I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.
Iâve read some things that deal in sad/dark/actually depressing and disturbing subject matter. Iâve loved them and the points they make without endorsing the events portrayed.
Itâs always disappointing to get online and see that the conversation is âX thing shouldnât existâ on the grounds that it made somebody feel badly. It was meant to make you feel that way and itâs normal that it did - itâs okay that you stop reading it or donât finish it but I am BEGGING you to consider why it made you uncomfortable and why the author felt the need (if the answer isnât immediately obvious, as it can be). There isnât shame in something putting you off so badly that you shelve it.
The sterilization of reality is a detriment to all who exist within it. To censor stories with painful themes is to erase the reality that such stories are based in some horrific truth and works to erase the reality that many people have endured.
This trend or whatever we want to call it has gotten so bad that I listened to an entire lecture from somebody about how awful a book was and how it shouldnât exist at all, how the author was a terrible person for concocting it and how it hurt people. When I asked what the book was, this person not only could barely recall the name but HAD NEVER READ IT. I bought the book. I read the book. It accomplished its task beautifully and I found it to be a cathartic experience. I also understood how it could make people so uncomfortable and would never judge anybody for setting it down.
Itâs okay not to like something and distance yourself from it. Remember that those rules apply only to you, though, because they speak only to your own psyche.
Periodic reminder that one of the many roles of fiction is microdosing on big scary feelings so you build resilience, empathy, understanding, and defense against the real thing.
Between 2018-2021 I worked with archaeologist Dr Sophie Hay, Ancient Historian Prof. Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Director of the Cambridge Schools Classics Project (who make the CLC Latin course!) Caroline Bristow and her gorgeous team, and legendary historical childrenâs fiction author Caroline Lawrence, to illustrate a novel and ancient history course about the life of Pompeiian freedman Amarantus and his neighbours in Insula 1.9
The story is a year in the life of Amarantus, following the events he experiences, including the devastating earthquake of 63BCE and his manumission (by a certain local natural-history-loving magistrate), the traditions of a Roman life, and the likely inhabitants of the rest of his block, based on the buildings and finds in Insula 1.9.
It acts as an Ancient History/Classical Civilisation (non-language) prequel to the Latin Caecilius stories (CLC Book 1) and there are some Caecilius-themed visual easter eggs đ
The course has been designed for even non-specialists to be able to pick up and teach, entirely for free, to help bring Ancient History/Classics into schools.
We made the images in grayscale so they could be cheaply printed and reproduced in PoD books/PDFs for schools, but made some images in full colour for the website and book cover to show the diversity of the Pompeiian world. Theyâre all based on archaeological evidence and research and each one took hours of discussion and argument (and occasional paper models) to get right. (And Iâm proud to say my rebuilding of some ruined structures like the Herculaneum Gate has been approved by other Pompeii experts, like the Cooleys đ)
The entire book and course is massively researched and based on archaeological findings, and is FREE on the CSCP website: https://CambridgeAmarantus.com/home
Or you can buy the book PoD via these links: https://www.cambridgescp.com/array/buy-book
Bonus Roman Chickens (the precursors to my Roman History Chickens series!): the cockfighters Odysseus and Polyphemus! (And yes cockfighting is terrible and Iâm glad we donât have it any more)
People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.
You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.
You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.
You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.
You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.
You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.
You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.
i don't have the words to articulate it at this moment but there's something about the way that people have specific expectations for "authenticity" and will dismiss anything that falls outside them as a mangled, anglicised version of the thing when actually that is the older and more traditional form of something, it just doesn't match their expectations. obviously in my personal experiences i'm mostly talking about medieval literature here especially medieval irish literature
sometimes this is as simple as spelling â i've had people argue that the name "finn" is anglicised and it should always be "fionn" to be Really Irish, but "finn" is an older spelling, glide vowels are later, if you wanna go real far back it'll be "find" (nd in place of nn is an older spelling pattern). or they'll hear someone say "ogam" and assume they're mispronouncing "ogham" due to lack of knowledge of irish and not consider the fact that medievalists tend to use the older form of the word. or they'll Well Actually you about "correct" terminology which wasn't standardised (and/or invented) until the 20th century
a lot of this is defensive and the result of seeing a lot of people ACTUALLY get this stuff wrong and have no respect for the language. in that regard i understand it, although it becomes very tedious after a while, particularly when people sanctimoniously declare something "inauthentic", "fake", or "anglicised" without doing enough research to realise it's not trying to be modern irish and is in fact correct for older forms of the language
more often however this search for the projected "authenticity" is ideological and has much larger flaws and more problematic implications. "this can't be the real story because it's christian" well... that's the oldest version of the story that exists and it postdates christianity in ireland by about nine hundred years, so... maybe question why you're assuming the only "real" version of irish stories can't be a christian one? this is especially true when it comes to fĂanaigecht material tbh, but in general there seems to a widespread misapprehension about ireland's historical relationship with christianity (i have seen people arguing that christianity in ireland is the result of english colonialism which took their "true" faith from them... bro. they were christian before the "english" existed. half the conversion efforts went the other way. please read some early medieval history thank you)
however i also saw someone saying this about arthurian literature lately which REALLY baffled me. "we'll never have the Real arthurian stories only the christianised versions" and it was in the context of chivalric romance. buddy you are mourning something that does not exist. this "authentic" story you're looking for isn't there. that twelfth century story you're dismissing as a christian bastardisation is as "real" a part of this tradition as you're going to get
I absolutely will die on this hill, access to fiction that makes your skin crawl and open discussion about it is the best way to keep that skin crawling fiction from happening in reality.
It doesn't matter if it is ~positively~ or negatively portrayed. If you censor it, we don't talk about it, then we can't protect against it.
If you are seriously against CSA, then you should absolutely read Lolita. Yeah, the book that set the western world on fire with weird sexual conversations.Â
That book perfectly breaks down what a lot of very real sex abuse looks like. It details how predators look for victims (family members), it details what happens to the child who is enduring abuse (she acts out, she screams randomly, she does very poorly in school, etc, etc), and it shows who the most dangerous perpetrators are (intelligent, well liked, charismatic).Â
That book will make your skin absolutely crawl! Once you get out of the head of HH long enough to look at the world Dolores was dumped into, youâll cry your eyes out. But you know what itâll do? Itâll open your eyes.Â
That book has a lot of weird reactions. Some people turn on Lolita, some people turn on HH, some people turn on Nabokov, but it came out when Freud was still respected. That book came out in the middle of âlittle girls want to fuck older men and itâs their fault it happened and theyâre crazyâ.Â
It turned the world around. Some of the discussions about the book are nasty!!! Even from Kubrick and Nabokov. Their discussion about Lolita makes my SKIN CRAWL!! They talk about it in a very POSITIVE and WEIRD way. But it opens your fucking eyes and thatâs the POINT.Â
Embrace disgusting fiction and then fucking talk about why itâs nasty. Now YOU have the power over reality.Â
Yes! I recall reading a quote from Nabokov about why he wrote it. What I remember him saying was âI read in the news about a man who was arrested for molesting girls, and I became curious. Why would a person do that? So I wrote from the perspective of someone who would.â
Thatâs⊠thatâs not even weird, I donât think. I wonder why people do horrible things all the time.
