#Blood Magic is eh?

[sykloni]

16. - 18. Death Echo + Blood + Unravel

Ectober 2023

At first I was planning to keep this simple and not color it at all... But here we are 😅

---

I am fascinated by the idea that GIW has on going problem of their agents coming back one way or another after death. That creates so many possibilities for angst both from the perspective of the person who becomes one of the things they used to hunt as well as from the perspective of their colleagues.

(Also I find it kind of ironic that they would be actively contributing to the problem they are trying to handle.)

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

Ectoberhaunt 2023. Day 17. Blood and Flesh.

CW: TW! Recurrent pregnancy loss. TW!Abortion. TW!Bleeding

Maddie: Jack, we need to talk. I know this is gonna sound crazy but I think Phantom, the ghost boy, is actually our son. And I’m sure Danny and Jazz know about it too.

What if we bring down on the Fentons the knowledge that they have ghost children without revealing Phantom’s identity?

Text+Chat+Memes=Prompt:

Of course Maddie wanted to have children. But…Not in college. She felt it was too soon. The lack of stable earnings and time were not conditions for growing a new person. She had nothing to give this potential child. Maddie did not hesitate long before deciding to have an abortion.

And for years, neither Jack nor Maddie have thought about this unplanned pregnancy.

Ectoplasm is toxic, obviously. But since ectology was only recently recognized by the scientific community, no one has ever fully analysed the effects of ectoplasm on the body.

When Maddie and Jack had the misfortune to become one of those couples experiencing recurrent pregnancy loss, they immediately suspected that the ectoplasm in their lab contributed to their reproductive difficulty. Put simply, death didn’t go with life.

They may not always have followed the lab’s safety rules perfectly, but is that why one of their first works will be exposing a teratogenic effect of ectoplasm? What if they’ve lost their only chance to be biological parents?

What a cruel price to pay for the work of life. Jack and Maddie so dreamed of their little happiness. Do they have to forget about it?

No, the Fentons don’t give up that easily!

They may have to spend a few years doing only theoretical work, but they’ll try again.

~~~~~

Ectoplasm is toxic. Tests, hopes…and a few miscarriages too.

Jazz was a miracle. Fenton family literally didn’t get out of hospitals to look after her health.

Danny was an even bigger miracle, because they didn’t have any hope of having a second child. Maddie and Jack didn’t even plan this pregnancy. Danny was born premature, with signs of hypoxia... but alive. His potential twin was not so lucky. Single intrauterine fetal death (sIUFD).

Right. Death still followed them. Of course, parents didn’t tell Jazz and Danny that they might have had another brother. It was their grief. Children had no reason to know about it.

~~~~~

"You filthy ghost!" Maddie stopped to rest after a chase for elder Phantom.

"Exhausted?" Dan was flying at a safe distance from her. "Maybe it’s time to retire, Maddie? A little exercise never stopped you before." The ghost was clearly making fun of her.

"Not going to happen, I’ll do it until I die if Amity Park need it. And my son will be here to stop you instead of me after me or Jack."

The smile on Ghost’s face faded immediately. "I hope he die first." The ghost whispered in a hoarse voice."It's best for everyone."

"What did you say?" Maddie rose up in anger, pointing her weapon at it.

"Has any thought crossed your mind about what happens to your children if anything happens to you? Go out every day and yell like idiots, attracting all the ghosts around." An ectoblast is blowing right up against her temple and crashing into the wall. The ghost frowned and turned away. "Did you ever think that Danny wouldn’t want to live without you? Did you think that he would be hurt if he had to lose you? No! Is it always about your stupid desires and ambitions, Mom."

For a moment Maddie thought he it was looking at her like it had seen a ghost, which was obviously just ridiculous. Maddie wanted to laugh about it, but somehow she couldn’t. Why would the ghost trying to fake human emotion care to hide the tears that gather in the corners of its eyes?

Maddie tried to get it out of her head. Anyway, it’s not that important. Phantoms have always been atypical. She’ll come home, take a warm shower, and tell Danny how much she loves him.

~~~~~

Maddie: My son is a strong boy and Dan: He’s weak! He’s a freak! He can’t handle it, Mom!

Maddie had long pondered this theory since the day Jack admitted that Phantom had misspoke during the fight and called him his father but she had never experienced it before. Or maybe she wasn’t paying attention.

Maddie: Hey, Phantom, just a question, how old are you? Dan: Why are you changing the subject? Twenty-four, twenty-five… Hell, I don’t remember. Stopped counting after 17, nobody cares anyway. And her first months dating Jack were 24 years ago. Right. The eyebrows, the shape of eyes and the height is all from Jack. The waist and the side eye from her. Theoretically. Still need more proof.

~~~~~~

Dan: Is this all your frail human form can do?

Maddie walked past the Casper High playground when she saw a ghost flying around. It was one of the new ones. The Phantom’s full-grown specimen. More dangerous. And totally unpredictable. Maddie squeezed the gun harder. Her theories are just theories and she can’t have such a dangerous spirit near the school, near her children.

Danny: Shut up and give me my bottle of water, asshole.

This voice. Maddie stopped in shock. What’s her boy doing so close to a ghost? He’s always so terrified of them.

Dan: No pull-ups, no water. You need muscles. Without them you’re gonna look like a worm if you’re gonna grow up to be taller than Jack as I am.

