#this one is hard to translate

[piristephes]

"There's Apollon" / "Há Apolo..."

Há luz contra a janela O cheiro de louro queimado se eleva O canto do carcará rasga o vento O suave som dos dedos na lira, lento Há o rosto de Apolo na quentura Um sorriso gentil que só fulgura Um abraço suave de brilho cálido Um Deus paciente, dourado e sábio Eu me encontro a seu lado Com o mel em seu cálice derramado Com o instante respirando aliviado Com Febo, alívio dos mortais, amado.

english

There is light against the window The smell of burnt laurel rises The song of the caracara rips the wind The soft sound of fingers on the lyre, slowly

There's Apollon's face in the heat A gentle smile that just shines A soft embrace of warm glow A patient, golden and wise God

I find myself by your side With the honey in your spilled chalice With the instant breathing relieved With Phoebus, relief of mortals, beloved.

[majubengel]

Family Portrait~

Extra:

[harumichiii]

SAILOR MOON S: Episode 18 - 「芸術は愛の爆発!ちびうさの初恋」

[attyrocious]

usopp day 04.01.24.

[buttercupshands]

can you even call it a warm up if I'm going to bed without drawing anything big

and a sketch I made while sitting in the park today

[linghxr]

Why you should watch 乘风破浪 and 披荆斩棘 to learn Chinese

What are these shows?

Both 披荆斩棘 and 乘风破浪 follow the same basic format: 30+ celebrity contestants, mostly actors and singers ages 30+, form teams and compete in singing and dancing over several rounds. Viewers vote on their favorite performances and contestants, and 1-3 contestants are eliminated each round. The top contestants form a temporary "group" and appear on a follow-up reality show.

Why you should watch

1. Exposure to different accents

Contestants come from all over the Chinese-speaking world: Dongbei, Sichuan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and even Malaysia. I can personally say that watching these shows has vastly improved my ability to understand the Hong Kong Mandarin accent.

2. Pop culture knowledge

Because the contestants are celebrities, you'll be introduced to dozens of famous actors, singers, etc. Also, you'll hear the many iconic songs that they cover. I've impressed several native speakers with my with knowledge of pop culture and music.

3. Branch out to new media

These shows serve as a gateway to Chinese music, movies, and TV. if you really like the contestants who are actors, you can check out their shows and movies. If you enjoy a certain song or like a contestant who's a singer, you can explore more music.

4. Casual and formal registers

You’ll get to hear casual, unscripted speech while watching the behind-the-scenes and rehearsal clips. But you’ll also get to hear more formal speech when they’re announcing rules and also from the MC who hosts the actual live performances.

5. Incredible talent

Also, you should watch for the awesome performances and general fun. I love seeing the contestants' friendships, and I’m also obsessed with the amazing sets. There are some incredibly talented performers on these shows, and I love getting to see them shine.

Where to watch

All seasons are free to watch on YouTube! Sometimes clips may be muted or missing, probably due to YouTube's restrictions. But the vast, vast majority is available, and when a clip is missing, you can usually do a separate search and find it. I also pay for a Mango TV subscription, which is $1.99 USD/month.

乘风破浪 full episode playlist links:

乘风破浪的姐姐1

乘风破浪的姐姐2

乘风破浪3

乘风2023

乘风2024

披荆斩棘 full episode playlist links:

披荆斩棘的哥哥1

披荆斩棘2

披荆斩棘3

披荆斩棘4

To help you get started, below is a YouTube playlist of my some of my favorite performances (5 per season, except for the most recent season of each). Cause why not! Also, below the cut I'll put more details along with direct links to my favorite performances.

And if you're a fellow fan emotionally preparing for the 披荆斩棘4 finale 🥲, feel free to message me and commiserate!

