#WEEK6

[foxwithadarkside]

I don't know where they slept on Kamino (I know now :3 Thank you everyone! :D) but I remember this. So even if I'm wrong, the point doesn't change x) Crosshair drapes that hole where the bed comes out of and hangs out there.

Summer of Bad Batch Week 6

Alt. Prompt: “Get out of my room!”

@summer-of-bad-batch

[kybercrystals94]

Letting Go

Read here on Ao3

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 6 | Battle Scars

Rated: G | Words: 903 | Summary: Story takes place just before Omega leaves to join the Rebellion.

Crosshair sits down next to Hunter on the sand. “Omega told me what happened.”

“I’m sure she did,” Hunter says. It comes out harsher than he means it to, but he does not try to take it back. It seems that age has worn down the barriers of his emotions, bitterness and hurt leaking through.

“She said you were being unreasonable, overbearing, and overprotective,” Crosshair continues. “Not to mention your listening skills need some work, because you only care about your side of the argument.”

Hunter’s frown deepens. “Good to know.”

“And I said,” Crosshair goes on, as though Hunter hadn’t spoken, “the same thing I said way back when she was only about this big.” He holds out a hand to demonstrate.

Hunter rolls his eyes, because they never knew Omega when she was that small, but he gets the point.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I said?”

Hunter sighs. He’s too tired to play this game. “What did you say?”

“Don’t hold it against him. He’s only worried about you.”

Hunter turns to look at Crosshair, surprised. “When did you tell her that?”

“When we were going to Barton IV,” Crosshair replies, digging a toothpick out of his pocket. He puts it between his teeth. “That kid’s always trying to prove herself, isn’t she? That she’s one of us.”

“She is one of us,” Hunter argues.

Crosshair huffs. “Of course she is, but she’s not a soldier, Hunter. She’s our kid, not our brother in arms. I don’t think she’s ever figured out the difference.”

“So she wants to join the Rebellion because she wants to prove herself as a soldier?”

“Not entirely, although I think that is part of it,” Crosshair says.

“And the other part?” Hunter asks.

Crosshair meets his eye. “She might not be a soldier, but she is a fighter. We raised her that way, didn’t we? To stand up for the defenseless, to do what’s right?”

“That’s not…” Hunter stops because his voice gives out, barbed anguish ensnared deep in his throat. He tries to swallow it away, but it is unyielding, so his voice cracks and breaks around it. “That’s not what I want for her. I want her to be safe. I want her to be here.”

A younger Crosshair might have looked away, trying to comfort from arm’s length. But just as time has made carefully constructed emotional walls brittle, time has softened the sharp edges of his brother. The former sniper moves closer, knocking their shoulders together. “I’m scared to lose her too.”

“We fought so hard to get away from war,” Hunter says brokenly, “to get Omega away from war. And she wants to throw herself into another.”

“I don’t want her to go,” Crosshair says. “But I think she’s already made up her mind. I don’t know where she gets her stubbornness from. Certainly not from me.”

Hunter chokes on the laugh that bubbles up through the mire of sorrow. “Hate to break it to you, Cross, but you’ve got a stubborn streak a hundred klicks wide.”

“Do I?” Crosshair muses, and Hunter glances at him in time to see a grin twitch his lips in the moonlight. “Because she reminds me an awful lot of you.”

“I see a little bit of all of us in her,” Hunter admits, “and yet she is still something all her own.”

Crosshair hums in agreement.

“What if she loses that?” Hunter asks. “What if joining the Rebellion steals that spark she’s always had? We changed so much from the time we were cadets and then soldiers. We didn’t have a choice. But Omega does. She doesn’t have to face the horrors we did, experience the pain and suffering. She’s safe here. Why can’t that be enough for her?”

“Omega already has battle scars, Hunter,” Crosshair says. “You think she went unscathed living the life she did before Pabu? The kid’s tougher than she looks.”

“I never said I didn’t think she could handle it,” Hunter argues, “She just shouldn’t have to.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Crosshair says. “She wants to. Whether we like it or not, she’s a grown woman. She needs to make her own decisions. She needs to have her own cause, her own life. She won’t have us forever!”

That last sentence is like a blaster bolt to the heart, a burning, white hot sensation that drives the breath from Hunter’s lungs. But he takes the pain and shoves it deep, turning his grieved anger on Crosshair instead. “So you want her to go. You’re encouraging her.”

“You know that’s not true,” Crosshair bites out, and Hunter can hear the effort his brother puts into controlling his own, retaliating anger. “But it’s not up to us. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We have to let go.”

Bruised silence solidifies between them, and Hunter can’t find it in himself to disturb it. He should apologize, should appreciate Crosshair’s attempt at playing the mediator in spite of his own feelings on the matter. Why does Hunter feel at odds with every sibling, no matter where they stand on the issue?

“You’re stronger than I am,” Hunter mutters at last. “Omega can just talk to you about it…but with me, it’s a fight. Why?”

Crosshair sighs. “Because she doesn’t want my blessing, Hunter. She wants yours.”

And the last of Hunter’s brittle, emotional barrier crumbles completely.

END

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[neyswxrld]

stormy weather

Echo, no pairing

summary: Echo has a low and is in a lot of pain after his physical therapy. Wrecker is there to help. Set after TCW S7 E1-4.

warnings: derpessed feelings, hopelessness, phantom pain

words: ~1400

a/n: hello everyone! here's another fic for @summer-of-bad-batch! this time i could even bring in three different prompts: "you're a bad liar.", battle scars and the bonus prompt light in the darkness. it's been a long time since i wrote something for echo, i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Physical therapy was horrible.

He hated it with all his guts.

His legs hurt, they burned, and he felt like they were going to fall off. But the worst thing was: he couldn't make it feel better.

Hell, he didn't have those legs anymore and still they made his life so much more painful.

Pump, the physical therapist, tried to help him a lot and even though his tips and advice sometimes did wonders, he still hurt.

