#that is an example of a snow clone

[redactednzilch]

she snow on my clone till I change the words

[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom. 

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt. 

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket. 

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right? 

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal. 

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler. 

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears. 

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment. 

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it. 

Besides, his mind should be on other things. 

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal. 

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern. 

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers. 

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.) 

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above. 

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly. 

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.” 

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down. 

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby. 

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road. 

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times. 

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?” 

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.” 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something. 

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass. 

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living. 

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case. 

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)  

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too. 

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere. 

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs. 

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him. 

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise. 

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady. 

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back. 

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake. 

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam. 

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)  

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night. 

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours. 

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos. 

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive. 

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on. 

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night. 

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet. 

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night. 

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets. 

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both. 

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake. 

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat. 

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth. 

Oh, oh no. 

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck. 

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals. 

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.  

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black. 

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him. 

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter. 

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean. 

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment. 

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand. 

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt. 

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove. 

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease. 

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.   

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game. 

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up. 

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun. 

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!” 

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian. 

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear. 

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!” 

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm. 

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!” 

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf. 

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified. 

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively. 

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease. 

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around. 

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved. 

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away. 

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge. 

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.” 

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.” 

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how. 

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward. 

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him. 

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar. 

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip. 

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!” 

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was. 

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet. 

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?  

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance. 

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic. 

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button. 

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.] 

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.” 

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them. 

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.  

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again. 

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents? 

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’ 

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now. 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]  

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?” 

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly. 

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man. 

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain. 

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.” 

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.] 

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning. 

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days. 

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days. 

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed. 

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos. 

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him. 

“​​Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh! 

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?] 

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.” 

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh. 

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp. 

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him. 

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.] 

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again. 

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.” 

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard. 

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.” 

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that. 

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you? 

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’ 

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form. 

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm. 

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip. 

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first. 

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.] 

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up. 

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky. 

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried. 

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.  

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort. 

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool. 

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt. 

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. 

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side. 

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house. 

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction. 

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof. 

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door. 

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk. 

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it. 

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination. 

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.” 

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back. 

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask. 

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs. 

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword. 

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt. 

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless. 

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help. 

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin. 

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams. 

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.] 

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him. 

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english. 

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins. 

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more. 

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian. 

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk. 

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos. 

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another. 

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan. 

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone. 

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

[understandingbimbos]

Bimbo Types, or Neapolitan Bimbo

(This is something I've previously gone over in my My Little Pony post but wanted to reiterate here.)

Bimbo can most easily be divided into three distinct archetypes. The Clown, The Innocent, and The Debutante. These archetypes are not absolute, they come in many variations and their traits can and will overlap.

The Clown, also known as The Free Spirit or The Wildcard, usually shows up as the comedic relief. They can be loud, showy, excessive, and obnoxious. Their sexuality is very self-assured, self-aware, and playful. The Clown's main concern (if any) is having or spreading fun, "fun" in this context being completely up to their individual style and personality. To give a very stereotypical example, a goth clown may have the most fun watching very violent horror movies or playing with spiders. Another clown could have the most fun (Incidentally) causing a ruckus or being mischievous, it's all about perspective, the possibilities are pretty much endless.

Examples of this archetype include but are not limited to: Jeannie (IDOJ), Pinkie Pie (MLP:FIM), Harley Quinn (BTAS), Synclaire James (Living Single), Jayne Mansfield (films and public persona), Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

The Innocent, also known as The Ingenue, is just as the name suggests. Not only helpless but often unaware and wholly out of her depth. Her inexperience and or meekness makes her prone to being taken advantage of. Despite this, she (usually) remains positive, kind, and happy to help. Unlike The Clown, The Innocent's sexuality is typically portrayed as natural, uncomplicated, and unintended.

Examples of this archetype include but are not limited to: Marilyn Monroe (films and public persona), Weena (The Time Machine), Lorelei Lee (in the novel), Elissa Megan Powers (Empowered)

The Debutante, who could also be called The Alpha Bitch, is probably the most popular in the modern era and who you're most likely to come across in real life or on social media. Her sexuality is mainly a means of control. She puts a lot of time, work, and effort into her appearance because beauty is both her business and capital. While she may, at times, enjoy and indulge in carnal pleasure it's far from her main concern. Being the most or unattainably desirable is how she knows she's better than others, how she's able to acquire and maintain control. The Debutante values social standing above all else, to her it's a matter of life or death, she would die without overwhelmingly positive attention.

Examples of this archetype include but are not limited to: Regina George (Mean Girls), Heather Chandler (Heathers), Courtney Shayne (Jawbreaker), Heather (Total Drama Island), Cleopatra Smith (Clone High), Jeannie II (IDOJ), Emma Frost (X-Men), Panty Anarchy (PSG), Ginger (Gilligan's Island), Holly Golightly (Breakfast at Tiffany's), Kim Kardashian, Rarity (MLP:FIM)

These archetypes are combined, remixed, and subverted so often it's hard to find pure examples (I tried my best, and even then this is just reducing them to their base archetypes and do not accurately describe every single one of these characters), but this is a good thing. It leads to nuance and diversity, and many of the most popular bimbo characters are mixed or subversions. Chrissy Snow (Three's Company) is a Clown and an Innocent. Elle Woods (Legally Blonde) arguably includes elements of all three. Romy and Michele's High School Reunion follows two clownish Innocents who realize they were bullied by debutantes. As far as I know, all bimbos exist somewhere along these lines (or perhaps on an axis) but we shouldn't view this as limiting, when you think about it the combinations are really seemingly endless, and I didn't even cover sub-archetypes! Many Debutantes are mean but they don't have to be. Innocents don't have to be completely pliable, you can do (or be) whatever you like, even moving from one archetype to another.

[lavenderrvalleyy]

Yo guys... it's friday... y'know what that means...?

FAKE PEPPINO FRIDAAAAAAAAAAAAAY-*explostion*

Finally I participate in this silly thing, and how do I do it? By sharing some useless headcanons. Let's-a go!

Useless HC 1: B E A N S

Why beans you ask? In my headcanon Fake Peppino has (very limited) shapeshifting abilities. At will he can make himself become a bit more animal-like (or monster-like, as seen in his "chase" form). He uses the "beans" transformation to stick to walls like a frog or a gecko. The paw pads are very grippy and allows them to stick to any wall with ease (including the ceiling).

Useless HC 2: Peppino has freaked his clone out as much as his clone has freaked him out.

Fake Peppino had very limited knowledge of the real world (and humans) after the events of the tower. As much as he's been learning and discovering, it's still all very strange and confusing. As a result, Fake Peppino quickly learned how Peppino felt when they first met, and how what was mundane and normal to one individual seemed freakish and hostile to the other. A prime example of this is when Fake Peppino learned about sneezing. Now Fake Pep, due to his physiology being like a frog's, is physically unable to sneeze. They were completely unaware that this was a thing among humans and such until a short while after the tower, when Peppino had an allergic reaction to a cat. Having no clue what the sudden, mildly terrifying outburst was about, Fake Pep assumed that this was a thing that humans did to assert dominance and got upset and confused as to why Peppino would do that to such an innocent creature. After a bit of explaining Fake Peppino became a bit relieved that what Peppino did wasn't out of malice, though still didn't quite understand WHY that reaction had to be so... violent? And sudden? Even after learning what it was, they still haven't been able to hear a sneeze without freaking out a little bit.

Useless HC 3: the weather affects Fake Peppino's physical state

In cooler environments, Fake Pep becomes more "solid". His body becomes a lot less watery and becomes a sort of thick pizza dough consistency- it's tough enough to hold together but you can phase through it if you use enough strength. In hotter environments, he will become quite runny in consistency, making it harder for him to hold himself together.

The visual above is an exaggeration, snow and winter weather will cause him to go into hibernation (frog DNA thing). He does melt a lot to a certain degree but he will not transform into a fried egg (unless he wants to).

Temperature swings can become an issue for him in certain situations, as in if they happened to be in a tight place at the time and it gets cold... as a result, Fake Pep has gotten stuck in pipes. Here is a badly drawn example of that happening:

Don't worry though, all you need is a blow drier, portable heater, or other source heat to melt and unstick him.

That's all for now! Thanks for tuning in on my ted talk. Expect more bullshit in the future :3

[utilitycaster]

Dimension 20's Failed Genre Experiments

(This is the "Has Dimension 20 lost its touch?" post I’ve alluded to; please enjoy some genuine criticism masquerading as a riff on those sorts of articles for other shows.)

Dimension 20's debut and flagship burst onto the scene with a simple and elegant premise. What if a John Hughes movie were set at a high school for D&D adventurers? Its next full length pre-recorded season was the similarly strong urban fantasy The Unsleeping City, which in turn was followed up by the channel’s most ambitious outing yet: the Game of Thrones in Candyland mash-up, A Crown of Candy. 

Widely considered to be a watershed moment for the show, A Crown of Candy explored darker themes on a famously comedic platform, was the first on the channel to have permanent player character deaths, added new mechanics and limited what the players could choose to fit the world to support this more serious tone, and on a structural level, was a welcome departure from the prior rigid alternation between episodes of combat and episodes without. It was filmed prior to the pandemic but went to air in early April 2020, when many livestreamed actual play shows were on pause and even some podcasts were scrambling to figure out remote recording. D20 introduced their talkback show as a way for the cast to hang out remotely and chat about each episode, and Adventuring Party has remained a companion to the main show. The channel had hit its stride.

Its House of the Dragon sidequest, The Ravening War, aired three years later. Despite a complicated reaction to its announcement, it was a well-received outing, but one on what had by that time become a noticeably bumpy road.

Sidequests like The Ravening War are what D20 calls its shorter, 4-10 episode seasons that do not feature the main “Intrepid Heroes” cast in full nor necessarily feature Brennan Lee Mulligan as DM. We've seen everything from the perspective of the villains in both a Lord of the Rings clone (Escape from the Bloodkeep) and a Dracula homage (Coffin Run); to a Regency romance in the Feywild (A Court of Fey and Flowers). In addition to Mercer, Jasmine Bhullar and Gabe Hicks have each run a sidequest, and Aabria Iyengar has run three. And while the Intrepid Heroes' only venture outside D&D so far is the D&D-inspired Star Wars 5e, sidequests have been run in various Kids on Bikes hacks and Hicks' own Mythic system, as their shorter format makes it even easier to experiment with the parodies, pastiches, and mash-ups the channel is known for.

There have however been two notable failed experiments, and their close proximity (both released within the past year) could be a hiccup, or could be a sign that D20’s ambition, while admirable, could use some serious reining in. They are Neverafter and Burrow's End.

Marketed as the horror season, crossed over with fairy tales, Neverafter started out strong. Only three episodes in, there was an unprecedented (for D20) total party kill. The subsequent episode is the zenith of the season, in which each character is brought back, most of them changed and twisted by the experience, playing out an analysis of their role as an archetype within these stories: Sleeping Beauty and the classic roles of The Princess (introducing such NPCs as Cinderella and Snow White), for example; or Puss in Boots as The Trickster.

Unfortunately, the quality dropped soon after. It was revealed that the darkness spreading across the fairytale multiverse was due to the influence of The Authors, and the story began to be one about the concept of stories...while still trying to incorporate not only the plotlines of the fairy tales the main PCs were from, but also an intertwined conflict between the fairies and the princess NPCs. With this, the horror, with a few exceptions, melted away: violence and monsters are standard D&D fare, and when heroes race to save the world and victory seems not only possible but likely, any distinction between horror and a typical D&D heroic fantasy is lost.

It’s not the first overstuffed campaign, but it certainly is the first one that fails to land on several levels. Starstruck Odyssey is similarly chaotic and rushed at times, but it consistently sticks to a broad message of personal autonomy and freedom within late-stage capitalism. Mulligan is famous for his capacity to spin endless dense lore off the cuff, and if it at times overcomplicates the plot of the packed and colorful comedic space adventure, at least it contributes to the baked-in excess of the setting. But Neverafter's postmodern flourishes against a horror backdrop desperately needed an injection of sparseness and silence it never received. 

