#The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves

[doppleganger-rental]

[tomoleary]

Steve Ditko - Original Cover Art for The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves #55

Steve Ditko, Ghost Manor #6

Steve Ditko Ghost Manor V2#5 Cover Original Art (Charlton, 1972)

Steve Ditko Ghost Manor #43 Cover Photostat Production Art (Charlton, 1979)

Steve Ditko Ghostly Tales #90 Cover Original Art (Charlton, 1971)

[cccovers]

The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves #1 (May 1967) cover by Pat Boyette.

[ultrameganicolaokay]

The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves #44 ‘'All Must Die’, ‘A Bad Bargain’ and 'The Curse of the Vampire’ (1974) by Joe Gill, Murray Postell, Charles Nicholas, Bill Fraccio and more. Edited by George Wildman. Cover by Tom Sutton.

The Many Ghosts of Dr. Graves #44 - Charlton, January 1974.

Cover art by Tom Sutton.

[browsethestacks]

5 Random Comics

[bodybaggage]

Monthly Phantom Check Up

Frostbite, Danny’s overly enthusiastic yeti doctor, shows up at the Watchtower for a surprise check-up, and things get awkward fast.

———

The Watchtower was in chaos. It wasn’t a typical day of chaos—no alien invasions or time-traveling villains—but something far more uncomfortable. Frostbite, Danny Phantom’s towering Yeti doctor and self-proclaimed “Master of Ghost Medicine,” had arrived unannounced. His massive, fur-covered frame loomed in the main meeting room as he carefully unpacked a series of glowing, intimidating medical instruments.

Superman leaned over to Wonder Woman, voice low. “Is this... normal?”

Wonder Woman’s brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t think this falls under the usual protocol for supernatural beings.”

Across the room, Danny Phantom stood in all his half-dead glory—or rather, slouched in defeat, wearing a hoodie that seemed far too large for his ghostly frame. He was clearly trying to shrink away from the entire situation, one pale hand covering his face in mortification.

“Frostbite,” Danny hissed in a hushed whisper, “you couldn’t have waited until we got back to the Ghost Zone?”

Frostbite beamed, oblivious to Danny’s pleading. “Nonsense, Great One! Your health is of utmost importance, and I detected a slight imbalance in your ectoplasmic core. It must be addressed immediately!”

Batman stood against the wall, eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold. “Ectoplasmic core?”

Frostbite nodded solemnly as he began to prepare an absurdly long, glowing probe. “Indeed, Batman. The Great One is half-ghost, and thus, his core requires regular maintenance. There are many nuances to his biology that need tending to.”

Danny groaned. “Oh, Ancients, kill me now…”

The Justice League—gathered for what they thought was going to be a strategy meeting—could only look on in awkward silence. Aquaman coughed and pretended to adjust his trident. Green Lantern pulled up a holographic projection of the solar system, which he stared at intensely despite not needing to. Flash, of course, was barely containing his laughter, lips twitching every time Frostbite said something ridiculous.

“Now,” Frostbite continued, holding up a glowing vial of something green and gooey, “the first concern is the ectoplasm imbalance. Too much exposure to the Ghost Zone can cause buildup, which leads to... ah, let’s say, irregularities.”

Superman cleared his throat. “Irregularities?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “Yes. In the human digestive system, it might be compared to... indigestion. But in ghosts, it manifests as random phasing, ectoplasmic leakage, and occasional transformation into a much more terrifying version of oneself.”

Superman blinked. “That sounds... worse than indigestion.”

“Oh, much worse!” Frostbite said brightly, not catching the sarcasm. “Especially during ghost puberty. It’s when the ghost’s core is developing at its most volatile stage.”

Danny’s entire face turned bright red. “Frostbite! Seriously?!”

“Ghost... puberty?” Batman echoed, voice laced with what could only be described as grim fascination.

“Indeed!” Frostbite said, now fully in doctor mode. “The Great One is well past that stage, but it’s important to note that ghost puberty can last several decades for some. Phantom’s transformations would have been wildly unpredictable for years, often triggered by emotional stress or large quantities of fast food.”

Flash actually lost it at that, letting out a snort and quickly covering his mouth. “Sorry, sorry! Just—did you say fast food?”