See similar posts: I watched all the Chinese idol survival shows so you don’t have to (but you should anyway) Tips for finding Chinese-language media you like

Sisters Who Make Waves

Chinese title: 乘风破浪的姐姐 (S1-2) / 乘风破浪 (S3) / 乘风 (S4-5) English title: Sisters Who Make Waves (S1-3) / Ride the Wind (S4-5) *I call it Sisters for short

This series is the original, having started in 2020. The focus was on female empowerment, particularly of women 30+. A lot of the celebrities had slowed down in their careers, and the show served as their reintroduction to audiences. While female empowerment is still a theme today, I do feel it has lessened in prominence.

Season 1

The original, iconic season. You can tell they had a limited budget and not a ton of space, but it doesn't detract at all thanks to the incredible talent and energy of the contestants. And they had no idea what a phenomenon the show was going to be! Many of my most rewatched performances come from the season.

得不到的爱情

大碗宽面

相爱后动物感伤

FLOW

新物种

Season 2

This season has a special place in my heart as the first one I watched! It's the only one I've seen twice (when it originally aired and rewatched with friends). Compared to season 1, you can definitely tell they had a bigger budget and started to refine the format. Also, some of my all-time favorite contestants are from this season.

现在不跳舞要干嘛

归零

快乐宝贝

给自己的歌

我

Season 3

This season was the first with the show's "modern" and fully-developed format, which remains to this day. For example, they started to include more complex sets and recruited more diverse contestants, such as dancers, an athlete, etc. Also, my favorite performance of the entire series, 雾里, is from this season.

雾里

梦中人

山海

孤独颂歌

有吗炒面

Season 4

This season was the first time I felt there wasn’t improvement over the previous season. I think the stage design took a step backward, and I didn't love the international focus. It was hard to identify my favorite performances because I didn't feel strongly about many. That being said, my friends and I still enjoyed this season.

从头

千里万里

下个，路口，见

归途有风

I'm Not Yours

Season 5

Though this season has already ended, I'm not done yet. I watch with friends, so we move at a slower pace. So far, it seems largely in line with season 4. I'll update this post after we finish.

Call Me By Fire

Chinese title: 披荆斩棘的哥哥 (S1) / 披荆斩棘 (S2-3) English title: Call Me By Fire *I call it Brothers as a nickname

A show about female empowerment gets a male spin off? Out of skepticism, I did not plan to check out this show when it premiered in 2021 (after Sisters S2). But at some point I changed my mind, mostly because I had to run out of other shows. Little did I know I would arguably become a more devoted fan of this show than the original!

Season 1

This season had too many iconic performances to count, and in particular, the Hong Kong contestants really took the world by storm. Due to scandals, they edited out 2 contestants (Huo Zun and Li Yundi), which admittedly does make for an awkward viewing experience at times, but you should totally watch anyway.

凄美地

MMA

飞云之下

达拉崩吧

如果还有明天

Season 2

Looking back, season 2 did not have as many stand out performances as season 1, but it does boast my favorite performances of the entire series, 新地球. It also features a fantastic group of contestants, probably my favorite overall cohort of the show.

新地球

袖手旁观

私人生活

理想

凤毛麟角

Season 3

This was the first season to air after I started watching, though I didn't watch it live because I was still on season 2. While it's probably impossible to top the iconic status of season 1, I think season 3 was an improvement over season 2 in terms of memorable performances. We also got the iconic 0713 (2007快乐男声全国13强) contestants.

行走的鱼

爱人错过

Joker

走麦田

有没有一首歌会让你想起我

Season 4

This season is sadly coming to an end, although I have not started the finale yet. I'll start this weekend and update this post in the future after I've had some time to gather my thoughts.

Now I have to go finish 披荆斩棘4 episode 11 so I can watch the finale. Bye!!!

[qualityrain]

my hny reading experience

[syrupsyche]

in honour of our boys appearing yet again for Les Mis Letters, here is a look at their names + my favourite lines from the Chinese translation of Les Mis (by Li Dan and Fang Yu)

Enjolras = 安灼拉 (Ān zhuó lā)

安 meaning peace

灼 meaning burning/bright

“他有天使那么美。” = He was as pretty as an angel

“他在欢乐中也不苟言笑” = He did not smile even when he was happy.

