#and YMMV

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is discovering you really don't like kissing.

.

[fandonnavyce]

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 4: Zombies

“Sorry but I’m pretty sure this is a medical emergency”. Seething under a Pit Rage green, that was Jason's only warning before some giant just shoved his bare hand through his chest to pin him up against the nearest building wall.

Or

Another Danny fixes Jason's Pit Madness/Sick Ghost Core Fic

And the inherent homoeroticism of impromptu soul surgery

Read more (long post)

Part 1

Bloodthirst pounded in his head and crooned like a siren, as rage frothed and boiled through his mind. Jason had deliberately left his guns behind. In this state he'd be liable to start a massacre. In this state he'd be liable to go off half-cocked to try to hunt the Joker to disastrous consequences. It was a relentless impulse. An obsession. Only white-knuckled discipline had him wrest control from the Pit Madness. But anything could trigger him at this point. He felt like a bomb liable detonate just from being looked at funny.

“Sorry but I’m pretty sure this is a medical emergency”. Seething under a Pit Mad green, that was Jason's only warning before some giant just shoved his bare hand through his chest to pin him up against the nearest building wall.

He couldn’t breathe. Wide-eyed but unseeing, it wasn’t the pain of being stabbed but the shock of a sudden ice bath. Jason felt like his open, gaping heart was being soaked in searing frost.

“Easy, easy”, the giant soothed as if Jason was a spooked horse, and not his victim of a drive-by ice magic bullshit hand through chest impalement. Jason’s scrabbling flails to move the giant’s arm achieved nothing. The limb was tougher than steel, and utterly indifferent to his struggles.

Jason furiously kicked out. His legs somehow hit nothing but air despite the giant’s intimate proximity. Then the giant, with his free non-skewering hand, grabbed hold of one of Jason’s thighs and trapped it around his own waist. Jason’s other free leg could only just dangle helplessly, his toes skittering against pavement for balance. Jason’s fingers scratched at the giant's steel rebar of an arm. His slipping hands wildly swinging between frantic tugs to remove and desperate clutches for support from said offending limb.

Squirming, thrashing, and lashing out, Jason growled, snarled, and bucked in impotent wrath. The Pit Rage writhed. It fuelled his own rage and wild panic at being caught and rendered helpless like this. He yelled, howled, and cursed out the giant but the giant remained imperturbed, utterly focused on further skewering Jason’s chest with his icy bullshit magic hands.

After one particularly strong flail, the giant suddenly tightened his grip on Jason’s everything and pressed in closer. He slowly pulled his hand free from his chest, and Jason was suddenly gasping, bent over. With an easy, gentle but unyielding hand, the giant lifted Jason’s chin and looked deeply into Jason’s wild eyes, with steady, piercing blue ones of his own.

“C̖͋̓̏̊̈́̌ͮa̴ͬ̇ͦ̊͒̆ḻ̯͎͞m͕͕͕̙̀ͤ̾ͭ̓̈ ̫̙͎͍̞ͥ̃̍͛̔dͪ̿̓́҉͕̖̺̹o̪̜̬̝̞̬̒wń̻͚̤̙̞͛,” he commanded. “D̨̺̼̳͢͡o̥͉̭ͅ ̛͎̣̭͚̫n̸͖͎̹͈̦͙͉ơ͖̙̟̣t̬̙̪ b̷e̡͜ ̴̴af̷ra̷id͠”.

Jason’s frantic movements slowed to a stop as a wave of calm resonated from within Jason. Suspicious. Instantly Jason’s hackles raised. But the Pit Rage didn’t increase in vitriol. As if it had been sedated, the Pit Rage instead went quiet.

“I’m h̤̰͇e̬͇̺̹̥ͅre t̹̜̪͉̙o͎̙ ͍̼h̤̰͇e̬͇̺̹̥ͅḷ̹̻͓̱̺̗p̶̱̠͉̜ ̟̳̙̼̯̟̥y͙̙͇̣͡o̤͖͖͙̯̕ͅu͍”.

Jason sneered, squeezing the giant’s offending limb. “Fuck you,” he spat out. The giant gave a small teasing smile in response.

“But we’ve only just met,” the giant answered lightly. Then he punctuated his statement by stabbing his hand back into Jason’s chest. Jason stifled a scream. It was more shock than pain.

“E͝asy̛ doès ̸it,͡ I'͞m̛ ́a͡lm̧os̷t́ ̛th̴e͡ŕe̸”. What was this giant even doing, rummaging through his soul? It didn’t even hurt. The act was very unlike a stabbing or a gunshot wound. But it was visceral and oversensitizing and intensifying.  From chilly ice baths, Jason's very soul was now burning alight with glacial fire. Tear tracks crystallised on Jason’s face as stared down the giant. But the giant wasn’t even looking back at him. Jason could only helplessly look at where their hand disappeared into his chest cavity. Currently, being burnt and staked to the wall by icy magic hands was Jason's status-quo. He could no longer speak, only choke back gasping moans as ardent ice swallowed his heart.

