#and like. i understood it in german without having to...translate?

[curiousscallop]

.......hey that was really weird and cool

[kxsagi]

Helloooooooo

Pretty please can I get reader learning the blk boys language. (Like a year into learning it and they're pretty fluent) Then telling them they only know a few phrases. The boys messing with reader and later reader gets them back. I thought of Sae with Spanish, Rin with Japanese, and Kaiser with German.

I just read your post where reader gets lost and those 3 help them. I loved it. It was sooooo good. I feel like Kaiser would mess with reader hardcore.

“𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚��� 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫”

a/n: i can only speak japanese so the other two languages made me resort to AI 😭

english translations of each title: “baby girl, you understand that right?” (german), “i don’t understand, but tell me more” (spanish), and “i don’t know, but your voice is cute/wakannai demo kimi no koe kawaii” (japanese). 

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 – “𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐝𝐮 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐡𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐬, 𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫?”

you sip your iced coffee slowly, perched on the edge of kaiser’s kitchen counter, pretending not to understand a single word he’s saying as he rifles through a drawer, muttering to himself in rapid-fire german. 

“wo ist mein verdammter pass? (where is my damn passport?)” he grumbles. “er war genau hier, ich schwöre (it was right here, i swear)–” 

you blink innocently. “what?” 

kaiser turns, flashing you a sly grin. “you didn’t catch that?” he asks, far too casually. 

you shake your head. “i told you, i only know, like... ich liebe dich and wo ist die toilette, and that’s about it.” 

he places a hand dramatically on his chest. “you only know i love you and where’s the toilet? wow. romantic and practical.” 

you giggle, but the second he turns back around, you narrow your eyes. you’ve been studying german for a year. you’ve aced listening comprehension. you just watched three episodes of a german show without subtitles. you could pass for a confused exchange student in berlin right now if needed. but he doesn’t know that. 

and michael kaiser – cocky, annoying, too-pretty michael – needs to be humbled. 

and so it begins with deliberate mistakes. 

“hey, what does du bist mein schatz mean?” you ask sweetly one night while cuddling on the couch. 

“it means you’re my treasure,” he replies, beaming. 

you blink at him. “oh. i thought it meant... ‘you smell like cheese.’” 

he chokes. “where the hell did you get that?!” 

“i dunno,” you shrug. “tik tok?” 

it spirals from there. kaiser starts testing you like a smug little menace. whispers things like “zieh dich aus” (take off your clothes) and then chuckles when you pretend to think he’s asking for snacks. 

“you know, for someone who’s been in germany for months,” he says one morning, “you’re oddly helpless.” 

“i’m cute. i don’t have to be smart,” you reply. 

“fair point,” he nods. 

until one day, you flip the script. 

he walks in, phone in hand, ranting about some teammate being late to practice. 

“weißt du, ich schwöre, ich bin von idioten umgeben (i swear, i’m surrounded by idiots),” he huffs. 

you look up from the couch. “ja, das stimmt (yeah, that’s true).” 

kaiser freezes mid-step. “what did you just say?” 

you blink innocently. “oh. just agreeing. sounds like you’re surrounded by idiots.” 

he squints, slowly lowering his phone. “you understood that?” 

“i understood all of it,” you say, grinning. “especially the part yesterday where you told your coach i was hot. thanks for that.” 

he sputters. “you! how long?!” 

you lean in, voice low. “let’s just say... du bist nicht der einzige, der spielen kann, schatz (you’re not the only one who can play games, babe).” 

his mouth drops open. you’ve never seen him so scandalized. so shook. so deeply, deeply humbled. 

you win. 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞 – “𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨, ��𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐦á𝐬”

sae itoshi is obvious when he’s being a menace. 

it’s the tiniest smirk. the smallest tilt of his head. and it’s always followed by a sentence in spanish that is way too fast and absolutely not beginner-level. 

“perdón (sorry)?” you ask, batting your lashes. 

he leans closer. “aw. too fast for you?” 

you sigh dramatically. “you know i only know, like, five words.” 

“and you choose to date a man who speaks spanish?” 

“for the aesthetics,” you reply. “and the thighs.” 

he laughs. “at least you’re honest.” 

except here’s the thing. 

you’ve been learning spanish in secret for a whole year. private classes. podcasts. novelas. everything. you just like watching sae get smug about it. 

“te ves muy guapa hoy (you look really pretty today),” he says casually over breakfast. 

you glance at him. “no idea what that means, but thank you.” 

“mhm,” he hums, sipping his coffee, smug levels: critical. 

so one day, when he mutters under his breath “dios, esta chica me vuelve loco (god, this girl drives me crazy)”, thinking you won’t understand, you grin. 

“aw, i drive you crazy?” 

his spoon clinks against the bowl. slowly, he turns. “you understood that?” 

“mmmhm,” you say, leaning on your elbows. “also, i heard what you said on the phone with rin last week. something about how you’re ‘so whipped you’d move to mars’?” 

he stares. “you–how long have you understood spanish?” 

you raise an eyebrow. “suficiente para saber que eres un payaso (enough to know you’re a clown).” 

he narrows his eyes. “so this is revenge.” 

“maybe,” you chirp. “maybe i’ll just call your mom and tell her what you really said about her cooking.” 

sae drops his spoon. 

you win. 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧 – “わかんない。でも君の声かわいい。” 

you thought you could get away with it. 

“sorry, i only know basic stuff,” you lie, twirling your straw in your drink as rin talks to the waitress in quick japanese. 

he looks at you. “like what?” 

“uh… konnichiwa? arigatou? and suki desu? that’s about it.” 

he shrugs. “that’s enough.” 

but you see it – the tiniest glint of mischief behind his deadpan stare. the itoshi brothers are quiet menaces, and rin’s no different. 

it starts small. 

he’ll murmur something under his breath while brushing your hair out of your eyes. or whisper something in japanese when he thinks you’re asleep. 

“かわいすぎる (kawaisugiru/too cute),” he says one night. “うざいくらいに (uzaikuraini/annoyingly so).” 

you pretend to be asleep. your eye twitches. he just called you annoyingly cute. and he thinks you don’t know. 

interesting. 

so, naturally, you begin collecting evidence. 

“君は俺の (kimi wa ore no),” he mutters one day, tugging you close. you’re mine. 

“hmm?” you blink. 

“nothing,” he replies, far too smug. 

you let it slide. for now. 

but your revenge is poetic. 

you wait until dinner with his teammates. they’re all chatting in japanese, and you just sit there, nodding along like you don’t understand a thing, until one of them jokes about rin being unusually soft with you. 

“ほんと、彼女の前だけ甘いよな (honto, kanojo no mae dake amai yo na/seriously, he’s only sweet in front of her),” one of them says. rin snorts. 

you glance up sweetly. “あ、そう？じゃあ、彼の前で甘くしようかな。(a, sou? jaa, kare no mae de amakushiyou kana/oh, really? then i’ll just be sweet in front of him too.)” 

rin chokes. the entire table goes silent. 

you sip your tea. “what? did i say it wrong?” 

he turns to you, completely betrayed. “you speak japanese.” 

“a little,” you shrug. “but i’m really good at understanding liars.” 

he stares. “how long?” 

“long enough to know you talk to my dog in a baby voice when you think i’m not home.” 

you win. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mrs-dot-kennedy]

What if Henry met his very own muse? His very own Helen or Penelope? His soulmate. his constant. who is there for him always. Someone who truly understood who he is?

also? Romantic and fluff please. because…

*gestures at what’s happening with everything*

I loved this request! Slightly ooc Henry? Idk

Of quiet devotion-Henry Winter

There’s something about Henry Winter that unsettles people.

Not in the conventional sense — not in the way of stifled menace or antisocial awkwardness — but in that quiet, glacial intensity of a mind burning so cold it might as well be fire. You’d heard about him long before you met him. He is the sort of myth that travels faster than truth in a place like Hampden.

The Classics building is far from yours, but the walls talk, and the walls always talk about Henry Winter.