Danny: Just so you know, you’re a terrible big brother and I hate you.

Dan: Well, that just means I’m doing a good job.

Danny: When Mom asks who destroyed the furniture in Vlad’s house I’m pointing at you. A little run around town will be good for you. And as they say, Older siblings are like your parents' personal science fair. They're a bunch of experiments.

Dan: ...Just so you know, it sounded completely insane. Terrible. Good job, but don’t go near Dani with those jokes. Jazz will kill us both for setting a bad example. Danny: Bad example? Since when has a good sense of humor become a bad example? Dan: Shut up. Drink water and go to the shower. Jazz is gonna kick my ass if you die of overheating.

Danny: Huh, afraid of one know-it-all? When dad chased you with a bazooka, you didn’t seem scared.

Dan: Сome on, dad has a lot of strengths, yeah, but the ability to aim isn't one of them. And not

Dani: driving a car?

Danny: Right. Wait, how long have you been eavesdropping? Dani: Long enough to blackmail you both. Сomputer’s mine for the rest of the week. Dan and Danny: Shit.

~~~~~

The Invisobill. or Phantom. Ha. Danny Fenton…Danny Phantom. Weston boy said crazy things. Yeah. But what if he was only partially wrong? Everything except the color of its eyes and hair is so much like Danny's. If this were typical manipulation from a ghost hoping to shake the desire of ghost hunters to chase a creature similar to their child, he would have had to give it up months ago. But phantom did not change his disguise. This is his true form. What about ghost girl and older ghost? They are also so young.

Maddie could not sleep. In her head struggled scientist and woman weighed down by feelings of guilt and shame. She was tormented by philosophical problems and religious issues. No, Maddie, not even a neural tube is formed at that time. It was just a collection of cells. It’s not a person. It doesn’t feel pain. And ghosts do not too. Right? Is it even acceptable to compare such things? Is it possible that a ghost is not the remnant of negative human emotions and memories? What is responsible for its formation then? What is the purpose of such a ghost? And more importantly, how long have these ghosts been near and they did not notice? Has the portal become a source of energy necessary for their existence in the physical plane? Or is it only they who have not seen them?

So painful. It’s so unpleasant to think about what monsters they look like to their dear Danny and Jazz. Ghosts or not, she threatened creatures who might have been part of their family in front of her babies. God, naive teens must think that three Phantoms are their siblings or something. Of course! That explains the disappearance of fenton thermos and the way the Phantoms sneak into the portal and Danny’s always somewhere in trouble and…Oh my God, they could be in so much danger! How long has this been going on? No, the real question is..Hm, if this is going on for so long, why haven’t the ghosts done anything…evil? If their nature is in the destruction then why didn’t anything happen? Jack and she would never have missed something that would hurt their children.

~~~~~~

The fight between the Skulker and Invisobill was particularly fierce this time. Maddie was unlucky to be in one of the damaged buildings. But who is she if not a scientist? She will find a way to benefit in such a situation.

Unnecessary risk, completely unprofessional. But… The debris of the wall does not lie on her very tightly and the weapon still with Maddie. Yeah. She has to test her theory. She has to. She can get up and leave if she needs to. Right? A little dizziness never killed anyone. She just feels cold and sounds are strange. Maddie: Help. Help! Someone! M-Maddie? An insecure voice with an echo sounds. Yes, it's near. Maddie: Help! I can’t.. I can’t get up. T-Hard to breathe. Danny: Mum! Mama, hold on, I’m coming.

Phantom checks her pupillary reflex. Who taught him that? Jazz? The touch of his hand, so cold and shaky. Now Maddie really doesn't feel so good. It’s good that the ghost is her boy. She doesn’t have to worry about anything happening to people around. Neither he nor Danny know how to lie. She can breathe. Just cover her eyes for a moment and… Just a few seconds. Phantom:Jazz, Jazz! Call an ambulance. I don’t know what to do. I..I can’t just make mum intangible. What if she has a crush syndrome and I make it worse or… Her boy. Why is Danny so scared? Danny: Tucker, she is bleeding and she’s not responding to me and… Sshh, my little star, is all right. Mom just needs to lie down and rest a little.

~~~~~~

Maddie could not believe that she had actually passed out. But the time spent in the hospital gave her enough time to think about everything.

Maddie: Jack, we need to talk. I know this is gonna sound crazy but I think Phantom, the ghost boy, is actually our son. And I’m sure Danny and Jazz know about it too.

Jack: Honey, are you sure we don’t need to double-check if you have a concussion?

~~~~~~

Maddie and Jack decide to watch surveillance videos for the first time. After all, it concerns the safety of their children, they have the right to know what happens in the house in their absence. Especially when the ghosts are nearby. Children *live in their own sitcom*:

They have seen enough. Maddie decides to check chats on Jazz’s phone. It’s for their safety, only. She’s a good mother but what if the ghosts are up to something?

The chat was so..Teenage? And Chaotic. Normal? No, definitely not. How many times have they punished Danny unfairly? Did Jazz learn to lie and they didn’t even notice? And what the hell, why were they joking about dissection. It’s just awful. They need to talk immediately. No, it will look suspicious. They need to try to make contact with ghosts. And then they’ll all be grounded. All five.