This is enhanced by the nature of actual play: with a few exceptions, even when filmed and even with the elaborate production values of Dimension 20, it is first and foremost primarily an auditory medium. We only know what is narrated to us. Neverafter did not permit its audience the time and space to fear the unknown. The existential horror of the metanarrative, of being a character doomed to a specific ending, while touched on by some of the cast (particularly Siobhan Thompson’s Sleeping Beauty), took a backseat to models of giant spiders and tales of undead dwarves. The story lacked the room to build real tension, but also failed to adequately create the claustrophobia of being truly trapped within its narrative. It feels more stuffy than unsettling.

Burrow's End is far less airless, but profoundly disjointed. Neverafter thought it knew what it was, but Burrow's End went through multiple identity crises by the halfway mark, and the marketing for the series reflects this.

The initial trailer makes it seem like a cute if dramatic story about a family of stoats - think Redwall, think Wind in the Willows. The first episode was excellent, however, and sold many who had been unimpressed by the trailers on the series, with its well-played setup of the clear Watership Down/Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH parallels with a unique twist in the form of The Blue.

The promotion took a strange turn, however, with the second episode and its infamous bear carcass battle map. It was hyped as uniquely horrifying, with a teaser video posted of the cast shrieking as the map, unseen by the audience, was wheeled past them. This seemed rather cavalier of the channel once the episode was posted, accompanied by a gore content warning covering a period of well over an hour...which was then further undercut by an exquisitely crafted, but ultimately rather tame display of a bear's innards. It was left out on the table during Adventuring Party as well, further reducing the idea of any meaningful shock factor (or any attempt to accommodate those in the audience who were triggered). The combat this map was for was a creative one, and the episode itself high quality, but it furthered the sense that Dimension 20 itself was unsure of what they were trying to get people to watch.

The series continued on with two more excellent episodes as it reached Last Bast, a clearly man-made structure full of thousands of stoats, with a strong dash of the police state. The actors immediately clocking the flaws of this society, but their stoat characters having no similar sense, led to a fascinating tension. However, the Blue (called the Light in Last Blast), previously described as some animating force and driver of magical power, and mysteriously concentrated in the brain of the dead-but-animated bear, was then revealed to be ionizing radiation.

At this point, the details of my own life become relevant. My career is in the field of health physics. I hold a master’s degree in this specialty and have served as a radiation safety officer, though not at a reactor. I don’t think that this background is a requirement to understand the structural issues of this season; but it certainly made me particularly attuned to the flaws.

Before you claim that this is just a show and who cares: In addition to my love of actual play, I am also a fan of comics and all sorts of speculative fiction. I am well aware that Spider-Man’s “radioactive blood” would not realistically grant him spider powers; I know that going into a high radiation field would not create Doctor Manhattan; I know that Superman does not actually have ‘x-ray vision’, and I know that radiation creates neither kaiju nor rad roaches. This is fine. In comics, radiation is a shorthand for “mad science” or “mysterious powers” with a sense of the lethal and the eldritch and the hubristic. The story is not so much about the source of these powers, but rather the great responsibilities they require. Godzilla, meanwhile, is clearly a metaphor for the very real nuclear devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Fallout is an anti-proliferation and anti-war message with nuclear annihilation as the set up for its post-apocalyptic setting. These works understand that radiation is a limited-use plot device, and, wisely, they keep it simple.

Burrow’s End, by placing radiation front and center, has lost the message. The themes of the story are irretrievably muddled: what seems like a tale of family displaced by human intervention now positions a man-made hazardous material as both sinister corruption and divine boon, and engages neither with a fitting narrative of both the pros and cons of technology, nor of human and animal symbiosis. The finale establishes the latter in a rushed cut scene reliant on a single persuasion roll, and the two episodes prior to that meanwhile establish that while the humans first introduced radiation to the ecosystem, the first five stoats were the ones who sought it out and disseminated it and built the police state, and their true nemesis was Phoebe, one of their own. This culminates with Phoebe, the previously unseen fifth of the first five stoats (who have by now already been killed by the heroes), piloting the body of a 20-years-dead human, threatening to somehow cause global radiation contamination as her grand Evil Scheme. Unnecessarily, from a narrative perspective, I might add; this occurs after the final combat has already begun and she is magically controlling two of the party members. They’re already going to kill her. It’s a hat on a hat on a hat, and the humans are incidental.

When I was a child, I was enamored with the sort of stories in which children are sent to another time or place and then return with seemingly no time passing, and at one point excitedly told my mother I had an idea for a story, of what happens back while you’re time traveling. My mother, a fan of speculative fiction herself, and never one to coddle, told me “nothing, honey, that’s the point.” I wonder if something similar happened here; an attempted deconstruction of those radiation-granted superpower tropes, focused so hard on being clever it overshot into something anything but. Other elements of the story - particularly the weak pun of “copper” to hammer home the already obvious theme of population support being the arm of the police - make me think this was indeed an attempt at cleverness that missed the mark.

I am happy to elaborate on the flaws of the science elsewhere but I think the most succinct way to put it is that while the biology and habits of stoats sans radiation has been considered with what seems to be at least a modicum of love and care (their use of pre-existing burrows, Viola’s pregnancy), the radiation science/understanding of recent nuclear history can only be described as abysmally neglectful, in and out of game. They let a Loss of Coolant Accident go on for three days with a remarkably casual attitude? This disaster was sufficient to result in what appears to be an exclusion zone (of which there have been three, ever, in human history; two of which are the immediately recognizable Chernobyl and Fukushima) and yet it isn’t being monitored closely enough for someone to notice that there’s been penned animals next to the building for years (let alone that the building itself is teeming with stoats)? For that matter, they’re opening the site only twenty years later? After the “radiation dust”, apparently present on the fully maintained roads by the reactor, but neither within nor in front of the reactor, just now made 14 people bleed out (not how Acute Radiation Syndrome works; also 14 deaths from ARS in 1982, when the series is set would in fact be an unprecedented disaster. In our world, Chernobyl - which had not yet happened in 1982 -  is the only nuclear accident that exceeds that ARS death toll.)

Radiation becomes an all-purpose plot engine with no internal consistent logic: it kills humans swiftly and brutally (though based on statements by Dr. Tara Steel and the fact that she seems fine in only a hazmat suit - which shields from contamination but will stop neither gamma nor neutron radiation - only via inhalation). But it infects chipmunks and bears with corruptive and bizarre neurological effects, turns wolves into horrifying but loyal hybridized monstrosities, and conveys to stoats not just human intelligence, but mastery of human language, magic spells, and the ability to come back as a revenant through force of will…though it also can immediately kill them, but also extend their lifespans, but also cause them to slowly mutate into wolves (but not through DNA splicing transfer, that would be silly). It kills 14 humans nearly instantly with off-site dust, but another survives a fiery attempted core meltdown with no apparent ill effects.

There is an excellent and thoughtful story about family, generational trauma, and political structures somewhere under here, and the incredible cast does its damndest to sell it, but it is all but lost beneath a sci-fi whodunnit that would make Ed Wood cock a skeptical eyebrow.

Neverafter and Burrow’s End’s respective collapses under the weight of ambition coincide, perhaps unintentionally, with some of the more dubious film editing choices on Dimension 20. Filmed actual play can be visually unexciting, and Dimension 20 has used simple shot/reverse shots, as well as some sound effects (notably for critical hits and fails) throughout its run to break it up. Neverafter, however, is marked by deliberate hisses and glitches, fractured split screens, echoey vocal effects, and nails-on-chalkboard screeches. This did not add to the atmosphere as intended; at best they were irritating and for many made it actively harder to hear key dialogue. Burrow’s End’s editing has been simpler, mostly relying on some, to be fair, well-placed cuts to black and voice distortion to indicate taped or radioed segments; but a key moment - Jaysohn’s potentially fatal rush into radioactive waters - is undercut with a frankly cheesy montage. Others I spoke to compared it to Indian soap operas, 1960s Doctor Who, The Oscars In Memoriam video, and reality show farewell reels. It takes what could be a tense potential character death - something D20 already handles wonderfully with their iconic Box of Doom - and makes it cheap and tacky, particularly jarring given the beautiful and haunting shadow puppet animation the season had previously delivered to convey the stoat creation myths. (And then, when Ava falls into the waters herself saving him, she merely comes back as a revenant with no ill effects. The stakes were never there to begin with in this smoke and mirrors season.)

Praise for Dimension 20 often hinges on its original innovative structure; most actual play shows skew towards more longform storytelling. However, the short format comes with a price. The fixed length of D20 seasons and the elaborate, custom made maps require a deft GM that can guide players to the exact right place without it seeming forced. Threading the needle is harder than it looks; even the otherwise iconic Fantasy High debut season stumbled towards the end when the players were too good at uncovering the mystery, and Mulligan had to place their characters in an inescapable prison in order to pad out a pre-scheduled episode before the finale. Perhaps the strain of this constant need to live up to a reputation as high-concept innovators, rather than simply create something good and cohesive, is beginning to show. The higher production values in Neverafter and Burrow’s End cannot hide their messy plots and confused messages, and indeed only highlight them. One interview said that for Burrow��s End, Iyengar wants the audience to trust her; after Burrow's End, I can’t say I do.

The next Dimension 20 season after Burrow’s End is a long-awaited return home to the flagship: Fantasy High Junior Year. Let’s hope this reminds the channel where they came from, and what magic they are capable of making when they keep it simple.

[tohwitchesduels]

LOSERS BATTLES OF WITCHES DUELS - Battle 35: Emira Blight vs Edric Blight

Disclaimer: This is not a popularity contest or which character you prefer, in this tournament, you decide who is stronger/better/smarter/etc. opponent.

information for both opponents under the cut to those who don't know what they can do in their battle:

Emira Blight:

Emira naturally specializes in Healing and Illusion magic, hardly showing spells beyond those.

While it is confirmed that Emira possesses a palisman (either moth or butterfly, it was never specified) since we never saw it in the show. We have no idea how proficient Emira is with it, I shall not include this in the tournament, and anyone who fights her will also not have their palismen to even the chances.

One must remember that Emira can be smart, clever, and mischievous but also level-headed. She prefers to outsmart and outwit her opponents during the battle can be pretty sneaky and has good reflexes.

Emira knows her brother and she knows he has no shot against her, so she's not going to let him win.

Telekinesis - Emira can move objects with ease using it, granted the objects usually were small and not the size and weight of the person so she can use them directly on her opponent, but she can pick up random stuff from the arena to use them as projectiles and be decently quick with them (the only instance I recall of Emira using telekinesis is her swapping the books constantly in her debut)

Snow Magic - Emira showed capacity in snow magic, creating a snow hand to attack Amity. I can also imagine her creating simple blasts of snow during combat or as a distraction

Healing Magic - Emira knows a healing spell that allows her to heal wounds. For this tournament, I will enable Emira to be able to heal her own wounds even though she never demonstrated to be capable of using said magic on herself in the show. Emira's healing spells however take a lot of time and concentration for the time being so while she can heal herself, she would need a minute or two for that with no interruptions when it comes to serious injuries. However, she can quickly heal minor ones. She can also heal other people of course.

Restraining Magic - Emira is capable of creating a lasso made out of light that can be used to restrain her enemies. She attempted it with Slitherbeast granted at the time she also had Edric's help and Slitherbeast proved to be too strong for her, so it's hard to tell whether or not Emira's restraining spell is overall very effective, as it certainly isn't if her opponent is particularly large and strong.

Glamour - Emira is capable of altering her appearance with her illusion magic. She usually uses concealment stones for passive altering of her appearance which is usually used to enhance Emira's looks (like braiding her hair or removing zits) but Emira showcased in illusion class to be able to alter her appearance by herself, extending her legs ridiculously. Thus this power is upgraded for Emira to be capable of somewhat shape-shifting into extending her limbs however she likes.

Illusion Cancel - Emira is capable of temporarily canceling out illusions of other spell-casters. She demonstrated it in LR, granted she had the help of Edric and the Illusion teacher to properly do it, though justified since it was Gus's illusion. This means that while Emira can cast out illusions of other users, the better illusionists that outclass her may be resistant to this (like Gus for example who is a prodigy).