Then there was his stomach - he had problems adjusting to the amount of food he needed. When he was on Skako Minor, he was mostly fed with fluids. Now he needed to chew his food again, taste the grossness of it, and just swallow down the weird consistency.

Also - his muscles hurt. Pump always said he needed to build them up, so he can be fast and strong again. And he knew he had to. He really wanted to. But on some days, he just felt like he couldn't.

Today was a day like that.

Pump made him do some exercises with an odd looking thing. He never did those exercises before. Not even in ARC training. And even though he tried so hard, at some point he just couldn't do it anymore.

He felt like a failure. Like he wasn't good enough. How would he ever be able to keep up with everyone? Especially with the Batch? He could learn all their crazy plans, but how could he contribute anything, when he just wasn't strong, fast and persistent enough?

Pump had tried to cheer up him up, but Echo almost fled out of the training room.

He needed to get away. At the same time, he already felt the embarrassment creep up his neck. He felt like a shiny, on his first day on a Venator-class Star Destroyer, where everything was just overwhelming even though they already learned how it would be like on the inside. In theory, at least.

He was stumbling along the walls, trying to find his way to the Batch's barracks.

He just wanted to be alone and sulk in his hammock, until he felt better about his sorry self. He was so disappointed in himself and his lack of ability.

When he reached their barracks, he slipped inside. Relieved, he realized that he was alone. The others seemed to have training, or were up to something else.

He sighed once, before making his way over to his sleeping place, not bothering to turn the lights on.

From outside, he could hear thunder. The rain rattled against the large windows, and not for the first time he could laugh about the irony of Kamino. He felt like the weather was mirroring his conflicted and sad feelings. The storm outside was just as unpredictable and unhinged as the one inside him.

He curled up into a small ball, trying to disappear in himself.

When his hands... His hand touched his metal knees, and his scomp made a small 'clink' noise, he sighed a second time.

Never did he expect to turn out... like this, when he finally passed his final test, such a long time ago. With Fives, Hevy, Cutup and Droidbait.

He knew it was practically hopeless, but he still always imagined how all of them made it out of the war alive. Together. He liked to daydream about what would happen after all of it. After all the pain, and fear, and grief. He was sure Droidbaid would start a bakery one day. Cutup and Hevy would open a gym, just to train like maniacs themselves. And Fives probably would have traveled a lot. He always wanted to try and see new things. Just about his own future, Echo wasn't sure. But he soon realized, it wouldn't matter anyway.

After Rishi, after Hevy's, Droidbait's and Cutup's death, he realized that all their dreams and hopes were indeed meaningless.

He always thought he would during the war.

He was so sure he would, when that shuttle exploded on Lola Sayu.

He never knew what life would have brought for him, but he never would have guessed to turn out as a cyborg.

He almost didn't hear how the door opened behind him. Just when Wrecker's face appeared in his sight, he realized that he had company.

"Hey, Echo. Back again already?" the brawler asked and grinned down at him.

Echo looked back with big eyes. "Yeah," he nodded.

"So soon, too? Thought it would take another half an hour at least. How was it?" Wrecker started to talk to him, patting the side of his hammock.

Echo blinked a few times.

"Yeah... I-... Pump decided we should take a break. It was... great," he murmured and looked around, just not to meet Wrecker's eyes.

Wrecker stared at him for a few seconds, not moving an inch.

"Are you feeling okay?" he then decided to ask.

"I? Y-Yeah. I'm fine," he tried to assure his new brother, and forced a light smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. He knew that.

Wrecker knew, too: "You’re a bad liar."

He sighed again. "I know," he whispered.

Wrecker carefully stepped over and took a seat next to Echo, making the hammock swing back and forwards a few times.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked and put a hand on Echo's metallic calf. He couldn't feel the warmth of Wrecker's fingers, couldn't really feel the pressure. It was almost as if they weren't there at all.

Echo looked at Wrecker. At his younger, bigger brother, who seemed so happy and joyful all the time. He was so strong and gentle at the same time. And when Echo looked into Wrecker's face, at the scar and his milky eye, he just knew he could talk to him. When someone could understand what he was going through, even just in a slight way, it was Wrecker.

"It's just hard... Adjusting and stuff," he almost whispered.

He saw how Wrecker's thumb was moving up and down, swallowed, and took another breath.

"Physical therapy feels like torture. I can't- I just can't really do anything like I could before. I'm weak, and exhausted so fast. And I know it takes time, but it just takes... so long," he started to play around with his scomp, "and everything hurts."

Wrecker nodded, with an understanding look in his eyes.

"I know it's hard. And it's never going to be like before again. But we can try. We can try to make it easier. To make it better. And to make everything feel okay again," Wrecker said. "Healing isn't easy. It's hard and it's exhausting. And it's not just a straight line up. It's like a road full of holes and bumps and stones. But you have to try to jump over them, Echo."

Echo looked up at him with teary eyes. Wrecker's expression was so honest and genuine, that he didn't doubt a word he said.

"I know it's hard, but you have to keep going. I know you can. And if you need help, we're always here for you," Wrecker ended.

Echo nodded. He knew, but everything just seemed so hopeless sometimes.

"What helped you the most?" the former ARC-Trooper wanted to know.

A small smile appeared on his brother's lips.

"My brothers. The Batch," he said, and his smile grew even bigger.

"Every time I felt like I was at the bottom and couldn't do it anymore, they were there. And they pulled me up again. I couldn't have done it without them," he confessed, and Echo's heart warmed a bit by that.

He smiled at Wrecker, and he realized that everything just felt a little lighter.

The storm in him seemed to calm down a little. The clouds made space for a small ray of sunlight.

He still had aches everywhere, and he still was way too exhausted. But at least he felt a little spark of hope in him, like a light in the darkness. Warm and cozy, and ready to get even brighter.

Wrecker's words felt good, and he knew he could seek out the others whenever he needed them. Even Crosshair.