Oh, and she thought two kids were a lot of work. How are they gonna handle three more with the bizarre biology ectology? Do they have hobbies, interests? They are definitely more complicated than theblob-ghosts. Was she wrong? Do they have emotions, a need for socialization? Can she trust her emotions in this matter?

~~~~Bonus~~~~

"What the hell happened to freak’s neck?!"

Danny: Um, excuse me, ma'am, he’s been doing Hatha yoga in India for years. Practice opens up amazing flexibility in the joints! Right, brother?

Dan: Fuck off.

Ma'am: Don’t take me for an idiot! What about his skin color then? Jack: You have something against my son’s tan? Dan: I told you going shopping with me was a bad idea. Dani: If you didn’t scare everyone around, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Dan:...I didn’t even try to do it this time. Why is she meddling?!

~~~Bonus~~~~

Dan: Why am I only third? Dani: Because I have successfully stabbed Danny in the back when he did not expect it. With you he is always waiting for a trick. This makes me much more successful than you :)

[pricklenettle]

He’s practically a zombie already

day 3 of ectober

[sheepheadfred]

-They SHOT me- [ -SHOT-]

Just a flesh wound- It has to be... [has to be...]

They wouldn't if they knew after all...

RIGHT? [RIGHT?]

They're my parents. it- it has to be a--- [a mistake]

RIGHT?

Ectoberhaunt Day 17: Blood/Flesh

'Flesh and blood' can be used as a term for a blood relative after all. After a ghost fight that took longer to deal than usual, the Fentons got a lucky hit (or maybe two) that Danny barely managed to escape with. Poor boy really going through it. 0n0

[nyk-is-always-lurking]

Sometimes I think about how many teens and kids had to die in Amity Park for there to be a communal haunt in Casper High. Just some thoughts.

[lollystocks]

To Blossom

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 2: Botanomancy (and a lil dash o technomancy)

Sam tends to her houseplants, her mother tries to connect, and Amity feels the effects of its rip in space-time. Words: 5,087 CW: minor injury, blood, self-injury, possession (mentioned), dissociation, mentions of a firearm

---

Her plants were getting grumpy. Again.

Not that Sam held it against them. As much as she had tried to make her dark, brood-perfect bedroom a comfortable home for the waifs and strays she had picked up from Amity Park’s nurseries and garden centers, (and perhaps a private garden or two), she only had so many hours in the day. The best temperature and humidity control money could buy helped of course, but between school, ghost fights, activism, and deliberately spending as little time as possible in her parents’ house…

Well. The grumpiness was understandable.

But Sam had found a rare, spare, afternoon with no obligations. Her homework was mostly up-to-date (she was refusing to do any of Lancer’s reading until the English department unbanned The Bluest Eye); the protest at Axiom was on pause until Tucker had okay’d her security plans; it was a Sunday so there were no new updates for The Grand Speadsheet; and she had already published two blog updates this week with the next one fully drafted. (“The True Amity Park Horror: A Miniature Surveillance State; or, The Bitches in Cheap Bleach Could Do With Being More Subtle When Spying On The Entire Town, part v”)

The irony of calling out the GIW’s spying operation was not lost on her.

And seeing as ghost attacks didn’t stick to a pre-circulated schedule, there was nothing to do on that front except keep the pager on loud, and get on with one’s day.

So, following an oh-so-wonderful lie-in, Sam was playing her favorite kind of politics: horticulture.

Following certain complaints, Sam had abandoned the concept of a general fertilizer and had bought a whole series - one each for tropicals, leafy, flowering, fruit, and cacti. The succulents would have to just put up with the latter. Windows thrown open, a torn up magazine protecting her dark hardwood flooring, a series of expensive and totally unused mason jars usurped from her mother’s kitchen, and a large jerry can of water sat at the ready, she set to work mixing up some please-just-fucking-grow juice for her many, many children.

Or she would have, had her pager not chosen that moment to scream at her from her window sill. A grating, 8-bit version of Ghostbusters (“the most frighteningly accurate depiction of ghosts in any move ever Sam, it’s iconic.”) that served as their “Fentonworks scanners have picked up a big ol’ signal somewhere, perhaps check it out gang” signal. Louder than the beeping was the profound sense of alarm from her plants. Or so she imagined.

Sam leaped up to silence it before it reminded her parents of her existence, knocking the jerry can over as she went. She ignored the chugging spill, slamming the “dismiss” button on the pager and then scrambling to find her phone among her copious bedsheets. By the time she extracted it, there was already a message:

Fanny Dampton: already on it, boxy’s throwing a tantrum at walmart

That would at least save them some time. Accessing the Fentonworks scan system to pinpoint a location always lost them a few minutes.

Sam typed with one hand, and started donning her boots with the other.

Man Sampson: Woodsborough Park or Elm Rd?

Fanny Dampton: elm

Fucker Toe-ly: moms got the car gonna take me a while to get there on dads bike

Man Sampson: I can swing round to get you, meet me at the end of your road, do NOT forget the extra thermos this time.

Fanny Dampton: i think i got it guys!

Fucker Toe-ly: bestie how are you typing and fighting

Fucker Toe-ly: i didnt forget it how dare

Fucker Toe-ly: i was giving it a premeditated and intentional vacation in my sock drawer

Fucker Toe-ly: she was tired

Fanny Dampton: i think i got it guys

Man Sampson: No that’s a good question, how are you typing and fighting?