Danny rubbed his temples. “Yes. I went through my ‘ghost puberty’ eating burgers and stressing about math tests. Can we move on?”

Frostbite chuckled warmly. “Ah, yes. The human world does have its unique challenges for the Great One. Now, the next matter—”

“There’s more?” Danny wailed, half considering flying straight through the floor and never coming back.

“Oh, yes!” Frostbite said with far too much enthusiasm. He turned to the League. “His dual nature also means his ghost half sometimes conflicts with his human immune system. It’s a fascinating process! For example, Danny can phase through objects, but if he catches a human cold, it throws his phasing abilities off and he might accidentally phase into a wall and get stuck.”

The room went silent.

Batman stared at Danny. “You’ve... phased into a wall?”

Danny gritted his teeth, wishing for the sweet release of invisibility. “I was twelve, okay? And yes, I got stuck. It was fine.”

“Mostly fine,” Frostbite corrected, waving around a spectral thermometer. “There was that one time we had to extract you from a particularly thick brick wall in Amity Park. Took several hours.”

Wonder Woman, who had remained silent up until this point, exchanged a concerned glance with Superman. “Is this something we should... prepare for?”

Danny shot them both an exasperated look. “No. I’m not going to phase into the Watchtower’s walls. Probably.”

“Unless his ectoplasmic levels are low,” Frostbite added cheerfully. “Which is why this check-up is vital!”

As Frostbite pulled out what looked suspiciously like a ghost-themed blood pressure cuff, Danny gave up. “I’m going to die—again.”

Flash wiped away a tear of laughter, his shoulders still shaking. “This is the best day of my life. I didn’t know ghost puberty was a thing.”

“I’ll send you my research papers,” Frostbite said kindly. “There’s a great deal of fascinating biology involved!”

Danny, ignoring everyone, shot a glare at Batman, who was watching all this with far too much interest. “Don’t even think about adding this to my file.”

Batman didn’t respond, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly toward his utility belt.

Frostbite, oblivious to the ongoing awkwardness, finished prepping his tools. “Now, Great One, if you could just sit still. This next part involves extracting ectoplasmic residue from your pores—”

“I’m phasing through the floor,” Danny muttered, promptly sinking halfway through the Watchtower’s pristine floor, only his head remaining visible. “See you guys never.”

The Justice League stood in stunned silence as Frostbite packed away his tools with a serene smile.

“Very well,” Frostbite said. “I’ll schedule the next check-up for next month. Goodbye, Justice League!”

And with that, the massive Yeti doctor vanished through a portal, leaving the League standing there, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

Superman finally turned to Danny, whose head was still poking out of the floor.

“Danny... you okay?”

Danny didn’t respond, choosing instead to fully disappear beneath the floor.

Flash wheezed. “I love that kid.”

[codnasties]

p!link collection 👻🚬🧢🧼🪦🗡 (🌽 links)

includes: ghost, price, gaz, soap, graves & konig

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ghost 👻

cheater!ghost giving you a hand with your stubborn child - that doesn't seem to want to leave you just yet - by fucking you

ghost deserves to be spoiled and what better way than helping him with his mornig wood by waking him up with some head

poly relationship with ghost and soap is all fun and games until they get rowdy. good thing that a handjob keeps them tame

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬

stong and powerful price turning putty the second your hands are wrapped around his cock, specially if you are teasing him

sending a slutty pic to john and him wanting to send someting back to show you how horny you got him, just that he ends up cumming by mistake

price getting home from a boring dinner and all he want is your hands wrapped around his throbbing cock

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢

gaz is an amazing roommate. he takes care of you in many ways, including fucking you as a result of a cuddle session

going for a pregnancy checkup and doctor!gaz making sure that his patient is well taken care of by eating you out

finally making a move on neighbour!gaz ends with you riding his dick on your kitchen floor when he came to fix your sink

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

soap 🧼

getting his bush waxed got soap a bit too excited. and so much so that he ended up cumming all over himself

poly relationship with soap and ghost is all fun and games until they get rowdy. good thing that a handjob keeps them tame

johnny is a horny mutt. he needs his walkies to keep the tension at bey, even if those end up with his cock out and one of your hands around it

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graves 🪦

acting like a brat? philip doesn't have time to put up with that. he just uses his belt as collar and leash to make sure that you follow his orders

graves is one honry fucker, so he won't hesitate to fuck you in a random closet at base without a single care about who hears

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡

pervy roommate!konig is getting bold with his antics. masturbaing over your sleeping form ends with him giving you an unexpected facial

he's been misbehaving in public, so if konig wants public he's getting just that in the form of cumming all over himself in the train

worshiping konigs cock through his shorts, fondling his balls and palming his boner. maybe sucking him though the thin material until he cums

[missnightshade]

❝ THREE OF SWORDS ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Request? No no. But I promise I'll work on some requests soon.

