Im In Tears - Tumblr Posts
Link Click, internet slang, and Chinese culture
On the Chinese internet, there's a nickname for Link Click called Shiguang Daidaoren, meaning "the blade-bringers of time" instead of "the managers of time," the original title. Calling something "blade" is Chinese internet slang for something being angsty; whether it be derivative content or the originals themselves. Another meme is that Link Click isn't zhiyu (治愈，healing), which it is tagged as on Bilibili, but zhiyu (致郁，causing depression).
Link Click, especially its first season, is a deeply emotional and sentimental show. And it's a shame that so much of it gets not so much lost in literal, linguistic translation as much as it does in cultural, contextual translation. Many people can understand Emma's pain of being away from her parents in a new city, working a difficult job. But watching the scrolling comments on Bilibili, you get the cultural context of it -- the massive migration patterns within China from rural to urban, the children growing up and having to shed their local fangyan (方言) or, less formally, tuhua (土话)("speech of the locations" and "old-fashioned words," respectively) in exchange for Beijing Mandarin. This massive nation, nearly twice the population of Europe and only about 6% smaller in terms of area, is so diverse as to have created (what is close to) an immigrant experience for its citizens entirely within its borders. You visit your parents on Chunjie (春节）, lunar/Chinese new year, on packed trains during the largest singular human migration event on Earth, annually. And when you get home, you are faced with something different from the cities you now live in -- everything from the buildings to the furniture to the clothes they wear. I hadn't realized how deeply I missed the gaudy, garish mianao (棉袄，coats) and mianbei (棉被，cotton blankets) until I saw familiar shades of too-bright burgundy in the hands of Emma's parents. The concept of this original-home, laojia (老家, old-home) is so strongly baked into our lives that every time I meet another Chinese person, I cannot but help but ask them 你老家哪儿啊? Where is your original-home? And even though I know nothing about Chinese geography, every time I hear the answer, a little piece slots into place nonetheless.
In slang, if something made you cry or otherwise feel an emotion you weren't expecting to feel, you refer to it as pofang (破防，breaking defences). And maybe it says something that an expression of human emotion is viewed as a failure in some defences, but that's introspection for another time. Watching on Bilibili, with its hundreds of comments scrolling by "My defences have been breached" and sobbing onomatopoeia, people in the comments saying that they miss their mothers and fathers -- I, too, miss my family. When Cheng Xiaoshi, in Chen Xiao's body, tried to speak his host body's local variation and came up with butchered dongbeihua (东北话, words of the east-north), I nearly fell out of my chair. It was the sound of home, of my grandmother telling us to hush around noon because our neighbours were napping and my grandfather showing me how to play spider solitaire.
Cheng Xiaoshi's breakdown in episode 5 hits hard for its vulnerability. "I'm scared of the dark" has the same literal meaning as "我怕黑," sure, but there is something devastatingly childlike in that three-syllable declaration of fear. Where English so often derives meaning from complexity, from winding metaphors and beautiful prose, Chinese can derive breathtaking meaning from less breath than it takes to say the word analogy. 我怕黑 is stripped of any grown-up pretenses of control or dignity. It is the barest this statement can be: I. Scared. Darkness.
And what he says following, too. 我害怕一个人. Longer yet no less potent. Alone, or lonely, has many translations in Chinese. 孤独. 寂寞. 孤单. 单独. Many more synonyms for all the different ways you can be lonely. But 一个人 is, once again, an almost child-like way of saying it. Before you have the vocabulary to express these complex emotions, 一个人 is a perfectly working expression. Translating it character-by-character, it means one singular person. It is something you say when you've been left behind. When you've been made to face everything by yourself. When the world is so, so, big, and you are just one singular person, with no companions to stand with you.
And, ah, Li Tianxi's Chinese nickname, 小希. It is the last character of her full name, with a "little" shoved right in front. It is an affectionate way to call someone younger than you. It is different from Xixi, its English rendition, because a repetition of the last character is a more generalized, affectionate nickname, whereas diminutives are almost always reserved for someone younger than you, when used in real life. The diminutive says don't be scared. I'm here now. I'll handle it.