Fanny Dampton: im not

Man Sampson: So when you say “you got it”??

Fanny Dampton: i ran off to GG and by the time i got back jazz had thermosed boxy. i ‘stole’ it from her so mom and dad couldn’t take boxy for testing. hid it in my leg, will get it out later.

Fucker Toe-ly: bestie im still not on bord with you using random body parts as storage it cant be good for a growing boy its also nasty as hell and also what about ectocontamination from the thermos

Man Sampson: I’m not sure Danny needs to worry about ectocontamination, Tuck.

Man Sampson: It’s also so on brand for you to be able to perfectly spell .“ectocontamination” but not “board”.

Fucker Toe-ly: what are we if not our brands? - francis bacon, probably

Fanny Dampton: look it’s all good guys, just need to focus on the hard part now - the family walmart shop

Fucker Toe-ly: god gives his hardest battles to his deadest soldiers

Fucker Toe-ly: what yall buying

Fanny Dampton: mom wants a gun

Man Sampson: Jesus Christ.

Fucker Toe-ly: aaaaaaaahahahahahahahah

Sam flopped back onto her bed, giving herself a minute - the come-down from “ghost attack mode” would take a sec, even though the problem had solved itself in rather nicely.

Sam nearly cried out when the handle of her bedroom door rattled.

A muffled voice forced its way through. “Sweetie? What have we said about locking your door?”

Sam sat up, slowly. Took a breath, and made her way over. “I said I’d stop re-installing the lock when you learn how knocking works.”

“Samantha Manson you wi-”

Her mother’s impending monologue on respect, rules and roofs was interrupted with a wide open door and a dead expression. “Yes, Mrs Manson?”

Her mom blinked, swallowing her previous tirade. It looked like it tasted sour. “Sweetie, I know it’s a joke, but your dad and I have asked you multiple times to drop the “Mrs and Mr Manson” thing. It’s-”

“A pointed nod to the irony of your formal standards of familial respect, yeah.”

“Samantha, can we please not do this?”

How rich. “Mom, it might help if you tried to actually-”

“-’understand why you do this rather than seek to use the blunt instrument of parental authority to control you’, or something, right?”

Sam blinked. Her mom could barely hide her smirk.

“We do listen.”

Sam kept her face blank and said nothing. Pointing out the obvious would do nothing but lead to yet another argument in a doorway, ripe for door-slamming and possibly injured fingers. These things always happened in doorways.

Breathe, Sam. Your silence will say enough. 

Her mom broke eye contact first, glancing into the room, eyes widening the slightest bit at the soaked magazine pages on the floor.

“Oh Samantha, you really need to take more care in here. The floorboards…”

“It’s just water, Mom, and the paper got most of it.” Her heart rate was ramping up again. Her hands were flailing. “It’s fine, and you know what, why would you assume I wasn’t being careful? Like why is carelessness and thoughtlessness your first thought? I’ve clearly set up precautions against filtered water you can literally see that, but you couldn’t consider that maybe it was you trying to barge in here that could have startled-”

“-I assume a lack of care because I know you Sam, I’m your mother, and as much as I love you even you must admit you’re prone to impulse, undue planning, you take your possessions for granted as you know your dad and I will simply replace them for you at the dro-”

“-What did you want, Mom?”

This time it was her mother who prolonged the silence, maintaining eye contact, breath firmly controlled. Sam made a note of it, but would sooner die than admit who she had learnt her most effective habits from.

“What I wanted, Samantha, was to invite you down to the garden to do some gardening. Together.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

“Why is that such a shock to you, Sam? I’m elated you’ve taken to botany so well. God knows I tried to get you into it as a girl, not that flowers or weeding held any sway over you. But now you’re entering a new phase of your womanhood, you’re developing a sense of aesthetic taste, domestic pride, a new sense of responsibility, shedding your teenage fascination with the gloomy and macabre-”

“Literally what gives you that impression? I’ve got 3 animal skulls right there on my shelf Mom-”

“-Well you’re not wearing that awful makeup-”

“-Because it’s a Sunday and I only woke up an hour ago! Don’t tell me we’re two minutes into our first interpersonal interaction of the weekend and ‘cause I’ve not put my eyeliner on yet you think I’m, what, I’m ‘shedding the goth’-”

“-You are developing more refined tastes Samantha and I don’t see why you would deny that!”

It was taking all her willpower not to scream. She felt that if she turned around now, every plant in the jungle of her room would be giving her a menacing thumbs up. Tear her a new one! 

“Oh my god Mom it’s just a bit witchier! Subcultures have fashion cycles too! Like yeah I’ve put my old band posters into storage and bought an oil painting at that auction we-”

Sam stopped. Breathed. Why did every conversion with her mom get so derailed?

Well because her mom found ways to sneak insults into every conversation, that’s why. Because she could do that. When Sam tried, it got her grounded.

It also tended to derail their conversations even further.

There were two ways to deal with Mom when she was like this. Way one, give her what she wants - a fight. Rise to the bait, throw some back, speak her truth, let the conversation switch between radically different topics at a whim.

Way two was de-escalation, and was far harder. It required a metric fucktonne of self-control, but mostly, just three ingredients.

Ingredient one: Stay On Track.

“Thanks for the offer Mom, but I’ll stick to my bedroom plants, thanks.”