Illusion Casting - Emira naturally knows illusion magic and creates whatever illusion she likes. Her illusions can interact and affect the real world and be touched and she can create multiple at a time. Usually, it will extend to an object or imaginary living being. However, her illusions can be fragile and enough force can cast them out.

Illusion Clone - Emira is capable of creating a clone of anyone she desires, granted it's usually one clone at a time as proven in EGF when she created a clone of Eda. The clone could potentially mimic the abilities of the people they took shape from but it's more than often just an illusion. They could also take upon the personality of anyone they were cloned from.

Camouflage - Now I'm not sure whether or not Emira can cast it on her own or if it requires a team effort, but in LR once Bump made a stand against the EC, all the other students would appear after the illusion of camouflage was dispelled, so I'll allow all illusion casters that were part of this to be capable to at least hide out of sight temporarily, so Emira now can use this ability to stay hidden for short time during the battle.

Edric Blight:

While it is confirmed that Edric possesses a palisman (either moth or butterfly, it was never specified) since we never saw it in the show and we have no idea how proficient Edric is with it, I shall not include this in the tournament, and anyone who fights him will also not have their palismen to even the chances.

Edric Blight is pretty chaotic and airheaded but can also be clever and sneaky. He can both focus on offense and deception. Granted at times he tends to not think things through and can make rash decisions that can and will blow up in his face. He specializes in Potions, Illusion, and Beast-Keeping magic, making him a pretty strong and skilled all-rounder even if he can be pretty impulsive.

Edric doesn't like Emira underestimating him so he's going to take her down and prove his strength.

One of the tools Edric can use during his battles independently of whether or not his opponent also possesses any, is fireworks. That's right, Edric brings fireworks to the battlefield and can use them offensively. Due to how illegal and unstable they are and how Edric landed in the healing coven multiple times due to them, they're noted to be particularly destructive and unpredictable meaning any outcome can be achieved (either they hurt only Edric, they hurt his opponent or both or neither - the rule of random applies here so do whatever you want with it).

Restraining Magic - Edric is capable of creating a lasso made out of light that can be used to restrain his enemies. We saw it when he tried this with Slitherbeast. However, Edric can also enhance any lasso or tie to specifically bind a particular target he has in mind as of Reaching Out, meaning it can be very difficult even for stronger opponents to break away from his bonds.

Explosive Potions - Edric is capable of brewing potions that explode upon shattering, thus can be used offensively, but also as a distraction and defense (the best defense is offense and the best offense is defense after all). Edric can throw multiple potions at once or in a row. He will usually have multiple at hand.

Transformation Potion - Edric improvised and created a potion that can alter the appearance of the drinker. Edric has the recipe and antidote (plenty of ice packs) at hand to either use this potion or on himself to transform into a stronger and "draconic" version of themselves (demonstrated on Warden Wrath though aside from his appearance and enhanced abilities, he didn't seem to display new ones). The potion allows the user to gain immense strength, sharp claws, spikes, and horns and is much bigger in size, however, it comes at the expense of rational thinking turning the user into a wild animal. So Edric either transforms and hopes and prays he can quiet down his instincts enough to apply ice packs on himself, or he uses it to confuse his enemies and hope they won't hurt him too much. After the potion's effects get canceled, the user of it gets nauseous and is incapable of further fighting. He will usually only have a few at hand though.

Truth Potion - Edric brewed those before battle with enough patience to not mess them up so he can use them safely. Their capacity on the battlefield usually extends to tricking the enemy into either drinking them or inhaling them and making them confess their weaknesses out loud. He will usually have a few at hand though.

Snow Magic - when training with Amity he did display he can use snow to his advantage, though he only used it to sink Amity into the ground, which would be only possible if the area's ground was always snow, but for that, I have a different spell in mind. Edric can create simple snow blasts with it or use it to immobilise his opponents by creating enough snow around them to burrow them in it.

What I imagine Edric doing with snow magic

Sinking Magic - Edric is capable of making the ground sink beneath the feet of his opponents if they're distracted enough. He demonstrated it when training with Amity and I'm making it a full-blown ability that can be hard to counter but not impossible if the opponent can dig through any surface. Be it snow or ground (though probably not metals considering how solid and refined they are).

Telekinesis - Edric displays an ability to move objects at ease. He can, in fact, lift his opponents and move them through great distances just fine, granted it works best on distracted opponents. He can also use this ability to throw projectiles of various sizes (though the biggest one probably won't be bigger than your average person who can be tall).

Glamour - Edric can alter his appearance through either concealment stone or even by himself as demonstrated in the illusion classes. The way Edric used glamour in the show however isn't exactly useful on the battlefield as he would usually just enhance his appearance like switching clothes or making himself look posh. So for the purposes of this tournament, I allow Edric to be able to completely alter his appearance to look like someone else. Since he's against another illusionist and both of them like to use clones and other tricks, Glamour should work for Edric normally. Edric also doesn't gain any new abilities from such a transformation, though it can't be easily dispelled.

Illusion Casting - Edric is capable of casting any illusion of any object or even a living being. Said illusions can interact with the real world just fine (so he can for example create ammo as Amity threw at him "Hex me" papers he created himself and knocked him out with it). His illusions normally are fragile but with his beast magic, he can strengthen to make it harder to dispell them.

Illusion Clone - Edric is capable of creating a clone of anyone he desires, granted it's usually one clone at a time as proven in EGF when he created a clone of Eda. The clone could potentially mimic the abilities of the people they took shape from but it's more than often just an illusion. They could also take upon the personality of anyone they were cloned from.

Illusion Cancel - Edric is capable of temporarily canceling out illusions of other spell-casters. He demonstrated it in LR, granted He had the help of Emira and the Illusion teacher to properly do it, though justified since it was Gus's illusion. This means that while Edric can cast out illusions of other users, the better illusionists that outclass him may be resistant to this (like Gus for example who is a prodigy).

Trap Illusions - Edric can create illusions that can transform into barriers upon contact with them. This can restrain his opponents while still allowing Edric to be able to touch and affect them (like Venetian mirror)

Camouflage - Now I'm not sure whether or not Edric can cast it on his own or if it requires a team effort, but in LR once Bump made a stand against the EC, all the other students would appear after the illusion of camouflage was dispelled, so I'll allow all illusion casters that were part of this to be capable to at least hide out of sight temporarily, so Edric now can use this ability to stay hidden for short time during the battle.

Bat Companion - now Edric may not possess a palisman, but he can use his pet bat during battles, sending him out of the attack to attack his opponents or distract them with it. To how much extent the bat will listen is however limited, though enough for the bat to not attack Edric.

Beast Luring - this was more or less proven in Reaching Ou how easier it was to lure out beasts Edric needed using his beast-keeping magic, so Edric could bring back any beast to the battlefield with his knowledge. However, said beasts will probably not listen to Edric at all.

Link to their character profile which they share to see more of the capabilities of both Edric and Emira

Return to Masterpost

[fionajames]

hot chocolate - rex

pt. 2 is out here!!!

@techs-goggles9902 this is for you!

sorry this is so short, my concussion is causing my head to throb.

PLEASE! GO CHECK OUT MY FIRST CHAPTER OF GHOST HUNTER CLUB PEOPLE. ITS A SAM AND COLBY FIC AND I SPENT DAYS WRITING IT. LITERAL DAYS.

this is part of the au where order 66 never happens because fives exposes palpatine, fox kills him, and then clones gain rights!!!

Enjoy and request!

(as we can see - per example of this one shot - jamie is not skilled in cheesy romantic things.)

You opened your door with a grin to reveal Rex, standing in the snow in thick warm clothes and a huge grin. “Hey, Cyar’ika,” he greeted, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Hey, Rex,” you replied, grasping the edges of your beanie and pulling them down over your ears further, closing and locking your door behind you. “Ready?”

“Of course,” the blonde Clone responded, kissing your cheek before leading you away from your house. The plan was simple, a simple date, as it always was with you two. Rex may have been an extremely romantic guy, but he was not an extreme date guy. There were other ways to be romantic.

You two walked through the town with huge grins, towards your first destination. You pushed the door to the cafe open with a grin and waved to Echo who was stood at the counter. 

“Two hot chocolates, I presume?” He asked, high-fiving his brother as you nodded. He called backwards to Jesse who yelled back a greeting. 

Not long later, you and Rex were wandering the streets and gazing at the Christmas lights with huge grins and take-away cups of steaming hot chocolate. “Look at those!” Rex exclaimed, pointing to a house with strings and strings of red and green lights dangling from the roof, coating the entire house.

You laughed.

“It’s so pretty,” you whispered, staring starry-eyed at the lights.

Rex turned to you with a soft smile.

“Just like someone I know,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“That’s cheesy,” you teased back as he laughed, wrapping you up in a hug, his chin on top of your head.

“Cheesy only for you.”

hope you enjoyed!

white christmas feels unnatural too me, but its the only thing i ever really hear about. 😭

send in requests please!!!

EDIT: STOP! I SEE PEOPLE LIKING THIS ALL THE TIME! WHAT IS IT IN THIS Y'ALL LIKE?! WHY IS IT SO POPULAR?! TELL MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[fantasygerard2000]

Tastes and Preferences Are Not Standards

There's this issue with fans of any media complain about the lack of original works over actually watching them.

So, recently, D23 announced a ton of upcoming projects for the parks, games, shows, etc with their movies being the one that got the most attention. Majority of them are sequels and live action remakes and per usual, people are outrage over the big D for prioritizing on nostalgia baiting than making new ideas.

Here's the thing tho, alongside the sequels and live action remakes, they also announced Hoppers, an upcoming original film by Pixar directed by the guy that made We Bare Bears, Daniel Chong. Response to Hoppers, was near nonexistent. Like, very little anticipation as in "it exists".

Not only that, another original film before Hoppers is currently to be released next year, Elio. Just like with Hoppers, Elio only seen as this movie that was originally supposed to be released this year before swapping places with Inside Out 2.

Now, the obvious answer to this is rage culture. Being angry over the current thing is an easy content mill. Mufasa is being blasted because it had the audacity to not be faithful to an obscure prequel book series and Snow White for even much more dumb reasons, mostly centering on the lead actress because, if that didn't work on Halle, might as well try again on Rachel.

And when other people addressed that Pixar and Disney did made original films with Elemental and Wish being their current examples, the response these grifters is "We want GOOD original ideas." Now that just shows that they genuinely don't actually care about wanting to watch original ideas, regardless of quality, and simply only using them as a point to why hollywood is dead, blah blah blah.

Original ideas take time to get people invested into watching them. People prefer to engage with media they are more familiar with over the new ones, hence why they are always needlessly comparing things.

Elemental was mocked for being a Zootopia clone but with living elements and themes of racism, but while Zootopia is about general prejudice, Elemental is about personal prejudice. It doesn't use allegories like Zootopia, it's straightforward about the characters being immigrants. Just like any other Pixar film, there's more to the story than the general concept. But that didn't stop people saying that the characters being living elements didn't contribute to the story. Just like with Turning Red, the creator chose so because he want to, as if kids totally wanna watch a movie about immigrants. It's his story, based on his own life experiences told through a lens so kids can enjoy it.

I already talked about Wish to death, but it is a major factor considering that it's an original story that is deliberately made to be an homage to classical and renaissance era Disney films. The comparisons of to to previous films like Disney's more well known works like Snow White are dubious because they're oddly biased and surface level when there's another Disney film that's even more comparable, The Princess and the Frog.

Princess and the Frog is a lot like Wish, black lead, classical villain, hand drawn animation (though Wish's is stylized) and themes about working hard to achieve your dreams. While Wish has problems about how "half cooked" it is, Princess and the Frog has more problems than Wish; Tiana, their first black princess being a frog for majority of the movie, the sugarcoating of a 1920's setting, the demonization of an active closed religion that people use as an aesthetic coughAlastorHazbincough and a complicated story about technicalities to break the spell and a forced moral about love and family, and not in a good way.