Finally, the giant pried his hand out from Jason’s chest. He took with him something heavy and viscous that had been sloughed off forcefully from Jason's heart. There was pure relief. All of sudden Jason felt like a great burden had been taken from him. Or that his heart had been constricted. His lungs had been suffocating. His throat strangled. But now he was free. 

Jason saw that in the giant's grip there was a fistful of thick, goopy, green-blue sludge. Still in shock, Jason had half expected it to be his still beating heart. As ever focused more on his actions rather than on Jason, the giant gave the goop a curious frown.

Abruptly, Jason realised that the Pit Rage was gone. Was that his Pit Madness?! The giant tilted his hands to prevent the goop from slowly dripping to the ground.

Slowly, the giant squished it between his fingers. Then he shrugged and sucking the damned thing into his waiting mouth. He simply slurped it down and licked his fingers like it was nothing more than some spilt hot sauce or a melting ice sundae.

The giant's eyes flashed from bright blue to neon Lazarus green. As he exhaled, blue mist shimmered from his lips. Reflexively, Jason gasped and the blue mist travelled from the giant’s lips to his as Jason inhaled. Desperately.

“Ahh you’re H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ŕ́y̸̡̛̓ͨ̒. Of course you are. Here, l̲̏è͚͚ͥt m̲͉̾̆e ̐h̳͍̹e̻̮l̶͜p͏͖̦̜̦ ̡͚̟̩y̖͔̠̜͚͈̖͢͞ọ̷̦̗͖̥̠ͅu̼̱̞̟͍͓̝”.

The giant's eyes flared to Lazarus green. His black hair bleached to a shocking white. Jason could feel it deep inside that the giant was building up to something. Then the giant plunged his free hand back into Jason’s chest. Jason couldn’t even be shocked.

It was still for a moment. Then there was the relieving numbness of ice on strained muscles. The gentle cool breeze on feverish skin. A refreshing ice cold drink soothing a parched, burning, thirst deep inside.

Jason moaned. It was pure relief. It was satisfaction when filling a gaping need.

“There you go, t̴̢͢a̷̸͡k̷̢̀̕͢e̕ ̶̷̶͡͠a͢͜s̨҉ ̢͜m̸̧͝͝u̸̡͠͡c̵̸h͡ ̴̧a̛͞s͟͠ ̷͘͞͝ỳ̧̕͡ǫ̶̧͢ù́͘͢͝ ͘̕͢͠w̕͢͞à҉̀͝n̡̕͟t҉͟.”

Jason glutted. He felt a part of him greedily consume what the giant was endlessly offering him. Joyful tears pricked his eyes even as his heart(?) ravenously devoured the giant’s gift. Jason panted, large gulping breaths, desperate for, not air, but something just as vital for survival. His brain zinged as if Jason was tasting the sweetest of frozen delights, drinking from the purest of ice-cold springs, or breathing the crispest of frigid mountain air.

Eventually Jason slowed down. His frantic feeding mellowing out to a blissful savouring. When he finally stopped, when that greedy, needy, desperate part of him finally hummed in satiation, Jason felt the giant loosen his steady, unbreakable hold on him. The giant released him, pulling his hand out of his chest like a caressing hand.

Jason shivered, breaking out in goosebumps. He hid his face into the giant’s chest, taking huge gulping breaths, fully resting his weight against him. His thigh curling tight against the other’s waist still, with fistfuls of the man’s shirt in hand. Jason felt like he was experiencing a great high and coming down from a bad trip. All he could do was hold on as reality re-shifted around him. Jason’s breathing eventually evened out and his focus came to. Absentmindedly, he realised his breathing was in sync with the giant’s heart rate - slow, steady, and beguilingly calm.

“F̱̮̲͍͖e̡̩̪̮e̷͈̹͚l͇͘í̥͕͚̺n͓͎͕͚̮g͏͖̟̪͇͉ bͤ̚et͆̈́̂t͘e̔̄ͥr̍͂?" the giant rumbled.

“What?” Jason asked, still rather dazed. His tongue felt unusually heavy and cumbersome. “I mean yes, much better. Who, what, who are you, what did you just do?!” His words were half accusation, half wonder. The giant cocked his head, clearly looking over Jason who was still braced against him.

“I'm̨ͥ ̿̊̉̈́Da͌͌n͋̇ͥn̔y̢ͬ̇̂ ̎Ph̘̫͎͍̘͜a̞͜n͇̜̭̹͚͉͘t͕̤̭̬o̠̻̭̝̰͍̣m͈̰̪̥̖. Ȃs̎͐̃͒̕ ̢f̀͆̈̍o̷̎͒̏̓r͠ ẅ́͋͜h̵ȃͤ̊̚͏t ̀Iͮ d͋̈́i̷̐̅̋d̓͗,̾̐͗ ̡̋ͦÍ ẁas̷ ͟j̛ust. Hmm."

The giant paused for a moment and then started again. He spoke clearer. It was in more a more coherent voice. It sounded Midwestern.  