“And while they’re looking lovely - besides that weeping fig of course - we are fortunate enough to have plenty of garden space, where plants can actually thrive. Are you unappreciative of that privilege?”

Ingredient Two: Don’t acknowledge insults that have nothing to do with the topic.

“I just want to focus on my bedroom, Mom. I don’t like the garden that much, you know that.” Not totally the truth - the greenhouse was pretty great. Mostly because it was firmly her territory. The perfect lawn and perfect flower beds were her mother’s.

Mom sighed, and set her shoulders. She was gearing up to say something. Something hurtful, no doubt. Sam braced, and prepared for Ingredient Three - when it gets really bad, disengage entirely. Shut the door. It wasn’t running.

Her mom said, “Well, we can do something about that. What would you change about the garden?”

Sam blinked.

And stalled.

“Samantha?” A nervous laugh. “Anyone in there?”

Sam frowned. “Um. Sorry?”

“You don’t like the garden. That’s a little hurtful as I put so much effort into it, and I think it’s rather beautiful, but I want you to like it too. So. What should we change?”

This was entirely new. Sam had no plan for this, whatever it was.

“Is it that it’s too “neat”? You’re “rewilding” attempts in the greenhouse are far from what I can deal with in the garden, and your father only convinced me to allow it was the greenhouse is mostly out of sight, but perhaps we-”

“Are you being serious?”, asked Sam. It wasn’t said with spite, or even incredulity. Just suspicion. Maybe even hope.

Her mom carefully folded her hands in front of her. She’d understood perfectly. “Dead serious, Sam. I- I want us to share something. We’ve never had something we could do together, except maybe swimming when you were little (but then you wanted to stop), and now that you have this wonderful new hobby, and it’s something I like too! So even if it means ceding some ground, if it means being able to spend some time with you that we both enjoy, even if it’s not really my company your enjoying but I get to see you enjoying yourself with me, then that woul-”

“It’s too much of a monoculture.” interrupted Sam, who had taken a small, defensive step back into her room.

“I’m sorry?”

“The lawn. It’s not just “too neat”, or “too perfect.” Like yeah I think it looks ugl- no, actually, it’s not that, it’s like it genuinely makes me uncomfortable. Those perfect lawn stripes are, they’re like this symbol of America but only in this really gross, plastic-and-fructose-syrup way, you know?”

Her Mom hesitated. She began to speak, but Sam barrelled onwards.

“And it’s not just how it looks, ‘cause like, turfgrass lawns are just such an issue. Like you have to put so much effort into keeping it up because it’s an invasive species and not meant to grow in the US so you have to keep it going with just so much fertilizer and even paint which runs off into rivers and causes eutrophication but then you also have to douse it in pesticide which kills of pollinators and you have to aggressively mow it with that massive fuel-guzzler-”

“Okay you hate my lawn, but you can’t ask me to lose the whole lawn!”

“Why not? We don’t use it for anything - you entertain on the patio, we don’t use it for games or even walking, it’s just there!”

“I won’t have our beautiful land just be mud-”

“Mom you asked for my opinion!”

Her mom blinked, and, for some reason, shut up.

“You can’t do that you can’t come to me with a sob story about bonding and ask me something point blank and get angry at my response without letting me finish the goddamn thought.”

Her mom opened her mouth, closed it, and gestured with her hand. Please, finish the goddamn thought. She folded her hands in front of her again.

Sam nodded. “Thank you. Look I can send you articles, there are alternatives, if you want to do that and if you want to take my mere suggestion seriously. Like, moss, or clover, or wildflowers. Or maybe even do something with all the space? You’ve got the planters crammed up against the patio. You could fill the space with more planters and have paths fill that space if you wanted to do something really cool. And make habitats for the pollinators. Like the botanical gardens.” 

Her mother’s eyes registered that. Their trip together for her thirteenth birthday had been her mom’s suggestion and she hadn’t given Sam much of a choice. Sam had reluctantly adored it all the same.

The small succulent from that trip had stayed on her desk ever since. Alone, until earlier that year. When it suddenly gained a whole host of siblings.

Time to disengage.

“Look Mom, I’ve got to finish this. Mopping up the water. I’ll send you those articles if you’d like, though.’

Her mom straightened, smiled with lots of teeth. “Of course, Samantha. I’ll read them.”

Sam nodded, and went to close her bedroom door. Her mom gently stopped her. “I’ll be in the garden, if you need me.”

A thin smile. “Sure thing, Mom.” She closed the door with a soft click.

Sam liked to imagine the plants were angry on her behalf. They’d seen the whole thing, and obviously they’d be on her side. 

Sam grabbed a dirty t-shirt from her laundry basket and set to mopping up the remaining water. As she worked, she counted all 38 plants her in room and noted their locations, light levels, water levels, obsessively-

God, she just couldn’t make her mom understand. That it wasn’t about looks and aesthetics and beauty, it was about the- the- the inherent sanctity of plant life, the codependent relationship between flora and fauna, the exchange of air and breath, the nutrient cycles, that her own

daughter you are mine the daughter of green the daughter of ultraviolet the queen of roots uncountable through the ground the city the planet

you are ruler you are monarch the flowers the leaves the vines these are your children these are your subjects these are your responsibility

you understand child you understand my daughter that humanity is infection is gnats is too-much-water is invasive grass it must be purged this pest

is yours to feed on to take their nutrients they are flies in the trap you will do my bidding my sweet greendaughter they will do yours you are chlorophyll you are ectoplasm shed your meat dissolve the juices of your flesh you-

…

Sam gasped and clutched her hand. She had somehow managed to find a sharp-enough pencil with which to stab her palm. She looked up, brain catching up to the fact that she had managed to drag herself to her desk, even amid the episode.

