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rametarin · 2 years

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An explanation about Kuei-Jin, the 90s and other World of Darkness stuff.

Sooo. Yeah. If you watch H:tP stuff, you may have heard in the audiolog where Marckus goes pubbing that the resident weeaboo (”Grimmaline SMITH from NORFOLK, EYUU KAAYY”) is wrong about the, “special cool Asian vampire” type.

First, the bad/ Why Kuei-Jin from classic World of Darkness are so fucky.

It was the mid-late 90s. I believe, about.. 1997? 1998, maybe? Definitely between 98 and 2000, that-odd. While the more wealthy kids and more connected, worldly kids had more access to Japanese media in the US and Europe, the rest of us had no real interaction with it, and wouldn’t, until the mid-late 90s. The Sci-Fi Channel’s Saturday Anime block slowly helped introduce the idea of a translated Japanese animated phenomenon where it’d show movies and series’ of the time, going back to the 60s and 70s. The language barrier was bigger then, and sources to learn that stuff were fewer, and farther between. There wasn’t the big market for it, like today.

To most Westerners, especially former European colonies and Western Europe, Hiragana and Katakana were completely alien. The language itself was entirely incomprehensible because it didn’t function the way an Indo-European derived language worked, at all. That only added to the foreign mystique. It was like an entirely unsolvable puzzle. And in an era where the internet was just arriving at lower income bracket households because access was limited to using your phone lines (making you choose between having a phone and using the internet for hours of the day) and before the era of easy file sharing like Napster, Limewire and such, the world of anime was just plain not in everybody’s common vernacular. It wasn’t on TV, it wasn’t in most stores, nobody knew what the fuck you were talking about if you asked for it, and you had no basis of even asking for it, since it wasn’t around you.

But the culture was here, with some enlightened few even having access to Dragon Ball manga and anime translations or at least, subtitles, in the early 90s.

So in the span of a relatively VERY short amount of time, 7 years, culturally, the world of Japanese media and its misc. tropes became things western audiences became more familiar with. And, really. Speaking as someone that was a teenager in the 90s, it was a godsend. Violence and sexual themes were somewhat suppressed, socially. Legally speaking, you could have scantly clad 90s girls and guys everywhere, and hyperviolence had little to no taboos in western comics that children could read, outside how realistic it could look. But the sexual taboo remained. Yeah, the taboo among the western religious fundamentalist types, of course..

But also, western feminists.

The same western feminist that would demand free and exposed nipples on a thing because the female body was not an object to censor, would also say you weren’t allowed to ‘objectify’ and depict female bodies as a source of tittelation and fingerwag at “western society” for “sexualizing” the female body, “for profit.” They weren’t as openly criticial of capitalism for the sake of capitalism, at the time- they knew that was a hill that they’d die on trying to fingerwag morally and spread their message to other girls, so they kept it to being about female class autonomy and bodily integrity and how evil men were “exploiting iconic femininity for their own profit,” so it was kind of a tangential thing. The invisible conclusion. Instead they focused on how all the sexy female bodies (and they focused EXPLICITLY on THEIR bodies, female bodies, because transgenderism was not even in the conversation yet, because they didn’t care about male bodies but also ‘because WOMEN are the oppressed sex!’) were drawn and depicted by “cigar smoking old white MEN in a male dominated, female hostile, Old Boys Club industry.” And that meant those whom sentimentally agree but don’t do anything but regurgitate other peoples objections and vitriol would parrot those lines. That meant if you were a young lad buying a comic book with some big Lady Death boobies on it, and anybody in your community saw you buying it, they could assassinate your character by gossiping about how you were buying those, “sexist booby kids books” and that was their signal to lower your standing on the grounds you were a “sexist.” (synonymous with misogynist.) This war on comic boobies and the readers that enjoyed them drove a massive wedge between many young comic readers and comics, and it’d be some time before that stigma lifted.

So you had to leave it up to omission when dealing with girls your age. If they thought you read, “those childish, juvenile, nerdy, maladjusted comic books written by old, perverted, misogynistic white male trash,” then you were as good as a fedora wearing Nice Guy today. The stigma against Marvel and DC comics readers as pre-teens and teenagers as things explicitly for maturity stunted manchildren was rampant as a sentiment, and was impressed on those girls that wanted to seem mature for their age.

So, that meant you walked a minefield whenever you spoke to girls about comic books and many videogames, because all it took was a sort of verbal bee-dance from one before suddenly girls you knew that a few weeks ago LIKED those things, after meeting with the Problem Glasses and hearing her mean spirited tangent about how NO western comics were good because they all disrespected women and were run by men, would perform outrage and hating them now, and everybody that liked them. Whomever they knew liked them were given a silent grace period of omission from judgement before they might circumstantially check in to see if they’d, “grown up” in that time, and stopped actively buying or consuming that media, and if they happened to be in a situation to learn about a persons literature buying habits and learned you still bought comic books, or “bad videogames,” they’d de-person you and avoid you for a while. The same as they’d avoid someone they thought was a Ben Shapiro listener or a Mens Rights Awareness person. Whether or not that was true.

It was very rough. ANY depiction of a woman doing anything in a comic could net criticism and an eyeroll and hostility, whether it was playing to an unflatteringly vague trope, or it was upending and breaking the trope, it was “misogynistic white men” again. You couldn’t color inside the lines, that was wrong. Deviating outside of them, they’d call you out as just being the same evil creature trying to “lure unsuspecting women in by false change.” The absence of women in higher positions of writers or CEOs was all the proof they needed that western comics and media was misogynistic garbage, and they would not hear ANY word of the opposite.

But then something magical happened.

Japanese media. Where many mangakas were women, none of them were white, and as it was indigenous foreign media, you could not attribute that absolutely horrible sense that all misogyny and patriarchy they attributed to, “western society.” They could not aikido flip foreign comics because of their depictions of women, because, “that’s their culture.” They couldn’t patronize the story or source for just being inertia from judeo-christian western hegemony, because these were stories and arts explicitly from outside that trap. They couldn’t say Japan was “colonized,” and perpetuating western -isms and ignorance, because Japan objectively isn’t. Any objection they might have with Japanese culture, they’d have to raise as being purely criticisms of Japanese, and thus, Asian cultures. And they weren’t prepared to do that.

And then the icing on the cake; Japanese media’s depictions of femininity, the saccharine sweet, rainbows, crystals and girlish wands and big neotonous eyes, was eaten the fuck up like it was a vitamin that western women were deficient in. That nauseating Rainbow Briteness mixed with unrepentant Lisa Frank 3-Ring Binder style girlish femininity. Where if western comics did that, it was shit on as being patronizing and condescending to women, based on whom produced and created it.

Suddenly the rabblerousers that wanted to perch on media and hoot about capitalism and evil patriarchal white men objectifying women to iconically depict their bodies for profit and give them eating disorders and insecurity, and everything else rooted in cigar smoking Old Boys Clubs run by white men, had to do the unthinkable; White girls weren’t allowed to criticize foreign cultures, non-white people and especially not foreign cultures with indigenous populations and languages that they didn’t even know. They couldn’t speak from a rightously indignant and smarmy condescension about the cultural roots, because they opened themselves up to that aikido flipping and having their guts torn out around the water cooler, or at the swingset, by some other social clout jackal in a race to the bottom over whom could be the most progressive and conscientous and protective of oppressed minorities and their good name in the face of ignorance, that’d get on a soap box and point at her, make an effigy of, “her kind”- speak broadly about, “those kinds of western white people that just disregard foreign culture because it’s not English speaking, white or done by men,” and it didn’t matter the ACTUAL gripe of the person, the nodding group would collectively decide calling out a cultural supremacist white person was what was taking place here, that’s how they were going to perceive it, that’s how they were going to remember it, and at this point the person complaining about Japanese misogyny could do one of two things: 1.) Keep talking, insist they were right, try to explain themselves as in the right, and doubledown while everybody around them just saw them proving harder and harder that they just, “hated foreign cultures and non-whites,” and considered them inferior 2.) Stop talking, possibly talk about how they were going to see the error of their ways and, “be better” from now on.