I donât actually think Nabokov had everything about it right. It seems to me that many real molesters are much more aware of what theyâre doing and sometimes even perving on the cruelty of what theyâre doing. HH seems kind of quaintly Freudian in comparison.
But thatâs what Nabokov would have seen around explaining it, so it makes sense.
And Nabokov really does seem aware, on my reading, that HH is doing harm, and that the idyllic love affair heâs dreaming of is in his head. Whatâs actually going on is just seedy and gross.
Itâs hard to read, hard to understand, and messy.
But those things are what make it good, rather than just âhey look I picked a shocking topic have some torture porn.â
(I hate the term torture porn but itâs the best term I can think of rn)
Nabokov gave extensive interviews and talked about Lolita often. He gets such a raw deal. I have compiled a bunch on my main blog here. i just hate nabokov misinformation so here are three for you:
Do you closely follow Lolitaâs fate?
I feel obliged to keep up with the destiny of Lolita. After all, people stop me on the street and ask me to comment on opinions. So I have to know what is being said about me.
Lolita is an indictment of all the things it expresses. It is a pathetic book dealing with the plight of a child, a very ordinary little girl, caught up by a disgusting and cruel manâŠ.But of all my books, I like it the best. The last bone always tastes best.
NabokovâŠpredicted: âThose who keep looking for spicy bits will not find them. They will not be able to read the book throughâthey will get bored too soon. The only thing that might be attractive is the diary H.H. keeps. And then, who would be attracted by a 12-year-old girl?"
Vera NabokovâŠrefilled his glass. âTell them about the child,â she said.
âOh, yes. I am rather bitter about this. I am in favor of childhoodâin fact the very first book I ever did was a translation of Alice in Wonderland into Russian. Anyway, a few nights ago, on Goblin night, a little girlâshe was 8 or 9 I thinkâcame to the door for candy. And she was dressed up as Lolita, with a tennis racquet and a pony tail, and a sign reading l-o-l-i-t-a. I was shocked.â
By all accounts and backed up by extensive interviews, Nabokov wrote a psychological thriller and expected people to be shocked and compelled by it in the same way you can't look away from a train wreck. His worst crime was total naivete. He literally never expected that anyone would take it as a romance.
nabokov wrote "don't create the torment nexus" and then children showed up at his door dressed as the torment nexus and people forever will be like "you wrote about the torment nexus, which is the same thing as being in support of the torment nexus".
So Iâve been working on writing Merlin fanfic and, like a moron, I decided I wanted it to be more historically accurate because the actual canon is a shitshow about that.
I start doing some writing, some researching, and discover that stirrups wonât arrive in Britain until the 10th century or so. King Arthur is like⊠early 500âČs roughly.
So no stirrups. Thatâs not a big problem. Except it is argued that it might have been a major contributor to feudalism. Which, ok, good to know. So Arthur is pre-feudalism, got it. Shouldnât change too much, right? (wrong)
Oh, whatâs this that feudalism requires for those new wealthy landowners?
Fucking. Primogeniture.
(friendly reminder: this is the right of inheritance for the firstborn son. Like for land, or titles of nobility⊠or kings)
So if my research is right, King Arthur didnât have an inherent right to the throne because he was the firstborn male heir. He was fucking ELECTED. (or maybe a lady in the lake threw a sword at him, who knows, this is all myth anyway)
But the fucking kicker?
The thing that DOESNâT EXIST in King Arthurâs time?? Because feudalism wonât show up for several centuries?
Fucking.
Knights.
In summary, the story of King Arthur is just modern day fanfiction from medieval/feudal Europe with rampant OCs, overpowered everyone, too much fucking drama, and like three different werewolves.
King Arthur was ahistorical fanfic in the 12th century when the tales as we know them took shape, and in every retelling since then. Itâs basically always been about projecting the authorâs values backwards in time to an idealized past.
Thereâs literally a book exploring this and how modern retellings have continued the spirit of High Medieval versions called Silk and Potatoes: Contemporary Arthurian Fantasy. Because silk and potatoes, like stirrups, knights, and feudalism, were also not seen much in post-Roman Britain.
There really is no âhistorically accurateâ way to write King Arthur. Even attempts to set the story in the 6th century are constructed ahistorical fantasies. You basically just have to decide which brand of anachronism you want to go with.
And Geoffrey of Monmouth (who, yes, is a character in Merlin) is the 12th-century historian that @star-anise mentions who was the first person to popularise these obscure Celtic and British and Welsh myths by pulling them together into something that looked like history and writing them up in Latin AS part of his âhistory of the kings of Britainâ - a work which is itself heavily nostalgic for pre-Norman times - and, incidentally, deciding on a âdateâ for them to have happened.
But yes, Arthurian knights always had stirrups and were feudal because that was true of the times in which they were written and 100% of Arthurian writers agree that JOUSTING KNIGHTS ARE FUN and that is important. Actually, a lot of them also wore the high fashions of whatever day their stories were written in, because what better way to convey âthis fairy queen was unimaginably beautiful and wealthyâ than to have her wearing amazing exotic textiles and colours and jewels youâve only just heard of from far-away lands?
Chapter Four of the fic I wrote for Invisobang 2023!
Danny is in the Ghost Zone now, but things are changing. He's about to receive some very disturbing news. Meanwhile, Danielle reacts to the rumours she's heard coming out of Amity.
The wonderful @norman-smsl-guidancecounselor and @amaxeart collaborated to create three art pieces for the fic. Check out their tumblrs or the Ao3 to see their incredible work! Ao3 link in reblog. Content warnings and chapter one after the cut.
The Infini-map was not Frostbiteâs favourite way to travel. He preferred for the map to stay safely in the Far Frozen, but he did lend it out in cases of great need. To trusted allies.
It was one of those trusted allies who needed his help now. He sighed. The letter had not explained much.Â
He looked at the Infini-map and closed his eyes. Time to visit Walkerâs prison.
âThis is a restricted area.â The ghost who appeared was in a prison guardâs uniform, looking down his nose at Frostbite. He had to hover in mid-air to do it, as he wasnât anywhere near as tall as the yeti.Â
âIâm here in my capacity as personal doctor to one of the prisoners.â Frostbite answered, trying to seem calm.Â
The guard sneered. âPrisoners donât get doctors.â
âSo you would break the law?â Frostbite queried. âCheck your lawbooks. Find your superior. Prisoners are required to receive adequate medical care. I was contacted by one of the Advocates.â
âRubbish. Look mate, Iâve never heard of advocates and I know what the rules are. Scram, before I arrest you for trespassing.â
Frostbite sighed. âIf you wish to break the law, Iâll have to report you. Get your superior. I need to speak to Walker.â
âThe only way youâre seeing Walker is from a prison cellââ
Frostbiteâs temper snapped. He knew the Great One needed him, and he didnât want to waste time with this nonsense any longer.Â
âWalker!â He roared. The roar was not something he often did. It shook the prison walls, and the guard toppled backwards in the air. âWalker!â
In moments, Walker was flying towards him, looking furious. Following him was a figure in a dark indigo cloak.