That was good. New, but good. Her body was able to act to pull her out, now. Even if she didn’t remember it.

Just another example of feeling eerily disconnected from her flesh body.

She fell into her office chair, and her head fell into her hands. She breathed. Always fucking breathing, like it’s a chore. Fucking oxygen. It never felt quite right, these days.

She needed to center herself. She knew the steps. Couldn’t remember the fucking steps. They were in the notes app on her phone. Where was her phone?

On the ground, by the jerry can and the mason jars and the magazine pages. Okay. Easy.

She sat up, walked, then half crawled to the same spot on the floor. Crossed her legs, sat upright, faced the desk, keeping the pencil in sight. Flexed her injured hand, and reached out for her phone.

She found the list quickly enough - she’d put the shortcut on her homepage.

5 See

Sam spoke aloud to the room. “I can see my phone; my desk; the window with the tree in full bloom. The raccoon skull on the windowsill. And the jerry can, it’s still got a bit of water in it.”

She shuddered a breath out. Unlocked her phone again and read the next line.

4 Touch

Sam closed her eyes and concentrated. “I feel the small stab wound from the pencil in my left hand. It fucking hurts. I feel that my right leg is a bit damp from sitting on the floor. It’s cold. I feel my boots on my feet, because I never took them off. I feel my pajamas on my skin.”

A longer breath in, and one out. She carried on, no longer needing the list.

“I hear the air conditioning, even though it’s not very hot. I hear the odd car on the road. I-”. Sam hesitated. How honest are you meant to be during these things? “I still hear the echoes of the voice. I hear words like ‘daughter��� and ‘queen’ and ‘flesh’ and ‘green’. But not with my actual ears. It’s a metaphor, kinda.”

“I can smell the lemongrass candle I’m burning. I can’t think of a second smell. Maybe my own body odor? I haven’t showered yet.”

“And I can taste my own ass-mouth, as I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Sam sighed, and opened her eyes. A bird chirped from the tree. She furrowed her brows and stared.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier buddy? I had to admit I heard his voice instead, you tardy bastard.”

The bird probably didn’t laugh. But it sure sounded like it.

Before she could forget, she opened the Grand Spreadsheet on her phone, and went to the “SAM” tab. She logged the time, with the note “short episode. Mild self injury broke it, no memory of that bit.” and hit ENTER.

Five seconds later, her phone rang - the screen flashed the caller ID “circuits mcgee 🌱 🤓✌🏾🧑🏾‍💻🍑”

He started talking the moment she accepted. “Ohmygod Sam are you okay??”

“I’m calm enough to have filled in the spreadsheet so let’s say yeah.”

“FUCK. You were doing so well, it’s been weeks, thought we’d left ‘em behind for good. What’s the injury?”

“Stabbed my palm with a pencil. Not very hard, I don’t think? There’s a bit of blood but it stopped already.” Sam opened her hand to inspect the little puncture. A small spec of gray left by the pencil and some dried blood, and it stung to hell, but she had had far worse.

“Yeah but Sam, you know as well as I do that around here, an injury healing fast doesn’t necessarily mean ‘all is well’.”

He had a point, there. “You’re right, but I’m being honest actually, it really is tiny. I can send a pic if you want confirmation I’m not just bei-”

“Don’t you fucking dare send me a picture of your wound Samantha Manson.”

Sam let out an honest-to-god giggle.

The line beeped.

“That’s Danny, wanna-?”

“Yeah add him in.” said Sam, as the texture of the background noise changed with the opening of a new line.

“Oh my god, Sam are you okay?”

“She’s good man, sounds like a small one.”

“They’ve gone down in severity and frequency, I honestly think we’re coming to a close on that.”

Danny’s voice again. “I know you don’t like talking about it over the phone, want us to swing by for a debrief?”

“Honestly there isn’t much to it that isn’t what I’ve covered before. I’m his daughter-queen again, we love plants, we’re eco-fascists, yada yada.”

“It’s not the info that’s important Sam, it’s you saying it.”

Sam nodded, before remembering they couldn’t see her. “Good point. Even so, a full debrief feels unimportant. I can just…” Sam hesitated, then completed the thought. “I can just tell my plants.”

A short, but uncomfortable silence over the phone. She had hoped that comment would land better.

Tucker spoke first. “So no change on that front?”

Sam reached out a hand above the pothos hanging near her desk, and with a slender finger, beckoned it upwards. It rolled, like it was stretching itself awake, and a leafy vine reached up to her fingers. Curling around it, not dissimilar to a cat.

mother, she imagined it crooning.

Her thumb gently stroked a leaf. “No change on that front. If anything…”

“It’s getting stronger, isn't it.” asked Tucker.

Sam didn’t want to answer that. But Tucker’s correct conclusion was unnerving. “Was that a lucky guess, or…”

“...It might be the same for me.” He said, in a small voice.

“For fuck’s sake guys, there’s a tab on The Spreadsheet for this! Why is this the first I’m hearing that you’re both getting… more?”

