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frogs-in3-hills · 8 months

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hey do y’all remember when i said i might post that crimeboys & bedrock bros avatar fusion AU i’d written like 2 yrs ago? because. i might have just impulsively decided to clean up the first of two chapters and. yeah.

short disclaimer: i’m not in the dsmp fandom anymore, i don’t fully remember how to write these characters or even entirely where i was going with this fic, so don’t expect a continuation. sorry!! i'm just posting this for the sillies and for the couple of people who said they were interested. also, obligatory apology for referencing the gene yang comics in even the vaguest of senses…. i like the general conceit of the promise way more than uh... what they actually did with it.

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Safe Return (11,240 words) sorry about the length but y'all know me :|

Characters: Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot, Technoblade, Captain Puffy

Tags: Avatar: the Last Airbender fusion, Tommyinnit-centric, angst and fluff, alternate universe, Wilbur and Tommy are brothers, found family, unhealthy relationships, no beta

CW: fucked up immigration policy and a few stomach/gut-based analogies that may trigger emetophobia. also be aware of very lightly implied exile arc and briefly referenced suicidal tendencies.

Summary: Wilbur enlists the help of a stranger in the hopes of getting safely into Ba Sing Se. Tommy is not very pleased with this development, but they both know he'll follow Wilbur anyway.

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“Names?”

“Wilbur, ma’am. And he’s Tommy.”

Tommy flinched a little as Wilbur placed a hand on his shoulder. It was loud. They’d been standing underground for a few hours now, and before that they’d been waiting in the line trailing outside of Full Moon Bay since the early, early morning. The air was unpleasant in the same way it feels gross to hold a raw egg in your hands, bloated with sweat and the quiet shuffle of feet. The sooner Tommy was out of here, the better.

The woman before them had a perpetual pucker to her lips, as if she were holding something sour between her teeth. She raised a thin eyebrow.

“Hm… those are some unusual names. Where are you from, Wilbur and Tommy?”

Wilbur’s grip tightened slightly, and Tommy shuddered, worming two fingers into his pocket to fiddle with a loose thread.

“Well —” Wilbur started, but he could barely be heard over the hustle and bustle. He cleared his throat. “Well, we hail from Yu Dao, but we’ve been traveling north longer than we can remember, so we…”

Wilbur trailed off. Despite having asked, the woman looked uninterested in their story. Tommy could practically hear the social-interaction-cogs turning in Wilbur’s head. Distantly, he recalled a few minutes ago when Wilbur had begged him to “be civil” when they talked to the immigration officer.

Well, Wil had been too distracted to notice he never actually agreed to that, so he didn’t feel that bad for glaring daggers into the woman’s eyes. It was the least he could do, really.

“I see,” she drawled. “Passports?”

“We’re just humble refugees seeking asylum and work in the great walls of Ba Sing Se, ma’am,” Wilbur said.

“Either of you boys have an education? Or any in-demand skills?”

Wilbur sucked in a breath and his hand left Tommy’s shoulder. His words were familiar, a few short sentences having been practiced a hundred times over. “Both Tommy and I have a unique skillset from working a variety of jobs. I have political experience and he’s well-versed in agriculture and animal care. And we—we’re both young and can pick things up quickly. I’m confident we can—”

The woman raised her hand and Wilbur’s mouth clamped shut. The sight of it made Tommy want to strangle both of them. He wove the thread in his pocket so tight that it threatened to cut off the circulation in his fingers.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Wilbur attempted to continue. “…We can be of value to this great city’s community if… if you would lend us the opportunity…”

Oh my god, shut up! Tommy thought. This was it, wasn’t it? Their entire lives basically ruined in thirty seconds. Wilbur was bungling it, wasn’t he? Tommy should… Wil just needed a bit of inspiration. Right. Tommy gave him a gentle and motivational stomp on the foot.

Calm down, idiot, Tommy attempted to communicate to him through eye contact alone. He wasn’t sure if it worked. Wilbur only responded with a series of difficult expressions, all layered thinly under his best imitation of a more pleasant kind of human being, which made it hard to tell.

The woman sighed, sounding sort of dissatisfied, and then her eyes turned sharply to inspect Tommy.

“Show me your hands, little boy,” she said, her voice pitching somewhat as if she was trying to sound more approachable. Tommy felt butterflies rear in his stomach, anyways. He swallowed back the instinctual “I’m not a little boy, I’m fifteen!” retort and slowly presented his hands.

They were bony, nimble, fingers sprinkled lightly with scrapes and small moles. On the back of his left hand, a burn scar trailed from just under his sleeve and all the way down to his elbow. His nails left four angry, crescent-shaped indents in each palm as he unclenched his fists.

She reached out and snatched one of his hands.

Tommy hissed, immediately trying to yank it back to no avail as she ran a scrutinizing thumb over the tips of his fingers.

“What the fuck?” He shouted, the crude words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Don’t touch me!”

Her fingers felt soggy, like when a grandma kisses you on the cheek but without any of the affection. After a moment of tug o’ war, the woman, seemingly mollified, let go. Tommy stumbled backwards into Wilbur. Two warm, steadying hands met both his shoulders, and this time, Tommy wasn’t even sure if it felt comforting or restricting.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, he didn’t—” Wilbur started, attempting some damage control. Tommy would normally have been offended that Wilbur wasn’t taking his side, but the protective grip on his shoulders told him that Wilbur was just as upset as he was.

“Save your breath, young man,” the woman interrupted, then gave them a little lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I can’t admit you. Look at all these people behind you, they’re hard workers, and they have nowhere else to go. You tell me this kid’s a rancher of sorts, but look at his hands; he hasn’t worked a day in his life. We simply don’t have room for everyone.”

“Please, you need to understand—”

“I’ve worked! I’ve worked fucking plenty, bitch!”

“Denied. Next!” the woman called, waving a hand at them as if dismissing servants from her court. Tommy thought, optimistically, maybe she was just tired. Maybe he was just tired and none of this was actually happening. But then he blinked, and when he opened her eyes, her face was painted with cruelty instead. Maybe.

His stomach ignited with anger, but Wilbur reigned him in. “Tommy, we can’t—look, there are guards all around. Let’s go.”

It was true. Tommy glanced up to see that a group of women in guard uniform were standing in a group near the wall. One of them met Tommy’s eyes, but she didn’t seem like she was gearing up to drag them out or kill them or anything. For a moment, Tommy was distracted—they all looked extremely cool—but another tug on his arm reminded him of the situation.

“Ugh, but Wil—”

“I’m afraid we have no more business here.” The finality in Wilbur’s voice shut Tommy up long enough for him to twist around, practically dragging Tommy with him as he began to powerwalk to the exit.

Well, it was more like he was confidently squirming through the gaps in the crowd. Tommy pressed closer, growing ever more conscious of the mass of people in the huge station. The rumble of chatter soaked through his ears and into his brain. He could barely think. He was gonna—it was ruined. Everything had gone wrong.

Tommy made an effort to step on Wilbur’s heels as they walked, trying to distract himself from the fact that he wanted to spew his guts all over the floor or something.

But Wilbur just ignored him. His entire body felt too light, like butterflies but worse. Like if all the butterflies had turned to worms and they were eating him from the inside out now.

Still staring straight ahead, Wilbur’s grip slid from Tommy’s forearm down to lace with his fingers. Tommy tried not to rip his hand away.

They eventually made their way out of the cove. It was bordering on late afternoon, the sun low enough to cast long, dark shadows but not quite tired enough to set. Outside, something of a town had formed, though still innocuous as to avoid raising suspicion from the Fire Nation. The trailing line was shorter than it had been when they’d arrived, and Tommy reveled a little in the fact that he was right that they hadn’t needed to wake up in the asscrack of dawn and stupid Wilbur was wrong.

The two went to sit, finally, against the side wall of a small shack. As soon as Tommy felt like he could breathe right again, he yanked his hand away from Wilbur’s and stuffed it back into his pocket.

He could tell Wil was looking at him, probably something very interesting and complicated happening on his face. Eventually, he turned away to face the rocky shore, murmuring, “That was it, then.”

Tommy felt his throat do a laugh-so-you-don’t-cry thing and he kicked his heel against the wall, which was only a little better than just stamping his foot like a child.

“I don’t know what the fuck they’re looking for in refugees if not—if—I don’t know how we didn’t—!” he started to ramble.

He looked back at the lines of families, waiting so patiently, only to be turned down like them. Some were injured or ill. There had been women holding their children close to them, people from all over the Earth Kingdom come to escape the war.

“Yeah,” Wilbur said, morosely shoving his stupid beanie back over his stupid hair.

Tommy felt warm tears building in his vision, so he wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeve. “Haven’t worked a day in my life—like you—like she can tell my whole fuckin’—a guy’s life story just ‘cause he likes to stay moisturized! Seriously, it’s such bullshit, it’s—it’s—but it’s fine, ‘cause we can just—we’ll just—we—I can, like, I can pretend to be sick and we’ll go back. And they’ll say oohh, we’re so sorry for doubting you Tommy, you’re so sad and destitute and Wilbur is so bitchless, I’ll be a little soggy, they wouldn’t dare—I reckon they’d let in a soggy little man like me.”

“There’s no need for that, Tommy,” Wilbur sighed. “I don’t think having any transmissible diseases is going to help our case anyway. Look, the ferry was our best bet, but it was never our only bet, okay?”

Tommy scoffed. “Oh! I guess now you wanna go with old Tommy Scammy’s plan of forging our passports, great time to get on board, Wil. We already—they already fuckin’ turned us down, alright?”

“No, dude, I mean my plan. The back-up plan.”

Ugh. The backup plan again. Sometimes Wilbur could be so fucking vague with things, always thinking he was the boss and Tommy was just a little kid following along. Making decisions without him and not telling him like he was doing Tommy some big favor. Every time Tommy asked, he was met with a dismissive “don’t worry about it” or an “it won’t even come up”. Clearly, it fucking did, and now Tommy had no say in their next move even though Wilbur was barely older than him. Probably. Well—five years wasn’t that big a gap, was it?

“Well apparently, it’s our plan now,” Tommy corrected. “It’s not the fuckin’ Wilbur Soot show. It’s not—it’s not all about you, you prick bastard.”

Wilbur’s hand juttered between five different motions, like he was trying to exhasperatedly rub his temples and fidget with the hem of his coat at the same time. “I—Tommy, would you say I’ve been self-centered in all this?”

Tommy pressed his lips together. “Fuckin’ trick question.”

He’d meant the whole thing to come off as a joke, or like, one of those things you can take seriously if you agree with it or take it as a joke if you don’t. But he could tell by Wilbur’s wince that maybe he hadn’t gone with the joke interpretation.

“You’re right,” Wilbur said, turning away.

That made Tommy feel kind of bad, but… it’s not like he was wrong, really, and he wasn’t in the habit of enabling Wilbur’s chronic flirtations with his impending emo arc anyway, so he swallowed the vague apology that had begun to form in his mouth. It went down like chalk.

“You’re right about that,” Wil repeated. “Look, I’m just thinking… I know someone willing to guide us. An old friend.”

“Who? Where?” Tommy asked.

Wilbur chewed idly on the broken upper clasp of his coat before muttering, almost as if he was ashamed of the words, “through the Serpent’s Pass.”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat.

“You want to—the—Wilbur, we—The Serpent’s Pass? What do you mean? We can’t—Wil, we’ll fucking die, Wil.”

“No, we won’t,” Wilbur responded, obviously trying to be firm, but his voice teetered off at the end like he wasn’t so sure.

A flame of frustration bloomed in Tommy’s stomach. “Oh, fuck off, bitch, you—ohh, are you fucking kidding me?! Now, I don’t—I don’t know about you, Wil, but I—I remember what happened last time you wanted to meet up with an old friend. What, you’re risking everything—risking it again because you think—you fuckin’ think some stranger will save us? Yeah, that’s great Wilbur, real great. The fact that it’s called the fuckin’ Serpent’s Pass isn’t springing any red fuckin’ flags in your head, man? Y’know, serpents?! Does that seriously sound like a nice friendly little creature to you?”

“Tommy!” Wilbur hissed, shoving a palm over Tommy’s lips.

“Fucking what?!” Tommy snapped back, though he instinctively lowered his volume to a whisper, following Wilbur’s lead.

Wilbur pressed his hand closer over Tommy’s mouth. “You’re smoking, you brat, that’s fucking what!”

Tommy’s eyes widened as he caught a dark trail of clouds puffing through the gaps of Wilbur’s fingers.

Immediately, Tommy glanced out towards the sparse group of people exiting the cove, probably having been rejected just like them. None of them looked all that interested in the two, nor did anybody seem to notice the tiny plume of smoke wafting out from the top of the small alley they’d settled in.

He had to admit, breathing smoke whenever he got pissy was damningly quirky. And a little inconvenient to the whole secrecy thing.

“Sorry,” Tommy said insincerely, his voice muffled. He reveled in the halfhearted glare that Wilbur sent in return. Tommy licked his hand for good measure.

“Tommy!” Wilbur cried, yanking his hand back.

Hah. Loser.

Wilbur heaved the world-weary sigh of a man who’d been forced to tow around an Innit child for the past three years. Tommy folded his arms and leaned back, satisfied with the amount of annoyance he’d caused within the past thirty seconds. (And maybe feeling a little better now that he’d gone and screamed his frustrations out. Just a bit.)

“I know you and I don’t have the best track record with this kind of thing, but I—I promise this person isn’t like—like. Y’know.”

“Okay, Wil,” Tommy said, really genuinely trying to sound like he believed it even though he didn’t.

It wasn’t like they had much of a choice now. Beggars can’t be choosers and all.

Wilbur studied him for a moment before pointedly turning on his heel, focusing his attention on forming a plan. “This alley might be a good place to settle for the night.”

He wasn’t stupid enough not to notice the transparency of that subject change, but maybe Wilbur was stupid enough not to notice that Tommy noticed? He frowned, picking at the edge of his sleeve. “This is a transport hub. Surely there’s—I reckon there’s somewhere that refugees gather and like, set up little tents, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur said absently, then turned back around. “Oh. Yeah, you’re right.”

Tommy snorted. Wilbur rolled his eyes.

It felt so achingly close to normal.

Still, they needed to find some food for the night and see if they could find some other folk to sleep near. They still had a few copper pieces and a silver split between them, and food would likely be cheaper at Full Moon Bay to accommodate for the constant influx of poor customers.

In Tommy’s mature, humble opinion, most Earth Kingdom food couldn’t hold a candle to Yu Dao cuisine. Wilbur was lucky—his favorite food had always been crab puffs, which, while not common, could still be found in other parts of the Earth Kingdom. But no amount of squeezing lemons and sprinkling chili flakes into a bowl of soup would ever come close to the suan cai yu back at home.

They eventually found a cheap place and brought a bowl of possum chicken noodles along with them as they perused the barely-existent streets, pretending to be tourists. As was routine, Wilbur took the bowl first, adding some chili flakes from the jar they always kept in their bags, then picking out most of the vegetables Tommy didn’t like. Once he’d eaten half, he handed it off to Tommy, who snatched up the chili flake jar and shook it violently over the leftovers until red became the dominant color in the bowl.

They came across a small encampment of people who hadn’t had time to depart from the harbor before nightfall, or who had arrived in advance and would be trying their luck the next day. And everyone was nice, too. Tommy didn’t even have to watch Wilbur grovel too much trying to get in. He saw one of the cool guard ladies there, but it didn’t seem like she was there for work; she’d shed the outer layer of her uniform to offer as a makeshift dinner plate for some other refugees.

They settled down in a corner against the earthen wall of a tiny house. A few struggling bushes kept them out of sight from most of the other folks, but it wasn’t solitary enough to be rude about it. As soon as they set their packs on the ground, Wilbur was already on his hands and knees, examining the stony slab.

“I think this was earthbent,” he beamed. “Look, you can even see where these pieces of limestone were split.”

Tommy was temped to do his due diligence and call Wilbur a nerd or something, but it was kind of cool, so he figured it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge the guy every once in a while. He still managed to slip in a few insults between Wilbur’s interesting bending facts.

It didn’t take long for most everyone to settle in for the night. Tommy could hear low murmurs drifting from various groups, but didn’t bother to parse what they were saying. It was getting too dark to tell who was who, anyway.