Summary: Agatha is no stranger to pain and loss. Yet, somehow, even the thought of losing you is too much to bear.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Sickness. Mentions of death (not Rio this time). English not being my first language. Poor ending skills.

Word count: 1.1K.

The Three of Swords:

Grief, heartbreak, and sorrow.

Agatha Harkness was a totem of pain. Most wouldn’t know or believe it to be true. The Witches community could only measure her to their own rules and deception. She was a killer. A heartless, powerful and unruly woman, born to no good deeds.

But for a green eyed, younger witch, she was everything but a bad person.

You would always be reminded of a ghost memory of a smiling Nicholas, laughing in a field of dandelions as his mother chased him. Agatha was carefree then. Her previous Coven a memory left behind and her actions justified by the sweet smile little Nicky would give her.

Agatha never told the full deal with her son’s existence till he was gone while the other woman, still getting to know the Harkness witch, held her by Nicky's grave. It was now lost somewhere in the forests of Massachusetts, long gone and rusted, but his passing held a strong place in her heart still.

Centuries might pass, but it was certain that nothing would hurt her more than that. Not her mother’s hate. Not her trial by the people who she was raised with. Not the many people she lost along the way.

But one day, as you fell sick to the bed, something as strong as her son’s death came close to hurting her.

You laid there, the same green eyes tired as something twisted your health. As Agatha cared for you in the coziness of her newfound house in Westview, you grumbled as the whole contents of your stomach flooded from your mouth into the bucked Agatha held close to you. Her soup, your favorite, completely gone now.

“Doll..we should see a doctor. You haven’t left the bed for three days.” She argued, trying to fix your hair behind the left ear.

A laugh scaped you as your hands, damp and cold, grasped at her touch to make it last. Agatha’s fingers stayed there, slowly moving to touch your right cheek.

“I am a witch, love, much like you. Doctors will do me no good.”

She ruffled, but as her hands felt the hotness that irradiated from your skin, her eyes roamed over the pale face in front of her. Agatha’s thoughts were much like a fortress in the night. Hidden. Protected. But not for you. She felt at ease by your side after so many years. Trust was the one thing only you could give her. And then, as you saw her eyes glistening under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her mind presented itself like an open book.

She feared for your health. The fever and weakness of your body reminded her so much of her last night with Nicholas. Nothing would hurt as much as it did…but losing you to the same fate as him was painful. A pain that not even with all her sorrows and heartbreaks, she was ready to go through again.

“Aggy…” You whispered and when your sweet tone scaped weekly, the bucket was left in the floor as she tried to scape your gaze so the tears rolling down her cheeks wouldn’t be seen. “Love, look at me.”

The weak request acted like knife to her fragile heart. Agatha was tough on the outside, but not at all on the inside. Her gaze softened as her eyes, glazed and red, found yours. You reached out even with your whole body begging for some rest, and without any complaints, she quickly found her place in the bed you shared. She needed comforting, but her body was the one to hold yours. Your lips found their way to her collarbone with sweet kisses untill you reached her face. You nuzzled her cheek, hand gently holding her face to bring her to face you in the comfort of the bubble you both shared. Agatha sniffled, softly tightening her hold to your as if to stop you from fading away. Understanding her needs, you pressed flushed to her, breathing deeply.

“I’m here, my love. And I am not going anywhere.” You reassured. Agatha opened her eyes, gazing at you from the few centimeters between you both.

“You’re so sick, Doll. It worries me that you…you will…”

“Go meet him?”

The way your words stung left her breathless. Agatha had a difficult time speaking up about Nicholas even since. But while she failed, you didn’t. It was important for her to still mention him. To treat him like he deserved: an important part of her that, although painful, was beautiful.

She nodded, and you simply smiled.