“Well sorry Dr Fenton-”

“Don’t call me that-”

“-but what with updating it with all the spying I’ve been doing on half of fucking Caspar High-”

“Tucker tracking your symptoms is more important than tracking Dash’s-”

“Guysguysguys, let’s all pipe down, kay?”

The conversation went quiet, again. They all took a moment, planning their words.

Sam broke the silence. “I’ll go first, if that’s okay?”

Their noises of assent came through simultaneously.

“Okay so point one: Danny, you’re probably right about Tucker and I not being totally on it with documenting our developments.” Sam twirled around in her office chair, eyes darting about her room. “I can only speak for myself, but it’s mostly just that not much has changed? Or more that it’s changing gradually? Like I have an episode, I can log that. But ‘I think I’ve got a bit more control over my houseplants this week than last week, and a tree might have tried to talk to me yesterday’ feels like an unimportant update. I dunno. What about you, Tuck?”

There was an awkward silence. Some shuffling. Neither Sam nor Danny stepped in.

It was something of a habit amongst them. Thinking space didn’t always need to be filled with noise, especially when it was obviously someone’s turn to talk.

Eventually, “Ah man. It’s less that, more like, I guess you’d call it denial? Like… okay, skipping a bunch of keystrokes when hacking the GIW and using your brain instead is something I can probably brush under the carpet until I put it into words in The Spreadsheet which is either ironic or fitting I guess.”

That was new. Tucker had been developing… some sort of connection to his networks and cybernetics. At least enough to have rare insight into how those systems functioned, and sometimes being able to intuit novel solutions, or just know when something would bug. And one time, he may have granted his phone partial sentience. But a direct input into his code? New.

“Well that, and, agh. Right okay, full cards on the table. Sometimes, I go to put something about myself in The Spreadsheet, and I get this itching feeling. One high up in my chest that’s too deep to scratch. Not sure what to make of it, but I don’t like it. So I avoid triggering it, okay. Probably just anxiety.”

Another silence. Sam froze.

Danny asked, “A kinda itch that’s like, ‘stop that right there’?”

“Well yeah.”

Sam’s heart rate spiked, all the plants on her desk standing to attention. “Wait, you get that too?”

“Not you too, Sam.” came Danny’s voice. He sounded small, defeated.

“Okay this wasn’t me covering anything up, I’d just never like, consciously thought of it like that before?”

“Okay, you both get an itch that makes you not want to do something - in your case Tucker, it’s when you’re like, compromising your own security?”

“Yeah. Or like, my privacy, or data.”

“Sam?”

“Well it doesn’t come up very often? Can’t even think of a time, just that what Tucker said rings a bell?”

The sound from Danny’s line had changed. He must have found somewhere away from the shopping crowds.

“Okay. Tuck, what kind of feeling do you get when you, I dunno, patch in a new security protocol to The Spreadsheet?”

“Well I feel satisfied, obviously.”

“Yeah but is it a different kind of satisfaction to like, doing well on a test? Is it specific to when you’re hacking something?”

Sam could hear Tucker processing that. She had to process it too.

Tucker eventually managed an eloquent “Fuck.”

“Is it like, like a slight vibration? Feels like a warm cat purring on your chest?”

“Yes, Sam, that is exactly what Obsession feels like.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“Well I guess we can stop speculating that the denizens of Amity Park are slowly developing ghostly traits, if Sam and I are developing Obsessions.”

Because that was the crux of the whole matter.

For the last year, the three of them had been doggedly tracking the changes in the population of their little town. People acting just a bit stranger, a bit more compulsive. Heart rates and breath rates decreasing. No obvious reactions to blatant ectocontamination in the cafeteria food.

Voices just a bit more distorted over the radio, or tv. Heaters turned down, AC turned up. Tucker had even set up a bot to analyze the blinking rate at Caspar High and some local offices to compare with similar places elsewhere in the state. Unsurprisingly, the citizens of Amity Park didn’t feel the need to blink as much.

Shrugging off the voices in the cornfields, the apparitions in the woods, the shivers down your back when you look at a cemetery sideways. These adjustments had come quickly to the population due to their sheer frequency - The Horrors only hold sway when they surprise you. But the blatant unease the town residents gave to outsiders wasn’t just shrugged off amongst themselves - it was firmly, blatantly, ignored.

“No but you guys are special cases, you both had prolonged, individual overshadowings by powerful ghosts and your obsessions are related to them. Most of the town have either been mass-influenced, or just had quick stints as meatsuits. Like we’ve known for a while something’s happening but it feels like it’s speeding up for some people - Paulina’s never been this concerned with being pretty, or Wes with being up in everyone’s business. Then there’s the school building itself which is a whole ‘nother-”

Sam cut in. “Okay okay, we definitely need a big meeting to talk this through. Today?”

“Probably not, I’ve got mom’s actual normal gun to deal with…”

“I found a weakness in our backdoor to the Mayor’s Office’s security and it’s got me paranoid, I gotta patch it before something happens…”

“Okay, tomorrow after school? Yours, Tuck?”

“Sure thing, I’ve got the car tomorrow too. I’ll pick you up on the way in, Sam.”

Sam scribbled the reminder on a note. “It’s a date, gang. I’ll try and put together like, a report, I guess.”