Despite these issues being present and are still discussed today, the fact that it's hand drawn animated and has a cool looking villain wallpapers all over this issues. This is also extends in a lot of Disney's other older films. The mess of a cultural mix setting that is in Aladdin and Raya, the racism in Peter Pan, the usage of g*psy in Hunchback, Pocahontas existing and characters of color being played by white actors that the same thing literally happened with Raya (SEAsian characters, not SEAsian actors). Even though these problems have always been present, people dismiss them with "It was fair for the day". They value their personal nostalgia over the issues other have during them.

Coming back on the topic of comparing films, Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is often brought up to compare anything Disney and Pixar make. People had low expectations towards The Last Wish because it was a sequel to a spin off no one asked for and it succeeded their expectations. The reason why I brought up The Last Wish is because a minority of animation fandom use it as the standard for animated films. The comment saying "We want GOOD originals" is practically them moving up the goal post because to them, any original idea isn't good enough for their tastes. We can't have an original idea without someone bemoaning about how it's inferior to an already existing idea based on surface level comparisons.

Bringing back Wish because it's a good example, people wanted it be like the previous Disney films. However, being like them means loosing its own identity. Turning Star into a generic pretty boy for the girls to salivate over means losing what Star represents, the hope people have to keep on pursuing their ambitions.

An ironic thing is whenever they find a good idea they liked, they want more of it. Basically, wanting others to be just like it. What's the point of wanting an original when all you just want is the same old thing again?

[ellie-the-oracle]

Freefalling From Great Heights - A Discussion & Analysis

Hey guys. So, I lied about getting off socials LOL I really need to go full on film theory here and talk about the fall. I do want to preface though and say that I am not a woman of science (I’m an art girlie), therefore I won’t be able to make any sort of proper calculations. Without further ado, I’m going to break down the whole fall and discuss how Tech could’ve and probably did survive. 

First and foremost, I want to go back and take a look at the most clear shot given to viewers of the height between the tram system and the perceived ground level. In this picture, we get a brief glimpse from Wrecker’s POV of how far down it is from the trams. 

While it looks quite high, considering they are practically in the clouds, it is important to note the amount of foliage this planet has; a vast amount large trees, specifically tall pine trees.

These types of trees are not uncommon in biomes that include bodies of water. Consider the images below.

 While it is not definitive, it can be safe to assume that there could have been a stream or body of water below in that valley. However, even if this was not the case, the trees are large enough that they can dampen a fall, even if it is from a great height. This leads me to my next point: 

How high of a fall can humans survive?

An NCBI article covers the case of a rock climber who had fallen from a total of 300 feet and survived. Though she suffered many severe injuries, she was able to recover after extensive medical care. According to this article, the way in which a person falls is imperative to survival. In particular, if a person is falling vertically, they can survive an average fall height of 23 feet and 7 inches (7.2 meters) with minor to moderate injury. Survivable injuries have a threshold of around 20-25 feet. Yet the rock climber was able to survive at even greater heights. That being said, according to an article by Arnold & Atkin Trial Lawyers, 20 feet and below can still prove to be fatal. Moreover, fatal falls usually are between 21 and 40 feet. Considering all the information thus far, it would seem that Tech is exceptionally fucked. But stay with me folks, I’m not done cooking yet.

While it is not common, humans have, in fact, survived free falls at extreme heights. Take for example Vesna Vulović, a Serbian flight attendant who holds the Guinness world record for surviving the highest freefall without a parachute: 33,330 feet (10,160 meters). She was in a coma for days and spent several months hospitalized. She suffered a fractured skull, three broken vertebrae, broken legs, broken ribs, and a fractured pelvis, leaving her temporarily paralyzed from the waist down. Despite all of this, she made a nearly complete recovery, only continuing to walk with a limp. 

In another case, Nicholas Alkemade, a British tail gunner of the Royal Air Force during World War II, survived a freefall of 18,000 feet (5, 490 meters). His fall was broken by pine trees and a soft snow cover on the ground. 

While the first case can be safely considered as a miracle, it's the second case that is interesting. The pilot survived a freefall from a height he should’ve died from. Yet, due to the large trees and the snow on the floor, his fall was cushioned and allowed for him to survive. 

Now, taking what we discussed and applying it to the Star Wars universe, the chances of Tech surviving is definitely in our favour. Firstly, we know there is a lot of foliage (bushes, grass, etc.), and there are also massive trees. But we must remember that this isn’t just some random, unprepared person that is falling. This is Tech, a highly skilled, highly intelligent, and well equipped clone trooper. It is also important to mention that he is wearing a helmet and a chest plate, which provides protection to critical body parts. Knowing him, Tech could have very well put his gear to use and used a grappling hook to attach to a tree and create momentum from his fall to swing onto the ground. He could have also gotten into the falling tram and found a way to cushion his fall. But let’s say he does neither of these things (perhaps due to the speed at which he was falling), Tech can still survive if he falls vertically into the pine trees and foliage, which will cushion his fall, just like Nicholas Alkemade and the rock climber, respectively.

Furthermore, based on all that has been discussed and considered, the chances of survival of a freefall from that height, while seemingly impossible, is in fact, possible and likely. 

Sources:

[cinderswife]

so um. did you know rose red ocs are fun to design and come up with lore for??? rose reds are insane i am having so much fun !!! a history of rose red generations and info on these poor bastards in particular under the cut <3

(oh, and the ages are at the end of the war for reference)

there are 5 distinct generations of rose reds created over the 32 years of war (not including briar, generation 0). the first three were separately developed from rose's base, but four and five were iterated from generation three.

also for the record i've decided to take a steven universe quartz soldier take on the way rose reds relate to each other in that they have 0 innate concept of family with each other. most rose reds have like. a co-workerly relationship with some Sisters In Arms although some elect to become Besties or Family or That Really Annoying Guy Who I Hate And Can't Get Rid Of, or in rare occasions, fall in love. this will be relevant to rusty and sparkler

generation 0

[not pictured, born/deployed 1 year after the wedding]

briar is gen 0. although there were years of R&D about clone soldiers prior to the rose reds' existence (cole had this idea in mind for a while), briar was the first actual example of one. she is the only clone to be rose's height; she was meant to be like. a baseline control group for the rest of 'em. she was a bit rushed in the memory department; miscommunications among the scientists meant that they kinda. assumed that porting original flavor rose's memories would suffice since this is a control group. also cole had really strict deadlines for the project for some ungodly reason so even though the timeline between rose's capture and briar's "birth" was a year and she was pretty good, she would've been better off with two or three or more.

generation 1

[rusty and sparkler deployed 2 years after the wedding]

gen 1 was even more of a rushed project; they had half finished notes and a year deadline for deployment. no wonder rusty, the prototype and the next briar, was so janky; they didn't have enough time to sort out all the issues, particularly in the memory department. she's got half of rose's memories and the ability to lie and they screwed up spaying her and there are bits of her body that aren't quite right from scaling up rose from 4'10" to 6'2". however, she passed muster well enough so generation 1 rose reds were made and deployed (with a few tweaks from rusty's base).

the gen 1 rose reds were very prone to nervous and/or violent and/or suicidal breakdowns. later waves of gen 1 were slightly better tweaked, but the methodology + technology used to handle the brain stuff did not take into account uh. rose's severe ptsd. they made the poor bastards with ptsd right out the gate unknowingly. this is the shortest average generation with an average height of about 6'3". gen 1 roses were good enough to tide over while more time was allocated to gen 2 research, but they weren't deployed in the same amounts as they would be in the future. general white's revolution was still in its infancy so it wasn't like. a huge deal. they just had to be super careful

rusty started life very confused but fully capable of Lying to the people who made her and expected her to be a placid soldier. as the prototype, she was often used as the control group for experiments on later prototype models while they worked out what worked and what didn't. while rusty was being like. tested and prodded and stuff, original flavor rose was in suspension so that they could get more samples from her. also og rose was kind of a lava lamp decoration

when rusty wasn't being watched, she was assumed to be still and unmoving. she actually started talking to rose-in-suspension to try and make sense of the half memories in her head and started developing her own conclusions. like what love was and what the wind felt like and extreme opinions about niche comics (for the record my rose + snow are closet nerds - rose has a collection of nichevintage superhero comics and snow is a huge film snob). the story she spun in her head about who rose was was a mess of red string and blurry images. ultimately, she came to the conclusion that she hated holding a gun, actually and that all this sucked but she didn't have enough life experience to have a good idea of how to go about it

rusty's salvation came in the form of another rose red, this time in the form of RR G10072 (later named sparkler). sparkler was one of those being prepared to be deployed on beaumont and was rapidly developing a personality trait, that being a desire for Arson. she wasn't as good of a liar as rusty but in the quiet secret times rusty would school her. they would develop something that was probably love based on half memories and "you and i are going to survive this together." sparkler was terrified of being found out as she'd watched others in her batch be terminated for other things

rusty and sparkler become the first known "rouge reds" though their existence is kept hidden from most. it wouldn't due to have people know that his majesty's new weapons are unstable after all (though what did they expect? rose was not an obedient soldier, she was a weapon you pointed in the direction of the kingdom you wanted gone and ducked for cover). sparkler begins to develop more personality in the form of Autism Flat Affect, a surprising love for both organizing and gambling, and. honestly more arson. someone gets on her case for her collection of fireworks and is like "hey sparkler girl" (rose reds aren't like. A Huge Thing Yet) and she's like. ah. a name.

rusty and sparkler are married and have a kid together named remi (not picture). she's one of the very few offspring from a rose red mostly because most rose reds are sterilized. they fucked it up for rusty cuz she's a janky prototype, something she only discovered when trying out "hm what is this man thing and what is romance with one." turns out she, like 95% of rose reds, is a whole lesbian lol but there were Unexpected Side Effects in the form of A Kid. which. now they had to figure what to do about that and ended up joining with the revolution for protection and also sparkler's arson/rusty's ship repair specialties. it. it sure went for them :) rusty recognized snow and that was Weird and Fucked Up and Bad. luckily she picked up snow's new name of "general mercymourn white" pretty quickly

generation 2

[piper and persephone, deployed 5 years after the wedding]

gen 2 was given decent time for r&d. these rose reds' dna was remade from scratch because generation 1 was so janky. because the production methods were good, they didn't have to waste so much time on those. they spent three years developing a decent prototype, known as prototype 0003. 0003 was not allowed to exist very long; once they ascertaind that she was functional and not janky like rusty they put her down. briar was a whisper myth and rusty was a known quantity. prototypes were too much of a risk.

gen 2 was far more functional. though they weren't nearly as brainwiped as later gens (particularly 4 and 5) they were loyal, obedient soldiers (for the most part). the average height rose to about 6'7" as they were figuring out better ways to improve the size and stature from rose's original Short As Hell. these are the ones that the rebellion first started engaging in combat in earnest, though they were still not a proper supplement to or replacement of the main army just yet. the big con that made them have to be redesigned over the next 8 years (though not one that was initially discovered) is that these poor saps were very malleable. just because they were brainwiped didn't mean they were loyal to the king for any reason other than they were told. if they were isolated it was easy to make them switch loyalties. the rebellion didn't cotton on to this fact until it was too late because general white refused to hear it.

piper got her nickname while still in the army. she was always singing which really, really annoyed her superior officer so they left her for dead after a battle. shockingly, she did not die! instead a pair of conmen overheard her singing herself to sleep (er. death but y'know) and were like "a rose red that sings??? we could make a killing off of this." they patched her up and rehabilitated her (aka. made her loyal to them and do everything they say) and marketed her as a travelling carnival exhibit. they also used her for free protection from the law and also other criminals. however she developed more of a personality and a feeling of "this sucks actually" so when a passing casino owner looking for a new entertainment draw and offered her a job she jumped on the chance

unfortunately, she's still being screwed over. he's the only guy who knows she's a rose red (she gained weight and curves and generally styles herself very femininely which throws most people off the track) so he uses it against her as blackmail. he pays her less than everyone else, witholds vital (if forged) documents from her, and generally makes her life a living hell. she picked up a second job as a bouncer for a nearby divebar which helps cover rent. she's very pretty but perpetually paranoid that someone will find out that she's a rose red and either kills her or turns her in or drives her out. she's slowly losing her mind

persephone is. well. so not her superior officer (jupiter) but her superior officer's coworker (pluto) fell in love with her, specifically. something about how she survived a lightning cannon and just her general personality quirks. she used to be sweet y'know, even despite the horrors. so with jupiter's permission, pluto kidnapped persephone and took her deep, deep underground.