He knew everything would be going to be okay again. He knew he could do it. He knew he would be up and kicking again, even if it would take some time.

Sometimes he just needed a little heads up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[lifblogs]

It Does

Week 6 @summer-of-bad-batch Prompt: Battle Scars Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 993 Summary: Hunter works up the courage to ask Crosshair if the scars on his head ever hurt. READ ON AO3

“Does it ever hurt?” Hunter asked, words halting.

He and Crosshair were down by the docks, dusk painting the sky in purple and gold, the waters now dark, comfortable shadows enveloping them. The soft lapping of the water against the wood and the docked boats was soothing, which was probably the only reason Hunter had worked up the courage to even ask this.

“Does what hurt?” Crosshair spat. 

Oh, classic Crosshair.

“Your scars—the ones on your head,” Hunter explained.

“Did you take me down here just to talk about this?”

“No.”

He had just wanted a quiet moment with his brother—he felt all the work they were doing on their house recently had made it so they were always busy, always doing something. Most days Hunter appreciated that, the soldier in him always ready to be on the move, to strategize, to organize, to lead. He was still learning to take breaks, even when he woke up in the middle of the night, having a horrible fear clenching over his entire torso, and stealing his breaths, telling him he was in danger, that his family was in danger, that he was in the middle of battle. He didn’t tell anyone, but he used those moments to work on their home. Today he was just tired, so tired, and he was doing his best to listen to that for once. He had to remind himself he actually had the luxury to.

“I just think we needed a break,” he explained. “Besides, Wrecker, Tech, and Phee took Omega to that night market Shep’s hosting.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really my scene.”

“So… the scars,” Hunter ventured again, guilt flooding his chest right above his stomach, like he’d swallowed too much of something too quickly, and it burned going down. “Do they—”

“Yes,” Crosshair admitted.

They sat for a bit, listening to the gentle water.

“Of course it hurts,” Crosshair went on. But his words weren’t bitter despite his tone. “Bacta helped to heal from it, but they had to do a skin graft.”

Hunter turned to look at his brother, to look at the scar.

“I don’t blame you,” Crosshair said. “I think I did for a long time, and in a way, I still hurt, but I see the choices we thought we had to make. What happened was inevitable. Besides, I shot you. You should be the one complaining.”

Hunter leaned back, resting his weight on the palms of his hands, watching the gold transform further into a to a deeper purple before his eyes. The lamp he’d brought with them that could sense when it was dark turned on, adding a soft, golden glow to their surroundings, lighting up Crosshair’s scar, casting shadows to the deeper pits in it.

Hunter made himself look, not because the scar was strange, but because he wanted to face the truth of it.

His brother was in pain.

“Sometimes I think my choices hurt more than the scar does,” Crosshair admitted. “I, uh… I had my inhibitor chip removed afterwards. It was my choice. I had AZI do it. I hid it from the Empire.”

Hunter’s eyes widened, and he looked at his face, the face that was still so-often closed off, that was working on showing honesty.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to say it before,” he went on. “It didn’t matter much to me because…” He sighed. “Because, well… I believed in the Empire, even without the chip. I tried so hard to believe in them, to believe they cared, that they’d given me a place, a purpose. I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize,” Hunter said.

Now it was Crosshair’s turn to look at him with confusion. “Why not?”

“The Empire hurt you in ways I didn’t understand—in ways none of us understood. You were working with the information you had, just like I was.”

Crosshair gave a slight shrug, and looked back to the water, kicking his feet.

“Heh, I guess so.”

“You still blame yourself, don’t you?” Hunter asked.

“Just as you do,” Crosshair responded, as sharp as ever, still able to not only pinpoint a precise target, but to understand everything he saw and took in. Watching others had given him a keen understanding of humanity, maybe one even stronger than the one Hunter’s enhanced senses gave him.

Hunter let out a deep exhale, the sound filling his ears, interrupting the beat of his brother’s heart to his senses.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s stupid,” he eventually said. “We’ve been through so much, and we still have these—these battle scars.”

“What, you think scars just go away?” Crosshair asked, tone almost teasing, glancing at Hunter with an expression that anyone outside their family would have thought was disgust.

“No, but… time’s passed, and yet it’s still there. Why does it work that way? What is it doing for us? You know what I mean?”

“I do wish they would leave,” Crosshair admitted. “I don’t… hate you, Hunter. I’m not sure I ever really did.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Crosshair huffed out a laugh, and shoved him.

“You’re right though. It would be nice if it could stop hurting.”

“Does it ever?” Hunter asked, referring to Crosshair’s physical scars as well.

Crosshair smiled at him—he actually smiled (Hunter was so going to use this as blackmail)—and he said, “Yeah, it does.”

Hunter knew where his mind had gone, and his had inevitably gone to the same place: Omega, their family.

Hunter stood, grabbing the lamp, and then held out his hand to help Crosshair up. For a moment he felt his chest constrict (but in the most pleasant way) when Crosshair took his hand without hesitation. This was his brother, and he was happy to be with him, and it seemed Crosshair felt the same.

“Come on, I’m still hungry,” Hunter admitted. “Let’s go meet up with the others and see what food the night market has.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

[tlmtwelve]

"Battles leave scars, some you can't see." - Kanan Jarrus

Week 6 prompt: @summer-of-bad-batch

[summer-of-bad-batch]

Week 6 Prompt Drop!!

Main Prompt: Battle Scars

Alternative Prompt: "Get out of my room!"

Just shy of halfway through the Summer of Bad Batch prompts! Can you believe it??

This week's tags:

#summerofbadbatch2024 #week6 #battle scars #get out of my room!

[nelizabethmu]

Original Content Writing #3 - Week 6

User experience analysis - Who are we as users of tumblr?

An important aspect of the WRIT318 practice of using tumblr is a mix of blocks of text and images. This is evidenced last week through our peer review requests. Because tumblr is suited to intermix text and images easily in a post and there is no character limit on text, we are able to demonstrate our thoughts both visually and textually and expand in-depth in our posts.

