#translation by anonymous

[daily-grian]

Green look like a leetle creatur

Green creature...

#mcyt #grian #grien #100 hours hardcore #100 hours smp #grian fanart #daily-grian #mod owl #Anonymous #ask #fun fact my design for 100h Grian/Grien is based off the idea that he borrowed back his old green tunic after reviving #cause i associate different grians with different colors and ''grien'' apparently translates to ''green'' #so 100h Grian is green to me alongside Grian's link outfit

[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

[canisalbus]

I love how in the chibi versions Vasco looks like a normal dog, perhaps a puppy and Machete looks like he'll shrivel up and die at any given time

.

#I think chibi Machete is channeling significant chihuahua/italian greyhound energy #maybe a bit more shriveled than average #answered #anonymous #chibi Vasco always turns out looking really pleasant in my opinion #he has those round shapes that translate well I suppose

[ddarker-dreams]

I’m so intrigued….do you think chrollo could ever be taught from his darling how to love in a “healthy”/“normal way? Like could he learn to change? And also do you ever see him as growing tired of his darling and leaving her after a while?

in a normal relationship with chrollo, you might actually be able to sand away at the edges of his more unhealthy tendencies... even if he isn't yandere, he'd still be doing some questionable things without your knowledge. after being with you romantically for a while, he'd fight the impulses better. unless you leave your journal out in the open. that's an opportunity too tempting to resist.

this progress isn't so much his way of settling down and becoming an upstanding citizen, either. you've gone from being the cute person at a café reading a translation of a novel he's itching to tell you doesn't do the original work justice, to someone he can't ever see himself being without. even then he still isn't normal when it comes to you. his loyalty, once earned, is intense. if your boss ever passes you up for a promotion he's stealing their car and leaving it at a harrowing crime scene. he considers that an act of mercy, compared to what else he's capable of.

yandere chrollo, though. hm. you can try setting up your 'how to love normally' academy. he'll attend your lectures, do the reading, submit his assignments on time... but the material isn't applied how you hoped. he isn't going to have a miraculous change of heart. no, he'll apply what he's learned on a superficial level. you've essentially handed him a wealth of knowledge for him to use to his advantage. he's no stranger to deception — if you want him to change his behavior, he'll give you the impression that he has. he's game for almost anything, so long as it doesn't involve you going out and about by yourself.

as for him getting tired of you, it isn't going to happen. his devotion is an iron chain there's no freeing yourself from. he derives too much enjoyment from your interactions and just you in general to ever give it up. he's very much a 'til death do us part' type.

#chrollo witnessing crime: *crickets* #chrollo when he sees someone reading a book from a translator he disapproves of: i can't be a bystander. i must intervene #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo brainrot #answered #Anonymous

[powerfultenderness]

Ok but what if reader and konig were out for a coffee or something, and they run into Adrian! I don’t know if you meant for their breakup to be on good terms or not, that’s up to you, but I just want to see konig get all jelly.

Sorry this one is a little late! I couldn't decide which way to go. But I still love Adrian so I couldn't have him hurt lol! 😅

Sooo, I have König doing something else! Which means I'm dropping a (Mature 18+ rating on this!)

“Ah! Hide me!” you gasped and jumped behind König. 

He stiffened, left hand flying behind him for a second as if to anchor you to him, but that was hardly needed as you were clinging to his back. “What! What is it?”  

“It’s him!” You whispered sharply into König’s back. “My ex!” 

“Where? Who?” 

You didn’t even notice him clenching his fists and holding them down at his sides. “By that bench. Blue suit. Five-eleven.” König nodded, spotting the man.

“Cute dorky glasses.” 

The guy he was looking at was wearing silver rimmed aviator glasses. Was that cute?

“Light green eyes.” 

He nodded again, green eyes, yea he was definitely looking at the right guy.

“Pretty curly brown hair,” you continued, gripping König’s shirt even harder. “Ugh, absolutely stunning smile with dimples and dazzling teeth,” you sighed and sagged against König a bit, “and-”

“Ok.” König interrupted you, he already spotted the guy, he didn’t need you to keep talking about him. “Who is he with?” 