she basically was plutos personal attack dog/trophy wife while they built up an underground criminal empire. it was Bad. she did learn a lot of things about brutal leadership and being in a shit situtation. eventually she snapped and killed pluto, taking their place as the new Big Name Crime Lord on the block. she rules the undercity with an iron fist, although her favorite venture is her collection of illicit speakeasies. she is very proud of being a rose red and sometimes wishes she could go back to that life. however, she's got a really good gig going and she refuses to let it slip through her hands. real queen of hearts energy tbh

her theme song is "our lady of the underground" from hadestown :3

generation 3

[old rosie (canon/not pictured) and rosenrot, deployed 13 years after the wedding]

after the fatal flaw in gen 2 was discovered they had to start from scratch /again/. this time however, they had plenty of time to work it out. they went through prototypes 004 - 011 until they had one that was perfect in every way. they put her down after she was done being useful of course. at this point it was mostly superstition not to keep the prototypes around even though these ones were perfectly loyal. gen 3 is considered the golden generation from the ones designed directly from rose's dna + brain scans : a perfect balance of loyalty and competence.

gen 3 is the longest lasting generation as it lasted for 10 years. they'd tweak the dna over the years as new breakthrough came to light, but they didn't need to remake them. this is the gen where the rose reds got the nickname giants as they now averaged about 7 feet. they're extremely effective soldiers and are very difficult to get to change loyalties due to being Poor Brainwashed Bastards. hardcore programming wouldn't fully show up until the later waves. this is when rose reds got made in their hundreds of thousands. the rebellion was actively a threat now and they needed to defend the empire.

old rosie was from an earlier wave of gen 3 and lasted for a very, very long time compared to all the others. as for rosenrot, well...

rosenrot is a patchwork rose red. she wasn't at first, but she was the best of her batch and kept surviving. every time she lost something, it would be taken from one of her squad and put on her. skin, ears, eyes, hair, even entire limbs. it got to the point where she couldn't tell where she ended and her sisters began. they started referring to themselves in the plural and got what could only be described as "a little touched in the head." that being said, they still fought well so they were kept around. when they were the last rose red in the squad left and were due to be reassigned, they fucked off into the woods never to be seen again

to this day, no one knows what happened to them. there's lots of local urban legends and rumors and whatnot; some claim to see them at the river, others at the full moon, but no concrete evidence. the nice ending is that a lesbian in a cottage found them and took them in. the realistic ending is that they died in the woods. the most likely ending is that they're still out there, surviving in the woods, never able to escape being a patchwork of all her sisters but unwilling to die.

also the name rosenrot came about from a misunderstanding; they were stationed on a germanic planet and all the rose reds were called that because it's a literal translation of rose red. as the only one left, rosenrot kinda assumed that was their name. it's also what the locals call them as a cryptid. just kind of a weirdo

generation 4

[buck, deployed 23 years after the wedding]

considered to be the best generation; they still had plenty of resources to make millions of 'em and were an improvement on generation 3. the best part was that they found a clone who was perfect to iterate off of (unnamed but not old rosie, she was missing a few vital tweaks) so they didn't have to start from scratch again. they went through a couple dozen prototypes in the process of creating them (012-042) but by this time prototyping + putting them down was rote.

gen 4 was involved in the long, drawn out part of the war. they remained at an average of 7 feet tall though they had some proportional tweaks to make them more functional. these rose reds had very little chance at free will, only fighting. only ever fighting. the pop culture image of a rose red post-war is a gen 4 one considering how many were made compared to the first three generations. poor suckers, they never had a chance.

as for buck poor thing got sold to a redbaiting (illegal rose red dogfighting) ring by her superior officers for a bit of cash for booze and gambling. they didn't like her anyways lol she didn't get along with the rest of her squad. turns out they should've asked for way more $$$ because buck's tenacity and nimbleness kept her from losing which basically meant she kept winning. she's been doing this for about 7 years and shows no sign of stopping. all of her scars come from her time in the ring and were inflicted by other rose reds. she has... a very high level of aggression towards other rose reds (slightly innate but also beaten into her)

however, he's the prize champion! this comes with things like an entire showdog style name (QIC Heirloom Bucksin Jacket), he/him pronouns, and some extra special treatment. he's very chill around civilians (if afraid of her handlers) so he's often like. put on display in the top box like a dog. he's very, very dehumanized. he's gonna need hella therapy to be a normal person. what a guy.

generation 5

[farrier. deployed 27 years after the wedding]

this generation is unique as their differences come not from new base dna but from a sudden lack of resources. the rebels finally got the intel on what resources were needed to make rose reds (previously they'd only been destroying factories which made 2 more pop up in its place) and were able to control/destroy it. the crown was forced to make do with less and worse resources and were desparately trying to keep up with how massive the rebellion was as over the past decade or so they'd been relying pretty heavily on rose reds instead of enlisted/drafted forces. rose reds were just. better at being soldiers. they went through a handful of prototypes (043-051) but those were mostly "all right what's the best we can do with the resources on hand."

gen 5 roses are as functional as they can be. they're basically worse versions of gen 4; though equally brainwashed and technically capable, their bodies and minds tend to degrade pretty quickly. this is especially so the more combat they face. they're fast and cheap and hardly the quality they used to be made at. very few gen 5 rose reds survived to see the end of the war because of how badly they were made.

farrier is a gen 5 rose red! she's one of the extremely few who never saw combat because she was a guard model stationed at a super remote outpost so she degraded a lot more slowly. there were a lot of wild horses around so she developed the single trait of "i like horses :)" after the war, she was given the opportunity to be like. a test subject for "can we like. make gen 5 rose reds more stable so we can rehabilitate them?" she said yes because. she'd get to see more horses. she has a very limited view of the world she may have been made for war but what war is there when. Creatures.

she does succeed in having a somewhat more normal lifespan, though still shortened compared to the others. she gets really involved in like. horse things when being rehabilitated. in particular she takes up smithing so she can become a farrier (guy who forges horseshoes). she is just. horse girl rose red extraordinaire the other rose reds Do Not Relate. At All.

she accidentally becomes the gold standard of rose red rehabilitation cuz. honestly she becomes a relatively functioning member of society. but also she only had the trauma of the inherent horror of being made a rose red she's like. vibing??? she has rose's very blase attitude to a lot of things and although she can hold her own in a fight she doesn't seek it out at all. gentle giant. her minders love her so so much

i think she winds up in a weird small rural town somewhere. she's not good with the other rose reds ("damn that sucks" is not an appropriate reaction to the other rose reds talking about the horrors of war and she just. she's not like them. it's not her fault of course she's just. different) and most of the people around her during her rehabilitation period are very politically opinionated and farrier just cannot bring herself to care. however. although its a bit of a weird transition at first she gets along really well with the people of the town she moves into. they needed a farrier anyways and even if it's a bit odd that its her name instead of just her job she's chill. she's vibing. the kids love her. she gets her own horse <3

there's some intense debate in the beginning about whether to accept her because she's a rose red, though this town never... saw the war? like it happened around them but not in their town y'know? but she proves herself when she rescues the mayor's kid from being lost in the woods and almost eaten by a wild animal. she's socially awkward but learning what friendliness is. occasionally she has weird nightmares that are og rose's memories or just. the horrors of being a rose red. but she takes out her frustration with those by swinging a hammer really hard at hot metal. she's got coping mechanisms <3

[writerbuddha]

Do you think writers should use more of a well-defined morality approach to the widespread "grey"? Though the former has always been criticized for its simplicity and irrelevant to the real world, the franchise under George Lucas looked like a gateway for philosophical understanding. If possible, as someone who understands it well, what is your opinion on the separation of Pure Evil (ingrained by DNA) and Broken characters?

I think that when it comes to writing, we need to distinguish between layout and morality, because only then we can address the problems with separating Pure Evil and Broken characters!

I think writers should use a more well-defined morality approach, but that's different from the conventional morality approach, I call it light-and-dark morality as opposed to black-and-white.

Layout: "black-and-white" and "grey"

BLACK-AND-WHITE LAYOUT:

In black-and-white layout, the characters are arranged along clearly and strictly defined lines: we have the heroes who are Good and we have the villains who are Evil. We have these sides opposing each other, and it's very clear which side we should identify with and who should win. The overwhelming majority of the most popular stories of our time, including but not limited to George Lucas' Star Wars, uses black-and-white layout. Jedi Knights versus Sith Lords, the Rebellion versus the Empire, the humans versus the orcs, wizards and witches versus the Death Eaters, Gandalf the White versus the Dark Lord, Snow White versus the Evil Queen, the Pevensie children versus the White Witch and so on. It's important to note that this doesn't mean that heroes can't turn into villains and villains can't turn into heroes, nor does it mean that there can't be hero figures on both sides, but but it means, that will always be a clear shift from Good to Evil and from Evil to Good, or that the heroes of the Evil side are deceived.

Black-and-white layout sometimes might allow for "grey" characters. The mildest example of this might be Grumpy in Snow White, who is quite hostile to the sweet princess, but who obviously loves her, and then there is Hondo Ohnaka in Clone Wars, who is a criminal and serving only himself, but there are signs of willingness to do good. But most often than doesn't, "grey" eventually must choose.

GREY LAYOUT

Grey layout is understood to be a relatively new type of layout for a story, but Homer's Iliad could be one of the most ancient surviving examples of it: there is a king who fights for his honor, a king who fights for his city, a prince who fights for love, a warrior who fights for glory. We can identify and empathize with both sides, or at least we can find both sides' actions comprehensible, plausible. I think the best example of grey layout today would be Netflix' Arcane, where, even though we can point out the least sympathetic characters, we can't comfortably declare one side Good or Right and the other Evil or Wrong, whereas in black-and-white layout, this is a very easy task.

Grey layout can be seen as a more realistic layout for a story, trying to address complex, contemporary issues, while the black-and-white layout is more metaphorical, focusing on conveying universal lessons and messages in an abstract way that can be translated to concrete situations. In this sense, stories with grey layout seek to present reality and bring attention to concrete issues in the real world, and stories with black-and-white layout are focusing on presenting role models, to raise human beings who are able to solve concrete issues.

Morality: "black-and-white," "black-and-broken-and-flawed-and-white," "grey" and "light-and-dark"

BLACK-AND-WHITE MORALITY

Black-and-white morality can exist only in a black-and-white layout, but it's crucial to understand, black-and-white layout doesn't always results in black-and-white morality. In fact, black-and-white morality stories are quite rare and they can end up being criticized for being overly simplified and for failing to be applicable to reality. In black-and-white morality, everything between birth and death can be seen as a war between clearly and sharply defined poles of Good and Evil. Good is always the most morally pure and satisfying, most just and also nicest thing to do, and the Good Ones are always doing Good.

The only ones who are dissatisfied with them are the Evil Ones, who are willfully and consciously fighting against the morally pure and satisfying, the just and nice, and do Evil, the exact opposite, instead. Black-and-white morality isn't trying to explain or understand Evil, it only focuses on identifying it, locating it and destroying it, which is, of course, the Good thing to do. In black-and-white morality, Evil is understood to be either as is a quality that we are born with (i.e. "ingrained by DNA") or that Evil is something like an infection that is nevertheless under our conscious control (i.e. "you sold your soul!") Lord of the Rings is the closest thing to black-and-white morality stories: the heroes are creatures of light and grace or modesty and simple good-will, they're noble and well-meaning, even though they can be corrupted by Evil, which is a creature of fire and darkness, leading an army of deformed, vile, animalistic monsters.

