#like after all that pain and hurt

[wonderfultoweird]

recently watched the new series Dead Ringers and I'm super glad I did! It was dark and gay and gothic and sexy and fucked up and so good. I think it left a bit too much open ended for my taste and there were some parts I thought could have been improved on but overall I loved it. I hear that the original movie is better though so I'm definitely planning on watching that and seeing the differences.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[s0fter-sin]

something happening on a mission, something personal that has soap spiralling; panic and rage making him reckless, thoughtless, and ghost has to draw the line

“you’re compromised johnny; you know what that means?”

“you’re not pulling me out,” soap immediately snarls. he turns on him and ghost barely recognises him; venomous fear turning his eyes to unyielding ice. "you're not sidelining me; i need to be in this-!"

but ghost has never been afraid of venom; spat or dripped straight from bared fangs.

he snakes out a hand grip the back of his neck, jerking him in a rough shake. "if you can't think, you can't be a soldier," he growls and he flinches like he's been struck.

his lips quiver as they twist in a sneer and he wrenches, trying to free himself of his hold.

ghost doesn't let him.

"it means you give your body to me because your head ain't fucking attached to it anymore."

soap stills, body trembling beneath his hand as he sucks in shaking breaths.

he tightens his grip, pulling him closer and digs his forehead hard into his. “it means you give yourself to me so i can have the weapon that you are and use you the way you're meant to be used."

the ice in soap's eyes fractures.

ghost’s voice drops to a whisper, spoken only to johnny, not this facade of vengeance and pain, and wills it to reach him through the glaciers.

“so i can keep you safe ‘til it’s done and i can bring you back.”

[rainbowstickersandunicorn]

watching this feels like I went through 10 divorces

[skitskatdacat63]

His eyes in this :((( I really hope he's alright

[moeblob]

Garet is literally so friend shaped. I can't believe how friend shaped this boy is. (top pic is actual dialogue)

[sysig]

Just keep getting back up (Patreon)

[kelin-is-writing]

Sorry, but I can’t stop think about this right here…

[casualavocados]

Why did you do it? I don't know what you're talking about. I was drunk that night, and you told me you would always look at me— You want to get back at me, right?

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 09

[vaugarde]

im abt to rb a post on this anyways but tbh i dont know how you can finish isat and go “siffrin wasnt punished enough”.

the fella has killed themselves several times, what more do you want from him?

[luxaofhesperides]

"I see you, and I love you" + hurt/comfort ; requested by @oops-i-dropped-the-galaxy!

Danny can handle being a halfa. He’s had years to get used to it, switching between dead and alive, living boy and ghost, always living in flux. He’s settled into his identity as one of the few halfas in existence, navigating the living world and the Infinite Realms with ease after years of practice.

What he can’t handle is becoming an Ancient.

Apparently, while most Ancients are born into the role, ruling over their domain, some can grow into it. It’s rare, practically unheard of, but not impossible.

Danny is growing into the Ancient of Stars, changed from the inside out by his love of space. 

He would be happy if it didn’t hurt so much.

Danny can’t sleep at night anymore. When the stars are out, he can hear them singing, each windchime voice echoing through his ears. Though he can’t see them from beneath Gotham’s cloud cover, he can feel them shining brightly far above him. 

He lays in bed with Duke, curled up in his side, trying to muffle his whimpers as his bones creak and hollow, his soul growing too large for his body to handle. He is space contained in a human body. It wants to be free, to stretch from its suffocating confines and fill every dark space with cold light. His skin feels too tight and his teeth ache. 

All Danny can do is clench his jaw, wrap his arms around his stomach as tightly as he can, and try to weather through the pain of changing.

The agony of it comes in waves. He doesn’t know how long it takes until it recedes enough for him to feel like he can breathe again, trying to suck air in as his lungs are crushed by his ribcage. Slowly, Danny pushes himself up, taking care not to wake Duke, and stumbles out of bed. His throat is dry and feels as if its been scraped raw by sandpaper, and all he wants is water.

He gets halfway down the hall when the next wave hits.