“He’s with someone?” You gasped again and popped out from behind him to look. 

“Oh!” You barely managed to squeak out before your lips started to tremble. “She’s so pretty.” Your voice fell as you tried not to cry.

The woman was just Adrian’s type. Tall, skinny blonde with killer legs, could very well be a Taylor Swift (his biggest celebrity crush) clone. You really shouldn’t be surprised that he moved on with such a beautiful woman.

König looked away from your ex to you, clinging to him with one hand, and clutching at the fabric above your heart with the other. Your eyes were shining with tears that you were desperately trying to hold back and you were biting your bottom lip so hard that soon you’d draw blood. 

“You are prettier.” 

You didn’t hear him. And even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have understood the German. You’d tilt your head all cutely and smile at him as you asked him to translate. But you didn’t hear him, and you didn’t ask him to translate. König growled to himself, he didn’t like the hold this guy seemed to have on you. 

It wasn’t until he dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder did you snap out of whatever trance Adrain had over you. “Let’s go.” He needed to get your mind off of your ex (and preferably on him!).

“O-oh!” You looked up at him, eyes still brimming with unshed tears, “yea. Totally. My bad!” And the fake smile you gave him would fool no one. 

As luck would have it, just as you turned around, someone shouted your name. You froze and König growled again. He turned to face Adrian first, startling the smaller man enough to get a quiet, “whoa!” out of him. 

Even through his peripherals, he saw you quickly smoothing out your clothes and hair before you turned around too, this time your fake smile was much more convincing.

“Adrian! Hey,” you greeted the man, though remained firmly planted next to König. 

Adrian smiled that dangerous smile. The one that made you fall for him in the first place and still had you blushing. He tried to step further into your space, arms spread for a hug, but König caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back. 

“Hey, man! Not cool!” Adrian pointed a finger at König once he caught himself.

“Do not touch her.” 

König’s cold tone and death glare had both you and Adrian glancing at him with concern. It isn’t until you reach out a tentative hand and touch his arm does he stop glaring at Adrian. “It’s fine, König.” 

After taking a moment to glance between you and König, Adrian stepped back, he even braved tapping your free hand as he motioned for you to follow.

König growled, fists clenching and he nearly stormed after the other man. He told him not to touch you!  

“It’s fine.” You repeated and gave his arm another pat for reassurance. 

He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around and simply pull you away from your ex. But you followed him instead…

“What’s up?” You tried to sound unaffected. 

Adrian looked behind you and frowned. “You really with that guy?” 

“Yea. Why?” 

You hadn’t moved so far that König could no longer hear, and when you so casually admitted that you were with him, well, he was somehow both smiling and glaring under his mask.

“I just wanted to say hi, but,” he eyed König again, “do you still have my number?”

Your brows furrowed as you shook your head. “No. I deleted it when we broke up. Why?” 

Adrian reached inside his jacket and pulled out a business card and a pen. He scribbled his personal number on the back and handed it to you. “Here, take it. Just in case.” 

You blinked, a pang of familiarity hitting you as you read his messy handwriting. “Just in case what? I need a lawyer?” 

“No…” He sighed and nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve just, seen this a few times. After a break up, women will date the first dangerous guy they meet and-” 

“He’s not going to hurt me, Adrian! ” You yelled and threw his card back at him. You had aimed for his face, but the little card hit his chest instead. 

“I’m just worried about you,” he sighed and tried to hand you the card again.

“He’s never even been mean to me, unlike you!” 

“What! I was never mean to you!” 

“You broke my heart!” 

Adrian stopped, he looked so taken aback with his mouth hanging open and eyes nearly as wide as his lenses. 

You sighed as he struggled, and failed, to think of a response. “Goodbye, Adrian.” That actually felt good, as there had been a lack of closure when you broke up. 

“But,” Adrian tried once more to talk to you, but seeing you done with him, König stepped between you and Adrian. 

“Leave.” He growled out and stared him down. 

“Jesus! Ok! Ok!”

He waited for Adrian to turn around and return to his partner before he relented, finding you quickly and dropping his hand to the small of your back. 

