#so take with a grain of salt

[shiningliive]

Live Emotion Idol Introduction - Ichinose Tokiya ♬

Voice Actor: Miyano Mamoru Height: 179cm Weight: 59kg Blood Type: Type A Birthday: August 6th Zodiac Sign: Leo Place of Birth: Fukuoka Hobby: Reading

From the official Twitter: Tokiya belongs to Shining Agency and is a member of ST☆RISH. He has a particular stoicism as he constantly strives to express himself. He is not only active in his group, but also takes part in a particularly wide range of activities like collaborating with famous musicians/artists, appearing in variety and drama programs, and even creating illustrations.

#utapri #not shining live #live emotion #character introduction #ichinose tokiya #my beloved tokiya ill never forget you ily #but this was a pain to translate #so take with a grain of salt

[mirror-ralsei]

MINI THEORY: Ice Palace Victims and Why Dragon Blazers Is Haunted

Dragon Blazers is a game likely cursed by a wizard. Really.

Noelle: “Normally one of the characters is supposed to guide you through the maze. But it became one of the most famous (or should I say infamous... XP) parts of the game because if you go there without that character, you’ll basically get stuck.. FOREVER. The developers actually say something about this in the manual... It warns you this glitch is actually “one of the bad guy’s magic spells”... Yeah XD... Sorry guys, I think you were just eating a little too much fruitcake when making this part of the game. XP”

The narrative framing of Noelle being overly dismissive of the "bad guy's magic spell" idea suggests this is the truth

There may already be characters "stuck forever" in the Ice Palace.

Snowdrake’s mother Crystal may have “fallen down” before dying.

Snowdrake's mother has a gravestone in Deltarune, and her cause of death in Undertale would have been "falling down" before being kept alive as an amalgamate

A boss Noelle and Rudy have never seen before, “Silver Drake,” appears in Dragon Blazers as the Ice Palace boss.

Noelle: ““Silver Drake?” I’ve never beaten this boss before...” (Normal Route)

Rudy: “Silver Drake, huh? That’s a new one. Alright, what’s the plan, honey?” (Weird Route)

Rudy: “Ice on the Ice Palace boss?”

It may be that Silver Drake is Crystal in some form.

“Silver Drake” sounds very similar to “Snowdrake” and “Chilldrake.”

Rudy thinks ice won’t be effective against the Ice Palace boss, but fire will, implying it’s an ice-themed enemy; Snowdrake’s family is ice-themed

Unless Dragon Blazers III is a new game that revisits the Ice Palace, or Noelle’s blog entries are from another timeline, then Noelle has replayed the Ice Palace many times since childhood

Despite this, Silver Drake is new to both her and Rudy, which could imply it suddenly appeared in the game

Rudy may “fall down” into Dragon Blazers as well.

Rudy is very ill and likely to "fall down"

The Ice Palace may have something to do with the FreezeRing, as both keep people "frozen" inside forever.

FreezeRing description: "A ring with a snowglobe on it. ...is that someone inside?"

Spamton Value Network (non-canon, but has alluded to canon events): "I didn't spend years inside the ring for nothing! YEARS inside the ring. YEARS inside the ring. YEARS inside the ring! So much pain, and that's value."

Spamton and a "famous genius" - possibly Gaster - may have been trapped in the Ice Palace before.

Spamton: "AND NOW I'M [frozen in there] WITH SOME STUPID [Famous Genius] I'VE NEVER EVEN HEARD OF"

Spamton: "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M [trapped together in one room, and the door won't open until they]"

Spamton mentioning being trapped with someone behind a door that won't open "until they" seems similar to Noelle's description of the locked Ice Palace door

If the "Famous Genius" is the same person Spamton is trapped in a room with, then Spamton was also "frozen" there, further implying an Ice Palace connection

Berdly may also appear in the Ice Palace in some form.

If Berdly's fate after the Weird Route is to have "fallen down" before dying, then he may join the ranks of those trapped in the Ice Palace

If the main cast visit the Ice Palace and encounter enemy Rudy, Susie will try to use her healing magic to “revive” him.

Noelle: “I wish I knew healing magic in real life. Then I’d make you better and...”

Toby Fox mentioning a character in the upcoming Chapter 2 using healing magic who isn’t very good at it “yet” - as of Chapter 2's release, the character turned out to be Susie, and she still isn't good at it, implying she may get better in the future

If she is successful, maybe other characters can be rescued from the Ice Palace in a similar way.

