilled about the random glowing stranger showing up, tilted his helmeted head. “What’s what?”

“That! You! You smell like—oh, man. I can’t even describe it.” Danny waved his hand in front of his face like it might help. “It’s like if ectoplasm went rancid and then you rolled in it for three days straight. Dude, do you know what’s going on with your ecto-situation?”

Jason took a threatening step forward. “You wanna say that again?”

Danny floated higher, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’ll say it again. You stink. And not just like regular stink. Like ghost stink. Like, ‘this is a health code violation, and the Ghost Zone is going to fine you’ stink. How are you even standing there right now? Anyone from Amity Park would be side-eyeing you so hard you’d feel it in your soul—what’s left of it, anyway.”

Jason stared, his body language radiating murderous intent. “You are two seconds away from eating pavement, Casper.”

Danny, unbothered, pointed at his own chest. “Excuse me, Phantom. Casper wishes he could pull this look off.”

“Phantom,” Dick interrupted, trying and failing not to laugh, “maybe we could focus on the introductions first?”

Danny gave Jason one last look of pity and floated down. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Big Red, we’re going to have to talk about that. I’ll fix it later. No need to thank me.”

Jason looked ready to commit murder, but Bruce’s glare cut him off before he could say anything.

Once the chaos settled, introductions were exchanged, and things calmed down—relatively speaking. Danny, as it turned out, was impossible to fully calm down. He buzzed around the room like he had endless energy, chatting and throwing out quips that seemed to simultaneously amuse and irritate everyone.

Then Danny’s gaze landed on Red Robin, and everything shifted.

Danny tilted his head, his glowing green eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, his usual chaos quieted, curiosity taking over. “Huh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Tim stiffened, his body going taut as though preparing for impact.

Danny floated closer, peering at him with an unnervingly intense expression. “You’re like me.”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately stepped back, his movements sharp and jerky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Danny said, and his tone was too soft for the others to hear the shift in it. “You’re like me. You’re—”

Tim’s hand twitched at his side, as though debating whether to reach for something or retreat entirely. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice low.

Danny blinked, then realization dawned on his face. “Wait… they don’t know, do they?”

“What don’t we know?” Bruce cut in, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Danny ignored him, his gaze locked on Tim. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Tim’s eyes darted toward Danny, his frown deepening as uncertainty clouded his features. He shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to bolt.

He took a step back, then another, his movements slow and almost imperceptible. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as though the air itself had grown heavier. The space around him seemed to shimmer faintly, a distortion that matched the anxiety rippling across his face.

Danny reached out, concern etched in his expression, but Tim flinched. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, the shimmering intensified, and with each passing second, Tim grew more translucent, his form fading like a mirage under the moon.

By the time Danny blinked, Tim was gone, leaving only a faint disturbance in the air where he had been.

The bats froze, their eyes darting around the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason demanded, reaching for his guns. “Where’d he go?”

“Did you do something?” Damian snapped at Danny, his hand already on his katana.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Danny held up his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. “Not me! That was all him! Holy Ancients—he can turn invisible?!” A grin split his face as he practically vibrated in place. “This is awesome! Wait—does he shoot ecto-beams too? Or, oh, what if he’s got some crazy transformation I’ve never even seen before? This just keeps getting better!”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “You need to explain. Now.”

Danny sighed, his excitement fading as realization set in. “Okay, but first, I need to go find him. Because if he’s anything like me, he’s probably freaking out right now. So… bye!”

He phased through the floor before anyone could stop him.

———

Danny found Tim perched on the edge of Wayne Industries, staring out at the Gotham skyline. He floated over cautiously, his boots touching down softly on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice quiet. “Mind if I sit?”

Tim didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell him to leave either, so Danny took that as permission. He sat down cross-legged, giving Tim some space.

They stayed like that for a while, the silence heavy but not unbearable.

Finally, Danny broke it. “Okay, so… not to ruin the moment, but can we talk about how you've had to endure Jason’s ecto-stench this entire time? Because seriously, that’s gotta be a health violation. I mean, I'm half-dead, and even I think it’s concerning. Someone needs to dunk him in a pool of purified ectoplasm or something. I’m gonna file a complaint with—”

Tim laughed. It was soft and brief, but it was real.

Danny grinned, leaning back on his hands. “There it is. I knew you had a laugh in there somewhere.”

Tim sighed, his shoulders loosening slightly. “You’re… a lot,” he admitted.

“I know,” Danny said proudly. “But I grow on people. Like mold. Or fungus.”

Tim huffed another laugh, shaking his head. For a moment, the tension eased, and Danny let the silence settle again before speaking more seriously.

“Look,” Danny said, his voice softer, “I’m sorry I outed you like that. I didn’t know. And if they give you crap about it, I’ll personally make their lives miserable. But… you’re not alone in this, okay? I mean, yeah, it sucks. A lot. But you’ve got me now, because there’s no way we’re not becoming best friends now, and I get it.”

Tim looked at him, his eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Do you really get it? I mean, you know what it’s like to…” His voice trailed off, thick with hesitation.

Danny tilted his head, his tone softer now. “Yeah. I know what it’s like.”