You muttered out a quiet thanks and an apology for ruining a nice day, but König shook his head, he wouldn’t mind going home anyways. “Too many people.” 

The next time you spoke up you were in front of your door, fishing your keys out of your purse. You were in the middle of a half hearted thank you to König when you suddenly found yourself pressed up against the door, König’s left arm braced against the door while his right arm was wound around your waist, pulling you tight against him.

“Ah! K-könig! What!” You squealed, heart pounding wildly in your chest as you tried to push back, only for him to tighten his hold on you, pulling you even closer to his hard body. 

You could feel everything. From the muscles in his arms trapping you against him, every breath he took, the flutter of his mask as he pressed his mouth against the side of your face, and the way his dick was hardening against your ass. You gasped, your entire body buzzing with want, need. 

“Do not think of him.” He growled into your ear, earning a whimper from you, your struggling against him not an attempt to get out of his hold, but to feel more of him. 

“Wh-what?” You finally managed to gasp out, one hand clutching at his arm as you tried to calm down. 

He wasn’t having that. Behind the loose front of his mask, his mouth found your neck. His teeth found your neck. You whined, quietly moaning out his name, as his tongue lapped at and soothed the fresh bite mark. “Think only of me.” 

You let out a breathy whine as you could definitely feel the outline of his hardness roughly rutting into you, your front pressed fully against the door at this point. He repeated the action a few times, heavy pants fanning your neck, tongue sliding out over your skin once more. It wasn’t elegant, but desperate and needy. Until he suddenly stilled and gently set you fully back on the ground. 

He turned you around, setting your back against the door, and moved his hand from your waist to cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Goodnight.” 

You blinked. “What?” No. That one you understood. “What?”

He chuckled, “remember to lock your door.” 

What! You sagged against the door and watched as he walked down the hall to his own flat. How in the world were you supposed to go to sleep after that? 

More Neighbor König: [Neighbor König masterlist]

#anonymous #könig x reader #neighbor!könig #konig x reader #könig x fem reader #quick! go to google translate to figure out what he said #reader madly downloading duolingo now

[grandlinedreams]

Hi hi <3 hope you’re well ! If you’re still taking requests, can I ask a small scenario with Sanji, and a reader who has a massive sweet tooth? They can’t go a day without something sweet or they’re restless, they get caught in the middle of the night looking for something small to satisfy the craving? (Luffy night activities ™) thank you!! Have a good day! <3 love your work :3

Hiya papaya! I absolutely can, this is a very cute request 🥺

[Heads up!: nothing but fluff!]

Holding your breath, you creep around the corner, socked feet quiet against the hallway floor. Around you, you can't hear anything save for the creak of wood and soft sounds of sleep as you sneak along.

It feels wrong to be awake when the others aren't (save for Zoro, who's on watch) and you swallow hard as you make your way towards your destination as quickly and quietly as possible.

The kitchen is dark and quiet as you enter, moonlight your only way of seeing until you reach the fridge. There's some guilt to be had about knowing the code to it, because Sanji trusts you ㅡ what would he say if he knew?

The thought of it makes you hesitate, frowning to yourself. Would he be angry? Or disappointed? Orㅡ

The light flicks on. "[Name]?"

You squint at the sudden introduction of light, blinking before you look over, freezing aa your heart sinks. Sanji stares at you in confusion and a little concern. "What are you doing? Are you okay?"

Busted.

Deciding that it isn't worth lying or coming up with an excuse you know he'll see through quickly, your shoulders slump. "I was gonna get a snack," you mumble.

Sanji stares for a long moment before he moves towards the fridge and enters the code before he reaches in, producing a neatly wrapped piece of cheesecake.

"I thought you might, so I hid this from Luffy." He holds it out to you, smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to feel guilty for being hungry, [Name]. Okay?"

You stare before you hesitantly take the plate, tugging at the wrapping before you sit down and look over. "Sanji," you call, stopping the blond as he moves to leave the kitchen. Your cheeks pink. "Thank-you, and...I think this piece should be shared, don't you?"