“他是自由女神云石塑像的情人” = He was lady liberty's marble lover.

Combeferre = 公白飞 (Gōng bái fēi)

公 can be found in the word 公平, meaning just

白 meaning white (which makes me think of: "Combeferre was as gentle as Enjolras was severe, through natural whiteness.")

飞 meaning flight

安灼拉近于义，公白飞近于仁。= Enjolras was closer to righteousness, Combeferre was closer to kindness.

如果这两个青年当年登上了历史舞台，也许一个会成为公正无私的人，而另一个则成为慎思明辨的人 = If these two young men had ascended the stage of history, one would have been a fair and just man, and the other a careful and discerning man.

公白飞也许能双膝着 地，两手合十，以待未来天真无邪地到来，希望人们去恶从善的巨大 进化不至于受到任何阻扰。= Combeferre would have gone on his knees, hands clasped, and bring about the innocent arrival of the future, and hoped that nothing would impede the evolution of the people.

Jean Prouvaire/Jehan = 让·勃鲁维尔 (Ràng·bó lǔ wéi'ěr) / 热安 (Rè ān)

shares an 安 with Enjolras, meaning peace

让·勃鲁维尔是个多情种子 = Jean Prouvaire was the affectionate type

他说起话来语调轻缓，俯首低眉，腼腆地微笑着，举动拘束，神气笨拙，无缘无故地脸羞得通红，胆怯。然而，猛不可当 = He spoke in a soft and tender tone, bowed his head and lowered his gaze, smiled shyly, moved reservedly, had a clumsy air, his face would flush red for no reason, and was timid. But his ferocity was undaunted.

Feuilly = 弗以伊 (Fú yǐ yī)

他只有一个念头：拯救世界。他还另外有种愿望：教育自己，他说这也是拯救自己 = He only had one thought: to rescue the world. He also had another wish, to educate himself, which he said was also to rescue himself.

弗以伊是个性情豪放的人。他有远大的抱负。这孤儿让人民为父母 = Feuilly had a bold temperament. He had great ambitions. This orphan took the people in, and became their parent.*

Courfeyrac = 古费拉克 (Gǔ fèi lākè)

克 meaning overcome or subdue

古费拉克确实具有人们称为鬼聪明的那种青春热力。这种热力，和小猫的可爱一样 = Courfeyrac had what one might describe as the cleverness and passion of youth. This passion can also be found in the cuteness of a kitten

不过古费拉克是个诚实的孩子 = However, Courfeyrac was an honest boy.

在多罗米埃身上蕴藏着一个法官，在古费拉克身上蕴藏着一个武士。 = In Tholomyès' body contained a judge; in Courfeyrac's body contained a knight.

安灼拉是首领，公白飞是向导，古费拉克是中心。= Enjolras was the leader, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the heart.

Bahorel = 巴阿雷 (Bā ā léi)

雷 meaning thunder

巴阿雷是个善于诙谐而难与相处的人，诚实，爱花钱，挥霍到近于奢侈，多话到近于悬河，横蛮到近于不择手段，是当魔鬼最好的材料 = Bahorel was a humourous man, though difficult to get along with, honest, spendthrift, spending to the point of extravagance, talking to the point of eloquence, bold to the point of brashness and had the perfect makings of a devil.**

他的父母是农民，对父母他是知道反复表示敬意的。= His parents were peasants, and he knew to often treat them with much respect.

关于他们，他常这样说：“这是些农民，不是资产阶级，正因为这样，他们才有点智慧。” = Regarding them, he often said: "These are peasants, not bourgeois; thus they are the wiser."

Lesgle/Bossuet = 赖格尔 (Lài gé ěr) / 博须埃 (Bó xū āi)

博须埃是个遭遇不好的快乐孩子。他的专长是一事无成，相反地对一切都付之一笑。= Bossuet was an unfortunate, but happy child. His specialty was to achieve nothing, and would laugh at everything.