There are endless details in Link Click that make everything about it seem a little bit more like home. The word 面馆 which means something a little, subtly different than "restaurant" or "noodles shop," a difference lost without the context of the phrase 下馆子 and the way adults say it with the gladness of once-children who only ate meat on new years. The "honorifics" as English calls them, to me more of just -- ingrained parts of someone's name. Within the snap of Mandarin syllables there is meaning and memory in every character. Jie, mei, di, ge, lao, da, xiao -- they are more than their literal meanings. They are a relationship, a promise.
Perhaps I am overthinking this, awkwardly Chinese as I am: too localized to be considered first-generation, too stubbornly attached to relate to second-generation. Maybe these linguistic subtleties only exist and matter in my mind, a writer of both languages (though I must say, my Chinese prose leaves… much to be desired) with a knack for pedantics. Regardless, I hope other Chinese fans of this show share this feeling. And surely, other people will, too. All the rural children who left home to pursue higher education and opportunities in faraway cities; the raised-in-poverty who spent their childhoods dreaming of buying their family new coats; the speakers of languages long since abandoned by their childhood friends. What a delight it is to see yourself in stories, neither exception nor abnormality but a norm. What a joy it is to be one of one point four billion.
love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight)
sorry if ur seeing this twice !! i am a finicky gal and was tooo sad it didn't appear in the tags so forgive me for the repost <3 it's good ol' hurt/comfort
It's unnerving.
To know something is somehow... wrong and yet, not be able to put your finger on it. Something being off.
There had been something off since your return from the Illyrian Mountains. Like a scar you hadn't ever remembered getting, like a lump in your bed that hadn't been there before.
You had returned to the Night Court only the night before, far later than expected. It had been near twilight, yourself kept late in the war-camps dealing with the unpleasant likes of Lord Devlon. All you wanted to do was to crawl into your waiting bed.
But your bed wasn't empty.
The perfect shape of your mate, tucked beneath the blankets, is one you could recognize in the dark. Even then, you had felt the strange difference — a tickle along the nape of your neck, enough to make you shiver.
Drained of your energy, you carelessly ignore it. Chalk it up to the bad feeling you got every time you went back to those gods forsaken war-camps.
Beyond their terrible ways and nearly tyrannical leaders, your own mate's history there was enough to make you want to burn it to the ground. To scorch and salt the Earth so nothing could grow there for a hundred years as proof of the pain.
So, feeling weary, you crawl into your bed. Your eyes find Azriel sleeping beside you, silent as always, and you trace the delicate features of his face in the dark. Even in his sleep, his shadows, lazy and slow, greet you as a slumber begins to wash over you. The lull of dreams comes quick.
As does morning. But come morning, Azriel isn't there.
Not the most unexpected thing; there were early morning trainings frequently enough. However, Azriel loathed each time you were sent to monitor over those war-camps. He bristled silently each time you left and rejoiced in that quiet, tender way he did best when you came back home to him. A mission in Illyria usually guaranteed a morning in bed with your lover.
Today, the sheets are cold.
You frown as you push yourself up, the sheets pooling at your waist. Faintly, at the back of your neck, you feel it once again. The tickle. Frown deepening, you reached your hand up to scratch at the back of your neck absentmindedly. Your eyes fall on the door.
Like a mystical tug, you feel compelled to search for the Shadowsinger — slipping out of bed silently, the tiled floor is warm from the morning sun beneath your feet. You pull the door open an inch, wondering just where your mate has ambled off to this morning.
As you step through the door, drawn by your mysterious compulsion, you don't turn back to check behind you.
And even if you had, your eyes would glaze over the large Illyrian, still bundled up in your sheets, turning over in his sleep.
—
You find Azriel out on the balcony, not in training as you had suspected.
He's facing out towards the city, his hands braced on the marble, his strong wings held proudly behind him. Interestingly, his shadows have forgone him this morning. Not one of them is in sight. You sidle up to him, feeling more yourself already just seeing him.