The prodigy. The recluse. The snob.

The genius with an umbrella for a cane and a mouthful of Homer.

The student who would tutors professors.

The boy who translated Catullus into German for fun.

But that’s not who you meet.

No. The Henry you meet is no myth. He’s worse — he’s real.

You run into him, quite literally, outside the east library at dusk. It’s raining lightly, just enough to cast everything in wet gold, and your satchel is too heavy, full of marginalia and Norton anthologies and pages of painstaking notes on Milton that may as well have been written in blood. You’re late. He’s early.

You round the stone arch of the library entrance, turning too sharply, and there he is. Tall. Stark. Damp around the collar of his dark wool coat, a book under one arm. His umbrella tilts just slightly, and in your scramble to not knock into him, you drop everything.

He doesn’t move.

For a moment you both just stare. You — crouched, hair clinging to your cheek, fingertips brushing the wet corner of your annotated Paradise Lost. Him — marble-still, eyes unreadable behind wire-rimmed glasses.

Then — a voice, dry and precise:

“You’re holding Book Nine upside down.”

You blink. And laugh, despite yourself.

“You’ve read Paradise Lost?” you ask, brushing rain from the cover.

He tilts his head. “In Latin, yes. Once.”

Only once. Of course.

You should be annoyed. You should think he’s insufferable. And maybe, in the tiniest way, you do. But something in you — something well-worn and brittle and too clever for its own good — curls toward him like a vine straining for light.

He doesn't offer to help pick up your books. Of course not. Instead, he watches as you gather them, as your fingers nearly tremble under the weight of wet paper and shame. But when you stand, he says your name.

He knows it.

Of course he does.

“Come,” he says then, with that quiet authority of his. “You shouldn’t be in the rain.”

You become a habit before you become anything else.

Henry is not the sort to fall — he allows. Permits. Resigns himself to what already seems inevitable.

And you — you are inevitable.

You appear in the corners of his days like a recurring verse. He begins to expect you: the way your fingers brush over the spines in the library’s poetry section, the whisper of your laughter in the quad, the way you fall asleep at the library table without meaning to, cheek pressed to your sleeve, pen still caught between your fingers.

He says very little at first. Henry is not a conversationalist. He does not dabble in small talk or exchange passing pleasantries — not even with you. But he listens.

He listens when you talk about Donne’s holy sonnets and the loneliness of blank verse. He listens when you dissect Brontë with surgical precision, when you confess how badly you want to translate Ovid’s Heroides as a thesis even though you’re “not in the department.” He listens to you read aloud. To your questions. To your silence.

He listens with the same reverence he has for Julian, and that is the highest honor he can give.

You learn Henry’s rhythms like you learn meter.

He does not smile much, but when he does — and it’s only for you, only ever for you — it is soft and so rare that it stuns you. He walks slower when his leg aches, though he will never admit it. His migraines arrive like storms, and when they do, he retreats. Withdraws. Says nothing for hours. You don’t ask questions when it happens. You simply stay.

You dim the light.

You bring tea.

You sit at the foot of his armchair and read aloud — Eliot or Pindar or even Austen, because he pretends to hate her and doesn’t — and when he finally speaks again, voice dry and pained, it’s only to say: “I can always hear your heartbeat.”

You don’t know what he means. You’re not sure he does either.

He never asks you to stay.

But you do.

When the cramps in his leg keep him from sleeping, you kneel on the threadbare rug in his apartment and press your fingers to the muscle just beneath his knee. You don’t ask. You simply watch for the twitch in his jaw, the barely-there tension that means pain.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No.” His voice is a whisper. “Continue.”

Your touch is gentle but firm, and when you ease the pain — slowly, quietly — he looks at you as if you’ve done something miraculous.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says once.

“I know.”

He never says thank you. That word feels foreign on his tongue. But he watches you like you’re a cipher he intends to study for the rest of his life. And if you leave — even just to brush your teeth or fetch a book from your dorm — he asks where you’re going in a voice too casual to be casual.

“You are,” he says one night, unexpectedly, “my Helen.”

You look up from your copy of The Iliad. “Because I might start a war?”

“No,” he replies simply. “Because I would burn a city to find you again.”

You begin to leave little things behind in his apartment.

Not on purpose, not really. It starts with a pair of reading glasses you didn’t even realize you had brought over until he places them on the table beside your annotated copy of Middlemarch, the bridge of them newly polished, as if he’s been keeping them safe. Then it’s a scarf. A mug. A faint trace of your perfume on his favorite blanket.

He never mentions any of it.

He just lets your things collect, lets your presence saturate the quiet rooms like dust in sunlight — inevitable, undisturbed.

Some nights, you sit on the windowsill while he writes, your knees drawn up, spine curved, your head against the cool pane of glass. The light catches in your hair. You never notice, but Henry does.

“You fall asleep like a child,” he tells you once, his voice low and unreadable.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shifting groggily, blinking.

“Don’t be.”

When you drift off, your fingers curled in the edge of his coat (you’d pulled it over your legs without thinking), Henry watches you for a long time. He doesn’t wake you. He only marks his page, closes the book with reverent care, and sits beside you.

He does not touch you. Not then.

He simply watches the rise and fall of your breath.

As if he’s afraid you might disappear.

Henry says he doesn’t like sweets.

But you’ve been paying attention.

You see the way his eyes linger on lemon tarts in bakery windows, the way he lets a square of dark chocolate dissolve slowly on his tongue as if he’s performing a sacrament. He never buys it himself. Never indulges in front of anyone else.

But you — you begin slipping them into your shared library bag. Macarons. Candied orange peel. Almond sugar cookies wrapped in wax paper. You never hand them to him. You just leave them there.

Sometimes he pretends he doesn’t notice. Sometimes they vanish without a word. And sometimes — rarely — he hands you half a sugar-dusted pastry without looking you in the eye and says, with painful formality, “This one was particularly good.”

Once, you bring him a slice of baklava from a Greek deli — from a trip out of state you went to with your friends. You find it days later — carefully wrapped, carefully hidden — still uneaten in a shelf of his fridge.

You confront him. “You didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he says, with a frown you can’t quite interpret. “It was… too thoughtful.”

Your laughter surprises you both. “That’s a ridiculous reason not to eat dessert.”

“You’d understand,” he murmurs, “if you were me.”

Henry doesn’t sleep much.

When he does, it’s uneasy. Fitful. Occasionally laced with murmurs in Greek. His dreams aren’t nightmares — not quite — but you can tell by the creases in his brow that they’re not kind, either.

So when he wakes with a sharp breath, spine taut and hand gripping the edge of the blanket like a man half-drowned, you’re already there.

You press a hand to his arm. Gently. Warm.

“You’re alright.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes.

You don’t ask what he dreamed.

Instead, you shift beside him in the narrow bed — both of you fully clothed, half-covered in notes and folded books — and rest your hand over his, anchoring him.

“I can’t remember what it was,” he says softly.

“That’s alright. I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you mean it. You always mean it.

He doesn’t believe in soulmates. Or destiny. Or fate. Not in the romantic sense.

To Henry, fate is Greek — an unyielding moral logic that has nothing to do with love. Fate is Cassandra, fated to be disbelieved. Fate is Orestes, murdering for honor. Fate is suffering carried out with mathematical elegance. Fate is death, inevitable and absolute.

But then there is you.

And you are not tragic.

You are not symmetrical or prophetic or bloody.

You are soft flannel and ink-stained fingertips. You are the curve of a question asked at the right moment. You are stillness in a library carrel, the rustle of paper, the scent of old books and Earl Grey tea.

You are his — in the way the moon belongs to the tide — and he never expected you. Not here. Not in this century. Not in this life.

“I don’t understand you,” he says one evening. Not accusatory. Just quietly perplexed.

You look up from your Latin translation.

“Why do you stay?”

You blink. “With you?”

He nods, eyes trained on the polished wood of his desk.

You consider it.

“Because I see you,” you say finally. “I mean really see you.”