“If I was to meet him…know that he would be loved even there.” Her fearful eyes met yours again, but you continued. “But I am not to be dead now. I’m just simply ill. It shall pass. Like everything. Trust me on this one, baby. I’m going to be just fine.”

Agatha breathed out shakily, not noticing how much it affected her.

“I cannot lose you too.”

“You won’t. Ever.”

[ . . . ]

As the morning came, the energy shared between the two seemed to act like a love spell. The curing type rather than the bonding one. Stirring awake, the warmth of Agatha’s arms around your body was missing. You could wait and rest, but the ache and the dizziness were pretty much gone.

You raised, brushed your teeth even, and managed to find a messy haired Agatha quietly moving around the kitchen. She seemed busy with a tea in her hand and potion tools all over the place as something boiled in her ironed cauldron. As she looked up at your figure, her tea was almost spilled all over the countertop as she rushed to your side.

“Doll, what are you doing up?” she touched you, analyzing your whole state as you laughed softly.

“I felt better, so I came down for breakfast. “ You gathered her euphoric hands to kiss her knuckles. “But you…what are you doing?”

Agatha looked over her work station for a minute before going back to you.

“I had a crazy dream-memory about a potion that I used to make for Nicky so he could feel better. I thought it may work better for you.” Her voice trailed behind her thoughts. “You feel better?”

Softly, your hugged her neck with your arms gently bringing her closer.

“Yeah. Not a hundred percent, but much better.”

She breathed out, relived. But even so, she gently walked with you closer to one sip of the potion already ready for you.

“Still. Take this. Can’t have you feeling worse again.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered.

“Only because I love you.”

As you chugged down the contents of the cup, Agatha observed you from her place at your side, fingers gently stroking your waist. Seeing the color back to your pretty features calmed her chaotic mind, and she was reminded once again how important you were to her. When the potion was done, she pulled you closer, kissing every bit of skin that you showed.

“I love you more, stubborn girl.”

You were going to get better. You wouldn't be her sorrow.

[briarscreek]

Mediaeval Prisoner!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had another plight

he was homesick. that had been doctor laswell’s diagnosis when he couldn’t sleep for the fifth night in a row; eventually crashing in the middle of a training session. it was the most embarrassing thing he had done to date.

he realized in retrospect how easy it was for him to slip up. your growing confidence (that he indulged in sometimes), your wit, graves’ spontaneous entrance, right down to soap & gaz’s teasing in the letters. he didn’t realize how it all looked until you found them on his desk. this was the first battle he had ever lost; forced to run home with his tail between his legs.

now here he was, on bed rest again ordered by the king himself. he could see the stern look in his kings eyes, but one thing he couldn’t take was the pity in them too.

“you’re a right tosser, simon.”

“i know”

but simon wasn’t the only one who had an earful. doctor laswell had actually shouted at all four men for inadvertently toying with you. she had seen you grow up, endure harsh punishments with or for you during the failed conquerers reign.

she yelled at soap & gaz for their teasing.

she screamed at king price for rushing you through the ascension process (without her knowledge of it since she was busy treating soldiers with mild injuries still)

she lectured simon about how this wasn’t like him. simon was a fighter, through and through, yet he gave up on pursuing you at the first sign of trouble.

although she never hated them, everyone in the castle knew she became at least mildly annoyed with them.

during a recent council meeting, everyone had finished their opinions and delegated tasks when laswell spoke up.

“shouldn’t we host a liberation ball soon, your majesty?”

“that sounds like a wonderful idea doctor.”

“and we shall invite the new countess of whitegrave as well”

everyone had stilled, but not as harshly as simon had. the knife he was toying with in his hand slipped out and landed on the floor. his heart climbed through to his throat and he tried so hard not to let his eyes get misty with tears.

“i shall send the invitation at once.”

at the end of that sentence, every advisor stood and began to filter out of the room. simon lingered until he was eventually dismissed by his king. walking through a haze, he hadn’t even registered that someone had shoulder checked him into the library.

“quit being pitiful, simon.”

“doc? what are—“

“you failed your mission last time you saw her in unknown territory, correct?”

all he could do was scrunch his eyebrows together. what is she talking about? his mission?