The rabblerousers that would shit on and stigmatize western comics, were at a loss on how to shit on Japanese media, its often sophmoric and infantilizing depictions of female characters and femininity, and not seem like hypocrites in doing so. Plus, a lot of the stuff was so cute and pretty.

The voices quieted by the stigma of whites not being allowed to even comment on the prejudices and insensitivities of non-white foreign cultures because they weren’t European or necessarily patriarchal, and an entire population of folks that liked Japanese media in the west, flourished. They still retained the right to party poop on Marvel and DC and demand unless more women got to be western comic writers and artists and hammer at the industry from the inside for their values, but they could do absolutely nothing about the bottom shelf accessible, dime store hyperviolence, sexy Japanese manga and anime that any pre-teen could reach and enjoy under the noses of their parents.

Well that’s a big mouthful, but where do the Kuei-Jin fit in?

I’m getting to that.

So Sailor Moon and Magic Knight Rayearth and a bunch of anime made it cool and acceptable, even in the niche cartoon loving community, to like foreign media. First among the sort of hip and with it kids that could just watch foreign media because of close proximity to it, and then when some of them got the bright idea to slowly introduce it to primetime American broadcasting. First with things like Sci-Fi’s Saturday Anime, and then with Cartoon Network’s Toonami and Adult Swim.

So you had a culture where suddenly the sexual ratio of female roleplayers and writers got much larger and more fun. Anime was by nature more cavalier with how you could safely depict female bodies and sexuality- and by nature, it could get away with a HELL of a lot more things than western culture was allowed to do- socially. Not legally, in the tolerances and sentiments of the readership and audience. Norms in manga and Japanese comics and why it was okay in one thing, were different than norms from western ones, where a more, “critical lens” (wink wink) would be used, and conscience would scrutinize the legitimacy. The same kind of “boobs pop out” joke that was funny and cute and harmless and innocent in a Japanese comic book, might reap a frown and a casting down if it was so cavalierly done in a general audience western comic.

It was an unspoken atmosphere and a hypocrisy. Everybody knew it. Talking about it was not something that was going to be easy, or occur in any sort of centralized place, since many didn’t even want to acknowledge that there was a double standard and different tolerances and expectations. Because that’d admit racism was taking place here, where everything west was wrong and evil and because of “corporations and business and greed,” to be avoided, but anything Eastern was wholesome and valid and made with the best of intentions.

Enter: The Rationalizer. Powered by white guilt and a love of naked nipples in their cartoons, “very cultural” despite the fact the only other culture they care about is Japanese, they try to maintain that western feminism was right and appease them and their theories and their broadbrush generalizations of patriarchal cultures, while also stanning and steelmanning Japanese media, hard. By talking about how just so much better and more honest and more valid it was. Boob jokes in the west? Degrading, sexually objectifying, misogynistic trash poopoo immature yucky. Boob jokes in Ranma 1/2 and Tenchi Muyo? FUNNIEST SHIT I EVER SAW.

And they were just like that about everything and wanted you to know it. Sorta superfan that’d take up doing tai chi in a public park just to be watched and witnessed and asked about what they’re doing, so they can talk with authority about tai chi in the park. Because y’know, they’re so worldly. And in some cases, picking up Buddhism, Taoism or Shintoism, because they’re just, so spiritual.

Enter the whole, “superior Japanese culture,” meme, and using the katana as an example of the artisanship and romantic combination of world and spirit that was their manufacturing process. “Superior Nippon steel, folded a million times! They could cleave armor to pieces, not like crude European steels that weren’t folded at all and took no care in their creation!”

Yeah. An entire generation of young people went through this Cringy Culture Obsessor fan stage. Together. Superfans of Studio Ghibli, Shonen Jump and more.

Year of the Lotus was World of Darkness’ foray into this mental space when they tried to make like D&D and put Oriental Adventures into their otherwise urban fantasy modern roleplaying game. Where they took a million different names from a million different Asian cultures, languages and communities and made these Frankenstein’s Monsters of the Kindred of the East.

Kuei-Jin are not Cainites, per se. They’re not descended from Caine. Instead, Kuei-Jin in World of Darkness are more like Wraiths in form and function than western Vampires, but they’re also eaters of flesh, blood and soul, like vampires. Zombies and ghosts and why they exist and how they operate are very different from ones derived from European folklore and mainstream religious interpretations, in countries largely rooted in majority headspaces of Buddhism, Shinto and Taoism.

So Kuei-Jin have elements of the Hopping Dead, hungry ghosts and similar, simultaneously being different creatures from different folklore. They can spend the energy gained from drinking blood, like western vampires, but more painly can shift between Yin and Yang with time and experience to be more alive or more dead and reap the benefits of such. They can’t ghoul mortals (far as I know?) and they aren’t Embraced the way western vampires are. Rather, a mortal has to die to come back as a Kuei-Jin, and go to hell. Their own personal hell. Where their soul bisects itself into a self-destructive shadow, and the humanity. They claw their way back to the material world, inhabit their old body, and then hunt for flesh for the vital energies of the human living. Where other Kuei-Jin retrieve them and civilize them.

They aren’t like western vampires, at all, and they aren’t like Cainites in World of Darkness games.

Their powers are just so much more elegant. Unlike western vampires, they can harmonize with nature and the supernatural world around them. They don’t go from the hierarchy of how close they are to Caine for their ultimate power, they go from another kind of ladder entirely. The concept of their own personal enlightenment; their Dharma. And it functions like a Mage’s Arete.

A Kuei-Jin gaining a level of Dharma is like Pyotr, lowering his generation through Diablerie. Their chi pool gets bigger, how much they can burn in a turn gets bigger, the ceiling of mastery for their Disciplines gets larger (so rather than being limited to a 5 in a discipline, they can hit 6. Or higher, depending) and in all ways, a Kuei-Jin as depicted, is capable of more harmony, enlightenment and general spiritual goodness than any evil western poopoo Cainite foreign gaijin vampire..

And that’s kind of why people didn’t like them much. They overachieved making them so different that, quite simply, they made Asian lands dominated by a different set of supernatural rules. They made Asian Vampires and Asian Hungry Dead (wraiths) and Asian Changing Beasts (Hengeyokai) so much better than the evil, barbaric and stupid European counterparts. Talked about how Western Vampires were like that partially because the Consensus of Reality, made up of different cultural majorities and time giving regions their own cultural spheres, were limited and stifled and stagnant because of how oppressive and dogmatic and wrong Judeo-Christianity is compared to how spiritual and pure and wonderful cultures that practiced Buddhism and Taoism and Shintoism, how more Asian cultures were easier on the enviornment and the spirit world- and it was only western modernity, industry and “western style pollution” that was ruining Asia.

So after the Year of the Lotus, after the fans kind of played for a while, worked through the self-hate they were being fed from the high muckedy mucks in the counterculture (whom are, ultimately, no different from the mainstream muckedy mucks and their Disneyfication of social matters, they’re just indie and hipster about it and opposed to capitalism, durrdurrdurr) folks started complaining about how they couldn’t really mix the splats of Asia with the non-Asian ones, because when you mixed the fantasy spheres, the Asian ones always look like they have sunshine flying out of their assholes and are just more spiritually pure compared to the gothic horror and fuckups of everywhere else.

