Photo
TWICE has released a group concept photo for their upcoming pre-release English single “Moonlight Sunrise” which is scheduled to be released on January 20th.
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
46K notes
·
View notes
Text
Did you think I was done? Ahahahaha no, I have more.
Because chapter 70 of MOMU gave me the very dynamic between them that I missed so much, I just blacked out and started drawing uncontrollably lmao
Also. ALSO. I noticed a while ago that Prowl has the habit of..like…constantly frowning. So. I did a bit of research and made this graph.
In 70 chapters, Prowl frowns rougly 104 times. And the intensity of this gesture is very clearly correlated with the development of his relationship with Jazz, as you can see ahahahahah It might be wrong tho don’t take me seriously I’m not good with graphs
#maccadam#transformers#prowl#jazz#jazzprowl#fic fanart#momu fanart#I just#mmmmm#For the whole fic Prowl had to think twice about everything Jazz says#every information could end up being wrong#sometimes even without Jazz realising it#so when Prowl says#he’s trusting Jazz. it’s.#also it totally wasn’t me googling ‘believing and trusting nuance difference in english’#the moment I realised the difference I think my brain started rollercoaster loops#he can’t believe him but he found enough faith to trust him#while. YES. For the whole story Jazz couldn’t fucking be believed#list e n#Jazz did a lot of things for Prowl#fucktons of big and small gestures to show that yes he likes loves and appreciates Prowl#I’m so happy Prowl is returning this energy#like#remember that scene a while back when Jazz kissed Prowl? Cool cool okay. Did Prowl kiss him? nope. It was one sided gestures#*gesture. That kiss didn’t make me feel like it’s truly something precious because Jazz started it but Prowl didn’t do quite the same#but this👆. This feels so much more important for me. Because Prowl#who is for the whole story was mister I calculate every chance of possible betrayal. Prowl whos entire personality is to trust nobody#Prowl goes. Fuck that I trust you. You feel me?#it wouldn’t be the same if he said I love you. Because love is very much something you don’t have a lot of control over.#but to trust someone? It’s a choice Prowl had to consciously make. You see what I mean? I love it. oh fuck I ran out of tags..
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
day 1421
#uh just a heads up if you expand the tags to see all there's. a lot. very long#amphibian#frog#poison dart frog#based on my most popular frog to date (day 651)#inspired by everyone pointing out what they think it looks like#here's a fun secret fact the original guy is actually a phantasmal poison dart frog (Epipedobates tricolor)#(according to the original artists title of the drawing)#not Anthony's poison arrow frog (Epipedobates anthonyi)#i feel too awkward to really point it out though because they look the exact same. i cannot tell if there is a difference#im half convinced the same frog was just discovered and named twice#its very curious btw if you go on the (english) wikipedia page for either species it doesn't mention the other#while hereptiles.info (no idea if this is a trustworthy site) lists both names as common names for the same frog (incorrectly??)#while inaturalist lists them as two different frogs. curiously with tricolor having wayyyyy fewer photos#ok anyway that's my rant i went on a whole journey trying to figure out if these are the same frog or not and i have no answer#i did some more 'research' and i am more confused. some sources seem to imply they are now considered the same species ( e. tricolor)#i think my conclusion is i am willing to agree the drawing looks more like e. anthonyi. it seems like tricolor is generally less vibrant re#and the white is darker and more green?#i feel like thumblr should stop me from typing more in the tags at this point this is a whole essay#at this point i am failry convinced this is specifically the Santa Isabel frog. isthat the real subspecies or morph or whatever#or just the name pet sites are using to sell it??#i even found some sources (frog selling websites) refering to it as “Epipedobates Anthonyi 'Santa Isabel' Phantasmal Poison Dart Frog” lol#Anyways if you read this far hi. species are confusing. i am not a frog scientist#the first few tags are like an hour old now i just kept trying to figure it out and adding more tags
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
"I see you wore black to a village wedding," I laugh. "I see you wore a suit to a village wedding," she retorts, sharp smile and curious eyes. "and I would have worn a suit, too, actually, but changed my mind at the last minute."
and oh thank the gods that she did - she looked absolutely stunning in that dress. a bit too revealing, a bit too tight, a bit too black - and shimmering, silver, glittering, swirling in the night as she danced and as she swayed, and even as she put out cigarette after cigarette against the stone fence she sat on.
"I know you judge that I smoke," she says "but forget about it for a second." another smile, she looks up at me through ridiculous lashes. I don't say anything. she hands me her lighter, and I take a bit too long to reach for it:
"I think it broke, I can't get it to work," she sighs, "but you're a witch, no? so I'm sure you can get it to work"
and the night is eerily quiet around us, the sounds of the wedding behind us drowned out by her voice entirely.