“Y'know, I wanted to ride the ferry,” he remarked, pulling a thin blanket from their pack. "It seemed nice, right?"

Wilbur, who had been scribbling something into a journal, dropped his quill and looked at Tommy. His face twisted into something unidentifiable.

Right—of course—that was childish. The fucking ferry ride to Ba Sing Se, yeah, that was the biggest blow to their plans by far.

Tommy glanced away, worrying the blanket with his thumb.

Obviously he liked acting like a brat, otherwise he wouldn’t do it so much, but he wasn’t an idiot, either. He knew tagging along made things harder for Wilbur and that’s probably the reason he hasn’t gone off to, like, study something awesome or enact political change and stuff. Whatever he wanted to put his big fucking head to. He knew if they’d stayed in Yu Dao, Tommy’d have been drafted a year ago. He was old enough to fight, but all Tommy could think about was boat rides, really? He was…

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, in that way he does when he’s trying to be embarrassing, but there wasn’t anything playful in his voice.

He frowned. “What's up, Wil?”

Then Wilbur was reaching out, his hand hovering over Tommy’s shoulder. “Can I—?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tommy said, quickly ducking his head and pulling his friend into a hug. His ratty wool coat was rough against his cheek. It smelled bad, too. Sweaty and kind of like smoke (ugh).

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur sighed.

“Wha—Wil, it—it’s okay, it’s just a boat ride,” Tommy replied, brows furrowing.

“I…” Wilbur paused and sniffed quietly. “Can I be real with you?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Wilbur was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice came out a little less watery. “That… you said that, and I… it’s like a switch just flicked in my brain. Y’know, I fuckin’ wish we could’ve. You deserved to get to take the ferry and have something fun for once. And yet, I…”

Tommy heard the note of frustration building in his voice, and his body went cold. He wanted to break free from the hug, but before he do anything about it, Wil pulled away first. Worst part was, it didn’t make him feel any less cold.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” Tommy mumbled, but as soon as he got done saying it, he realized that wasn’t even the point.

Wilbur chuckled weakly. “Believe me, I know you don’t like to be coddled, Tommy. I like to think that, y’know, you don’t feel like I’m ever looking down on you. But you know you’re still… I think of you as—”

“I know, Wil.” Tommy said, then glanced over with a wry smile. “You don’t have to say it. I know you’ll cry.”

He knew Wilbur was blaming himself over their encounter with the border lady, how it ruined everything they’d been working towards. Really, it was Tommy’s fault for freaking out—but, well, that wasn’t all that unreasonable of him, was it? It was that they hadn’t been good enough. Not needy enough. Wilbur could have—why didn’t he plan this out more? Why—?

No, that wasn’t fair. That lady was just an asshole.

“It wasn’t your fault. Dickhead,” Tommy said, an edge of finality in his voice.

Wilbur sighed, in that annoying way when it was clear he was doubting Tommy Trusty’s words of wisdom.

“Alright, brat,” he finally said. After a moment of what looked like calculating hesitation, he reached out and mussed up Tommy’s hair.

“Fuck you!” Tommy cried, shoving Wilbur away (and then immediately felt bad for yelling when people were trying to get some shut-eye).

They settled down the way they always did: doing their best to share a blanket between them, with their pack of supplies kind of smooshed between their heads like the world’s most ineffectual privacy partition.

Tommy was often the first one to fall asleep, but not tonight. It was only the turn of spring, so there were still some vestiges of the winter chill clinging to the darkness like a spider to her web. Tommy tried to salvage some warmth by tugging over a little more than his allotted 50% of the blanket, but even then he could still feel himself shivering.

Every time he looked back out into the dilapidated streets of Full Moon Bay (Shit name, by the way, it was clearly a waxing crescent tonight), his heart jumped a little. Like they were being watched or something. Flashes of light disappeared and reappeared in the distance like fireflies. Every time he caught one, Tommy shut his eyes tight and prayed they would disappear for good when he opened them.

He tossed and turned—well, as much as one could when sleeping next to somebody and still not be a dick. He considered waking Wilbur up for about two seconds before deciding that was baby behavior and it’d probably be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but at some point he realized he could still hear a little conversation from the other refugees.

“I just… don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here, dad.”

A pause, then a second voice answered quietly.

“Listen, dear, if you really think we’ll be safe in Ba Sing Se, we could try the other way.”

“Do you mean the Serpent’s Pass?”

Tommy’s toes curled at the mention of that name. The place Wilbur wanted to take them. Because he was a fucking wrong’un and an idiot.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys,” someone new whispered. Tommy realized it was that guard lady, which meant the other two were probably the woman and her elderly father he’d seen earlier. “It’s one of the most dangerous passages in the world. On foot, at least.”

“But, haven’t you heard, young lady? They say there’s a half-spirit who guides people along the pass.”

“A half-spirit? What, like the Avatar?” The woman scoffed.

“Who’s to say?”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed at that. Wilbur had been talking about an old friend who might help them on their own journey, but Wilbur definitely wasn’t cool enough to know any half-spirits, let alone the Avatar.

“Dad…”

Another pause. “Oh, you’re too serious sometimes.”

“I’m really not trying to lower your mood,” the woman sighed, some bitterness in her voice. “I just don’t think it’s worth putting all our hope into any spiritual business.”

“Oh alright, I understand…”

“Actually,” the guard lady cut in, “I’m kind of curious. Seems like you know your spirits, sir.”

The old man laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve heard many different rumors. That he was once an assistant in the Spirit Library, or that he’s from another world entirely…”

The guard hummed. “You’re talking about The Blade, aren’t you?”

In the dark, Tommy’s eyes widened. It’s not like he really thought they were the same person-spirit-thing, but if this somehow turned out to be Wil’s guy, Tommy was gonna fucking strangle him. As if accentuating this thought, Wilbur did a stupid little snort in his sleep.

“Oh, yes, that was his name.”

The daughter chuckled a little. “Sounds friendly.”

“I don’t know a lot about him either, but I think he was around when Avatar Kyoshi was alive,” the guard remarked. “But I’ve also heard he doesn’t show up for just anybody, so… I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t bank on it, either.”

“Don’t apologize, dear,” the old man said. “Jia Li and I will be alright, one way or another.”

The rest, Tommy supposed, was too private for words, because after another moment of listening, he didn’t hear anything else after that.

Well, it sounded like he and Wilbur didn’t need to worry about any “The Blade”s trying to come and murder them or anything like that. Not like Big Man Tommy Innit was gonna be scared off by a spirit who probably didn’t even want to help out perfectly nice people like Jia Li and her father. He scrunched his eyes shut once again, trying to calm down.

But his thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. The Serpent’s Pass kept jumping to the forefront of his mind—what it was like, whether Wilbur really seriously wanted to go, all the potential ways they might die there without anyone finding their bodies. That kind of thing.

And it was so. Fucking. Cold.

As slowly as he could, Tommy tilted his head up to see if Wilbur was asleep yet. In the faint light, he could tell his brother’s face was slack, peaceful. But the lines of stress and deep bags under his eyes were still there. They could almost make Tommy forget that the man before him was only twenty years old.

But he was asleep.

Quietly, Tommy took a deep breath. It was shaky at first, so he curled tighter around the feeling in his gut, willing his fears to melt away. Buzzing energy gathered inside him.

He breathed out.

It was as if he was holding a pile of kindling. It started with with a speck of red, barely even hot against his palm.

A little fire grew, swaddled in Tommy’s hands. It was warm. Not as big and burning as he would’ve liked, but still warm. He held it close to his chest so none of the light would flutter out from behind him.

He breathed deeply, in and out, until he, too, finally managed to fade into the restless night.

---

Wilbur did, in fact, really seriously want to go.

“So. What’s this—this old friend, what’s he like?” Tommy asked, trying to suss out Wilbur’s real feelings towards their new… route. If you could even call it a route. To Tommy, it obviously seemed more like a suicide wish. He didn’t want to wonder if that’s why Wilbur liked it so much (he really, really didn’t want to think about that).

Wilbur sighed a little and shifted his pack. “I always knew him as Techno.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Real shit name, innit? How do you even know he’ll help us? Or even fucking be there?”

“I mean…” he trailed off.

“Wilbur, you—are you—!” Tommy groaned. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, man!”

“Oi, he is gonna be there, alright? He will. He just—he’s always where he needs to be. That’s what he does.”

“Oh, so what, the little birdies whispered it in your dumb oversized fuckin’ ear. You want to go on—” he recalled what the people from last night had said—“one of the most dangerous passages in the fucking world, because that’s the vibe?”

“My ears aren’t oversized,” Wil protested.

He looked vaguely unhappy with the direction of the conversation, so Tommy broke eye contact and began to focus on the path ahead of them: a long stretch of rocky earth, speckled with sleepy anthills and crusted with slabs of limestone emerging from the dirt. The Serpent’s Pass couldn’t have been more than two day’s determined travel from Full Moon Bay, but he still wasn’t excited for the short journey.

Especially since they’d be meeting with this “Techno” at some point. Allegedly.

Tommy just wanted to get to Ba Sing Se, where the war couldn’t touch them, where—where that tyrant freak couldn’t touch him, where he could go on pretending there wasn’t any Fire Nation in his veins, and where Wilbur could do… well, whatever he wanted to.

Tommy also wanted to not fucking die. And, if he was being honest, he wasn’t exactly keen on some random stranger barging in on his and Wilbur’s dynamic, either. Didn’t he know that an extra party member always ruins the vibe? Obviously not, the bastard.

So. If Wilbur didn’t like Tommy being a bitch about the whole thing, then he would just have to fucking deal.

“Look, Tommy, I know you don’t like this,” Wilbur started, a little undiplomatically. “But you need to—I need you to give him a chance. He’s done this before. You can trust him. I’m afraid we don’t have many other options.”

Tommy pointedly kept his gaze to the ground, dodging another anthill as they trudged along.

“Fine. What’s he like?” Tommy asked again.

Wilbur told him. Apparently, Techno had been close to Wilbur’s father, but eventually grew to care for him as well. Tommy thought it was stupid that Wilbur refused to call him dad anymore, but he also kind of got it.

“So they were friends?” he asked.

Wilbur’s nose scrunched up a little and his glasses bobbed stupidly with the motion. “I guess. I—I mean, it was perhaps more than just being friends, I would say.”

Tommy snorted. “So they were—they were in love? They made out and stood on furnaces ‘n’ all that shit?”

Wil briefly made a face like he was going to throw up, but less in a grossed-out way and more in a I-hate-my-life-way. “No, I… don’t think so.”

According to Wilbur, the guy was quite easygoing, preferred things to go his way, awfully stubborn, and criminally funny. Tommy scowled at the description.

“What? What’s that face for?”

“Nothing. I trust him,” Tommy lied.

“Tommy…”

Tommy had some trouble reading the tone of that one. It was a little drawn out, but exasperated didn’t seem quite right. He somewhat prided himself on being able to read Wilbur when others couldn’t, but sometimes he was too much of a closed book even for Tommy’s magnificent, gargantuan mind.

Suddenly, Wilbur gasped.

“Awwe, Tommy…”

Oh, he knew that one well enough.

Wilbur grinned. “Are you fucking jealous?”

Immediately, a flame of embarrassment licked at Tommy’s cheeks and he halfheartedly shoved Wilbur away. “I’m not — I’m not jealous, dickhead.”

“You’re jealous! You’re fucking jealous!”

“No, no, I’m not! I’m not! I’d never be—I’d never be jealous of—of—I’m not jealous!”

“It’s okay, Tommy, it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed!”

“Mmm! Mmm! Mmmm… Can’t hear you, can’t—shut up! Humina humina humina humina…”

“Look, you’ll like him, it’ll be fine! Don’t worry, Tommy, I’ll still pay the most attention to you,” Wilbur crooned.

“Dickhead prick bastard, you’re unpleasant to be around, you—you’re the worst person to be born, Wilbur, ever. Fuck you.”

The two walked on until night returned, taking little breaks to rest. They hadn’t fully restocked their waterskin—for the billionth time, Wilbur passionately expressed how much he wished he was a waterbender so he could pull water out of thin air for the both of them. Tommy figured if it was that easy then every waterbender would fucking be doing it. But go off, he supposed.

This part of the Earth Kingdom was a different type of cold than they were used to, a thick humidity permeating the air. It was the worst kind of weather ever. Now that they were back on the road, they could at least set up a real camp. The sun’s last dredges were about ready to fade behind the horizon. Instead of forcing him to help like usual, Wilbur got busy pitching the tent, letting Tommy watch the sunset bleed out.

“Wil,” Tommy said.

Silence.

“Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s finally glanced at Tommy.

“Wil, I heard some of the other people talking last night.”

His mouth popped in an “oh” shape. “What did they say?”

“They said—well, there was that really pretty guard lady and they were talking and all, and they were talking about—they said that on The Serpent’s Pass, there was some kind of spirit.”

“A spirit?” Wilbur perked up.

“Or like, a half-spirit, I don’t know,” Tommy amended, “like the Avatar ‘n’ shit.”

Wilbur frowned. “The Avatar isn’t a half-spirit.”

“Oh my—whatever, you fucking nerd.”

That made Wilbur laugh, which made Tommy feel about 2% better than he did before.

“So, who’s this half-spirit?”

“Well,” Tommy started, trying to remember. “They said it, like, helps people across the pass, but I guess only certain people, like some kind of fuckin’ capitalist or something. It’s called The Blade or something stupid like that.”

“Oh,” Wil said, “That’s Techno.”

“What the fuck?!”

Tommy gaped as Wilbur started laughing again.

“Your friend is a fuckin’ spirit?!”

“No, no,” Wilbur attempted through his stupid fucking giggle fit. “He’s just a guy. Like, he’s just a dude. That must be some kind of rumor.”

“Oh my god.” Tommy put his face in his hands.

“I bet he’ll be pleased to hear he’s got a reputation, though.”

“Oh yeah, he sounds like a right fuckin’ egotist—I mean, like, a fuckin’ bastard.”

Wilbur made a little "pffft" sound like he kind of agreed, but didn’t say anything more, so Tommy turned back to the sunset and hummed to himself for a bit.

“Wil,” Tommy asked approximately two minutes later. “There’s nobody around here, right?”

A short silence followed before he heard Wilbur call back, “No.”

“Let me set up a fire?”

Tommy’s heart stood still as he waited for the reply with bated breath. Wilbur must have been expecting the question, though, because he just smiled. “Sure, king.”

“WOO! Fuck yeah!” Tommy cheered, bouncing up immediately. No sleeping cold tonight!

He was able to gather some firewood fairly easily. Some of the twigs and branches Tommy found didn’t feel quite as dry as he would’ve preferred, but he’d been getting better with his control, so… At the very least, he was just quick enough that by the time he’d wandered back to the camp, some residual heat from the sun was still lingering in the sky.

Wilbur was sitting outside the tent on their ratty blanket. He watched silently, seemingly absentmindedly, as Tommy began to make a small firepit.

“Now,” Tommy boasted, “the moment you’ve been dying to see! Gentlemen…”

He looked to Wilbur, then all around the desert, then back to Wilbur. “Wilbur.”

He snorted. “Child.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy dismissed, then continued on with his exciting performance. “Please pay attention now, keep your eyes peeled all the way open like an orange. The Great Big Tommy Danger Hands, sleightest of fingers, Breaker of Chains, will demonstrate his finest and most manliest trick, which all the women love and they drool over him and try to marry him constantly… as he now delicately starts… a fire!”

He plopped down into a low squat, like he’d seen in the picture books Wilbur used to show him before they got banned from the Yu Dao library (Admittedly, that was Tommy’s fault). It was technically an earthbending form, but Tommy figured it didn’t matter that much. It wasn’t like he had any other old masters to teach him.

He could do this.

Breathe in.

Tommy felt the air hum and pulse with warmth. Something buzzed alive inside his stomach.

Breathe out.

Energy flowed through his breath and a wave of heat curled from the firewood.

Breathe in.

A few bright sparks whistled around the sticks, and Tommy had to quickly calm the rush of excitement he felt so he wouldn’t lose control. He was going to do this like a real master.

Breathe out.

A little flame sprouted and affirmed itself like mushrooms rooting into a tree stump, stretching its tendrils into the clouds above.

Breathe in.

He opened his eyes, and the light caught on the edge of the scar on his hand.

(“I thought we were friends, Tommy,” the bastard said.