That makes him look at you.

“I see the way you hold yourself like you're two steps from collapse but won't let anyone know. I see how you quote Virgil under your breath when you're anxious. How your hands tremble when your head aches. I see how you wait for people to leave you before you ever let them close.”

He says nothing. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if you’ve gone too far.

Then, softly:

“Don’t ever leave.”

You reach for his hand.

“I’m not going to.”

And he doesn’t cry. Of course not. Henry Winter does not cry. But something in his face unknots, and in that moment you understand: this is what trust looks like, when offered by someone who has only ever relied on himself.

You are his constant.

Winter arrives like a cathedral bell — sudden, echoing, holy.

Hampden grows colder. Whiter. The trees stretch their bare limbs toward a colorless sky, and the snow falls soft and unhurried, like ash from a divine fire.

You find him, one evening, standing motionless in the middle of the quad, eyes skyward, snow clinging to his lashes.

He looks like something out of time. Out of myth.

“Hades in a wool coat,” you say quietly, stepping up beside him.

He doesn’t look at you.

“You’re late,” he says.

“For what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever it is we’re always doing.”

You smile. “You mean studying.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He never does.

Instead, he turns, holds out his arm, and you link yours with his. The snow keeps falling. You walk in silence.

The library is near-empty, as it always is this time of night. You settle at your usual spot: west-facing window, second floor, two cracked leather chairs and a small table between. You lay your books down. He lays nothing down — he never carries what he doesn't need.

You think he won’t speak again. That he’ll sit in his usual contemplative stillness, fingers steepled, eyes distant. But tonight he surprises you.

“I used to think people were unknowable,” he says, voice low, precise. “At best, shadows flickering on the wall. At worst, distractions. Temporary. Misunderstood.”

The snow drifts against the library window, soft and spectral. You sit beside him, knees almost touching. His fingers brush the spine of the closed book between you, idle, as if coaxing it to speak.

“I made peace with solitude a long time ago,” he continues. “I even mistook it for strength. Silence was structure. Coldness—control.”

A breath. Barely audible.

You glance up, but he’s not looking at you. He’s watching the snow outside, as if the answer might be written in the air.

“But then there was you.”

A pause. Not for drama — Henry doesn’t do that — but because it costs him something to say it.

“You didn’t ask to know me. You just… stayed long enough to see what no one else bothered to look for.”

Your throat tightens.

“It's disarming,” he admits, with a faint exhale. “Like hearing your own voice spoken back to you by someone who’s never heard it before and getting it exactly right.”

You don’t speak — you can’t, not yet — but your hand finds his, and he threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow, it is.

Later that night, he reads to you in bed.

Your head is on his chest, the worn collar of his linen shirt brushing your temple. His voice is soft and unwavering, reciting Virgil in Latin, translating aloud only when you ask.

“…et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses,” he murmurs. “and if you hadn’t hurt him somehow, you’d have died.”

You tilt your head. “That’s morbid.”

“It’s the Eclogues,” he replies. “You’d be disappointed if it weren’t.”

You smile against his chest.

“You know,” he adds, brushing his thumb along the side of your arm, “I used to think all beauty was tragic. That all things worth loving had to end in destruction.”

“And now?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Now I think… maybe some things are beautiful because they last.”

You don’t know if he means you.

But you feel the answer in the way his arms wrap around you — not possessive, not desperate — just sure.

Sure, in the way gravity is sure. In the way night always follows dusk.

Weeks pass. Months.

He remains as he is — strange, brilliant, sharp-edged — but with you, the edges soften. The cold thaws.

He still wears black, still quotes Pindar without warning, still speaks in riddles and gives answers that sound too rude. But now he holds your hand under the table in Julian’s office. Now he buys your favorite tea without being asked. Now he touches the inside of your wrist when you’re nervous, just lightly — as if to remind you: I’m here.

And when his migraines come — as they always do — he no longer faces them alone.

You draw the curtains.

You make the room silent.

You lie beside him, your forehead pressed gently to his shoulder, and wait. Just wait. Like you always have.

“I see you,” you whisper, when the pain lifts and his eyes finally open.

And he smiles — slow and rare and real — and whispers back:

“I know.”

[yuriosakawa]

Wالrлdใน我

Years of chasing leads across the globe, following the faintest trace of ecto-energy or whispers of a ghost “without time,” had made Danny more than just a formidable hunter—he’d become a worldly one.

Fluent in over a dozen languages, Danny had mastered tongues like Arabic, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, French, German, Thai, Vietnamese, Portuguese, Italian, Greek, and even Latin. All necessities when navigating the underground ghost circuits, shady informants, secret GIW labs disguised as embassies, and cryptic scrolls sealed in vaults centuries old. But out of all the languages in his arsenal, Mandarin was by far his favorite.

Maybe it was the tone structure, the poetic way some phrases sounded, or maybe just the quiet thrill of speaking it so fluently that even native speakers sometimes mistook him for one of their own. Whatever the case, it came in handy—especially during his unexpected run-in with Paulina.

She was in Shanghai for Fashion Week, all glowing charm and high heels, sashaying through a whirlwind of models and designers. Danny hadn’t seen her in years, not since high school, and certainly hadn’t expected to bump into her while tailing a suspected ghost dealer. But there she was, in a dazzling emerald dress, her hair slicked into a high ponytail, looking like she stepped out of a magazine cover—because, well, she had.

“Daniel Fenton?” she asked with genuine surprise, blinking behind oversized sunglasses.

He nodded, just as stunned, then gave her a small grin. “Hey, Paulina. Fancy seeing you here.”

Turns out she was having trouble with her translator. The local assistants barely understood her rapid-fire English-Spanish hybrid, and it was throwing off her schedule for the show. Danny—half amused, half nostalgic—offered a hand. Moments later, he was her unofficial translator, bouncing between Mandarin and English with practiced ease.

Paulina was floored. “You speak Mandarin now? Like, fluently?”

Danny shrugged modestly. “Let’s just say I get around.”

For a moment, it felt like old times. Her charm still sharp, his wit still dry—but they were adults now, and Danny carried himself with a calm intensity that made Paulina stare just a little longer than necessary.

“You’ve changed,” she said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied with a small, unreadable smile. “Happens when you spend your life chasing ghosts.”

She didn’t ask what he meant. But later, when the show ended and she looked for him again, he was already gone—just a lingering whisper in the Shanghai breeze.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How would you go about writing in different languages? I struggle with a part where a group of characters are speaking in a language one of the mains does not know and the other one does, but i wish the reader knew what is being talked about. Another aspect is switching between languages when something is meant for the nonspeaker.

A expression in like of "switches to german" fills me with cringe and i feel like just wroting the part in german and adding translation is too confusing

Thanks for all the help with all the advice posted!

Writing Ideas: Using Different Languages in your Story

Keep both languages. Simply repeat the phrase. If you want your readers to understand the exact meanings of words from your source language, you can provide translations within the text. This strategy requires a lot of work for just a couple words, so it’s not practical to use it for large chunks of language. It works great if you only need to focus on a few crucial words.

Sprinkling of foreign language. Write in English, and use the foreign language as little as possible. If you can cut the foreign word out of the sentence without hurting anything, you’re probably fine. But if the meaning of the foreign word is key to understanding the sentence, then rework it.

Provide a glossary. The textbook method. The most comprehensive approach is to provide a glossary of non-English words used in your book. Nonfiction authors use glossaries much more often than fiction writers do. It might be an inappropriate solution if you are writing a lighter book. On the other hand, if your goal is complex cultural understanding, then this approach is by far the most thorough. Downside: The glossary approach requires significant reader buy-in. Not all readers will want to stop mid-paragraph to find a definition in a glossary.

Transliteration. Stick to one alphabet. Transliteration—the process of converting writing into a different alphabet—is a different issue than translation. Unless you have a specific, important reason to include words written in anything other than the Roman alphabet, transliteration is a more effective tactic. Things are more complicated when you are working with a language that does not share the Roman alphabet with English. Any English-reader can sound out Spanish words. The same isn’t true words written in Cyrillic or Hebrew text.