Danny collapses, gasping for breath, and can only watch through tear-filled eyes as his fingers go dark, the same black as deep space. His body shifts, bones cracking and muscles stretching like taffy, and suddenly he’s big larger than life a galaxy a black hole there is darkness everywhere it is alive it is full of stars the stars are singing the stars are singing the stars are si

“Danny? Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”

That’s Duke’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere, even from miles away, even when he’s sure he doesn’t have ears anymore. It takes all his effort to pull himself back to Earth, back into their apartment, blinking up at Duke as the stars in his eyes fade away. 

Duke kneels before him, concern clear on his face, gentle hands reaching out to hold Danny steady. The feel of his warmth grounds him, keeps him more securely in his body. The pull of space is still there, tugging at him, trying to pull him out of humanity and into the form of an Ancient, but Danny can resist it so long as Duke keeps him tethered to the ground.

“It hurts,” he croaks, shivering.

“Shh, I know, baby. How can I help? What do you need?”

Danny leans forward, burying his face in Duke’s chest as tears slip out of his eyes. “It hurts,” he says again, voice shaking. “I keep changing and growing and my entire body is being torn apart and—” he gasps, cutting himself off. “I keep disappearing. I don’t want to disappear. I want to stay here but it takes me away and then I’m too big and no one can see me and I’m alone—”

“You’re not alone, Danny,” Duke says, holding him tightly as if his arms will be enough to keep Danny from breaking out of his own body, ridding himself of a mortal vessel, his only remaining tie to this world. “I see you, and I love you. Even if you have to change and go far away to be happy, I’ll find a way to follow you there, okay? I’m with you for as long as you want me.”

“I don’t want to hurt so much,” Danny whimpers, black fingers speckled with stardust clawing at Duke’s arms. 

“Just breathe through it, sweetheart, you can do it. Let it pass through you. I got you, okay? Just let the pain pass and you’ll be fine.”

He wants to snap at Duke that it’s not fine, that the pain will be forever, it’ll linger in every one of his joints, that he can’t just stop fighting it because it’ll hurt even worse then. But his jaws are aching, his teeth sharpening, and there’s a black hole in his throat that he refuses to let loose. He lets out another pained whine, shivering, and in his chest a star is formed, burning bright and angry.

“Breathe, Danny, breathe,” Duke soothes, rubbing a hand up and down Danny’s back.

It’s habit to relax into his touch. They’ve spent so many nights working through night terrors and injuries, comforting each other through gentle touches. The pain eases a bit, and Danny sighs, frost on his breath. 

“There we go, sweetheart, that’s it. You’re doing just fine.”

Another tear slips down his face, but the ache in his entire body as his growing ghost form tries to escape begins to fade. 

He’s spent so many nights in pain, waiting for the sun to rise to muffle the singing of the stars. If he can get any relief, he’ll take it, even if it means losing his human form.

Danny stops fighting. His resistance to this change falls away. There’s a moment where the pain disappears entirely, the world going still, but before he can let out a relieved sigh, the change hits him like an asteroid, sudden and instant and inevitable.

A cry is ripped from his throat, but it doesn’t sound like him. It echoes, deep and inhuman, and suddenly Danny is every dark space surrounding the stars, the arms of every galaxy, suns burning bright and dying, supernova, cold and ice and the slow drifting of planets in orbit. His body grows, expands, no longer a ghost but an Ancient, body curling into itself to stay within the walls of the too small apartment, large hands cupped around Duke to keep him safe. 

He can feel the cold of space. Orbits dance in his mind. Meteorites and asteroids drift without pattern across his chest. Danny can see everything with too many eyes, and he can cup planets in his palms, so much larger than possibility. His chest opens and expands and his body can curl around Earth and keep it safe. 

He feels settled in this new body, senses stretched in every direction and the universe is so much lovelier than he could have ever experienced it in a halfa’s body. 

Danny, Ancient of the Stars, hums and the universe shivers, singing back to him.

The pain is gone completely. He wonders why he resisted so hard; this is what he’s meant to be. He’s never felt so right before.

“Danny?”

Duke’s voice is small, but only because he is small when compared to Danny in his Ancient form. 