"Abandoning me in bed this morning?" You begin, playfully. You reach out to loop a hand through his arm. "I thought you had promised me—"
Your words come to an abrupt halt as Azriel shifts before you can touch him, his arm pulled out of reach.
In fact, as he notices your presence and turns to you, he takes an entire step backward. His handsome face screws up, a frown set on his brow.
"Don't." He says severely.
Your chest pangs with hurt. Your eyebrows crowd together in your confusion, concern beginning to melt into your blood.
"Az?" You say tentatively. You want to step closer to him, to cradle his face in your hands like you do whenever he has that crushed expression on — but a greater part of you fears he may retreat from you again.
"Don't call me that." He say, voice lower. His head dips, turned away from you to hide his face. Your concern swells, a thousand alarms ringing inside your mind. The back of your neck tickles again.
"Azriel," You try again desperately, fighting to keep your voice even. "What happened? What's going on?"
Confusion paints every thought in your mind as it whirls and searches, hunting desperately for the cause of your mate's sudden iciness. Was it something you had done? Was it taking another mission to a place you knew he so despised you going to?
The Fae before you doesn't say a word.
"Azriel," His name comes out a plea, unable to help yourself. It only scratches deeper into your soul when he maneuvers again, quicker than you, purposefully evading your touch.
"Stop." He instructs, the word nearly a growl. His voice is alike to the bark he uses for talking down to unruly war-camp Lords. It's nothing like the soft, sweet tone you're so accustomed to. It makes his words sting even more. "Your touch disgusts me."
You reel back at his words, a sharp inhale shooting to your lungs. What? You could feel your mouth opening and closing, no words coming to fruition. Behind your eyes, you can feel the itch beginning. You will your tears away, confusion still the dominant emotion swirling inside.
"I—" You stammer. "I don't understand."
Azriel snorts, unamused. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, looking more intimidating than usual as he draws to his full height. He keeps his eyes on the ground but the expression on his face looks... bored.
"I've had a revelation."
Another ache resounds through your chest. Why is he being so cryptic? Since when... had disgust been something Azriel had ever associated with you? You shiver at the prickle that rolls down your neck. It's as though you had gone to bed and your mate had been switched in the night.
"Az, you're scaring—"
"Stop calling me that." He snarls, interrupting you. You jolt in surprise, your feet taking a step back. With the way he's leering over you, a hint of anger —anger you've never seen directed at you before— creeping into his face, something akin to fear grows within you.
Azriel is stronger than you and far more deadly. A fact that usually provides comfort, for the first time, only grows your unease.
"Don't you want to hear my revelation?" He asks, his growl barely reined in. He smiles down at you but it's not soft in the way you know. It's cruel.
You take a step back. Something is wrong— terribly, entirely and utterly wrong with the love of your life. Panic begins to bubble up, like waters rising in a sinking ship.
You need to find someone else. You need Cassian, need Rhys, need anyone else here to help because you are the worst person to help. Every word he says cuts deep to bone. You can feel your heart bleeding within your chest.
It has to be a trick.
That was all you could think. Your mind was stumbling over the sentence over and over, almost delirious in how it clung to the thought tightly. It must, it must —you hoped it was. Begged it to be.
You take another step back, ready to dash through the house and call for help — but Azriel takes another step toward you. Your fear spikes, looking up his snarled face, the power within him radiating off in waves.
"I came to realise that I don't—"
"—y/n?"
A voice cuts in. There's someone else on the balcony with you. Thank the Mother, you think to yourself, whipping around to find Cassian in the doorway. He's got a furrow in his brown, concern written all over his expression.
"Cassian," You breath his name in a sigh of relief. You step back again, hyper aware of how Azriel seems to take the exact same amount of steps as you, following you to the door. Your panic flares away, your breaths coming fast and short.
"Cassian, thank gods—" You begin.
"What's happening?" He interrupts urgently. His eyes are on you alone, never flickering across to Azriel out on the balcony. "Why are you— did you have another nightmare?"
"Nightmare?" You repeat, eyes wide as you stare at him in concerned bewilderment.
You're about to point out the very large intimidating Male staring you both down when Azriel speaks again.