“you battled something you’ve never had to before, that many face in new relationships. doubt.”

she was talking about you. how he hadn’t said a word. hadn’t quieted your new fears; or your old ones. emotions aren’t easy for him but completing a battle? finishing an excursion? that he could do.

he squared his shoulders and nodded his head.

“listen to me closely. i am risking my entire friendship with the countess to get her here. who i have seen grow up in terrible conditions and still make it through. just like you. but, it is up to you on how you show her your love for her. not with force and not with fear. show the depth of your affection, let her know that you are hers and no one else’s.”

“yes, commander”

“good. dismissed cadet.”

simon may have been forced into that library but it was lord riley who strode out. the confident, strong, and intelligent man that laswell had molded him to be before she became a doctor at her wife’s request.

he will show you he loves you. as for how, he figured the best plans happen at the spur of the moment.

<<PREVIOUS

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[yoga-onion]

Heart Sutra ~ A sutra that describes “The Heart of the Perfection of Wisdom" (9) 

Hoichi the Earless – A Japanese tale about spiritual merit of the Heart Surtra

When Xuanzang crossed the Silk Road to India, recited the heart Sutra and protected himself from evil demons through its spiritual power. (Ref). There is a folk tale in Japan that tells its spiritual merit.

A young Biwa-hōshi (lute monks) named Hoichi lived at Amida-dera Temple in Akamaseki. Hoichi was a master storyteller of the Tale of the Heike, especially the Dannoura battle, which is said to ‘make even the demons shed tears’.

The Battle of Dannoura was a historical fact, once a decisive battle between the Genji and Heike clans, with many Heike warriors and court nobles sinking to their deaths in the sea, and perished. The temple was built on the coast overlooking Dannoura to commemorate the Heike family.

One night, when the abbot is away, a warrior suddenly appears out of nowhere. Hoichi is begged by the warrior to go to the palace of the ‘nobleman’ to play his biwa. Although the blind Hoichi could not understand them, many noblemen seemed gathering. They requested a piece about the battle of Dannoura. Everyone is sobbing aloud and looking intensely moved. Hoichi is asked to play a whole week, and starts going out every night.

The abbot became suspicious and had temple men follow him one night. It was raining heavily, and Hoichi was alone in the empty cemetery of the Heike clan, playing his biwa in front of the grave of Emperor Antoku, who had died an untimely death as a child, surrounded by a frighteningly large number of demon firebrands. The astonished temple men forcefully bring Hoichi back home. The abbot then, knowing the nature of the grudge spirits that the body parts on which the sutras are written are transparently reflected and invisible, copied the Heart Sutra on Hoichi's whole body together with the temple men, so that the grudge spirits could not recognise Hoichi. However, they did not realise at the time that they had forgotten to copy the sutra on his ears (auricularia). 

That night, as Hoichi sat alone, the warrior came for him as usual. However, Hoichi's body, on which a scripture is written, is invisible to the grudge spirit. Puzzled, the grudge spirit looked around for Hoichi, and found only his ears in the darkness, which were forgotten to copy the sutra. The grudge spirit used its monstrous power to tear the ear off Hoichi's head. The spirit left, silently. When the abbot returned at dawn, he realised that when he had written the Heart Sutra on Hoichi's body, he had forgotten to write the sutra only on his ears, and apologised to the bloodied Hoichi for his oversight.

After that, the Heike ghost never appeared before Hoichi again, and the wound in Hoichi's ear was soon healed by the good doctor. This strange event spread throughout the world, and he came to be known as ‘Hoichi the Earless’.

(There is also a version where Hoichi dies.)

[Image below: The tragedy of the young Emperor Antoku drowning in the arms of his grandmother, Taira no Tokiko]

般若心経 〜「智慧の完成」の精髄を述べる経典 (9)

耳なし芳一 〜『般若心経』の霊験にまつわる日本の物語

玄奘三蔵がシルクロードを越えインドに渡るとき、『般若心経』の霊験を信じ口誦し悪鬼どもから身を守ったことは先にも述べた（参照）。その霊験を物語る日本の民話がある。

赤間関の阿弥陀寺に芳一という若い琵琶法師が住んでいた。芳一は盲目だったが、平家物語、特に「鬼も涙を流す」といわれる壇ノ浦の合戦を語る名手だった。(琵琶法師とは、平安時代から鎌倉時代にかけて活躍した僧侶の姿をした琵琶の弾き語りで、ほとんどが盲目だった。）

