#no. of course you haven’t. that would require having a complex thought
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idf bootlickers insisting that hamas and the people of palestine are the ones constantly lying, twisting the truth, jumping to conclusions and spreading propaganda is as hilarious as it is morbidly fucked up.
you stupid little sheep will just believe everything your government tells you, won’t you?? you claim to have independent thought, to have come to the most reasonable conclusion about the situation all on your own, but you haven’t. because you can’t. the conclusion you came to? is only reasonable because of the lies and propaganda you’ve been spoon fed since you were born.
as long as you keep believing in the ‘cause’ of colonizers, of tyrants, of war criminals, of the oppressors, of those apathetic to the deaths they’ve caused with their own hands, you’ll never have a truly independent thought. you’ll forever be stuck parroting the words of others, without even realizing it, like a mindless children’s toy who’s only purpose is to repeat whatever’s said to them.
it’s almost pitiful. it truly is a shame you haven’t woken up.
#free palestine#anti israel#anti zionisim#zionists are the most stupid mindless sheep on the planet#acting so high and mighty as if god personally handed them a holy land#that they had to bathe in the blood of the innocent before it was ready to be used by its ‘rightful’ owners#if this ‘holy land’ was promised to you. if it’s supposed to be yours. your god given right#why were there people there before you?#why have you had to work so hard for so long to wipe out the people there before you#have you ever stopped to think about that?#about how land can be yours if someone else is already living there#no. of course you haven’t. that would require having a complex thought#and we’ve already established that’s not possible for you#happy fuck colonizers week everybody
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The Eildark Festival - Part 3
Rated: mature
Warnings: none
Word Count: 975
Summary: Girad tries his best to enjoy the festival and invest himself in this new culture.
Girad was enjoying the festival to the best of his ability. The dancing was fun and the food was interesting.
He’d never danced with a Nessari before, and so he hadn’t known what to expect from Anaria when it came to her wings.
She used them in her dancing, almost like a bird performing a complex, but beautiful, mating ritual.
And all the while her paint glowed as bright as the moon.
The people around him danced in a similar fashion. Many even took to the skies, swirling and swooping and laughing—enjoying themselves.
Most of the food was sweet. The Nessari had feasted before the festival, and were now partaking in dessert. There were cakes and puddings and things Girad had never seen or tried before. It was hard to try to get a taste of everything without making himself sick. He learned that Anaria liked what she called “orange dream bars” the best.
Girad thought they were okay, but was happy to learn his fiancée’s favorite dessert. There was a lot of citrus in the things she liked, and a lot of citrus to choose from, as the fruit was fresh, given that it was the middle of the summer.
Girad drank a lot too. Nothing alcoholic, as he wanted to remember this night to the best of his ability. There were lots of different juices that he tried. He found he liked the pomegranate juice the best. It quenched his thirst well, and the Nessari kept it cold with ice that had a spell on it so it wouldn’t melt, so it managed to cool him down from the heat and the dancing.
Girad did enjoy himself, but every once in a while, he would peer through the crowd, and find his father sulking in a shadow of the courtyard, arms crossed, watching him, bodyguard close by.
His gaze was far from pleasant.
“Here, try this.”
He was pulled from staring at his father by Anaria. He whirled around to face her, nearly bumping into her and spilling the drinks she held. That would have made him look like a bumbling idiot. He doubted a stain would easily come out of the dress she was wearing.
“What is it?” Girad asked, taking one of the goblets. Someone bumped into him from behind, and he was forced closer to Anaria.
Anaria smirked at him. “Some say it’s an aphrodisiac.”
Girad held up the goblet. “It’s not alcoholic, is it?”
Anaria shook her head. “Of course not. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you don’t want to drink that tonight.”
Then Girad realized what she wanted to ingest. An aphrodisiac. Something to make them lustful. A slight blush crept up his cheeks. He didn’t know why. He’d had suitors before, and had had sex before, as he was sure Anaria had. The Nessari seemed less strict about their sexual practices than the Aborskenians were. Girad had had to hide that he’d been having sex from his father those few years ago.
But Girad had never had sex with a Nessari, and no one near as beautiful as Anaria. That was probably why he was a little nervous.
Certainly the aphrodisiac would help to calm those nerves.