White-Wolf kind of walked back from Year of the Lotus material and made the creative decision to be agnostic about mixing the splats again, but they couldn’t totally walk back from what they made, so they just sort of marginalized the Eastern material and do what they could with it.

Now, having said that..

Yes, Year of the Lotus was an entire generation of pulp readers and gothic urban fantasy/horror readers cringy Weeaboo Phase, written by Alpha Weebs and consumed by westerners. Today we regard it as very culturally insensitive tripe, written and produced by privileged assholes that had no idea how terrible they were being by using the names for religious and spiritual concepts and characters without having been born in and raised by that culture or being part of it.

But many of the names and titles in it are NOT like plucking up names from Native American Mythology. You can’t gatekeep “evil westerners” from depicting, say, Makai and traditional Japanese ghosts, because the Japanese depict those in their media. And similarly, many Easterners that are part of a religion like Buddhism and Taoism would not object to comic books depicting their mythology, be they whimsical folklore ghosts or tales from their religious texts, would not say doing so is bad purely because the foreigners doing it are not of their religion, or aren’t Asian, making it bad.

Kuei-Jin could use a rethinking, I quite agree. While Hunter: the Parenting has chosen to completely eliminate them from their depiction of the franchise (as is their right to do as creators of their own story, using elements of World of Darkness lore as the basis) that’s quite a large step.

And ironically, this is one of those 90s things that happened through overcompensation and, attempts at representation, if you can believe it. Because ghosts and walking dead across Asia, with their historically dominant folklore and belief systems and magic, are most definitely different from classic European concepts of death, life and unlife. When Kindred of the East were first conceived of, they weren’t Kuei-Jin. They were Cainites, the same as any others.

However, they didn’t like the very Eurocentrist idea that all vampires should have to be descended from Caine, as their initial concept depicted. That would mean Vampires could be no older in mythology than Hebrew myths, which themselves were only a few thousand years old, compared to many Asian civilizations, which were comparatively older and had their own cultural myths of genesis and originators and founders. And instead, tried to make the Hopping Dead of Asian myths their own distinct creature, not bound by the ideas of western irredeemable sinners and unlife. More Buddhism, more Shintoism, more Taoism in the functions of how they functions.

In short, they wanted to do what they did with Christianity for Vampires and elevate Eastern religions to as important to the meta story and the metaphysics, as Judeo-Christian ones operating with V:tM. Believe it or not, this was an attempt to humble and marginalize the very Eurocentrist, Judeo-Christian perspective on being undead and supernatural, with the Eastern religions’ views on redemption and the difference between life from the supernatural.

And the mishmashing of names? Western ignorance, but with the intention of applying the same consolidation ignorance and insensitivity to Asian folklore and culture, that they did to European ones. The vampire clans of V:tM are all different cultures’ different and distinct depictions of vampires and blood drinking supernatural creatures, blended into one animal they decided would arbitrarily be descended from the first vampire, Caine.

We recognize what was done to Asian cultural diversity and myths and religion as a travesty, making salad out of so many different peoples folklore and naming conventions and merging things that shouldn’t be made the same creature. And yet a great many of you fuckers that say Europe has no culture and that whites themselves have no culture, would not say the same thing about combining a German Nosferatu with an Eastern European/Slavic Strigoii into the same creature, making them just variations with differing mechanics of the same kind of creature. A vampire.

You cannot reconcile the two. Either what was done to European myths of the walking dead was insensitive exploitation of culture, or what they did to different Asian myths wasn’t. If one is acceptable, so is the other. And at the end of the day, just because something is culture, does not make it untouchable or beyond criticism. Especially not if you say, “Well, white people don’t get to criticize Asian culture/mythology.”

So it’s okay to dislike the Kuei-Jin/Kindred of the East. Absolutely. They mix thematically with the rest of the World of Darkness like putting X-men in the same toybox you’d find Goku and Guyver, and to similar and predictable results of trying to play with them together in the land of make believe. The conflicting way they operate is just irreconcilably different.

But please keep some idea in mind exactly what your issue and problem is with the Kuei-Jin/Oriental Adventure type stuff. If your issue with Kuei-Jin is that they weren’t created or balanced in the meta with the rest of the World of Darkness, and seem more like some bridge towards the Exalted tabletop game that’s hinted to be related to World of Darkness spiritually, okay.

If your complaint is that white people shouldn’t be allowed to put Umbrella Ghosts from Japanese mytholgoy in their games or stories, or depict elements of Yokai or Makai or any religious figures from Buddhism, Taoism or Shintoism, kindly be quiet, the adults are talking. Your race and your culture should not be able to stop you from putting fictional creatures in your fictional work. Some dude in Japan shouldn’t need Europe’s or any sort of European group council’s permission to add a Slavic or Medditeranian monster like a vampire into their videogame or manga, any more than Fred from Ohio should need Japan’s official Ninja school’s permission to have Ninjas in his dime store comic book. And the fact some of those characters and mythological creatures play into real life religion’s figures means nothing; European style mythology and folklore about the Fey shouldn’t mean we refuse to make fiction about the Fey, and the reason that’s okay for us is NOT because, “well we’re colonizers and we colonized the world so that’s their culture anyway. So they can write stories about the Sidhe but we can’t write about Rakshasa.” I reject that nonsense. Unless you also think non-Christians shouldn’t be able to make demons in the vein of European mythological demons (animal horns, hooves, red skin), kindly walk back this terrible point of view.

Anglophone fans of World of Darkness that live in and descend from Asian cultures and populations, living in Asia, would be especially helpful to reimagine Kuei-Jin so they can retain the thematic folkloric elements and the blending of cultural and religious spirituality, without losing anything. It’s kind of what they’re doing with their reimagining of the Assamites into the Banu Haqim from the less than flattering interpretation of Arabian assassin vampires, and the very problematic Ravnos- previously described as “Gypsies” and now tied tentatively to Romani and India.

At their core, they’re just humans that died, went to a horrible netherworld and afterlife, and came back from the dead by splitting their soul into a self-destructive part and their own humanity. At the game’s core, Kuei-Jin are just supposed to be affected by the religion and culture of where they came from and what surrounds them- which is what shape regional depictions of supernatural creatures native to a region in the first place!

And at the end of the day, all of these depictions of folkloric monsters are rooted in ethnographic culture anyway. A Greek vampire will not be the same as a German vampire. And similarly, a Laotian Kuei-Jin may not be the same as a Viet Namese Kuei-Jin. How they’re named and the funny mechanics and nuances of how they work will change, but in spirit, they’ll be the same creature.

To be honest, I think the choice might be interesting. For those that think they’d rather Cainites just be the standard kind of vampire in the World of Darkness. Whether they play normal Cainites, or whatever name that will be chosen in place of Kuei-Jin that’s more culturally relevant and sensitive. Some people may prefer that no such creatures as what the Kuei-Jin are, exist, and everything just be more compatibly V:tM, but set in Asia. Others may like the idea of the vampire as depicted as a returned from the dead creature with a more Buddhist or Taoist point of view. Some people would just like to be included and not have the baggage of Asia just being obligatory Kuei-Jin territory.

Whatever the solution, we kind of need more game fans internationally. People that know their own homeland and language and geography and regional folklore and what sort of metaphysics and mythology it’s based on, and if they’d prefer the conventional antediluvian vampire clans, or the Hungry Ghost types.