Tim let out a breath, shaky but determined. “I died.. a few months ago.”

Danny blinked but didn’t say anything, giving Tim space to continue.

“Harley—she caught me. Took me, actually. I was gone for weeks. They—she—handed me over to Joker. It was like a… gift. She thought it’d fix their relationship or something, I don’t know.” Tim’s voice faltered, his gaze flickering to the floor as if the memories were too much to hold. “I held out as long as I could. I kept fighting, kept trying to survive, but…”

He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Weeks of it. Beatings. Electrocutions. I don’t even remember the exact moment my heart stopped. I just… wasn’t there anymore.”

Danny stayed quiet, his face a mix of empathy and understanding.

“Harley panicked,” Tim continued, his words tumbling out like a confession. “She thought she’d gone too far, that Joker would kill her next. So she tried shocking me back. Guess she half-suceeded? I only came back halfway.” He gestured at himself vaguely, his hands trembling. “I’m not the same. I’m not… whole.”

Danny nodded slowly. "You’re stuck between," he said, offering the words with quiet reassurance.

Tim nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah. Between.” He paused, looking up at Danny. “I haven’t told anyone because… how do you tell them something like that? How do you tell your family you’re not really alive? That their search was all in vain? That I still died, even though they looked so hard for me? I can’t make them think they failed.” His voice wavered. “They were so scared when they found me…”

Danny stayed with him in the silence, his presence a steady comfort.

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “I thought I was weak. I thought if I told them what really happened, they’d think I was broken. And I didn’t want to be a burden.” He looked up at Danny. “I’m still not used to this. Not used to being… like this. I don’t even know how to control it—sometimes I phase through walls, other times I get stuck halfway. And the invisibility thing… I can’t even make it work without disappearing when I get too emotional.”

Danny’s gaze softened with understanding as he leaned in slightly, his voice steady but gentle. He hummed thoughtfully, “It’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he leaned closer to Danny, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to control it, but every time I get close, something goes wrong. And I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak or… freakish, so I kept pretending everything was fine. It was easier that way. Easier than explaining… all this.” He exhaled slowly, the exhaustion in his voice evident. “At least it was… until you showed up.”

Danny reached out, resting a hand on Tim’s arm in a quiet gesture of comfort. “I don’t think you’re a freak. You’re just different, like me. But that doesn’t make you broken. You’re still you.” He paused, meeting Tim’s gaze. “I know what it’s like.. to feel different, freakish, the whole nine yards. For what it’s worth? You're handling it a lot better than I did.”

Tim gave him a tight smile, the first real one in a while. “Thanks. It helps. More than you know.”

———

When they returned to the Batcave, Tim sat down with the others, Danny sticking close by his side. Tim took a deep breath and told them everything—about being captured by Harley, the weeks of torture at the Joker’s hands, the electrocutions that had stopped his heart. About how Harley had panicked and shocked him back to life, halfway. How he wasn’t entirely human anymore.

The family listened, their expressions ranging from horror to guilt to anger. Jason looked ready to kill someone, and Bruce’s usually stoic face betrayed a crack of regret. Tim hesitated as he explained why he hadn’t told them sooner, his voice faltering but honest.

Tim’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I didn’t want you to think you failed… that you searched for me for nothing,"

Danny stayed quiet but stayed close, resting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “For the record,” he said, glaring at the others, “if any of you give him crap about this, you’re gonna have to deal with me. And trust me, I will make your lives miserable.”

Tim gave him a small, grateful smile. For the first time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

[berensreverie]

Happy Valentine's <3

[lilianade-comics]

Thinking about how Dani's episode is called Kindred Spirits, which implies that her unique narrative role is to mirror Danny and act as a foil to him, and then the episode is like "Here's some ✨superficial similarities✨. She is now going to leave the plot entirely and be 💖homeless💖"

[littlefankingdom]

"Dick had to take care of Bruce and teach him emotion"

"Tim had to mentally support Bruce when he became Robin"

Shut the fuck up, they did not. They did not have to do shit. Bruce learned from raising Dick and having Dick around, Dick did not have to take care of Bruce or shit. He learned from Dick behaving lile a kid and having to deal with that, not from Dick taking his hand and teaching him. Tim literally only had to be there for Bruce to be better, it is explained in A Lonely Place of Dying that Bruce needs a child to take care of, and that's what Tim is, a child Bruce can take care of. They weren't parentified to take care of Bruce instead of him taking care of their emotional and mental wellbeing. HE TOOK CARE OF THEIR EMOTIONAL AND MENTAL WELLBEING. Damn, with Tim, he does it when his parents don't. With Dick, it's the whole point how Bruce took him to take care of his emotional and mental wellbeing because nobody did for Bruce, and Bruce succeeded.

Stop infantilizing autistic adults. Bruce being autistic and having difficulties with communication, emotions and relationships because of it doesn't mean his kids were the one taking care of him. It means his kids had to learn how it is to interact with an autistic or neurodivergent person.

Bruce being well only when he has a kid to take care of is what is difficult for the kids, because it makes the process of becoming an adult more difficult when your dad needs a kid.