The reblog function of tumblr is also an important part of communication in WRIT318. Rather than simply commenting on a classmate's post, reblogs create a post on your own blog to show your responses to classmates. Reblogs become an essential part of posting strategy, and responses and counter-responses are laid out chronologically in those posts.

[happydragon]

Insubordination

Eden has had a long day and would like nothing more than to nap before her boys get home for dinner. At least she would if she didn't hear a scream when she got home.

Ao3

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,218

I was feeling fluffy so here y'all go!!!

@summer-of-bad-batch

Eden was exhausted. She started the day with casual maintenance only to end with trying to repair Mr. Orkin’s door which did not want to cooperate. She hated to call Tech, with his leg and all but she needed his help. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, thankfully. He was an interesting person. She never got to meet him before he, well didn’t die, but she saw how it affected his family. They all seemed happier now, brighter even. The joy of his return had definitely infected the island, one way or another. After everything, the people deserved it, especially her boys. 

The house was empty when she arrived, which wasn’t unusual since the boys had made plenty of friends on the island that they hung out with. Checking her chrono, she figured she had enough time to nap before dinner and her boys should be back by then. It was a good plan until she was startled by a yell from the boys’ room. 

“ Get out of my room! ” was the only thing she heard before she ran into the room. If she wasn’t scared out of her wits, she would have laughed at the sight she discovered. Deke chased a moon-yo that had seemed to have gotten in through the bedroom window, most likely startling the poor kid, and by extension her. 

After Deke attempted to either grab it or shoo it for a second time, the moon-yo who was already agitated and frightened swiped at Deke’s outstretched hand, scratching it in the process. Instinctively, the young clone snatched back his hand and glared at the moon-yo in return. 

“Let me see,” Eden said as she approached and gently took hold of his arm. Upon closer inspection, she could see it was just a superficial scratch and wouldn’t leave a mark. She sighed internally. Once she knew Deke was alright, she turned to the moon-yo and found it climbing out the window all by itself. 

“Right,” she said as she turned back to her kid, “Now that that’s been taken care of, let's get you taken care of.”

“Wait. The moon-yo knocked over a cup when it came in.” 

She followed where he was pointing and found said cup in a small puddle of water. 

“We can take care of that later. You’re the priority right now.”

With that, she led them to the fresher where the med kit was stored. Having injured herself enough times, she absentmindedly went through the process of cleaning and covering the scratch.  

“Where are your brothers?” she asked absentmindedly, more focused on making sure he was alright. 

“I wasn’t feeling well, so I came back after school to rest,” he explained, “They wanted to come, but I know some of the other kids had something planned today and I didn’t want them to miss out. I can deal with a headache by myself.”

She hummed as she spritzed some bacta, causing him to hiss and try to pull away. Apologizing, she gently took his arm back and covered it with a small bandage. A tiny part of her couldn’t help but think about how if the war had continued, his arm would be littered with battle scars . 

Once done, she lightly patted his arm before standing back up to put away the med kit and fetch a towel for the spill. But as she turned to find a towel, Deke beat her to it and sped past her into the bedroom. With efficiency that most likely came from his training, he cleaned the spill and put the cup in the sink in less than three minutes. After he tossed the towel into the laundry, he oddly approached her with his head hung low. 

“I’m sorry for leaving the window open which allowed the moon-yo in and caused the cup to spill.”

Her heart sank slightly upon hearing that he thought this was his fault. 

“Accidents happen kiddo,” she gently said as she placed a hand on his cheek which made him tilt his head up and look at her directly. She was grateful he hadn’t learned to weaponize his big brown doe eyes. At least not yet. Maker help her if all three learn at the same time. Hopefully, she’ll build up a resistance to it before then. 

“But-”

“No buts. Moon-yos have a mind of their own so you couldn’t make it come in and knock over the cup. Accidents happen and it’s okay to ask for help when they do. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she mockingly scoffed which made Deke giggle, “Not sure how to feel about that.” 

“How about Commander?” a hint of mischievousness coated his voice. 

“Oh Commander now is it? Does that mean I get to command you to clean the fresher? Or command you to eat all your food? Or better yet, you command you to stay put while I squeeze you.”

To prove her point she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight while he laughed and tried to squirm away. She refused to let him go until he hugged her back. After a few more minutes of squirming, he managed to poke his fingers at her sides which caused her to shriek and immediately let go of the young cadet. Once recovered, she rounded Deke to find him trying to hide a smile from behind his hand. 

“Oh, you’ve made a very big mistake. This means war.”

He yelped as she surged forward, but easily dodged her grasp. Thus the chase began. The sounds of their laughter filled the house as they ran around. Deke's smile was bright and clear, filling Eden’s heart at the sight. 

He came within her reach several times but always managed to evade her until she finally cornered him. Immediately she pulled him close and squeezed him as she poked his sides. He yelped and howled with laughter as he half-heartedly tried to escape. 

“Mox! Stak! Help me!” Deke gasped, causing Eden to turn her head and find said boys at the entry, heads cocked and confused smiles on their faces. 

“He was being insubordinate,” she explained with a grin, “This is his punishment.”

The cadets looked at each other before turning back to the pair on the floor as Stak declared with a barely contained smile, “We’ll rescue you, Deke!”

Suddenly both boys charged and tackled her to the ground. She grunted at the impact and once more as Deke, who was free, plopped down on top of her as well. 

“We have you captured now!” Mox declared while simultaneously latching onto her like a moon-yo, rendering her right arm immobile. Stak on the other hand, laid across her legs and Deke helped add to his brothers’ weight. 

“Alright, I surrender you ruffians.” They cheered. “Let me up and I’ll make one of your favorite dishes.”

They cheered once more, with Mox excitedly asking if he could help. When she nodded, he pumped his fists, which made her smile wide. While he followed her to the kitchen, Deke and Stak went to their room happily chatting about whatever Stak saw on his way home. As she observed the three of them, all smiling with bright youthful faces, she knew that they were her boys and no one would tell her otherwise.