To date, the reason why V:tM avoided even talking about Cainites even going further into Asia is because of the stigmas associated with Westerners writing fiction in Asia- to do so opens the author up to all sorts of criticism, real or knee-jerk, that they’re just doing it wrong. Sometimes by actually doing it wrong, sometimes it’s considered wrong on the basis of it being a white person doing it, whether educated and culturally sensitive, or not.

Whether you prefer Kuei-Jin or some more modern, cleaned up, less Weeaboo version of them as they are, or you’d like to see more Cainite style vampires making history in the World of Darkness across Asia, and supernatural night life across Asia, we could definitely use more Asian player and gamers input on this. The vast majority of the writers and staff for this western game will, unavoidably, be white and derived from Europeans. Just by virtue of the majority population where they live, and whom are already fans of WoD. But this just means fans internationally are needed now, more than ever. If only to put your input into it, and if you like it, rubber stamp the initiative. The loudest voices that will decry a thing will be doing it largely because it’s a western depiction of anything Asian in culture, and reason it can’t be done properly, only exploitatively and abusively, based purely on that fact.

That’s kind of the problem the game faces right now, and it’s one I think we, in the era of social media and multinational tabletop gamers, fiction and pulp readers and appreciators from a plethora of backgrounds, can work out.

But that’s the issue the Kuei-Jin face in modern WoD, and kind of what worked up to why they didn’t function with the rest of it. It can’t all just be attributed to insensitive white westerners. Some of it was just being swept up in a trend, some of it was well meaning respect towards native folklore to not justmake it Eurocentrism elsewhere, some of it was limitation of experiences.

Hope this helps. It’s by no means definitive and I encourage further research on your own about the subject.

#Kuei-Jin #World of Darkness #Vampire: the Masquerade #90s #old games made modern

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frogs-in3-hills · 4 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!

#silly sully writing #dsmp #mcyt #c!crimeboys #c!bedrock bros #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic

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spider-xan · 5 months

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I would kill for an animated Spider-Man series about an adult Peter aimed for adults, something like Invincible. Of course, it doesn't have to be as gory, just a mature story dealing with heavier topics. I don't get the appeal of teen Peter anyway, like you said, you get much more freedom with him as an adult. But I guess teen Peter is more marketable towards kids 🙄

Though, as much as I dislike Netflix and Amazon Prime, their adult animated shows that aren't cheap Family Guy clones proved that they're successful and there's a high demand for them. I think the closest one we've got is TNAS.

Yeah, there's like a whole wealth of interesting Spider-Man stories that can be told about Peter as an adult and experienced superhero, and pop culture outside of comic readers have really latched onto this idea of Spider-Man as a teenage superhero only, even though he was only in high school for a comparatively very short period of time before being a young adult for most of it! And the thing about Spidey as a teen hero is that the original fun in that was how back in 1962, it was a revolutionary idea to have a teenager as an independent hero in his own right who could keep up with and even exceed the adult heroes instead of being an adult's sidekick, but those are common now and Peter also tends to get infantalized as a baby who needs adults to teach him how to be a hero, which defeats the entire point.

I think there is definitely room for both high school and adult adaptations, but I will never agree with the idea that teenagers and young people would only be interested in Peter as a teenager - I was a teenager when I got into Spider-Man, and while yes, I really got into the Ultimate comics bc omg he's in high school just like me!!, I also had no problem enjoying the 616 comics where Peter was an adult married to MJ and had a job as a school-teacher bc guess what, teenagers are capable of engaging with stories where the characters are not exactly like them; as far as cartoons go, I guess TNAS wasn't popular, but the 90s animated series had Peter as a young adult in college, and kids loved that show.

The Insomniac games have especially shown that there is interest in Peter as an adult with adult problems, as well as being an experienced superhero who has a history with his supporting cast and villains! You can't get that in yet another Spider-Man story set in high school meant to go over how Peter became Spider-Man (again), how his villains became supervillains (again), how he met his friends (again), etc., and as fun as storylines are about how his being Spider-Man interferes with his homework or the school dance, I would love to see more exploration of how it affects his adult life with higher stakes.

#asks #xan's spidey meta #peter parker #spider man #spiderman

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dividingnutsack · 1 year

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But it is. Especially since most are set in a place with mostly east asians. I am aware that not every Asian is not pale. I'm not either.

The problem is that everytime someone makes a "blasian" character it's just straight up black. And usually African American specifically because for some reason they want to be Asian but still black Idk.

The problem is that there are people who want the cast to be anything BUT Asian. I mean cmon I've seen what they've done to mha characters. Not once have I seen people change them to dark skinned asians. It's always African, Mexican, South american, swana

It's never Thailand, the Philippines, taiwan

It's never these kinds of places

It's never dark skinned asians of east Asian countries either.

The problem is that it's always everyone outside of Asia demanding dark skinned representation. Dark skinned equaling anyone that's not Asian.

In entertainment media of all places because yall don't do anything else apparently, and that the only place you see asians.

Asian authors can include black people if they want. They can make an entirely black cast. But most don't. And there are alot of reasons for this but the main one being

No matter what we do people will still find something wrong with it. Even if we made the character like any other Asian character first the changed the design but the character traits are the same people will still find something wrong with it.

That's also a reason I'm fucking begging poc to just make their own characters.

We make mostly Asian characters because that's who we are. We know ourselves and our culture best. And we want to see stories about ourselves just as much as black people want to see stories about themselves.

The difference is that we actually worked to make that happen. Anime and Manga is OUR thing. Sure you can make American anime/manga. You can make all black characters in the anime/Manga styles.

But yall won't. People want US to do it. I honestly don't know how better to explain it.

It's not that black people can't make anime/manga. It's not that we don't want them to. It's that they WONT.

All they do is complain about black "stereotypes" and lack of black people.

They aren't willing to make the content they want so why should we do it for them when we aren't interested. When we just want to mak the stories WE make up. We aren't here to create what everyone else wants. We are creating what WE want. So why can't black people do the same.

Hell why don't they find black artists and support them.

It's fair enough to ask that if we do add black characters to atleast do our research. I get that. That's perfectly reasonable. But when yall say that anime/manga should have more poc representation do you even consider who is going to create that representation?

Do you consider that the artists are real people and that stories don't just come out of nowhere?

You want representation? Cool. Who's gonna make it?

Do you really think you have right to tell artist that they should or have to include what YOU want in THEIR story? You guys aren't considering the people who make the anime and Manga that you enjoy so much. That they are artists just like your average artist on Tumblr. People who create their own stories and often have stuff like writers block and shit.

I mean do you also think it's acceptable to go up to a random comic artist right here on Tumblr probably has barely 50 followersand tell them that their comic needs to have poc representation because that's what YOU want?

If you can understand how outrageous that would be then you need to understand that's that is what it's like when black people get so upset about their lack of representation in an anime they like. How stupid it is to complain about the cast being all pale.

Like this is not even mentioning the fact that authors are more than allowed to just not include dark or light skin tones in their works even if it takes place where the skin "should" be certain shades if they so wish to.

It's not that I think adding poc will "wipe out Asian representation". It's that it's stupid to ask us to add it for you.

Also I wasn't conflating the two. I'm very aware of the difference but that doesn't not mean that there are people who attack authors for their "representation"

Hell you have Kaeya in your picture so I'm assuming you play genshin

With the sumeru update alot of people harrassed the voice actor of a fictional character (dori) because said character was dark skinned. I watched that happen in real time. The VA didn't even have anything to do with the creation of the character. But it was easier to go after her than a company.

That's just... One example. And the character isn't even east Asian. Or liyuen or inazuman.