I challenge y'all to be able to talk about Bruce being mentally ill without painting it as a burden to his family, because that's the only way you ever do it.

[peliginspeaks]

I think having "Nightmares" encompass all psychological troubles is an interesting and honestly pretty fitting decision for the game, given the time period. With Freud being on his peak nonsense at the time, ascribing lots and lots of meaning to dreams was becoming fashionable, and there's a certain elegance to considering yourself to be Plagued By Dread Visions! instead of just...coming apart at the seams from the stress of it all. You're losing sleep because of the nightmares, not because of the things that caused them and their effects on you. You're mumbling to yourself and jumping at shadows because of the lost sleep, not because of that other stuff. Just get somebody or take something to fix the dreams, that's the trick! Nothing you have to acknowledge. Nothing unseemly, and nothing outside of your control. It's so very Victorian. It's sad, in a way, when you see it as an attempt to apply a cultural attitude of denial and carefully constructed (performative) self-mastery - that already didn't work well for the real time period it came from, mind you - to life in a cave that kills and traps you and is filled with horrors both beyond, and unfortunately well within, your comprehension.

[hmsdoodlin]

(139) I need you.

[namethatghostling]

nobody:

me: what if after "i am the starlight" rusty got a magical-girl-esque costume change and had a fun star motif for the final race

[volkoss]

Fic: Brilliant Things

While Rook is trapped in the Fade prison, Johanna and Emmrich are forced to help each other overcome their own regrets. DRAGON AGE | EMMRICH & JOHANNA; EMMROOK | WORDS: 4,553 | RATED: G

(AO3 LINK)

It’s pathetic, really. Volkarin has always been a soft touch, but this snivelling is something else.

Despite her own prodigious knowledge of anatomy and the undead, Johanna had not known the human body capable of making such a hideous racket prior to the events of these past few days. Corpses do not weep, and even if they did, she hardly cares. 

The worst part isn’t even that she’s reduced to mere ornamentation in the already ostentatious study of one of Nevarra’s greatest necromancers, forced to watch him burn a hole in the floorboards with each anguished thump, thump, thump of his feet as he teeters at the edge of a nervous breakdown borne by the weight of his own misplaced compassion. No, this part was inevitable. Volkarin had always been destined to crack one day—she just wished she could have been the one to cause it.   

No, the absolute worst part, worse than having been denied the opportunity to gloat over her lifelong rival, is that despite the circumstances, the lovelorn fool’s dedication to his Watcher duties have been thorough to a fault. Johanna has of course tested the wards binding her soul to her remains multiple times; she’d been trying to escape before this most recent escalation in their circumstances, it would be downright idiotic not to try when facing down the end of the world as they know it. Especially while her only hope at salvation rubs his red-rimmed eyes and mutters inconsolably under his breath, unwilling to accept that it is in fact his infernal meddling which has doomed them all.  

It’s simple, really: if Volkarin had just stayed out of her way, left her alone, Johanna would still have her beautiful bone construct—the culmination of her life’s work—with which she would’ve had the power to raise an army of undead to defeat this so-called god, this Elgar’nan. 

But Volkarin had possessed the sheer nerve to outplay her at the most inopportune moment. Although she’s ordinarily capable of giving credit where it’s due, she cannot respect the lack of long-term strategy. Of all moments to finally locate his own backbone!  Volkarin had always been like that, though. Capable of surpassing his own self-imposed limitations given the correct impetus. What else could one expect from such a hot-headed, idealistic man as he. Ugh. And couple that all that with a new paramour, a bright-eyed young thing surely twenty years his junior, it’s no wonder Volkarin’s been distracted (but not distracted enough) of late. 

What needs to be done now is plainly obvious to Johanna, or indeed, anyone with half a functioning brain. For whatever reason, everyone in this crackpot team of would-be heroes that Volkarin has somehow gotten himself mixed up in relies on Rook, even though Johanna’s not sure what the impudent whelp brings to the team, other than a tendency to meddle which rivals even Volkarin’s. And as the group’s resident expert on the Fade, Volkarin is the most well-placed to tear a hole in reality itself to locate his misplaced lover. Even Johanna can see that would make for a most romantic story indeed, and she doesn’t even read that sort of dreck.

But it’s clear to Johanna that Volkarin is functioning at perhaps one-tenth of his usual operating capacity, compromised as he is by needless sentimentality. Of course, the type of man who would sacrifice not only his lifelong dream—immortality itself!— for a mere wisp, of all things, would struggle without the guidance of a more indomitable hand.

And in Rook’s absence, the task falls to Johanna. Unfortunately. Here she’d hoped her days of solving Emmrich Volkarin’s problems for him were over, but no matter. Unlike Volkarin, Johanna Hezenkoss does not shy away from necessary evils. 

As always, she chooses her words carefully, delicately balancing dramatic effect and efficiency.

“You know this is entirely your fault, don’t you?” 

Volkarin stops dead in his tracks as though she’d just punched him. The respite from his infernal pacing is most pleasant indeed, and she’s elated by the knowledge she can still instil such a reaction in him even while bereft of limbs.