âWhat are you doing here? Youâre-â
âYour guard is trying to circumvent the law and refusing to allow me access to my patient.â Frostbite said, voice sharp. âAllow me to enter. Perhaps you should make sure your guards are educated on the new laws.â
âWe donât need outsidersââ
âIf youâll excuse me.â The cloaked figure interrupted smoothly. Their face was entirely shrouded in improbable shadow. âThe law does state that prisoners should receive adequate medical care, and you gave permission yourself before Frostbite arrived.â
âI did not-â
The cloaked figure spread their hands in front of them. Above the palm of her hands appeared an image. Walker and another figure, brightly dressed.Â
âOh, for â fine! Medical care! Get him a personal physician for all I care!â
âThank you for giving permission.â The other figure said, eyes glinting.Â
The images disappeared. Walker looked furious.Â
âIâll be reviewing these alleged new laws carefully.â He spat. He turned to the guards. âAllow him access. Let him treat the newest prisoner. And if I discover that they have lied about these laws, theyâll all be prisoners here.â He grinned a little at the thought, but it didnât get rid of the burning fury in his eyes. Â
âThank you.â Frostbite said, working to keep his voice neutral. âPlease, lead me to the Great One. Daniel. Phantom.â He didnât think these people would call him âThe Great Oneâ.Â
The guard did not speak, merely gesturing in frustration and setting off. Frostbite followed. It did not seem worth complaining about their attitudes. The important thing was that he find the Great One.
The cell they reached was small and damp. It seemed empty at first, until Frostbiteâs eyes fell upon the Fenton Thermos.
âWe thought it best for him to remain in there until you arrived.â The voice almost made Frostbite jump. It was the Advocate who had been outside. He hadnât known they were following him. âWe werenât sure if releasing him would aggravate his injuries.â
Frostbite nodded, swallowing. âDo you know anything about his condition?â
The advocate hesitated. âWe have suspicions, but⊠it would be better to view him for yourself.â They gestured at the thermos.
Frostbite sighed.Â
âGreat One?â He asked, then reconsidered. Chosen names were just as important as titles, and could bring comfort in these situations. âDaniel? Phantom?â
A small voice came from the thermos. âFr-Frostbite?âÂ
The voice was weak and pained, but Frostbite could just about recognise the voice.
It sounded eerie.
He reached for the thermos with one hand, putting his bag of medical supplies down with the other.
The ghost that appeared did not look like the Phantom he had met before. The basic shape was the same â the build, the white hair, the faceâ but his body was fading in and out of existence as sparks of electricity spread through him. He was shaking and transparent.
Transparency was not usually a sign of illness in a ghost, but for the Great One? It was extremely concerning.
Even more concerning was the fact that his hazmat suit was no longer his outfit. It was as if his form couldnât choose between the Hazmat suit and something else, jeans and a shirt.
His death clothes had changed. There was a cold, sinking sensation in Frostbiteâs core.Â
âGreat One.â He said, voice solemn. âDid you die again?â
He did not expect the shock and horror from the Great One. Dannyâs head whipped upwards, sparking in and out of visibility.Â
âNo! Iâm not dead-â
âI ask as your doctor.â Frostbite said quietly. âPlease, Danny, let me examine you.â
âCan you help me?â His voice sounded pleading, and he wrapped his inconsistent arms around himself.
Frostbite swallowed. âI will do my best.â
He thought, however, that what Daniel wanted help with would be impossible for him to heal. Ghosts or not, no-one could bring back the dead.Â
Phantom said very little as he submitted to the examination. Frostbite knew how to examine a ghost, and had learnt how to examine a human.Â
The Great One no longer fell into the latter category.Â
It had been centuries since Frostbite had needed to inform someone of their death â the last being a human who had wandered into the infinite realms and become lost for so long that he left his body behind.Â
The advocates had left. Frostbite wasnât sure what their role was exactly, as heâd never worked with advocates before, but he was glad Daniel would have privacy.Â
Perhaps if he focused on the symptoms, on helping the Great One stabilise his form, before informing him?
âYou were subject to electrocution and an infusion of ectoplasm, much like the accident that changed you into a Halfa.â Frostbite said. âThis has caused some damage to your ghostly form. We need to stabilise your ghost form before anything else.â
âI c-canât just turn back into a human and be okay?â
Frostbite did not want to answer that question.Â
âI would not recommend it. The amount of damage could cause unpredictable effects.â Effects like his human form no longer existing.Â
âOh.â Phantom shuddered, electric sparks shooting through him. âSo what do I do?â
âIt might take time to heal. Symptoms such as this have a strong link to emotional state. It may also be linked to a new power. Your system was.. flooded with dangerous amounts of ectoplasm.â
âWouldnât ectoplasm help?â
âEctoplasm helps in certain cases. Consider a human needing a blood transplant. Giving them blood can help with some issues, but giving too much blood, or the wrong type of blood, could cause problems. We need to remove the excess ectoplasm which is contaminating your natural ectoplasm.â
âHow do we do that?â
Frostbite gestured to his assistant, Ice claw. âWe draw it out. Iceclaw?â
Danny watched, shaking and wincing, as Iceclaw unpacked medical equipment. Things that looked like IVs, like glowing blood bags, and blades.
âLuckily we have a sample of your natural ectoplasm from when I treated you before. We can use it to flush the other ectoplasm from your system.â Frostbite hesitated. â I have no painkillers for you. Iâm sorry,Great One. Danny.â
A throat was cleared from behind him, and Frostbite jumped. He had thought â had been sure - that the advocates had left. Danny jumped too, and Iceclaw looked equally startled.Â
It was the one who hadnât given a name, who was cloaked and had no face.Â
âI can place him in a sleep state.â They said tonelessly. âHe will be aware of nothing until the procedure is completed. It will not harm him unless you use any other form of sleep magic, which could conflict.â
Frostbite considered them. They didnât have the light of a healer to them. âHave you done this for patients before?â
The figure nodded. âIt is not often necessary for the patients that Venti takes on, but I have done it before.â
âIt is your choice, Daniel. Frostbite said, turning to the boy. âYou are the one undergoing the procedure.â
âIs it like Nocturne?â
âI know little of Nocturneâs particular brand of magic.â The nameless figure said. âIt will be as though you have just closed your eyes for a moment and then you will wake. If you should require an extended period of unconsciousness, you will become aware that you are asleep and why, and at that point you would be able to control your dream like a lucid dream. You will not see, hear or feel the treatment. It is unlikely that the lucid dream would be necessary.â
Danny considered this for a moment, flinching as more lighting wracked his form. âI⊠wonât be able to stay still for the procedure otherwise.â He spat out, shaking. âI canât not react. Yes. If Frostbite trusts you, do it.â
Frostbite nodded in assent, and the Nameless figure began to glow. Two purple dots, almost where eyes would be, began to glow from the nothingness where their face was not.Â
âCatch him,â they said, which was the only warning before Frostbite had to leap to catch Daniel in his arms. The boy was fast asleep, his ghost form still flickering.Â
âHe wonât dream of what injured him?â Frostbite asked. âIt would not be⊠ideal for him to learn what happened before he has stabilised.â
âHe will not dream. I am not a healer, as you can see, but I have worked with healers before. I understand enough to know that dreamless sleep is usually less of a risk.â
The Great Oneâs injuries seemed straightforward but nonetheless made Frostbiteâs muscles tighten. He purposefully relaxed them. He could not afford mistakes.Â
Iceclaw bustled around setting up the equipment while Frostbite checked Danny over. Even asleep, electricity was coursing through his form. Frostbite wished he had the more sophisticated equipment in his usual medical facility in the Far Frozen, but he was limited to what he and Iceclaw had been able to transport here.Â
Ideally, he would have liked to double check whether the nature of Dannyâs core had changed. All he had the resources to do here was check for obvious damage. THere were no chips from Dannyâs core, only a small crack. Still worrying, but it could be treated.