BLACK-AND-BROKEN-AND-FLAWED-AND-WHITE MORALITY

The reason why black-and-white morality faces with increasing criticism for is the fact that it fails to address the complexity of life: whenever we look deeply into the heart of someone we identified as Evil, we find that they actually don't meet the criteria: they, just like ourselves, simply want to be happy and not to suffer, and this is at the core of everything they do. They don't see themselves as Evil, they didn't vow to destroy Good. In fact, more often than doesn't, they're, too, victims of Evil. Black-and-white morality is sometimes replaced with another type of morality that includes Broken, who is like a white chess pawn moved by the player who is with black: they are not Evil, but, in truth, they're Good, who are the victim of Evil, and because the Evil that was done to them, they are twisted to a place where they themselves do Evil. It would be important to realize that this is still black-and-white morality: it insists on the existence of Evil that must be identified and destroyed without any hesitation or compassion and it asks us to believe and not to ask questions when it points at someone and says "Evil" and at another saying, "Broken."

The morality that separates Evil and Broken is just black-and-white morality trying to delay the inevitable collapse of the entire binary upon which it was built, and by doing so, it also paralyzes its heroes. Treating Broken characters as Evil would fail to meet with the criteria of Good, therefore, each and any character who decides to respond with countermeasures to the Evil done by Broken characters cannot be Good - they're flawed. In fact, so the reasoning goes, Good would make Good attractive enough for the Broken, so they won't choose Evil, thus ultimately, anything that the Broken character did, was the fault of the Flawed characters. True Good characters must gather all their Goodness and radiate it to Broken characters, and turning them back to Good as a result. It would be important to note that this type of morality is often presented as relevant and nuanced, but in truth, it's an even more severely absolutist morality that cannot tolerate nuance and fails to address the complexities of life, insisting on a dangerously simplistic view. However, its popularity is growing in fandoms, even though to this date, it manifested itself only in hot takes built on "death to the author!" theory.

GREY MORALITY

Grey morality can be defined in many ways, but it's essentially the rejection of black-and-white morality paired with the view that Good and Evil are both just ideas and the line between right and wrong is blurred. Although grey morality is seen by many as the morality that moves beyond the dichotomy of Good and Evil, it should be noted that it stops at rejecting this dichotomy - it's either not equipped or not willing to explore a post-black-and-white reality. For this reason, apart from dwelling on the absence of the clearly and strictly defined lines dividing Good and Evil, stories adopting grey morality are not really having much to say, it doesn't really know where to go from there, since although it pushed the old moral compass aside and didn't make a new one to navigate. Grey heroes are usually angsty, edgy, "not good so that's bad but not evil, so that's good" figures.

It should be noted that stories adopting grey morality can deal with complex and relevant issues and can communicate very important messages, and grey characters can develop or mature. In fact, most of them ends up doing immense good to others, so grey morality sooner and later does try to a re-establish black-and-white layout, but it presents heroes and role models who are careful not to rise the bar too high, since grey morality holds an essentially skeptical views on humanity. Although it won't come to any profound conclusion about Good and Evil and how to conduct ourselves in the world, it does try to update Good and Evil in a way that says, "It's OK. No one is perfect, just keep trying to do your best, that's all that can be asked, really." Game of Thrones or Hunger Games might be good examples of this.

LIGHT-AND-DARK MORALITY

Although light-and-dark morality can exist both in black-and-white layout and grey layout, it's the least popular type of morality, since it challenges the conventional story of Good and Evil, even though it defines "good" and "evil" very strictly and clearly. In a nutshell, light-and-dark morality tells us: anything we resent in another person is also within ourselves, a part of all that lives. Evil behavior arises as a result of other causes and conditions, the "dark" parts of ourselves: fear, anger, hate aggression, greed, selfishness, bitterness, jealousy and so on, and an Evil Person is a person who is under the sway of these parts themselves. Therefore, although light-and-dark morality acknowledges the reality of conflict, in place of the struggle between Good and Evil and the quest to identify and destroy external Evil, it emphasizes identifying and conquering our own dark side and the understanding of the true nature of Evil, as a way of really winning battles between what is understood as Good and Evil. Therefore, the struggle is to keep the roots of Evil within ourselves under check and to cultivate compassion, wisdom, generosity and mindfulness.

Light-and-dark morality, therefore, proposes, there is no Evil that we can identify and destroy and then label it a Good and Right thing to do, to which only those will object who are consciously and willfully chose to fight against the most morally pure, most satisfying and nicest thing. This is a conclusion that black-and-white morality tries to avoid by separating Evil and Broken characters, since it clings on the notions of absolute Good and absolute Evil. The light-and-dark morality tale equates Evil with Broken, and it indicates, we must be able to recognize when we have to stop fighting for the Broken and we have to start to fight for those who must be protected from the Broken, who inflicts pain and suffering and harm onto others. Thus, light-and-dark morality rejects the idea, the Good and Right thing is always satisfying and just and nice to everyone: it proposes, we must accept, in many cases, the right thing to do isn't the nicest, the most gentle or most pleasant or most agreeable thing to do; the wrong thing to do isn't always the nasty, mean, unkind, unpleasant thing to do. And unlike grey morality that blurs the lines between good and evil, light-and-dark morality proposes, everything has a dark and a light side: there is no action that is inherently good or evil, whether it becomes a good or an evil act will depend on our motivations and the circumstances we're in. George Lucas' Star Wars story is one of the best examples of light-and-dark morality: he defined the battle between Good and Evil is defined as a battle between selflessness and selfishness, that is, in truth, the battle between no-fear and fear. Jedi Knights are focusing on doing good and to prevent evil from rising, but in order to do that, they must do things that aren't Good according to the criteria established by black-and-white morality.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Welcome To The Outpost: Part 1.3 - Lost Battle

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Clone Commander Mayday, Clone Trooper Hexx, Clone Trooper Veetch, Additional Clone Troopers Word Count: ~3810 Warnings: Minor Character Deaths Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: An attempt to engage the raiders ends up attracting unwanted attention from the native wildlife, costing the lives of even more of Mayday’s clone troopers.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes

The horizon belched a slick of oily smoke towards the sky. Mayday’s heart dropped as he watched it, pressing one hand to his com.

“Krake, come in.”

No response. Around him his troopers looked between each other, knowing dips of helmets bobbing through the squad before they turned almost as one to gaze out across the ice field to the crashed snow-bike.

Krake had leapt onto the snowmobile as the raiders had fled, barely clinging to the webbing they used to secure the crate of stolen cargo. It seemed like his intervention had stopped them getting away, but at a price.

Taking a deep breath, Mayday turned back to survey the depot. The entryway of the storage building smoked softly, the doors a mangled mess of metal from the detonator that had blown it open to admit the raiders.

“Ferox, reckon you can fix that?”

The engineer grunted. “Gonna have to, aren’t I.”

“Helix, Hexx, stay here and help him.” Mayday shouldered his blaster and tightened the wrap of fabric keeping the cold out of the neck of his armour. “The rest of you, let’s go retrieve the cargo… and our brother.”

The six clones set out from the base, past the edge of the hard-standing which was swept clear of snow and into the chilled wilderness beyond. Recon and Telmer walked in front, footfalls crunching through the thin crust on the surface of the snow to sink them into the powdery stuff beneath. Mayday and Veetch walked in their footsteps, and Atlas and Axis behind them.

The datapad hooked to his belt beeped. Mayday retrieved it and checked the screen.

[Seismic activity alert: Low]

Atlas had his rangefinder down, rifle to his shoulder as he surveyed their destination. “There’s movement out there, commander.”

Mayday failed to stifle a sigh. “Drop low to the ground, boys,” he instructed, doing so and noting that at least the scavenged strips of fabric tied around the joints of his armour were stopping the cold from getting in. He shook himself – it was no time to be worrying about the state of his knees.

The troopers followed their commander’s example without a word. It was almost impossible to spot white clone armour against the snow; better to risk the chill of the ground than stand out as targets against the darker background of the depot itself.

“Atlas?” Mayday asked roughly, and the sniper poked his head up, sighting along his scope again.

“Kriff,” he swore softly. “More bikes. They’re gonna grab the crate from the one Krake crashed.”

Blaster fire skimmed towards them across the bright white of the midday blind snow glare. Mayday dropped further, so close to the ground that his cuirass brushed the snow.

“Close the distance,” he ordered. “Atlas, keep them pinned down until we can engage.”

The air filled with the roar of snowmobile engines as a further two of the machines surged down from the pass to join the skirmish. The new bikes slewed in front of the downed machine, sending up a spray of snow to obscure their motions, but Atlas fired into it regardless.

Advancing as fast as they could despite the snow, Mayday’s squad quickly stormed the position and fought back against the men who tried to drag the stolen cargo from the damaged snowmobile to hook it up to their own. Blaster fire was traded, vicious in close combat.

The datapad’s beeping went unnoticed.

Using the damaged snowmobile for cover, it took mere minutes for Mayday’s squad to rout the would-be thieves. Abandoning their attempts to attach the crate to their remaining snow bikes, the handful of raiders who had been on-foot vaulted onto their companions’ rides to retreat. Clouds of snow were kicked up once more as the riders spun their machines away from the clones to flee back into the mountains.

Veetch ran forwards with a triumphant cry, raking blaster-fire after the retreating bikes before turning back to his squad and wrenching his helmet off to reveal his grinning face.

“Did you see that?” he crowed, leaping and punching the air enthusiastically. “We bring the fight to them, and they go running!” His eyes shone. “Better than staying inside the perimeter, right Commander? We should do this every time!”

Recon cuffed Veetch round the back of the head, then retrieved the younger clone’s helmet. “Krake died,” he admonished shortly. “Show some respect.”

“Cut the kid some slack,” said Telmer, taking Veetch’s bucket from Recon and returning it with a sympathetic smile. “It’s nice to have an easy win for once.”

Mayday stood slowly, gaze going past Veetch to the retreating snowmobiles. The raiders outnumbered them. The fact they abandoned their prize so easily made him uneasy.

His private com line chirped. Hexx’s voice sounded by his ear, tight with concern.

“Did you get the seismograph update?”

Mayday pulled the datapad from his belt again, tapping to activate the display.

[Seismic activity alert: Medium]

And, as he watched:

[Seismic activity alert: High]

He swore under his breath. The ‘low’ alert had been more than the readings from the incoming bikes. Turning to his squad he barked the command, “Back to the depot. Now.”

Axis looked up from where he was gently lifting Krake’s body from under the downed snowmobile. “Commander?” he asked cautiously.

Mayday quickly commed Atlas, the sniper still in position further out in the snow. “Atlas, return to base.” Then, muttered under his breath, “Ferox’d better make sure those kriffing beacons are working…”

“We’re on it,” came Hexx’s grim reassurance. “Just get yourselves back here as fast as you can.”

Pulling his helmet back into place, Veetch slung his blaster and moved to the crate. “I’ll help drag the supplies-”

“Leave them,” ordered Mayday.

“But sir-”

“They’re not important.”

Mayday knew the lie of his words, knew the Empire valued the unchanged count of boxes stored at the facility above the lives of the clone troopers guarding them. Right now it didn’t matter. His boys were in danger and he was going to get them back to the depot without risking more of their lives for inanimate cargo.

Unease spread through the squad, who started moving after Mayday with increasing speed. Axis had Krake slung over his shoulders, and Telmer and Recon walked either side of him with their blasters ready.

The tranquil snowscape erupted around them. In a shower of ice and roaring monster the frost wyrm breached beneath the spot the troopers had just abandoned, armoured head flinging the disabled snowmobile into the air.

Almost as one the clone troopers turned, necks craning up to watch the wyrm’s body stretch towards the sky with the sheer power of its lunge.

Over their heads a volley of rifle-bolts arced towards the wyrm. Mayday glanced along the snow-field to see Atlas crouched, barely visible against the surrounding snow-glare, scope trained on the new threat.

The creature’s thick, segmented body shuddered as the blaster bolts hit into it – an annoyance, nothing more. Slowly the mighty wyrm leaned, then crashed into the snow, blunt snout snapping and the great maw churning up the ground.

“RUN.”

Mayday’s command was almost redundant. His troops were already moving, scrambling over ground that shifted beneath their feet as the vast creature’s emergence fractured the permafrost beneath the snow.