"With your core in that state, you'll probably understand human speech better. As I was saying I was just helping you out with that nasty ecto-situation you had going on. You were destabilising really badly so I just put an end to that. For now, at least. This is being more emergency first-aid treatment after all. Lucky that I’m the ghost equivalent of a universal donor. But yeah, any long-term treatments to get better I’m gonna have to send you to a medical professional for that. I can recommend my own doctor, he’s an expert on people like us. Although, you’re not an ice core but a fire core so I dunno how exactly that’ll play out for you. But he’ll definitely still be of help. He’ll at least be able to tell you what you need.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. That was far more information than he expected to be given. Especially from a guy who had just unceremoniously just shoved his hand into his chest cavity to do some kind of barehanded removal surgery and then ate the remnants. Now if only Jason had a single clue about what the giant was going on about, just a crumb of context.

“Ok there you meatball surgeon from Ankh-Morpork, I have no fucking idea what the fuck you’re on about. All I know is that one minute I’m Pit Mad, then the next I’m being skewered like a kebab by a fucking giant who’s hand is rummaging around in my chest cavity as if it’s a sofa cushion with loose change you’re after.”

Jason aggressively steamrolls over how good having the giant’s hand in his chest had felt. That he kinda wanted it back inside. That he’s mourning its absence. Those feelings, Jason refuses to even mentally glance at them before stomping them flat.

“And then after finding what you’re looking, which I’m guessing is my Pit Madness because I don’t even fucking feel it anymore! You then just fucking ate it. You fucking ate my Pit Rage! Like it was a goddamn slurpee!”

“I would've offered you some, but it clearly wasn’t good for you.”

Jason stared balefully. “Wasn’t good for me.”

“Yeah you core was clearly struggling, which is not a surprise. It's pretty fragile to be honest. Is,” the giant hesitates, “I know this is a little insensitive to ask, but are you ok? Are you safe?"

Jason’s previous relief was quickly swinging towards a burgeoning hysteria.

“Asking if I’m ok is insensitive?” But impromptu soul surgery by a wholeass stranger wasn’t. This giant’s sense of propriety was wild.

“I wouldn’t want to touch upon something taboo," the giant kindly asserts. Then he widens his eyes,  "Oh, I’m so stupid! Are you being hunted?”

“Hunted?! By what?!”

“Ghost hunters or something.”

“I’m a zombie! Besides ghosts aren’t,” Jason pauses and then forges on, “ghosts aren’t real.”

The giant rears his head back, clearly taken aback.

“You think ghosts aren’t real”.

“Rapidly less so with every second you look at me like that, I will admit.”

“Oh we have so much to talk about.”

Part 2 - Danny POV

Gotham was so cursed, it was almost hysterical. The ectoplasm here was an emotional miasma of fear, hostility, and insanity. A veritable cocktail of violence, magic, and madness. It was steeped in the soil. It stewed in the waters. The foundation that the City was built on was the blood-stained, screaming deaths of the victims' demise from genocide. Gotham was their devastating scorched-earth vengeance.

The capricious and cruel magics entwining with the demented psyches of twisted lunatics. The generations of decadent, sadistic malice. The layers upon layers of maleficence all fermented together to create Gotham. A city where people lived, and where people died, with gritted-teeth and marrow-deep stubbornness and a jaded, crystallised resolve to keep going and never give up. 

It was very different from the pure, immense, but ultimately rather neutrally charged ectoplasm back in Amity.

Danny loved it.

Gotham's ambient ectoplasm was an smorgasbord of emotions that was fine dining if not as nutritionally enriching. Amity's ambient ectoplasm was equivalent to protein powder shakes and high energy bars made in bulk. There was a reason why ghosts were so physically present in Amity Park. The open portal may give ghosts easy and frequent access but it was the ambient ectoplasm that reached high levels rarely reached in Physical World that empowered their presence. In comparison, Gotham's was a tiny portioned delicacies made from rare, exquisite, and borderline toxic ingredients. As result their ghosts were rare and Revenant. Their undead existence was dependent on their corporeal physical body. Gotham's ambient ectoplasm was too scarce for them to form, be present, or be seen without a physical anchor.

(hailing- URGENT- respectful)(hailing-URGENT-respectful)(hailing-URGENT-respectful)

A Genus Loci was rarely the most loquacious of ghosts. It was an amalgamation, the embodiment of zeitgeist, a singularity formed from many deaths, many fears, many desires. It was one mind, it was every mind. Gotham was no one, it was every one. So when Many unified as One, communication was densely packed concepts and emotions. Gotham City was no exception. Danny responds to it's call.