壇ノ浦の戦いは、かつて源平の決戦となり、多くの平家の武士や公家が海に沈んで没した、という史実である。壇ノ浦を見下ろす海岸に、平家を弔うために阿弥陀寺が建てられた。

ある夜、住職の留守の時に、突然どこからともなく一人の武者が現われる。芳一はその武者に請われて「高貴なお方」の御殿に琵琶を弾きに行く。

盲目の芳一にはよく��からなかったが、そこには多くの貴人が集っているようであった。彼らは壇ノ浦の戦いについての曲を所望した。皆、声を上げてすすり泣き、激しく感動している様子で、芳一は自分の演奏への反響の大きさに内心驚く。芳一は七日七晩の演奏を依頼され、毎晩出かけるようになる。

不審に思った住職は、ある夜、寺の者たちに尾行させた。大雨の降る中、誰もいない平家の墓地で、幼くして非業の死を遂げた安徳天皇の墓の前で琵琶を弾いていた芳一は、おびただしい数の鬼火に囲まれていた。驚いた寺男たちは、強引に芳一を連れ帰る。

そこで住職は、怨霊の「お経が書かれた体の部分は透明に反射して見えない」という性質を知っていたので、寺男たちと一緒に芳一の全身に般若心経を写し、怨霊が芳一を認識できないようにした。しかし、その時、耳(耳介)にお経を写すのを忘れていたことには気づかなかった。

その夜、芳一が一人で座っていると、いつものように武者が迎えにきた。しかし、経文の書かれた芳一の体は怨霊である武者には見えない。怨霊は当惑し、芳一の姿を探し回った挙句、写経し忘れた耳のみを暗闇の中に見つけ出した。怨霊は怪力でもって芳一の頭から耳をもぎ取った。怨霊はそのまま去っていった。 夜明けに戻ってきた住職は、芳一の全身に般若心経を書いたとき、耳だけにお経を書くのを忘れていたことに気づき、血まみれの芳一に自分の見落としを詫びた。

その後、平家の亡霊は二度と芳一の前に現れることはなく、芳一の耳の傷はすぐに良医によって癒やされた。この不思議な出来事は世間に広まり、彼は「耳なし芳一」として知られるようになった。

（芳一が死亡してしまうバージョンもある）

[weskie]

Relief (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

900 words | hurt/comfort themes | Fic Directory

His first injection did not go smoothly. 

Albert Wesker is a man of many strengths, but even God is not always immune to the trials and tribulations of laboratory science. Especially not when said science is meant to enhance what makes him so special. 

Yet here you were, one of his chosen. But you knew better than to think of yourself so highly; chances are you're simply a pawn. You know cunning and deceit when you see it, and he stinks to high heaven of such dark qualities. 

Excella gives him the first dose of the supressant, a concoction designed to give him perfect control over the virus in his body.  It is measured precisely based on her own studies and calculations. However, pride kept her from allowing anyone else to analyze her work. There's no immediate response, and she smiles happily. 

And yet you know better, because you had seen her work. Compared to your own, she was way off– as you tried to tell her. She’d been careless with her decimals, a simple mistake with grave consequences. But you are lower on the totem pole. Your word doesn't matter until hers proves to be no good. 

She probably regrets ignoring you when his face twitches, teeth clenching as he grips the edge of his chair, howling the first of many exclamations of harrowing pain. 

“Albert! I–”

But his hand goes around her throat in a mere flash, silencing her, halting any attempt to touch him. 

“You– gah!” He snarls, eyes flaring a deep, fiery red around his cat-like pupils. He drops her and, in turn, falls to the floor himself. Wesker hunches over on his knees, wails of agony leaving him as he clenches his chest and head. 

The virus coursing through his body is being assaulted by an overdose of the suppressant, turning it more volatile and painful by the minute. Balance was key, and he had been thrown far from it. 

There is no counter agent, no painkiller, no balm to soothe his agony– for what could ever help a god?  Both you and Excella watch him writhe, but her fear keeps her from doing like you. 

You're not even sure why you did it. 

You sit behind him, legs splayed, and you pull him back to lean against you. His animalistic growls and pained, gasping breaths fill your ears, but all you do is hold him tight like some sort of human restraint. 