Don't fake it. Respect the language. Sometimes a project requires you to interact with a language you have no knowledge of. The simplest answer is to stick with the full translation method. This will allow you to bypass the problem altogether. However, if your project requires the actual inclusion of another language, you will have to do one of 2 things: (a) Consult a native speaker. (b) Study the language.

Play with language. In your first draft, you can let language run free. Write dialogue and narration in whatever way makes sense for your characters, your setting, and your own writing process. The collision of languages might lead you to unexpected and interesting places. You can—and will—worry about clarity problems when you get to the revision stage. Feedback from beta readers will help you determine what needs to be done for reader comprehension. If you find that you need to bring in any of the other strategies, you can do so at any point.

Full translation. Write it in English. Just because characters are speaking a language other than English does not necessarily mean that you need to actually write non-English words. Often, it is enough to simply indicate that a conversation is happening in another language. You can relate the speech through indirect dialogue. You can simply report the content of the speech, not delivering an exact quote. Because indirect dialogue is understood to be summary, it buys you leeway in how you render the translation. There is no expectation that you are capturing the actual words as spoken. But the full translation method can be used with direct dialogue as well. The 2 main types of translation: (a) Word-for-word translation is more literal, as it sticks to the strict meaning of source language words. (b) Sense-for-sense translation is looser, as it focuses on communicating ideas in the target language.

Narrative summary. Don't use this technique for crucial turning points in a scene. It's more of a shortcut so that you can get the point across quickly and then move on to the good stuff. But if all you need to do is get the point across quickly, then go ahead and summarize it. Sometimes, it's the most economical way to keep the story going, especially if your character doesn’t speak the language. What you lose in style you’ll gain in pace.

Untranslated. Some words are essentially untranslatable. Let it be. If you are depicting a language community where English and another language are routinely mixed together, you might leave some words untranslated. (This strategy can also apply when writing about a language community where people speak different forms of English.) The benefit of capturing the sound of speech can outweigh any reader confusion. Further, you might be writing for an audience who is used to hearing this mix of language.

Sources: 1 2 ��� More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some tips from the sources linked above. You can also find some examples using these strategies in the original articles. Try some of them and choose which ones suit your story. All the best with your writing!

[yuurei20]

Hello! Just want to start this off by saying that I love your blog and I find your posts very informative. I’m a sucker for character analysis and you manage to do it very well.

I had a question about the language aspect of Twisted Wonderland. I saw a screenshot of the novel and in it, it talked about how the Yuuya felt that their words were being translated automatically. Is this a novel only thing? Does the language aspect get explored further past that one page in the novels? Why are their words getting translated and yet other phrases in other languages are not(Rook’s French)? What are your thoughts about this and do you know of any popular discourse surrounding this topic?

My apologies if this is something you’ve talked about before.

Hello hello! Thank you for this question, you are too kind!! m(_ _)m

(For everyone's reference, here is the paragraph in question!)

1. Is this a novel only thing? Thus far this explanation of how Yuuya is able to communicate in Twisted Wonderland has appeared only in the novel, with no mention to similar systems at work in the game or manga!

Yuuya is even capable of reading his textbooks! While it is all vocabulary with which he is unfamiliar he is still able to comprehend the words on the pages, which he possibly wouldn't be able to do without the translation taking place.

(An example might be someone who only speaks French being able to read text written in Japanese but still struggling with unfamiliar magic terms that they wouldn't have understood in their native language anyway.)

2. Does the language aspect get explored further past that one page in the novels?

This aspect has yet to be explored, referenced or even mentioned beyond the one paragraph listed above!

And this lack of an explanation is fascinating 📝 There is no line by Crowley of "Yes there is a translation spell on the island," or "Everyone who arrives through their respective gate is blessed by the Dark Mirror with the ability to understand and be understood," or anything at all!

We are not even given a hint that Crowley--or anyone--knows it is happening. All we have is the one thought from the perspective of a confused Yuuya trying to make sense of his situation.

3. Why are their words getting translated and yet other phrases in other languages are not(Rook’s French)?

We do not know! 🥳 And Rook is not alone, with other characters occasionally using untranslated English-language words both in the game and novel (novel-Ace says "Thank you" in English, novel-Sam says "Hey," etc.)

Is it possible that the system does not replace words that the listener recognizes? Is Rook actually speaking French 100% of the time, but as the prefect recognizes words such as "oui" and beauté," they are not being filtered?

4. What are your thoughts about this and do you know of any popular discourse surrounding this topic?

I found this thread on twstsoku where someone suggests that the cast all understands one another and it is only Yuuya who is having what he says and hears translated for him in real time.

Ideas from other commenters are:

1. "Hypothetically, for example: If Esperanto, which is based on Latin, were used as the common language, and the translation magic worked depending on the native language's distance from it:

German speakers, Japanese speakers → translation needed (as determined by the magic)

Italian speakers → translation not very necessary (as determined by the magic)

French speakers → grammatically, translation is almost unnecessary (as determined by the magic), but their speech is the hardest to understand.

Something like that? Just an example, though."

2. "Wasn't there a part in Ruggie's birthday outfit story where he said he memorized greetings in 10 different languages?"

And I found a similar thread from 2021 (before the novel was released) on this topic, where commenters were discussing whether or not Twst's common language is meant to be English:

1. "OP here, I personally don’t think it’s a common language with the real world, so I hadn’t considered it much.

But if it’s English, that means Twisted Wonderland has a geography and history similar to the real world, with just different country names, etc. I won’t go into too much detail, but English is a branch of the Germanic languages within the Indo-European family, and it contains a lot of words derived from neighboring Western European countries. So, it wouldn’t be English as we know it today unless they followed the same geographical and historical path.

Alternatively, it could be a wholly fantastical world without a history of its own, which just popped into existence one day.

Personally, I’d feel a bit disappointed with both ideas—either that Twisted Wonderland is exactly the same as the real world or that it just popped up suddenly. I’d prefer to think of it as a world with a different language."

2. "If we’re talking about the development of language, it’s not a coincidence that there’s food in Twisted Wonderland identical to what exists in the real world. If Twisted Wonderland is a mirror of our world, it wouldn’t be surprising if they walked a similar historical path."

3. "That’s true! When you think about the design of their clothes, smartphones, and other scientific equipment, it makes sense. So either they followed a similar history, or we’re not meant to think too deeply about it as a fantasy world—those seem like the two options. Hmm, tough choice."

4. "If there were translation magic, there would be no need to study animal linguistics."

5. "Azul’s contract → written in English Words Rook sometimes uses → in French In Ghost Marriage, the opening of Rook’s poem is “I love you” → in Japanese The prefect understands the language → So, is there translation magic? Epel’s dialect isn’t understood → So, there isn’t translation magic?

It’s turning into a bit of a chaotic language situation."

6. "In the beans event, there’s a part where Jamil’s bento is brought up and some says 'that's what they're called in other places,' so it seems pretty decided that there are different languages across regions. But maybe we’re not supposed to think too deeply about it."

--

These are all fascinating points! ^^ Epel is a particular outlier ashis original dialect is, by design, almost incomprehensible (on JP), but maybe whatever translation is going on just does not have his particular village's speech patterns loaded into it? 🧐

Or maybe as a "mirror" to the real world, everyone actually is using Japanese with the occasional English and French outliers, but the language itself is mirrored--they're speaking backwards--and the filter is merely putting words front-to-back for the prefect to understand? ^^ So many possibilities!

[legendary-69420]

Languages of Attraction

Chapter 2

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3)

racing hearts

A/N : Google translate level Languages. I do not speak any of the languages mentioned here. Sorry If i wrote something wrong

(Context : Carlos is in Williams but came in Ferrari Garage to hang out with Charles)

The paddock was alive with the usual hum of pre-race energy. Teams scrambled around their cars, crew members adjusted final settings, and drivers mingled in groups, waiting for the day’s events to unfold. Mark, on the other hand, was seated on the edge of the Ferrari garage, casually scrolling through his phone, blissfully detached from the frenzy around him. He wasn’t entirely antisocial—just selective about when and with whom he chose to engage.