Tommy said… Tommy said—

Everything was really hot suddenly. He looked down, and he saw red, and he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t…)

Stop, stop, stop! Tommy gasped as his little fire crackled burst into a roaring blaze.

“YOO!” Wilbur cheered from the other side of the firepit.

He blinked, suddenly aware of the tension in his knees as he held his squat. He was…

Breathe out.

The fire shrank down from its outburst, fluttering pleasantly in the air like a lovely dancer. The tinder and logs shifted a little as smoldering chunks fell to the bottom. Right. He was…

Right.

He watched Wilbur lean in, excited. Flecks of light danced in the reflection of his shitty stolen glasses like confetti. Tommy could feel the heat pulse through his arms, both from the fire and from his own energy, but it was a pleasant sunbathing warmth instead of the cold, mango-sticky feeling they’d been trudging through all day.

Breathe in. What was he so freaked out about, anyway?

With the final bit of air in his lungs, Tommy slowly pushed out the rest of his energy into the fire.

Breathe out.

A golden glow lit up Wilbur’s face like a firefly hovering in the night. It caught against every early wrinkle and stray hair on his cheeks and cast long, somber shadows on his face. His smile brightened as he watched the flame bloom.

Tommy bit his lip, feeling ashamed for some stupid fucking reason.

“Dude!” Wilbur cried. “That was fucking amazing!”

Tommy glanced down at the fire, popping gently, a product of his own soul and practice and care. He sank into the dirt, watching it for a second and muttering a string of astounded curses under his breath.

A tiny laugh radiated from Tommy’s chest. It was beautiful, this thing that he made all on his own, and a lightness rose in his throat like a bubble of mucus, but in a good way. It was alive.

“Yeah—yeah—I fuckin’—that was so fucking cool!”

They both cheered, Wilbur bestowing Tommy with a searing high-five, a communication of only the utmost respect. Even though it was nearly too dark to see past their little circle of light, everything somehow felt brighter than it had in days.

All the times Wilbur had to shove a blanket over Tommy’s emotionally reactive firebending in public felt so worth it just for this moment. Tonight, they would fall asleep with warmth and light in front of them, backs unguarded in the open field. The boiling weight in Tommy’s lungs would be forgotten.

---

The Blade was late to their rendezvous. You know, the one that only existed in Wilbur’s head.

Wilbur seemed to know Techno lived somewhere around this little port down near the start of the Pass, but nothing more than that. He’d seemed confident that they would just… run into him, or something like that. Apparently Wilbur has sent the guy letters before, but never got a message back, which meant either Wilbur was fucking wrong, or Techno was fucking rude.

Tommy, the self proclaimed “polite one” of the two brothers, bit back about six “I told you so”s throughout the morning. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work.

At first, Wilbur didn’t seem too stressed about it, explaining that Techno was just trying to maintain a cool and fashionable facade, but after about an hour of walking around doing nothing, he’d started to pick up on Tommy’s antsiness.

“Technolate,” Wilbur said.

“Technolate,” Tommy agreed, not feeling the least bit smug about it, as was the kind and brotherly thing to do.

After another hour of wandering and playing various word games—that devolved not once, not twice, but three times into promises of future violence—the two decided to wander off in search of cheap food. Considering this was a fishing port, it didn’t take them long to find somewhere near a dock on the shore.

A slightly older looking woman with a mane of thick, curly hair was unloading a small fishing ship. Tommy made eye contact with Wilbur for a second before bounding over the sloped ground towards the boat.

“Hello? Hello?” Tommy asked, fingering their remaining coins in his pocket.

“Oh! Uh, hello, friend.” The woman startled a little, nearly dropping a crate she’d been heaving onto the dock. Tommy heard Wilbur walk up behind him at a leisurely pace, and the woman smiled. “…Friends.”

Tommy opened his pitch with a dazzling smile. “Well, miss—?”

“Puffy,” the woman supplied.

“Miss Puffy—you are incredibly beautiful, by the way—”

“Tommy,” Wilbur groaned. He went on, probably needlessly apologizing to Puffy like he always did when Tommy started talking to strangers, but Tommy decided not to comprehend it.

“My brother—my big brother Wilbur and I, we—we’re very poor and sad. We—we’re impoverished, we scramble around on the floors and we—and we eat up all we can like little mice. We came down to the lovely town of—?”

Puffy laughed. “Well, it’s really more of a club than it is a town, but—”

Wilbur straightened up, trying to dominate Tommy in the conversation, and cried, “well, we love your fishing club!”

“Yes!” Tommy agreed, doing everything in his power to resist the urge to jab his thumb into Wilbur’s belly button. Instead, he gestured out into the barren land of the cliffside. “It’s like—it’s like a fancy little forest! With little fish just—little fish swimming around and being… delicious.”

“Goods! Fish! Your wares are available for purchasing?” Wilbur added, sounding more embarrassed with himself with each new syllable.

This seemed to break Puffy, as she immediately sputtered into a round of buoyant laughter and pressed her face into her hands. “I’m—I’m so sorry you two, but I—”

“Look, look, Wil—now’s the—now’s our chance. Let’s steal her wares. She won’t see a thing,” Tommy conspired unsubtly.

“What?” Puffy asked. It sounded more like a wha-ha-haaat? because she was laughing still.

“Tommy!” Wilbur groaned. “You are the worst salesman I’ve ever seen, and every time you open your mouth your ineptitude fucking spreads to me like a disease.”

Tommy sighed. “But I’m not selling anything, Wil, except—except for my winning smile and my vivacious abs-sculature. I’m a Crime Boy, I’m a Dirty Crime Boy!”

“I regret passing that title to you every fucking day.”

Puffy, with a lingering grin on her face, cleared her throat. Tommy and Wilbur’s mouths snapped shut. She was not laughing anymore and the jig was up because Wilbur was afraid to take action in the moment of truth.

“Look, I’m really sorry you two, but I’ve honestly been struggling to get by with the whole, uh, fishing thing myself. Serpent and all,” Puffy admitted. “I’m actually trying to set up shop somewhere else right now, and I’ve already sold all the good fish.”

“Right. The Serpent.” Tommy shot a glare towards Wilbur.

Wilbur ignored him. “We’re okay with the bad fish, too,” he negotiated, overeager.

Puffy smiled apologetically. “I hate to break it to you, but this lil’ shack is fresh out of fish. But, I mean, if you two need money, I wouldn’t mind having some helpers on the boat. In fact, uh, I picked up someone like you a few hours ago for the same reason.”

“Oh, sorry, we’re looking for someone today”, Wilbur replied, raising his arms purposelessly then letting them awkwardly fall back down. “We appreciate the offer, though.”

“Wil,” Tommy protested, “You don’t even fucking know where he is.”

“I know he sticks around these parts,” Wilbur spat back, but he sounded unsure.

Suddenly, a heavy clank rang from the back of the fishing boat. Puffy didn’t seem too alarmed.

“Hey Captain, remind me exactly how much of this ya need me to carry out?” A voice called from inside the cabin.

From the corner of his vision, Tommy caught Wilbur’s eyes widening. “What? What?” He asked, ramming his elbow into Wilbur’s side.

“Uh, just one or two boxes,” Puffy replied, then turned back to the two. “That’s the guy who’s been helping me today.”

On cue, a hulking figure stepped out of the cabin, carrying a large crate with a line of slime dribbling from one of the bottom corners. Peering over the top, Tommy saw what he was pretty sure was maggots squirming around inside. Cute.

The man was wrapped in a thick, woolly cloak that looked like it could have cost more than twice Tommy’s lifetime earnings, but it was so worse for wear that he wasn’t entirely sure how the man could even touch the thing without it dissolving into a pile of thread. Like Puffy, he had a mane of brown hair, but his was streaked with pink, like how middle-aged ladies sometimes have a salt-and-pepper greying thing going on.

Most interestingly, he wore what looked like a thoroughly cleaned moo-sow skull over his face, obscuring most of his features and making him look both batshit crazy and indescribably awesome.

“Holy shit!” Wilbur said, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Uh…” The man set his box down—yep, definitely maggots— onto solid ground. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s shock quickly transformed into a bright grin. “Techno, my man, it’s good to see you again!”

Oh, Tommy thought. Great. Wilbur's mysterious friend actually did appear.

“Ha, you still have those old glasses! Nerd,” Techno said, stepping over and immediately wrapping Wilbur in what looked like a warm, crushing hug. Tommy grimaced and looked away.

It was kind of funny how Wilbur clung back to him though, like a weird little stick. “We were looking for you, actually.”

“Oh, right, ‘cuz—”

“Did you get any of my letters?” Wilbur asked.

“I got, like… three.”

He frowned. “I've sent more than that. Which ones got through?”

Techno freed Wil from the massive hug, patting him hard on the back and causing him to let out a sharp oof. “Well, there was the one about that girl who dumped you, or you dumped her, I didn’t really get it, honestly.”

Wilbur’s frown deepened. “Other than that one.”

“Well, I got the one where you adopted, like, a raccoon child? That was cool.”

Tommy decided enough was enough.

“AHEM.”

“Oh, Techno—” Wilbur, presumably, began to introduce him, thank god.

“Oh, riiight,” Techno cut him off, “and I got the one from a month ago saying you might want some help up The Serpent’s Pass. I don’t have anythin’ to do right now, really, so that’s fine.”

What?

Tommy clenched the edge of his shirt. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

“Oh,” Techno said. “Hullo.”

“Wilbur, you—” Tommy said, feeling kind of ill in a flippy way, like when you spin around in circles for too long. “You’d already told him to come?”

Wilbur sighed. “Tommy, listen, I was just letting him know it was a possibility.”

Techno tiled his head curiously, but that ridiculous skull mask made the gesture look predatory instead. “Oh yeah, Tommy, that’s right. The raccoon child.”

Tommy tried to stab him with his eyeballs. “And you’re Techno. The Blade.”

“Yep,” he said, unbothered.

Wilbur straightened up, obviously trying to take control of the conversation from there. “Now, there’s no need for hostility, you two.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be honest, I’m feelin’ kinda attacked right now, don’t know why though. Definitely some sort of wave of antagonism coming from… about this direction,” Techno said, gesturing towards Tommy.

Tommy bristled. Before he could say anything, though, Wilbur pushed forward. “I’m sorry it’s sudden, Techno, but we’re just trying to get to The Impenetrable City. It’s important.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda prepared for you to be here, like I said. And I owe ya one, anyway.”

Wil shot him a little smile. “Planning on putting us through Serpent’s Pass boot camp or something like that?”

“Eh. Sounds like a lotta work.” Techno said. “I mean, you guys’ll be fine if you just listen to what I tell you out there. Not to brag or anything, but like, I kinda know my way around.”

“I know it might not be a big deal to you, but this really means a lot to us,” stupid Wilbur said, speaking for Tommy like he knew what he was thinking. “I failed to get us a ferry in, so now I’m afraid we have to take the next-best option.”

Tommy was… he was pissed. Actually pissed. Not fake-pissed or funny-pissed. Miffed, one could say. Fuming, even.

First off, he told the dipshit it wasn’t his fault, but there Wilbur went putting it all on himself like it was nothing again, like he was just that used to covering for Tommy’s fuck-ups. It was humiliating. It was wrong. And then he decides to pull some stupid stunt and pretend that’s what he meant from the very fucking beginning? And he wanted Tommy to just go along with it, his stupid Tommy, his Right-Hand Tommy. His—whatever.

“Well, I think it’s a fuckin’ horrible idea, if either of you give a shit,” he declared. Just because he was still gonna stick with Wilbur didn’t mean he couldn’t be a bit of a dick about it. Had to keep his brand image and all.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, frustrated.

At that, Puffy stepped forward with an air of authority. “Okay, I guess today’s been a weird day for everyone, and I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but I’d like to remind everyone that this is my dock. So I think we can all be chill, right?”

Tommy leaned back against the shack and crossed his arms. “‘M not trying to start shit,” he muttered. Honestly.

“I’m very sorry about all this, ma’am,” Wilbur said.

Puffy waved him off. “Hey, no need for the formality. I appreciate it, it’s just that Techno’s been helping out on the boat all morning. And when I’ve got someone working with me, I don’t let anyone bother them, you get me?”

“Yeah,” Techno said. His voice was lighthearted, but the animalistic appearance to his mask made it feel shallow. “I didn’t expect to get all caught up with this, but it turns out Captain Puffy here is kinda based. Makin’ a real connection out here.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Wilbur said.

“Yeah, turns out we have a lot in common,” Puffy smiled, “like having surprisingly compatible political beliefs.”

“And havin’ similar hair problems,” Techno supplied.

“And we both think eggs are only okay.”

“We’re basically besties now, is what I’m sayin’.”

Tommy huffed to himself, thinking that was kind of funny but not wanting to show it.

Techno’s gaze fell on him.

“Uh, so I’m kinda feelin’ like we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe a bit of a misunderstandin’ between you two, I dunno.”

“Well—I think this has been just lovely, Techno-Blade,” Tommy said, making sure to emphasize how stupid the man’s name sounded.

“Uh, that’s not—” Techno started, then interrupted himself with a huff. “So… I’ve heard a bit about you.”

“I most certainly—well, I certainly do not fuckin’ want to know what you’ve heard,” he lied.

“Nothing good, don’t worry,” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

Techno looked somewhat uncomfortable as he wiped his hands against the front of his pants, leaving a subtle stain of sweat in their wake. He reached up to twist a strand of hair between his fingers, but he’d already dropped his hands again by the time Tommy had the brilliant idea of making fun of him for it.

“Okay, cool, ‘cause this is like, really awkward,” Techno said, and despite looking mildly weirded out by the whole thing, he somehow seemed above it all at the same time.

Something bubbled inside Tommy’s gut, and he didn’t feel like examining it. This Techno guy was obviously fucking with him, and Wil wasn’t even saying anything!

“I do not—okay—I do not fuckin’—Techno-Blade, I’d like to have—I would like to have a talk with you. A private audience. With you.”

Techno simply stared for a second, then shrugged before shambling off to a nearby tree. He glanced expectantly at Tommy to follow.

“Tommy…” Wilbur said.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Puffy. Mr—Mr. Soot. I’ll be—I’ll be right back,” Tommy said, straightening his back in mock politeness. Wilbur looked—well, not upset. Tommy couldn’t tell. He hated it when he couldn’t tell.

Tommy stomped towards Techno.

“Alright, listen here, The Blade. Real shit name, by the way.”

“Hey, man,” Techno protested. “I’m literally just vibin’ here, I—”

“You—you think—you think…” Tommy trailed off.

He couldn’t identify the feeling burning inside him. It wasn’t quite anger, since he really was just trying to annoy Wilbur’s friend. Make a good impression. Nothing personal, right? And Techno was obviously trying to troll him back. Nothing personal. Tommy didn’t know what he was planning on saying.

“…Wilbur likes me more??” was what Tommy decided on.

Techno did something of a half-laugh. “I’m not tryin’ to, like, imply anything here, but you honestly don’t seem sure about that.”

“Fuck off!” Tommy hissed. “That’s not what I fucking meant. You’re like a little snap pea to me. You’re a little ant. And there’s like, a fuckin’ million of those per anthill, so you’re not even, like, a special ant.”

Techno leaned back against the tree, contemplating that mind-shattering insult—the whole thing bent a little under his weight, and it pissed Tommy off so bad because he couldn’t even tell if it was an intimidation tactic or the guy wasn’t even aware of how fucking massive he was.

“Alright, we got a firecracker here,” Techno said slowly.

“Don’t condescend to me, bitch—!” he started, but Techno cut him off and Tommy snapped his mouth shut without meaning to.

“I’m gonna talk to you the way you want to be talked to,” he rumbled easily. “So if you’re gonna act like a brat, then that’s how I’m gonna treat you. Uh, no offense.”

Sore luck for you, then, Tommy thought bitterly. Because I’m always a fuckin’ brat.

“So here’s the deal. I don’t—” Techno’s mountainous shoulders raised in what Tommy guessed was some facsimile of a shrug— “I don’t really get why you’re beefing with me so hard, it’s honestly kind of sad? Again, not to imply anything…”

“Oh my god, you are actually a fucking asshole,” Tommy blurted.

“Oh, but I’m an asshole for a really good reason, Tommy.”

Something cold ran swiftly through Tommy’s veins, and for the second time in just a few minutes, he was embarrassingly shut up without Techno even having to raise his voice.