(Screenshot credit)

#deltarune theory #rudy holiday #snowdrakes mother #deltarune #this is some very out-there and speculative theorizing based on very little evidence lol #so take with a grain of salt #the only parts of this that feel certain to me is that something is up with both 'silver drake' and the freezering #now that we know the ice palace is relevant and a specifically creepypasta area #and the fact that we might even visit it to cash out that mysterious door chekov's gun would make these setups worth it

[jsheios]

So Hilda season 3. (This post has nothing to do with hilda season 3)

#no spoilers here y’all are good #this was inspired by watching season though #holy fuck dude #when I posted this on other platforms half my comments were “’HILDA S3 IS OUT???’ #NO ONES TALKING ABOUT IT AND ITS CRIMINAL #I may start posting more hilda art but it’ll take a bit to get to s3 content maybe #cus I still have so many ideas just from season 2 I never got out #take this with a grain of salt #hilda #hilda the series #hilda netflix #twig hilda #this post is based on some old aged up hilda designs I posted like 2 years ago #I’ve missed them

[is-nino-actually-luka]

Do you guys ever think about how Badrien just doesn’t talk. He’s absolutely silent the entire time when he doesn’t have his miraculous. Like when he was handcuffed on the ground he didn’t ever say anything. When Marinette asked if he knew her he just shrugged. Literally the only things I remember him saying was Plagg, Daggers Out. He only ever spoke to become Claw Noir.

But when he was transformed he was talking non stop. He was taunting everyone, his allies and his enemies, even by himself he just played with dolls and talked to himself.

And I just kind of think about this a lot

#ml spoilers #ml paris special #miraculous ladybug #apparently he said something in the French dub #so he might have also said something in the English dub and I just missed it #so take this post with a grain of salt #but the overall thing that he is a lot quieter than claw noir still stands i think

[cocozydiaries]

guys pls pls pls

i genuinely need people to realise that when they shift they will be the person they scripted.

when you shift you will live out those experiences and they will shape you out to be the person you are in that reality. that person is actually you

there’s nothing inherently wrong with scripting you had a specific sort of life that’s nothing like your own now. big or small chances idc but istg sm shifters make ocs instead of an actual person

but for a second think about it. is that smth you actually, genuinely, whole heartedly want for urself?

ur drself ≠ an oc

decided to edit this and add some more

why do some people talk about their drselves like it’s someone else and why do some people post stuff about them like they’re a character😭 like pookie that’s you😃😄😃 you know that right?

maybe it helps people figure out stuff ig? idk but i always talk about me like im talking about me? IDK if ur the kinds person who does this pls explain☹️ i would like a more rounded view on things pls and thxs

#shiftblr #reality shift #shifting realities #desired reality #reality shifting #shifting #reality shifters #shifters #shifting script #scripts #coco rants #always feel like i need to add that i havent shifted #so take this with a grain of salt ig #it’s just an opinion #but yh ur drself is you #and ur a real person #do with that what you will

[pencil-amateur]

I think the part where lisa is like "you probably didn't even drive back when you were alive. you probably rode on one of those bicycles with the big stupid wheel in the front" and the creature looks at her and she's like "you did" is really funny

#she's so rude. I love her #personally I think he died around 1889 at around 19 because I like the idea that he came back a century after death #so if that's about when he died he would've been around to see both penny farthings and the beginning of commercial cars #take my headcanon with a grain of salt though because there's probably a more accurate way to figure out when exactly he lived and died #I've just only seen the movie once lol #lisa frankenstein #lisa swallows #the creature #creature swallows #EDIT apparently he died 1837 so he would not have ever seen one of those #look at this guy. he doesn't even know what a bicycle is

[skkpaws]

asagiri rlly dropped that tecchou hasn’t laughed since he was a baby and that he is 6’1 in the same page. it’s like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole like he’s tall but WHAT DO YOU MEANNNN HE HASNT LAUGHED SINCE HE WAS A BABY?