Telmer and Axis raced ahead, quickly reaching Atlas who was still trying to hit the weak points on the wyrm’s armoured form. Mayday was close behind them, turning back to check for the last members of the squad.

Veetch and Recon were nowhere in sight.

The wyrm twisted atop the ice, angling straight towards the retreating clones – and the depot. Mayday risked a glance back, didn’t have time to take in whether the beacons were pulsing with their protective red lights. He brought his own blaster up, scanning the snowscape beneath the advancing wyrm through the scope.

“Recon, Veetch, come in.”

“I’m with Recon, sir,” came Veetch’s reply.

“Where is he?”

Recon responded with a grim laugh. “Trapped in the ice, Commander. Got my leg stuck in a fissure.”

Mayday glanced at the three troopers with him. “I’m going back for them.”

“Not alone,” said Axis immediately, letting Krake’s body slide to the ground beside his brother and pulling a thermal detonator from his belt.

Mayday huffed his begrudging acknowledgement. “Atlas, Telmer-”

“I’ll get Krake back to base,” volunteered Telmer. “Permission to access heavy ordnance?”

“Granted,” nodded Mayday. “Atlas?”

“Covering fire as best I can, Commander,” confirmed the sniper. “I’ll try and keep its attention off you.”

Mayday grit his teeth, then started running again. Outstripping him, Axis raced ahead, laying down his own blaster fire in the space between Atlas’ shots. The blue-glow blaster bolts from the clones’ rifles barely pitted the creature’s skull-plate.

Axis skidded in the snow, long slide bringing him into a defensive crouch until he lobbed the thermal detonator in a strong overarm throw.

The device rolled under the wyrm’s lunging body, the explosion swallowed by ice and armour. The creature thrashed from side to side, the thunderous clack of its snapping jaws reverberating from the nearby mountains.

Beneath the layer of snowfall the ice crust creaked ominously. Atlas and Axis didn’t let up their volley of fire, working to keep the wyrm distracted by their attacks instead of noticing the other clone trooper closing on it.

At last Mayday spotted Veetch flagging him down and angled his path to bring him close – far too close for comfort – to where the wyrm heaved its body along the ice to pursue the twins.

Without Veetch, he doubted he would have found Recon. The clone was well below the level of the surrounding ground, soft snow cascading into a crack that had opened up in the lower layer of permafrost. Recon’s blaster was discarded, the clone scrabbling with both arms to try and maintain his purchase on the sliding snow. One leg and hip disappeared into the dark crevasse beneath him. The other knee was caught on the edge of the lip of ice, and slipping.

As soon as Mayday was close Veetch flung himself to the ground, spreading his weight on the treacherous snow lest he sink also. He stretched his rifle out to Recon, the struggling clone grabbing onto the barrel and holding tight.

“Good to see you,” panted Recon as Mayday appeared at Veetch’s side.

Mayday carefully skidded down the shifting snow, chancing his weight on the ice beneath. The snap and pop of fracturing permafrost could be heard despite the blanket of snow on top of it.

“Recon. Grab my hand.” Mayday reached out cautiously, feet spread wide to keep his balance on ground which trembled with every movement of the gargantuan wyrm. From their position in the pit he could no longer see the creature, but it’s presence was a constant danger.

Recon loosed one hand from the rifle, straining to reach Mayday’s outstretched hand. On the edge of the fissure his knee slipped, and his whole body plunged deeper into the crack.

Veetch and Recon’s startled cries echoed in synchronicity, and Mayday fought every instinct that told him to lunge and catch his fallen trooper. Recon scrabbled at the edge of the ice, up to his armpits in the crevasse now, forearms failing to find purchase on the slick ice.

Ice creaked, and Recon grunted. With a snap a huge crack appeared in his cuirass, white plastoid fracturing to reveal the black body-glove beneath.

“The ice is shifting as the wyrm moves,” gasped Veetch, breathless and fraught. “C’mon, Recon, you have to get up!”

The black visor of Recon’s helmet tilted up, gazing at Veetch.

The ice closed, vice-like. Blood misted from the seams of Recon’s armour as his torso was crushed between the shifting ice-plates.

“Recon!”

Almost as fast as it had closed the ice was pulling apart again, splintering, and now great chunks began to drop into the wyrm channels beneath. Recon’s body slithered helplessly away. Mayday threw himself to one side, landing prone in the snow, then whipped his head around in time to see Veetch sliding uncontrollably towards the now gaping crevasse. He lunged, trying to catch the rifle still in Veetch’s outstretched hand.

Cold-numbed fingers closed around the barrel and held fast. Mayday grunted as Veetch’s descent stalled with a jerk, held fast as snow cascaded past him whilst the young clone scrambled to avoid being drawn into the vortex of crumbling ice.

“I’ve got Veetch,” Mayday grit into the com as he struggled to his feet, grabbing his trooper and hauling him the rest of the way to safety. “Fall back!”

Veetch staggered against Mayday as they reached the lip of the pit, both hands clinging to his commander’s shoulders.

“Recon… I couldn’t…”

“No time for that, kid,” muttered Mayday.

Limbs weighted by weariness despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, Mayday dragged them upright and skirted round the brittle ground near the wyrm. Their pace was unsteady, Veetch trembling under his firm grasp.

The ground continued to quake as the creature thrashed, body convulsing with powerful waves as it lunged towards the clone troopers who harried it.

“Commander.” Hexx’s calm voice sounded through the com. “Telmer is on his way back to you. Ferox… advises that we don’t rely on the beacons. Karking Empire have got a lot to answer for, posting us out here without the equipment to keep us safe.”

Veetch stumbled. Mayday caught him again. “Come on, lad. Nearly there.”

Axis and Atlas were fighting a running battle, never staying in one spot long enough for the wyrm to strike. Each time it readied for an attack the brothers went scrambling away, criss-crossing their tracks in the deep snow. Mayday and Veetch reached them at almost the same time Telmer did, heavy kit box containing the outpost’s single rocket launcher in tow.

Axis dove past where Mayday and Telmer were wrenching the box open. “Last one,” he called with false cheer as he lobbed another thermal detonator towards their target.

The device chinked against the permafrost, then rolled and dropped into the crevasse from which the wyrm had emerged.

A distant, muffled thump was the sound of the detonator exploding. The wyrm threw its head back with a cacophonous screech, body going rigid, vertical; then inexorably, under the weight of gravity, it slid down beneath the ice and out of view.

The six troopers stood in a daze, numbed by the sudden silence of the battlefield. Mayday had the rocket launcher in his hands, Telmer almost ready to load the first warhead. Atlas straightened from his position hidden in the snow, walking forwards, and Axis clapped a hand to Veetch’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

“What happened?” asked Veetch in a trembling voice. “Did we kill it?”

“Doubt it,” said Axis as lightly as he could muster. “Probably just blew a deeper hole in the ice. Let’s get out of here before it comes back.”

Mayday quickly checked the datapad. [Seismic activity alert: High]

“Back to the outpost, everyone,” he ordered shortly. The more experienced troopers moved instantly, but Veetch edged towards the crater left by the frost wyrm.

“Veetch,” called Telmer, firm but not unkind. “Come on.”

“Recon… R-Recon’s down there,” stammered the young clone, turning back to look at his brothers, his posture imploring. “We have to recover his body.”

“Later, Veetch,” said Mayday with calm finality.

“A-and the cargo. Th-the Empire’ll-”

“Screw the Empire,” snorted Atlas softly.

Axis slung his blaster, heading back towards the youngest member of their squad. “Hey,” he said, gently coaxing. “C’mon. Let’s head back.”

“Recon’s dead,” said Veetch. “I couldn’t save him. I just watched.”

“You didn’t ‘just watch’.” Mayday’s voice was gravelly. He stood, resting the launcher on his shoulder. “You did everything you could.”

“You heard the commander,” said Axis reassuringly. “I bet Recon knew it too. Now come on, we need to get back. It’s not safe out here.”

He rested a hand on Veetch’s shoulder, steering him away from the edge of the pit. Veetch allowed himself to be guided, standing a little straighter and blaster coming back to his hands in readiness.

The ground heaved. The two clones froze and exchanged a look.

Unhesitating, Axis threw Veetch forwards, the younger clone stumbling into the others and whipping round as the gigantic monstrosity erupted from the ground once more, demolishing the edge of the ice.

It was all they could do to watch in horror as Axis was snagged on the jaws of the wyrm as it breached, flung into the air to be caught by the churning maw, a pulsing, grinding channel of muscle and teeth. Then Atlas was shouting, a wordless cry, levelling his rifle to fire into the fleshy mouth. Telmer and Mayday were moving as one, Telmer loading the rocket, Mayday sighting through the rangefinder.

The jaws crunched closed once, twice on Axis’s shattered body, before the frost wyrm turned its broad head towards the remaining clone troopers and lunged.

The rocket flew, whistling on its short journey. The warhead arced into the creature’s throat and lodged there, embedded in the fleshy folds between teeth.

The explosion blew a hole through the back of the creature’s head, burnt scraps of gore and viscera flying free. With a dying exhale the wyrm heaved to a halt, smoke curling from its now slack maw, the ground tremoring and then settling as it crashed into the stillness of death.

Mayday lowered the rocket launcher slowly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Behind him Telmer sat suddenly, adrenaline abandoning him. Atlas fell to his knees, rifle sliding from his grip. Veetch was stock still, trembling like a leaf.

The datapad beeped.

[Seismic activity alert: None]

*

The outpost was subdued. Mayday had ordered them to move all the crates of cargo from the damaged storage unit into the main building, lest the raiders try and take advantage in another strike. That job had taken them the rest of the daylight hours; now evening, and inactivity, gave them time to process their losses.

Ferox’s face was painted in a dark, teary glower, eyes red-rimmed from the furious tears he had shed over losing their brothers; most of all over losing Recon, who had been with him since before the Barton IV assignment.

He sat with Helix and Telmer, the three of them talking in low voices, making disinterested plans to repair the damaged storage unit. Occasionally they would fall quiet and watch as Veetch paced past, the young clone restless and agitated, gaze darting wildly about the enclosed space like he was seeking an escape.

By contrast Atlas sat in numb silence, gaze distant and unfocused as his hands trembled around a rapidly cooling mug of caf. Hexx had tucked a blanket closely about his shoulders but the shaking in his body was nothing to do with the cold. He hadn’t spoken a word since carrying his batchmate’s broken body back to the depot.

Mayday and Hexx stood by the main door, armoured and ready for duty. Ferox had brought the beacons back online, but Mayday had suggested he would man the watchtower as well, as added security. Hexx had simply geared up without question.

Helmet in hands, Mayday paused, his gaze roving over the remaining members of his small squad. Then he laid it down, heading to his locker.

He came back holding a sealed bottle of Correlian brandy, the amber liquid glinting in the low light of the depot.

He tossed the bottle to Ferox, then pointed at Veetch.

“Get him drunk,” he instructed flatly. Then he turned a sympathetic gaze on Atlas. “Probably him, too.”

Telmer and Helix leaned in to inspect the bottle with interest. “Where did you get this?” asked Ferox, his curiosity reluctantly piqued as he cracked the seal and inhaled.

 “I was saving it,” said Mayday shortly. “For something special. Celebrate the end of this posting, maybe.” He glanced again at the haggard troops, barely half of them left from his original command of twelve. “Seems as good a time as any to open it now.”

“You joining us for a drink, commander?” asked Telmer softly.

Mayday shook his head. “You boys relax.” He knew how hollow it sounded. “Me and Hexx will be outside if you need us.”

The two older clones walked a perimeter patrol of the depot before heading to their post in the watch-tower. Twilight cast long shadows over the valley, the sun hidden behind the mountains and the sky lit in a pale wash of blue with the last of the dying sunlight.

Mayday climbed the sentry tower, then removed his helmet to survey the churned snowscape. His hair and beard whipped in the wind, snow crystals settling on the lengths and not melting. Hexx climbed silently to his side, leaning his forearms on the edge and letting it take his weight.

“Gotta admire them,” Mayday commented after a time.

“What?”