Across the way, Charles and Carlos were deep in conversation. They were speaking in French, a language they often used to discuss matters away from the scrutiny of others. Today’s topic seemed to be Mark—his performance, his confidence, and a little more than just the racing.

Charles (with a slight frown, speaking in French): “Il est bien pour un nouveau, mais parfois j’aimerais qu’il arrête de se comporter comme s’il avait déjà tout compris. Et il est tellement… comment dire, sûr de lui.” (“He’s good for a rookie, but sometimes I wish he’d stop acting like he already knows everything. And he’s so… how should I put it, confident.”)

Carlos (laughing): “Oui, il a cette confiance, c’est vrai. Mais je pense qu’il en a besoin, tu sais ? Ça lui permet de tenir tête à tout le monde.” (“Yeah, he does have that confidence, true. But I think he needs it, you know? It helps him stand his ground against everyone.”)

Charles (nodding, but with a hint of concern): “Je sais, je sais… Mais parfois, il pourrait être un peu plus… vulnérable. Ça pourrait nous aider à mieux le comprendre.” (“I know, I know… But sometimes, he could be a little more… vulnerable. It might help us understand him better.”)

Mark was half-listening, his focus mostly on his phone as he scrolled through social media updates. His mind wandered, and for a moment, he let the French words slip in through his peripheral awareness. Charles and Carlos were discussing him, but he didn’t mind—after all, they weren’t talking badly. He’d gotten used to this sort of chatter.

Then, as if it were some cosmic joke, the conversation took a turn that made Mark blink. He looked up and caught Charles’ eye.

Mark (in fluent French, speaking without hesitation): “Ragazzi, vi rendete conto che posso capirvi, vero?” (“You guys realize I can understand you, right?”)

Carlos froze mid-laugh, and Charles’ face immediately turned a shade of red that was impossible to ignore. Both of them stared at Mark as if he had just revealed a hidden talent for flying or something equally unexpected.

Carlos (chuckling awkwardly): “Wait, you understood all that?”

Mark (with a lazy shrug, smirking): “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually make it a point to show off, but I'm pretty sure I already mentioned that I speak French, Italian, German, Spanish… and a bit of Russian now.”

Charles (flustered, trying to laugh it off): “I didn’t know you… could… you know… speak so many languages.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying their reaction.

Mark (teasing): “Should I be offended that you thought I didn’t understand you?”

Charles (grinning, though still embarrassed): “No, not at all… I just… well, you’ve never really used them, so I guess I forgot.”

The awkwardness hung in the air for a second before it dissolved into a comfortable silence. But Charles couldn’t shake the thought that had just bubbled to the surface—he’d been talking about Mark without ever realizing he was listening, and now Mark had caught him, completely off guard.

Later that day, during an interview session with the team, Mark was asked a few questions. The interviewer tried to steer him through the usual English responses, but when the subject shifted to Italian racing culture, Mark switched gears effortlessly, responding in his flawless Italian. The room fell into a stunned silence for a split second before the camera crew regained their bearings.

Mark (in Italian): “Penso che la passione che c'è qui in Ferrari è unica. Ogni gara è una sfida, ma è anche un’opportunità di crescere.” (“I think the passion here at Ferrari is unique. Every race is a challenge, but also an opportunity to grow.”)

Charles watched from the sidelines, an unexpected stir of admiration bubbling in his chest. He had always known Mark was talented behind the wheel, but hearing him speak with such ease in multiple languages—each one more charming than the last—had him captivated.

Charles (under his breath): “Damn… how does he do that?”

He couldn’t help but notice the way Mark’s accent changed effortlessly with each language, the smooth, natural flow of his words. It was as though Mark had lived in all these cultures, seamlessly blending into each one. His voice, deep and smooth, made everything sound even more magnetic. And when Mark smiled while speaking, Charles found it hard to focus on anything else.

Carlos (noticing Charles’ lingering gaze): “You okay there, mate?”

Charles (snapping back to reality, shaking his head): “Yeah… just… never thought I’d be so into… language lessons.”

---

The next time they were alone, Charles was too intrigued to let it slide.

Charles (grinning): “So, can you say something else for me? In French, or Italian, or… anything, really.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the attention.

Mark (smiling mischievously): “Why? Want to hear more of my ‘sexy’ voice?”

Charles tried to play it off, but there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. He leaned in a little closer, eyes locked on Mark.

Charles (in a teasing tone): “Maybe. It’s… pretty hard to resist.”

Mark (grinning): “Well, I could speak German… but you wouldn’t understand a word.”

Charles (laughing nervously): “Try me.”

Mark leaned back, thinking for a moment, before casually switching to German.

Mark (in German): “Ich habe keinen Grund, dir etwas zu sagen, wenn du es sowieso nicht verstehst.” (“I have no reason to tell you anything if you don’t understand it.”)

Charles chuckled, but there was a certain playfulness in his voice when he spoke again.

Charles: “I have no idea what you just said. But I like the way it sounded.”

Mark’s smirk only deepened, enjoying the attention—he couldn’t deny that he loved getting a rise out of Charles. But there was something else there, too. Something that hadn’t quite formed yet, but was undoubtedly there. The way Charles looked at him, the curiosity, the admiration—it wasn’t something Mark could easily ignore.

As the day wore on, Charles found himself replaying the conversations in his head. Mark had always been captivating—he knew that. But hearing him speak in multiple languages, with such fluidity and charm, left Charles wondering just how much he still had to learn about him.

Mark was more than just the another guy on the team. He was a mystery, an enigma wrapped in confidence and charisma, and now, Charles couldn’t stop thinking about how much more there was to discover. And, maybe… just maybe… he wanted to hear more.

The paddock had settled down for the evening, and the team gathered for a casual dinner in the hospitality lounge. Conversations flowed easily over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, and as the group laughed and traded stories, Charles found his gaze returning to Mark. There was something endlessly magnetic about the way he carried himself, effortlessly charming everyone around him.

The evening took a turn when a reporter approached the group, recognizing Mark and asking if he could answer a few questions on camera. Mark agreed, standing up and smoothly switching between French, Italian, and English as he answered questions. Each language flowed from him with such ease that he seemed to be holding an audience captive.

The team, especially Charles, watched in admiration as Mark handled each question with grace, slipping effortlessly between languages.

Mark (in French, when asked about his future in racing): “L’avenir? Je ne pense pas trop à ça. Je suis ici pour courir, pour donner le meilleur de moi-même.” (“The future? I don’t think too much about it. I’m here to race, to give my best.”)

Interviewer (impressed): “Vous êtes vraiment polyvalent, Mark. Quelqu’un d’autre qui peut suivre le rythme?” (“You’re really versatile, Mark. Anyone else who can keep up with you?”)

Mark shot a playful look at Charles.

Mark (in Italian, with a grin): “Vedremo chi riesce a stare al passo.” (“We’ll see who can keep up.”)

Charles, caught off guard by the direct look, felt a slight blush creep up. Mark’s smooth confidence and effortless transitions between languages left him feeling… captivated. He tried to focus, to keep his attention on his meal, but Mark’s voice had a way of lingering in his mind. The warmth in his tone, the precision of each word, the charm—each element was enchanting, and Charles found himself smiling.

After the interview, Mark rejoined the table, and the night continued with laughter and friendly banter. Charles couldn’t help himself—his curiosity was too strong.

Charles (leaning closer to Mark, with a playful grin): “Alright, let’s hear it. Say something else in German, maybe Russian? I’ll try to guess what it means.”

Mark chuckled, clearly amused by Charles’ sudden interest. He took a sip of his drink, then leaned back, pretending to consider Charles’ request.