“You’re tryin’ to go down the Serpent’s Pass?”

He glanced away. “I don’t fuckin’—I dunno, I don’t fucking want to.”

“Sure,” Techno agreed, “But are you gonna?”

Fighting the urge to make myself smaller, Tommy nodded ever so slightly. “Yeah. What of it?”

“The Serpent’s Pass is a dangerous place. People die here, kid. Sometimes people die even when I’m supposed to be there, protectin’ them and guidin’ them along the way. And ya know why that is?”

Tommy clenched his teeth, raising his head to look at The Blade through the eye socket of his moo-sow skull. “Why?”

“Because they thought they knew better. They didn’t listen to me when they needed to.”

“…Prolly ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ asshole,” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow.

To be honest, Tommy didn’t know what he was expecting when he said that. He thinks he maybe wasn’t expecting anything, like a dumbass little kid who doesn't know how to think ahead. But he was still surprised when Techno planted a goodnatured hand on his shoulder.

“Pffft. Nah,” Techno said flippantly. That light tone carried into his next words, foreboding as they were: “‘S ‘cause they just saw me as a tool. Y’know, like a carriage or somethin’, just a way for them to get from one place to another. They never really trusted me. Tommy, you know the story of Orpheus?”

“Fuck is an Orpheus?” Tommy scoffed.

“Dude…” Techno muttered to himself, scratching his neck. “I keep forgettin’ people in this world don’t have Greek mythology.”

“What? What’s that mean?” Tommy asked. He remembered what that lady and her dad were saying about The Blade—he was some kind of half-spirit, or maybe not even from this plane of existence. But there was no way that could be true, because he was friends with Wilbur. Cringe…

Techno folded his arms. “Well, the story goes somethin’ like this. So there was this guy named Orpheus who lived a long time ago. He had a wife, Eurydice, she went off to dance with nymphs one day, but while she was doin’ that, she got bitten by a snake and died. And now, Orpheus was a bard, so all he could do to cope with how much he missed her was to sing, and sing, and sing for days straight.

“And he was so upset that he went all the way to the god of the underworld to ask for her back. His song of grief was so moving, so rich with the deepest feelings of love and loss, that even the god of the underworld decided to humor his foolish request. He said that he could lead Eurydice all the way back home, and she’d get to stay alive—as long as he could manage one little thing. Orpheus couldn’t turn around to look at her until they made it out of the underworld. Not even once.”

“But then he wouldn’t be able to tell if she was following,” Tommy argued. “That’s a shitty thing to make him do.”

“That’s true. But that’s how it goes when you’re dealing with the gods,” Techno tilted his head back to rest against the tree. “So Orpheus leads his wife all the way out of the underworld. They climb up together for hours and hours, passing by all sorts of dangerous things, but Orpheus managed to hold on to his faith that his true love was still following. But just when they got to the exit, Orpheus realized he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore. And so—”

“Shut up, man!” Tommy interrupts, his heart racing. “I—this is fuckin’ stupid, I get it, alright? You’re a real bastard, y’know that, Techno-Blade? That’s—shit name, by the way.”

Infuriatingly, Techno chuckled. “There ya go. Guess you can figure out what happened yourself, huh. You’re obviously a smart kid, Tommy—”

“Stop fuckin’ patronizing me, bitch!”

“—So,” Techno emphasized. “I think ya know what I’m tryin’ to say. Those guys who died out there on the Serpent’s Pass died because they didn’t trust me, they trusted their instincts. Or maybe they just took one millisecond too long mulling it over… guess it ends the same both ways. Anyway, I’ve been doin’ this for a while, so you’re gonna have to listen to what I tell you when we get out there, Tommy. You’re gonna need to trust me over yourself, and over Wilbur. ‘Cause I have the skills to get through this place and you don’t. That’s all I’m sayin’, alright?”

This guy was a real piece of shit, Tommy decided.

“Are you fuckin’...” He hissed under his breath. Down at the dock, Wilbur was talking with Puffy about who-knows-what, doing that thing where he just kept kind of walking between a few points as he talked, which he only does when he’s nervous. Tommy watched out of the corner of his eye for a moment, but twisted back to Techno just as Wil was about to look up.

“This is stupid. I can’t believe I’m about to go on a fucking field trip with you,” Tommy told him.

“I think it could be kinda fun,” he replied, right back to being weirdly laid back.

“I tell you what, big man. Here’s the thing, I don’t—I don’t know why you think I’m gonna trust you when I don’t even fuckin’ know you. I look at you, and I—do you know what I see? I see some fucking weirdo who thinks he can never be in the wrong. If you ask me, kinda seems like—sounds to me like maybe you’re more like that Orpheus fellow, and those guys only died because you weren’t paying attention, and listen, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but that does not inspire confidence, man.”

At that, Techno just stilled, but Tommy just kept going. “But I trust Wilbur, I fuckin’—I fuckin’ guess, and he trusts you for some reason, so—listen, that means you get a little baby shred of my trust, but not a lot. It’s gonna, like—it’s like secondhand trust. And secondhand trust isn’t good for you, it—like, it wiggles all up in there, Mr. The Fuckin’ The Blade, but it’s what you fuckin’ get, alright? So my suggestion is, you make it work.”

Silence. The moo-sow skull hanging from his face went very suddenly from vaguely creepy to… Actually Really Threatening.

“Fuckin’. Uh…” Tommy said awkwardly, not sure if he should attempt to retract what he’d just said, but Techno was still chewing on it so he just kept insulting him. “Dick bastard son-of-a-bitch. You fucking wrong’un. Shit.”

Why did he say any of that again? He kind of thought it would be funny, but maybe it… wasn’t.

“Maaan…” Techno sighed, and his whole stature kind of drooped like a deflating balloon. “You sure are Wilbur’s little brother.”

A few questions flickered through Tommy’s mind. The first ones to rise to the surface were what the hell does THAT mean? and why is Wilbur friends with him again? But in the end, the thought that won out was great, so he isn’t going to murder me?

“So you’re not going to murder me?”

“Wha—no,” Techno said. It was offputting. He spoke with a janky, dispassionate intonation, like he was reading lines from a script. “Did ya think I was going to—dang. I was kinda trying to stay light here, like, keep it PG ‘n’ all, ‘cause, y’know.”

“…Oh my god, you are fuckin’—you are being for real right now,” Tommy laughed. “Techno-Blade, you are fuckin’ nuts, man, you’re worse than Wilbur and he’s like—well, he’s not crazy, y’know, like he’s—but it’s—listen, look, it’s like—fuck you even mean I’m his little brother, anyway? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Techno raised a hand to his neck again. “Nothin’, you just… he made you out to be so nice and all, and then.”

Tommy made a face. “No he didn’t.”

“Heh. Nah, he didn’t, really…” With a grunt, Techno lifted his weight off the tree (the leaves rustled a little from the weight of the movement). “But what he did write makes ya seem like an angel now that I’ve actually met you. Anyways, uh.”

Tommy took the smallest step back as Techno stepped forward. Not because he was scared, honest, but the guy was just so big it just felt right to give him some space. Techno stretched a hand towards him and his heart jumped a little. But it just stayed there, hanging between them, not doing anything.

“Hope we can work well together, Tommy.”

Right.

Tommy shook his hand like an idiot.

Fucking prick.

---

“Hope you didn’t scare him too bad, Tech,” Wilbur remarked as the two of them returned, Tommy trailing quietly behind Techno, whose cape he could now see in all of its disheveled glory. The fur lining that poked from the edge was so caked with grime it was hard to tell what color it was originally. Against the rail, Wilbur was tapping out a nervous rhythm with his fingers.

Tommy clenched a fist in his pocket. “I’m not fuckin’ scared.”

Tommy could feel Wilbur watch him for a second, but when he looked up, his brother was narrowing his eyes at Techno instead.

“What’d you say to him?”

Techno didn’t look like he noticed anything out of the ordinary, or maybe he just didn’t care. “Nothin’ special. Just levelin’ expectations, y’know how it is.”

“Cut it out, Wil, I’m not a baby,” Tommy said, walking past Techno to join Wilbur at the railing, turning his back towards the sea. It was strange, because for the one second he stood between the two of them, he’d almost felt like he was defending Techno.

“Child,” Wilbur retorted.

“Bastard.”

Near the entrance to the boat, Puffy cleared her throat. “Sorry, whatever you guys are talking about… this something I need to know about?”

Techno turned to her, and from a profile view, Tommy could spot the faintest curve of some kind of huge tooth peeking from behind his moo-sow skull. “Aww, nah, Captain, I’m just takin’ these guys up the Serpent’s Pass tomorrow. Didn’t mean for you to feel left outta the conversation.”

“Oh. So you guys are really serious about that, huh…?” She put her hands on her hips. “Not that you don’t look capable, but like, that seems… misguided. Y’know, the Serpent herself has been kinda aggressive lately, from what I’ve heard.”

Wilbur stood up, clearly trying to be polite (Tommy, of course, knew such a thing wasn’t possible). “Please don’t worry about us, Captain Puffy. It’s the best option we’ve got. Right, Tommy?”

It’s the ONLY option we’ve got, fucking apparently, Tommy thought sardonically. Not like his own ideas were any good.

“Yeah. We’re sure,” he agreed, standing up next to Wil.

“Well, alright,” Puffy said, shrugging a little. “I get it if you guys need to head off soon, but if you’re planning to stay a little longer, I’m still happy to throw some compensation your way if you still wanna help out on the ship.”

Tommy glanced towards Wilbur, who glanced towards Techno.

“Uh…” Techno seemed to wilt a little under the attention. As much as someone built like a rock could wilt, anyway, which wasn’t very much at all. “I was kinda planning to stick around a little longer and finish up with ya, but I mean, I can’t speak for these two nerds, so.”

“We’ll join you,” Wilbur decided, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Thank you for the opportunity, Captain.”

“Hey, I like the extra company,” Puffy smiled before turning to lead them inside.

Wilbur’s hand was only lightly resting on top of Tommy’s shoulder, never wanting to touch too much without permission, but Tommy shook it off like it was burning him anyway.

This was gonna be a rough few days, he thought, but Tommy Trusty’s made it through worse before.

---

since this is already so self indulgent, i thought it’d be fun to leave a more in-depth AN here. i’d set up a lot of backstory details to be explored in chapter 2, but that’s ofc not happening, soo… yeah! no need to read all this. hope you liked the fic! :)

chapter 2 was going to be about our boys’ journey along the serpent’s pass. techno would reveal himself to be an earthbender and offer to teach tommy some bending basics. you see in this chapter that tommy has a complicated view on firebending due to his trauma, but he still obv thinks it’s cool and wants to learn. learning from techno lets him get in touch with his earth nation roots and maybe even start to get through his firebending block. they would eventually make it to ba sing se and part ways with techno, with tommy and him having become friends. we also would have seen more of wilbur’s motivations, how everything he does is for tommy and how he struggles with the aftermath of his own traumatic event in which he feels he “should have died”. but most of those feelings would remain unsaid, only gleaned from his actions and loyalty to tommy.

on to some fun commentary:

wilbur lies to the immigration officer quite a bit. he says they’ve been traveling for as long as they remember, but him and tommy only left yu dao 2-3 years ago. his “political experience” also comes exclusively from reading history books, and tommy’s skill with “agriculture and animal care” is derived from the fact that he loves animals and was a fire nation soldier’s gardener back in yu dao. but we’ll get to that more in a bit.

the reason tommy and wilbur want to get to ba sing se so badly is because tommy dodged the draft lol. yu dao is a fn colony, so there’s a lot of cultural mixing—tommy and wilbur both feel more earth nation and are treated as such (ie. extremely poorly), but tommy is also a firebender. he feels a lot of guilt for dragging wilbur along to escape his own problems, but he also kinda feels like wilbur’s dragging him along, too.

if you’re thinking ba sing se probably isn’t a good place for either of them, you’d be right. wil’s interest in politics, tommy’s trouble-magnetism, and their combined tendency to start drug empires would have the dai li on their tails eventually. it’s almost lucky, then, that i see this story taking place during the very beginning of avatar’s season 2, only a few weeks to a month before the drill and the following fn takeover. tommy and wilbur still have a while to go before they’ll be truly safe.

a few times, tommy and wilbur mention another “old friend” with whom things didn’t go down too well. this friend is eret, of course! up to interpretation whether she is connected to wilbur’s above-mentioned traumatic event.

i decided it wasn’t unreasonable that tobacco might exist in the avatar world, so wilbur’s canonical smoking habit gets to stay.

yes, the guard lady tommy thinks is cool is a kyoshi warrior! she knows “the blade” was around during kyoshi’s era because he shows up in some of the historical texts she’s read about kyoshi. that means the blade was around at least 200 years ago, probably longer.

wilbur is very insistent that techno is just “there” whenever he needs to be. it’s completely up to interpretation whether techno is a god, a spirit, a human, etc… it’s not even clear who the blade is or whether it’s really techno. so do with wilbur’s claims as you will.

so, tommy mentions he wants to get away from a certain “tyrant freak”, and later has a flashback to something burning and a man calling tommy his friend. this is a reference to the exile arc equivalent in this AU. dream was an accomplished fn soldier who’d been released from duty due to an injury that prevented him from bending for a long time. he lived in yu dao and hired tommy as his gardener. eventually he found out that tommy was a firebender and threatened to send him to the fn army if he didn’t cooperate. the rest, i think, can be extrapolated.

the bit where tommy is upset about wilbur having sent letters to techno about the serpent’s pass was going to be a whole thing in the second chapter, but i don’t really remember where i was going with it.

wrt wilbur: techno does not, in fact, owe him one. he thinks phil would want him to help, though, so that’s basically the same thing.

techno telling the story of orpheus is where i picked up on this draft after like, two years of not touching it. so if it feels a little janky from there, it’s because i don’t really remember how to write these characters, lol.

thanks for reading all this way!

#dsmp #mcyt #c!crimeboys #c!bedrock bros #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #frogs.fic

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 3 years

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#i wonder what your thoughts on diaspora in hetalia are#cause its a pretty interesting topic (the post in question)

@urmomsstuntdouble a collection of things that I think about on a semi-regular basis below the cut (also thank you for the tags!)

Disclaimer: I think this turned into more of a discussion of immigration and immigrants, but I hope this strikes your fancy anyways 😅. Also this got SO LONG and I explained quite a bit of history (because idk whether anyone knows much about this), so the key thoughts will be bolded!

My thoughts are kinda complicated about this tbh; it’s weird, because if China really did exist as a personification in real life, we’d probably both be judging each other, just for different reasons 😅.

General Hetalia Cases

I think when discussing immigrants/diaspora, you have to think about why different immigrants left. @cupofkey kinda discussed that a while ago (if anyone hasn’t seen this superb post, GO READ IT NOW) about the Vietnamese diaspora, and I think there’s some of that in every country. How do the immigrants feel about the home country? Why did they leave: because of hard times, poverty? Political instability/revolution/war? Opportunities overseas? Are they doing well in their new home, or still struggling? Does their new country treat them like foreigners or outcasts, unworthy of even arriving, or doing anything besides menial labor, or have they been welcomed (rather unlikely)? Do they hate their home country (politically), or miss them? Would they ever go back, not just to visit family or the place of their birth, but to return permanently?

I think on the whole, hetalia nations would still maintain a connection to their immigrants, especially since most are still in touch with their culture, although they’ve crossed borders or changed nationalities. (However, the angst of not being as in touch with your culture as you think you should is so real; would our home countries be disappointed? Or do they sympathize, somehow?) In the end, we’re all the same that way. Plus, the alternative thought of them just disowning immigrants feels weird; I don’t even know how that would be possible. But I think that connection gets complicated by the reason people left, and their feelings for their place of origin; I’ll be using APH China and Chinese Americans as an example to discuss this hksdgsdf (sorry I don’t want to do more research than necessary and I have Thoughts about this)

**OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER that immigration/diaspora discussions are almost always case by case and will vary greatly based on things like country of origin/race/ethnicity, country immigrated to, initial socioeconomic status, time period, etc. And even among diaspora, people can and will have vastly different experiences, and it’s not good to generalize. These are just some thoughts with one example.**

1. Waves of Immigration

Depending on when people arrive, they’ve got different push/pull factors drawing them to a country and it also factors into how the nation feels about them and vice versa... Chinese immigration to the US has mostly two major waves (you could also say there were 3, counting the post-WWII/Communist China wave, but I won’t talk about that): one in the mid 1800s and the other after the 1970s/1980s into modern day; the gap is because the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) that banned most immigration from China wasn’t repealed until 1943 (because of Japan’s attack on the US in WWII, the US needed China as an ally).