Duke, he tries to say but his vocal chords have changed. Instead of words, a deep hum erupts from his throat, similar to the purr of a particularly large cat. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Feeling better?”

Danny nods, pulling himself back together to feel his body more keenly, no longer stretched across the universe, cradling every star in his reach. Duke reaches a hand up and Danny reaches back, folding himself back into his body. His human eyes return and he realizes the apartment is completely covered in darkness with stars sparkling all around them. It recedes as he fits himself back into his body, the black on his fingers fading away until his hand is indistinguishable from a normal human’s. 

He takes hold of Duke’s hand and tries to stand. His legs are weak and unsteady and he falls onto Duke, who catches him with ease and sweeps him up into a princess carry. 

“There you are, honey,” Duke says, voice warm and relieved. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel a lot better.”

“Good. Do you need anything? Hot chocolate, heating pad, sleep?”

Danny thinks for a moment, then says, “Hot chocolate.”

“You got it. Let me just set you on the couch and I’ll have it out in a minute.”

He carefully sets Danny onto the couch, then tucks the blanket they keep folded over the back around him. Once he’s satisfied Danny is comfortable, Duke heads to the kitchen, flicking on the light as he does. 

Danny sinks into the couch cushions, carefully moving all his fingers and toes to make sure they’re fine. He’s a little sore, as if all his bones where put through the ringer, but it doesn’t feel any different from when he has a particularly rough training day. 

What’s more important that his physical body is the fact that he can feel his core, settled deep in his chest. It’s no longer the cold of ice, but it burns coldness, a white star embodying his soul, a changed core to reflect his transformation into an Ancient. 

A baby Ancient, technically. He still has some growing to do, but the rest should be easier and, hopefully, less painful.

He closes his eyes and begins to drift off when he hears Duke return. It takes some effort to open his eyes, and his smiles softly and sleepily when he sees Duke set down two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Love you,” he mumbles, freeing a hand from the blanket to try to pull Duke down to join him.

Duke goes to him easily, sitting next to him and pulling Danny in to cuddle against him. It’s been so long since he last felt so comfortable at night, not writhing in pain and biting through his lip to keep quiet, that he can’t help but sink into it. A purr starts up in his chest, and Duke startles.

“Sweetheart, are you purring?”

Danny flushes and tries to hide his face. The purr doesn’t stop. He’s always been able to purr after becoming a halfa, though purr is just an easier way to describe it. It’s less of his vocal chords vibrating and more of his core rumbling in contentment. Usually, it’s unnoticeable, barely able to be felt let alone heard. Apparently, becoming an Ancient and therefore a much stronger ghost means his purrs are also stronger and louder.

“You’re so cute,” Duke says, pressing a kiss against Danny’s forehead. “Drink your hot chocolate, and then we can go back to sleep.”

He makes grabby hands at his mug, and Duke laughs and picks it up for him.

“Love you,” Danny repeats, voice less muffled.

“Love you, too,” Duke says. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I’m glad you were there to help me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out. I’ve got you, sweetheart, always.”

Believing him is the easiest thing Danny has ever done. If Duke says he’ll be there for, then he will. 

Always, always, always.

. . .

[send me ghostlights prompts!]

[vaguely-concerned]

Thinking about the symbolic weight of smoking in the TLT universe that comes to the fore in The Unwanted Guest -- the way it moves through from person to person: Pyrrha smoked, and Augustine wanted to impress her in all her stone cold fox MILF James Bond glory (and tbf who wouldn't) so he started too. and even though as far as he knows she's been gone for a myriad and is never coming back, he keeps the habit. Ianthe sees something in the hollowed-out Faberge eggshell of Augustine that resonates with her, all that gilded eloquent emptiness and disdain through the ages, so she picked it up from him to try to emulate it. She picked it up so hard that Palamedes -- the exact spiritual antithesis of the 'smoking! on a space station! what a powermove' ennui Ianthe so admired -- spontaneously unnerded enough to even known how to, simply from a sort of contact contamination of the soul.