#we are both so miserable. #it’s ok it’ll make when he laughs for the first time in the story more special #because he Will laugh at some point in the story. #translations are from google translate so take it with a grain of salt #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd tecchou #bsd tetchou #tecchou #tetchou #tetchou suehiro #tecchou suehiro #suehiro tecchou

[starscelly]

it's that time of year again... new fans! old fans! general inquiring minds!!! i present to you this year's dallas stars primer!! as always, based more on Vibes and Personality than the cold hard facts (but there are cold hard facts). slides last updated as of April 3rd, 2024 (:

huge huge huge thank you to @oetter @saltandpepperbox and @stickypucky for constantly reading over my work and helping add to this <3 <3

as always if there's any further questions do not hesitate to send me an ask or message!! enjoy!!!! slides below + small blurb about starsblr community for those curious/interested

(click to make the images larger/easier to read)

AS OF APRIL 5th 2024: MAVRIK BOURQUE HAS BEEN CALLED UP FROM THE AHL, LIKELY DUE TO AN ON-AND-OFF INJURY SUSTAINED BY TYLER SEGUIN. CURRENT AHL LEADING SCORER (SINCE STANK HAS BEEN CALLED UP) AND VERY FUN AND FRENCH CANADIAN (:

If after reading all of this, you're interested in becoming more involved with the stars and stars community, please know on starsblr we are sooo insanely welcoming!!!! the lb tag is extremely active and has some of the funniest, nicest people you'll ever meet. we also have such a blessedly large gifmaking community, some great artists, and of course phenomenal fic writers, so there's no shortage of silliness and vibes. I really encourage you to scroll the tags and consume all of this work because it is truly SUCH a fun, lively place here!!

and again, as always, my dms and inbox are always open <3

#ITS HERE... FINALLY..... #my magnum opus returns #again... everything is made with a dash of bias and personal opinions so. i am just a guy. take it all with a grain of salt and such #so excited to share this all with you!!! i hope you enjoy!!!!!!! #i did consider making a slide for gifmakers and artists in the fandom but i didnt know if everyone would feel comfortable being added #and it just fit weirdly? but if that's something ur interested in for next year definitely lmk and ill start on it earlier #dallas stars #stars lb #dallas stars primer

[silverskye13]

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

[antiqueanimals]

A Deerhound. 1826. Oil on board. Sir Edwin Henry Landseer.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

#mammals #canines #dogs #scottish deerhounds #i went insane trying to find other examples of deerhounds that look like this to make sure the ID was correct and i didnt find SHIT #so take this with a grain of salt #Sir Edwin Henry Landseer

[rosesnbooks]

Astrology observations #1

-gemini moons talk A LOT, or at least, so many things are in their head..i feel sorry for them lol.

-3rd house placements are usually really good at something, and others praise them for this. very smart individuals. may be good with words or memorising lots of info

-libra rising know how to dress and they have their own unique style. even if they are wearing something basic, the outfit fits like a glove

-scorpio mars are either highly sexual or aspec, i feel like there is nothing in between. i'm a scorpio mars and my bestie is a scorpio rising and we are both aspec

-aquarius rising always give off this mysterious and private vibe, and when they start talking you realise there's so much more to them

-11th house stelliums may focus a lot on friendships in their lifetime, and they often leave a strong impact on them. but they need to choose them more carefully

-taurus mercury and their voices are so sweet and pretty. men's voices are deep and calming.

-taurus moon people? i love you, never change. the way these people are so welcoming and kind, so grounded yet soft and sensitive. you feel like coming home in the best way possible.

-sagittarius mars people are all over the place. even if they have introverted placements, i feel like they want a lot from life, a lot of excitement.

-aries moons want to be in charge wherever they go. if you make them feel small, they will cut you off from their lives. also, i think they focus their identity on specific things they like, such as music and films

-scorpio venus and their love can be addicting and suffocating at the same time. as if they want to become one with their partner. honestly, a lot of people can deal with this intensity, and if well-developed, this love can be rewarding

-capricorn mercury seem very mature when they speak, people always listen to them and trust them with their opinion. however, they are so stubborn sometimes and they don't even see it. it takes a lot of effort to change their opinion

-i think cancer moons worry too much about how people feel all the time, it drains them. very sensitive and moody folks, but so loving and attentive

-leo venus shine so bright, and they want a lot of fun. romance is important to them, and they seem like a kid when in love. it's really sweet. they just need to find someone who would provide them this idealistic view of love, otherwise they'd get bored and disappointed

-virgo placements are so hard on themselves, such perfectionists. some are harsh on others too, while others observe people's flaws easily but accept them momentarily.

-gemini moons, surrounding themselves with knowledgeable people makes them inspired

-capricorn venus are really loyal. they don't want to settle, their standards are high. if you seem flaky to them, they won't waste their time with you

#astrology #astro observations #take this with a grain of salt since i read about astrology for fun #and these are some of my observations so im aware not everyone would agree with me #rosesnbooks

[scificrows]

Okay, my brain refuses to think about anything other than Murderbot, so I looked at every use of the word "friend[s]" in TMBD and... created some pie charts. Normal human activities.