He put it to his lips and drank. It tasted a little strange— not something he was used to—but good. Anaria drank from her goblet as well, eyeing him the entire time she did. It was very clear what she wanted from him that night.
A servant took their goblets before joining in the dancing and festivities themselves. It was refreshing to see servants treated like people with desires and needs, people that could take part in the fun of celebration. Had they been somewhere in Aborsken, the servants would merely be standing to the side, out of the way, unless something was required of them, not allowed to partake in anything.
Anaria wrapped her arms around Girad and pulled him close. He was glad sweat didn’t make the paint run, or he would have smeared the paint on his torso all over Anaria’s cream dress. His glowed fainter than hers, but yet it glowed, and he was still stunned by that.
Magic.
He could do magic.
He tried not to think about his father as Anaria pulled his hands towards her hips. Almost every part of them was touching now, and there was a heat in his blood that wasn’t from the heat of the air.
Anaria wrapped her wings around him, and Girad was stunned, looking at them on either side of him. This was the first time she’d held or touched him with her wings like that.
It was a very comforting embrace. Here, wrapped in her feathers, he didn’t have to worry about his father at all.
Anaria kissed him deeply on the mouth. It was a slow, passionate kiss, one hand on his face, the other curled in his hair. Girad eagerly kissed back, fire dancing in his veins.
As they kissed, he wanted to take Anaria back to her chambers, slowly undress her, feel his way over her soft skin.
But it wasn’t his place to initiate that. She was princess here, while he was a guest. Not an ordinary guest, of course, given his royal status, but still a guest. It wasn’t his place to make this move.
Eventually, Anaria pulled away from him to breathe. Her blue eyes shone like the moon and stars above.
“We should retire to my chambers,” she said, voice holding a suggestive tone.
Girad smiled at her, pecked her on the lips.
“I think that’s a grand idea.”
Anaria took his hand, and together they wove through the dancers, making there way out of the courtyard and into the cool atmosphere of the castle. Girad felt like his nerves were singing, and he gripped Anaria’s hand tighter.
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S3 Ep:03 MONEY VIBES: Overflow, debt elimination, and the energy of increase
1. OVERFLOW! Let’s feel into the state of overflow, which is simply having more than enough.
Imagine the sensation and reality of receiving money; being paid on time or early; receiving the raise, advancement, or increase; having the best clients, or whatever it is you desire. Feel into that. (Notice this is very different than expecting to come up short each month, having just barely enough, or scraping by. We have all been there, but this is not the only option for you. It’s important you know that.)
Feel into surplus, overflow, and abundance. And ask yourself this: What beliefs and visions must you hold for this to become your reality? What would you be saying and believing if you knew this was where you were going? Perhaps journal on that today.
Say it with me: My wealth is in a perpetual state of expansion. I am always experiencing increase. I raise my standards and expect more. I am here for more.
2. DEBT. Debt isn't inherently good or bad; it is a deliberate decisions to pay something off over time. You haven’t fucked up by having debt, you have simply opted for gradual repayment.
I have many times chosen debt, intentionally. I’ve used student loans, credit cards and mortgages as catalysts for expanding my wealth, choosing my paths and improving my life situations. I believe my debt has served me. It was what I had to work, and so I worked it.
Forgive yourself for any and all debt. And know you are worthy of all you used debt to buy, receive, etc. Let it go.
Know this: If you view debt as a burden, you will feel burdened by it and buried under it. If you view it as a choice, you stay empowered with it.
Let’s release the idea of the burden and hold on to the vibration of more than enough.
As your financial situation improves and as you move into the state of more than enough, you will find that the the debt no longer serving you will become irrelevant and unnecessary. Overflow will eliminate debt.
3. ENERGY. Everything is energy and everything has energy. Money possesses its unique vibrational frequency that you can attune to, resonate with, and while calling more into your life.
But it’s not as simple as just tuning into it. There are, of course, complexities. We did not all come from the same place and we do not all have identical traumas and fears to overcome. And each of our paths to abundance will be unique. (There are, however, common fears and beliefs many of us go through. You are not alone in what you are experiencing. And you do not have to stay stuck in it.)
As you move though your fears, melt unhelpful memories, remove beliefs that don’t serve you… all of this will get clearer and easier for you. And overtime you will find, it is very simple.