Expression jumping from shock to outrage and then, most curiously, to acceptance, Volkarin raises two fingers to rub at his temples, quietly answering, “I know.” 

Johanna’s mandibles clench tightly and it is only with some difficulty that she manages to relax them. For Volkarin to admit his failings so readily, the situation must be worse than she had feared. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” she asks instead. The last thing she needs him to know is that she’s worried. 

Volkarin averts his gaze as he hunches into himself. She remembers the stance well from his days as a young child at the Necropolis. “I should have confessed the truth to Rook while I had the chance,” he admits in the most mournful, pitiful tone that makes even Johanna feel sorry for him as much as it makes her want to vomit, if she were still capable of such a thing. 

While it’s not quite the answer she’d hoped for—then again, Volkarin would never debase himself by offering her a proper apology for everything he’d put her through—it’s one Johanna can work with nonetheless.  Doing her best approximation of a tongue-clicking noise, she replies, “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that argument you had with your paramour.” 

As planned, the words bait him back into action with a sputter. Back straightening and fingers curling into the palms of his ungloved and unadorned hands, he snaps, “Still hung up on—” before cutting himself off and pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathes deeply to regulate his emotions, the same exercises they’d been taught as apprentices. Johanna had never cared much for them. 

The next words that come out of Volkarin’s mouth throw her for a loop. “Have you ever been in love, Johanna?”

One of the downsides of no longer having muscles or tendons is the inability to answer questions through exaggerated facial expressions alone. As much as it pains her to lend legitimacy to this line of inquiry, there’s a frightening intensity in his eyes suggestive of a commitment to this topic of conversation. She suspects he won’t accept a total deflection, or worse, that such an attempt might set off his moping again.

That still doesn’t mean it’s any of his blasted business. The time to be asking these types of questions was thirty years ago, not now. “I’m familiar with the concept,” she says acridly, hoping it’s enough to satisfy his curiosity before swiftly adding, “Not that I see how it’s of any relevance.”

Of course, Volkarin simply can’t leave it there. Instead, his lips purse, the look he now fixes Johanna with one of mixed pity and disappointment.

Infuriating man, to think such condescension could possibly affect her!

“Then you would know what it feels like,” he continues quietly, “to leave such matters unresolved with no resolution.”

Of course he would turn it around on her: a most pathetic and transparent attempt to make this an exercise in ‘practicing empathy’ instead of learning to properly communicate himself. She deftly avoids the obvious trap, cutting to the chase instead.

“You’re an idiot,” she states cleanly, simply. There’s a lack of malice in her words that surprises even her.

Volkarin must sense it too, because even though his body visibly tenses at the accusation, his reaction is short-lived. Instead, he allows his shoulders to slump—terrible posture, really—before running a hand through his tousled hair, the action accentuating the dark circles beneath his eyes. Finally, he sighs, a little huff of intermingled acceptance and defeat. Pinching the bridge of his nose once more, he answers, “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain yourself, Johanna.”

Now she’s really concerned, and even more adamant about not admitting it. Esteemed Professor Volkarin, inviting her to lecture? She’d never thought she’d see the day. Preening nonetheless, she doesn’t bother to disguise the elation from her voice as she points out the obvious. “Your paramour is trapped physically in the Fade, correct?”

Volkarin blinks; it’s too difficult for Johanna to distinguish whether he’s simply concentrating or staving off a fresh wave of tears, so she doesn’t bother.

“Correct,” he answers, fingers rubbing at his chin now, itching at the three-day-old growth which is a sight bewildering to even Johanna.

She does her best to continue ignoring the absurdity of it all as she continues.  “And my understanding is that you are indeed Professor Volkarin of the Mourn Watch, one of Thedas’s leading experts on the properties of said Fade, are you not?”

The masseter muscle in Volkarin’s jaw twitches. “I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“You always did lack a certain vision,” she says with a sigh which could be described as downright nostalgic. “I simply ask, what would happen were the situation reversed? If you were the one trapped in the Fade?”

Volkarin’s face softens, lips twisted into a smile so besotted it sickens her. “Rook would stop at nothing less than breaking into the Fade barehanded.” Johanna watches him expectantly as his eyes widen in realisation and he mutters, “Oh. Oh dear.”

It would, of course, be too much to hope for him to actually admit that she had a point, that she was in fact, entirely correct as always.  “You always did give up far too easily,” she admonishes instead. “I’m frankly astonished you ever got anything done without me.”

Not only does he have to the gall to ignore her reprimand, he even adds to her immense displeasure by resuming his infernal pacing. There he goes, thump, thump, thump against the floorboards again. All take and no give, just as always.

A newfound wave of frustration pulses through Johanna’s consciousness and she’s hardly a patient person to begin with. “You know, when I told you this situation was entirely your fault, I wasn’t talking about the missteps you’ve made in your pathetic love life.” There’s a new vigour—an urgency—to his steps when he finally deigns to face her. His hands together with frenetic energy. “Johanna, this is hardly the time. There’s so much to set in motion—”

No. Absolutely not.

She refuses to be overlooked again.

Shouting over him, she demands to be heard. “YOU. RUINED. EVERYTHING.”