âShall I start the ecto-infusion, Frostbite?â Iceclaw queried, and Frostbite saw that all the equipment was ready.
He agreed, and the procedure began.Â
It had taken longer than expected to treat him. The crack in his core had iced over when the ectoplasm had reached it, but the next shiver of lightning had cracked the ice. Frostbite had needed to stop the treatment and look for a way to stop the electricity.Â
If it was due to a traumatic experience, a small dose of diluted lethe oil (mixed with a forget-me-not infusion to counteract the more dangerous properties of the first) should put an end to it. Frostbite administered it and watched carefully. It took a while, but the electricity crackling through Dannyâs body slowed and then stopped.Â
Good. He restarted the ectoplasm infusion. It took more than expected, but the crack iced over again and was clearly on its way to healing.
His form also stopped flickering, and Dannyâs body changed. His top half remained a hazmat suit, as before. His death outfit and superhero costume in one. His bottom half was a pair of jeans. His second death outfit, or so Frostbite presumed.
He could confirm by this point that the Great One was definitely dead. A powerful ghost still, but one without a human half.Â
It made something inside Frostbite feel sickened, like there was something clawing at his insides. He ignored it.Â
Danny needed to sleep a little longer to make sure he was stable. Then Frostbite would need to tell him that he was no longer a Halfa.
Danny blinked. The room around him had changed. Things were clearer, and there was equipment that hadnât been there a second ago. Was thisâŠ
âIs it done?â He croaked.
âIt is. Youâll be pleased to hear that you are stable, for the moment.â Frostbite grinned at him.
There was a new person in the room. It wasnât the strange figure that had put him to sleep. It was someone else, short with a pixie cut, bright clothes, light blue skin and huge wings like a butterflyâs on her back.
âWhoâŠâ
Frostbite smiled and gestured for the stranger to speak.
ââAdvocate Venti.â The figure said cheerfully. âPleasure to meet you, Danny. Do you prefer Danny, or would you rather I called you another name?â
He frowned. âDanny is fine.â It felt a little odd, though. He wasnât sure why.
âThank you.â She smiled brightly as if sheâd been given a gift rather than just been told which name he preferred. âIâm Venti, as I said, and Iâm an Advocate and counsellor. I advocate for the rights of prisoners and am also a counsellor specialising in mental health, grief and obsession. My colleague who you met earlier is an advocate, but we work in a pair so they take on more of a legal role and I focus on your health and rights.â
âI didnât get anything like that last time.â
âI can imagine.â Venti said sympathetically, pulling a face. âThe old laws were archaic! The new laws have given us a much better way of doing things.â
âThe law changed?â He was sure his face expressed his shock as his eyes widened and eyebrows raised. âHowâs Walker handling that?â
Venti raised an eyebrow. âWhy, heâs delighted about it. Absolutely jumping for joy.â
Danny snorted.
âQuite. Heâs not pleased.â
Frostbite cleared his throat. âIf we could return to the medical matters that we need to discuss?â
Venti nodded, looking a little shamefaced.Â
âGreat One. Danny, I know it may be hard to think about what happened. You should no longer be suffering the electric shocks as I have treated that with a dilution of lethe oil and forget-me-not. There was a small crack in your core, but it healed when the ectoplasm was taken in.ââ
âSo Iâll be okay?â Danny sounded so young. His voice cracked a little.Â
Frostbite hesitated before nodding. âYes. It will take time to recover fully. You will need treatment which I believe is analogous to your worldâs physical therapy. You will also need counselling to help stabilise your core further.â
âWhat? Why? My core was stable before.â
Frostbite swallowed. âDanny. Great One. I need to tell you something.â He looked Danny in the eyes and rested a gentle paw on one of his arms. âIâm afraid that the accident killed you. You are no longer a halfa. You are now a full ghost.â He paused, watching the shock and pain cross Dannyâs face. He watched Dannyâs eyes widen and his breathing quicken. Not that he needed to breathe anymore, but it could take new ghosts a while to stop doing it by habit.Â
âIâm not! Iâll turn back, I canââ
âDanny. Trying to turn back will only hurt you. Trust me.â He bent to be at Dannyâs level. âYour outfit shows it. You were in your death outfit before when you became Phantom, turning into the clothes you died in. You now have a second death outfit.â He gestured at Dannyâs clothes, and the boy looked down. His hazmat suit was still there, but only partially.Â
It was like the two outfits were zigzagging over his form. A hazmat suit on one arm, then a bit of a t-shirt, then a patch of hazmat suit. Legs which were odd patches of jeans and the hazmat suit, jumbled together without any kind of pattern.
âYouâll be able to control how you look eventually, at least to an extent.â Frostbite said, hoping to offer a tiny bit of reassurance.
It did not appear to be reassuring Danny. Heâd frozen, and was looking at Frostbite as if he was looking at the most horrifying thing in the world. Frostbite doubted heâd even looked at Pariah Dark with such an expression.
âGreat one?â Frostbite said, wary of upsetting the boy further.
âDanny.â The advocate with the butterfly wings spoke. âDanny, it will be okay. I know this is a big change, and a big shock, but youâre still here. Hold on to that. Youâre here. Youâre in this room with me and Frostbite.â
âI canât be a full ghost.â Danny muttered. âMy parents will kill me!â
Frostbite frowned. âThey will not get the chance, Great..Danny.â This was not the time to quibble over terms like âkillâ.Â
âI canât be dead. I canât. The portal was meant to take my powers away, not.. Did it split me in two again, maybe? So thereâs one of me thatâs Phantom and one of me thatâs Danny?â
Frostbite winced. âNo. Your soul has not been divided into human and ghost. You are⊠no longer attached to your body.â Not the best wording, but what was? He didnât want to say to the grieving child that his body was a corpse, and judging by the injuries on Dannyâs ghost form it would be a very damaged corpse.