Excella stares at you as if you'd lost your mind. 

Perhaps you have. 

A gloved hand grips your forearm with a force so punishing that it makes you yelp. He could break you with one finger, but he's clearly holding back. He could tear you limb from limb even now for invading his space like this. 

But he doesn't. 

“Breathe, Mister Wesker,” you say. You have his honorific wrong– it's doctor– but surely nobody in the room cares to notice. “It will pass, but you must breathe.” 

A growl and seemingly involuntary jerk of his body disrupts your words, but you hold tight nonetheless. 

You do so for nearly an hour.  Against every tremor, against every wave of pain the likes of which you could never imagine. The only noises to be heard are his tight breaths and the hum of fluorescent laboratory lights. 

Sometime in the middle of things, Excella scurried off to fix her mistake. She begged for forgiveness, but he shot her a look that made her go as white as a ghost. 

The sleeves of your lab coat are shredded, arms bruised, and Wesker himself looks no better. It's as if all the fight had been torn out of him and he was no stronger than any mere mortal. The grip on your forearm is leagues lighter. 

He's probably going to kill you for touching him like this. For reducing him to some helpless infant in need of comfort and support. 

His breaths have steadied. 

Somehow you'd brought your free hand up to thumb at his cheekbone. Some odd, inappropriate manner of soothing his pains. 

“Mister Wesker, I–”

“Save it.” He says, cutting you off. Even his voice sounds weak. That fancy edge to it is gone almost entirely. 

He's clearly awake and aware. Why isn't he moving away? Hell, why aren't you moving away? 

“It was in your best interest to assist me.” 

He's posturing, repositioning his authority despite what had just happened.  Your thumb stops moving and that hand around your forearm grips tighter. When you resume, it slackens. 

“Bold of you to have done this,” he hums. “And all this time I thought you lacked a spine.” 

You're not sure what to say to such a statement. You're not sure what he's getting at either. A punishment? A reward? You can practically hear a smirk in his words despite the fact it was nowhere in sight. 

“I can feel you shaking.” 

Shit. 

“Hm…” Wesker releases a sigh, something you've never heard from him before. “Tell you what, pet.” 

Pet? Pet? 

“Continue your little ministrations until I am on my feet, and I will consider your crimes forgiven.”

What? He wants you to keep this up? 

“Does that sound satisfactory?” He asks. “Answer me, pet.” 

With wide eyes and shaking hands, you nod. 

“Y-Yes, Mister Wesker!”

“Good, good... Now, what punishment has Miss Gionne earned for herself, hm?” 

[doppleganger-rental]

[tomoleary]

Steve Ditko - The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves 33

[cccovers]

The Many Ghosts of Doctor Graves #42 (October 1973) cover by Tom Sutton.

Reprinted in Haunted #66 (March 1983).

[alexaloraetheris]

As people who have had the misfortune to find my blog probably know, I have ADHD. I am also on meds for it, which is fun is many varied and different ways.

I first got put on 18mg Concerta and experienced my brain firing at more than 25% without a hyperfixation for the first time in my life. It was awesome.

Then there was the pandemic. There was a supply shortage, and my psychiatrist basically patted my head and wrote me a reccomendation to get a perscription of off-brand meds, the cost of which is at least partially covered my my insurance. They were supposedly the same thing, but something in the filler is different enough that I can't digest it all, so the effect isn't as good. It was shitty, but it was better than nothing.

It also gave me really fucking weird dreams for a while, but at least my Discord group had fun with that.

I've been upped to 36mg since starting grad school, but my doctor, who actually writes my perscription refused to give me non-insurance-approved meds, so I'm still on the shitty version, just with a bit more punch and a lot less cost. And the weird dreams are back.

Last night I dreamed I lived in my home village again, and every night I had to go into the woods and into this big hole that's basically a really deep cave and talk to the people who died there. That was my job, to keep them company and make sure they don't go out and harrass the living. One day they convinced me to take some of their bones and bury them in the proper graveyard. I took the C1 vertebrae from each of them (the Atlas, it basically lets your turn your head around) and buried them not in the graveyard, but in the little plot of land behind my house that's basically an unused garden.