But Volkarin still won’t be diverted and waves a hand as though before himself as though to dismiss her accusations. What’s downright infuriating is the confirmation that this infatuation with some youth he’s known for less than six months means more to him than all the years they’d spent working together. He pulls books off their shelves with alarming velocity, muttering titles under his breath that Johanna can’t quite decipher.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Johanna tries again. “If only there was more at stake than locating your lost paramour,” she hedges.

Volkarin continues to ignore her, but she can see his hands shake.

She makes another attempt, but this time she doesn’t even bother to disguise any lingering traces of bitterness evident in her voice. Not that she had been holding back on purpose, of course. It’s simply a most peculiar situation in which they find themselves. “If only you had an old friend with practical experience in creating receptive Fade eddies.”

A sharp intake of breath. Aha! A reaction! He doesn’t look at her yet. “What do you suggest?”

She’s not going to let him off that easily. “I don’t know. I didn’t realise you were seeking my opinion on the matter.”

“Johanna.” He finally turns from the bookshelf, pushing back unruly locks of hair from his forehead. “I could not have expressed myself any more clearly.” “Only because I had to do nearly all the work of leading you there!” she snaps back in return. Despite her gnawing frustration, there’s comfort in the familiarity of their conflict, the back-and-forth, the diametric oppositions of their world views.

Johanna will never, ever admit it aloud, but she has missed him. Not that it means she wants to spend the rest of his life trapped in his study, mind you.

But still, better this than death, better this than the cowardice Volkarin had embraced with open arms. For all that the good professor harps on about morality, of propriety, of decorum, of kindness, the real difference between them is that Volkarin is little more than a persnickety academic, but Johanna is the true innovator. An inventor. Her experiments speak for themselves. Yes, her aptitude for the more experiential aspects of their art had resulted in her current predicament, but failure is only ever a temporary setback, so long as the fundamental nature of existence remains intact.

And right now, that can't be relied upon. Elgar’nan had changed the trajectory of the moon itself! Even Johanna balks at such audacity.

It's only then that she realises Volkarin has been silent too long, which is entirely suspicious for a man who so adores the sound of his own voice. But at least he isn’t snivelling again. No, instead his forehead is furrowed deep in thought, fingers scratching at his chin once more.

“Careful,” she warns.

Volkarin blinks, his attention snapping back to her. “What is it?”

“You’ll hurt yourself, thinking that hard about it.”

Strangely, he begins to smile. Maddening man! “I suppose it would be too much to hope for you to simply help me out of mere goodwill.”

Something about his tone and his expression manages to get under her skin even though she no longer has any. “Obviously. You know me better than that.”

“But you are considering offering lending your knowledge to our cause due to the mutually-aligned nature of our interests.” “I would’ve used less words,” she answers in agreement. He holds up an index finger as though about to lecture, but it’s evident in his posture that he’s barely able to restrain himself from pacing again. That he does manage to do so is a point in his favour, for now. “You’ve certainly made clear your opinion on my relationship with Rook.” When she opens her mouth to interject, he raises the other fingers on his hand, and despite herself, Johanna falls silent and allows him to continue. “Which brings me to the realisation your motive was to provide a distraction from my grief so I could recalibrate and continue on the necessary work that must be done in Rook’s … absence.”

While she’s glad to hear Volkarin’s voice tremble as he dances around the topic of the void Rook has left in his otherwise obviously miserable life, the fact that it even does so still rankles her. Even more frustrating is Volkarin ascribing emotions and feelings to her that she does not possess, as though he’s some sort of Chantry sister instead of a powerful necromancer.  “I just wanted to stop the racket,” she snaps.   

“Be that as it may, I couldn’t help but notice your choice of topic.” He sighs again, an exhalation of air that’s heavier than any of the noises she’s heard him make throughout their entire conversation. His shoulders slump. It makes her wish she could slap him with a ruler.

“For what it’s worth,” he continues, “I am sorry. Sorry lichdom failed you. Sorry you were unable to reach out to me. I amespecially sorry you felt the need to conquer the capital in order to attract my attention.” When he lifts his gaze to look at her properly, she is surprised to find his eyes glittering with a mischief that makes her feel thirty years younger. “Forgive me, but I am unaccustomed to receiving overtures of friendship disguised as attempted acts of war.” 

She has told herself many times over the years that she has always hated him. She wants to continue hating him the same way she has survived these last decades in his absence. But in this moment, something within her breaks. Perhaps it’s the way they’re hovering on the precipice of the end of the world, or maybe it’s even the way Volkarin’s eyes resemble a baby labrador’s. 

As it turns out, even she is not entirely immune to the proximity of Emmrich Volkarin’s moral fortitude. Everything according to the Mourn Watch’s plan, no doubt. Oh, she’s not an idiot: she knows why it’s his office in which she has been assigned to complete this part of her penance, even if Volkarin pretends they’re still figuring out the details. All these years of exile but still trapped by the consequences of oaths she had made when she had been much younger and more naïve.  

The realisation should really disgust her but she finds herself devoid of her usual anger and envy, bitterness and rage. She realises, too late, what it is that has broken inside her: the dam that had kept any other most inconvenient emotions at bay.  