âIâm sorry, Danny.â Venti spoke, somehow keeping calm. Perhaps it was because this was the first time she had met Danny. Her face was calm and sympathetic but no stress was showing on her face. âYou were in the ghost portal, you said? If it is what half-killed you the first time, it essentially did the same again. This time you couldnât become a half-ghost, because that was what you were. It made you a full ghost instead.â She looked sorrowful.
âI would not lie to you, Great one.â Frostbite added. He reached out a large paw to put it gently around Danny. âIt is not as bad as you may think. You are still here. You exist, with the rest of us. Your friends may be able to visit through the Ghost Portal. I can send someone to look for them and let them know what has happened.â
âIâŠâ Danny trailed off after just one word, his whole form shaking. The electricity was not shooting through him, but Frostbite knew that if he continued to get more upset he could have a relapse. Lethe Oil was not a foolproof treatment.
âTry to stay calm.â Frostbite said. âThe motions of breathing may help you. Humans use breathing to stay calm. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly.â
Unfortunately this did not help. Danny looked like he was about to hyperventilate.
âI canât â I donât need to breathe, Iâm dead and I donât need to breathe?? You â pretending to breathe wonât help, I need to breathe for real! Iâm not meant to be dead!â
Small sparks of electricity appeared on his arms and vanished just as quickly. His clothes began to glow a terrible green.Â
That had backfired.
âDanny, please try to calm down. You could destabilise yourself again if you continue toââ
âHow can you â how can I calm down? Iâm dead, oh ancients Iâm dead, Iâm never gonna graduate or be an astronaut or go on dates Iâm just gonna be an obsessed angry ghost for ever and Iâll hurt people andââ
Frostbite ignored the twinge of hurt at that. Danny was not thinking clearly.Â
âYou will not hurt people unless you wish to, Danny. I do not hurt people. I choose my purpose to be one that helps, and you can do the same.â
Dannyâs eyes darted around the room, pausing briefly on Venti and Frostbite before continuing. âIâm trapped in a prison and I should be because I canât hurt anyone here!â
âYouâre not in a prison for hurting anyone.â Venti said, voice still calm. âYouâre here because Walker is set in his ways. You didnât hurt anyone.â
âI did! Thatâs the whole reason I wanted to get rid of my powers, I nearly killed Sam and Tucker ad all the ghosts were attacking because of meââ
âThat is not correct.â Frostbite said, a frown creasing his face. âMany of the ghosts would have attacked the human world regardless of your presence. Your being there meant they targeted you instead of mortal innocents.â
Dannyâs face scrunched up, and his shoulders shook more heavily. âNo, they attacked because of me. They always attacked because of me, thatâs what happened, they hurt people because of me and now Iâm a ghost Iâll get obsessed with fighting or something and Iâll hurt people too!â
âYouâre... not obsessed with fighting, Great One.â Frostbite couldnât say for sure what Danny was obsessed with (that was not something that most ghosts could determine on behalf of another) but he knew it was not that. âYou have never picked a fight with the innocent ghosts here, or with me. You are distressed now but you are not fighting us or trying to hurt anyone.â
Dannyâs face remained scrunched up, and Frostbite suddenly realised that this was how humans looked when they were trying not to cry.Â
âItâs okay to grieve.â Venti said softly. âItâs natural to grieve. But you havenât hurt anyone. Thereâs no reason to think that you will.â
Dannyâs shoulders shocked, and green tears began to fall from his eyes as he let out desperate, shuddering sobs.
It was terrible to watch. Frostbite felt something twist painfully inside him - but this, at least, was something he knew how to treat.
He drew Danny into a full hug. He was gentle, of course. Danny was not a yeti. He was the ghost of a human child, and more fragile than he seemed.
Frostbite was big enough to wrap the shaking child up in his arms without any trouble.
âCry if you need to, Great One.â Frostbite said softly. âI will be here. You are not alone.â He paused. âIt will be alright.â
Frostbite did not know how long he held Danny, ignoring the sharp prickles on his fur as sparks flew from Dannyâs distressed form. When Dannyâs shaking sobs finally stopped, Frostbite held him still.
âHeâs asleep.â Venti said softly. âI can sense it.â
Frostbite slowly drew away, as gently and carefully as possible. He had no desire to wake Danny. Not every ghost could sleep, but some could. It was especially common in the newly dead who clung to their old habits. He lay Danny down gently.
âIâll draw up a plan of treatment for him.â Advocate Venti said abruptly. âDo you know if he has anyone who should be informed? Ghosts who he trusts, or mortals who could support him?â
âHis friends have visited the Far Frozen before.â Frostbite responded. âSam and Tucker. They would be able to help. His clone, Danielle, as well. Sam and Tucker will be in Amity Park but I am afraid I donât know where Danielle would be.â
Venti nodded. âHis treatment has a much higher chance of success with a support system around him. If you have a way to contact them, it would be hugely beneficial. As long as you think theyâll respond well to him.â
âI would not recommend contacting his parents.â Frostbiteâs lip curled in distaste. âThey call themselves Ghost hunters. His friends are different. I believe they will simply be happy to see him.â
âThen Iâll speak with Walker and make sure that they have visiting permission.â She grinned. âIt will be interesting to see his face when I insist upon it.â
Danielle was shaking by the time she was flying over Amity Park. It seemed odd that she was shivering. It wasnât cold, and her ghost form didnât usually feel it anyway. Did some ghost have the power to make her feel like this? Her stomach felt tight.
No-one was going to catch her. She told herself that. She wasnât sure why she felt that would help. That didnât have anything to do with the problem.
She was here to find out what had happened to Danny. The only reason Phantom could be accused of murdering Danny would be if Vlad had done something to frame him. He probably had Danny captive, or was going to try to turn his parents against him. Or both.Â
If he had Danny captive, Danielle had to repay what her original had done for her. She had to free him.Â
If Dannyâs been captured you donât stand a chance.
There you go, trying to be a pale copy of Danny again. He rescued you so now youâll rescue him. Pathetic.Â
Youâll be captured too. Youâll be trapped and youâll never see the sky again. Vlad will put you in his machine and rip you apart.
She swallowed, the thoughts making her flight jolty. She cursed at herself. She had more sense than this. She was a better flyer than this. Why was she zigzagging in the sky like an out of control kid?
Because you are a kid. A useless one who will never live up to the real person you were based on. A failed copy.Â
She focused on her goal. First was Fentonworks. Then she could look for Dannyâs friends. She knew they were Sam and Tucker, but she had no idea where they hung out. Sheâd never really stuck around long enough to know.
She could try the obvious. The school maybe. That food place with the weird name.Â
Sheâd try to find Dannyâs friends first hanging around with his friends because youâre not good enough to make your own and if they couldnât help, sheâd go after Vlad-Â
And get yourself captured like you did before?
She shook her head like she was trying to shake off the unwelcome thought.