"̠̼̝Ye͞s, I̴͟'̀͏m ̧Li͜͟s̷t͘͜e͞n͞i̕ń͜g̷͏"(acknowledgement-strong-reassurance)

H͘E̶͘L̡P̀͝(beseech-demand) H͘E̶͘L̡P̀͝(beseech-demand) H͘E̶͘L̡P̀͝(beseech-demand)

"C̨͡e͜r͢ta͘̕i͡͞n͜͞l͜͏y̕ / Hͬ̒̈́̋a̗̠̮̩p̝̜̗̟p͓y̝̝̹̩̮ͅ ̗͍̻̞̮͍͖Tọ̠̻̟͕̹ ̹̗͙̖͍̦ͅHel̏p ҉  "

(GRATITUDE) (GRATITUDE) (GRATITUDE)

"Y͘o̷u'̀r͡e͡ We̵ĺco̧me ҉  /W̷̢͏h̴̢̕͞͝a̡̢͠t͡'s͠ ̕wroņg̸?"

M̶̢Y̸ R̢͠͠͞E̴͘͠͠V͏̢̧Ę͘N̛͢͝A̴̛Ǹ̛T͟ S̿̂͊͌ON: M̶̢Y̸ R̠̩͇̭̤̮͈E̺̪͉̪ͅD̹͎̺ ̩͈̲̗̰̼̭̭̹Ḳ͕N̠̜̜̠̩̙I̺̭͈G͎͎̰̥̫͉͕ͅH̝̖̱̰̝͔T̺̻̩̼̹ Á̕͞V̵ENG̕E̢R: B̸͏u̸̵tc͏he̡̨rb͟i̛ŗd(mine-beloved-proud) = HURTING:UNWELL

(understanding-acknowledgement-determined)/ "W͘͜h̨͜e͢r͟͝ę̵ ̶̶̢í̶͘s҉̨ ́h͏͞e̡?" (urgent-query-ready-to-go)

THIS WAY (tugging-leading-quickly)

Gotham faithfully pulled him towards her beloved Butcherbird until Danny's own ghost sense was picking him up. Unfortunately, the revenant was destabilising, violently. Danny couldn't tell exactly what was wrong with him without getting inspecting their ghost core however. But Phantom could easily see that the revenant was in a middle of a massive meltdown. The kind of meltdown where their haywire feelings meant they weren't in their right mind. The kind of meltdown where a ghost could, under the strain of their own berserk emotions, break down and injure their ghost core. The kind of meltdown where the best thing to do was to neutralise the trigger and then hold them till they calmed down and came back to themselves.

Danny could see from the lack of combatants that unless the trigger was the very city itself (unlikely otherwise they couldn't be Gotham's) that meant that whatever was triggering this meltdown was internal.

"B̸͏u̸̵tc͏he̡̨rb͟i̛ŗd, B̸͏u̸̵tc͏he̡̨rb͟i̛ŗd, I͞'m̸ ͘her̡e ̸to he̶lp"(comfort-reassurance)/"B̸͏u̸̵tc͏he̡̨rb͟i̛ŗd, can͞͠ ̀̕͡ý͜ou h́͜ea̶r̴͜ ̀͡m̡͏e͜?͢͢ ͢C͝͞à͢͝n ̶y҉o̕͜u͟͏͡ ̀lo̷o̢͠k a͝t̨ ̷͢m̶e̶?"(urgent-query)/ "You'rę t͢otally̶ ̛u̴nres̨ponsiv͝e͜"

The revenant was so deep in his meltdown that the man couldn't even register his presence even when Danny was speaking to him.

"Sorry, but I'm pretty sure this is a medical emergency".

The ghost, understandably panicked when Danny suddenly made immediate contact with his ghost core. His small and tender ghost core that was all but encased with ill-processed ectoplasmic detritus. It was clear to sense that major ecto-debridement (the active removal of ectoplasmic detritus) of their ghost core was in order. The ghost core was under so much strain and so polluted that no wonder he was experiencing a major meltdown. The poor guy was likely on the constant brink of destabilisation. Danny was just glad that the meltdown was a result of his ecto-biology. If it had been a mental issue, like a threat to his Obsession, that would have been far more difficult to neutralise. The man was a stranger. He wasn't even aware enough to monologue and rant about his problem to him so Danny could get context clues.

Carefully, Danny spread out his ectoplasm over the ghost core to get a better sense of its state. The ghost core full on shuddered and flailed.   

Danny soothed the agitated ghost core, "́Eąs͟y̡,͡ ́e͡as̀y," as he focused on feeling out the depth of severity of the ghost core's condition. The ghost himself was weakly lashing out at the unexpected contact. Danny absent-mindedly absorbed their light blows.

Carefully Danny began to saturate the ghost core with his own ectoplasm. It would soften the ectoplasmic detritus and loosen it from the encased ghost core. However as the saturation levels increased, irrespective of how gentle and well-meaning his ectoplasm emanates, the ghost core became overwhelmed from the significant increase in foreign ectoplasm.

Like a toddler refusing to open their mouth to feed, it's emphatic refusal to accept his ectoplasm started to disrupt Danny's steady flow of ectoplasm. After one particularly strong flail caused Danny to slip, he had to quickly re-steady himself. Gently letting go of their ghost core, he paused for moment. Then, looking the other straight in the eyes, Danny spoke with Authority.