Hope y'all enjoyed it!! I have a TechPhee fic coming up next hehe. Til then!!!

[jbh-from-pa]

What did I learn from the Data Analysis Project?

The Data Analysis project taught me that each data point on a social media post can tell us something about how effective the post was, but the data points can be combined for a deeper analysis. For instance, the ratio of Kudos to Hits on my AO3 posts could show me things about the performance of my work that just looking at the data points individually couldn't tell me. This will help me in the next module by giving me a way of analyzing data more deeply than just looking at individual likes or view counts.

[lefthandeddrummer]

Original Content (Week 6 Post 3)

audience analysis - who are we, as students of this course, as an audience? Practice your audience analysis skills by providing details you've gleaned about your classmates through your interactions with them in this space

As the students of this class, we are an audience. From my use of Tumblr within the discourse community of our class recently, I have learned some things about our class as an audience. It seems to me that most people interact with the posts that are made for the class that have engaging graphics and shorter text. I think when students are looking for posts to reblog, they often lean towards the posts that are shorter. This may be out of laziness or it may just be because the posts with less content allow for more to be added to them. It's easier to add something on to a short post just because there is more available to say. At first glance, this may look like that our class is just lazy but I think further consideration, reveals that it may be more of a strategy. While this isn't the most revealing analysis, I believe that the data provided from Tumblr can only provide so much insight over a short period of time.

[aron-the-gamer]

Thursday check in Week #6

I have two questions regarding the upcoming analysis assignment. For starters when we are doing our research on content creators would you prefer if those creators discussed similar topics, or would it not matter?

My other question is regarding how I go about explaining my data to the content creators themselves. You bring up a good point in that we should make sure the data delivered makes sense to readers either casual or professional. I know that professional analytics would tend to be more lengthy and detail oriented when retaining to research as opposed to sharing information with clients. My main goal is to make my data come across the creators seem quick and easy to read whilst getting valuable points across. Are there any strategies you would recommend for condensing data collected so that it is both quick and easy to understand for causal audience members such as the creators?

@npfannen

[foxwithadarkside]

I'm not crying, you're crying Summer of Bad Batch Week 6

Main Prompt: Battle Scars @summer-of-bad-batch

[kybercrystals94]

Treacherous Waters

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 6 | Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 6 | "Get out of my room!" | Week 7 | "Don't avoid the question." | Getting a Haircut

Rated: G | Words: 800 | Summary: “Crosshair knows he should be relieved, but somehow he’s tread into more treacherous waters.”

The house is quiet when Crosshair walks in the back door. If Omega’s boots and sandals lined neatly against the wall are anything to go by, his sister is home, which makes the quietness of the house all the more suspicious. In the couple years they’ve lived on Pabu, Omega has taken to listening to music constantly, volume turned full whenever she’s home alone. Silence and Omega in the same place is unsettling this time of day. 

“I’m home,” Crosshair calls out, struggling out of his fishing boots. 

No answer. 

Crosshair pushes his boots against the wall with his foot. “Omega?”

“I’m busy!” a voice calls back from the direction of her room. She sounds upset. 

Shrugging out of his coat and hanging on its hook, Crosshair starts down the hall. Omega’s door is only half closed, so he swings it open and steps inside. Omega is sitting on the floor facing her full length mirror. Crosshair only just catches her shocked features in the reflection before her hands fly to her forehead and she spins around to face him. “Get out of my room!” she orders. 

“What’s wrong with your head?” Crosshair demands, holding his ground. He doesn’t see any blood, but blood isn’t the only indication of a head injury. 

Omega glares up at him. “Nothing! Get out!” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Please, just go away!” 

Crosshair crosses his arms. “No. Stop avoiding the question. Are you hurt?”

Omega’s shoulders slump, but she keeps her hands securely plastered against the front of her head. “Physically, no. I’m fine.” 

Crosshair knows he should be relieved, but somehow he’s tread into more treacherous waters. Emotions. 

Kriffing Sith’s hells. 

“So…” Crosshair swallows. “You’re hurt…emotionally?” 

“It’s stupid,” Omega says. “It’s my own stupid fault.” 

Crosshair can just walk away now. Leave Omega to sort it out herself. She already told him – ordered him – to leave. 

“You have to promise not to laugh,” Omega continues before he can make up his mind. 

Oh. So Omega’s emotional turmoil might be funny to him. Crosshair doesn’t know whether to be offended or intrigued, so he simply nods. Omega’s hands drop into her lap, and Crosshair’s jaw drops to the floor. 

“They’re awful aren’t they,” Omega cries, staring up at him, a crumbled expression under a massacre of bangs. 

“Did Batcher chew them off?” is the first quip that launches unintentionally out of his mouth. 

Omega scowls. “I told you not to laugh.” 

“I’m not laughing, it’s an honest question,” Crosshair lies. He has to use his flesh hand to literally clamp his mouth to keep from smiling. 

“You’re the worst!” Omega howls, flopping back to lay on the floor, arms and legs sprawled and gangly. She’s making it really, really hard not to laugh. Maker have mercy.

“Just wear a hat until they grow out,” Crosshair says. “It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t just wear a hat all the time,” Omega whines.

“Well, what do you want from me then?” Crosshair asks, rolling his eyes.

Omega looks at him shrewdly. “I want you to feel sorry for me and not laugh at me.” She blows out a puff of breath that makes the remaining tufts of her bangs flutter. 

“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’ve come to the wrong brother,” Crosshair informs her. 

Omega quirks an eyebrow. “Actually, you came to me.”

“Because I thought you were dying. Now that I know it’s only wounded pride, I’m leaving.” Crosshair turns on his heel and walks out the door. 

He hears Omega scramble to her feet and follow him. “Wait! Can you help me even them out?” 