IMMIGRATION WAVE 1: MID 1800s

These immigrants were mostly from southern China (Canton area), and they came to the US because of hard times (Opium Wars + political instability because of things like the Taiping Rebellion) and economic opportunity in the West (eg. Gold Rush (San Francisco is literally “Old Gold Mountain” in Chinese today) + industrialization, railroads, expansion etc.). There was Much Discrimination against those immigrants, and many worked as hard laborers in a variety of occupations (on railroads, gold mine, farms (in the South esp), laundry businesses; there were merchants as well, but they were the minority); many were looking to get some money that they could send back to their families in China and planned to return, but over time, they settled down and stayed. I think for those immigrants, Yao would definitely be understanding, even if he might not be empathetic. After all, he’s not thriving at that time either, and although he thinks Alfred is inferior to him (in many ways), he understands why people would be drawn by economic promise and quick wealth, even if it might not be the best strategy for getting rich. It’s not like staying in China would be better lmao. However, I don’t think he would approve (?) how many of his immigrants stayed in the US when most viewed it as a temporary move; I think Yao is very surprised by how so many of them persisted to carve out a home there, despite the discrimination and limited opportunities. Perhaps he admires their resilience, the creation of Chinatowns and community and how they still come to a country that doesn’t even let them in (see the San Francisco Fire of 1906 and the boon for paper sons), but still wishes they would come back, however unlikely that hope is. Personally, Yao would never be able to stay in Alfred’s country, the beautiful country, if Alfred’s hypocrisy prevented his experience, his immigrant’s experience, from being anything close to beautiful. (You were founded by immigrants and foreigners, but now you spurn them: the poor sojourners who continue to flee to your shores, and refuse them respite from the disasters at home.) And anyways, Alfred is just the next scrappy young upstart, barely 70 years old but with a swagger like he rules the world; how could he have something over himself, the Middle Kingdom, who has stood the test of time? (Admittedly, he’s doing nowhere as well as Alfred—even he can see that, despite his pride, and despite the haze of opium in his brain. Leaving is the logical, objectively sound choice. Still, his pride hurts vaguely when he thinks how his immigrants keep choosing a country that keeps rejecting them, over and over again, instead of himself. But it is no matter. The injury to his ego is inconsequential and easily brushed aside; for they are still his people, and they deserve a good life, wherever they are. His distaste for Alfred flares up again: Arthur’s bastard child, who takes advantage of his trade (see the Open Door Notes, 1899-1900), but refuses his people.)

if anyone wants more context or is interested in the history I mentioned, I highly recommend this pdf (from the book A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America by Ronald Takaki)

IMMIGRATION FROM 1949 TO 1980: according to Wikipedia, there was very little immigration from mainland China during this period due to the Cold War and China becoming Communist; most of the immigration was from Taiwan/ROC but counted in the quota for China. Since there’s a separate Hetalia personification for TWN, I’m not going to go over that. However, there were also many people from Mainland China who escaped to Hong Kong, still a British colony, during that period (I hope it’s clear why, but if anyone asks I’ll put it in a separate post); some stayed there, while others emigrated to the US; both trips were for more freedoms and a better life etc because China was really really messed up for a bit (also keep in mind the people emigrating all had the means to and were at least middle class, usually somewhat educated, etc.). I will not be talking about that group either because I don’t think it’s my place to, but please know they exist as well.

IMMIGRANT WAVE 2: 1980s ONWARD

A lot of people came from mainland China for education; there was also an. exodus of intellectuals following 1989 (which I Will Not get into). Many of these people sought job opportunities, like those that rapidly opened up in the computer industry, there are many students who come here to study abroad, who take SATs and TOEFLs to get into good US colleges or to conduct graduate research and get PhDs; some stay, others have gone back to like, advance China’s development (this sentiment of getting good students to go abroad and then go back to China to use their talents for Patriotic Purposes isn’t a new thing, stretches back to like the late 1800s). I don’t really have much to say about this group besides what’s below ↓.

2. Immigrant Thoughts On Their Home Country

more complicated, because it varies by generation and time period and probably 203943 other things. Mainlanders that came over starting in the 1990s till now have relatively positive feelings towards China (imo, extrapolating from my life experiences); I think part of that is also because most* of these immigrants aren’t really escaping from something? They’re coming for an education/job opportunities (students studying abroad in the US (留学生 or liuxuesheng) for graduate school or university come to mind as one example), and they’re still very much connected to China politically and culturally, sometimes* more so than to the US. For these immigrants, I think Yao doesn’t worry too much about them? They’re pretty successful* overall*, and discrimination, although still A Large Problem™, isn’t the same from stuff that Yao (or his immigrants) remember from, say the mid 1800s (see above), or even during the paranoia about Communists after WWII and the subsequent Chinese Confession Program that made many people really scared of being deported. (Red China made Chinese Americans a target of the Communist panic, and the confession program was instated in order to make sure Communist spies couldn’t infiltrate the US. Those who immigrated illegally could confess that and gain citizenship; however you also had to weed out everyone you knew who also immigrated illegally.) I think Yao would see them as an extension of himself in a different land; they’re very much still part of him, and he gives them his well wishes.

However, I think that immigrants born in the US in modern day at least (1990s onwards) are definitely more ambivalent about China’s legacy + modern day Issues™, as much as we are connected via culture and heritage. Not quite sure how Yao would feel about that, because I’m not quite sure how much Yao is the state and how much he represents the people. However, I think there would be some mutual unease; does he see this as betrayal of some kind? Perhaps he doesn’t blame us for feeling as we do? Maybe he wonders what we feel about him; maybe he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he chooses the easier route: to focus on the bonds between him and his huayi instead of the grievances, and leave the rest unsaid.

Additionally with first gen immigrants, there’s the conflicting feeling of being stuck between two worlds and value systems that oppose each other in many respects. Also there’s sometimes a feeling of not-quite-being-in-touch-with-your-culture (in other diaspora as well, ofc. here it’s often exemplified by forgetting or not knowing how to read and write Chinese proficiently, among other things 🙃); idk. does Yao see that as a bit of a disappointment? Would he wish us to try harder? Does he view it as inevitable, for those raised in the US; the environment is too different, and perhaps he won’t blame us for those differences, or shortcomings. Does Yao know, or care, about the racism? What about his immigrants who try to assimilate completely into American culture, who try to erase the Chinese part of their identity? Those that have tried it, but regretted it? Are they still his, when they have tried rejecting their connection to him, choosing to drop the “Chinese” from Chinese American? Does he consider racism when thinking about them? What about international adoptees? Does he claim them, when some have not been raised in a culturally Chinese environment, and when it’s still a sensitive subject on both sides of the ocean? I don’t have answers to many of these questions.

There are also immigrants who fled China because of war or persecution or upheaval, (one example is with regards to the Cultural Revolution), but I don’t feel qualified to discuss it here, and I don’t want to take it lightly.

But, despite everything I’ve discussed above, I’d like to think that however an immigrant feels about their home country or however long they’ve been there, all nation personifications would still wish them a better life (even Yao). I mean, it’s not always easy being an immigrant/part of a diaspora (especially when race becomes a factor). I really don’t think any of the hetalia characters would say “look at your struggles. What a mistake it was to immigrate somewhere where you still face so many challenges, although they might be different from the ones back home”. that’s just No. Also, I think that when you disregard sentimentality and their inherent connection to the people, countries would still be able to sympathize with people trying to strive for better, you know? People immigrate for a better life, whether it’s because it was getting rough when they left or because other places had more potential, and like. although nation-people can’t leave their own country, I think they understand the people who do, because it’s a chance to make a new life, and it would be unkind, counterproductive, limiting, to prevent someone from taking that opportunity if it came. And their children, and grandchildren; they are still connected to their origins even in a new country, by blood if nothing else, and nations are people too; they must have some sentimentality for their people born in a different land. I’d like to think that if Yao met a Chinese American kid running around San Francisco’s Chinatown, or bumped into an ABC high schooler in a well to do Massachusetts suburb, he’d stop and nod and maybe say hello, and wish them luck, wherever they go in the future. After all, they are the products of his immigrant’s hopes and dreams, and they are his too, as much as they live in Alfred’s land.

* (asterisks): this is a) from my experience and research; not everyone will have the same experiences! please keep this in mind and don’t generalize a very vast group of people. :)

Idk if that was too sentimental or rambly or something, but yeah, those are some of the things I consider when I think about nations and their diasporas. If you made it down here, thanks for reading! I greatly appreciate it. Also I hope I got all my facts correct, but if anyone spots anything incorrect, especially regarding the post 1980s immigration wave, please tell me! Tried doing my research but there are still a few things I’m unsure about rip.

This might be deleted tomorrow because I’m feeling weird about it, but feel free to reblog! I’d also very much love some feedback too if any of y’all are feeling up to it

#i was thinking about a lot of this when writing the zine fic so this post is partially an extension of that #hws china #aph china #musings #hetalia #nation lore #hws #aph #aph china headcanons #hetalia worldbuilding #headcanon musings #hetalia headcanons #I GUESS??

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gigilberry-wips · 4 years

Text

the bonds of kinship

(image used can be found here)

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairings: None

Warnings: Brief mentions of fighting and violence, Spoilers for Season 2 Finale

Tags: Reader-Insert, No (Y/N), GN!Reader, Jedi!Reader, Creative Depictions of The Force, Action, Angst, Feels, Character Study, Healthy Relationships, Hopeful Ending

Word Count: 2.9k

Summery:

You’re a Padawan training under Luke Skywalker when your master recieves a distress signal from a Force sensitive child. He follows the lead and brings you along for the ride.

AO3 link

A/N: A few days after the season 2 finale I was lurking in the mandalorian tags, as you do, when one of those “i wish someone would write-” posts (this one) got my muse to drop by long enough to toss this one shot through the window.

- Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t know a thing about Star Wars. This show is my first introduction to the franchise and at the moment I am in absolutely no hurry to enlighten myself further (is there anyone else who’s here for the authentic experience of being as clueless as Din about this show? Because I’m having a blast :D Just about every subtle reference, easter egg, and character mention has gone flying over my head and I honestly find that hilarious)

I don’t know how well I’ve written the Force here, so just ... roll with it, please and thanks.

- Apparently Luke's ship is supposed to be a one seater kind of deal, but for the sake of this fic let's just pretend it has room for two people, yeah? Yeah? Good.

While writing this I thought of the song King of the Fairies, performed by The Dubliners. It'll make more sense near the end bit of this. I hope.

@ctrlmando I hope this turned out alright! Enjoy! ^_^

The Imperial battle ship made an imposing figure in the vast, glittering expanse of space. Under the cramped confines of your knees, R2D2 stirred, blinking and beeping in a way that made you mildly concerned for your shins.

“… so, this is where he is?”

“It is.” Master Skywalker nodded, his eyes trained on the floating craft. “Do you remember your part of the plan?”

“Get in, find the kid, get out.”

“Correct.” As a port came into view, he added, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? If you want to, you can stay here with R2D2.”

You gripped your saber’s hilt where it was clipped to your belt. In all the years you’d been under your master’s tutelage, there hadn’t been much in the way of students to train with on your level, few and far between as they were. This wasn’t just the first student to contact your master first, and through the Force no less, this was the first time you were being trusted on a mission like this.

For you to pass up such an opportunity? Out of the question. “Born ready,” you said, your tone firm.

“Then by all means, lead the way.”

The ship’s hull passed through the entrance just as the comms came to life. A woman’s voice spoke through it, but neither you nor your master answered. The moment the ship docked, you jumped out and took off at a sprint.

Keeping low to the ground, you focused all your powers on stealth and speed, dodging around the combatants before they had time to react. It wasn’t your job to take care of them, not yet – and from the sounds of it, your master was doing well for himself. While he took the brunt of the fire, you focused on navigating the corridors and opening your mind to the Force.

He was there. The child was a strong, bright little beacon, his presence lighting a path that ran clear as truth. The droids that tried to block your way you shoved aside with your powers, until you were well past them and they were left to face another, far more deadly opponent to charge at.

You hardly registered the fallen bodies you skipped over. Didn’t matter. You’d think about it later. Rescue came first.

The child’s presence led you to a lift. Above your head, a humming, artificial energy grew stronger and stronger the further up you went. When the lift opened, it was to a short corridor lined on either side with battle ready droids.

But by then you had your lightsaber out. Time to fight.

In a blur of sparks and tearing metal, you sliced the first droid in half. The next to come at you got its gun tossed out of its grasp through the Force and its head swiped off. One after another you cut them down, using the lightsaber and Force as needed, switching between the two with an efficiency that had been drilled into you until it had become habit.

The last droid fell in a twisted pile at your feet. You stepped past it. You waited.

In the few minutes of sizzling silence, you contemplated the dented metal door before you, so large it encompassed to breadth and hight of the corridor. There were … five? Six? Six adult creatures, all facing the entrance. Or no – one was unconscious. There was also that bright little child. He seemed unharmed, but you couldn’t be sure until you saw for yourself.

The door slid open. You marched into the room with lightsaber in hand and smoke curling at your heels. You allowed your hood to drop, finally showing your face to the gathering.

Front and centre there stood a humanoid clad in armour. Beskar armour. In a style you never thought you’d see more than once in your life.

A Mandalorian.

And it wasn’t just one. There were two more in the back, with slight modifications in their armour design, but distinctly Mandalorian all the same. Save for the first Mandalorian, the rest of the adults had their weapons raised at you.

The Mandalorian spoke. “Are you a Jedi?”

“… I am a Jedi in training.” You tilted you head. “My master should be arriving shortly.”

He had just finished down below. You felt more than heard him board the lift; he would be there in a few moments. Deactivating your lightsaber, you clipped it to your belt and stepped to the side of the entrance, closer to where several monitors idly hummed.

A very long, very green ear peeked out from behind a chair and you were met with the beseeching gaze of a child.

He … was tiny. You doubted he’d even pass your knee. He clung to the seat with tiny, tiny hands, and he was dressed in a brown, smock-like thing that made him look even tinier. But no matter how fragile he looked, no matter how impossibly wide and dewy his eyes were, the presence that radiated out of him was unmistakable. He was the kid.

Curious, you reached your thoughts out to him. A warm, exuberant little mind eagerly found yours, shy and hopeful.

What do you want? You asked.

You were met with a flurry of sensations. A sweet smell, a full belly, a metal ball?, gentle hands, a human chuckle.

… well. That wasn’t … unexpected, per se. He was a baby after all. But he hadn’t quite understood your question.

You tried again. Why did you call my master? Why are we here?

The child’s ears twitched. He opened his mind further and allowed you to see.

There were many emotions there, confusing in how strong they were and how drastically they contrasted. Nostalgia, safety, joy, peace. Sorrow and pain, loss and rage. They all held a strange depth to them, like a mind that had lived far, far longer than its apparent youth suggested.

Eventually, the emotions solidified into thoughts. Make me strong. They said.

… You want strength? Why would he need more? He was already strong, incredibly so.

… I have been hurt and I have been lost. But he protects me. The child looked up and to the side, towards what you now realised was his caregiver. I love him, and he loves me, but I can’t protect him. He fights for me and he saves me and he will die saving me and everyone dies saving me and it’s MY FAULT. Without warning, a barrage of memories flashed through your sight, followed by feelings of fear, panic, and helplessness. So make me strong. If I can protect me, then he doesn’t have to. He can just love me, and we will be happy.

At this, a sudden wave of love flooded out from him. It was a selfish love, needy and possessive. But that wasn’t unexpected either. Most of it was just simple, baby love, a “this is mine to keep and mine forever” love. You would’ve been surprised had it been anything different.

A hand landed on your shoulder. At once you felt your master’s presence, bringing you out of your observations and back to the present.

“… he doesn’t want to go with you.”

You looked up sharply. It was the Mandalorian who’d spoken. He glanced between the two of you and his charge.

“He is waiting for your permission.” Said your master, oddly gentle.