“The vultures.” He indicated the huge dark birds which clustered in vast numbers around the fallen ice wyrm. Some circled overhead. silhouetted against the dusky sky. Others pecked and tore at the red shreds of flesh hanging from the soft inside of the wyrm’s slack, dead jaws.

Hexx merely grunted, shifting his position to ease the ache of cold from his frame.

“They’ll go after anything. No prey is too big. They’re making a tidy job of stripping that carcass.”

“Good thing we got our brothers back to the depot then,” muttered Hexx bitterly.

“At least they died.”

Mayday’s voice was odd, soft and strained. Hexx turned to look at him, studying the faraway look in Mayday’s brown eyes.

“Commander?” probed Hexx, tone laden with gentle concern.

“We’ve got no medic. We’ve got next to no med supplies. Better they died out there, quickly, than slowly and in pain from their injuries in here.”

Mayday’s usual bite of sarcasm was absent. He merely sounded exhausted.

“We’re losing this battle,” he continued softly, voice almost lost to the dancing wind. “Against this planet. Against this posting.”

“’Keep fighting, show the Empire what us clone troopers are made of’,” quoted Hexx. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Mayday snorted a humourless laugh. “I thought you didn’t believe in all that.”

“I believe in you,” said Hexx loyally. He nudged Mayday’s helmet in his hands. “Put that back on, before you freeze out here.”

Something that was almost a smile ghosted against Mayday’s lips before he did as Hexx bid, replacing his bucket and tightening the wraps to keep the cold out.

“Think those boys will leave any drink for us?” he asked.

Now it was Hexx’s turn to laugh. “Not a chance.”

Mayday sighed. “That’s fine. They deserve it. They deserve… so much more than this.”

Hexx didn’t reply.

The two clones watched the ruined scene of battle on the horizon until darkness swallowed it. And kept watching long into the night.

Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out

Welcome to Angstpril!

This writing project is a collaboration between myself, @the-little-moment and @kybercrystals94 to bring you a fabulous series of angst-based Bad Batch fanfiction. We've shared the prompts between us so don't forget to check all of our blogs to catch the whole month's worth of stories!

My series of 10 stories will focus on Clone Commander Mayday and the Barton IV Outpost. Stay tuned to follow Mayday's journey to the bitter end...

Don't forget to check out @the-little-moment's stories:- Day 1 - Homesick Day 4 - Longing

And @kybercrystals94's stories:- Day 3 - Broken Hearted Day 6 - This Isn't Going To Work

[ariainstars]

What Makes a Story Satisfying?

This is of course only my own point of view, but it’s an idea that came to me recently. Like: why are some stories so satisfying that we love to read, hear or watch them over and over, and others aren’t?

A good, if not perfect way to make a story satisfying is a plot twist. In order to work, it must fulfil these prerequisites:

happen towards the end of the story

be wholly surprising, even better if “magical” (supernatural)

be connected with love / affection

lead to happiness / fulfilment

Good examples

In Beauty and the Beast, the magical moment takes place because Belle is wholly unaware of the nature of the spell that is being lifted. She is stunned and in awe when everything changes, and so are we.

In Snow White, the dwarfs and the prince do not know that the heroine is not dead but under a spell. Much of the happiness of the finale comes from the fact that her reawakening is a total, wondrous surprise for everybody involved.

In Cinderella, nobody was expecting that the heroine would have the second glass slipper at hand which would identify her as the right girl.

In The Little Mermaid, we do not expect that Ariel’s father will relent at last, much less that he has the power to give her a human form.

In Moon Knight, in Episode 4 Marc finds his alter ego Steven, and despite their earlier bickering they form a strong bond and, in the last two episodes, resolve Marc’s internal trauma together.

In the first classic Star Wars film, Han Solo comes back at the last moment to save his friend Luke. In The Empire Strikes Back, Leia can feel where Luke is so that they can rescue him. In Return of the Jedi, Darth Vader unexpectedly chooses to save his son in the end at the cost of his own life.

In The Last Jedi, Kylo / Ben kills Snoke in the throne room scene instead of Rey. This leads to a dramatic scene in which both young people fight the Imperial Guards together, effectively showing that together, Light Side and Dark Side are invincible.

The first season of The Mandalorian ends with the redemption of Greef Karga, the shady leader of the bounty hunter’s guild, after the mysterious child has healed his deadly wound with the aid of the Force.

The Book of Boba Fett ends with Mando’s unexpected rescue through Grogu, who stops the rancor’s aggression by influencing his mind through the Force.

I am also a huge fan of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, among other things because its episodes kept surprising the viewer with unexpected, often sudden plot turns. Other Star Trek shows are much more predictable, which is why I usually can’t enjoy them.

The Netflix show Sex Education has some surprising developments and some satisfying ones, but I can’t think of a single one that is both.

The novel (and musical) The Phantom of the Opera ends with the bad guy / protagonist unexpectedly having compassion with the heroine and letting her go after she showed compassion to him in the first place, something he had never known before.

Bad examples

The awakening of Sleeping Beauty is not a surprise for the characters, again leaving the story without the surprise effect.

One of the reasons why I am not a big fan of the Star Wars prequel trilogy is its lack of surprises.

In The Phantom Menace we learn that the handmaiden Padmé is in truth the Queen Amidala of Naboo, but this is not a supernatural turn of events. Qui Gon is killed by Maul, without an explanation except for what we can make of it: young Anakin will be trained by the less experienced and mature Obi-Wan. This is never said anywhere however.

Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith (although I find the latter a small masterpiece) also do not offer real surprises. As fans of the saga, we knew what would happen - Anakin would sire children, then turn to the Dark Side and Palpatine would take over the power over the galaxy.

Rogue One also does not offer any development or plot turn which we would not have already known or expected, and the end is depressing.

In The Clone Wars, the only unexpected development is Ahsoka leaving the Jedi temple; which is only sad and further emphasizes the moral decline of the Jedi Order.

In Ahsoka, Sabine does manage to master the Force in the end, but it leads to an open end.

Ben Solo’s ultimate redemption in The Rise of Skywalker, the only positive aspect to this atrocious movie, is not a plot twist. It happens step by step, not suddenly, and all except but the most dense of viewers already knew or highly suspected that it would happen.

In the tv show Obi-Wan Kenobi, we have Reva’s final decision to not hurt Luke after all: but since this comes out of nowhere, it falls flat.

The Mandalorian season 2 leaves a bitter aftertaste: Luke coming to Mando’s and his friend’s rescue is cool to look at, but it leads to the worst end possible - he separates Mando from Grogu, when the show made it clear from the very first episodes that these two belong together.

And now we come to the really boring part.

The Star Wars sequels, Loki, The Bad Batch, Ahsoka… all these stories offer no twist and no resolution. They introduce characters which we get attached to, and then don’t seem to know how to finish their arc.

Which leads me, in turn, to interpret why most of the latest Disney Star Wars stories suck.

They lead to no end.

There may be some surprise here and there, but it doesn’t have that twist that leaves you with that “Wow” feeling. The heroes are not saved by magic and love and they don’t find fulfilment. All these stories want is for us to continue watching, hoping that some further development will finally give the characters we have grown to love closure.

The problem is that - we don’t live forever, dear Disney studios. Neither do you.

[fancylala4]

So I read and watched some things about the Tangled tv series and it’s such a mess.

There’s magic everywhere in this series when the only magic in the movie was in that flower. I guess they realized that it would get boring fast and added more interesting lore into the series. There also steampunk stuff in it which is really weird because there was none of that in the movie. There wasn’t even a gun in the movie but there’s robots in the series?

They added in some black characters in it so they don’t look as white as the movie. I’m also sure they ripped off sinbad again and gave Flynn a friend that reminded me of cal.

They also ripped off of frozen as well. We have sister issues plot lines like the queen has one and rapunzel has one with cass. Rapunzel struggles with being a queen and is anxious about it like Elsa was( when she was super perfect at everything in the movie). She even copied Anna in being a funny sleeper and not being a morning person. There also was a special where a snow storm threatened the kingdom just like with frozen! Stans whine that frozen ripped off this movie like Elsa having a similar hair part to rapunzel (lol) or that Anna is a rapunzel clone (when rapunzel was already a Ariel clone) when this show clearly rips off frozen. I guess they wanted that frozen popularity.

Mandy still can’t voice act for shit. It’s so funny how she hasn’t improved in the role since she started it and it sounds like she did this for the money. For example, That scene when rapunzel was yelling out and crying when pascal sacrificed himself was so painful. I heard more emotion from a girl who drop her own phone. it’s embarrassing because you can see that she’s out of her league when the got great singers in the mix with the guy who voiced that 14 years old and cass. It also says a lot that the song that got an award for this show had a great singer (cass I think it was) and not any of the songs Mandy sings.

The series made three king look like even more of a dick than he already was in the movie and made gothel look less of a dumbass than she did in the movies. The reason why she never moved the flower from the spot was because of some rock spikes would grow everywhere for some reason and it can cause harm to people who live in the area. But the king didn't care about this at all and took the flower knowing the things it would cause. He also kept the original flower and said that anyone who steals it like he did would be a criminal. So he’s a thief who stole a flower and used all its power for his own selfish purposes (when it could have help anyone in the kingdom with a similar or even worse case than him) and didn’t care that it would cause harm to not only his own kingdom but the world.

The 14 year old kid (who is super popular because I’ve seen his design everywhere) in the show was made out to be the bad guy because his dad got caught into that rock thingy and he just wants to issue to go away because it can hurt anyone. Rapunzel also kicked him out into a snowstorm (or someone in the castle did and she did nothing to stop it) and didn’t give a fuck about him for two episodes. He was low key right about everything going by the wiki.

I would say that the king was an abusive piece of shit because how he treated rapunzel but I already said something about that in an another post! I still can’t believe he locked her up in a fucking tower and the show pulled the “he loves and cares about you! So the abuse is ok” crap!

I do have to say that the music in the show was way better than it was in the movie. It seems like no one was holding Alan back and they got someone who could actually write good lyrics unlike that guy from the movie. The song ready as I’ll ever be (it was every where at one point and I had no idea it was from this show) was so much better than the trash ass songs they had in the movie.

The art is a mix between lolirock and a storybook. I like it better than the movie’s but it’s not the best. I also liked rapunzel’s hair better here than in the movie since it didn’t look like plastic.

[alcida-auka]

A very small The Bad Batch meta

I've talked at length on how Omega's story in the Bad Batch has an Aarne Thompson 709 fairytale motif, the "Snow White/Dead Princess" story.

But for this upcoming Bad Batch Season 3, where Omega will likely become an active heroine in her own right, I wonder if the story motif will be more similar to the Sister and Her Brothers Motif. For example, The Wild Swans or the Seven Ravens.

If the story becomes one of Omega saving her brothers in the Mountain [Hello, Glass Mountain from the Seven Ravens], then that makes me wonder if one of the Bad Batch will change but be forever altered.

Many versions of the Wild Swans has one brother who is never completely turned human. He carries a remnant of the curse for the rest of his life, in the form of one white swan wing.

I can see Crosshair being a form of the swan-winged brother. He and other clones will be cursed in the form of being used for Dr. Hemlock's experiments. Omega may save some of these clones, but Crosshair may never truly be the same and live with whatever changes Dr. Hemlock does to him.

[rambler-in-limbo]

Fascinating, so during the Winter would they stock up on food? For example would Whar halt his hunting and hibernate with the triplets?

No clone has ever needed to hibernate in the climate-controlled tower, so none of them really know how to prepare to brave the snow and ice. They don’t stock up on food or weight, nor do they know how to burrow underground like actual frogs. Most of them don’t even know that they’ll hibernate in the cold. This causes clones, falsely believing they’re about to freeze to death, to seek shelter in whatever they can find. This mostly includes homes, sheds, businesses, dumpsters, cars, and even large flower pots (which scatters dirt everywhere).

During winter Whar does cease his scrounging and succumbs to the cold alongside the triplets. He fears the dangers of leading them into human-populated buildings. Many-a clone has been killed by human pest control. So instead the four of them find a nice hovel in the woods and hunker down, sharing whatever heat they have left until they’re forced into hibernation.