“Absolutely not,” Crosshair declares. “I will not be held responsible for any further destruction. Ask Hunter.”

“No!” 

“Why not?” Crosshair walks into the kitchen and begins digging around in the cupboards for a snack. 

Omega leans her elbows against the island counter. “Because I asked him to help me trim my bangs yesterday and he told me to wait until he got home today. But I got impatient and I found this foolproof tutorial on the holonet…” 

“Oh, ho!” Crosshair chortles, snatching a box of cookies from the shelf. “The plot thickens.” 

“But listen,” Omega pleads, “I didn’t have the right scissors, so really it’s not my fault.” 

Crosshair opens the fridge and frowns when he sees they’re out of milk. “Sure, blame the scissors.” 

“Crosshair,” Omega groans, putting her head down on the counter, “you’re not helping at all.” 

“Nope!” Crosshair agrees cheerfully, opening the box of cookies. He pops one in his mouth, then takes out another and sets it near Omega’s face. “There. Now I’ve helped.” 

A small grin tugs at the corners of his sister’s lips, and she takes the cookie.

Hm. Maybe he isn’t so bad at this emotional stuff after all. 

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[neyswxrld]

the odd one out

Hunter, no pairing

summary: Hunter has the biggest secret among them all. He spent his whole life with keeping his second form to himself, not telling anyone anything about it. But what if they still figure it out?

warnings: hunter has a "second form" of a wolf (yeah, i know it's a cliché but it fits so well xD), but nothing else really

words: ~1900

a/n: hello everyone! i heard it's halloween already? the werewolves are already here? no, i'm just kidding. :D i had the idea for this story when i found an old obsession with a book series (woodwalkers), in which people can switch their forms. then i tried to figure out how i might put this into a story, and remembered @isthereanechoinhere96 's fic hunter - sergeant, brother, dad, where she came up with the idea of how hunter got his enhaced senses, so i definitely want to credit her for this idea. theeeen i additionally figured i might add some @summer-of-bad-batch prompts ("get out of my room!", "don't avoid the question." and "just when were you planning on telling us that?") and tadaaa - here it is. i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

His paws pound against the forest floor.

Even though Pabu is a tropical and warm island, this particular night is cold, and his breath comes out of his snout in small clouds.

It's been such a long time since he had the freedom to really be in his second form like that.

Pabu finally gave him this opportunity again, and since they lived here, he tried to run some miles as a wolf as often as he could.

He takes a deep breath through his wet nose, and lets his senses reach out. He's able to feel practically everything around him in this forest.

When he is human, his senses are above average, of course. It was his enhancement.

But being out like this, in his second form as a wolf, is just incredible.

He smells the juicy moss, the wet dirt on the floor. Different kinds of trees, bushes and plants.

And of course the animals.

There are some birds in a nest right above him, the mother is just about to give them some worms.

He is pretty sure there is a small rodent cave somewhere on his right, and little does the small thing inside know that there is another predator lingering just in front of the entry.

He also notices that there is someone walking around in the woods, poking around with a stick, afflicted with the smell of fresh mushrooms.

Hunter takes it as a sign to go back home. He needs to make sure that nobody sees him like this, in his wolf body.

There aren't any local wolves on the island, so it would be very suspicious when somebody would suddenly see one.

He takes a shortcut to their house.

The wolf carefully avoids anyone, and when he finally makes it to their garden, he sneaks into his room.

Not even his brothers know of his second form.

The Kaminoans insisted that he should never tell anyone anything. Not even his brothers. They drilled him, told him the other's would think he's weird, and even threatened to decommission them when he told them. To put it... nicely.

He never knew why his second form was such a big secret, but he never, never ever, told anyone about it.

It was his biggest secret.

And even now, even after the fall of the Republic and the Kaminoans, he keeps his secret.

By now, he is sure the others will think he's... a defect. Just like the regs used to call them. But in his case it was just true - who else was able to change forms in such a strange way?

And besides - he knows them since they took his first breath. It would make no sense to spit it out now, after all those years.

First, they will feel betrayed that he kept this secret, then they'll reject him and send him away. They'll tell him how strange and disgusting he is - just like the Kaminoans prophesied over and over again.

Hunter sneaks over to the patio door of his room. He purposefully chose the one with the door to the garden and let the others take the rooms upstairs - wolves just weren't good climbers. And he didn't want to change his forms in the garden.

It would be weird if one of his family members found his clothes between bushes.

He looks around, crosses the garden and walks into his room.

He shakes his fur a last time, before beginning the fast process of changing forms.

His hair disappears into his skin, his teeth and claws shrink. His ears are suddenly back to their human form, his snout is a human nose again, and his tail is gone.

He gets up, stretches his hands into the air, bends his back and looks directly in the shocked eyes of Wrecker.

"Hunter?" his little brother asks.

"Get out of my room!" Hunter yells, almost jumping out of his skin.

From one second to the other, he's panicking.

He was just philosophizing about his secret and now it's just- gone.

"No- wait- what was that?"

"Nothing! What was what? Wrecker, get out!" Hunter comes over and starts to push Wrecker out of the room.

"Stop it! I know what I saw, I just don't know what it was! Tell me!" Wrecker insists, not even moving an inch. "You were a ball of fur with those big teeth and now- now you're Hunter again!" he almost accuses him.

"I don't even have clothes on!" Hunter still tries to move Wrecker around, but he's just like a solid wall. He lays a hand onto the door frame and holds on - Hunter doesn't have the slightest chance of moving him away.

Tears of despair form in his eyes.

Was this it? He kept it from his brothers for years, just to expose himself like that? Why the hell didn't he even smell or hear Wrecker?

"Don't avoid the question, Hunter! Just put on some pants!" the brawler says. He's not letting it go.

Hunter breathes heavily. For a short moment, he feels ready to cry.

Until he looks into Wrecker's eyes.

Immediately, he sees that he's confused. Scared.

Oh maker, Wrecker was scared. Of him.

He takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

He doesn't want Wrecker to be scared - he needs to explain it to him, so Wrecker doesn't fear him anymore. Then he still could pack his things. They could still throw him out after explaining.

He takes some pants and puts them on, still not ready to say anything.

And if that wouldn't be enough already, Crosshair and Tech are suddenly standing behind Wrecker, alarmed by all the noise and screaming.

"What are you doing?" Crosshair asks.

Hunter looks at Wrecker, pleading, but the latter already starts talking: "Hunter has a secret! A big one even! He's a wolf!"

Crosshair and Tech look at each other, then at Hunter, then at Wrecker.

"You're crazy," Crosshair says, and Tech also just starts to walk away. "I knew this warm air isn't good for you. For the two of you, apparently," Crosshair shakes his head.

Wrecker huffs.

"No, it's true! One second ago there was this big dark wolf and in the next it starts to look like an alien, and BOOM! Then there's just Hunter," Wrecker starts to explain. Hunter shakes is head.

"Firstly, I'm not an alien! Secondly, it definitely didn't make boom!" Hunter growls and this time, Wrecker takes a step back.

"Please don't bite me," he cries out.

He's so scared, Hunter thinks. There's no way he can make amends ever again, he was sure of that.

"What? I would never-- Wrecker, what are you thinking of me?" Hunter still asks.

Wrecker swallows. "Well, there indeed was a wolf just a few seconds ago. I don't know what to think, but I'm sure I know what I saw, Hunter. Please, explain it to us."

Hunter sighs, already deflated. He doesn't exactly see a way out of this.

He takes another look at his brothers - Crosshair and Tech took a step back again - and shakes his head.

"I don't even know where to start," he says.

"So Wrecker isn't just saying things?" Tech asks.

Hunter shakes his head, "No, he's right- I- He- I didn't even know he was here."

"Why don't you start at the beginning? How did something like that happen?" Crosshair suggests.

Hunter shrugs again.

"I've been like this since I can remember. The first time I changed forms was when I was about three years old. Nala Se told me she almost decommissioned me, but she decided otherwise. I changed back after a few minutes, and because of that I was a too valuable specimen for her 'projects'," Hunter says, trying to shrug nonchalant.

He's standing in front of his brothers like a kicked dog, and they look at him like he was growing a second head.

Well, it wasn't that far off in the end, right?

"She... studied you?" Crosshair asks. Hunter nods.

"At some point, she explained that she experimented with different DNAs a lot. It obviously worked with mine. And it seemed like there was a mixture of different animal DNAs that went pretty well with mine. That's also how my senses work. I'm pretty sure there's some kind of shark in my genes, too," the oldest sibling explains. The others listen.

"Can you... turn into a shark, too?" Tech wants to know. Hunter declines: "Not that I know of, at least."

"So your senses work with the animal genes?" Tech asks another question, "How exactly does it work?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself. I just know that switching forms was more of an accident. If I'm right, not even Nala Se knows how it worked. It's just... odd," Hunter shrugs his shoulders.

Luckily, Wrecker doesn't look as scared anymore, but Crosshair just scoffs.

"Are you crazy? Why do you make up stuff like that? And you two - you just believe stuff like this?"

Hunter looks at him, not knowing what to say.

"Can't you show them? I want to see it again, too!" Wrecker says at this moment and even Tech looks interested.

Hunter rolls his eyes, but does as they want him to. The cat -or wolf- is out of the bag anyway.

"Wow!" Wrecker breathes as Hunter ends the process and shakes his pants off his furry butt again.

"This is very interesting, indeed," Tech agrees. He crouches down, rights his googles and inspects Hunter from different angles.

Crosshair looks at him with big eyes, unbelieving of what he sees.

Wrecker carefully pats Hunter's furry head, but he just shakes his body and changes forms again. Now isn't the time for pets or treats.

"Just when were you planning on telling us that?" Crosshair wants to know.

"Well... Not ever?" Hunter asks, before diving into an explanation.

"So- you tell us, the defect squad, that you never told us, even after the war, because we, the defect squad, might have thought you were weird?" Crosshair asks to clarify.

"Well, you were freaked out! You can't tell me I'm not weird!" Hunter tries to defend himself.

Wrecker just laughs and pats his back.

"I thought you were weird even before that," he laughs heartily.

Hunter is relieved. To some degree at least. Does that mean they won't abandon him?

"Could you still do me a favor and not tell Omega? I don't want to... scare her," he asks them. They look at him, uncomprehending.

"Just... give me some time, yeah?" he asks after a second. He didn't want to exclude their sister, but he felt like he wasn't ready for this step.

After his brothers agreed on that, the four of them made their way over to the living room.

Tech and Wrecker still ask many questions, and Hunter has to show his second form a few more times, let Tech inspect him and Wrecker pet him.

He doesn't actually mind: he is way too relieved about their relaxed reactions and if he is being honest, Wrecker's warm hands feel pretty nice against his fur.

It just leaves one question open: Why was Wrecker in his room, when he came back?

When he asks him, Wrecker just shrugs.

"Haven't seen you a lot lately. We've been so busy! I just thought I'd come and annoy you. Didn't turn out how I wanted it to."

It is at that moment that Hunter could hit himself with a bat: His siblings, his family, won't ever dislike him, just because he's different.

They were way too odd for that themselves.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[zacharyyattackaryy]

Thursday Check-In Post #6

What assignment questions do you have that will help you complete the assignment successfully? How can I help you be successful?

@npfannen so I just briefly previewed the overview for our next project coming up this week, the content analysis project and for this week specifically the proposal, and all seems clear to me at this point except for one thing. The question I have is are we creating actual social media posts as part of this project? This part of the project brief has me a bit confused:

While it's probably obvious at this point, what content will YOU need to create? I have assigned this project in various forms for a few years. It is really important you pay attention NOW to the content YOU will NEED to create for the How to Write Guide. So, tell me what you'll need to create.

the content will NOT be graded for how professional it looks. You are following content creators that make money in this space - they have more equipment and time and resources. You will be graded for how well your content creation decisions show the content strategy conclusions you're drawing!