A wave of vulnerability crashes over her and she is powerless to stop it. Her next words slip out of her before she’s even had time to think.

“You abandoned me.” Once spoken aloud, she wishes for nothing more than the ability to take the words back, if only to stop Volkarin staring at her like she’s just kicked him. The flame of hatred she holds for him at her core begins to flicker back to life.  

“Johanna, I….”

“Don’t you dare apologise to me!” she screams. Maker, she’d throttle him if she could. Discrete emotions become increasingly difficult to identify, she only knows that she’s been knocked off course and discombobulated despite only trying to help for once. She feels seven years old again, lost and scared in the chambers of the Grand Necropolis, hating all these stuffy mages and their prim propriety, hating the newfound knowledge that such arcane energies filled her veins as well. The only friendly face a shy boy not much older than herself, and she’d helped him out of his shell with her façade of fearlessness.

And in turn, she had watched as he had become one of them.

“You don’t understand,” she hisses. She chances a look directly at his eyes again. He’s patient. Waiting. Despite it all, he wants to understand. Damn him.  

But whether Johanna is capable of letting herself be understood is shakier ground, part of a vast expanse of uncharted territory that lies between them.

Putting it as bluntly as she can, she simply states, “Your parents died. Your parents loved you.”

Volkarin steeples his hands together, comprehension dawning on his features despite what continues to be left unsaid between them. “Ah. I—you never did tell me how you came to live at the Grand Necropolis.”

She scoffs. “What was there to tell? It’s only the same tale from all over Thedas. Parents have child. Parents don’t want a child with magic. Pah!” A surge of resentment swells within her. Why is she talking about this? Why is she talking about this with him? She hasn’t so much as thought about this in years. It hardly matters now. Just look at everything she’s achieved! She’s fifty-one years young and she’s going to live forever.

The thoughtful expression has returned to Volkarin’s face, and she’s grateful to find herself capable of hating it again. “You told me you were born near Perendale.” Why does he even remember that? Regretting ever telling him anything about herself, she answers, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Next he was going to be asking her whether she had ever been in love again. Why did he always insist on meddling in matters that didn’t concern him!

“That’s no insignificant distance to travel, especially with a young child in tow.”

“As though you’re an expert on travelling with young children,” she answers hotly, before recalling that pet skeleton of his. The way he doted on it, Johanna would be unsurprised to discover that Volkarin had indeed mistaken it for a real boy.  Very magnanimously, she decides against saying this part aloud.

She just wishes Volkarin would let the topic drop. In the past, she’d always retreated whenever he had threatened to dismantle her walls and bluster with his disaffecting sincerity and dogged determination.

But now, she is at his mercy. And she knows—better than anyone—that despite his spotty track record at seeing through his commitments, Volkarin is nothing if not thorough.  He’s an indecisive man, not a slothful one.

“I simply believe most parents do their best with the resources available to them.” He scratches at the side of his nose. “Most people do, in fact. Even if we cannot, at times, predict the consequences of our actions.” At this, he fixes her with a downright professorial stare.

“I am grateful I wasn’t snatched up by templars,” she begrudgingly admits. “I could have been sent to Kirkwall.”

The corner of Volkarin’s lips twitch. “Perish the thought. I do profess my gratitude that the Mourn Watch was able to take me into their care.”

It’s only when Johanna remains silent that Volkarin appears to realise his mistake. “Ah. Of course. They never did truly appreciate you.”

Volkarin’s words sound downright strange to her until she’s able to identify the anomaly: the phrasing is hers, not his. She continues to say nothing, entirely too suspicious of where he’s beginning to go with this. “And although I wouldn’t, as you said, dare apologise to you, I do want you to know I am aware that it was wrong of me not to speak in your defense when it came to the growing number of censures that had been amassed against you, even though your experiments benefitted my research. If I could redo that time in our lives again, I would have severed our partnership earlier and provided you a proper explanation of my decisions. “I suppose I assumed you would come around to my position on the matter. But I dare say you thought the same as well.” She watches the smooth column of his throat as he swallows nervously. “There was so much I was willing to overlook until I thought the price too high to pay. Naturally, recent events and conversations have elucidated to me that we have vastly different thresholds for such matters.” To say she is stunned is an understatement: that she has allowed him to prattle for this long without interruption is testimony to this fact. But it is even more stunning that to receive a proper explanation for the events that have haunted her for decades from the most conflict-avoidant man she has ever known. Other partnerships are unlikely to be repaired by an admission that they should have separated sooner, but nothing had ever been what one would call normal when it came to the two of them.

As much as it displeases her to admit it, Johanna is certain that Volkarin’s capacity to deliver his soliloquy was driven by Rook’s influence. What other force in this world but love would be strong enough to push a man like Volkarin to the brink of foolhardy bravery?

And while the thought is still annoying, it doesn’t sting as much as it once had.  

Thus, it is with nostalgia and not bitterness that she remarks, “We could have done brilliant things together, Emmrich.”

Her use of his first name does not go unnoticed. How could it? His eyebrows raise so high they nearly disappear into his receded hairline. “You haven’t called me that in over thirty years,” he protests.