"so light me up"
#black coffee#sorry I'm insane. I'm insane.#she called me a witch twice. once alone and then in front of the couple that propositioned me#and I can pretend it means nothing but I am weak in the fucking knees when someone from outside this silly online circle calls me a witch#also the above is translated into english but it was much more fun and raw in polish. aough.#'no to dawaj. SPAL MNIE"#sorry popierdoli mnie zaraz#wesele było w sobotę zaraz minie tydzień
161 notes
·
View notes
Note
Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏
There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.
To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.
It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.
Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.
Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.
Why have ye no routhe on my child?
Have routhe on me ful of mourning;
Tak doun o rode my derworth child,
Or prik me o rode with my derling!
[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]
An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.
Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.
More pine ne may me ben y-don
Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;
As love me bindëth to my sone,
So let us deyen bothe y-same.
[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]
Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.
[He knows I'm here.]
Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.
Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.
Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.
Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...
[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]
[Gods... But it hurts......]
Why have ye no routhe on my child?
Have routhe on me ful of mourning;
[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]
Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.
[... It hurts...]
[Gods and saints it hurts.]
[I'm dying.]
A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.
"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."
Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.
"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."
Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."
"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."
Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."
"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."
"How... charitable."
"It is a virtue."
"Sure."
Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.
[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]
"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."
"Too prideful?"
Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.
"No."
"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."
Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"
"I don't have any kindness for people like you."
[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]
Have ye no routhe on my child?
There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.
As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."
The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.
[I'm dying.]
[Breathe.]
[I'm dying.]
A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.
"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.
"I was... walking home."
"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.
"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."
"Hubris."
"Habit."
"Yeah right."
"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."
Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.
[Breathe.]
Why have ye no routhe on my child?
Have routhe on me ful of mourning;
Tak doun o rode my derworth child,
Or prik me o rode with my derling!
[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]
"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."
"What?"
"Stupid poem."
"How much blood have you lost?"
Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.
"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.
It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.
"Your heart's too fast."
"That happens."
Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.
"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."
More pine ne may me ben y-don
Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;
["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]
Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.
"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"
"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."
"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."
"... they."
As love me bindëth to my sone,
So let us deyen bothe y-same.
[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]
"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"
Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.
"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"
That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.
"I would help."
"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.
"I... can't lie."
"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"
"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.
"Why?"
"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."
"That's not a tenet."
"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."
"It does not."
"It might as well."
Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.
"What is routhe?"
Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"
"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."
"As in?"
"Poetry."
"Use it in a sentence."
"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"
"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."
"Merciless."
"Yes."
Why have you no mercy on my child?
"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"
Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."
"Can I hear it?"
"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."
"Tell me and I'll heal you."
There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.
Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.
"Do what you will."
An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.
Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.
"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."
"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.
"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.
"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."
"... I see."
"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."
"Right... manageable."
Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.
Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."
Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.
"What are you so scared of?"
Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.
"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."
Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.
[As it should be.]
Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:
Why have you no mercy on my child?
Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;
Take down the road my dearworth child,
O give me a road with my darling!
More pain to me could not be done
Than to let me live in sorrow and shame
As with love I am bound to my son,
So let us die then, both the same.
#Situations Asks#rns asks#anonymous#tw wounds#tw blood#tw dying#tw fear#welsknight#helsknight#[jazzhands] mind the tags she's an intense one!#And also very long#4k words woooo#The poem in Middle English is Why Have Ye No Routhe On My Child#it is supposedly from the 14th century#but i had a very very hard time finding sources for it#so take that with a heavy grain of salt#i will say the middle english -> modern english translation is mine#done using the Chaucer Dictionary from the University of Cambridge#As well as the Oxford Middle English Compendium#take the translation with a grain of salt its one of maybe twice i've done something like this#but i think it stayed decently faithful to the source material#as faithful as someone who sucks at reading Middle English can make a translation anyway#rns ficlet
337 notes
·
View notes
Text
aw what a nice cover art of them napping togeth
wait a second. computer enhance
🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨
#1pc#1pc lb#i was like 'oh surely it is just an accident of the pen' and then noticed its written TWICE...#one piece#IM JUST SAYING. Oda is a known dick joke maker.#and his english spelling is usually spot on
551 notes
·
View notes
Text
Villain pages from the My Hero Academia: The Official Easy Illustration Guide Paperback (2023)
#bnha#bnha official#league of villains#lov#shie hassaikai#all for one#tomura shigaraki#dabi#himiko toga#hero killer stain#spinner#chronostasis#overhaul#jin bubaigawara#twice#kurogiri#mr compress#so many tagsss imsosorry#anyways these are from the english version of the book... that came out in oct 2023 lol
410 notes
·
View notes
Text
favourite poems of july
knar gavin strindberg grey
dahlia ravikovitch the love of an orange (tr. chana bloch)
danez smith summer, somewhere
hannah gamble your invitation to a modest breakfast: “your invitation to a modest breakfast”
claire schwartz lecture on the history of the house
joseph brodsky collected poems in english, 1972-1999: “a part of speech”
ralph angel twice removed: “alpine wedding”
bob hicok insomnia diary: “spirit ditty of no fax-line dial tone”
caleb klaces language is her caravan
philip good & bernadette mayer alternating lunes
hester knibbe light-years (tr. jacquelyn pope)
tracy k. smith life on mars: “the universe as primal scream”
rigoberto gonzález other fugitives and other strangers: “the strangers who find me in the woods”
stephen edgar murray dreaming
james schuyler other flowers: uncollected poems: “light night”
amy beeder because our waiters are hopeless romantics
diane seuss backyard song
tomás q. morín love train
safiya sinclair the art of unselfing
carol muske-dukes skylight: “the invention of cuisine”
peter gizzi the outernationale: “vincent, homesick for the land of pictures”
william matthews selected poems and translations, 1969-1991: “onions”
c.k. williams butcher
mark mccloskey the smell of the woods
jennifer chang the age of unreason
richard blanco city of a hundred fires: “contemplations at the virgin de la caridad cafeteria, inc.”