“C̖͋̓̏̊̈́̌ͮa̴ͬ̇ͦ̊͒̆ḻ̯͎͞m͕͕͕̙̀ͤ̾ͭ̓̈ ̫̙͎͍̞ͥ̃̍͛̔dͪ̿̓́҉͕̖̺̹o̪̜̬̝̞̬̒wń̻͚̤̙̞͛,” he commanded. “D̨̺̼̳͢͡o̥͉̭ͅ ̛͎̣̭͚̫n̸͖͎̹͈̦͙͉ơ͖̙̟̣t̬̙̪ b̷e̡͜ ̴̴af̷ra̷id͠”.

Not mind-control but definitely resonant, the ghost core finally quieted down, and the ghost stopped lashing out. 

“I’m h̤̰͇e̬͇̺̹̥ͅre t̹̜̪͉̙o͎̙ ͍̼h̤̰͇e̬͇̺̹̥ͅḷ̹̻͓̱̺̗p̶̱̠͉̜ ̟̳̙̼̯̟̥y͙̙͇̣͡o̤͖͖͙̯̕ͅu͍”(gentle-reassurance-kind).

“Fuck you,”(͟͏̨́͟a̡͟͞c̢̨̕͘͟c͏̸̴̛͜è̸̷͢͠p̵̷͞͡t̨̡͡ą̸̀n̷̴c̡͘e̶̕͞-g̵͟͏̀r҉̡̀a͞͠t̷͟͝ì̸͝͠͡t̕҉͟ų͝d̵̶̕͟͠ę̶̡͠͡)̸̧̧͘.

“But we’ve only just met,”(happy-to-help)/(ready-to-restart-query)

(á̡g̨̛͜r̡̨͝è̷è̵̸m̷̶͠è͡ń̸͞t̕͜͡͡͞-̷͟͢r̸ȩ͜a̡̕d̴̡y̴͡͡-͏̧͏h̡̕͢ą̡̡͟p̶̷̧̢͞p̸̕͟͜ỳ̛)

(acknowledgement-starting)

(!̯̖̬͈̇͐̎̉)

“E͝asy̛ doès ̸it,͡ I'͞m̛ ́a͡lm̧os̷t́ ̛th̴e͡ŕe̸”. The ghost core was almost entirely drenched in Danny's ectoplasm. The ectoplasmic detritus would soon be soft enough to separate pulling it from the vulnerable ghost core.

Danny began to add some ice to his ectoplasm so that the  detritus would gel together separately from the ghost core. Once he got as much as he could, he slowly extricated the captured detritus. The overall ectoplasm was quite gelatinous, and exuded rich, powerful, delectable emotions.

As harmful as it may have been for the ghost, that was because their ghost core couldn't sufficiently process that high intensity of emotions. Danny Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms, did not share that same problem. He figured it would be such a shame to discard such a delicious piece of ectoplasm.

Once he finished consuming the ectoplasm, realised that the ghost was H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ŕ́y̸̡̛̓ͨ̒. The removal of a significant amount of ectoplasm - even when it was ill-processed - would trigger Ģ̂h͂ͬ̏o͒̇͗̏sͨ͛͗͋t̴ H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ͪ̈́̀̚͏eŕ́. 

"Here, l̲̏è͚͚ͥt m̲͉̾̆e ̐h̳͍̹e̻̮l̶͜p͏͖̦̜̦ ̡͚̟̩y̖͔̠̜͚͈̖͢͞ọ̷̦̗͖̥̠ͅu̼̱̞̟͍͓̝”"(offering-feeding).

Danny felt his eyes and hair do their customary transformation as he pulled more on his ghost half, exciting his own ectoplasm to higher levels.

(H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ŕ́y̸̡̛̓ͨ̒.)(H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ŕ́y̸̡̛̓ͨ̒.)(H̿̉͑̽́̉̉̚ŭn̍͋͐̇͏g͆̈̎ŕ́y̸̡̛̓ͨ̒.)/(g̵͟͏̀r҉̡̀a͞͠t̷͟͝ì̸͝͠͡t̕҉͟ų͝d̵̶̕͟͠ę̶̡͠͡-h̡̕͢ą̡̡͟p̶̷̧̢͞p̸̕͟͜ỳ̛-g̵͟͏̀r҉̡̀a͞͠t̷͟͝ì̸͝͠͡t̕҉͟ų͝d̵̶̕͟͠ę̶̡͠͡).

Steadily pouring his ectoplasm, Danny watched as the ghost core gleefully replenished it's reserves, happily feasting on his ectoplasm, delighted to be given ectoplasm easy, safe, and healthy to process. In real time the fragile ghost core was healing and building itself stronger than it had been before.

“There you go, t̴̢͢a̷̸͡k̷̢̀̕͢e̕ ̶̷̶͡͠a͢͜s̨҉ ̢͜m̸̧͝͝u̸̡͠͡c̵̸h͡ ̴̧a̛͞s͟͠ ̷͘͞͝ỳ̧̕͡ǫ̶̧͢ù́͘͢͝ ͘̕͢͠w̕͢͞à҉̀͝n̡̕͟t҉͟.”(offering-feeding-pleased).