"I said," He drawls out the word and your head snaps back to look at him. You fail to notice that Cassian doesn't even turn at all.
"I've had a revelation, my dear."
It all sounds so terribly sarcastic, such a far cry from your stoic, sincere mate. You cringe, already feeling how his next words will be made cut you down.
"I don't want you anymore."
"—what can you see?—" Cassian's voice speaks from beside you, fuzzy and out of focus. You stare at Azriel, your heart beginning to hum and fizzle, a thousand fissures breaking upon the surface.
An anguish so deep in your bones rattles through your body — and across the House of Wind, your real mate wakes up with a gasp at the feel of it.
"What?" You croak, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel.
You can feel Cassian's hands on your shoulder, shaking you, but you can't— you won't look away. Something deep within you compels you to watch him break your heart and shred your soul. The back of your neck singes with heat.
"—What is it you're seeing?!—" Cassian's voice dips in and out. His hand sweeps your hair back, looking for any ailments causing this. He finds it in an instant. "Holy Cauldron, your neck. Oh, that's so not good. Rhys!"
He bellows for the Highlord right as Azriel, the real Azriel, bursts in through the door — following the taut agonizing pain in his chest, that connects you two together. His eyes snag on you and Cassian, out on the balcony, and his brother turns to him but you do not.
"Azriel," Cassian warns. "It's a Vesania Sigil."
Azriel pays him no heed, even as the words echo through him with a darkened dread. His stomach turns, bile threatening.
A Vesania Sigil— his knees nearly threaten to buckle beneath him.
A Vesania Sigil is a sinister curse, placed on people to drive them to the brink of insanity, minds scrambled to exhaustion.
In all the times Azriel has seen them in his long lifetime... they have all been on dead Fae, driven to the point of taking their own life. His shadows burst into a frenzied storm.
Your eyes are fixed somewhere out of the balcony, a glaze to them that tells Azriel you're seeing something different than he can. Softly, as gently as he can, he strides out and Cassian steps back to let him. Azriel steps down onto the balcony beside you, slowly, delicately reaching out to touch you.
You startle, head snapping around to see who's touched you. Except when you drag your gaze up and meet his face, you flinch hard. Azriel feels misery twist deep into his heart, some buried fear within him coming true before his eyes.
You take a step back, stumbling as you do. Then your head turns back out to the balcony—then back to him, back and forth.
"W—What?" You stammer out.
It takes Azriel only one second to realise why, and to feel the agony as he does; you're seeing double.
When you had said he's everything to you, you had truly meant it. He is both your greatest love and... your greatest fear.
Azriel can feel Rhys' arrival somewhere behind him, can even hear Cassian's concerned voice filling him in but his entire focus is locked onto you. You've stumbled back again, falling painfully on your backside, barely catching yourself on your hands but something— someone on the balcony keeps frightening you.
Something in Azriel screams; how can he fight an enemy he cannot see or touch?
He's on his knees before you in an instant. You're beginning to tremble, silent tears on your cheeks and Azriel's heart wails as you look upon him with a face for a fear. He can't tell what you're seeing but he just needs you to see him.
"My love," He says, voice quiet as to not spook you. You whimper at his words and something shrivels up inside Azriel's chest. He continues, noting how your eyes flick rapidly between his face and something over his shoulder. You shuffle back, too hesitant to trust him.
"My love, my moon," He murmurs, gently reaching out for you. His shadows zip forward, soothing along your skin. You flinch back again but Azriel holds strong, nudging forward until he's touching your skin.
You wince and screw your eyes closed and Azriel can feel the fear, the tormented pain that pours down the bond. He can see it now, this close, the seal that's burning against the skin of your neck. A fiercely protectiveness anger burns in his gut and he vows to tear apart whoever did this to you, limb by limb.
"I don't know what you can see," He say, soft as he can. He lifts his other hand and cradles the other side of your face. Your eyes peek open. "But it's not true. None of it."
Your lips are quivering, lashes sparkling with how they catch your tears. Azriel feels sick to his stomach again; he could do a thousand battles with countless weapons but this is something he's entirely powerless against.