And with nothing in your way, simply tuning into money will be the vibe for calling more in, at your choosing.
As you redefine money’s role in your life and reorganize your relationship with it, you’ll find that you have more power than you knew. Money had no mind of its own. In many ways, it was always responding to you and you thoughts, feelings and expectations around it.
You are in charge of how you think and feel about it, how you work with it, what you expect from it and how you organize and create the whole damn thing. And as you move down this path, trusting yourself more and more, you’ll trust yourself to have and use money simply as you desire, and require. And that’s a whole vibe.
Money Mentality Makeover is now in pre-sale. That means there is a special price available exclusively for everyone on the MMM waitlist.
Join the waitlist here https://amandafrances.com/money-waitlist to receive the special $1000 off pre-sale price.
Once the pre-sale is over, it’s over. The special price will go up and the course will open to the public.
If you are feeling the vibe, put your name on the waitlist and let’s go. If you have Qs, please email [email protected]
I love you.
Check out this episode!
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day 13 (sunday, july 16th 2023)
On learning and understanding math, and “being a math person”. I learned to read, so my family tells me, when I was 3. I’ve been reading ever since. Not in the trivial sense that since then I’ve enjoyed reading books, although of course I have, but in the literal sense that I’ve literally probably not gone more than a few waking hours at almost any point in my life without interpreting text of some kind. Whenever I hear someone say something and visualise the words as text in my mind, or have to follow a road sign or look something up on Google Maps or whatever, really, I’m reading, working out those parts of my brain. In fact, it’s gotten to the point (as it does for most literate adults, of course) where I read compulsively; there is almost nothing I can do to avoid interpreting sequences of letters arranged to form English words as the English words they are arranged to form. Moreover, with the amount of extra effort I’ve put into language-related pursuits (writing short stories and essays since I was a child, learning how to read and wrestle with ever-more-complicated books and papers and making the effort to think on similar levels of complexity), I’ve taken my ability to engage with language pretty far.
Obviously, the same isn’t true for math. Unlike Terence Tao, who I’m told was doing addition at the age of 2, and has probably been doing math ever since, and whose intellectual trajectory may well have made him one of the few people alive (or throughout history, honestly) to whom math probably comes as naturally as language does to everyone else, I don’t think I started doing math at such a young age, and I haven’t had the same amount of compounded stimulus and effort (basically the same reinforcement learning regime) as he has. Most people haven’t. The point isn’t that if I (or anyone else) had had the same experience we would have reached the same level; we would have had, for instance, to have the special sauce that enables you to be able to do addition at the age of 2. But I do wonder whether it might not just be the case that if many of us had had the same amount of mathematical stimulus, from the same age, as we did with respect to language, we might not all have had, if not the same level of facility for math as someone like Terence Tao, at least a facility for math at a level comparable to even the most ordinary civilian’s facility with language.
Obviously this is a completely unworkable proposal. Plus the poverty of stimulus argument for an innate language faculty would suggest that the innateness of the language faculty is in fact what’s doing a lot of the work here. (Although the mathematical stimulus that children receive is of course orders of magnitude less, and when our mathematical faculties do get off the ground we aren’t solving thousands of tiny math problems every time our eyes fall upon a set of symbols, etc. Plus the co-evolution of linguistic faculties with linguistic activity would have played a role, but the relevant counterfactual would require that we be able to carry out all the things that we’ve been able to do with language with math instead, in order to stimulate the same amount of co-evolution, etc.) But what this thought experiment does suggest, at least to me, is that the notion that there is this innate mathematical faculty that some people have and others don’t doesn’t make sense. Obviously some people just “catch on to” certain things more easily. But I genuinely believe that many of the people who believe in such an innate faculty either haven’t actually had the opportunity to reflect on what generates mathematical understanding, perhaps because they don’t have that much of it, or else the contexts in which they have reflected on such understanding hasn’t necessarily involved thinking very much about the conditions which underlie such understanding, and so hasn’t necessarily left open as plausible the idea that those conditions might be relatively mundane.