The ghost core eventually slowed down, satisfied with it's improved state and replenished reserves. Danny took back his hand, letting go of the ghost core that trilled with gratitude for him once again (g̵͟͏̀r҉̡̀a͞͠t̷͟͝ì̸͝͠͡t̕҉͟ų͝d̵̶̕͟͠ę̶̡͠͡-h̡̕͢ą̡̡͟p̶̷̧̢͞p̸̕͟͜ỳ̛-s̵̢͝͞a҉͞t͘͟҉̡͢i̢s̢͡f̶̨̀i̷̧͘͟ę̨ḑ). Danny was glad to see it was doing much better. The sudden improvement was very pleasant to see.

(g̴l̵ad̀-͠pro͘u̡d-i͜mpr͜eşs̷éd̸)

(f̶̡̀͠l̛u̶s͏̴̧͠t̸͝͏̀e̶̢̡͡҉r̷̴͟͜ę͜͝d̛҉̢͢-̨̛͡͝ṕ̡l̢̀҉̴̛e̷͠a̴͢҉ş̴ȩ̵͜͝d-g̨͘͜͠ŕ̴̨͠͠a̵̵͢͠t̢̨̕͠e̴f̧̧́u͏l̡͘͝)

Although the ghost core was stronger than ever, Danny noticed that it was vey tired after everything that happened. No longer a medical emergency, Danny no longer needed to be in immediate direct contact with the ghost core. But the close tactile contact allowed the ghost to get his bearings. Meltdowns were exhausting, and of course the ghost core had to be an over-achiever. So it didn't only heal from the operation but it also immediately got to work to building itself up bigger and better than it had been before.

He was pleased when the ghost's breathing mirrored his sedate, ghostly heart rate.

“F̱̮̲͍͖e̡̩̪̮e̷͈̹͚l͇͘í̥͕͚̺n͓͎͕͚̮g͏͖̟̪͇͉ bͤ̚et͆̈́̂t͘e̔̄ͥr̍͂?"(fond-understanding-mild-exasperation).

Although significantly calmer and happier, the ghost was still dazed and didn't have the most coherent of responses. It was also becoming obvious that the ghost core was a rather out of sync with the rest of him and just straight up fatigued. Danny decided to just stick to human speech for simplicity's sake whilst explaining.

The ghost didn't seem to like his explanation.

"You then just fucking ate it. You fucking ate my Pit Rage! Like it was a goddamn slurpee!”

Danny couldn't see why the ghost was so angry. He agreed with the ghost, by that point the ectoplasm basically had been a slurpee for him.

But it was the ghost's disbelief in the existence of ghosts; whilst being a ghost that got helped by another ghost by undergoing a treatment that was very ghostly in nature to cure an ailment that was the pinnacle ghostliness; that really beggared him beyond belief.

@ectoberhaunt

[radiantmists]

i see your "payneland get together due to a curse that can only be broken by true love's kiss" and i respect it, but a fun alternative that's occurred to me is that about twenty years ago charles and edwin figured out that A) true love's kiss is a sort of all-purpose curse remover, very useful if you get yourselves into magic Situations regularly, and B) platonic kisses count if they are sufficiently loving and true. For example, if the parties involved are committed to spending eternity together.

so now whenever one of them gets cursed their first resort is a kiss. i think charles usually goes for forehead kisses (bonus: he gets to gently cradle edwin's face in his hands), whereas edwin tends to opt for a kiss to the back of charles' hand.

this works at least 70% of the time. in several cases they've done this for curses where the established cure is something else bc it's much easier than tracking down obscure counterspell components or waiting for the moon to be full, which has given them a reputation for being impossible to keep down with curses.

[egophiliac]

just something I wanted to try! (tumblr please don't absolutely destroy this, thank you)

[vaguely-concerned]

My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content. 

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* —  up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug. 

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were. 

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro 

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

[threebea]

I have started to think of the Jedi being blamed for the Fall of the Republic like blaming firefighters for wildfires.

They have been fighting fires (corruption) for years, but the fire is getting bigger and hotter and spreading farther. They're doing their best but there aren't enough of them to go everywhere there are fires. The Senate points them to where really big fires are, but sometimes it turns out they just want their property saved and there weren't that many people in the building. The Jedi still save lives but they have to look at the bigger picture and hope volunteers will put out the little fires because they simply don't have the people for every little fire even though they wish they did. The Senate starts restricting their use of water. Then an arsonist, Palpatine, is made mayor and takes control of their budget.

Dooku and the CIS start lighting fires on purpose. Palpatine let's Dooku know where the most flammable places are.

And the firefighters (Jedi) keep fighting the fire. They can't not fight the fire. People will die if they don't fight the fire. Then the government is like: there are not enough firefighters to fight the fire, but here is a large population of people we will force to fight the fire with you. You shouldn't have qualms, apparently an individual that used to work for you is the one that paid for their training so really they're your responsibility. You'll be in charge of them on the field and get to watch them die, but we control their lives and have decided they're not people so we don't have to pay them. Good deal. We are good at fighting fires.