“And it’ll be thirty more until I use it again,” she insists in return. “Just tell me the truth. Was there ever a moment in time when you appreciated the power and potential at our fingertips? That you thought we could have been the ones to rule this world?”

He averts his gaze. Grinds his teeth. “Yes,” he finally admits. “I saw it. But it would have never been worth the cost.” Johanna scoffs. “There’s always some crackpot trying to take over the world. It might as well have been us. We had the best chance of it. Both of us liches, our knowledge combined, my brilliance counterbalanced with your compassion… There was a reason I kept a bleeding heart like you as a partner for so many years. But I underestimated your sentimentality.” She wouldn’t be making that mistake again, that was for certain. Just look at the situation it had landed her in! She would simply have to figure out how to best wield it to her purposes while she remained trapped here. If Volkarin thought she wasn’t going to continue using every tool at her disposal to facilitate her great escape, then he was sorely mistaken.

“Yes,” Volkarin answers softly, crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he gazes at her with discomfiting fondness. “I dare say you did. Just as I am guilty at times of underestimating your brilliance.” He swivels on the spot and Johanna is afraid he’s going to resume his pacing but the walk he has in mind for now is mercifully short, only over to the bowl on his desk where he’s deposited the majority of his grave gold.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, hating how urgent her voice sounds to her own consciousness. She always hates it when he behaves erratically.

“I was under the impression we had work to do, my dear.”

“Absolutely not.” Surely it hadn’t been so long he’d forgotten her utter loathing of pet names.

He laughs, then, long and rich. It is a definite improvement on the snivelling. “Force of habit. Won’t happen again,” he promises. “First things first. I do believe you had some knowledge to impart on the practical applications of receptive Fade eddies?”

“Getting ahead of yourself as always, Volkarin,” she says by way of reprimand. “You need a bath. I don’t have olfactory glands and even I can tell that you reek. And a shave.”

He rubs his hand against his chin again, eyes widening as though surprised to find it covered by hair. “Ah! Yes. Thank you.”

“Completely and utterly useless.” This time, she’s disgusted by the tenderness in her own voice. Oh, no, this won’t do at all. “While you’re at it,” she adds, determined to get their shared task back on track, “get the elf girl and your skeleton boy. We’ll need to replace the stolen dagger in order to kill a god. And I don’t know about you, but ancient elven gadgets are hardly my area of expertise.”

“Of course, I’ll speak with Bellara.” His brow furrows. “But why do you want Manfred?”

“Because I don’t have arms, you idiot.” It really does make building things more difficult. And she won’t even be able to inadvertently kill the wisp this time due to the aforementioned lack of limbs. It’ll work perfectly, really.

“Consider it done.”

Not having much other choice in the matter, Johanna watches as Volkarin gathers his bathing supplies and heads towards the door.

It is on the threshold that he pauses and looks back at her, his hazel eyes bright with fiery determination. “I’ve always appreciated you, Johanna Hezenkoss. Let us continue doing brilliant things together.”

And then he is gone, door to his study closing gently shut behind him.

[lotus-pear]

rewatched madoka magica again today bc i fucking hate myself and to absolutely no one’s surprise i went through all five stages of grief in a single evening

[faviolavalencia]

From Interpreter to Entrepreneur: Navigating the Entrepreneurial Odyssey in Interpreting

📩Learn how to use your bilingual skills to start your own interpreting or translation business #InterpreterToEntrepreneur #InterpretingBusinessGuide #BusinessPlan #OnlinePresence #BusinessCoaching Embark on your entrepreneurial journey with confidence.

Embarking on the journey from interpreter to entrepreneur is a thrilling and rewarding transition. In this blog post, I’ll map out a comprehensive guide to help you navigate the nuances of starting your very own interpreting business. Buckle up; your entrepreneurial odyssey is about to begin! Get a FREE Business Plan and or upgrade the plan and let me help you start on the right path! The…

[isabelguerra]

I always make an effort to look at paranatural through the ~2013 era lens it was conceptualized from, back when it was at it’s most subversive, in tandem alongside its contemporary lens. Because thats what Paranatural was, for those who aren’t aware — paranatural played off of & against the common shonen & cartoon tropes and character expectations that were prevalent in that age: the wise and just mentor, the prejudiced bully, the action girl implemented to pushback against sexism + the subversion of the action girl, the excited rare skilled selfless battleprone protagonist, etc.

most new fans will likely see the comic and take it at face value — why shouldn’t they? — when in reality there’s so much more of a dialogue happening underneath the hood. There is so much underlying, forgotten context that makes paranatural, paranatural

[sinnbaddie]

Personal tmnt iteration

[circuitcircus]

in defense of kabumisu……..

addressing things I see people say about why kabru being shipped w mithrun is ‘bad’ or why their canon relationship ‘doesn’t mean anything’ while also clearing up misconceptions of the characters some fans have

listen it keeps popping up and I just gotta do this or my brain will melt (if you don’t see it around then god I wish that were me) there’s an age gap!- erm there’s also an age gap in farcille (ily), the most popular ship in the series...also chilchuck looks like a kid but a lot of fans recognize him as a dilf because of his relative age, so there should be no age gap discourse among adult characters because it feels so conditional tbh

kabru taking care of mithrun is racist!- marcille likes to take care of others as well. is that sexist, or just an aspect of her character?