She was going to free Danny, and prove Phantom didnât kill him. Somehow. Sheâd figure that bit out later.
She was trying very hard to ignore the thoughts that kept invading her head. Ignoring them was the only way to respond to such ridiculous thoughts. She was awesome. She was Danielle Phantom.Â
Dani Phantom, canât even come up with a name for herself. No, she was awesome.Â
She was so busy trying to tell herself she was awesome that she didnât notice the net until it was too late.
She dodged out of the way, but she wasnât quick enough. It caught her foot, tangling around her and then the rope attached to it pulled taught..Â
âWhoa!â She shrieked as she was yanked down by her foot, waving her arms like a windmill. âWhoa, stop!â
It was trapping her, it was on her. She was being pulled down. Youâre going to be captured and youâll never be free again. Youâll never be you again.
She screamed and tried desperately to manoeuvre her body so she could free her foot from the net. She was close, so close, when she was slammed against the pavement.
She let out a shout of pain and bent forward to finish freeing herself. She was in an alley. THere were walls around her. It was a dead end, and coming towards her was someone taller than her. Someone in red. It was going to be one of those Masterâs blasters, those idiots Vlad had hired. He was going to capture her.
âLet me go!â She felt like she couldnât breathe. Her chest was tight and her heart pounded against it, leaving no room for her lungs to expand. âLet me go let me go let me go!â She ripped the net finally and scrambled into a standing position. She was too small. She was too vulnerable. She was trapped.Â
âI wonât let you take me to him!â
âDanielle?âÂ
That wasnât a stranger. That was someone she knew. That was someone who might be safe. Her brain buzzed with memories of a rescue and memories of a capture competing for her attention.
She wasnât aware of collapsing to the ground until she felt the impact against the bruises sheâd gotten just a moment before.
âDanielle! Did I hurt you?â
Red Huntress stepped towards Danielle, lowering her net-gun. The kid had hit the ground hard. Valerie had thought it was another trouble-making ghost taking advantage of Phantom being in hiding. SHe shoved away the thought of why Phantom was in hiding. She couldnât think about that right now.
She frowned, her steps quickening. âShoot, Danielle, are you okay?â She hadnât thought Danielle would be hurt by it. Not that hurt. SHe was still part ghost but sheâd collapsed on the ground after getting to her feet. SHe was shaking and looked disorientated.
âDid you hit your head?â Valerie knelt down beside Danielle. Danielle let out a pained noise, something a bit desperate. Valerie frowned.Â
âDanielle, can you hear me?â She looked more carefully at Danielleâs head. There was no obvious head injury. She knew that didnât necessarily mean anything but it was a relief that there at least was no blood or obvious bruising.
âI canât, I canâtâ donât take me, donâtââ
Danielleâs breathing was coming fast but her voice sounded tight like she couldnât get enough air in. Hearing her breathing was reassuring to Valerie. She valued the reminder that this was a human rather than a ghost.
Oh. This was a panic attack. The realisation fell into Valerieâs head like a bolt from the blue. She hadnât had panic attacks since just after what happened with that dog. Once the dog wasnât a threat anymore the terrible pressure of fear had gone away. Getting her weapons and gradually getting more skilled at defending herself was another huge help. Her anxiety attacks had tapered off.
âDanielle, itâs me. Red Huntress.â Had she introduced herself to Danielle as Valerie? She knew Phantom knew but she wasnât sure about the kid. Thinking of Phantom made something burn in her eyes. She blinked rapidly.Â
âDanielle, listen to my voice, alright? No one is going to take you anywhere. Tell me, uh, five things you can see.â
âI .. I.. uh⊠the walls?â Danielleâs voice wavered.Â
âGood. Thatâs good, Danielle. Four more things you can see.â
âYour helmet. The, the floor. The net.â She flinched as she said that one. Valerie cursed inwardly. Was it her net that had set this off? She had captured Danielle once.Â
âMy..hands?â Danielle said. Her breathing was still coming too quickly.
âGood. Youâre doing great. Four things you can hear.â
âMuhâmy breathing. Your voice. My voice.â She was shaking. âThereâs⊠a siren? I think? The wind?â
âGood. Three things you can feel.â
âThe ground. Itâs cold.â She paused, taking a slower breath in and then letting it out. âBruises, I think.â Not quite what Valerie had meant but it would do. She squashed the flash of guilt inside her. It had made sense at the time. âMy clothes?â
That was interesting. Valerie hadnât been sure if ghosts felt clothes against them the same way that humans did, and this was Danielle in her ghost form.Â
âTwo things you can smell.â
Danielle wrinkled her nose. âI think a rubbish bin? And maybe someone might have peed in this alley.â She sounded a lot more put together, her breathing coming at a more regular pace. She took a deep breath again and let it out, unclenching her fists and seeming to relax her muscles.
âEw. But good.â Valerie smiled even though it was hidden beneath her mask. âOne thing you can taste.â
âBlood. I think I bit my lip.â Danielle pulled a face. âSorry. I donât⊠really know what caused that. Is that some ghostâs power? I donât really keep track of the people D âPhantom fights.â
Valerie bit her lip to keep from snarling at the mention of Phantom.Â
âI donât know of any ghosts who can cause that.â Valerie admitted. âDanielle, have you heard of panic attacks?â
âLikeâŠattacking someone with panic? Making them panic?â
âItâs more like your own panic attacks you.â Valerie said, trying to figure out how to explain and floundering. âWhen you get really anxious or scared of something and your body starts to have physical reactions. Sometimes you feel like you canât breathe or there is pain or tightness in your chest. It varies from person to person. The exercise I led you through is one I did when,â She hesitated. She didnât want to admit this vulnerability to a ghost, but Danielle needed to know she wasnât the only one this had happened to. Curb that stigma before it reached her. âWhen I had panic attacks.â
âIââ Danielle looked like she wanted to run away again. She looked like the explanation scared her nearly as much as whatever had set the panic attack off. âIâm not âthat doesnât make sense. Why would I feel like I wasnât breathing? Why would that make me feel worse? I probably donât always need to breathe.â
âPanic attacks donât always seem logical.â Valerie said gently. âThey can be triggered by lots of different things. Iâd guess you still have to breathe in your human form at least.â
âMaybe.â The girl seemed to curl in on herself. âSo Iâm just a scaredy-cat, basically.â
âAm I a scaredy-cat?â Valerie demanded.
âNo, but youâre notââ
âI told you I know that exercise because I had panic attacks. Doesnât that make me a scaredy cat too, if you think youâre one?â
âThatâs not what I meant! Itâs different if itâs me. Iâm just a broken copy.â She spat out the last words like an angry curse.
âYouâre not broken.â Valerie didnât know what to say about the copy part. She should probably deny that too, but she wasnât sure what Danielle meant by it.Â
âI am. Thatâs the whole reason,â she sniffed. âThatâs the whole reason Vlad wanted to capture me before. He tried to kill me before that because I wasnât a good enough copy.â
âA good enough copy⊠of Phantom?â The last word was spat out.