Or how about the thing with Xinyan. Yknow the dark skinned chinese woman that every American in the Fandom insists is black. The singular dark skinned east Asian in the whole game and people insist she's African American.

Idk man. Idk how it's so much to ask that poc learn to make their own media for themselves. Because yknow what I think it would be pretty damn cool if they started making comics and stuff about swana and Mesa cultures and people.

They are always complaining about the stereotypes and people getting them wrong. Yet I have yet to see people uplifting their own stories or people making them for that matter.

The problem is that everyone just wants black people in Japan. And I think that's fucking weird. Cuz what's so special about Japan that makes every poc who enjoys anime to want all of their representation to take place in that specific country.

Have one of my signature long as fuck asks.

Ok buddy

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redstringraven · 2 years

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Pretend That I Never Left

CHAPTER 10: THE NEXT TIME

“...what’re you thinking?”

Mikey frowned. He shifted his fingers to better wrap them around hers, and he huffed. “You remember… after we left that shrine in Meridian? And I kinda word vomited all over the place about there always being one super bad dude?”

She hummed, and he continued, “like a year or so ago, we learned about where we came from. What, like. Made us what we are. Big, mutant turtles. I guess the short version is that it... it tied us right back to the Shredder. If he’d never gotten himself trapped on earth, the stuff that mutated us wouldn’t have existed. …it’s super weird, and kinda gross, to think about. That, without that creep, we might just be…” he shrugged. “I dunno. Chowing down on lettuce in a tank somewhere.”

He trailed off. Aloy stayed quiet. When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “and now, it’s like. The Utroms are gone, and we’re the only ones who know what a bad dude Shredder is, or that he’s up to no good. The city thinks he's a hero right now just because he's twisted damage the Triceratons did into his favor.”

Aloy’s hand tightened around his in a light squeeze, and he felt her shoulders sink. “...and destiny?” She asked. “What do you think about that?”

“Eh. …it’s cool when it’s in video games or comic books, but. …sometimes it feels like ‘destiny’ is just a fancier way of saying something’s the right thing to do. To make it less scary. Y’know?" He paused. "...when we talked about what made us, Master Splinter said that, like. Even though Shred-head is part of our origins, we choose our own fate.” Mikey shrugged. “Some people could look and be like... Us being tied to the Shredder, bumping into him again after all that time and getting all tangled up in his crap means we're 'destined' to stop him or whatever. But we could just say 'screw that' and keep chilling at home. Maybe someone else would come along, see how evil he is, and take care of it. But. Why would we? When we can do something, and maybe less people would get hurt. …does that make sense?”

“...you do it because it’s the right thing to do,” Aloy muttered. “Not because the circumstances surrounding demand it’s the path you’re meant to take.”

“Yeah. …yeah, something like that.”

continue reading on ao3

When the Ultimate Drako appears and transports the turtles through parallel and alternate dimensions, Mikey finds himself in a far future where life seems almost backward. Humans live in scattered, tribal-like populations with limited access to technology, yet advanced and animal-like machines roam the lands. It’s a rare instance where turtle-luck is in his favor that he happens to cross paths with someone just as used to being an outsider to humanity as he is.

an alternative take on Reality Check where Mikey winds up in the world of Horizon: Zero Dawn.

pairings: n/a characters: mikey, aloy ; mentions of don, raph, leo, and others rating: t (violence) relevant tags: crossover / canon-divergence, action/adventure, friendship

#tmnt 2003 #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt 03 #tmnt 2k3 #;hannah writes #;fanfic: pretend that i never left #;michelangelo #;tmnt #[ THAT'S IT!!!!!! ]#[ I DID IT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ]

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alastanor · 3 years

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In less than a week my feed has been plagued by the "hot takes" of entitled fans of the Hazbin and Helluva universe.

As a result, I know I promised some analytical information regarding what we know of Hazbin's version of hell thus far, which will be included in this post. But there will be some other things added as well to address some of the more frequently expressed "concerns" I have seen being (rather rudely) expressed in posts.

Some of the things I will be talking about in these posts, so while I will be utilizing quotes or things said in @total-mal 's very well articulated response post, I recommend going to read that response post in it's entirety. Like... now.

The complaints I tend to see typically fall along these lines.

So in this post I will be addressing these things and other things I typically see.

Story

As was very well put in the aforementioned post, the series of Hazbin barely has an hour of content. Yet for some reason people complain that it's a mess. How?

The Pilot itself is meant to establish the setting, who the characters are, what their relationships to each other are, establishing dynamic, and establish the premise of future story that is meant to follow. All of these things the pilot did exceedingly well. A pilot is NOT meant to drop dozens of hours worth of world lore and future plot points in one half hour segment. It is supposed to hook people into being interested in and watching the follow up episodes. Which, considering the rather quick cult following that preceded the pilot debut, I would say it did that and more even without the world lore dump people are demanding.

No story is going to give you every facet of the characters and the world they inhabit in the first episode or the first novel. No story worth it's weight in salt, that is. Any good story teller will tell you that content needs to be put on an IV drip as the story progresses, or else you will lose the majority of your audience's interest.

Helluva Boss is it's own standalone project set in the same universe as Hazbin, but it's job is not to provide lore for Hazbin. The kernel of lore we got from episode two was great. But that is very likely not going to be the norm every episode. Nor should anyone expect otherwise.

The comics were also their own projects, meant to strengthen an already existing narrative with Hazbin and establish both Angel and Alastor's motives for joining the Hotel. They are not meant to expand on the lore. Their existence could also very likely be overlooked by fans who only pay attention to what is popping up on Youtube or on their Twitter feed.

As for Addict, that began as a fan-created song Vivzie liked enough to animate into a music video which expanded on Angel and Cherri's relationship. It was not meant to be an entry to any Vivziepop Hell lore.

Hazbin is a story driven by its characters. This is why the characters are the focus and take up the majority of any screen time given to any entry of Hazbin. Mal puts it very well:

World

So this is where we will be getting into what we know so far about the world of Vivzie's hell.

So Vivzie's hell is, from what we understand, loosely based on Dante's inferno with other inspirations and deviations mixed in. For example, there are only seven circles of hell as opposed to 9.

In Dante's inferno only circle two through five are after the Seven Deadly Sins. Whereas in Vivziepop's version of hell, every circle is for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

From what we understand so far, Pride is the top circle, or Ring. Sinners, AKA those who were alive prior to becoming demons, are only allowed to exist in Pride.

We do not know what "can only exist" means. As this doesn't imply that sinners can't leave Pride. Simply that they cannot exist anywhere else.

And also from what we understand, the big marker that differentiates each of the circles is the colors of the sky.

Pride, from what we have seen thus far, has a red sky.

While Greed has a green sky.

This is further confirmed on Twitter, however whether it was confirmed by Vivzie or one of the other official Twitters, I cannot recall.

Now, I know there are quite a few who keep asking this question.

And there are many who seem to think that this little detail means that the fact dump from official Twitters means the story and lore are ruined. This is actually false. Especially when you consider that Sinners are not a finite population. Nor is their influx a small trickle. So expanding Sinners into other parts of hell is only a temporary solution to a more overarching problem. It may slow down the necessity for purges, but it would also increase the number needed to be purged each time a purge was necessary. Further, it is doubtful that Lucifer would be keen on the idea of angels traveling deeper into Hell just as it is doubtful that he sees a reason to be exceedingly merciful to sinners- the creation he detests and is more or less what brought him to Hell to begin with. It also would erase any place to escape for Hell-born demons.

So in this regard, no. Nothing is ruined. People just aren't paying attention. The devil is in the details, after all.

As for what the difference is between circles and rings, perhaps this will shed some light.