Danny said, “I’ll catch up with you guys on the school steps tomorrow. Stay sa- Mom Jesus Christ that’s not how you- guys seeyousoon.” and his line went dead.

“Talk soon, Sam!”

“Talk soon, Tucker.” She hit the red phone icon.

The pothos, without encouragement, had continued to climb into and around Sam’s hand, gently holding a leaf against the pencil wound. The rest was clamped tightly around her wrist and forearm. Too tightly. 

With the feeling of being watched, Sam turned her head, glancing around the rest of her bedroom. Every plant had shifted slightly, reaching for her, leaves and stalks fighting gravity to be closer to her. 

mother, she imagined, again.

She extracted her hand, and walked briskly to the door. She strode quickly down the bright hallway, and down the grand staircase, grabbing her father’s set of keys from the hallway bowl. Reaching the front door with the full intention to shut herself in the plantless, steel, diesel and chrome deathtrap that was her father’s car and just drive, she stopped with the door handle in her hand.

A slight tickle filled her chest. An itch.

She turned to look through to the kitchen, and could see her mother in the garden beyond. Her usual hairspray-hard hair had rare flyaways, and a streak of mud marred her perfect neutral makeup. She knelt by a flowerbed, a tray of poppy seedlings on a paving stone beside her. Babies that Sam didn’t know yet. Her mother gently teased aside the soil with her trowel, placing each seedling bundle with care.

Sam’s chest warmed as she watched her mother. It hummed. She let go of the door handle, set her shoulders, and went to join her mother in the garden.

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

@ectoberhaunt. With Undergrowth being able to control all plants, perhaps he’d be immune to the effects that Blood Blossoms normally have on ghosts. Perhaps even use it to take any down who get in his way. Unfortunately, Danny’s one of them and using a certain nature lover friend of his to test if it has the same effect on half-ghosts🩸🌹🥀

What do u think? What do u think of the redesign on Plant Sam? I’d love to know?💖

[ovytia-art]

Ectoberhaunt 2022 Day 7: Purify

Or at least the aftermath of an attempt ft. the alphabet(?) I made a while back for a magic system

Masterlist

[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

[icefang111]

Binged the dungeon meshi anime today and gotta say... was not nearly as fucked as everyone was implying???

Was really good, don't get me wrong but like, what's a little blood magic between friends ya know? It's chill, like bearly a 6 on the fucked scale. I was expecting more :/

[jadenoryuu]

Day 17: Blood VS Flesh

Disclaimer: No Lechonk has been harmed in making this artwork!

(I'm a bit late, please don't mind me, @ectoberhaunt and @bubblegumbeech...!)

The leitmotiv for this year's Ectoberhaunt was making a Pokémon Card Extension pack based on my crossover AU that started with "Blessing Sun and Moon" and continued with "When the Legends are painted Black or White".

Since this October has been extremely chaotic, I managed to complete the lineart only of this piece, but I'll probably make a separate post with the WiPs of the others or y'all could bully me into finishing them... (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

Anyway! Here's the data of this Card:

Lechonk _ Type Normal ✴️

HP: 80

Trainer: Tucker Foley

Ability: Meat Spices (Once per turn, shuffle the 🍃 Energies in game as you please.)

🍃🔥🔥 BBQ Paradise _ 50 (Discard the 🍃 assigned to this Pokémon. The target pokémon is burned.)

Discard Cost: ✴️✴️

I'll never be able to draw hands as good as this again, I swear...!

[half-deadmagicperson]

Ectoberhaunt: Flesh and Blood

That's right I'm doing both (technically)

Anyways the idea for this one was that the ectoplasm in the portal kept Danny alive, but instead of making him a halfas, it produced an imprint of a ghost. Since the imprint isn't a real ghost, and it's not teathered to a soul, it is just a creature of pure hunger.

Warning: Blood, Gore, Organs, Bones, Cannibalism

Here's it normally:

And here's it with a Tumblr Filter that I thought looked cool:

[assorted-candy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Maddie Fenton, Danny Fenton Additional Tags: Ectober Month 2023, Ectoberhaunt 2023, 2023 Magic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Blood and Injury, Reminiscing Summary:

Ectoberhaunt Day 4: Zombies CW: Implied Character Death, Injury, Blood

Maddie can't help but to reminisce to simpler times during a ghost invasion. Reality is cruel and she knows what she has to do.

[google-searchhistory-official]

Lucifer "Paint" Morning-Star, MSpaint for short earth for size comparison only, dude lives at the edge of the universe

He used to be fully nude until some tattered articles of clothing just appeared floating aimlessly in the void.

Though he could always create clothing on a whim just using his own magic. He is the sole power source for an entire magic system and even then those that use it barely tap in to it fully because it has drawbacks that only he can handle or prevent entirely.

[emcads]

I’ve been thinking about vampire anatomy mostly because of smut threads and i am considering her respiratory system operating more or less like a snake’s, with one human lung falling into atrophy, and still able to intake oxygen while feeding. she would require a lot less breathing than a human would in normal circumstances (next to none when dormant), but the demands are increased in heightened physical activity like hunting, or sex. but when she’s not fed well she has to breathe more, as the blood that’s in low supply needs to be kept oxygenated.

[nyk-is-always-lurking]

*kicks down wall, eyes manic* DID YOU SAY ECTO-ACNE VLAD!!!??????!!!