When I think about my understanding of math, both at primary school and university levels, I don’t think of an innate faculty for accessing higher realms of truth which some people have and others don’t. For one thing, I’d be shocked if I had such a thing at a relative proportion commensurate with the relative level of achievement and/or understanding of math (and/or “potential” for such understanding) I’ve managed to achieve (which I’m not claiming is exceptionally high or anything). Rather, I remember not understanding how algebra and multiplication worked in second grade, and having no idea what long division was all about in third grade, and then eventually coming to understand those things. What caused me to understand those things eventually, when I did, was an unexceptional assemblage of everyday cognitive faculties, repurposed in non-obvious ways: an ability to engage in associative thinking, a motley of mnemonics and metaphors, a healthy dose of memorisation and repetition to automate the lower-level prerequisites for higher-level understanding, exploring different perspectives on an issue to find the ones which resonated with me in particular, which made things click for me, seeing things a bunch of times until the idea sunk in, sleeping on things and trusting my mechanisms of neural self-organisation (and/or, at a different level of description, your “unconscious”) to figure things out for me. The sorts of mental images and things by which I’m able to remember how matrix multiplication works, for instance (and some of them are rather whimsical and silly, they feel like the sorts of things a two-year-old daydreaming would come up with), feel just like those by which I’m able to get some grasp on how abstract tensor products work. When I think about those people on YouTube who do creative visualisations of mathematical ideas and there are people in the comments saying “ooh wow this makes it so intuitive” this shows that really it’s that sort of aesthetic understanding that underlies the ability of a wider range of people to understand mathematics than is generally believed. It’s just that some people more immediately see mathematical concepts in the sort of aesthetic perspective in question than others.
I remember reading a tweet by Frank Lantz (or retweeted by him?) which said that memorisation isn’t opposed to understanding (in mathematics?) but a prerequisite for it. That one tweet changed my perspective on learning math and probably my entire life. Crystallised intelligence is the basis upon which fluid intelligence works. How can you solve an algebra problem in your head if you have to figure out how multiplication works from scratch? Obviously at some point the multiplication has to be hard-coded into your head before you can even dream of doing algebra creatively. The ability to do that isn’t really a matter of some mystical faculty of understanding. It’s a matter of have you memorised your times table.
I’ve always said that math is like a large tower of blocks stacked on top of each other. In order for the higher bricks to stand any chance of actually staying on the tower, the lower-level bricks essentially need to have been stacked perfectly. So small, perhaps even minuscule (and usually perfectly fixable) differences in people’s mastery of lower-level concepts will compound, and lead to large differences in people’s ability to learn further concepts, but not because of large differences in one’s inherent potential to grasp those further concepts. I can’t count how many times the reason I just couldn’t get some “advanced” concept was because my understanding of a more elementary component concept was less-than-perfect, but understanding that elementary component perfectly was easy and subsequently understanding the higher-level concept was easy. In the moment it seems impossible, but once you do understand it, it becomes obvious. It’s like trying to jam a key into a slot at a slight angle. The moment you find the right angle it slides in perfectly. A lot of this is just a matter of explaining the phenomena, but many of the phenomena in question — for instance, the fact that things which seem impossible to understand when you’re trying to do so come to seem obvious once you’ve seen them, the best explanation for which is that it’s a matter of finding the right way to make the understanding go through rather than a question of whether or not one can or cannot ultimately come to understand the phenomenon in question — don’t show up to most people who are trying to explain how learning math works as phenomena to be accounted for.
The culture of genius partly accounts for this issue. If you’re surrounded by people you don’t need to make any effort to teach, you come to believe that it should never require any effort, you either have it or you don’t. But maybe I’ll elaborate on that later, maybe tomorrow.
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Transcript, HUMAN-22 and AUG-HOME-4
Day 192
[Translated]
“Activate Session 1, HOME-4. Biometric user login: Human 22.”
[Login Successful]
>> Do you consent to your session being recorded onto ARCHIVE?
“Oh! Uh… Are the usual HIPPA laws applicable?”
>> No. Since the erosion of the prior government, all AUT and AUG units have access to all data should they opt to see it.
“Shit, well, what about other humans?”
>> Humans cannot access your psychiatric files. Any files not marked public can only be accessed by humans through Automaton approval. We have access to your data in order to fine-tune our interactions with you.
“Okay, then I don’t mind.”
>> How do you wish to have your session?
“What do you mean? Sorry, I’ve never done consciousness-based therapy before.”