Mark (in German, smirking): “Du wirst kein Wort davon verstehen, Charles.” (“You won’t understand a word of this, Charles.”)

Charles raised an eyebrow, attempting to read Mark’s expression.

Charles (pretending to understand): “Oh, that’s easy—it means I’m an amazing driver.”

Mark burst into laughter, shaking his head. His carefree amusement only made Charles more intrigued.

Mark (in Russian, with a mischievous grin): “Ты действительно ничего не понимаешь, верно?” (“You really don’t understand anything, do you?”)

Charles had to admit defeat, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.

Charles (laughing): “Fine, fine—I give up. You win, multilingual man of mystery.”

Mark only laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. For the rest of the evening, Charles found subtle ways to keep the conversation going, trying to get Mark to speak in other languages whenever he could. Each time, Mark obliged, offering playful responses in German, Spanish, and even some Russian. With each new phrase, Charles felt himself drawn deeper into Mark’s world, the mystery of his many sides becoming more intoxicating.

The night was winding down, and most of the team had dispersed. Mark and Charles lingered, comfortable in each other’s company as the lights of the paddock glowed softly around them. Charles felt a warmth settle between them, something unspoken but unmistakable.

Charles (quietly): “You know, I think I could get used to this… hearing you switch languages like that. It’s… impressive.”

Mark glanced at him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Mark (smiling): “Maybe I’ll teach you a few words. But don’t expect to be fluent anytime soon.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. But there was a new thought forming in his mind—a hope, almost. He didn’t need to be fluent. Just hearing Mark’s voice, feeling the warmth of his presence, was enough for him.

---

(Dividers by @omi-resources)

[german-enthusiast]

I see I see, understood, ok gotcha

These phrases are rampant in everyday language and I see it loads online as well, and I notice it because (as is entirely logical), German-learners like to react to explanations in their TL!

The thing is: you can't directly translate them and get the same meaning :/

Looking at English, "i see" either communicates that "ok gotcha" sentiment or "i am experiencing sight"

In German, however, "ich sehe" by itself without object ("ich sehe den Hund, ich sehe das Licht, ...) is really strange, simply because "sehen" is a transitive verb (requiring an Akkusativ-objekt, that's also why dictionaries always list it as "etwas sehen", the "etwas" (=sth) is a placeholder for an Akk-object). Etwas sehen thus doesn't implicitly communicate understanding but is about sight (unless the object maybe implies understanding)

It does not also carry the "gotcha"-sentiment, which leads to "ich sehe" (by itself) not working grammatically and not working as a short reaction

A similar thing is true for "I understand", which in English can be augmented with an object ("I understand the question") but can also work as a simple reaction with the object implicitly being the thing the speaker is reacting to.

In German, again, "ich verstehe" doesn't work because it is (again) a transitive verb and does not work as a reaction-chunk.

However, instead of reacting with "Ich verstehe", you can say "Verstehe" (it's not quite like "understood", both because it's present tense and in terms of vibe (IMO of course))

I've not been able to figure out yet why it works without the pronoun, I'm guessing it's because it is then a chunk/expression detached from a sentence structure and thus from verb valency (requiring objects) — maybe @linguistness, you have an idea?

Alternatively, you can use the following reactions to communicate understanding (with tone indicated):

- ahhhhh!!!!!

- (ahh) achso // achsooooooo :0

- (ahh) alles klar :D

- ah, hab's kapiert (= ah, I've understood (now))

- ah, okay :]

[sebadztian]

Right, I rewatched episode 2 and let's talk about language...

Things started off great with some of the characters speaking German, but realistically speaking, there's no way that they were going to have these VA's talking in German for a few episodes. So, they made everyone speak Japanese with ocassional German thrown in every now and then.

And that's when things start to get... confusing...

Disclaimer: The purpose of this post is not to talk bad about the episode. I just want to point out some inconsistencies that I noticed during the episode.

First, let's establish who can/cannot speak German.

The people who can speak German (other than the German characters): Sebastian, Finny, and Tanaka.

The rest of the servants cannot speak German, but Ciel understands some German. Not enough to have a lengthy conversation, but enough to understand the context of a sentence, as he himself has stated during his earlier conversation with Sieglinde.

And then, Hilde rushed in to tell them about the werewolf attack.

While Ciel might understand the word 'werewolf' in German, the woman was talking a mile a minute and she was saying a lot of things, there's no way Ciel could understand what she was saying, not with his current profficiency.

Still, he looked aghast and repeated the word 'werewolf'.

She could be talking about werewolf sighting or even about feeding the werewolf for all Ciel knew, but he seemed to understand everything that Hilde said, based on his reaction.

Something similar happened later in the bedroom when Sieglinde joined the boys.

At first, Ciel emphasized that he didn't understand what Sieg & Seba were talking about. But then, when Sieg told them about the legend and how the Emerald Witch had made a deal with the werewolf, Ciel seemed to understand the complex story without Sebastian translating anything for him.

These are the two biggest inconsistencies that I found in the 2nd episode. This is not to say that it was a bad episode or anything like that. I just think that at some point, they got a little confused and the back and forth of Sebastian translating everything would take a lot of time and effort.

As a result, I got a bit confused too because at times, I forgot that only Seba, Fin, and Tanaka can understand what these people are saying.

All in all, they were being a bit inconsistent about it. Like Ciel was completely clueless at one moment, but he suddenly could understand what everyone said the next.

Note that I didn't talk about the old witch. She was screaming in Ciel's face, but it remains unknown whether Ciel understood her or not. He reacted like any other person who got screamed at, even if he might not understand the language.

[spyxfamilyanalysis]

Something I found in Spy x Family Meta community

from crooked-mantis's post

Chapter 90.1 has been haunting me

This is a very speculative thought. And it lacks a lot of hard evidence. If this post doesn't qualify for guidelines I'll remove it myself, but I have been thinking a lot about 'ANIA' and its potential meaning.

Some people have assumed it is an acronym or initialism, given to Anya by the facility that made her 'study'. This would make the mystery presented in this chapter impossible to solve on its own. We can imagine 1,000+ hypothetical word combinations with different meanings, but they would all be guesswork based on context we already have. It wouldn't teach us anything new, so it'd be a poor hint of what's to come.

And I imagine incorporating such a Western system of abbreviation might also feel out of left field for a lot of Japanese readers who are seeing it as アニア [a-ni-a] in 90.1's speech bubble.

Additionally, we already know Anya's lab designation was Test Subject "007". Why would they give her another codename on top of that? It would be a bit excessive. It's more likely that Ania is just her birth name, which the scientists would naturally use for ease of speaking to her and convincing her to cooperate.

It's also worth considering that Anya accepts her name fully. If it were given to her by the people of the facility, I feel like she wouldn't volunteer that name so happily, and without hesitation. Chapter 111 did not confirm it [in English, though I haven't been able to find the Japanese version], but I assume she accepts her name because its likely what her biological mother called her, first and foremost.

So, in short, I'm certain this is not an acronym.

Following that thread of Ania being her given birth name: some have suggested it must be a name derived from classical language, of which Anya has a mysterious proficiency with. And I agree, but not exactly in the same way.

I don't think it's a traditional classic language name. Not to put too much faith in Twilight's encyclopedic brain, but he did not recognize 'Ania' as a real name. He only understood Anya, with a 'y', to be a proper name.

It's like if someone wrote 'Kile' as their name. You'd be certain they were making a mistake, and might correct it as 'Kyle'. Because 'Kile' is so uncommon that I didn't think that was a legitimate spelling anyone had seriously used, until I looked it up just now.

The point is, Ania is likely so non-traditional, that Twilight can't clock it as a legitimate name. And he is a man who has had to memorize thousands upon thousands. Likely those from historical eras as well, given his immense reserves of trivia.

So I don't think 'Ania' stems from the etymology of peoples' names. I think it stems from somewhere suitably unconventional: a place's name.