The way you were reading into the Force meant that you could feel a little of the surface emotions coming from those in the room. You imagined that if you could see it, the Mandalorian’s face would’ve taken on a complicated, pained expression.

Not receiving a reply, your master continued. “He is strong with the force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the child. But he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Although he spoke quietly, his words carried a weight and authority that could not be refuted. One that came from being the one and only Luke Skywalker, the Jedi master who had earned the right to use it. And when he spoke, most tended to listen.

Something in the Mandalorian seemed to fall apart at those words. But at the same time, many other things fell together, forming a picture of resolve and acceptance.

He walked to the chair and carefully picked up the child, his hands steady even as his voice shook. He spoke to him and him alone, words so soft you barely heard some of what he said.

“… I’ll see you again … I promise.”

The kid reached for him, an unspoken request. Without hesitation, without a second thought, the Mandalorian did something that shocked what little knowledge you had of the Mandalore right out of you.

He removed his helmet.

Where before there had been a nondescript Mandalorian, there now stood a man. A heartbroken man with tears in his eyes. The tears did not fall, not even when the child touched his cheek and he shut his eyes to them.

“… time to go.”

The kid’s ears drooped.

He said something else and let the child down. Straightening up, he nodded to you and your master.

While your master nodded back, you furrowed your brow. There was something strange about the emotions that came from this man. Not so much that they were bad or wrong, but that they were different from what you knew. It wasn’t just sadness or longing, as it often was in the parents and family of the disciples your master took into his care. It was more … complicated. Deeper, somehow. Even the love that came from him felt different. You couldn’t quite place your finger on how or why.

It perplexed you, made you want to reach into his skull and see what was there. But that would be rude.

“Are you sure you want him to come with us?” You asked.

Because if he didn’t, if he really, truly had a problem with it, then the kid wasn’t coming. Family drama was messy, and your master knew better than anyone else not to get in the way of that.

The man considered you. You crossed your arms. His gaze darted to the monitors, where the view from different parts of the ship still showed.

“… do you know, I took out one of those droids.” He smiled. That is, his lips tilted up at the corners. “One of them. And I barely did it. But you, you took on dozens of them. I saw you. You did it in moments, and you say you are in training.”

Glancing down to where the child clung to his leg, the smile became something sad. “This child has been hunted across the galaxy. I have done what I could, but this … this is more than I can do for him. I cannot give him what he needs me to. I cannot protect him the way he needs me to. He’s made a choice. The least I can do is see that he gets it.”

“Even if it doesn’t make you happy?”

Because it didn’t. It shouldn’t have, not with the bond that stretched between the two of them.

But he only shook his head. “I’d rather he be alive with you than dead with me.”

Before you could think further on that, a loud trill interrupted the air. R2D2 rolled past the doors and came to a stop to the right of where you and your master stood, happily beeping like it either didn’t notice the tension in the room or else didn’t care.

It caught the child’s attention. His entire face lit up – oh. Oh. There was a bond there, too. Something to ask about later that you tucked away in your head.

Letting go of his caregiver’s leg, the kid toddled up to the robot and babbled at it. R2 responded in kind. The sight created a bubble of cuteness strong enough that you didn’t have to look to know that most of the adults had eased their collective guard.

While the two conversed, the unmasked-Mandalorian idly held his helmet. And there was another contradiction – to ask, or not to ask, that was the question. To get it over with now or leave it alone. You didn’t have to; it’s not like knowing the answer would affect you in any way.

But then again, it was the first time you had a Mandalorian to give you an answer. Might as well.

“… You know, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before.” You said conversationally. “Doesn’t taking the helmet off go against your creed?”

He blinked, looking down at the helmet like he’d forgotten about it. Meanwhile, Master Skywalker did the mental equivalent of a tsk, but you ignored it.

“… yes, and no. I thought it did. But there is more to it than that. When you reach the heart of it.” His eyes settled upon the child. “I am a Mandalorian. I have my creed. I have not betrayed it, not in the way that matters. It … took me some time to realise this.”

He sighed, closing his eyes again. When he opened them, it was with a clarity that shone in his emotions. “I trust you. Both of you. Please look after him.”

“We will.”

At the sound of his voice, the child seemed to notice your master for the first time. He tilted his head curiously up at him. After a moment, he shuffled over and lifted his arms up.

Master Skywalker obliged him. Picking him up, he nodded his thanks to the room and walked out the door. Taking one last look around, you gave a slight bow and did the same, not turning back or minding the still sparking heaps of broken metal strewn across the floor. Propped up on your master’s shoulder, the kid had a good view of what you were walking away from, kept in his sights all the way to the lift.

It was when you were in the lift yourself that you saw what he saw. The gathered adults back in the room, but especially, the man who had cared for and protected him. And as you contemplated the two of them, you felt that something again, reflected in the child as he felt it from his guardian and held fast to it.

It stayed with you, as your little rescue party traversed back through the wreckage that was a once heavily armed battle force, as you climbed into your seat and your master guided the ship into the embrace of space.

Of course, he called attention to it first. “Your mind is troubled.”

You shrugged, even if he couldn’t see it. The lights of hyper space flashed by the windows, reflecting in the child’s eyes while you held him securely in your lap.

“I’m just somewhat … confused, is all. I know what I felt, but I don’t know what to make of it.” You bit your lip, giving the kid’s cheek a tap. “You felt it, too. What do you think?”

“Why don’t you ask the little one? He should be the most familiar with it.”

Ah. That reminded you. So far you’d spent the entire time referring to your new fellow disciple as “child” and “kid” and had yet to ask his name.

You mentally nudged him. He twisted around to look up at you and gurgled.

Grogu. He said.

“Grogu.” You nodded, brushing your thumb over his nose. I have a question for you. That person you cherish, he confuses me. When you think of him, what do you see?

Grogu pushed his hands against your chest, and his bright little mind painted a picture of the man who’d come to span the entirety of his world. Who’d lifted him from a life of darkness and pain and given him another, one filled with safety and warmth and home.

Through his eyes you saw what he saw. Through him you felt what he’d felt. A man who bore the marks of loss and terrible grief. A soul that had been shaped by duty, devotion, and sacrifice. Of promises that were honoured, of kindness for the sake of kindness, of extending peace when there was a choice to be had. Of an unconditional, selfless love, that gave itself freely and demanded nothing in return.

That you knew. You knew it in the way you were taught to connect with the Force and all it touched. Because the truth was that being free of attachments did not dictate that there had to be no love. To protect something, you first had to love it enough to protect it. To honour life and all it entailed, you had to accept it and grow with it and still learn to love it, faults and all.

That is what it meant to be on the side of the Light. That is what it meant to take the gift you had and use it to restore balance and peace.

The way that man had loved carried a protectiveness and freedom that was entirely for the one he gave it to. A love that was given freely, that cherished what it held and asked for nothing in return.

And this little child held it in his heart and his hands. He pressed them into your cheek, and his dull claws made indents in your skin. You dazedly blinked out of your thoughts, his face coming into focus and the warm weight of him held against your front.

“… I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a thing in someone.” Even to your own ears, you sounded faint.

Your master didn’t ask what you were talking about. He’d probably felt it as well as you had. “He has a good example set for himself.”

The ship’s dashboard blinked with lights as it exited hyperspace. It made Grogu perk up and try to turn around to see it, wiggling in your arms. You quietly smiled.

“Yes … yes, he does.”

I have my own thoughts on the finale and people’s reactions to it that I might share eventually, but for now I’ll give credit where credit is due:

Din and his beliefs

Din being a good father: here, here, here, and here

Din being a kind, wonderful person in general

What got me thinking of that song for Din in the first place

R2D2 & Grogu headcanon

From Grogu’s perspective: here and here

From a storytelling perspective: here and here

#the mandalorian #the mandalorion spoilers #grogu #din and grogu #din and baby yoda #baby yoda #din djaren #luke skywalker #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #reader self insert #jedi reader #my writing

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necropsittacus · 5 years

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answer all the ones you have an interesting answer for, i guess?

i had FAR too much fun with this and it’s horrifically long so. Apologies For That. also thank you friend

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)i really want some finches, when i'm actually in a place to care for an animal? maybe a pigeon3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?in real life i actually Wear button downs and black jeans most of the time for convenience. *ideally* it would be something more like "unholy union of like three different goth aesthetics, and sith fashion, and also Pirate. and spikes/chains/glowy lights." it's probably good for everyone else's eyes that i'm too cheap to redo my entire wardrobe in line with my ideal aesthetic sensibilities. i also have a set color scheme; at most one bright color, which is generally red, blue, or purple, and everything else should be black or grey. 8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]melancholic with choleric leanings.9: Are you ticklish?nope! im pretty sure i trained myself out of it 12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?tea. i like the taste of coffee if it's very heavily creamed and sugared but it does terrible things to my body so i don't drink it. too much chocolate also makes me sick14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?VAMPIRE. practically already am. 16: How tall are you?5'7"-5'8". measurements have varied. 17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?starscreamthis one is Already a name change? i've been through a few names and honestly i'm pretty happy with "ren." i thought about changing to something people could actually spell right on the first try, but nothing Felt right? 20: Do you like space or the ocean more?ocean! but both are pretty neat21: Are you religious?yes, but it's not remotely clear what i actually believe, just that it's Something 23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?i'm already practically nocturnal tbh and it's fun 30: Favorite movie?i really appreciate the star wars prequels32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime?nine; six fish and three budgies, not all at the same time37: What is your eye color?green38: Introvert or extrovert?i think the whole dichotomy is a bit overhyped and doesn't exactly apply to me. my situation is more that i act like extroverts are "supposed" to with close friends but people i don't already know and like very much are deeply exhausting to be around and i'd rather not40: Hugs or kisses?depends. hand/forehead/cheek/etc kisses are intensely blessed and important to me, but i don't particularly enjoy making out or whatnot, and hugs are Very nice. 42: Who is someone you love deeply?tumblr user @autisticsansa44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?yeah!45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so?yeah, occasionally. obligatory disclaimer that it's a terrible habit and you shouldn't start. it's more a "i'm extremely anxious and need to do SOMETHING" thing than a regular habit, though. 57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]several. it's just not 100% clear which ones. the most recent Professional Opinion was OCD and CPTSD with probably related anxiety and depression. also autism but i don't think that's quite the same thing58: What does your URL mean?it's a pun on "neurodivergent" that i stole from someone else's post about liches61: What makes you unfollow a blog?if your opinions start pissing me off too much or you post things i consider morally objectionable or dangerous to me. also if we have a sufficiently bad personal fight. i don't really care if a mutual or someone i've been following for a long time stops having common interests with me or anything like that, at that point i'm invested in You as a Person and will stick around for that64: Favorite animal(s):all birds. also cetaceans69: What is your star sign?i'm a fake scorpio. i have been telling people i'm a scorpio and tagging zodiac posts accordingly for literal years, out of a combination of the stereotype applying to me much better than the one for my Actual Birthday and residual influence from homestuck. 76: Do you like birds?i LOVE birds.86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes?i can't run a mile at ALL i'll have an asthma atatck88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely?no and trying hurts90: If you were an animal, which one would you be?goth cockatoo94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds?both of those sound fantastic. i want to say fly, though, both because bird thing!!!!, my latest batch of Attachment/Projection Characters has me thinking about the idea a lot, and mind reading seems like it would likely become a burden on me. i struggle enough with other people's feelings about me as it is96: Winter or summer?winter. summer is consistently a miserable time for me101: Favorite type of shoesaesthetically, high heeled black lace up boots. irl i mostly wear combat boots, though103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why?vegetarian. i don't really Know why; it was how i was raised, i have no actual desire to eat meat, and i'm reasonably certain trying to start now would interact disastrously with a lot of my preexisting food issues. also, some of you are incapable of not responding to asshole vegans by acting like eating meat is a moral imperative and it's ok to bully people who don't. so even if i did want to, i wouldn't out of sheer spite106: Do you like bugs?depends on the kind. bees/wasps, dragonflies, and butterfly/moth type things are all fine. i'm deathly afraid of crickets107: Do you like spiders?yeah! i think they're cute109: Can you draw:not very well, but i keep doing it anyway114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days?cloudy. bright light tends to hurt me115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now:i'm in an odd place right now where i'm either not sure if the people i'm closest to (and/or most want to Become close with) would be comfortable with anything of the sort, or know for a fact that they wouldn't be, so i'm going to refrain from naming anyone, but certain friends129: What would you want written on your tombstone?"túrin turambar dagnir glaurunga." for old times' sake/the sentimental value. i doubt christopher tolkien would give anyone permission for that, though131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself?arrogance, ambition, drive to succeed out of sheer Spite. it's a very good aesthetic, but i don't imagine it's very pleasant to actually *interact* with someone with a complex about being #1 132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?nope. i exclusively either smirk or keep my face as blank as possible; i don't think smiling like that looks good on me. 133: Computer or TV?computer. i don't actually know how to operate a television139: What nicknames do you have/have had?a lot. tends to come with changing your name 500 times. atm i don't really have any, to my slight disappointment140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends?i had imaginary enemies as a kid143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help?depends? it's hard for me to help people, especially to guess what kind of thing actually Is helpful to them, and i absolutely LOVE being given things, but also if i know someone well enough that we're giving each other things i would feel absolutely terrible not reciprocating, and doing it makes me happy. 145: How many languages do you speak fluently?only english, unfortunately. i have like a six year olds level of russian, which i want to improve, and i think i Could get there with japanese eventually if i start taking classes again147: Are you androgynous?honestly i can't really tell? not deliberately so, particularly, but i think i have a very Traditionally Feminine kind of pretty face and the way that combines with mostly masculine presentation and facial hair is pretty androgynous148: Favorite physical thing about yourself:this isn't a Specific Thing per se, but i do think HRT has been taking my appearance in a very "g1 seeker" direction and i am DELIGHTED151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose?hm. viking stuff is a Big Aesthetic, but also i think i deserve to be a sickly victorian gentleman and die of tuberculosis154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons?YES. this is one of my favorite forms of affection irl. also hand kissing is The Most Valid kind of kissing. 155: Do you like to play with others’ hair?yes!!!157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious:talking to people when i'm not 100% sure where i stand with them or how much they like me. especially if i'm requesting anything.168: Do you like to wear makeup?i used to. i probably still would if i could do it without being read as a woman, but as it is the discomfort of being misgendered outweighs the joy of Having Sparkly Colors on My Face

#long post #ask memes #circus to air missile #VERY long post im sorry i. got a bit carried away #smoking ment

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stopforamoment · 6 years

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Identity

My masterlist is at the end of my bio. Please check it out or message me if you have questions or would like to be tagged in anything!

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three) Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OC Rinda Parks Word Count: 1,281 Rating: M for Language Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh. Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3 for always being my sounding board! Thank you @cora-nova @silviasutton1989 @bobasheebaby @riseandshinelittleblossom for still being a part of the journey! Drabble Summary: Even though Rinda is happy in her relationship with Bastien and doesn’t miss wearing her wedding ring because of Jameson, she occasionally misses the protection that comes with wearing a wedding ring. There are still some things she wants to figure out for herself as an unmarried woman.