他能很快用到他最后一个苏，��从不会笑到他的最后一声笑。= He could quickly spend his last sou, but he would never smile a last smile.

Joly = 若李 (Ruò lǐ)

他认为人和针一样，可以磁化，于是，他把卧室里的床摆成南北向，使他血液的循环不致受到地球大磁场的干扰 = He believed man and needle were the same - able to be magnetized - and so he had his bed turned facing the north and south to prevent his blood circulation from receiving any interferences from the Earth's magnetic field.

可是在所有这些人中，他是最热闹的一个 = But amongst these men, he was the liveliest of them all.

年轻，乖僻，体弱，兴致高，这一切不相连属的性格汇集在他一人身上，结果使他成了个放荡不羁而又惹人喜爱的人 = Young, eccentric, frail, and cheerful: all these individual characteristics constituted his being, resulting in a peculiar man whom people were fond of.

Grantaire = 格朗泰尔 (Gé lǎng tài ěr)

朗 meaning bright or clear

格朗泰尔是个不让自己轻信什么的人。= Grantaire was a person who did not allow himself to believe in anything.

这个乱七八糟的怀疑者在这一伙信心坚定的人中，向谁靠拢呢？向最坚定的一个 = To whom did this mess of a skeptic lean towards in this group of confident and steadfast men? To the most resolute.

没有谁比瞎子更喜爱阳光。没有谁比矮子更崇拜军鼓手。= No one could love the sunlight more than the blind man. No one could worship the drummer more than the dwarf.

这是种深深的矛盾，因为感情也是一种信念。= This is deeply contradictory, for love*** is also a form of belief.

他经常受到安灼拉的冲撞，严厉的摈斥，被撵以后，仍旧回来，他说，安灼拉“是座多美的云石塑像”！= He was often attacked and harshly rebuked by Enjolras. Still, he would return even after being driven out, and say that Enjolras "could be a beautiful, marble statue!"

—

If anyone is interested in other lines and what they have been translated to, feel free to let me know and I can dig it up for you! And thanks for reading all this way :)

*Other Chinese speakers pls help me verify if this is an accurate translation? Idk why this particular sentence is tripping me up.

**Verification on his translation most welcome too; this REALLY sent me on a doozy.

***感情 can also be translated as feelings, affection, fondness etc. Used as "He has feelings for him."

[biscuitboba]

I love how the translation from the colored version makes a certain someone sound more whipped for his captain😭 and the thing is, we can tell who is down bad (out of all the strawhats) for a certain captain from facial expression alone like, okayy??

[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.

[oseike]

"This person, who not so long ago searched for herbs with me so earnestly....

"It's too sudden. There's so much everyone wants to say, wants to hear.

"If only he could open his eyes one more time..."

If funerals are for the living, what of one's final moments? For whom do they exist? Is it okay to force wakefulness one more time, even if it should cause pain?

EDIT: @keidokusha has translated this to Vietnamese:

Many thanks to them!

[ahalliance]

interesting lore moment with the francophone yesterday (as in, it personally gave me brainworms) ft. qétoiles’ horrible, no good, stupid (lack of) self-preservation . subs in English, transcript below the cut

All spoken in French — translated into English subtitles

[Video transcript:

Etoiles: And, actually, I have a theory. Basically what happened is that I’ve just returned from a mission from Cucurucho.

Antoine: And what was the mission?

Etoiles: To do a dungeon, and to recover something from the dungeon.

Antoine: And what was this “something”?

Etoiles: And the “something” was a book that sorta says that I’m a test subject.

Antoine: A test subject?!

Baghera: What’s up with your arm? You’ve got a coded arm.

Etoiles: Uh, it’s from holding the shield, basically.

Baghera: Ahhh

(Pause)

Antoine: Watch out that it doesn’t contaminate you, or else you’ll turn into a code, man.