He blinks before his expression softens ㅡ genuine, no trace of his usual over the top flirting as he answers, "Of course, mon petit chou."

The cheesecake is, of course, delicious ㅡ but made sweeter for the fact that you aren't alone to enjoy it.

#ㅡmine. #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #ㅡanswered. #anonymous #if anyone wants to know what Sanji said it basically translates to 'little cabbage' wksksks

[prince-liest]

i think it’d be super cute and funny if angel signed alastor up for some pole dancings lessons and alastor ACTUALLY went JFJDJDJD

HAH - I can actually imagine that if the current hotel residents got to make any customizations to their rooms during the rebuild of the hotel, that Angel Dust would 100% be the kind of person to just have a pole installed in his room for practice and working out.

I feel like if they got tipsy and competitive enough (because Alastor would definitely out-dance Angel when it comes to his preferred forms of dance), Alastor would end up dragged upstairs to Angel's room for Angel to prove to him that he can dance, actually, thank you very much!! Could someone that can't dance do THIS?!

If he ends up shoving a drunk Alastor at the pole at any point, I'm 100% imagining Alastor as the type of person who is not even remotely flexible enough for the kind of coordination pole requires, but that also has enough freaky demonic super strength and also the ability to, like, break his own bones and do things like rotate his head 180 degrees or tilt it sideways at a right angle, and so just brute forces his way through any of the beginner moves that Angel shows him in the most horrific, uncanny way possible.

#ask #personal #Anonymous #hazbin hotel #angel dust #alastor #I've done aerial acrobatics and it translated well to the coordination required for rock climbing #but all the fit buddies I've dragged to go climbing with me were like #the kinds of dudes that could do 20+ pull ups but were worse rock climbers than be because they couldn't figure out how to use their legs #or rest positions #so they just do pull-ups the whole fucking way up #anyway I'm imagining Alastor pulling the pole dancing equivalent of this. just flagpole out fully horizontally or something.

[lloydfrontera]

In my opinion, the reason the reunion scene was skipped was because the author couldn’t figure out a way to write it non-romantically and gave up after a while

honestly. i kinda agree with you nonnie.

it just. the set up to the scene is sooooo romantic. you have lloyd being absolutely devastated at the thought he's not going to see any of his loved ones ever again and that he's been dropped back into his terrible life, to the place he admitted he'd rather die than go back to,,, and then someone knocks at the door and when he opens it this is the sight that greets him:

his best friend, the person he's closest to, the one he's spent years with, the one he promised a peaceful life at his side, the one he wanted to grow old with, the one he sacrificed everything for, the one he effectively gave his life to save, the one he thought he'd never see again, standing at his door, having crossed literal dimensional barriers to get to him, a soft and teary smile on his face as he tells him "i missed you"

like. c'mon.

i'm all for platonic interpretations, i'm aroace, i love me a good best friendship as much as the next guy, but,,,, isn't this,,, like,,, really fucking romantic??? extremely so??? am i??? reading too much into it?? because it feels really, really romantic to me.

and like you say. where do you go from there. what response could lloyd give that doesn't involve throwing himself at javier and clinging to him with all of his strength. what conversation could these two have that doesn't involve them seeing how truly devoted they are to each other. what resolution does their arc together have that isn't them spending the rest of their lives together, at each other's side, like they so dearly wanted to.

but. alas. that wasn't the story bk moon wanted to tell. and that's very much his right. i just think that if he didn't want me to assume there's no in-character and narratively satisfying version of that conversation that doesn't end with them kissing he should've at least tried to give us something. and not completely skipped it lol

but that's just my opinion too :]