Rings seem to be segments of a circle that separate sinners by the subcategory of their sin in each circle. Whether or not Vivziepop's version of hell follows this, I personally doubt it. Ring and Circle, from observation, seem to be used interchangeably. So the two could very well be the same thing.

The other bits we know are lore facts Vivzie has given previously that may no longer be true as the world exists now. For example, previously Alastor was scared of dogs. But more recently, Vivzie said that is no longer true and Alastor simply just does not like them. So any older facts should be taken with a grain of salt until they are reconfirmed.

Switching gears on the world, there have been complaints popping up that Vivziepop's hell is not "hell-y" enough because there is not enough fire and brimstone.

To take a phrase from total-mal once more, there are countless alternate depictions of hell as hell being other people instead of the place itself. The phrase exists from Sartre's No Exit, but has been revisited numerous times in other media depictions of hell to display that the definition of "punishment" can be broadened to a much larger spectrum than originally imagined.

In the Hazbin universe of Hell, punishment is the constant threat of physical and emotional harm from those around you, not unlike being in prison or living in a ghetto. You have the increased potential to be abused or taken advantage of if you show a moment's weakness.

And while some in the demon hierarchy might have it better than others, there is still the constant threat of being killed or overthrown by someone stronger or someone just wanting to prove themselves.

In the Hazbin universe of hell, you wear clues to your life, your sins, and your death on the outside for all to see (and in some cases, manipulate). You are thrust into a demon hierarchy one wrung up from the lowest class, unless you are lucky and strong enough to become an overlord. In which case, then you are two wrungs up from the lowest class. And your punishment is living every day with the constant threat of those around you. Of always needing to have your guard up because someone will take advantage of you or worse. That isn't even mentioning the annual threat of the purge.

Livestreams

This is another one that I see get mentioned and awful fucking lot in the complaint/concern/hot take posts.

There are always complaints about how the livestreams are useless, serve no purpose, or are just "jerkoff sessions." Mind, these same complaints almost always seem to come from the same people complaining about having no information about the show or having no lore surrounding the universe or the story.

Nevermind that Vivzie and the cast are all under NDA and cannot disclose much that isn't already known about the show and, where VAs are concerned, cannot do any voice lines that go beyond what has already been said in the pilot lines.

The Livestreams serve SEVERAL purposes, however. One of those purposes is to drum up interest surrounding Hazbin and Helluva, as well as to advertise and to disclose any lore that they have permission to disclose to the audience. Something to whet their appetites as they wait for the small Indie studio A24 to finish production of Hazbin's first season in the middle of a pandemic. Because that last bit people seem to forget is still ongoing.

Without those livestreams done by Viv and the cast, many of the impatient fans in this fandom would be practically breaking down the door on Vivzie's DMs demanding to know where Hazbin is or why she seems to have given up on it. Or at least, more than what is currently going on now anyway.

People need to calm down, let the Devs do their job, and pay more attention to the details given in what we have thus far. Vivzie has done a GREAT job at eluding to the bigger picture in her details. Particularly where her characters are concerned. And I for one am here for it.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel info dump #hazbin hotel discourse #hazvin hotel discussion #helluva boss fandom #helluva boss discussion #helluca boss discourse #vivziepop fandom #vivziepop #hazbunnies #entitled fans #impatient fans #toxic fans

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tiredbutstillloveable · 3 years

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HEESEUNG'S IDEAL TYPE

Virgo Venus and Moon, Libra Sun and Mercury

His type is someone with critical and analytical mind. Someone intelligent, who’s introspective, chill, just owns that soothing aura. Probably reads a lot, and it’s wise too. Can totally help you out with your problems; it’s very practical about that. Won’t suffer for nothing, because is always looking to the problem’s resolution; It’s very much like: okay, we have this pickle (lol) how can we solve this? What ways do we have to figure this out?

It’s a selfless person; takes care of people, especially their health. It’s important to them that their loved ones are healthy, like – eating properly, exercising, drinking a lot of water, sleeping properly...just having an organized life.

Hard worker. Definitely the type of person who’s not afraid of work. They need the feeling that they are producing, being helpful, building something that it’s useful and just being at the service of the population/ society. This gets them very happy, and with their mental health in check. But, it's important to know when to rest, because there are relentless when working, or helping someone out, that they could totally forget about themselves, and just to overdo it. This can lead them to fatigue, stress, anxiety, and even burnout. They need to know how to chill out, and not to focus so much on the outside, but look more for themselves.

They are just so humble. They always put so much work in everything they do, but they never think it’s good enough, perfect enough. Even if you're saying is the best thing you ever seen. They will never think they are the shit yk? They always think they can improve more, and that this is nothing more than their obligation.

This person certainly has a tough time opening up. They will need to really trust you to do that. And even tho they won’t talk about their feelings pretty much; they are pretty discreet about it. And don’t even think to tell anyone, once they know that you told someone their deepest secret, that’s it. They’ll never open up to you again. They feel like oysters lol

For them being in a relationship, loving someone, you really need to feel it. They will never start dating someone with there are not really into you. They are pretty serious about relationships, super mature people, won’t play around with you and your feelings. They will be by your side through your best and worst moments. They are really empathetic people.

Even though there are more introspective, they are super polite, and it is hard people not liking them. They could have a lot of friends, and being sociable...but, in their own way. They are not the “party animal friend”, not even close, but they will love a good gathering in a nice restaurant, eating a nice meal, in a clean, beautiful place. They like a nice ambience to have their meal, especially if is an especial occasion. But won’t mind at all to do more casual things, they actually love it. But they won’t try the shady bar though...don’t even think about that lol Even if the place is simple, they are demanding and have some standards; they need to go to clean places...that’s it. HAHAHAHA

They will have a minimalist, elegant, more neutral colors kind of style. They have a classical aesthetic I think, or at least they prefer this type. I feel they could wear glasses, and just looking really good. They know what best suit them, and don’t like to step out their comfort zone. So, they won’t be really modern about their looks, or paint their hair in a blue/ pink color, for example.

They could be into animes, comic books and so on; I feel they are a little nerd. The cute type hahaha But, they know their mangas and they could get into heated discussions. Loves films, series, documentaries, all types of entertainment that stimulates their minds. Could be totally into video games as well. The one who won’t stop playing until finishes everything, and learning all the story in there. They could be into the logical ones, the ones that you need to use your logic, your rational mind, the type that you need to analyze things, and the smallest detail can make the difference.

Well, this is it for now my loves, I hope you guys enjoy it! <3

#heesung #heesung enhypen #enhypen #enhypen astrology #heesung ideal type #heensung ideal type astrology #astrology #kpop #kpop astrology #heesung astrology

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theworldinclines · 3 years

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Title: a firm foothold Pairing: Pitch/Bank Excerpt: Pitch looks at the way Bank bites his lip, his fingers holding tightly to the hem of his shirt, and asks, “Bank, are you… okay?” “Yeah,” Bank says, but sighs when Pitch raises his eyebrows. “Not really.” Ao3 link

Read story under cut.

“As if we’d leave!”

Sky shakes his head. His frustrated, overwrought expression has stiffened his features and Pitch doesn’t want to imagine the kind of fear he’s enduring right now. “We won’t know anything until tonight, if that,” Sky says plainly. “And anyway, they’ve already said he can’t have visitors until they’re sure he’s more stable, so there’s no use in all of us hanging around.”

“So you’ll be going home too then?” Bank deadpans.