âYeah.â Danielleâs breathing was coming more easily and she looked up at Valerie from where she was slumped against the wall. âYou donât believe that rubbish Vlad is spreading, right? I mean, you know Phantom didnât kill anyone.â She didnât know if Valerie knew her originalâs secret. It seemed like it should be obvious to anyone, but people could be oblivious.
Valerie squeezed her eyes shut. âSomeone did. Someone killed DaAnny. He was a friend of mine and the witnesses said Phantom killed him.â
âWell, they were wrong!â Danielle insisted.
âHow can you know?â Valerie was tense again, transforming from someone trying to calm a scared girl into a terrifying figure herself. âYou werenât there. Neither of us were, and Phantom killed Danny.â
âThatâs not even possible!â Danielle blurted out, then tried to cover it up. âWhat reason would Phantom even have to do that? As a ghost killing anyone is stupid, âcause all youâre doing is making enemies.â
Valerie halted for just a second, narrowing her eyes. SHe hadnât thought..
âI wish it was impossible.â ShHe said, her mouth drawing together. âYou know, for a while there I thought Danny was Phantom? After I met you, and you were alive and a ghost. I thought maybe Phantom was the same. That maybe he wasnât some inhuman monster. But I was wrong.â
âDanny and I arenât inhuman monsters!â Danielle responded hotly, hurt blossoming in her chest before Valerieâs words fully registered. Oh. Valerie used to think Danny was Phantom. She didnât now. At least she hadnât before Danielle had opened her big mouth, but now Valerie was staring at Danielle as if sheâd said something shocking.Â
âI meant Phantom!â sShe said quickly. âPhantom and I arenât inhuman monsters. And itâs not âcause weâre half humanââ Sheâd done it again. âI mean, not cause Iâm half-humanââ
Valerie was just staring at her. Danielle swallowed, her mouth drying up.Â
âAre you trying to trick me?â She said, her voice colder than it had been so far. âWhat is all this for? This fake stumbling over your words?â
âWhat?â Danielle was rapidly losing her limited control over the situation. âI donât understand. Look, I canât stay here. Iâve got to figure out what happened to Danny, I mean Phantom, and why Danny was framed for killing Phantom. I mean why Phantom was framed for killing Danny. I bet Vlad has Danny locked up somewhere ââ
Valerie shot at Danielle. Danielle yelped and turned intangible, and Valerieâs hand clenched around empty air rather than Danielleâs collar.Â
âWhat the hell?â Danielle demanded.
Valerieâs body was all sharp lines and tense angles. âYou think Plasmius has Danny? Why?â
âHe hates Danny! Thatâs the whole reason he cloned him!â Danielle blurted, then considered. âOh fuck. Uh, he clones a lot of people?â That probably wouldnât help. âHe wanted to make a perfect son, and heâs obsessed with Dannyâs mom but he wanted them to be a half ghost. So Iâm a mixture?â
Valerieâs face twisted into something resembling horror. âYou were cloned to be like Danny and Phantomâs kid? Danny was a teenager himself!â She paused and shook her head. âI donât know if I want to believe that.â She sighed and her face crumpled.
âLook, Danielle, if you know anything about what happened⊠I just need to know the truth. I need to know how Danny died. I know you care about Phantom, but if he killed my friend I have to know.â
Danielle was silent for a moment. It sucked to leave Valerie grieving Danny and blaming Phantom. Also she was a terrible liar when she was this stressed and if Valerie was going to help her find Danny, she should probably tell her the truth. If they found Danny looking like Phantom, Valerie might be more likely to destroy him herself than save him.
âOkay. You were right before. Not about Phantom killing Danny!â She added hastily. âDanny died in his parentâs ghost portal like two years ago. But he came back. He was Phantom the whole time. Like me and like Plasmius. So I know Phantom didnât kill Danny. He is Danny.â She swallowed. âI canât prove it, but come on. Who do I look lke in my human form?â That hurt to say. She didnât even look like herself, just like him. âI look like a younger, female version of Danny, right? He calls me his cousin. Weâre family.â She looked away. âHeâs the only family I have. If Phantom wasnât the same person as him, if Phantom had killed him, Iâd be as angry as you are. But he didnât. Theyâre the same person, and all Danny has ever done with his powers is try to help people.â She knew there were reasons not everyone trusted Phantom, that there was a reason for Valerieâs grudge, but she had no clue what it was.Â
Valerie was silent for one long, tense moment. Danielleâs skin crawled.
âIf youâre lying about this,â Valerie said, her voice cold and furious. âIf youâre lying about this, I will make you regret it. I may not be willing to kill a human, but if Phantom is a ghost after all then Iâll have no qualms about destroying him.â
Danielle bristled. âGhosts arenât all evil, and Phantom isnât! Iâm not lying but that doesn't mean that every full ghost is evil. You only ever meet the ones that want to come here and cause trouble. There are plenty of totally peaceful ghosts.â Sheâd met some outside of Amity.
Some of the ones sheâd met had more trouble holding their form away from the ambient ectoplasm of the ghost zone and the gradually rising levels of ambient ectoplasm in Amity, but most of them just stuck around to watch over relatives or to be closer to the world theyâd once come from.Â
Valerie scoffed, but didnât argue. âFine. So whatâs your plan for finding Danny?âÂ
Danielle straightened up, taking deep breaths. âVlad.â Valerieâs words from a few minutes before hit her. âWait, you know Vlad is Plasmius?â
âYeah. I saw him change.â Valerie glowered. âHe tricked me into doing his dirty work. Heâs tricked everyone.â
âYeah. He tricked me too. I mean, he makes you in a lab, tells you youâre his perfect daughter, sends you to kill your original and then tries to destroy you so he can use you to create a better clone to be his son. Heâs a sexist freak on top of being a manipulative asshole.â
âIâm sorry that happened to you.â Valerie said, then let out a long slow breath. âThis whole conversation has been like an emotional whirlwind. I think we both need to calm down a bit before making any plan against Plasmius. Heâll be prepared for someone to come rescue Danny. He could even be planning on using Danny as bait for you or me.â
That made Danielle nearly panic again. âI donât care. I donât care, Iâm not letting him hurt Danny.â She could feel that the blood had run from her face though.
Valerie looked her over carefully. âYou sure?â
âIâm not letting my Original get hurt by Vlad again.â She clenched her teeth. âI canât.â
âOkay.â Valerie said. âThen we need to make plans.â
As dawn began to creep over the horizon, two exhausted teens sat on a roof with fast food packaging scattered between them.
Valerie reached for her phone. âIâll just get in contact withââ She saw her screen, frowned, and tapped at it frantically before cursing.
âWhatâs happened? You forget your password?â
Valerie shook her head and held her phone towards Danielle.