Ostania

Due, in part, to how it has been automatically translated and surrounded by <>'s in the English manga, I don't know if 'classical language' is a direct analogue to a real Germanic language, or if it's being artificially made up by Endo. But, in the case of the latter, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Ostania and Westalis were country names that originated from the classical language.

Anya's biological mother may have borrowed the nation's suffix [which may carry its own meanings] and tied it to her daughter. For etymological, personal, or political reasons? I can't say for sure. But I feel like this is truly the most likely 'in-universe' source for Anya's original name.

Or at least, it's the one we can actually figure out, given all the information we presently have. And I enjoy a planted mystery much better if you can figure out some parts of it ahead of time.

...Now, if you'll allow me a bit of fun, this line of thinking accidentally led me and a mutual friend of mine to a crack theory, of sorts. I'm not trying to convince anyone of this, but I have unfortunately half-convinced myself. I'm sharing this portion mostly because the thought has been eating at me. To me, this idea is somewhere between a joke and a serious prediction. Take it as you will.

Westalis → 'Alis' → "Alice"

[Image ID: A manga panel from Spy x Family Chapter 8. Twilight narrates that he changed the student groupings to help with the mission. Meanwhile, the students of Cecil House are called forward, the first name is 'Alice Paulet'. The image is edited to underline 'Alice'. /end ID]

Alice Paulet is also first on the roll call in Chapter 26, though it could easily be a repeat of the first list without much thought behind it.

I have no claims for who Alice might be. If she is a character of importance, her origin could be anything. All I'm guessing is that she could serve as a narrative foil for Anya in the future, and I'm keeping an eye out for her name as a result.

Mostly because, at its core, Spy x Family is still a comedy. So I would not be surprised if 'Ost-Anya' and 'West-Alice' was a setup made to be both suitably dramatic, and in the same breath, a dumb pun. May I remind you Endo penned a fake family called 'The Forgers' and made a neighboring family called 'The Authens'?

[sopiao]

König with civilian!wife! reader that naps on your lap when he wakes up from a nightmare, idk i saw this on a tiktok and found it very cute (n_n)

König usually is very restless and often stays up. And you’d stay up with him, regardless if your tired or not. You’d rub his back, scratch his head. But what works the most is softly patting him to sleep. It helps if theres soft, classical or piano instrumental music lowly playing in the back.

But even with all of your help he always feels bad that you stay up just to help him get some sleep. But you insist that you’re not bothered by it and it would stop you from being able to have a peaceful rest if he’s up.

The two you have tried everything, reading before bed, a cup of tea or a glass of hot milk before sleeping, even sleeping pills. Well they work until he wakes up a couple hours later, unable to go back to sleep.

It’s like you have a sixth sense for this, whenever he sits up in the middle of the night or tosses and turns a little more than usual, you automatically wake up to try and soothe him back to sleep.

—

Tonight he managed to sleep peacefully after being at a family party for hours. It was already 12:46 when you two arrive home. Both drowsy and exhausted when you brush your teeth together in your pajamas. He was already incredibly tired from having to talk and catch up with your side of the family, so once he hit the pillow he was snoozing.

It was a miracle, once in a blue moon event for him to slip into slumber without having a glass of milk, and 40 minutes of you scratching and rubbing his back.

You chuckled, happy that your husband could finally sleep without his insomnia getting in the way. Sliding into your side of the bed, next to him, turning off the lights and pulling the covers over the two of you.

Around 4:24 you stirred awake, startled by the sudden and sharp shift in the bed, you turned around calmly. Feeling around the bed for König, ready to hold him and soothe him back to sleep. When you can’t find him you sit up, seeing your husband sat up, hunched over with his hands in his face.

Worriedly, you get up, sitting next to him while resting a hand on his shoulder. He slightly jumps, not expecting you to be awake, too stuck in his own thoughts to notice you move. He couldn’t hide the tears that streamed his face, staining his cheeks, making them glossy when he turned slightly to face you.

You sigh sadly, usually you know what to do when he just wakes up from his insomnia, but right now you don’t know what happened. König felt bad for waking you, feeling that he’s troubled his wife enough for having to deal with his restless nights. But right now he couldn’t help himself, immediately leaning in to squeeze you into a tight hug.

Decided to stay quite and not ask him what’s wrong when he’s already overwhelmed, you hug him back, one hand rubbing his back while the other ran up and down from his hair to the nape of his neck. Murmuring soft reassurances.

He started to explain and talk in german, probably too upset or overwhelmed to speak in english. Only thing you could translate from his frantic words were ‘mom’, ‘family’, and ‘nightmare’.

After a while he seemed to calm down, he was less manic and frantic, but he was still in tears. You started to feel an aching pain in your lower back from holding up his and your weight.

So you patted his back to signal him for his attention. You sat up so your sitting in a way that your legs are folded under your thighs, patting your lap for him to rest his head on.

The tall Austrian understood, resting his cheek on your soft thighs, wrapping his arms around your hips. Squeezing you like you would slip away if he held you any looser.

You started to play with his hair, massaging his scalp. Feeling his tears stain and fall on your plush thighs than his cheeks, slightly dampening the edge of the boxer shorts you borrowed from him for pajamas.

You started to hum. Partially to try and comfort your spouse, but also to try and occupy yourself. You knew that he was calming down when his tears started to gradually fade away, and his breathing started to slow.

By now it was 6:24. The pale blue sky started to peek through the window curtains, and you could hear some of your early bird neighbors beginning their day.

In a couple hours both of your days would start and you two would have to start on your errands. But it’s fine. You’ll just turn off the alarm and today will just be another lazy Sunday. He needs the rest anyway.

After what felt like 20 minutes, you felt like he had calmed down and fell asleep. Trying to slip out of his grasp, to try and sneak away to the bathroom for a couple seconds. Not wanting to leave him for too long. But whenever you slightly moved away from him he unconsciously pulled you tighter, somehow closer to him.

Sighing, you continued to pet his hair with a soft smile. Not sure if he’s still awake or if he just moved in instinct. Either way you decided not to move, not wanting to wake him or disturb him.

[lexxiesthoughts8]

German song recommendations for you because I'm bored :)(name of the song - artist)

Scheissegal - KAFFKIEZ

Käpt'n Peng - LUNA

Abwarten - Yu

(I recommend translating because the lyrics are good/important)

Lemme know if you want more because I have more :))

and lemme know if you ever need help with German homework ;)

Tyyy sm.

They were all rlly good, and like I would rlly listen to them again (I’ve added them to my playlist lol). AND I UNDERSTOOD THE CONTEXT OF THE SONGS PRETTY WELL WITHOUT TRANSLATING🙏🏻🙏🏻.

Also the song scheissegal reminds me of the Swedish artist Lars Winnerbäck. Like I don’t rlly listen to him and the meaning behind his songs ain’t the same at all but like the voices and melody are kinda similar. My parents used to listen to him loads when I was younger

BUT THANK YOUUUU, AND ID RLLY APPRECIATE MORE GERMAN SONGS/ARTISTS😋😋

[special-mooon]

More TWST Headcanons I have bcs why not (Part one here)

(en español aquí)

One time the translation magic at the school that helped everyone understand each other stopped working and it was chaos, no one knew what the other was saying.

Kalim and Jamil were speaking in Arabic and trying to communicate to a very confused Vil, Epel, Jack, and Cater as they spoke back in German.

Riddle, Trey, Ace and Deuce are frantically speaking English and trying to understand Azul, Jade and Floyd, who were speaking back in Danish.

Ruggie and Leona are just watching everything unfold and talking in Swahil (Lowkey taking advantage that one one understands them to talk sht).

Idia gave up completely since he knew no one would understand him, he spoke Ancient Greek.

Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek are amused by the situation and talking among themselves in a mixture of medieval French and Russian.

Rook and Ortho were the only two people who understood everyone and were the main translators that day.

Sam has a sweet spot for Ruggie to the point where he’ll just give him stuff for a cheap price without Ruggie knowing.

Yuu introduced UNO to the twst boys and had a game night at Ramshackle dorm. It went just as you expected (friendships destroyed, dignity gone)

Also Yuu introduced Monopoly and of course, Azul won most of the games.