"Azriel," Rhys speaks up from behind, voice cautious. Azriel ignores him, his thumbs stroking softly over your face.
"It's not real." He says with more urgency. Your eyes dart over his shoulder again and a whimper slips out your throat, your body tensing. Real, raw pain scratches it's way down the bond.
"Azriel, I can get it off her." Rhys voice again. "You just need to keep her still."
Azriel nods, but doesn't turn, doesn't take his eyes off you for a single moment. His heart squeezes and cracks, a thousand shards littered through his ribcage when you finally speak. Your glassy eyes have lost a little of their glaze, fixed on your mate in front of you with a desperate plea.
"He—" You begin, sucking in a harsh breath. Your breathing is too fast, your heartbeat too. "It- it fucking—it looks just like you."
"It's not." Azriel assures in an instant. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours, trying to be the picture of calm for you even as his heart warbles in agony at your pain. "It's not me."
Your eyes shift over his shoulder again and Azriel moves this time, blocking your view. "Don't. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me."
Silently, Rhys kneels at your side, his violet eyes blazing where they’re fixed on your neck. Undoubtedly, this was not such a personal attack but something to harm the inner circle. As darkness begins to swirl from Rhys' fingers, orbiting the sigil, you begin crying again, fresh tears spilling down your chests as little gasps wrack your frame.
"It—" You gasp, suddenly focusing desperately on Azriel now that you know who's who. "It— gods, it sounds so much like you."
"It might, but it isn't me." Azriel promises. He aches when your hands suddenly shoot up, eyes screwed shut as you clamp your hands down over your ears — like whatever you could hear was causing you physical pain. Rhys mutters something under his breath, his hands still working.
"Eyes on me.” Azriel urges, knowing you can hear him. You whimper and pitch forward, forehead bowing to your knees. His hands fall away as your head begins to give tiny shakes, side to side. His shadows swarm your shoulders, unsure how to help.
“Don’t—“ For the first time, Azriel’s voice falters with a wobble. He tries not to think of the countless warriors who have fallen beneath a sigil this strong and mentally roars at Rhys to move faster. “Listen to me, my love. Listen, listen to my voice, please.”
Your breathes are ragged, staggering inhales as you press your head between your knees. You entire body shakes and Azriel dares to steal a glimpse at the back of your neck — the intricate rune imprinted on your skin shimmering black as it slowly seals.
"Keep," Rhys grits out, his concentration still focused on his power. "her still."
Azriel's hands dart out, already apologising at how he has to force your head out of hiding. You gasp and sob, pulling back to resist but Azriel holds tight, his hands holding your face as tenderly as he can.
He pushes forward, crowding in, until his forehead rests against yours. He summons everything he can within himself, every ounce of devotion he holds for you and send its down the thread in his chest til everything burns white hot.
"Look at me, my love. Show me your eyes. Listen to my voice." Once the silent stoic type, Azriel lets everything that comes to mind fall out his mouth.
Your eyes crease open, flush with tears, and you shudder against him but Azriel feels it. The push back. The press of your skin against his, trying to get closer, trying to get to safety. Rhys curses for a moment, his dark magic still swirling and Azriel resists every urge to howl at him to hurry.
"Tellmetellmetellmetellme," You chant in a whisper, half delirious. You're flicking between his hazel eyes, your hands still half over your ears, body still wracked with quivers.
Tell me. Azriel's soul feels marred at the reveal of what is taunting you and he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, drawing your attention to him.
"I love you," He says, voice sounding close to wrecked. "I love you and you're mine. I'm yours and you're mine."
You shudder violently, eyes crushing closed, right as Rhys pulls away with an exhausted sigh. It's gone. Azriel hears Rhys' voice in his mind but it's not even needed — not with the way you suddenly slump forward into him, like a puppet with its strings cut.
"It's okay, it's gone," Azriel murmurs lowly, gathering you up in his arms as much as he can. He can feel your body shaking against him, sobs still forcing their way up your throat. His wings wrap around you, an inky cocoon of safety, sealing you off from the world.