And sure enough, it let them come out as ghosts during the night, and they weren't happy that they weren't in a graveyard where they could see other people but they were still stuck with me. I told them I knew that cave was the place where every woman in the village knew to dump their abusive husband's body when they've had enough, I knew they just wanted to find their ex-wives graves and get revenge. If they didn't get some goddamn therapy and realize there was a very valid reason they got dumped in the cave, they don't get to go to the graveyard.

They were super mad and turned my home into a haunted house, but they couldn't do much to me because I'm alive. So they mostly threw stuff around, but I have cats, I'm used to it. Finally they agreed to see a threapist. I kidnapped one and locked him in the attic. I'm pretty sure I at least fed him? I remember cooking something.

The therapist tried to explain to me that these were exploited farmer folk, their rage was misplaced but understandable, but I insisted they either learn to respect women or I'm throwing their bones back in the cave. The therapist tried to kill me too. I broke his head with the tenderizer and buried his Atlas in my backyard. Therapy sessions continued. My cats were ecstatic. I was sweeping a lot of broken dishes, but I somehow never ran out of plates.

I buried the cats too (no idea how they died) and now I had ghost cats in the house too. The ghosts loved them. I went out and never returned and these guys all lived together in my house with the cats. No idea if they ever became better people but it was better than the cave.

I think it was going in some weird gay direction but I woke up and forgot the rest.

Moral of the story: get my psychiatrist to write me perscriptions from now on.

[see-arcane]

You've stated you want a proper Carmilla adaptation that actually stays true to the overall story and characters

That said, what changes and expansions to the story you think would be a good idea?

Carmilla turns into a cat monster when feeding on Laura. Give her cat familiars the same way Dracula got bats. Maybe show one of them eating a bat to hammer home the 'vampires do not automatically = bat imagery.' (Long unbroken stare at book cover designers.)

2. Elaborate on 1) The group of actor-lackeys that keep getting Carmilla planted in homes with hot young daughters to feed on and 2) The mystery vampire who came and went when Mircalla was human and turned her before ditching

3. Let Laura be present for the head-chopping. It's a narrative cop out to make her wait to be told the grisly details after the fact. Having her present, either by allowance or her sneaking out to spy, would at least go a long way towards proving the men weren't murdering some girl in a box, but an actual Monster. On that note?

4. Let Carmilla be Monstrous. She did not turn her previous victims. She did not take a dainty little tiddy sip and run. She has been doing murder. Bertha was killed before the story began--good opportunity for ghost-dream jumpscare for Laura!--and Carmilla only seems fixated on taking her quarry with her when it comes to Laura. She is a serial killing vampire who just happens to also be amorously fixated on this particular victim.

5. Highlight Laura's strange VIP status when it comes to Carmilla's targeting. She dreamed of Carmilla's coming as a young girl. She suffers what could either be PTSD or psychic warning pings that Carmilla's not really gone after the climax. There is something supernatural lurking about in her head and it seems to be aligned with Carmilla's presence specifically.

6. Remember the prologue to Carmilla?

As I publish the case, in this volume, simply to interest the “laity,” I shall forestall the intelligent lady, who relates it, in nothing; and after due consideration, I have determined, therefore, to abstain from presenting any précis of the learned Doctor’s reasoning, or extract from his statement on a subject which he describes as “involving, not improbably, some of the profoundest arcana of our dual existence, and its intermediates.” I was anxious on discovering this paper, to reopen the correspondence commenced by Doctor Hesselius, so many years before, with a person so clever and careful as his informant seems to have been. Much to my regret, however, I found that she had died in the interval.

Someone else is reading out Laura's writing on the subject.

And Laura herself has died after the writing of it.

What are the last lines of the story?

It was long before the terror of recent events subsided; and to this hour the image of Carmilla returns to memory with ambiguous alternations—sometimes the playful, languid, beautiful girl; sometimes the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church; and often from a reverie I have started, fancying I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing room door.

Perhaps our reader, having sadly discovered Laura has passed, wishes to pay his respects at the grave. It is a simple and lovely affair. Sadly a marker declaring she had died young.

(You cannot tell the state of a coffin when it's buried. You cannot tell a coffin is even there.)

The late mourner might see great lambent eyes, still as a cat's in the surrounding wood. Four in total. But they are gone just as quickly as they are spotted. And all that marks their presence is the iron smell of blood on the air.