And the Jedi can't say no because they need to stop the fire and they can't do it alone at this point. Many of the Jedi are killed in their attempts to stop the gasoline fire Dooku lights and it shows how badly they need these new people.

Luckily, the people drafted to fight with them, the clones are also good at fighting fires! It's dangerous many clones will die, but despite having no choice they stand beside the Jedi bravely. The Jedi do everything in their power to protect them. They fight alongside them and try to minimize loss.

There are a few Jedi that get overwhelmed by anger or trauma. They become arsonists themselves, but the number of those that do can be counted on one hand compared to the thousands of Jedi that continue to fight fires.

Sadly, the clones have explosives inside them that Palpatine, the mayor, has the trigger for. Just when it feels like the fire is under control and the people lighting the fires have been stopped, Palpatine sets them off.

Most of the clones are never the same. They think the Jedi had to have set off the bombs inside them, even though they would have never thought them capable of it before. Most never learn the truth. They hate the Jedi for being traitors.

Most of the firefighters die. And their families too. Their children and uncles and aunts and grandparents, and cousins even if they weren't capable of fighting fires they all get burned to death.

The mayor declares it was the firefighters lighting fires and outlaws being a firefighter.

Some of the Jedi survive. Some of them can't bring themselves to fight fires anymore. Some of them keep doing it because it's what they were trained to do. A lot of them are novices who didn't know all the best techniques, but they find their own methods to put out fires and teach others how to do it as well.

And the rebellion begins because when you see fire the logical thing to do is put it out, but all the firefighters are dead or in hiding and being a firefighter is illegal. There's no one to call so the town's people start doing it themselves, inspired by the Jedi.

This becomes extremely important when the mayor makes a device that can light entire cities on fire at the push of a button.

Anyway that's my metaphor and maybe explains my point of view when it comes to the Jedi.

[radiojamming]

A sacred text. A belovéd vampire. A tragic reminder to us all.

Acrylic, gold leaf, and silver leaf on goatskin vellum. Marginalia to come when I have time.

(Thank you to @wayneradiotv and @socpens for this incredible moment in streaming.)

[thesimquarter]

ok, so i know not a LOT of my followers do ts4 renders, but i wanted to drop a quick little thing i figured out.

So, a complaint I've heard from some people who do TS4 blender renders is that SimRipper washes out the colors of Sims extracted from it. And. yeah. it totally does. But here's a way to remedy that!

By default, SimRipper has all textures in an sRGB color space. Which is fine. sRGB is the default color space. sRGB is meant to be 'realistic,' but it can look rather washed out when it comes to Sims (particularly for cartoonish & maxis-match Sim Styles like mine). So, I was experimenting with color spaces and found that Filmic sRGB looks MUCH closer to what Sims actually look like in-game.

Because it's... hard to explain the difference, here's a quick demonstration of the default sRGB in contrast with setting the base color of a Sim to filmic sRGB: (Taken in Cycles)

And this screenshot below shows where you can change color spaces (in versions of Blender that use nodes for their textures. This was taken in 4.4). This UI is from the Shader Editor, which is easy to access through the Shading tab.

Anyways, that is all. Have fun and don't forget to experiment!

[namtan]

THE NEXT PRINCE (2024)

[runawaymarbles]

I don't know about you, but I know I ain't staying when the us fully becomes the fascist country the voters want it to be come 2028

If it comes to that they are going to have to scrape my cremains off the side of a mountain. I was born here, I fully intend to die here, and anyone with a problem with that including but not limited to whoever runs the US government can go fuck themselves.

But look. To be less glib-- I'm gay, but I'm also white and cis, so I'm on the shitlist but not in the top 5. The only thing that happens if I run is someone who is more urgently under threat might lose a spot, since many countries have a limit. (And that's also assuming that there's somewhere to run to. The US doesn't exist in a vacuum.) I also have friends and family who would be at higher risk with a lot more roadblocks should they try to immigrate, and I don't think I could leave while they were still here. But those aren't everyone's circumstances! So like you gotta do you. But unless you're at serious risk of "deportation", I don't think the abandon-ship rhetoric is particularly helpful.

More importantly, I don't know if you've noticed, but Democrats have been wildly over-performing in special elections so far this year. We'll see what's happening come 2028, but Putin Trump is not. Americans do not, as a general rule, like being told what to do. We're great at cutting off our noses to spite our faces, but we're not nearly so good at cutting off our balls.

I don't think 2028 is the election to worry about, I think it's 2032. But we'll find out.

[booksinmythorax]

Hey, guy who was really mad we wouldn't let you pay your wife's library fines without her card. I know you're feeling some big stuff right now and you evened out a lot by the end after you called her and she confirmed her card number to us, but the thing I wasn't going to start a fight with you about in the moment was:

Your wife is a separate person from you, and we don't know if you're an abusive husband.

We don't know if you're trying to find out if she's checking out books about divorce. We don't know if you're trying to find out if she's checking out books about infidelity or alimony or raising your kids differently than you'd prefer. We don't even know if you're actually married. We don't know you're not an ex who's trying to get information about someone you're stalking. And on and on and on.