"It's gone," He repeats, his arms circling around you. He can feel the pitter-patter of your rabbiting heart, feel the remains of fear that hang around your system. Every cell in his body yearns at this injustice, the fabric of the mating bond sending his protectiveness into overdrive. But more than the urge to hunt and maim whoever harmed you is the overwhelming need to make sure you're safe.
"You're safe now, I swear. It wasn't real." His assurances continue softly, his body instinctively beginning a slow rock to soothe you. You sobs slow to cries, your hands twisted tightly into his sleep-shirt. "I love you. I love you."
By the time your breathing evens out and your hiccuping cries slow, it's some time later. Your face has been buried in Azriel's chest and when you finally dig it out, Azriel's heart disintegrates once more at your blotty skin, your tired eyes.
You don't even have to ask.
"Vesania Sigil." He says quietly, hazel eyes burning into your face.
You can feel his writhing worry through the bond, like a caged tiger, fiery hot and licking at your heels. You give a little sniffle. Open your mouth to speak and find not one word in your throat.
Azriel's moving deftly before you can think, his strong arm looping beneath your knees to scoop up you against his chest. You let yourself be coddled, thankful to the way he curls himself around you entirely, wings hiding your view — only a flash on the ceiling to be seen. You're not sure you can face the others just yet.
The door your bedroom opens as he nears and Azriel kneels on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs maneuvering you both up til he's rested up against the headboard. Pure exhaustion like nothing you've felt before creeps up from within you.
Yet even so, you feel your heart twinge. It's been chafed raw today. Your hands slither and squirm, til they're wrapped tight around Azriel's middle and he hums protectively, his wing draping over you like a blanket.
For a moment, there is only weary, tired silence.
"Tell me?" You ask in a whisper, your voice so, so small. Azriel aches at the pain in your voice, sending every assurance down the golden thread between you.
"You're mine," He says, voice hushed and yet doused in his love.
"I'm yours." You echo, voice a little stronger than before. He can feel the way you tug on the bond, as if checking its still secure— still unbreakable. "And you're mine?"
Azriel folds himself even closer and tugs back on the bond strongly. His scarred hand glides up to bury itself in your hair, massaging slow and sweet. His nose nuzzles in against your hairline, his lips pressing a kiss wherever they find skin.
"And I'm yours." He agrees.
Who are you, who am I to you? Scamton and Junior belongs to @spaceraceart :3
"We've really become a family. There's no other word to describe our relationship. We're family." {cr. 0613data)
so someone on conservapedia has been putting lemon demon songs into the list of "greatest conservative music" and it's so fucking funny. why is he there.
I had a funny autocorrect moment from earlier.
I had a blurry dream that there was a special episode of the Smiling Critters that had been released by MOB exactly 10:05 at night where in the episode There were two Dogdays, the normal Dogday and The one from the poster Dogday(Lets call him Dog days for now) From the start it was like that one episode where Pinkie pie from My little pony turned into Pinkamena except it was Dogday instead
Andd also how Dogday is actually Experiment 1006, which is.. yeah a very weird dream. It explained how the reason there would be times Dogday has different colours like how Dogday didn't had the orange on his face on his reveal unlike his plushie, his hands at the end of the VHS was lighter, and the poster of him were darker(altho maybe its a filter?) He had a was because the VHS Dogday is actually Experiment 1006, while Dog Days is the original Smiling Critters Leader
The way I RACED to do this redraw when I saw the original last night on Twitter
the galaxy in our hearts | myg
⇢ summary: min yoongi has been raising his daughter on his own her entire life, convinced that he needs no one else apart from their family of two. you come along to change that. (single parent au)
⇢ genre: the fluffiest fluff
⇢ word count: 6.16k
⇢ warnings: swearing
⇢ note: sort of a holiday au towards the end; written because yoongi deserves all the happy endings in the world, even in fictional universes.
When Min Yoongi sends his lovely daughter off to school for the very first time, he cries.
You see, it is typically the exact opposite, with your child hanging off of you and sobbing out big, fat tears as they urgently plea for you to not abandon them there. But Yoongi’s daughter is not exactly a normal child and he is not exactly a normal father, so things do not go as planned as he drops her off at the front of the classroom.