G1deon and Augustine sharing a jittery smoke after their near-Harrow experience during soup night, and it's the closest thing to any real sense of brotherhood that remains between them. Pyrrha going ten thousand years dying both literally and for a smoke (and then Camilla sold her fucking cigarettes (for a third of what they were worth, probably Pyrrha's own good, and also more importantly grocery money). what an entirely haunted time to be alive etc.). Augustine and Mercy trading a cigarette back and forth in the middle of their collusion over the love and murder of god.

An act of small and measured self-destruction in the name of something a little bit like connection when you're stuck somewhere in yourself where love itself dares not or cannot tread (ritualized, transmissible)..........

[s0fter-sin]

vampire bats share mouthfuls of blood to other bats they’re close to if they weren’t able to feed and now i need old vampire!ghost sharing a bloody kiss with fledgling!soap, giving him mouthfuls of blood bc his fresh fangs are too sensitive to bite with

it’s been so long since he was turned that ghost’s forgotten the deep ache that comes with growing fangs and he almost worries when johnny goes to bite into the meal he’s brought him only to whimper and pull back; only the slightest pinpricks of a bite left in the man’s neck, barely enough to bring blood to the surface

it’s only when johnny whines and massages at his gums that ghost realises his oversight; crooning at his sweet mate in reassurance. he’s not upset that he couldn’t feed, at the unintentional rejection of his offering. he’ll make the pain stop

ghost pulls the man to his mouth and sinks in his fangs, sucking in a heavy mouthful and drops the now paralysed prey back to his feet; his throat steadily gushing with blood and spilling over his body

he cups johnny’s face, looking into his eyes, teary with pain and hunger, and purses his lips to carefully drip the blood into his mouth. the pain immediately vanishes from his eyes, replaced with pure bliss as he opens his mouth wide; curling his tongue to catch every drop. ghost presses his mouth to his in a hungry, blood-filled kiss; tongues twining together as they share the taste

johnny sucks the last of it from his lips and ghost guides him down to lap at the prey’s neck; licking up the blood he was too weak to draw himself. he’s ravenous with it, his whole face covered in red as he licks up the spill and suckles at ghost’s bite

ghost’s filled with an overwhelming pride at having provided for his mate in an even deeper way than just hunting for him. he spilled the blood johnny’s drinking; fed him in the most intimate way their kind knows and he’ll do it a hundred times over for his love

[thejasontoddarchives]

There’s a general consensus that above all else Jason should be homicidal again. However I think what’s also very important is that he should be a fucking hoot.

There’s nothing not funny about this entire bit.

1. He couldn’t give less of a shit about explaining that he’s single-handedly trying to stop a terrorist attack. Obviously cause he’s short on time, but even if he had all the time in the world he would still be this indifferent towards explaining himself to cops.

2. This bomb is seconds away from exploding but he’s at most mildly annoyed like he’s in the office doing some menial task.

3. The perfectly timed British jokes.

4. Circling back to number 1 on the list. After he throws the bomb into the water he just dips. For all they know he’s the (weird) terrorist. (But as long as everyone’s okay he doesn’t care! The beauty of Jason Todd everybody).

This one is funny (but it’s also true)? Like yes … that is exactly what you are. (A sweet, kind-hearted goodboy learning how to effectively poison people, shoot guns, and blow shit up with all manner of explosives like a certified pro).

Bonus:

Red Hood: The Lost Days #5 (2010-)

Red Hood: The Lost Days #4 (2010-)

“Not so irritating for an American” is a far more impressive title than “genius” if you ask me. Although I think Jason balances both pretty well.