Some Thoughts™ I had while putting this together (under the cut):

In All Systems Red, Murderbot notes that the PresAux crew are all close friends (twice! and goes on to explain their internal relationships which I think is very cute). This is pretty much the only use of 'friends' in ASR, except for when Murderbot says that SecUnits can't be friends with each other.

It seems that this may be one of the first times Murderbot has ever really been around a group of friends before? Murderbot notes that this is not the norm for its contracts and admits that the fact that they are all friends and the way they interact with each other make it actually enjoy that contract (before!!!! the hostile attack, so it already enjoys this contract before they start seeing it as a person etc ghghhhh). [Inference: Friendship seems enjoyable.]

The first character that calls Murderbot its friend is ART in Artificial Condition. Murderbot immediately refutes this (and then goes on to call ART its friend to its clients for the rest of the book). [Inference: Maybe ART is Murderbot's friend. And maybe that is... agreeable]

Rogue Protocol has more than twice as many instances of the word 'friend' as any of the other novellas. Why? Miki. Friendship and its implications for non-humans are a central theme because Miki is friends with everyone. Murderbot initially scoffs at the notion that Miki and Miki's humans are friends. At the end of the book, after witnessing how desperately Don Abene tried to stop Miki from trying to save them, and her grief after its death, Murderbot has to admit that she had in fact been Miki's friend. [Inference: Humans can be friends with bots and can sincerely care about them]

In Exit Strategy, Murderbot tentatively uses the word "friends" for its humans for the first time (several times actually). It questions whether it can actually call them its friends or not and later realizes that it had been afraid what admitting that the humans are its friends would do to it. At the end of the book, Mensah tells Murderbot the PresAux crew are its friends, which is the first time a human has directly said that to it (at least on-page). [Inference: Humans can and want to be Murderbot's friends]

In Network Effect, Murderbot seems to be more habituated to the word 'friend', confidently calling ART and Ratthi its friends, like it is no longer just trying the concept on unsure if it fits. There are many instances in which other characters refer to MB as ART's friend or the other way around and Murderbot's humans refer to Murderbot as their friend several times. Generally, there seems to be less hesitancy, because yes, all of them are Murderbot's friends, why wouldn't they be. [Inference: SecUnits can have friends. This SecUnit has friends. They care about it a lot.]

Conclusion: The Murderbot Diaries tell the story of a construct that does not seem to consider the possibility of friendship for itself and is fine with that - until it accidentally starts caring a little too much and suddenly more and more people annex it as a friend (ew) to the point where it can no longer deny that this is happening and has to begrudgingly admit that yes, it has friends now and maybe that is actually not a bad thing.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #𓄿 #hi i'm READY to write a thesis about murderbot i am having way too much fun with this #i created a pretty excel spreadsheet and everything #i don't know why i did this but now i can look at them while i think about this more! so i figured i'd share them haha #i didn't count uses of 'friendly' but special shoutout to when MB is all alone in its cold cubicle missing 20% of its body mass #and starts putting on a show because 'the friendly noise would keep it company' 😭😭 #i feel sick thinking about murderbot all alone on its own not knowing what its like to have friends watching media for 'the friendly noise' #also YES okay i wanted to make a point about miki there but i just #couldn't bring myself to talk about that more so... yeah #also uhhh this data is very subjective #i didn't count particularly ironic uses of 'friend' and generally did not count every instance of friend and sometimes it was a hard call #also i probably shouldn't have counted the times murderbot refered to drones or secsystems as its friends (often after hacking them) #but murderbot does seem to care about them and shows kindness and respect and sometimes points out that a system is friendly #so while i don't think MB means “friend” in the same way referring to them as when it refers to ART for instance #i still think its CUTE and also kinda funny how many times that happened so i decided to keep those!!! #but yeah take my data with a grain of salt lol

[canisalbus]

For some reason, I was always under the impression that Machete (through various misfortunes and happenstance) just sort of... BECAME a priest - I wasn't aware that be actually WANTED to be one :0 what was his reasoning for that line of work? I mean, I guess growing up in and around the church might foster an interest, but...?