bob hicock the pregnancy of words
j. allyn rosser impromptu
carl phillips then the war
stephanie young ursula or university: “essay”
gloria e. anzaldúa the new speakers
kofi
#tbr#knar gavin#strindberg grey#strindberg gray#dahlia ravikovitch#the love of an orange#chana bioch#danez smith#summer somewhere#hannah gamble#your invitation to a modern breakfast#claire schwartz#lecture on the history of the house#joseph brodsky#collected poems in english#a part of speech#collected poems in english 1972-1999#ralph angel#twice removed#alpine wedding#bob hicock#insomnia diary#spirit ditty of no-fax dial tone#caleb klaces#language is her caravan#philip good#alternating lunes#bernadette mayer#hester knibble#light-years
792 notes
·
View notes
Text
Live Musgrave Reaction ↳ Sherlock Holmes Granada (1984) - s03e04 - The Musgrave Ritual
#he looks at watson TWICE#also crucial context here is watson delivers this entirely in whispers#what even is this entire episode#I suppose this was intended as a 'so Sherlock views my butler as more his intellectual equal than I?' kind of moment#but my heart knows the truth 😌#'how come the symbiotic pair of you aren't betrothed yet?!'#oh and the new colour sliders in davinci resolve are made of actual ✨magic✨#they do the exact thing my brain wants to do to images#I could cry 😂😂😭😭😭#maddie's gif tag#maddie's sh tag#sherlock holmes 1984#sherlock holmes granada#granada sherlock holmes#granada holmes#granada johnlock#might put up a before/after comparison for these cause the difference is HUGE#oh the joy of working with video that hasn't been colour graded at all :)#look at the white balance! the skin tones! the depth of the cyan in that stairwell! that's all me!! I did that manually!!!#fuckin... hooray!!!#(I cannot be trusted with the english language anymore)
191 notes
·
View notes
Photo
TWICE has released a set of individual concept photos of Nayeon, Jeongyeon, & Momo for their upcoming pre-release English single “Moonlight Sunrise” which is scheduled to be released on January 20th.
#twice#teaser#twice: teaser#twice: moonlight sunrise#english#twice: english#nayeon#twice: nayeon#jeongyeon#twice: jeongyeon#momo#twice: momo
46 notes
·
View notes
Note
forgive me for the possibly foolish question, but what kind of care do the fish in the aquaponics require? do you have to feed them to a certain point where the plants then supply their diet, or do you continuously care for them? merci! i love your blog 🌱
The plants don't feed the fish, it's the other way around :) The plants use the fish poop as natural fertiliser (with the help of useful bacteria that break it down), and in doing so they clean the water for the fish. Here's a little diagram
Since my system has towers over the fish tank rather than grow beds, the fish do nibble on the plant roots that dip in the water but that's just an illegal snack, fish food is their main diet. Also when I find little insects on the plants, I shake them so the insect falls in the water where the fish give it an enthusiastic welcome. Some aquaponic gardeners farm insects to feed their fish (and they feed the insects with some of the plants so they have a complete symbiotic system) but I haven't tried that yet. I used to successfully breed dynasties of stick insects in a terrarium in my bedroom as a kid, so maybe someday.
The fish part of the aquaponic system is very low-maintenance—I don't clean the tank since the plants absorb the fish waste, I just have to adjust how much I feed the fish depending on how many plants there are, so the water doesn't get dirty, it's a bit of a balancing act. The main other thing to watch for is the water pH, for plants it should be around 6 or 6.5 (ideally) and for fish around 7 or 7.5, so I try to keep it between 6.5 and 7 to keep everyone reasonably happy. Rainwater has a lower pH and my spring has a higher one, so when I fill up my watering can in the tank to water outside plants, I look at the pH meter and top up the tank with rain or spring water depending on what's needed.