They are stopped in the doorway together and he is silently observing the classroom as though the walls themselves might reach out and swallow her whole. Those same menacing walls are so brightly colored they nearly burn through his retinas. Everthing in the room appears to be masked over in vivid hues, including the violently canary yellow blouse of his daughter’s future teacher. Nervousness laces through Yoongi’s body when he notices exactly how crowded the room is, teeming with activity as other young students at the desks chatter back and forth, already playing with one another.
His daughter has been homeschooled by him her whole life until now, and though he knows she needs to be with other children her own age, he does not quite know how ready she is for this yet.
When he squeezes her hand, Eunha squeezes back.
Keep reading
I am in TEARS!!! SON! You lumpy egg bastard! THANK YOU!!!! I was not expecting this. Omg! My children, you drew them so cute! And an oreo cake!? Yas!!! I feel like this is payback for your B-Day gift Still I love this Bless you so much son
HAPPY DAY OF EXISTING!!
@nijiomii take my appreciation or feel the wrath of my powerful baby hands >:(((
jk i love you dude
Anne Boleyn, Wolf Hall // Alicent Hightower, House of the Dragon
Love is like a diamond.
window pains | jason todd
Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.
A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.
If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡
the divider
"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"
"You know who you're talking to, right?"
"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."
It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column.
You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound.
That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask.
Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh.
But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt.
Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it.
"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"
"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"
You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham.
"How'd they get you?" you ask.
It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.
You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?
The last one, you always know the answer to.
"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?"
He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference.
Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly.
"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes.
"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"
"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."
That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded.
You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away.
"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."
"You can put them on yourself."
His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood.
Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink.
"Can I crash here?"
"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.
You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him.
"What're you doing?" you ask.
"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."
"I didn't say that, I said—"
"I can read between the lines."
"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say.
"What situation?"
You turn your head. "Nothing."
Jason steps towards the window. You block him again.
"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."
"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."
"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."
Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"
You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."
"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."
"Lie the fuck down, Todd."
His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."
Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common.
Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love.
Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain.
"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say.
"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."
He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel.
"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?"
You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach.
"Do you want a blanket?" you ask.
He squints. "It's August."
"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold."
"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead."
You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light.
"You're tired of me," he says.
Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not tired of you, Jay."
You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't.
You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit.
You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.
You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes.
"I'm not tired of you," you say softly.
"I'd be tired of me."
"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"
Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.
"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."
"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say.
He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck.
"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask.
"I don't need 'em."
"You do. You need another on your forehead."
"It'll heal fine without it."
Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise.
"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."
He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."
"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst.
Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."
"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."
He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you.
"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."
Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow.
"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."
His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.
You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.
His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city.
"I wanna try to use the door," he says.
You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming.
"Then I'll leave it unlocked."
I wanted to come on here and rant and cry over a couple of things. And first of it’s not the cursed memes because they make me feel better.
Im literally sitting in bed minding my own business, looking at pictures of my favorite anime characters and go “wow if only they existed so I can save myself the from all these hoes on Tinder.” The fact that after I say this my heart breaks a little😀. Like I’m sitting here crying about how my favorite anime characters don’t exist and how much it fucking hurts because I love them so much. The fact that my Anime Characters are literally light years better than the men where I’m from🥲. Like no wonder I can’t get a boyfriend, simply because my standards of men are so significantly high that it’s impossible for me to find a guy with any common decency.... LIKE MY STANDARDS ARENT EVEN THAT HIGH!!! ITS LITERALLY THE BARE MINIMUM!!! All they want is sex and I’m over here in my corner like..... “relationship please.” And guys are like..... Ew gross............
So in other words I think I’ve given up.....
So Kuroo, Kise, Daiki..... heck if any of the anime men on my simp list are reading this.... please come pick me up..... I’m tired of this bullshit
Sam & Dean celebration week | Day 4 (sept 16th) A song that reminds you of Sam & Dean ↳Long Live by Taylor Swift
so like i never just post text but:
NEIL IM IN YOUR WALLS
Decided to try and make some textposts of these little freaks (affectionate) too
