My favourite hot take is that Simon adapts way better to being a civilian than Johnny does.
Johnny went and left for the army the second he could do so, relentlessly pushed his career and is, most likely, rarely not on base unless he's been told to fuck off or move his arse home (by either his superiors or family).
Simon on the other hand finished school and then took up an apprenticeship before joining the army. Even then he came home, took prolonged leave to help his family out. He spent way more time just living that reality. And even post Roba he was at home for a while before everything went to hell. He might not take a lot of leave since, because he has nothing to come home to, but he still knows to adjust to it.
If they take leave together Ghost settles remarkably well, still keeping an eye open but he's an adult who had time outside the forces to properly adjust to life.
Soap struggles. He gets by with his charm and bright blue eyes, and that's a good thing because he's too explosive, too intense for most normal social interactions.
He's caught somewhere between the 18 year old boy and the hardened SAS soldier and never spent enough time away to really grow into just John MacTavish. Not Sergeant, not Soap, not the FNG. Just him as a person outside of the military.
He navigates this part of his life like its a minefield. Making it through but boy oh boy, it's not looking graceful.
Ghost helps him mellow out in that regard, pointing out the messy weird mechanics of normal civilan life to him. Teaches him to enjoy that and not let his job ruin him. Simon who knows how quickly it can all fall apart can't help to see the beauty in the peace most people get to experience. He'll be damned if he can't share that beauty Johnny. Even if it's always just for a little while.
And because it's Ghost, who never steered him wrong Soap let's himself be led. Allows himself experiences outside of work and his family. And while he might not be eager to admit it, it makes him a better person.
And years down the line when they both made it out, last mission just one too many that was too close for comfort, all of that helps John MacTavish to adjust. Sure he mourns his life in the military, someone like him is bound to, but he's not too worried. He knows how to get by now. And even the days where he feels very out of his depth, he can approach with ease. Because he still has Simon at his side to show him the way forward.
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Something I love to think about is every iteration of Leo’s relationship with Splinter and how Splinter’s interests always define how a Leo presents himself.
I used to abide by the idea that a Leo will simply emulate his Splinter directly, and to an extent I still believe that to be the case, but moreso I think Leos have a tendency to mold themselves into what they believe is their Splinter’s ideal son - someone who embodies all the traits Splinter has explicitly shown to admire or value in a person.
Most of the time, they try to be a dutiful and honorable boy abiding by the full extent of ninjitsu teachings. Then you have Rise Splinter, who very much still has undeniable prowess in the art of fighting and being a ninja, but when it comes to how he shows his interests to his boys…one thing reigns supreme.
Acting. Shows. One liners. Flamboyance in the name of gaining an audience’s attention.
He showcases Lou Jitsu movies on repeat for the boys, passing down the morals and words from those movies to them with no small amount of pride. All while fully expecting them to respect these teachings.
So, of course, Rise Leo picks up on this. He’s a Leo, after all, as much a daddy’s boy as any other variation of him, only he clocked his father’s interests to be different than most others. He picks up on the art of showmanship, of keeping things to himself so as to be a more exciting twist later, of treating the world as a set to act in.
He’s an actor, not just because Splinter himself was one, but because Splinter likes acting and showed one particular actor (unknowingly to the boys, it was himself) as the pinnacle of all his teachings. As someone to value and admire. And even more than that - Splinter focuses on the character the actor is portraying rather than just the man himself.
And I think this is all even more interesting when taking the turtle tot short into consideration, because very, very briefly, just as with many times else throughout the series, we see how easily Rise Leo aligns with his other selves, seeming to pick up the sword easier than his brothers do their own weapons - after quoting Lou Jitsu of course. After emulating his idol - the person who his father seems to admire so much.
Point being, it’s so interesting to see how Leos tend to mold themselves in one particular way throughout every variation - that being, what their father is shown to value most in people.
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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.
He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.
And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.
And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.
Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.
Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."
There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.
It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.
Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.
At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.
"Do you like to do anything?"
Nothing. Just silence.
Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.
Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.
Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.
And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.
He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.
Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.
So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.
"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"
"Don't."
He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.
Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"
"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."
It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"
The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."
Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."
And they fall back into silence.
Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."
He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.
(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)
At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.
Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.
("Tucker told me once--")
("Tucker?")
("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")
(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)
(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)
It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."
The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."
The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.
When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.
Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.
"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."
When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.
Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.
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I try to generally be constructive and engaged with the show I love on here, so on this day, I’ll just say that one of the most thematically important aspects for me from the original ATLA is Aang’s emotional core of real shame for running away when he was hurt by the monk’s decision to send him away. People who feel the kind of deep-seated shame that Aang feels from this decision can understand how that kind of all-encompassing shame is not built around a simple failure or a lie they tell themselves; it’s constructed from real misbehaviors and transgressions of their own sense of ethics—lashing out, telling lies, attempting to hurt others intentionally—that then have consequences (abuses, abandonments, or deaths) which seem to far exceed their expectations or even basic logic.
The combination of the misbehavior with exaggerated existential punishments (along with a lack of support and amend-making in the immediate wake of the events) is what transforms a sense of guilt (I fucked up) into shame (I am a forever fuck-up). Then shame, that sense of being a secret monster ‘no matter what I do or how good everyone thinks I am,’ invites all the avoidance strategies (Aang puts on big smiles, makes lots of jokes, constantly tries to make everyone happy, hops from town to town without building deeper connections). One doesn’t want to acknowledge one’s true feelings or let others in to see those feelings and experiences because it’s too painful to face the grief at the same time that you have to look at yourself for being responsible—even when you recognize it wasn’t totally your fault. It’s just that if you had just been good, less emotional, less human, then maybe the world wouldn’t be so messed up. Of course, in a zen view of things, the world will always be messed up in the same way it will always be beautiful. These are constant facts that always coexist in balance, and this is the truth that Aang learns and that undergirds the whole series.
So I always loved that Aang ran away. It was his sin and his salvation. And it becomes this constant tension for the series—he gets hurt in Bato of the Water Tribe and starts to run away from Katara and Sokka, he runs away to the Guru in the Crossroads of Destiny and his best friend is attacked, he and the gaang retreat after the Day of the Black Sun failure, he runs away to meditation in Sozin’s Comet when everyone wants him preparing for war. Aang’s reluctance to be a hero and the attachments and petulance for which he gets criticized are what metamorphasize to become his most noble attributes. They allow him to empathize with others shame and, ultimately, wield the kind of compassion that can deconstruct the power and perfectionism of imperialism.
So yes, Aang ran away from his temple 100 years ago. It wasn’t the mentally healthy choice. It wasn’t the ethical choice. It wasn’t the wise choice. It was human and emotional and shameful and real. Aang is a better character for it. ATLA is a better show because of it. And we are better people when we understand these kind of tragic emotional experiences that people are trying so hard to grow through.
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