#hey i got an ask #Anonymous #tged #the greatest estate developer #tged spoilers #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan #llojavi #ch 401 #and like. god. this really was his favorite scene to write uh. #i just. i don't get it. what was going through his head. what was he thinking. what was the point of all of This. #i just need ten minutes locked in a room with him. preferably with a translator but i am willing to compromise. just gimme ten minutes. #i can make him spill the soup i know this #fuck if i think too long about how this is the. second last chapter we get. before we officially end the novel with the two of them sharing #a relieved smile at the fact they can finally live their lives together without worries. i do go a little crazy. #this would probably be a hot take if there were enough opinions about tged for it to be considered spicy in the first place. but. i don't #love the extra chapters. the one with javier making a wish to a shooting star is acceptable tho it does create more questions than answers. #but the others are. meh. i would've much preferred if tged had ended in ch 401 with an open ending. maybe ch 402 if only because i did want #to see lloyd interact with arcos and marbella as suho. but there would be no last minute shoehorned wedding in my ideal ending. #i just!! i don't like forced romance!!!! i don't like compulsory amato/heteronormativity!!!!!! #i want my fictional relationships to have proper build up and chemistry and to be narratively satisfying!!!!!!! fuck!!!!!!! #i'm good. i'm okay. this is fine. we're all fine. #anyway. yeah

[deadpanwalking]

apologies if you've answered this before, but is there a translation of homer you'd particularly recommend?

If you haven't read Homer before, Fagles is a great choice because his translations strike a good balance between preserving the lyrical elements of Homer's poetry (i.e. more-or-less sticking to the five-beat lines, keeping in the repetitions) and remaining accessible to a modern reader (i.e. sometimes he'll evoke Homer’s line-ending alliterations by using end-rhymes). The other nice thing about the Fagles translations is the introduction and annotations by the great Bernard Knox, whose commentary illuminates the text by providing a lot of important context and background info. If you find Fagles too rich for your blood, Lombardo's translations are also really good to cut your teeth on—his more contemporary language is a little easier to parse.

#lattimore's translation is the most accurate one #but i find people are more amenable to it after they've already fallen in love #i hesitate to recommend wilson's translations to a first time reader #not because i don't love them #but because i think they're even better when you can appreciate what makes them so different from previous translations #also don't be afraid to mix and match translations—i.e. if you like fagles' iliad but you're not vibing with his odyssey try lombardo's #anonymous #assbox #classics mutuals feel free to chime in

[calamitycascade]

What dose it mean to be a psychic? can it be trained or are you just born like that?

Excellent question! So basically it's just kinda like this

Hope that helps! Thanks for writing in.

#actual play #ttrpg #psychic #beam saber #atyk #all that you know #ask #sci fi #anonymous #thanks to the always talented ewan for translating my scribbles into something that looks GOOD!

[kanrix]

kan tu crees que a clay le guste lo kinky nasty aunque sea fancy ??

No sé Le gusta el sexo en exceso

#ask #anonymous #yo no le entiendo al humor de los chavos. prdon #mentira. cuántos años tiene esta canción #hi don't translate this

[layzeal]

mxtx on writing family relationships!

#modao #lace speaks #once again: the translator has allowed sharing screenshots but has requested to stay anonymous

[soracities]

adding on to what ur saying, I'm a short girlie and I've dated tall guys in the past and I actually find it quite annoying, its logistically inconvenient. my bf now is 5ft7 and I like it, I like that we're always eye to eye and he feels so much closer to me haha. idk I just think you can romanticise being similar heights the same way you can romanticise a height gap and some short girlies are missing out

i agree 100% with you on this eye contact is everything to me i feel this in my bones !

#ask #Anonymous #genuinely love this for u anon its so sweet omg <3 #you absolutely can romanticize them and i blame fiction and media for the lack of this bc they keep making height the draw and im like #6ft 3 does not automatically translate to hot how does he hide his nervousness how does he laugh what do his eyes look like when he speaks #passionately about something what do his expressions say when he looks at you when you're not seeing him look at you hello? #love is a house with many rooms

[canisalbus]

as a 16th century clergyman what does machete think of the printing press

I think by the time he was born the printing press had been around for almost a century and a half, so I'd reckon the society as a whole was largely past it's initial novelty and controversy. Machete himself is bookish and nerdy, he's very invested in gathering knowledge about various topics and trying to piece together a good picture of how the world works. Getting access to reading material would be a lot harder if every book was still copied individually by hand. His standards are pretty high though, there's a lot of poorly translated, shoddily printed and flimsily bound books around and he's prone to scrunching his nose at them.