Well, priests were held in extremely high regard at the time. Apart from nobility who had the benefit of proper education, they were usually the only people who were literate, and being able to read was a massive advantage. Social classes were extremely rigid, if you were born a peasant you died a peasant and so on. But if you managed to join the clergy, had luck on your side and didn't do abysmal job, you might be able to ascend to a higher status, accumulate more wealth and live reasonably comfortably regardless of your origins (to my understanding the main reason people didn't choose this path to escape poverty and hardship was because of the literacy requirement. I've read that some village priests could only write their name and memorized everything else, but for the most part you had to be able to write, read and speak at least passable Latin). Committing crimes against men of God was a severe offence, more so than regular laypeople, and (at leasts in some eras and places) priests themselves couldn't be tried in regular courts and had their own ecclesiastical courts instead, all of this made clergy kind of a protected class.

Machete spent his early childhood in a monastery, after his parents left him there (he was sickly and his family was stretched thin and couldn't care for him anymore. Before orphanages monasteries sometimes housed orphans and foundlings until they were old enough to be apprenticed). He grew up in a strongly religious environment so a certain sense of spirituality and fear of God was ingrained in him from early age. He was a quiet, meek, punctual and polite kid, and because he didn't like to play outside and was so well behaved, he was allowed inside the scriptorium and the library. He was inquisitive and very fascinated by books so the monks taught him to read, and when they commented he'd make a good priest he was instantly entranced with the idea. He wasn't interested in preaching, but if there was a chance he could be safe and respected, even regarded as holy, he felt he had to do everything in his power to attain that. Sure he was sort of guided and trained towards that goal all along, but he also genuinely thought it was something that would give his existence meaning and significance, after being discarded by his birth family and feeling vague worthlessness and lack of belonging ever since.

#he sort of tunnel visioned to this thing he viewed as the highest form of honor #he endured the grueling apprenticeship and the long days in the university thinking it would all be rewarded once he got ordained #if he was a good little priest surely Heavenly Father would love him #answered #roxirinart #Machete #Vaschete lore #I'm not a historian so take everything I say with a grain of salt #it's entirely possible I might be misremembering stuff despite my best efforts

[medusas-graveyard]

Projecting to Danny (again)

Touch starved/Clingy Danny :((( Danny doesn't really see Jack & Maddie a lot growing up, even though they would sometimes coddle over him, it just... didn't satiate his hunger for more physical affection. Jazz helped a lot, of course. But there's only so much time between their schedules and personal lives.

Cue: the Waynes.

At first it was just Bruce; where he sat down beside him in the large couch on one of many movie nights the Waynes would attend (this was his first!) And frankly, he did not know what happened. One moment he was leaning towards the older man's broad shoulders, Bruce's hand gently scratching and petting his scalp. The next moment he's already laying with his head on the man's lap, half asleep.

He vaguely remembers the hushed whispers and cooing latch on to his hearing, yet done nothing. Continue: his siblings; one by one would unconsciously give him some physical affection— ranging from Dick's cuddling to Damian's hand holding as a reassurance.

It's...nice.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #batfam #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dpxdc prompts #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #to be honest with you i don't know where to go with this so take it as a grain of salt lmao

[idiopathicsmile]

today i learned that "i'm not angry, just disappointed" has a weirder and much more fun cousin, "i'm not angry, just absolutely cracking up that you thought this was a good idea"

#i am not a parent so pls take with a grain of salt

[transingthoseformers]

Oooo, Megan, Maggie, that is actually an excellent defense as it doesn't deny that he did the accused actions but rather that the autobots have been doing some serious judicial no-nos. Smaaart. Because both of these? Both of these statements are true as hell.

He may be a horrible person, but this is still not a fair trial. They've been legitimately blaming Megatron for everything that went down in the war, while conspicuously staying quiet about their role in it. Optimus bringing in Chromedome is indeed a low fucking blow, rifling through someone's head is absolutely not something that should be happening in matters such as this (as we see time and time again mnemosurgery has pretty dark implications about bodily autonomy and privacy). By giving Optimus such a big and official role here when he and Megatron have a heavily biased past is pretty fucked up. And I'd argue yes, at every turn they've been saying he's automatically guilty and that he deserves to die.

Ever since the beginning of this entire process the autobots have proven this court cannot deliver a fair verdict.

#maccadam #transformers #comic reading #mtmte megatron #mtmte ultra magnus #idw optimus prime #idw rattrap #idw starscream #mags is completely right #this is not justice; this is vengeance. #take this with a grain of salt #we know I'm biased #but so are they #mtmte prowl