[astarlightmonbebe]

the appeal of yeojeong as a normal guy who’s just a little bit off. not enough that you would notice when talking to him, of course, but it’s just there, under the surface. a disturbance. and i think it’s interesting because typically you have two types of guys somewhat adjacent to this: guy who seems totally normal but is secretly sadistic/a psychopath, and then guy haunted by a traumatic/troubled past, who has that secret layer of torment running beneath the surface of their image. but yeojeong breaks through these archetypes, and i think part of it is because he’s just so...calm. it’s not that he’s living a double life (kind doctor by day, killer by night) or hiding part of his past (everyone he worked with knew about what happened to his father, and watched his downward spiral during his college days). he’s not the typical male character who is, at every attempt, trying to outrun his tragic past (even though he does run once or twice); he’s not haunted by flashbacks, or suffer from PTSD in the way that is usually portrayed in dramas. and i think part of that is because the glory is a story about victims. it’s dongeun’s story, first and foremost, even though it is also yeojeong’s story, and hyeonnam’s story, and sohee’s story. but it’s a story about dongeun’s pain, and when it’s not about her pain, it’s just about the pain of victimhood - unlike other dramas, this isn’t a show where male pain outweighs the rest.

so yeojeong is just a normal guy. he’s handsome. he has a good career. he’s a plastic surgeon, an interesting choice when both his parents were/are hospital directors, and his father seemed to have worked in the er or something of the sort prior to his death (or at the very least wasn’t a plastic surgeon). something could be said here of yeojeong choosing the ‘safe’ path as a doctor, a path where he cures pain and makes people happy without the added risk of being attacked by one of his patients. there’s no proof of that in the show - why he chose to be a plastic surgeon - but it’s an interesting thought path to travel. 

dongeun says he must have lived a good life. that he’s never had to worry about the path that he’s on. and that’s true, to a certain extent. to everyone, including her in the beginning, yeojeong is perfectly friendly. he’s perfect, but not the perfect that people perceive as too perfect (i.e. the guy who’s hiding things); he has his moments where he spazzes out, gets into fights, goes crazy over dongeun texting him back, teases his mom. he’s perfectly well adjusted (a perfect contrast to dongeun’s ‘maladjustment’). he wears flip flops to work and gets the same coffee order daily. he plays go with old men in the park.

he likes to listen to the fizzing of vitamin tablets in water because it calms him down. is this a strange thing? only because he thinks it’s important enough to mention to his therapist. he does it at work too - drops the tablet in, closes his eyes, rests his head. he does it at home - drops the tablet in, opens the drawer, draws a knife. it’s about the noise. bubbles rising to the surface, like bubbles rising from underwater. he stays underwater until the last possible moment, when he has to break the surface in order to breath. dongeun makes him feel like he’s at the eye of a storm - a deceptively calm center, while everything else rages outside. and i think it’s kind of important that he makes that comparison, when he’s someone always seeking that calm. the soothing noise, that makes him feel lonely.

so he’s just a normal guy. a normal guy who receives letters on a regular basis from the prisoner who brutally murdered his father. he doesn’t like letters, he tells dongeun. who knows what he does with the letters - does he keep them? does he throw them away as soon as he sees them? he must have read some of them; maybe you only need to read one to know what is in the rest. maybe he’s still reading them; maybe he keeps them without reading, an invisible torment. it’s not what he does with the letters that matters, but that he receives letters at all. 

can you still call it a haunting if you’ve almost made your peace with it? if you’re living with it? 

he’s just a normal guy, who looks his therapist right in the eyes and tells her that she couldn’t fix him. he diligently attends therapy for years on a regular basis, even though it doesn’t work. he finally abandons it when he moves to semyeong, because he chooses to embrace dongeun’s revenge. he chooses his own revenge, too, in a way. the dark part of him that he can’t escape. the one that makes him pick up the knife, who asks dongeun who to kill before she even tells him she wants any of them dead, even when he’s a doctor from a family of doctors, and doctors don’t kill - they save lives instead. 

you couldn’t fix me, he tells his therapist calmly. so calmly. as if there’s not a bloodied man sitting next to him, a man he dreams of killing. the man is just life to him, just like the letters are life to him to. a dulled numbness. an acceptance of it. 

is your son going through hell? can you even tell it’s hell, if it’s what you’ve become used to? is it hell when you’re a doctor dreaming of murder? is it hell to no longer be tormented by dead men and living murderers who send you letters? is it?

[jambamthepaperman]

Agatha had tears in her eyes when she told Rio it’s over. I swear every time she says something that hurts her Agatha’s heart breaks a little, but she just doesn’t know how to stop.