You just have to be careful not to pick up a hitchhiker fish in your watering can as you go to water other plants!
#ask#english darling i know you don't hear this very often but you don't have enough words#filling my watering can with water to water the plants i planted in the planters...#at least make plant & planter and water & watering have different roots#arrosoir... regadera... just borrow something#you try to make things too simple for yourself you end up with unavoidable redundancy#like with your lack of pronominal verbs#came across the sentence ''la vida misma defendiéndose'' the other day / ''la vie elle-même se défend''#in english ''life itself defending itself''#you have to write itself twice! that's just shameful#anyway
713 notes
·
View notes
Text
day 7 of torikasa week is future! what will they do after graduation?
#torikasa#enstars#ensemble stars#tori himemiya#tsukasa suou#art tag#torikasa week 2024#i fear im tagging it slightly differently every day#the first page is actually from may hsldkjfhlsjfds#and you can kinda tell because that was the height of my ''they should be in different continents.'' era#promessa fixed me later#but i still entertain this thought often....#after this tsukasa says something dismissive and hurtful and tori gets angry because he was actually excited to share this!#why can't you be happy for me!#but tsukasa can't be happy. because it means he can no longer be by tori's side. then realization. then ooook a lot to unpack there#then maybe he offers to help tori with english#he doesn't want to cut off his wings after all!!!!!!!!!1#then maybe and only maybe he ends up going along with tori despite everything#since this is more like a self-imposed distance in the end#tho if we're being real since this is enstars tori would end up going back to japan like twice a month izumi-style#this writes itself. im not drawing it rn but it does#i think both separation and going abroad together is good#terrible roommates at college sounds so fun............. that should definitely happen in canon my favorite business majors#comic#nearly forgot that one
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wings 👐🏻✨
#happy wings day!!#they formed...well the first line up#formed on this day in 1971!#and i felt like doing a little edit with the lineups over the years#yes i put the trio twice since they went to being the trio twice during the 10 years of wings#wings#paul mccartney and wings#as i keep saying it should be linda and her bitches >:)#paul mccartney#linda mccartney#denny laine#denny seiwell#henry mccullough#jimmy mcculloch#geoff britton#joe english#laurence juber#steve holley#my edits#my edit#wingsedit
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
merlin holding arthur’s corpse and saying “i’ve failed?” or gwaine dying in percival’s arms and saying “i’ve failed.”?
#was it casual when i died in your arms?#idk man it happened twice in merlin#i can find so many parallels in this ep alone#this show is so sick and twisted#sick and twisted sick and twisted#english or spanish but torture lol#bbc merlin#merlin#bbcm#bbc#bbc's merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#sir gwaine#sir percival#merthur#perwaine
50 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello!! hope you're having a good day :D
since you're doing the pride flag challenge, I hope you don't mind me requesting the lithromantic/sexual flag!
left is lithsexual and the right is lithromantic, idm which one you pick :]
(it means to feel romantic and/or sexual attraction to someone but doesn't want the feeling reciprocated or stops once it is :>)
Day 297 of posting Jevil every day
#pride palettes#lithromantic#I wanted to go with the Lithromantic palette because I thought the green and red was interesting and also because it feels familiar#five colors.. mostly black? this is the closest I’ve gotten to drawing Jevil in his actual color palette since we’ve started this!#this whole June Pride event has been so exciting and it makes me really happy to see you all getting happy when you see yourself reflected#in a palette. But I do miss drawing regular Jevils!!!#I may get my chance though. Day 300 is coming up fast and it’s gonna be during June. do I do a regular Pride jevil or a special normal#palette Jev? I guess we’ll see how I’m feeling day of.#hmmm. hey if you’ve read this far- want some Dailyjevil lore?#when I started dailyjevil.. Jevil wasn’t even my favorite Deltarune character#It was Rouxls Kaard actually. Actually had a big crush on him- crazy right?? I don’t get those often.#Anyways I started Dailyjevil on a whim in the middle of my 5th period English class. I noticed there wasn’t a daily jevil art blog and#thought I could try it for a month or two. By the way- I had drawn Jevil like twice before this. Never could’ve seen it lasting this long!#Now I have around 300 Jevils in my camera roll. I didn’t think it would last once my Deltarune fixation wore off.#I’m probably gonna go in detail of it all later once this is all over in a big thank you post#I’m starting to plan what I’m gonna do for the final day#gah!!!!! I can’t believe I’ve almost made it!!!!!#dailyjevil#deltarune#deltarune jevil#jevil#jevil deltarune
67 notes
·
View notes