Part two of the "Clone Danny" au
The link to the first part is put above!
His friends know that he's phantom, they help him out just the same as before. Due to not having any ghost powers, Danny has to rely on tech and outsmarting the ghosts a lot more than before. He can't keep stealing tech from his parents' lab either, and he can't ask them to fix it if his stuff breaks. He teaches himself how to fix it.
(Its a lot of sleepless nights stealing his parents' blueprints and trying to study them. And a lot of late night research and talking with Tucker on how to build and understand tech. He refuses to rely on Tucker for his gear)
He talks to Sam about fashioning a persona as both Phantom and as Fenton. She's been to a lot of rich parties, she's seen celebrities and how they act. A "careless party boy" won't work for Danny. He's no A-Lister. But coward, feeble Fenton works just fine. Minus his smartass comments, which he can slowly start phasing out of his "civilian" life under the guise of there being ghosts.
He draws into himself, keeps his head down in class, wears baggy clothing. Ghost fighting at night really does a lot of the work for him, since he's so tired in class that he doesn't bother putting his hand up or participating. He can play the part of "loner, loser Fenton" pretty well, and ups the ante.
Phantom already has a small fanbase amongst the A-listers for being the strong, silent confident vigilante-hunter protecting them from the ghosts. Nothing much changes there other than a few minor things. Anyone who knows ASL knows he's a major fucking smart-ass who keeps cracking jokes and puns at the ghosts.
Danny learns self-defense after getting his ass beat too many times (he also gets Really Good at gym because he runs a LOT after ghosts. He eventually learns to make trackers to stick onto them when they fly away) and even gets a few ghosts to help him after he befriends them while they're exploring Amity at night. Its nothing professional and he still gets hurt a lot, but he knows how to throw a better punch than before. And he knows how to dodge better.
Since he's going for a "get them tfo of here before my parents get here" approach, danny takes a more of a "talk first, fight later" route. this... kinda works. mainly for the non-hostile ghosts. its how he manages to get some of them to help him with fighting.
Danny's honestly really, really clever. He largely relies on his wits since he doesn't have any powers to force ghosts back into the ghost zone.
TUE still happens it just occurs a little differently. Vlad Masters still wants Danny to be his son and Maddie his wife, etc. But he also wants to turn Danny into a Halfa like himself, since he knows that Danny has mild ghost abilities, he thinks he has the capacity to turn into a halfa.
Dan happens when Vlad manipulates a grieving danny into agreeing to become a halfa like himself. Except it kills Danny fully, and in his rage, Danny, now dead and a ghost, rips out Vlad's ghost half and merges with it and creates Dan. So not too different from canon.
….actually i change my mind. Danny’s ghost doesn’t merge with Vlad. Danny’s ghost tears Plasmius apart for lying to him. Dan is entirely Danny, just big and hurting and wanting to hurt others because of it. His emotions are big so Dan is big.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8
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vii: hamartia @nosebleedclub
O, great hamartia,
Golden and blood-spattered,
Poured into a crock and boiled.
Spinning water, bubbling and oozing,
With vitriol and tempered steel and snake-bit venom.
I drank the bloody ichor and the frothing nectar and died.
The gods sent me back and i lived again,
Reluctant and recalcitrant with shame.
O, Mount Olympus,
My brothered head, my sistered heart.
My incest-riddled body-flaw.
Circumspect, i looked around and saw my brain,
Rotten and corroded and floating somewhere next to my head, body-separate.
I shouted at it,
Begged and pleaded for it to get back inside my body, a piece of head-heart i could not live without,
Corrupted though it was.
I drank and drank and drank,
Potion-lipped and coffin-wanting.
I died and was sent back a thousand times.
Hades, great Returner,
Acid river and sweet ambrosia,
Forcing life back into my veins.
I payed and payed and payed,
A debt so great it could not ever be lifted,
All my coins spent on Styx.
I begged for death.
I begged for life.
I begged for the great absolution of the soul.
I went to the Oracle and struck a deal,
Prophecy for caved-in soul,
Mortality for retina and pecked-out liver.
Fire-giver, sin-born and everlasting all the same.
Sysiphus, i struggled eternal,
Up and down Mount Olympus time and time and time again,
Samsara of the soul and body and brain alike.
Escape-craved, i burst my seams and stuck out my tongue,
Lounged on couches and drank bitter wine.
Dionysus concerned for my better health,
The resurrected pleasure of the hearth.
Moon-weary, i took the sun chariot to the Hunt,
Asked Artemis for arrows through the artery,
Prayed on the knucklebones of sheep and goat and scapulae.
Seer i became, omniscient and doomed with knowledge.
I rivaled the gods with spear and wand,
Magic-thought and outstretched hand,
I called the world to heed.
I realigned the chakras,
Spoke the incantations and divined my own bones,
Played the cards and wrote all the answers down.
I could not find them,
Hidden-shaped and view-deprived,
I slung arrows and threw spears and wished and wished and wished.
I drank from the Fountain of Youth,
Talked to satyrs and Pan and Hermes,
Stole the winged shoes and spun in circles,
Flew to the ends of the earth and then some,
Asked Atlas for his weight.
It was too heavy, i could not bear it,
And right back to Hades i found myself
Asleep, awake, asleep again.
But it could not last,
The curse eternal, wakeful and evermore.
I tried a new religion.
I tried an old religion.
All were the same, with hex and poison-spit to match.
I scoured the earth,
Searched my soul and burnt it clean,
But could not scratch the fatal flaw.
It was pure, in its decay,
The way i could not,
Essence of the gods in my veins.
I died and died and died again,
The somber penance of sin long past,
Struck down and got back up again.
Benediction, supplication,
All were lost to me,
Not worthy for the resolute.
Zeus, i begged,
Lightning bolt me through the heart,
I promise I’ll be good this time.
He frowned and saw my lie for what it was,
Unconvinced and sent away.
I stumbled on the marble,
Dashed my head on sharp rocks by sirens,
Crushed Persephone’s flowers and longing and grief.
Her grief was mine.
Her longing was mine.
Her loneliness was mine.
I could not die.
I could not die.
I could not die.
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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