“He needs me,” Sky says. At Bank’s mouth opening once more, he goes on, “Bank, one of my dad’s men is already on the way back with fresh clothes for me. Just go home, eat something. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Bank’s mouth is set, his eyebrows drawn, and Pitch can tell he wants to fight Sky on this. It’s not hard to understand, really; they rescued their friend from a mob kidnapping only to watch another get shot unconscious. They’re standing here alive by the skin of their teeth and to leave Sky like this is the opposite of who Bank is.

“Bank,” Pitch says, setting his hand hesitantly to the younger’s back. After a second, Bank looks at him, still frowning. “We’re covered in dust and haven’t eaten since morning. Let’s just head back for now.” He gives the slightest inclination of his chin toward Sky, a pointed look in his eyes that says they need to give their friend space, and Bank’s shoulders deflate as he sighs.

“You’ll really tell us if something changes?” he asks Sky. “Promise?”

Sky grins a tired smile. “Yes, Bank. I promise.”

Bank nods once, satisfied, and pats Sky’s arm kindly before turning on his heel with a little wave. “Bye bye,” he says. “Don’t forget!”

Sky rolls his eyes a little but nods, shooing them away. Pitch glances backward as he follows after Bank and catches the way Sky’s body has sagged forward, eyes already fallen to the floor. He needs time to process on his own, Pitch knew that, but it still hurts to see a friend going through something no one can fix.

“I’m starving,” Bank announces, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“Let’s stop for a bite.”

Bank nods immediately, then appears to realise something in looking at Pitch. At Bank’s nose wrinkling, Pitch looks down at his filthy uniform. “P’, we’re a mess,” Bank voices.

“Showers it is.”

Bank nods again and switches the music on as Pitch turns out of the hospital parking. It’s quiet aside from the Scrubb CD Bank had at one point snuck into the radio of Pitch’s car. He isn’t too into the band but their sound always brings a happy sort of look onto Bank’s face, so Pitch isn’t going to fight him on it.

Pitch rolls to a stop outside Bank’s gate and looks at him, expecting him to say something like a goodbye, but Bank’s eyes are glued to the house itself.

“Uh, Bank?” Pitch says. “Bank.”

“Huh?” Bank blinks. “Sorry. I was going to say you can come in to eat.”

“You wanted to clean up, I thought.”

Another blink. “Oh. Yeah, I do.” Bank wordlessly gets out of the car, to Pitch’s confusion, and is halfway to the gate when he turns back around and says, “You can still come in though.”

Pitch rolls down his window, sure that he’d misheard. “What?”

“Come inside. We can shower and eat.” Bank shifts on his feet. “You’re already here, as hungry as I am.”

Pitch waits for Bank to rescind the invitation, but he just stands there waiting. So Pitch parks the car and does as he’s told.

Bank’s house is massive, though both of his parents being successful doctors lessens Pitch’s surprise on what they might afford. Pitch lives comfortably but this is sort of overwhelming, even for him. Bank being who he is, he likely puts on every light and the television to avoid being spooked when he has the place to himself. The thought has Pitch glancing at Bank, wanting to take his hand as they move for the staircase, but he refrains.

Bank’s bedroom is much neater than Pitch would have imagined. Maybe it was because Bank held no qualms about jumping drunk onto a bed that wasn’t his own, but Pitch had almost assumed that Bank’s space would be something of a disaster.

“The floor’s usually a disaster so it’s lucky I cleaned up yesterday,” Bank reads his mind, digging around the dresser.

The room is decorated sparingly, the majority of it confined to the wall behind the bed, floor to ceiling covered in posters ranging from popular anime to bands Pitch couldn’t begin to guess the names of. Scrubb has made a home in here too; there’s one poster that has its members for some reason holding vegetables? Pitch shakes his head, resigned to just not ask.

“Here, P’.” Pitch turns to find Bank offering pajamas his way. “It’s just a long sleeve and shorts. We can run the laundry and clean up your stuff.”

“Thanks,” Pitch says.

“Mm. You can use my bathroom; I’ll shower in my parents’.” Bank disappears into the hall, leaving Pitch on his own. With time to himself he takes in the room some more. It even smells clean, and like Bank. There’s a small grey sofa and more than one bookshelf besides, each littered with action figures, comics, and textbooks. Pitch can just picture Bank reading on the sofa, or complaining about something or other to Sky at the desk.

Pitch probably shouldn’t be as oddly giddy as he is to just be standing here, but he can’t help it. Even the bathroom makes Pitch smile; it smells of Bank’s soap, and there’s his infamous hair gel.

Pitch spots his own reflection grinning stupidly in the mirror and Pitch coughs, looking away. If he doesn’t move a little faster, Bank is going to walk in to find him still standing here like a weirdo. He’d probably laugh and mortify Pitch, and that notion is enough to get him in the shower pronto.

When he comes out, Bank is on the sofa, head bent as he types away on his phone. The shirt he’d been planning to wear is abandoned on the cushion, like he’d gotten distracted halfway through dressing. Pitch grins and tiptoes up to the sofa.

“The return of Ticklish Godzilla — ” he begins with a grumble in his voice, but he has time only to finish the sentence before Bank is yanking Pitch onto the sofa by his neck like a rag doll. He flips over with a, “Oi!” to land neatly in Bank’s lap, the air knocked from his lungs at the sneak attack. He must be smiling like an idiot regardless.

“Vanquished,” Bank says, digging his fingers into Pitch’s sides in retaliation.

“Don’t — ” Pitch squirms out of Bank’s grasp and jumps to his feet. “Don’t even try it.”

Bank shakes his head, grinning, and with distance between them Pitch takes in Bank’s damp, loose hair. His lack of a shirt is also sinking in, which has Pitch’s skin itching even though this isn’t the first time he’s seen Bank damp and shirtless this month. He clears his throat again.

“Are you good to eat?” he asks, wincing immediately at himself, but Bank just nods happily.

“I ordered pizza,” he says, then frowns. “Unless you want something else. I can — ”

“Pizza’s fine.”

“Okay.” He tugs his shirt on as they go down the hallway, much of Pitch’s efforts pointed at not looking at the muscle of Bank’s back or arms.

“I just messaged the girls about Sun. They’ll go tomorrow to visit too.”

“Sure,” Pitch says. “I think I’ll head home after we eat, by the way. We could use some sleep.”

Bank hesitates for just a second at the top of the stairs, then says, “I have every Lord of the Rings movie; have you seen them?”

“I mean — I’ve seen some of the first.”

Bank looks at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?” he demands, and Pitch is sort of worried he’s about to be cursed out. “That’s awesome! We can watch them tonight!”

“Uh, aren’t they, like, pretty long?”

Bank shrugs noncommittally but otherwise gives no answer as he bounds down the stairs like a hyperactive puppy.

Two pizzas and a lot of soda later, Pitch is about ready to pass out. Bank seems to have more energy than ever though, so much so that Pitch doesn’t think even Ticklish Godzilla can save him now.

“Hey, Bank,” he starts.

“Sh!” Bank hisses. He takes these things incredibly seriously, Pitch has found. He hates when people talk during shows or movies, these times being some of the few that Bank wants total silence.

“Bank,” Pitch tries again anyway.

“P’!” Bank whines.

Pitch pauses the movie on another speech given by a character he doesn’t know the name of and gives Bank a look.

“It’s past 11,” he says. “I need to get home; I’m bone tired.”

“But we haven’t finished it yet.”

“I know, but — ”

“And we still have two left.”

“How long are these, exactly?” Pitch asks for another time.

“Well, they’re the extended versions so they’re…” He trails off into a mumble.

“What was that?”

“About four hours,” Bank says louder, cheeks reddening.

“In total?”

“Each.”