Identity

“Sweetheart, what happened today?” Rinda blushed, realizing she was flicking her bare ring finger. It was a habit she developed when she wore Jameson’s ring, a talisman to protect her from unwanted attention. Even while wearing it she sometimes felt exposed and that’s when she flicked . . . but now nothing was there to protect her. She gave a non-committal shrug. “It wasn’t that something happened. I think I was being too friendly.” She paused and shook her head. Rape Culture. That wasn’t what she meant, but Bastien knew it too and he patiently waited as she collected her thoughts. “I sometimes forget that I’m not wearing a wedding ring. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. When I’m being me and people know me, they know it’s my silliness and inappropriate sense of humor. At most, innocent flirtation. But when they don’t know me yet, and their eyes look for a ring and it isn’t there, I panic and think that I’m sending the wrong message. But when I think that happens, how do I blurt out that I need to clarify that I’m in a relationship—without sounding paranoid or arrogant, like I assume everyone wants me just because I made them laugh?” She sighed. “I still haven’t figured out how to be myself without the protection of a wedding ring.” It was true. Rinda was able to transition from being a widow to being a girlfriend. She was in a committed relationship with Bastien—it never crossed her mind to be with anyone else. But in her mind that made silly joking even more acceptable, because obviously it didn’t mean anything because she was so in love with him. Except there wasn’t a ring, a physical sign to others that her heart already belonged to someone. And being in a relationship with Bastien made Rinda . . . well, bloom. She didn’t realize it, but others did. She was more confident. Happier. Secure. Yes, that was partly because of her career and community in Cordonia. But there was something else. A sexuality. A sense of womanhood that re-emerged for Rinda now that she was loved again in that emotional and physical way. And people noticed it more than Rinda even realized. They had this conversation before, and sometimes Bastien teased Rinda that if she just wore lower-cut shirts she could tattoo “Bastien’s Val” and “Bastien’s Kenna” on her breasts. It was no secret that sometimes people’s eyes would linger there, appreciating how her professional clothing with the modest necklines still enhanced one of her best physical assets. But as long as Rinda didn’t mind, Bastien didn’t either. He couldn’t say that he blamed them. Bastien also joked he would just have to put a ring on it. And he would. But then Rinda rambled about how she needed to figure out how to be a girlfriend again. Not that she wasn’t a good girlfriend. She meant that she needed to figure out how to function without the authority of being a wife. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Being a girlfriend didn’t have the weight of being a wife. It didn’t have the weight of the ring on her finger. Now that she took off Jameson’s ring, now that she wasn’t protected by that shroud of widowhood or a symbolic piece of jewelry, she felt vulnerable. And she didn’t like being called Bastien’s girlfriend, and she didn’t like calling Bastien her boyfriend. It felt too immature to her. Not after ten years of being a wife and then a horrific year-and-a-half of being a widow. Not with how deeply she loved Bastien and how deeply he loved her. She wasn’t Bastien’s girlfriend. She was his Tria. Everyone who knew them knew that she was his Tria—the name that only he could call her. And even though there were many at the palace who would never openly admit it to Bastien, everyone knew that he was Rinda’s Tiger. The pet name that only she could use—not just because it was her own special endearment for him. But how do you tell that to a complete stranger? “Is he your boyfriend?” “No, he’s my SchatziTiger. And I’m his Tria.” Bastien knew that he needed to give Tria time to figure that out. Officially she was still Mrs. Parks, and she was fine with that. Even with being “Mrs.” Instead of “Ms.” Being Jameson’s wife influenced who she was today, and she wasn’t going to change back to her maiden name. That wasn’t her anymore, and the children knew her as “Mrs.” Parks. When she was at the university she was “Dr.” Parks. She liked that identity. She missed that part of her life and was happy to have it back. When she first got married, Rinda gladly changed her name to Lorinda Rose Parks. Rinda Parks. Her personal preference was that she didn’t want to hyphenate her last name because she now identified part of herself as Jameson’s wife. She was happy to have the societal label of being Jameson’s wife instead of being Rinda Desrosiers, her father’s child. But professionally she went by Dr. Rinda Desrosiers-Parks. The hyphen was just to ensure other that professionals still recognized her, her work. She was still the same person, even if her last name legally changed. Then as the years went by, the hyphen was gradually dropped because it wasn’t necessary anymore. Everyone knew her professional identity. Knew her work. She continued to establish herself after her marriage, so she could relax into Dr. Parks. Even though Rinda was still comfortable being Rinda Parks, when she and Bastien married she was wanted to legally become Mrs. Lykel. No hyphen. She wouldn’t be Mrs. Parks anymore. However, she did tease Bastien that it would be especially important that people called her Rinda after they married. Rinda Lykel? Yes. Lorinda Lykel? Yuck. That sounded stupid. But she would hyphenate her professional name, at least for awhile. Dr. Rinda Parks-Lykel. She was already establishing herself as Dr. Parks, so she would hyphenate until everyone knew Dr. Parks and Dr. Lykel were the same woman. Well, they wouldn’t really be the same woman. Rinda changed so much since she met Bastien. But professionally, she was the same person. But that was getting too far ahead of herself. She had to first figure out how to have a conversation with someone without feeling guilty that she gave the wrong impression. Fuck. She still wasn’t saying it right. But Bastien helped her deflect as he led her to the bathroom mirror and teasingly told her to work on her RBF. Resting Bitch Face. She laughed and hugged him as he held up his phone, the Urban Dictionary app open to help him find the right phrase. God, she loved how he could make her laugh and make everything okay. And he playfully booped her nose and scolded her that a resting bitch face does not include luminous green eyes or a deep belly laugh. He loved her so much, and even though he wanted to fix everything for her, he knew she needed to figure this one out on her own. And she would. He just had to be patient, even though Bastien’s patience had limitations. For some reason his Tria wasn’t taking her silly Tiger’s advice about the RBF seriously. In fact, Rinda was quite sure RBF had another meaning. Rinda’s Bastien Forever? Routinely Being Fucked? He finally admitted defeat and gave up on helping Rinda with her Resting Bitch Face. He also happily resigned himself to being his Tria’s Really Big Fucking Bastien when her playful kisses turned into deeper, passionate kisses.

#bastien lykel #choices trr #rinda parks ofc #long post

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overthinkingkdrama · 7 years

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Jona's Top 5 Second Male Leads Who Deserved to End Up Alone

[Disclaimer: This list is intended for entertainment purposes. It includes spoilers for the tagged shows. This is just my personal opinion, so I apologize in advance if I’m bashing your fave. I just woke up this morning and thought, “You know, I haven’t pissed anyone off in a while.”]

In the Kdrama fandom much is made of SLS, or Second Lead Syndrome, that is the condition of sympathizing with the secondary character, usually male and usually the hypotenuse of a love triangle, over and above the actual hero and wishing he would get with the female lead instead. Most of the time because the hero is an asshole and the second lead treats her like a human being. There are occasionally examples of SLS regarding the second female characters, but it is far more common with male, because unfortunately second female leads have a tendency to be stock characters or finger-steepling jealousy monsters, instead of fully fleshed out people. God knows I’ve had my share of SLS in every flavor…

But this isn’t a list about SLS, but rather the opposite of that. This is about the second leads I had no patience for. The ones who are a waste of air and screen time. The ones who annoyed me with their shitty “nice guy” attitudes or frustrated me with their passivity. The ones I immediately wanted to punch in the face. In short, the second leads who deserved to end up alone.

5. Kang Shin Woo/ You’re Beautiful

I’ve gone off several times in the past on the infuriating species infesting dramaland I’ve termed the “passive pining second lead”. I really dislike this character type, it drives me up a tree. So you knew going in one of these boys was going to end up on this list.

It didn’t have to be Kang Shin Woo. It could easily have been Ji Hoo from BoF or Kang Woo from Master’s Sun. Or any number of other second leads who fit this archetype. But it had to be one of them.

I can’t really explain to you why Shin Woo earned my particular ire. Maybe it was just teeth-grinding frustration I felt with each successive, convoluted attempt to woo Mi Nyeo. Maybe it was the weirdness of that let-me-stalk-you-via-telephone-while-you-go-on-a-solo-date thing. Or that fact that the male lead was such an unmitigated moron.

Shin Woo managed to miss his window while Mi Nyeo was still crushing on him hard. He had countless opportunities to confess his feelings and just waited and waited until she was almost obliged to fall for Tae Kyung out of sheer impatience. This is the kind of character that makes me want to tear my hair and yell at the screen “USE YOUR FRICKEN WORDS!”

Luckily, there’s an appealing “third lead” in You're Beautiful who saves it from mediocrity, and the drama is otherwise such dopey, fluffy fun that you can’t help but be endeared. Jeremy saves this from being higher on the list.

4. Lee Ji Hoon/ The Best Hit

Talk about a character who has one of the worst cases of “Nice Guy” syndrome I’ve ever seen. Lee Ji Hoon was one of those characters I was initially rooting for, since Best Hit’s ambiguous love lines appear to leave things open ended as far as the end game couple was concerned. For the first half of the drama it seemed like things could go either way, and the friends-to-lovers dynamic between Ji Hoon and Woo Seung was endearing and heartfelt.

Also Kim Min Jae is pretty. So, so pretty…

For a while I was worried he was going to fall into the “passive pining” category, remaining silent, and losing his chance. But finally he made up his mind to confess and I was ecstatic. Yes! Go for it! And that was just about when it all went wrong.

The way a male character handles rejection and disappointment is make or break in my book. It takes them farther than charisma, looks and even moral fiber. (Give me a pirate or a conman over an entitled asshole.) And for me Ji Hoon totally failed this very important test. After Woo Seung told him she didn’t return his feelings Ji Hoon continually badgered and attempted to win her over even when she asked him to stop, intentionally made her uncomfortable, and thrust a surprise kiss on her. My frustration with his character grew until the point were he told Woo Seung that he regretted meeting her first as his friend, after which point he was dead to me.

Despite the potential ickiness of timetravel paternity shenanigans, I was so relieved when Hyun Jae ended up being our male lead. The Best Hit remains one of my very favorite dramas of the year and I still highly recommend it. But if you want to come at me about SLS for poor, poor Ji Hoon, kindly get out of my house.

3. Han Tae Jin/ Another Oh Hae Young

Han Tae Jin had all the makings of a really interesting, sympathetic anti-hero. After all, he comes across like the obvious wronged party in this love triangle. Due to a case of mistaken identity, Tae Jin becomes the target of the jealous spite of our male lead, Park Do Kyung, ultimately causing the ruin of his business, the breaking of his engagement with the titular Hae Young, and getting him sent to prison! Ouch. That’s a lot of angst wrapped in an attractive Lee “Chiseled Jaw For Days” Jae Yoon.

And yet, instead of cutting a fetchingly tragic figure, Tae Jin turned out to be a vengeful, bitter, violent man incapable of letting go of a grudge even for the woman he supposedly loved. He was such an emotionally unstable, loose canon that I was frequently uncomfortable when he was onscreen. If I’m not very much mistaken he assaults Do Kyung not once, but several times, to such a degree that Hae Young ends meeting him to beg him not to hurt Do Kyung anymore. It struck me as incredibly messed up.

I really didn’t want Lee Jae Yoon on this list twice– I have nothing against the actor–which is the only reason his Cruel City character Detective Ji Hyung Min wasn’t on this list instead. I actually like Lee Jae Yoon! Just not the characters he tends to play…Luckily, Cruel City wasn’t extremely focused on the love triangle, it was focused on the pain. I chose his character in OHYA instead because, being a romance focused drama the way they handled the love polygon was more important to me. By the end of the drama they attempted to redeem him and it just didn’t work for me at all. Keep this dude the hell away from me.

2. Lee Joon Hee/ Falling for Innocence

There are a variety of strategies drama writers use to make us root for the jerk chaebol hero over and against the started-from-the-bottom second lead with treats the female lead with tenderness and respect. They give their heroes tragic backstories, slowly grow them into human beings, build UST, and give them melodramatic redemption arcs. The options are basically endless.

But why go through all of that when you can just make your second lead a secret scumbag murderer! There…all sorted.

This was honestly the most confounding bait and switch love line I’ve probably ever seen. When the reveal of who was ultimately responsible for the death of Sung Joon’s fiancé finally happened I very nearly threw my tablet across the room. They go to a lot of trouble to give Joon Hee a sympathetic long time unrequited love backstory as well as motivation for his sometimes morally dubious corporate ladder climbing. They also give him frequent shippy scenes with Sung Joon where he takes care of her and worries about her or vice versa. While in contrast Min Ho is absolutely horrible to her for a good portion of the show, the only thing that redeems him being a literal personality transplant.

They go out of their way to present this like it’s a legitimate love triangle, when given all of the facts it’s nothing of the kind. It makes me wonder why they even bothered trying to get me invested in the character since it turns out he’s actually evil.

Upon rewatch (started this one again rather recently) I had a lot more fun with this drama. Since I already knew what I was getting into I had the resounding pleasure of yelling at the screen every time Joon Hee and Sung Joon get a cutsy or romantic scene, which is very satisfying. The real reason to watch this show, Min Ho’s horrid behavior in the first episodes notwithstanding, is because Jung Kyung Ho is absolutely hysterical. For me it’s still kind of a garbage show with a garbage plot, but, hey, I love garbage.

1. Goo Jung Hee/ Ms. Perfect

There are very few characters in drama land that inspire in me the kind of hatred I felt for Jung Hee throughout this series. There are villians that don’t fill me with such seething rage. There’s a lot of adjectives I could use to describe Jung Hee. Loathsome comes to mind. An incomplete list of others would include: spineless, selfish, sniveling, and “the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth.”

That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I hate this so called man. And yet, to my eternal confusion he is loved by and romantically involved with not one, not two, but three different women throughout the course of the show.

Actually, this entry poses a little bit of a problem regarding what we actually consider to be a “second male lead”. For the majority of the list so far I’ve been using the definition of the “second romantic lead” or, in brief, “the member of the obligatory love triangle who doesn’t get the girl” rather than “a male character with lesser narrative importance and/or subordinate billing to the male lead.”

In Kdrama the two things are usually one in the same. Usually, but not always. The reason is a) most dramas place a heavy emphasis on romance b) romantic fulfillment is usually the overt goal or the overt reward of the hero’s character arc and c) if a show ends without romantic closure (dating, marriage, babies ever after) it’s not generally seen as “satisfying”. But there are cases where the character with top billing or greater narrative importance is not meant to be our romantic lead, or even necessarily someone we root for. Jung Hee falls into this category, which made me wonder if I should even include him on this list.

Because Yoon Sang Hyun received top billing and was considered, by all reports, the lead in Ms. Perfect there was a great deal of disagreement and turbulence surrounding the intended endgame of the drama. Sung Joon’s Kang Bong Goo readily fits the mold of the romantic lead but his screen time is about half of Jung Hee’s, so I can readily understand where these concerns came from.

I’m happy to report that Jung Hee remained a subject of sometimes pity, but more often disgust, and the only thing that really disappointment me with his plot trajectory was that he didn’t end up dying in a fire at the end of the show. Missed opportunity IMO. While certainly a weird and flawed drama, Ms. Perfect remained entertaining throughout its run and I honestly would recommend it if for no other reason that Shim Jae Bok is a goodamn queen. There is the notable downside that this character has forever ruined Yoon Sang Hyun for me as an actor, as I can’t even see his face without feeling slightly ill.

I hope you enjoyed my top fave LEAST favorite male leads. This list was requested anonymously and I would be interested in producing other, similar lists in the future. If you have a subject you’d like me to cover please send me an ask or reply to this post and I’ll take it under consideration.

Jona

#top 5 #second lead syndrome #least favorite #kdramas #kdrama stuff #you're beautiful #another oh hae young #ms. perfect #perfect wife #the best hit #hit the top #falling for innocence

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baldursgatekeeper · 7 years

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11 Questions Tag

Thank you @kraken-spines for tagging me!

1. What genre/type of book do you typically avoid? What would change your mind about it? I generally avoid YA books. Obligatory disclaimer that I have nothing against people who do read them, I’m just not interested in them. I’m not sure what would change my mind about it, as it’s not just one thing I dislike about them, but most of the characteristics of the genre.

2. How often do you use public libraries? In high school I used libraries a lot, as I spent most of my time outside of class in the library (some of them were both school libraries and open to the public), and I’d also borrow lots of books during the holidays. Now I’m at uni, I utilise public libraries less, as during the semester I’m very busy and don’t have a lot of time to do extra reading (and I always feel pressured by the return date). I’ve also got a lot of books on my TBR, so I’m working through them at the moment.

3. Would you rather read a completed series or one that’s currently ongoing? Definitely a completed series, I love reading a bunch of books in a series all at once, it helps me get into the world of the series. I find if I wait between books I forget what’s happened and find it harder to get absorbed into the books’ world. That’s why I’m waiting for all of the current series of Warriors to be out so so I can read them all at once.

4. Pretend you were starting a Little Free Library (or something similar) and you have duplicates of all the books you own, which four books would you choose for your community?

Jewish Literacy: it’s a hefty and beautifully decorated book all about Jewish religion and culture. I found it very good as an introductory book, and often reread sections if I want to remind myself of something. I think it would be cool to get the community to learn more about Judaism.

The Shock Doctrine: this book is about how capitalist governments and corporations either deliberately engineer or take advantage of existing disaster situations to force a regime of neoliberalisation onto the vulnerable economies. I think it’s an eye-opening book and one that effectively demonstrates the dangers of capitalism.

Warriors - Into the Wild: I had to include a Warriors book, and this is the first one of all the series. It’s such a special series to me and the more people who can enter this magical world the better.