If you could let me know what's expected here that would be fantastic and much appreciated!

[aleyalea]

Graffiti as Protest: The Power of Street Art in Activism

MDA20009 DIGITAL COMMUNITIES

It’s been a while, but I’m back here! Today, we’re diving into social activism, protest, and citizenship specifically through the lens of street art and activism, with a focus on Banksy and his impact.

How Street Art Became a Voice for Change

Street art has evolved from being dismissed as “just graffiti” to a powerful tool of resistance, embodying both continuity and change in social activism. Its dynamic and aesthetic qualities play a crucial role in shaping the future of communities (Awad et al., 2017). Banksy, in particular, has turned street art into a megaphone for everything from anti-capitalism to anti-war messages. His work isn’t just eye-catching, it’s thought-provoking and accessible, reaching people who might not pay attention to protests or politics otherwise.

Banksy’s work often uses humor and irony, giving it a unique power to resonate. This British irony serves as a critical and imaginative tool, encouraging people to reflect on the possibilities and limitations of global justice (Brassett, 2009). He’s famous for using stencils to create images that pop up overnight, grabbing attention in public spaces. Take his iconic “Girl with a Balloon.” It’s simple but resonates with themes of hope and loss, things we all get. His style isn’t about fancy details but it’s straightforward and instantly recognizable. Banksy’s art can make you laugh and think at the same time something not many traditional art forms manage to do.

Girl with Balloon by Banksy

According to (MyArtBroker, 2023) The iconic Girl With Balloon, also known as Balloon Girl, first appeared in London in 2002. It was initially stenciled on the walls beneath Waterloo Bridge at London.

Can Art Speak the Truth?

Why does Banksy’s street art work as a symbol of protest? It’s because it taps into public frustration and becomes a rallying point for broader social movements. In 2019, Banksy’s Season’s Greetings appeared on a garage wall in Wales, showing a boy turning away from a snowy scene to focus on a dumpster on fire. Similar to his earlier work, Slave Labour, it turned public spaces into arenas for protest and social commentary (Hansen & Danny, 2015). This mural perfectly captured the mood of public frustration at a time when people felt overwhelmed by political instability and environmental issues.

Banksy’s Season’s Greetings

What makes Banksy’s art so powerful is how it taps into people’s emotions. He uses dark humor to shine a light on uncomfortable truths. By putting these tough subjects out in public spaces, his work grabs attention and sparks conversation. It becomes a protest in itself, encouraging people to confront social issues directly.

Street Art as a Tool for Activism

One of the coolest things about street art is how accessible it is. Unlike gallery art, street art is accessible to everyone, turning everyday streets into open-air exhibits. Flickr users, for instance, often tag and categorize street art, showing how they interpret and value this unique art form (Philipps et al., 2017). Banksy’s work turns walls and buildings into platforms for political messages, breaking down that invisible wall between “serious” art and everyday life. You don’t need a ticket or a fancy gallery, his art is just out there, making you think about things you wouldn’t normally stop to question.

Banksy Street Art Collection

When you stumble across a Banksy piece, it interrupts the daily grind, almost forcing you to think about whatever message he’s trying to get across. It’s activism in one of its purest forms, sneaking past the media filters and going straight to the public. This is why street art powerfully blends activism with public space, shaping political awareness through its presence and the conversations it sparks, as seen in depictions of Egyptian uprising activists (Blaagaard & Mollerup, 2020).

Banksy, Redefining Art as Activism

Banksy’s street art has completely redefined what it means to protest. Take Rage, the Flower Thrower, for example. Instead of a Molotov cocktail, a protester throws a bouquet of flowers, sending a clear message about peaceful resistance. Then there’s Kissing Coppers, where two policemen share a kiss, challenging everything we think we know about authority and masculinity. These pieces aren’t just cool to look at. They push us to think about big issues and spark important conversations. And thanks to social media, Banksy’s art doesn’t just stay on the streets. It spreads like wildfire, turning his pieces into global symbols of activism.

But Banksy’s legacy goes way beyond the walls he paints. He’s transformed street art from being labeled “vandalism” to a powerful form of social commentary that speaks to everyone. In a world that’s growing skeptical of politics and the media, his art offers something fresh, raw, unfiltered, and totally relatable. Through his humor and genius use of public spaces, Banksy has shown that art can be just as impactful as any protest march. It’s a reminder that activism doesn’t always have to be loud or in-your-face. Sometimes, it’s just a piece of art on a wall that makes you stop, think, and take action.

If you were a street artist, what kind of bold message would you slap on a wall?

References

Awad, S. H., Wagoner, B., & Glaveanu, V. (2017). The Street Art of Resistance. Resistance in Everyday Life, 161–180. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-10-3581-4_13

Blaagaard, B. B., & Mollerup, N. G. (2020). On political street art as expressions of citizen media in revolutionary Egypt. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 24(3), 434–453. https://doi.org/10.1177/1367877920960731

BRASSETT, J. (2009). British irony, global justice: a pragmatic reading of Chris Brown, Banksy and Ricky Gervais. Review of International Studies, 35(1), 219–245. https://doi.org/10.1017/s0260210509008390

Hansen, S., & Danny, F. (2015). “This is not a Banksy!”: street art as aesthetic protest. Continuum, 29(6), 898–912. https://doi.org/10.1080/10304312.2015.1073685

MyArtBroker. (2023). Girl With Balloon by Banksy | Buy & Sell | Background & Meaning. MyArtBroker. https://www.myartbroker.com/artist-banksy/series-girl-with-balloon

Philipps, A., Zerr, S., & Herder, E. (2017). The representation of street art on Flickr. Studying reception with visual content analysis. Visual Studies, 32(4), 382–393. https://doi.org/10.1080/1472586x.2017.1396193