Now every time they play Monopoly, everyone gangs up on Azul (he still somehow wins tho???)

Speaking of Azul, while in his Octo form, Azul is actually colorblind and can only see Black/White

Same with the twins, they can only really see color thats green-ish

When they first came to land in their human forms, boy were they shocked to see so many different colors, it was Lowkey a little overwhelming.

Seeing each other in their true colors was a wholesome moment tho.

Also the twins have SHIT eyesight in their eel form. On land they’re fine but in the ocean? Blinder than a bat.

Since Ruggie is a hyena-type beastmen, that means his bite strength is STRONG, stronger than anyone else’s. Everyone in the Savanaclaw dorm knows this which is why they don’t really mess with him but it’s not really common knowledge around the school.

One time Ortho gave Ruggie a Jawbreaker and he was able to bite into it casually. Everyone was shocked to say the least.

Deuce is REALLY good at rhythm games. Idia played some with him once and he was able to pass most songs on extreme mode.

Malleus’s horns are VERY sensitive. Also the tip of his tail wags up and down when he’s angry, kind of like a cats. But since his tail is HEAVY, he ends up leaving cracks on the floor, poor guy

Silver has slept on everyone’s shoulder/lap at least once. Yes even the professors, don’t ask how

Thats all for now gamers

[umseb]

Vettel on comeback: "Not a firm no, but..."

Sebastian Vettel was also surprised by Lewis Hamilton's change announcement. Vettel left it open whether the place at Mercedes after this season could be an option for the four-time German world champion to return due to Hamilton's future Formula 1 commitment to Ferrari.

"[Mercedes team boss] Toto Wolff didn't call me, but we exchanged text messages briefly," said the Heppenheim native in an interview with the Neue Zürcher Zeitung . "But so far it's not an issue for me, also because at 36 I still have all the time in the world. So it's not going away." Vettel ended his career after the 2022 season. After his successful title years with Red Bull, he moved to Ferrari in 2015, but he was unable to achieve another World Cup triumph. In 2021 and 2022 he drove for Aston Martin.

Vettel: "So far there is no active plan"

His signs had not changed. "I think that I have learned and understood a lot in this one year without racing, including about myself. Being on the other side has had a big impact on me, a lot of questions have come up. So far there are no active plans," explained Vettel. When asked whether that was a clear no, he replied: "No." He said back then that there wouldn't be a clear no, "because I believe that everything is a process. And maybe at some point there will be a point where I say: Yes, I would like to go back." If he can sort it out in his mind so that it suddenly makes sense again. "At the moment I'm doing very well without driving in Formula 1. There's no firm no, but also no firm yes," the Swiss-by-choice told the NZZ .

op's note: this is just a google translate, sorry for any inaccuracies 💙

[lafcadiosadventures]

So, there's this scene in Cousin Bette, which has a pretty striking line:

– On a marché, dit le vieillard en se retirant, et les morts vont vite à Paris !

(Honoré de Balzac, La cousine Bette, 1846)

“The world moves on,” said the old man, as he withdrew, “and the dead move quickly in Paris!”

(tr. James Waring) (given the implications, I would translate the first half of Vautrin's reply as “We have made our move”)

and I was like, critique of capitalism, etc etc. My friend @madmerchant said she was pretty sure she'd read something very similar in Dracula. Was Stoker referencing Vautrin? Was it a coincidence? There's a persistent shroud of the Fantastic surrounding Vautrin, it would not be surprising if someone would have thought of him as a vampire, or an immortal creature of some kind... however:

“You are early to-night, my friend.” The man stammered in reply:—“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger replied:—“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.” As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Lenore”:— “Denn die Todten reiten schnell”— (“For the dead travel fast.”)

oooh. this lead to discovering that Lenore, is one of the cornerstones of Romanticism. So it wasn't that Stoker was referencing Vautrin's last incarnation, but rather, the same originary poem Balzac hismelf was referencing. The influence of the poem was huge, and epsecially the french went crazy over it. The first translation was published in the Journal des Débats in 1811, translated from English. The newspaper published it, not without adding the poem put in display "the most odious vices of the German School".

It was not until Mme de Saël (she of the North vs South temperaments fame) wrote an article trully valuing the work as the poetic masterpiece it was, that the fever for Lenore started to root on the young minds of a Certain Group of Artists-and their readers- in 1820. Madame de Saël had thrown the gauntlet:

"No french translation, be it prose or verse, could express all the nuances and detaild of the German original."

and one Gérard de Nerval picked it up, offering FIVE translations of his own throuout the years...

The poem collects a German folk story, and as soon as you read the summery you *know* why the more edgy Romantics were crazy about it. Like other German folk tales (as Der Erlkönig) it features a frenzied ride through the forests, and a lover that is not what he seems to be (he is DEATH. The RIde is A TRAP) Embroildled in the poem are some anti nobility aspects:

"(in Lenore, we hear) The powrful and pained voice of a Titan, tormented until death by the aristocracy. (...) In German language, 'Bürger' (the poet's name) is synonimous to citoyen"

(Heinrich Heine)

and a desire to revindicate the autochthonous, popular poetry from the lower classes -the Lenore poem is recolected from a popular song Bürger heard a young peasant singing- as the true voice of a nation:

It will remain eternally true that if we have no Volk, we shall have no public, no nationality, no literature of our own which shall live and work in us. Unless our literature is founded on our Volk, we shall write eternally for closet sages and disgusting critics out of whose mouths and stomachs we shall get back what we have given.

(Johann Gottfried Herder)

So, what I'm saying is, I must read Lenore, and also, it is very likely that that Vautrin line is a direct reference to that icon of the dawn of French Romanticism, something the then elders (cousin bette was published in 1846) would have remembered and understood...

[ganondoodle]

i have never played or seen anything of outer wilds (game) and im just now watching someone play it and i keep thinking like .. man .. the sonau could have been something like that in totk, like even the architecture of the nomai in OW looks similar - very angular and mostly off-white green and gold, the name nomai is similar to the english translation for the sonau (zonai), the only(?) somewhat living one of the old and gone people is called solanum which reminds me of sonau and the ore sonanium (engl. zonaite), heck the nomai are goat like looking people with three eyes and use a highly advanced but little understood tech that you need to discover!!! they got swirly patterns alot! they even fuck up some time stuff!!

and im not saying nintendo copied them or something, the general idea isnt something all too unique (as no ideas are) but some of the similarities (like highly advanced in tech three eyed goat people that have a white and green/gold color scheme) do just make me sad bc i keep thinking about thats how the sonau could have been (minus the space stuff but moreso the VIBES and theme, game design aorund them!!), the way its done in OW is so neat, also i love that you cant understand them without a tool and you cant really communicate with them in turn like either! like the fact that there is not even a hint of a language barrier to the sonau in totk is like??? especially given the time span that is supposed to be between the past and the present in totk, not being able to clearly communicate would have been a really good and rather easy way to make the sonau more mysterious! even if you gave them subtitles that translated their language later on it would still make them feel a little more ancient

... actually ..its even worse .. in totks present theres only few people that can translate the text of the sonau, so the idea is there .. but how is zelda able to talk to them no problem? and rauru with you also mineru you could argue its bc they spent a long time as ghosts on the islands or in the shiek- purah pad but neither of them had any contact to the surface so that doesnt work, zelda teaching it to them also doesnt work bc that would take time she doesnt have and she literally talks to them all normally the literal first time they even meet ... it just being bc the hylian language never changed somehow so rauru and mineru just talk hylian is ...... the most boring answer tbh, not even slightly different manner of speech? over all that time? not some sort of accent?? even some of the old zora got one in botw (at least in german .. then again they also removed dumsda (engl. hudson) quirky way to talk ..... ), nothing? no??

it kinda plays into the whole lot that is a big problem with totk imo, the idea is there or even mentioned but its either not acted upon, never adressed or answered the most boring way