âNothing that simple. Sam, Jazz and Tucker were seen being dragged away by some kind of abominable snowman ghost.â She pursed her lips. âProbably taking advantage of whatâs happened.â
âWhat?â Danielle stared at the phone screen. âUh. I think Danny mentioned some yeti ghosts once, but I dunno why theyâd kidnap Jazz, Sam and Tucker.â
âKnowledge? Tech?â Valerie suggested. âWeâll have to come up with a different plan. They wonât be able to get us access to the Fenton portal.â
Danielle opened her mouth, closed it, and then swore herself.Â
âI can get us into Vladâs without going through the Zone.â She said, her voice wavering only a fraction. Her hands clenched into fists that pushed fingernails sharp enough to draw blood into her own palms.
Valerie looked at Danielleâs face carefully, eyes clearly darting to her hands and back to her eyes. Danielle wasnât sure if Valerie was judging her honesty or just whether her emotional state was stable enough to handle it. She stood firm and met Valerieâs eyes.Â
âWhatâs your plan?â Valerie asked, folding her arms.
âIâll be the distraction.â She swallowed. âLet him think heâs caught me.Weâll show him.â
Her eyes were steely and determined. Valerie nodded.Â
âI wonât let him keep you, Danielle. You can be a distraction, ]#but I wonât let you be a sacrifice.â
Danielle smiled a little with the relief that followed Valerieâs words.Â
âThen weâre doing this.â
âWe are.â
Note: There is wonderful art of the scene where Frostbite comforts Danny which was created by @norman-smsl-guidancecounselor and @amaxeart. You can also view it on the ao3 link, which I'll add in a reblog.
He looked confused. Said I should try a bit every day
I said ânot when, how?â I asked what exercises I should do
He suggested half a dozen options that had all been explicitly banned by other doctors. Iâm not allowed to run. Iâm not allowed to bike. Iâm not allowed to use my rowing machine or my punching bag.
I walk my dog whenever I have the energy and when it doesnât hurt too much
the first thing I did in my journey out of bed was kind of an accidental win. I bought a weighted blanket when I didnât even have a gp because my other one left the area just before the pandemic hit, and didnât give me any suggestions where to go when I was struggling a lot with brain fog; so I was without support or painkillers for a year.
itâs pale pink and fluffy. lighter than the one the company recommended for my age and size, and itâs still very heavy for me. the way all of the beads pull in such an unwieldy fashion can make it difficult to pull onto the bed. I could only handle half an hour at a time at the beginning.
but slowly, completely by accident, it actually helped. especially my core muscles and thighs from turning over in bed. I was just feeling anxious. I had no room in my head for thoughts of exercise. but I actually put on a scant bit of muscle. it was crazy
the second bit of exercise I started doing was to get out of bed and sit in a chair by the window instead of laying in bed.
the third, wearing clothes. showering a little more often. putting two braids in my hair instead of one.
then doing laundry
then learning to cook again, because brain fog had robbed me of most of what I knew.
and of course cooking meant more and better food, which gave me more energy and helped my body get a bit stronger
in there were stretches. I had no room in my head for videos or books so I did the three I could still remember from back when I saw a good physio years ago. I could only do three repeats at first, not even the five that was a recommended set.
all of that helped me get strong enough to make it to sit through a two day course at the pain clinic, and thankfully they werenât like OPâs doctor, they were adamant that pacing is vital to any improvement if you have chronic pain. pushing too far too fast is the enemy. low and slow. persistence. is key
it was crazy to sit in that chair with my blanket and a pillow to hold onto so I could lean on it, and prop myself up, because a lot of what they said Iâd kind of worked out. but they were scientists and doctors who had all experienced chronic pain and so they had the terminology and were able to piece it together
and most of all they vindicated my own course that Iâd stepped on by accident.
and finally when my new gp asked me every month whether Iâd thought about taking some walks I was able to say âI believe Iâll get there, but not yet. and the pain climic agree with me.â
and I did get there. I donât walk as much as she would like but honestly I donât think sheâll ever be happy lmao
the thing most doctors, even many chronic illness specialists and chronic pain specialists fail to account for is that the activity youâre already doing is important (vital, even, because personal maintenance and living life is very important!) and itâs already exercise and strain and very energy consumptive. it counts! and also they greatly underestimate the incredible value of seriously seriously small, tiny, incremental steps that can actually account for massive improvement over time for the chronically illâif weâre allowed to pace ourselves properly, for, likeâŠever and not just a certain period of time
I donât know your pain, I donât know your body. but I recommend that you sit down and think aboutâor perhaps actually just take note over the course of your days and weeks, what activity youâre already doing. maybe at first youâll only notice when something makes you hurt, but take note of it. because that matters*. and you can build off of that. slowly slowly slowly.
youâre a persistence predator. we walk slower, we do everything slower; and many of us will never get to a place where the average physio will approve of our condition.
but fuck them. we can build muscle; Iâve seen it. we can gain small amounts of improvement without undoing all of the good work we put in. but we have to be patient, and persistent, and we have to be cautious and we have to be brave
*I do feel the need to add that I also learned how to arrange my day so that some activities hurt less. and I learned over the course of a year âand really iâm still learningâto see my days in fifteen minute to half hour increments because I have to consider PEM as well. stretches have to happen if I sit in the chair too long. especially if Iâm on my computer. a very short walk is best if Iâve been out and sitting at tables because that puts so much strain on my back. it takes spoons and itâs really tempting to think itâs too much but I generally find the pain the next day if I donât takes more spoons than if I do. most activities at home are done in fifteen minute on thirty minute off shifts. when I say slow I mean slow
thatâs not always possible. I donât have kids, and just sent the cat I was living with to another home with someone who could bend without crying all the time. I have time and space to set that pace and not everyone can. life can be complicated.
but
you can exercise. you just need to vastly vastly change what the word exercise movement activity mean for you.
anyway I hope that helps
big pain day today so Iâm feeling very bitey esp about doctors
and remember that what works for one person might not for another or vice versa -- i would never have suggested a weighted blanket bc the one i tried made everything hurt more, because it strained my joints (where i have pain) more than it built muscle for me. but if youâre more like OP, you might benefit.
knowing your body is the hardest work but when you can definitively say some things that do or donât work, it actually does help the good docs.
(nothing helps the bad ones, fuck those guys, and then fire them as your dr)
hi your local jew here reminding you that cherubim, seraphim, nephilim, and words of that nature ARE PLURAL and therefore should not be used to refer to a singular one of these creatures like i see every day of my g-dforsaken life
a single instance would be referred to as a cherub, a seraph, a nephil, et cetera
these words originated from hebrew, and in hebrew -im and -ot are our plural endings. so if you say, like, nephilim in order to refer to a single nephil, itâs like youâre saying âlook, a dogs!â it just doesnât match up and you look really silly
goyim you can reblog please do so to spare yourselves and your friends from this thing that i legitimately see everywhere i turn
this isnât witch shit. unless you are a JEWISH WITCH you should not be reblogging this with those tags. judaism is a closed culture (with opportunity to convert) and while i know witchcraft has a hard-on for using our Mystical Exotic Middle Eastern Symbols and Creatures you donât get to use our culture without being part of it
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