Pitch’s jaw slackens. “Each movie is four hours? We can’t watch them all tonight! If we have any hope of getting to the hospital before noon I can’t be awake right until we have to walk out the door, Bank.” Bank doesn’t look at him, his mouth a hard line. “We can watch them another time; I can come back — ”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to; Sky thinks they’re boring too. I don’t actually care.”

Pitch blinks slowly at the abrupt change. “Okay.”

“It’s not about the movies, P’Pitch,” Bank admits after a moment.

“What is it then?” He looks at the way Bank bites his lip, his fingers holding tightly to the hem of his shirt, and asks, “Bank, are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” Bank says, but sighs when Pitch raises his eyebrows. “Not really.”

“Bank, Sun’s going to be fine. And Sky can handle — ”

“It’s not that,” Bank cuts in. “It’s not just that. I’m… I don’t…” Pitch has no idea what could be the cause of Bank’s sudden despondence, he really doesn’t. Everything had been perfectly normal from the drive home to now, hadn’t it?

“My parents aren’t in town,” Bank says. “And my brother’s with his friends.” He doesn’t explain anything more, but Pitch can connect the dots from there. If Pitch is honest, he remembers the look on Bank’s face when they’d pulled up earlier. If Bank’s family isn’t here, Bank will have to spend the night alone, something he dislikes having to do on a good day. Compounded by their near-death at the mob’s hands, forget not wanting to sleep alone — Bank must be frightened to death that he’s in danger.

“I know those guys got arrested but what if there’s more of them, P’?” he asks quietly. “We’re the reason they got caught.”

“Bank, they aren’t going to come after you.”

Bank’s eyebrows come together like he’s confused. “P’Pitch, I’m alone for one night, but you live by yourself every night. What if they show up to torture you like they did with Sky, or…” Pitch almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. Bank is scared for Pitch’s life, not his own. This stupid, selfless kid.

“Bank,” Pitch starts again, too aware of the fondness in his voice, “that won’t happen. They wouldn’t get past me and my bat anyway.”

“I’m not kidding around.”

At Bank’s deadly glare, Pitch clears his throat and wipes any trace of jest from his face. “I know,” he says. “But I really don’t think we have to worry.”

“You’re right — ” Bank agrees.

“Good, I — ”

“ — because you’re staying here with me.” Pitch stares at Bank, but he doesn’t look to be joking yet. “I don’t want to be on my own and I don’t want you to be either,” Bank says, matter-of-fact. “So stay.”

Pitch knows better than to argue with Bank, so he doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll… stay.”

The tension melts from Bank’s face, a grin emerging like the sun from clouds, and Pitch can’t help smiling too. Bank goes to grab the remote, and Pitch’s smile drops. He can’t do eight more hours of these movies tonight, not even for the guy he likes.

Pitch grabs Bank’s wrist, to his confusion. “I think we can call it for now, don’t you?” the former says.

Bank gives an embarrassed grimace, switching off the television. “Right, P’. Let’s sleep.” Once on the second floor, Bank retrieves a heavy woven blanket from the hall closet along with an extra pillow. Pitch settles them onto the sofa without a word, and Bank doesn’t comment. He leaves the room, returning shortly with a face towel and toothbrush. Pitch thanks him with a small smile that Bank returns.

Pitch has never brushed his teeth with another person, and it’s super weird, but he doesn’t hate it. If anything, it’s an excuse to sneak glances at Bank in the mirror and then make a dumb face to make Bank laugh when he’s caught.

Bank shoves his bangs off his face as he undoes the bed, blowing up a little when strands remain stubborn on his forehead. His hair is dry now but as he’s home for the night he never bothered to gel it to the usual. It hangs in his face and may even need a trim, though Pitch is well aware that Bank would be afraid to alter his signature look. Maybe Pitch will get him some sort of glittery, purposely ridiculous clip to keep his hair up at night, so it doesn’t get in his way. Bank would love it.

“Lights off?” he asks. At Bank’s nod from under his sheets, Pitch switches off the ceiling lights and heads for the sofa.

They lay in the dark for a minute, then Bank says, “Thanks for staying.” Another few moments pass. “I shouldn’t have used the movies as an excuse to keep you here. Sorry.”

“Why’re you apologising?” Pitch asks, reminiscent of their botched camping endeavour. He pauses to think of how to proceed. “What I mean is, you didn’t have to pretend, or anything. You don’t need an ‘excuse’ to want me here.”

Bank is silent, and Pitch worries that he’d accidentally said way too much. He was just trying to be honest the way Bank always likes to be. Bank is so honest that it often takes Pitch aback; not just often, but always. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to the way Bank just says what he means, how he feels. He cares so much about every one of them, and having never experienced such a thing before makes it easy for Pitch to believe it can’t be true. So he didn’t tell Bank how he felt at the lake, or in the tent; even now Pitch feels like he’s on far too thin ice.

But Bank walks into fights with mobsters because he doesn’t want Pitch to face them alone, so Pitch can afford to be a little braver.

“Just tell me and I’ll… I’ll stay however long you need, whyever you need,” he promises, eyes on the ceiling, heart rabbiting in his chest.

Pitch is about to hope Bank fell asleep and heard none of that when Bank says, “Can… can you sleep here?” Pitch’s eyebrows furrow, but Bank clarifies, “Up here, with me.”

Pitch doesn’t dare take a breath, giving Bank a chance to change his mind. But just as the other times today, he simply waits for Pitch to answer.

Pitch gets up from the sofa instead of speaking. Bank scoots over to make room and Pitch settles the pillow at the headboard before laying down himself. He’s holding his breath still, even while he drapes the woven blanket over himself and Bank too.

Bank turns onto his side to look at Pitch, so he does the same. His heart has yet to slow down but he does it. The last time they’d slept close like this had been the volunteer trip, and it had ended with their backs to each other, Bank’s outline frigid and small. He’s curled up again, but his face is relaxed, arms held to his chest. He looks soft in the dark, without edges, and for an overwhelming second Pitch is furious with himself over how he’d handled that night in the tent.

Bank had slept with the belief that he’d done something wrong, that Pitch was somehow unhappy with him. Pitch knows now how he feels, and tried to explain as much to Bank those couple nights ago, but… All he can say is that he never wants Bank to question how he feels for him ever again. For God’s sake, Pitch finds the smell of Bank’s soap endearing.

If he’d gone home, he would have never slept tonight, the entire time likely spent thinking about Bank and if he’s okay on his own. How is it Bank seems to always know what Pitch needs before he knows it himself? Or maybe they just need the same thing.

Pitch puts a hand on Bank’s waist, a ghost of a touch, and Bank opens his eyes just a little. He must be exhausted, even worse after having acted energetic the past however many hours, so he doesn’t say anything. He just shuffles closer to Pitch until he can hide bundled up in his arms. Pitch exhales.

“I need you too,” he admits against Bank’s hair, and because he can’t help being cheeky, “Are you satisfied with that answer?”

Sleepy, Bank tilts his head up with a quirked eyebrow and smirk. “Mm.” He gives a soft kiss to Pitch’s jaw, just because Bank knows it will devastate him. “This spot is better.” With that, he returns to his snug place against Pitch’s chest.

If Pitch weren’t already half asleep, Godzilla would be having serious revenge right now.

“G’night, P’Pitch,” Bank murmurs through a baby yawn.

Pitch settles for holding Bank as close as he can, which is a damn good deal.

#I HAD TO TBH #another unsolicited fic <3 #faiza i hope u like this :// bc ily and them #pitchbank #golden blood #pitch x bank #thai drama #thai bl #fics #ao3 #archive of our own #mlm #my writing

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