kabru isn’t treated like a servant, waiting on mithrun hand and foot…I mean he gives mithrun a foot massage but no one told him to do all that lmfao

he's also not the only one to care for mithrun. pattadol is shown to worry for him and milsril was the one to start taking care mithrun in the first place after he…...y’know. speaking of which-

they probably met when kabru was a kid!- neither of them showed signs of recognizing each other the entire time mithrun was introduced nor when they were together. and im pretty sure KABRU of all people would show some kind of recognition if they'd met before. it's kabru!!! the people person!!! mr. "i-noted-down-50+-characters-in-this-dude's-backstory-for-fun-and-actually-enjoy-social-gatherings"

you would think some kind of memory would come back to him especially after hearing mithrun’s backstory if milsril had even told kabru about him as a kid. but nope. it’s just fan speculation unless there's a side comic suggesting otherwise that i haven't seen

mithrun doesn't care about kabru, his shapeshift double looked like shit!- it's obviously because of mithrun's (then) lack of desires that it looked like that, but they really grow on each other

i think it's safe to assume it'd look more like kabru after they spent so much time together (also laios can barely even remember kabru's name..also saw his face multiple times and didn’t recognize him when they talked for the first time)

mithrun is racist!- he’s actually the least likely character to be racist since he lost his desires and that includes a desire for superiority over others. he even calls his past self out on that part of himself. the other elves in that side comic were being just as racist to shorter lived races but just didn’t use ‘outdated slurs’

(unfortunately literally every main character in dunmeshi is at least a lil prejudiced, but I believe it’s worldbuilding and a sign of the times rather than a reason ryoko kui is giving to hate each character)

taking care of others is a pain in the ass!- saying this as a reason kabru and mithrun shouldn't be together is basically saying disabled people shouldn't be allowed to have romantic relationships because they're a "burden"...if someone is actually willing to put in the work, then let them be.

that's not even all of their relationship, mithrun is the fighter of their duo and kabru would've been killed by the shapeshifter or something if he'd fallen down the hole on his own since he sucks at fighting monsters. mithrun helps collect ingredients for cooking every time, too (barometz fruits and griffin egg). he pulls his weight and then some!! i feel like people forget that part of mithrun a lot somehow.

+senshi literally cooks for everyone all time. it's kind of an important aspect of the narrative.

+also, while it is a popular fan thing I see around that kabru handfeeds mithrun, he literally never does lol this is mithrun using his own hands to eat:

also here we have him washing his own body

just saying because people like to treat mithrun like a baby even though the narrative respects him as a capable adult who also has special needs because of an accident. he’s captain for a reason

kabru hates taking care of mithrun!- not exactly, he was initially surprised and put off but got used to it quickly. i’m sure he’s grateful for all the times mithrun saved him from a monster and teleported them out of danger as well

he even starts doing “unnecessary” things for mithrun’s comfort and safety like when mithrun pushes himself too hard fighting, even after his mission to take care of him was complete when the canaries came back

here is even kabru resting while mithrun keeps watch (mithrun let him sleep for 5 hours before waking him up from the nightmare earlier, too):

there's nothing more to their relationship!- they actually have had a very tight and consistent dynamic since they met and they incite the most change within each other by the end. kabru is the one who inspires mithrun to create new desires so he doesn't waste away, and mithrun is the first person we see kabru being genuine with and it leads him to be more honest with others by the end instead of tiptoeing around everyone all the time (that mask was also the reason some ppl initially disliked kabru…)

kabru’s relationship with mithrun is honestly so important for his character and vice versa, but it’s often disregarded because of one over exaggerated aspect of it (an aspect that isn’t even the first way they interact with each other) or because people want to just straight up ignore it for some reason 🥲🥲

kui dedicates many panels to them that don't particularly serve the narrative as a whole in order to demonstrate this and i think that's pretty significant

you're taking this too seriously!- as if i'm the first person in the world to be crazy about a ship or the characters 😭 i love analyzing text and it's upsetting to see them mischaracterized when kui lays out the characters so clearly and deliberately

also they end up touching each other like all the time and have the kind of canon validation most ppl can only dream of lol i feel so insane look at this:

and this is just when they're first getting to know each other cuz there's a fuckload more

kinda hard to explain how i don't actually need them to get married or whatever but i'd die on this hill for them and i enjoy their dynamic immensely

haha you thought you were reading ship discourse but it was actually a character analysis 🤪🤪🤪

also don’t somehow take this to mean I think anyone has to ship them, I just need everyone to understand these accusations kind of don’t make sense especially when they can also apply to other pairs or characters

bonus kabru just looking at mithrun:

[tubbytarchia]

The more I see people fighting tooth and nail to "prove" that Jimmy is still cursed, to the point of justifying how he was still the "first to die" in every season, the more I start to think people don't actually care about Jimmy whatsoever

[a-stars-art-blog]

Barok the physically affectionate my beloved