Ultimately, your wife has a right to privacy just like everyone else. Privacy even from you. She can choose to share whatever she wants with you, but we need confirmation of that. Thanks for understanding.

[cgeyeball]

Nonduality is so simple, but it can never be understood by an individual, which is only a sense of being someone and therefore doesn’t understand anything at all. A sense of self can’t do anything because it’s not actually a thing with its own existence. Instead, understanding belongs to awareness, consciousness, being, or whatever you’d like to name it—literally, whatever seems to stand under all appearance of phenomena. And this “pure consciousness” is the best candidate for being our Self—not the bundle of thoughts and sensations we normally take ourselves to be.

Direct pointing can sound obtuse, like you’re holding back the punchline, asserting claims without proof, or making word salad. But direct pointing is pointing to what is always immediate, always here, always available—the you in which “you” appear and which precedes all concepts.

Conceptual thought can only produce a conceptual facsimile of understanding. Look directly. You are not and never were the self you have always believed yourself to be (or have at least believed since around the time you were two years old).

Awareness can see that it’s not the mind, not the body, and not the person. And yet the sense of being a person seems to stick around and still seems to be real even after the initial recognition of its unreality. That’s just how it seems to work.

(Sorry to use “seems” so much, but much is only seemingly so.)

But if a person persists in being exposed to concepts that point beyond the conceptual, then it seems like there’s the potential for the “body-mind system” to do something different. I.e., when the conditions are right, the mind gradually stops layering the sense of doership/ownership on everything that seems to happen.

Eventually the recognition of non-doership/non-ownership can “stabilize” and become the default mode of living for what seems to be an individual. And eventually for everyone, the person dies for good—either when the body dies or allegedly, in the case of enlightenment, before the body dies.

Nonduality is the most liberating shit on offer. Continue to go back to it and when you’re ripe for awakening, the person will be exposed as being empty and the emptiness will be exposed as being you. And that will change everything without changing a thing.

Or don’t think about nonduality at all. That’s fine too. Whatever happens, this is just this, exactly as it is.

[lavenderprose]

The thing about Rook and Emmrich is that they're two sides of the same extremely weird coin. Emmrich will tell you a dick joke but it'll be buried under eleven layers of saccharine musings about the beauty of a gentleman whose nutsack he once fondled in a night club in Cumberland wearing only a leather thong. And Rook will tell you a love poem but it'll have eleven dick jokes in it and somehow also serve as a pretty well-rounded instructional manual for how to check the oil pressure in a tractor. And they are utterly gaga for each other. Only they know how to match each other's freak. Only they would want to.

[toskarin]

how do you find new music? i feel like you've never even once posted a song i recognized (which makes sense because i'm terrible at finding new music but it's still impressive)

there's a few ways I go about it! here's a bit of a battery on that

as much as actually using it for intended function is the mindkiller, rateyourmusic is very handy for browsing for stuff that may or may not be on conventional streaming platforms. people love to curate and recommend, and if you find people whose taste you agree with (or lists that pertain to stuff you're curious about) you can sift through until you find something cool

I'd say lastfm is also decent for this, but if you're just looking for new music, it overlaps rym for this use case enough that you'd probably only really have reason to use it if you got something out of scrobbling

bandcamp's another good one, both for ease of publishing when it comes to getting smaller albums online and for the way that profiles work. if scrolling through tags you're interested in and clicking on releases doesn't get you what you're after, you can always click people's profiles and see what else they're buying

if you're into more underground genres, there's probably some indie labels dedicated to them somewhere out there. if you can find an indie label that's agreeable enough in its signings for your taste, then you can keep up with them that way. genre specialised labels can be a godsend here

I find following tape-focused indie labels to be great for metal because there's inherently a selection process of "the label owner likes this album enough to want to prepare a tape run for it," and if your tastes align with the label owner's, you can get some great selections that way

keeping up with the musicians themselves is another big one. if the genre you're after is played live, look at who your favourite musicians are sharing stages with, check who they're shouting out on instagram, generally just keep up with them on social media to see what they're up to

and of course, keep up with your friends. discovering music can absolutely be a social activity. have some friends you shoot recommendations to, have them shoot recommendations back to you, and get increasingly focused-in on each other's musical tastes as you go

[princesscharlesofmonaco]

trying to find a way to articulate this that makes sense, so apologies if it doesn’t! a fandom habit that I have slipped into often and want to try harder to avoid is recasting garden variety homophobia as intentional or quasi-intentional homoeroticism/queer flagging/queerbait. Like, I literally have my ao3 in my bio, I obviously love to rpf these dudes, but I worry sometimes that in laughing with guys making jokes about grindr/teammates dating/the “feminine” aspects of other racers/etc we are harming ourselves.

[queenofsodor]

spent the last week or so testing my editing abilities by doing a quick-and-dirty dub of some Dumbing of Age strips, because this comic has been controlling my brain since november and everybody needs to experience it