#his relationship with faith is kind of fraught and unhealthy #but as a top ranking cleric he's nonetheless fiercely protective of the church's interests that's his job #the reformation and the invention of the printing press enabled people to start spreading bootleg vernacular translations of the bible #suddenly folks had a chance to read the holy book in a language they could understand (if you were lucky enough to be literate at least) #this was a big deal remember it used to be only in latin and essentially gatekept by priests #not to mention you could now buy a copy of your own the cost of books had crashed they weren't necessarily rare luxury items anymore #you don't just go and cut out the middleman that's not how this is supposed to work #distressing times in the catholic church #answered #anonymous

[sunsetandthemoon]

saw in your tags you mentioned earthmix were in a serious fight while filming moonlight chicken? what's the story there? (ty in advance if you answer this and np if you don't :) )

Hii. Ok, so, while I do follow them on Instagram and Twitter, I never noticed anything until they talked about it during the MLC promo a few weeks ago, so I definitely don't know the full story, but here is a short summary of all the information that I’ve managed to gather from Twitter.

Apparently, there was a 4-5 month period last year where Earth and Mix were fighting (so-called their “divorce era”). It started with them going from constantly hanging out together to never interacting with each other anymore and fans quickly noticed something was up. Then this video from the MLC set was posted and it only further fueled all the speculations (it looks like a perfectly normal video to me tbh but to some, it looked like Mix was angry or like he was sulking 🤷)

They also had a few work events during that time and fans reported a noticeable tension between them. There was also a lot of subtweeting and indirecting on their social media including posts like this:

which is funny considering this is how they described each other in an interview once

("am I still your flower" is absolutely sending me 💀)

some more Mix retweets x/x

Earth even posted this on his insta story

and then, during the Oishi Magic Of Zero trip, they seemed to have finally gone back to their normal selves (x)

they even acknowledged the fight and said that they had made up and that everything was okay between them again (x/x)

and everyone was happy for them including P'Godji who posted this video (x)

Mix even posted this on his story

which may or may not have been a reference to this scene from ATOTS

then, during their interviews recently, they talked a bit more about their fight (x) (their poor manager 😭)

and P'Aof even teased them about it by saying "the hard part for me is, I wanna work with them when they aren’t fighting with each other" when EM were asked what were the easy/hard parts of working together on three different series (x)

speaking of P’Aof, I need to include this bit from MLC bts where he forgot Jim and Wen weren’t supposed to kiss each other during their sex scene in ep1 because it’s just so funny like dhfjhsdjkd

P‘Aof: *after watching them unnecessarily devour each other five takes in a row while knowing damn well they’re in the middle of their divorce era* “whoops my bad 🤭 please don’t kill me” 😂😂😂😂

(x)

anyway - TLDR - Moonlight Chicken was filmed during their divorce era and they were spending their days filming scenes like this

only to then go home and start subtweeting and shading each other online at the end of the day 😂

but they're making up for it now by being inseparable and constantly posting about each other. there are too many moments to link but here are some honorable mentions: x/x/x/x

including these posts from last night x/x

#anonymous #earthmix #moonlight chicken #oh man you should see my twitter search now after trying to find all these tweets dhfjkdshk #big shoutout to YILOVEY for always providing all the translations #i couldn't find more indirects but i know there are a lot more since i saw people talking about them #they really said yes we're having a fight and we'll make it everyone's problem lmaoo

[cashmoneychiyo]

Hi do you guys have any plan to translate the bonus vol 15.5 as well? Apparently my country's publisher does not have permission to release them here😭

Yes we definitely plan to work on Volume 15.5! When we'll release the chapters + other scans depends on when our copy of Volume 15 arrives + how we juggle the release schedule and member availability with the main manga translation, but we're keen to get out like we did with Nozaki-san!

#mod grolia #grolia answers #ask #anonymous #Ise-kun vying for Art Club Girl's affections and Takahama dealing with Mayu&co is too good to not translate #sorry for the first ask answered in ages #also by our copy of Volume 15 I mean mine lol I do not look forward to the scanning process ;; #Nozaki-san became available digitally about a year after its physical release so the same might happen for v15.5 if people are interested!!