Etoiles: That’s impossible, man, I can’t be a code.

Antoine: That’s what the old codes said before becoming codes, you know.

Etoiles: No— well, we’ve never spoken.

Baghera: Maybe you shouldn’t be using the shield as much then, no?

Etoiles: Well, as it stands, I’ve been using it for a really long time, and my mind is still healthy, honestly. And the proof is—

Baghera: Well, half of his face took the brunt of it instead.

Etoiles: Yeah, but it’s not all there is, you know.

(Pause)

Baghera: Let me worry, Etoiles, right now.

Etoiles: You’re right. You’re right! But everything’s going well, I’m doing very, very well—

Antoine: It’s true that you look a bit sick.

Etoiles: Uh, yeah, for the past seven years, it’s a chronic illness, it happened—

Antoine: No, but not this one, the other— you seem even sicker, still.

Etoiles: Yeah, okay. Yeah but no, I’m fine. No, no, it’s fine, honestly.

End Video Transcript.]

[turtle-ly]

did you know that macaque's staff has a name in jttw too? It's called the "acquiescent staff of iron"/ “Acquiescent Iron Pole Arm” (随心铁杆兵, "Suíxīn tiěgǎn bīng"), or Tùy Tâm Thiết Can Binh in vnese. It clearly mirrors wukong's staff in name, the “As-You-Will Gold-Banded Staff” (Ruyi Jingu Bang), or Như Ý Kim Cô Bổng.

Now here's me being crazy based on the vnese translation alone, do NOT think of this as truth but there's at least a smidge of sense in my rambling because vietnamese is very close to chinese due to our history (the fancy names above and our old literature used a kind of phonetic translation of chinese called Hán Việt) and the meaning of chinese words more or less can be inferred by our Hán Việt version:

So the word "Như Ý" in wukong's staff name in almost only used in the phrase/blessing "Vạn sự như ý" in modern vnese, which means "may all things go your way/according to your wishes". Meanwhile, the phrase "Tùy Tâm" is used when asked about some sort of favor, for example a charity when asking for your donation will ask you to give an amount "according to your heart".

You see it right? "Như Ý" is more passive, you wish for it but not necessary go out of your way to achieve it, and "Tùy Tâm" being used in situations where your own conscience/empathy is judged, it demands you to actively question yourself to make an action. I've decided the names can play into mtwgo shadowpeach's mental states. Wukong wants freedom but afraid to pursue it at the cost of his sworn brotherhood, while macaque has always assessed the effort it takes to join in a fight, but ultimately he decided to go through all that hardship to right this wrong.

Furthermore, "Ý" means thoughts/ideas/will, which is one of the reasons the book has wukong store his staff in his ear/take the staff out of his "head", "Tâm" means heart in its literal sense and feelings in a slightly more abstract sense, so thats why i have macaque pull his shadow staff from the magic core in his chest. Fun detail isnt it? :3c

One more thing is that theres a chinese saying that goes like "mind-monkey, will-horse" (Tâm Viên Ý Mã) so Tâm -> Mind is also a very wukong thing. That says, in mtwgo macaque's staff/ his strength to fight is summoned to serve wukong :)

The altered form of wukong's staff that macaque gonna use in mtwgo will be called Suixin Jingu Bang (As-You-Feel Gold-Banded Staff or Tùy Tâm Kim Cô Bổng), combining macaque's resolve/loyalty and wukong's strength. When he swings that staff with its body painted in his own color, his victims will also know wukong's might when the golden glint of its ends becomes the last thing they see.

[zishuge]

Di Feisheng taking every opportunity to roast Li Xiangyi; Li Lianhua is only amused Mysterious Lotus Casebook (2023)

[buttercupshands]

rewatched Kurogiri's holiday story from ultra impact (not related to sketch at all)

(but it did inspire me)

on another note

finally!!

[itachanta]

"Don't cry, Meryl".

One of my favorite scenes from Trigun Maximum

Scans & translation by @trigun-manga-overhaul