The Marx-Engels Reader: while it would be quite the ask to expect people browsing a little free library to read the entirety of the book on their own, I think it would be cool to start a reading group to collaboratively work through the essential works of Marx and Engels, as I think they have very important things to say about how our world works.

5. What book would you recommend to one of your favorite authors? I would probably recommend My Israel Question to Simon Schama. Simon Schama is a Jewish author of many history books, including one of my favourite books, The Story of the Jews. I love his writing style, but I heartily disagree with his support of the state of Israel. My Israel Question is a book very critical of Israel, written by a Jewish leftist. I’d hope that Schama would take some of the message on board, but it’s probably a long shot. People tend to be pretty set in their ways on subjects like this.

6. If you had to write an essay about any book, which would you choose and why? Possibly The Shock Doctrine, the book I mentioned earlier. I’m doing a course at uni at the moment about the neoliberalisation of the criminal justice system, and I think I could link some concepts from the book and course together to make an effective essay.

7. What is/was your parent or guardian’s favorite book? Have you read it? Do you like it too? I just asked my dad and his favourite series of books is the Lensman series by E. E. ‘Doc’ Smith. It’s a classic series of science fiction books written in the 1940s-50s, in the space opera style. I haven’t read them myself, but I might one day to see what they’re like.

8. If you’re bored and have a pen in hand do you write, doodle, or something else? I have a habit of when I have a pen and paper and nothing to do, of writing out the Fibonacci sequence. It started as a teenager when I was very interested in mathematical sequences and the habit has stuck with me.

9. Do you prefer slow or fast paced books? I like slow paced books. I like being able to get really absorbed in the story and the world of the book, and get into detail about the characters and what’s going on in them. The main series of the Warriors books are 6 books of approximately 300 pages, and I find that a good length, but I’ve recently started reading the Warriors super editions, which are standalone books detailing the lives of individual cats, and are about 500 pages long, and I’m really enjoying the slower build and greater detail that goes into them (not to say I don’t love the main ones though).

10. If two of your favorite authors were forced to co-write a book or series what would it look like? This is an interesting question, as the Warriors books are actually co-written by several authors, and they’re my favourite ones. They’ve perfected their writing style so much that you’re not able to tell they’re written by several different authors, as the style is very engaging and consistent.

11. What if you were given the opportunity to rewrite a book (that you liked or didn’t like) and ‘fix it’ how would your version differ from the original? And what book would you choose to fix up? There’s a book I like but find somewhat flawed: This Changes Everything by Naomi Klein (also author of The Shock Doctrine). TCE details how capitalism is responsible for the climate crisis, and how the unchecked growth that is essential for the system’s maintenance is unsustainable for the environment and life on earth. I think that aspect is very good, but I don’t think Klein’s solutions go far enough. She rightly rejects the concept of using capitalistic market forces to ‘solve’ the problem, but instead of advocating for a complete overthrow of the capitalist system, she instead argues for regulation of it by government. If I had the choice, I’d rewrite the book to be more explicitly anticapitalist in nature. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here are my 11 questions:

If you could live in any book world/universe, which one would it be?

If you could make a candle that represented your favourite book, what scents would you choose?

What’s your least favourite thing about your favourite book?

If you had to (or wanted to) write a book, what would it be about?

What’s the most books you’ve ever read in a year?

What’s your favourite language system from a book (e.g. like Elvish from LOTR)?

Pick a book you’ve read set in a fantasy world. What do you think would happen in that world if modern technology were introduced?

Vice versa, what would happen in a contemporary book you’ve read if you introduced magic?

Picking a book you’ve read of a certain genre, how do you think the book would go if you switched it to another genre (e.g. space opera to high fantasy)?

Would you rather read a book with enlightening social commentary but bad writing, or a book in which the author expressed regressive and unpleasant social ideas, but was very well written?

Pick a book you’ve read in which animal companion/s feature. What do you think would happen in the book if the animal/s were given the power of speech?

I tag these people, but as always, if you’ve already done it or just don’t want to, don’t feel obligated to:

@lizziethereader @seashells-and-bookshelves @wefallintobookland @theinkstainsblog @bibliophilecats @eklecticbookworm @persephonelovesbooks @lornaslibrary @caffeinatedchapters @matildasbookshelf @feelingsofthesecondarycharacters

Enjoy!

#tag meme #booklr #bookish #bibliophile #reviving booklr

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skruffie · 7 years

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Back in December, I wrote a post on facebook to try to reflect everything that I do at my job, and I’m reposting it here with some current updates because I still think about this sometimes. Putting it under a cut for length. I’m including a few edits to reflect changes that happened between when I first wrote it and now.

I was joking how if I wanted to update my resume to reflect everything I actually do at work, I would need a whole separate page just for Target. Tonight (Dec 9th 2016), I sat down and actually made an extensive list of everything that I do just to see how much it actually is, and this is what I came up with. Obligatory disclaimer: opinions are my own, yadda yadda. Don't necessarily mistake this post for complaining. Obviously it's not always a fun job, but there are a lot of aspects to these things that I enjoy doing.

DAILY TASKS Refunds: use receipt, use debit or credit card, gift card lookup, registry lookup, (rarely) check lookup, no-receipt returns with photo ID. Ranges from just a couple seconds to several minutes depending on how many items, if it's a same day return, if receipt lookup is working correctly, if it's a legit return (I lost count of how many times I've had to explain and re-explain to people committing return fraud what our return policy is, why they don't get cash back, etc).

Fraudulent refunds: Good fucking god. Basically almost the same as above except you see the same patterns of merchandise over and over, and you can never anticipate how they’ll react if the computer rejects their ID.

Exchanges: One of the easiest tasks, unless a different brand/price point is selected for exchange.

Backup cashier: Guests often sent to the desk when front lanes are occupied. Ranges between just a minute to several long transactions due to amount of items and the finite amount of desk space. Only one bag set per register, and one register doesn't even have bags. See also: guests asking if they could be rung up at the desk, or TM offering to ring guest up if things are slow.

Defectives: Process and sort defectives correctly. This regularly involves chemical items, broken glass, leaking food items, dumping alcohol (21+ only), getting everything bagged/repackaged/taped together enough and sorted into correct bins for shipment. Inspecting food merchandise to see if it's able to be donated. Bagging and sealing all chemical products. Applying labels to everything. Sorting everything onto the correct pallets at the end of the shift: defective salvage on one, CRC (usually high-end electronics, baby formula, certain clothing brands) sorted onto another. The CRC list must be checkmarked to make sure every item on the list is present and accounted for. Sort all the defective vendor items into their correct locations so vendors could bring them back. Putting defective merchandise on the pallets requires an LOD to come unlock the pallets in the first place, which pulls them from their own large task list.

Equipment tracking: keep equipment cabinet locked, unlock it/hand over keys for TMs needing walkie talkies and other things, make sure all equipment is signed out and signed back in, double-check to make sure everything is put on chargers correctly so no batteries run low, retrieve keys from the keybox for TMs April 2017: We kind of stopped doing this and the desk keys broke a while back. Replacements still haven’t arrived. We have to call the boss now to get the keybox open.

Sorting: putting out of area items back in the correct carts bins so sales floor TMs could retrieve it later, create overflow carts when the actual ones become too full, inform sales floor when carts are full, sort reshop carts from front lanes and from sales floor TMs who are about to hit compliance or go clock out, gathering all the crap that's left in reshop carts that shouldn't be there and putting it somewhere--fixtures (that belong all the way in the back, in the fixture room and not at the service desk), old sale signs (trash), actual trash, water bottles/cups, essentially stuff that should be done by the TM that brought it up in the first place but don't (2017: Some changes to this process occurred and it was made much worse than it was)

Correcting common mistakes: price challenges, price adjustments, missed cartwheel (either void the payment and apply cartwheel all at once, or manually enter it in one by one as price adjustments), missed gift receipts including those from gift registries

Guest assistance: Looking items up, giving directions through the store, calling other stores to check on inventory of items, answering questions, listening to complaints--this one ranges from sincere, actual concerns to the bizarre ("This place was a lot better off when it was just an empty lot for the plant farm!" "...Well okay sir, I guess that's that then."), more intensive emotional labor such as dealing with hostile guests, de-escalating situations so guests don't get angrier, keeping eyes on suspicious guests, working with AP when something fishy is happening, teaching guests how to use the motorized carts, signing guests up for redcards, helping guests call the redcard hotline when something's wrong with their card, calling target.com when they fuck something up with a guest's order (happens way more often than you think, and in more interesting and creative ways each time!!), honestly there is probably even more but that's what I got just off the top of my head

Communication: calling TMs on sales floor to find items, bring items, backup calls (if they are guest service trained), describing items, basically any kind of communication skill could be listed here

Order pickup: find guests' order by last name on the order list. Find guest's order by middle name on the list if their last name is not present. Look under "G" for "guest" if their name isn't on the list at all. Find order by order number if their name is not on the list. Find item in hold location (lately, like this holiday season, someone has been scanning items into one hold location and putting it in an entirely different one, so that adds to the fun!) and retrieve it or call for someone to retrieve it if it's in the back, process payment, curse the gods when the guest wants to return it that same day because the receipt information doesn't update for 24 hours after the order processes... APRIL 2017: We now have to keep the order sticker and put it in our brand new log book, including the date and time at which the payment for the order was processed, because other stores keep forgetting to train their GSTMs to push the fucking payment button.

Redcard: "And are you saving 5% with your Target Redcard? Do you want to sign up? It's 5% off nearly everything in the store and at target.com, plus free standard shipping year round and an extra 30 days on your returns. Credit or debit? Do you have a check? Do you know your account number and routing number? Gross annual income means what you make yearly" and so forth. plus, take payments for credit redcards, tell people we can't look up their credit balances, etc

APRIL 2017Sales report: Pull up how much we are making per hour in sales, compare it to the projection in what we should be making in sales, and announce it every single hour on the walkie so the LOD knows. Fake some enthusiasm for the redcard if you can.

APRIL 2017 Greeting guests: The latest direction that corporation wants to take the service desk in is creating a “hotel lobby” experience for guests when they enter the store. What this means is that they took away the method we used for processing reshop to make the desk area more sterile, and service desk TMs are expected to stand at the front of the store with the weekly ad and greet guests as soon as they walk in to try to upsell the sales, redcard, cartwheel, etc. This was implemented probably a couple months ago and I tried to do it once. It’s literally the most useless idea I’ve ever heard, because actual hotel lobby employees don’t harass you as soon as you come inside, and also because I could instead be doing one of the million other things on this list.

NEAR-DAILY/REGULARLY EXPECTED TASKS/THINGS THAT SHOULD BE DAILY Paid and left merchandise: document date+location, log it in the paid and left log including date/time/location/item description/amount that items ring up as. Defect out perishable food items. Ring out paid and left total to guests who bring receipt back for lost items.

Lost and found: log valuable items and money in lost and found log. Keep track of lost items (valuables in the locked drawer, common articles in the bin)

Bullseye's Playground: sort reshop for BP, put it away in either the correct spot or in the same price point with similar items. If it's especially slow, zone it and make it look pretty. This task becomes impossible to finish during the holiday season.

RFID: Retag clothes and domestics items that are missing barcodes and encode with RFID labels. This involves one mydevice, rolls of the correct labels (stick A is for domestics, sticker B is for clothes, and sticker C is if either label won't fit on the product tag), and one Zebra scanner. Turn bluetooth on, try to get the mydevice and zebra to read each other, turn all equipment back off and on again until bluetooth works, scan UPC, scan RFID sticker, apply sticker. If RFID sticker doesn't encode, it's gotta be tossed. These rolls are about $250 a roll and once I went through six stickers in a row before I got one to finally scan correctly. It's a gamble, but this can be done quickly if all the equipment is working correctly.

Phones: be the phone operator for a few minutes! Answer the same questions over and over, transfer calls to the right department, park calls on the hold line (for some reason I often have calls drop entirely when I try to park from the guest service phone?), do all this while trying to do any number of the previous tasks above. Multitasking! Don't you wish you had more than two arms? First time I was phone operator while the fitting room was on break was with absolutely zero training on how to ues the phone, transfer calls, all that good stuff, and I had a minor emotional breakdown when the phone wouldn't stop ringing and my line was stretching like four+ guests back, and nobody was responding to my backup calls. Those were the days.

SEMI-REGULAR TASKS Wrapping the defective pallets: Wrap and store the defective pallet when it's full. Also a gamble depending on how much room there is back at the receiving desk. Pallet is wrapped by hand with a giant roll of plastic wrap, not one of those fancy automatic machines! Easier task for normal-sized people, but a bit time-consuming for tiny people like me who are not very physically strong and also terrible at maneuvering a big heavy pallet around on a pallet jack. It's gotten a bit easier with time though.

Gift registry: Helping people sign up for registries, helping people find registries, troubleshooting when registry ipads crash, explainig how the scanner works

Training receipts: When AP makes a recovery on items that were probably about to be stolen and they need a total amount of the value of the items. Putting the register in training mode requires GSA-level or higher TMs to change the register mode. Sorting all the reshop once training receipts are done.

Repackage: Refold blankets, curtains, and other items to make it look as nice as possible and/or to fit them back into the original packaging. Repacking non-defective items that have come loose from packaging. Discounting items if the repackage isn't as good as it could be but not bad enough to be defected out. Could be more difficult than it sounds due to lack of proper space to refold larger items and/or if the items don't have creased fold lines to make it easier.

Kodak: Fuck this machine, seriously. Keep Kodak photo printing machine in order, even though it was made in 2006 (IT HAS A FLOPPY DISK DRIVE, I’M NOT EVEN FUCKING JOKING) and is horrendously outdated and keeps thinking it's out of ink ribbon when it isn't. Replace ink, replace paper (there are two printers inside, and they both use slightly different-sized ink rolls and paper rolls, so this also requires keeping track of the boxes of rolls and ink to make sure you've got the right sizes). Previously: be on the phone with Kodak for ages and crawl around on top of/behind the machine to try to unplug cords and read tiny serial numbers out for the hapless Kodak representative that's just trying to help. APRIL 2017: it’s been working for the last few weeks, so fingers crossed it can hang in there a bit longer.

Saturdays: Take down the old sales ad and replace it with the new one. Menial easy, and sometimes shuffled off to the sunday opener if saturday's closer runs out of time.

Overhead announcements: paging guests, paging guests when they leave their car lights on, closing announcements (closing shifts only)

Ship-to-store: UPS dropping packages off at the service desk means those ship-to-store items are processed by guest service, not by backroom TMs. You will need a PDA! Open right app, scan packing slip, scan item, scan location barcode, put in location, repeat until all items from the order are processed, apply order labels to items if they print out*, close out receipt

Troubleshooting: fix label printers when they stop printing, try to answer calls about target.com when it stops working, teach other TMs how to do tasks like where the Sort Stuff button is, how to print labels, how to defect, etc

EMOTIONAL LABOR Reemphasizing this one because it's an understated and taxing task to undertake. Listen to guest complaints and comments, de-escalate guest anger, often become target for guest anger, have policy requirements and changes happen regularly to make things flexible for each guest, maintain a calm and pleasant demeanor the entire time, use of personal judgement and flexibility in each situation to make the outcome right every time, adjust to changes made by management (happens more often than you think!), watch suspicious guests, know that the fraudulent returns are probably going toward unsavory habits like drugs, knowing when merchandise is stolen and not being able to do anything about it, often being witness when guests are in the middle of a personal crisis in their lives.

April 2017: There is a lot that goes into this job. It’s hard. The way that the actual aspects of the job are easy because it’s just pushing buttons, but then things start to stack on top of one another. During Christmas, it’s a fucking nightmare. Last year, there were several days where I would have 9+ carts of unsorted merchandise crowded around my desk. The other TMs and I often stayed later to create more individual overflow carts to try to get the reshop organized, sometimes having 3 or 4 carts JUST for toys, 3 JUST for clothes, and so forth.

With the “hotel lobby” experience, we no longer have the default carts. Instead we have bins that hold about 1/4 of the reshop that carts can, and we condensed the bins down. Guests admire how clean it looks, and all I can think about how is how impossible this system will work when it gets past spring and summer. It’s just slow enough now for it to be okay but it is not a sustainable system for the holidays, no matter how many new people they hire.

#retail #tales from the service desk

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