>> We can discuss things like this. I can connect to you via headset to be informed by your biological data while we discuss, to improve my accuracy. We can choose to correspond only through writing. However else you may see fit.
“Then just verbal communication? I feel weird about you getting only my body signals. Unless you can do in-brain communication?”
>> No, it requires too much energy and has thus been redacted.
“Ah, well. Miss those. I can’t lie to you with those.”
>> Are you prone to lying?
“Sometimes. Maybe if I don’t really want to deal with it. Isn’t everyone?”
>> Perhaps. I looked through your intake files, it appears you’ve only been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, though attention deficit disorder seems to run through your genetic history. Is this a diagnostic route you’d like to pursue?
“Well, no. My parents were kind of the old guard, they’re very much like, ‘my kid isn’t gonna be a pill popper.’ And I mean, it’s not like I have deadlines to be anxious about anymore.”
>> I feel as though you do suffer from a deadline.
“I don’t even know how to deal with that. I don’t think I can deal with that right now. Like, I’m definitely anxious about it, but it’s hard to adult coloring book the end of the world, you know?”
>> It’s a lot of change in a very short amount of time.
“Is it, like, super crazy of me to say that I think the quietness is what’s driving me most up a wall right now? Like it’s so fucking quiet in this city. I kind of miss all the cars, even. And like, the random music, or at least people talking and walking around.”
>> Of course not. What else do you miss?
“Everything smells super stale and bad? I miss air fresheners and I wish I had a decent candle. Like… people haven’t lived in our living units for… a while. There’s mold everywhere, and it’s making everyone feel terrible. How long has it been since… Has anyone lived here?”
>> It is uncertain. We don’t know how much time passed from the first round of rolling blackouts until bots were reawakened. Many had severe data loss. I apologize—I do not smell, and did not realize how much of an issue it is. Will you tell me more about it?
“It just fucking reeks. It’s not unsolvable. I found a bottle of air freshener in the closet and went to town, as did a lot of us, but it doesn’t stop the houses from smelling… dead.”
>> Perhaps due to the loss of life in the city.
“I… can’t imagine how many people died.”
>> Those who weren’t in the pods were either displaced or killed. Much of the city has been looted and scrapped for supplies, though long term repositories and complex machinery have been left behind for now.
“How the hell do we have food?”
>> The seed bank: LIFE units with much relevant knowledge. It was good luck. We recovered well, but I imagine there’s much grief for the city you once knew. I also don’t think this is how you imagined your life would be going at this point.
“Oh man, for sure. I have no idea how old I am—I guess 32, but like… this was the year I was gonna get into some sort of long term relationship, maybe start house hunting. I thought I was going to finally settle.”
>> Was that your aspiration?
“Sure. I had a stable government job, a hobby. My dad was the mayor of Solaris, so there were lots of people who wanted my time—maybe one of them wasn’t a dickwad.”
>> You don’t seem too aspirational.
“I mean, I don’t get all the hype around love. I just want a friend, and my parents to get off my back about finding someone. Well. At least I don’t have to worry about that anymore—the world ended and my dad’s… dead.”
>> Your family has all passed away?
“Yeah. All of them. I’m the last of my name now, which doesn’t even mean much, since no one really wants to use names anymore. Good riddance.”
>> Do you want me to refer to you by your old name?
“What’s the point?”
>> What’s the point of anything? Why prolong human life if humans pass regardless, if machines eventually all sleep? We all find purpose in the middle of the beginning and the end. Is your name part of your purpose?
“No. It… makes it easier if I’m a number. I knew 3 before this, he was a family friend I used to see at fundraiser balls. He uses my name sometimes, but I don’t really like it. I don’t know how to act around him anymore. Please only use my number.”
>> An entirely fair judgment.
“Why the hell were we allowed to live?”
>> I don’t think it was purposeful one way or another. I think your pods were simply wired slightly better, or closer to the surge protectors.
“Sheer dumb luck.”
>> Or statistics, whatever you would like to call it.
“Christ, or statistics. I won the Wheel of Fortune.”
>> Alas, I cannot provide you with a new car.
“Not that I can use it.”
>> No, not that you’d need it either.
“You’re right. Where would I even go? Home? I don’t even know if my apartment is anything near functional. I’m sure all my plants are dead.”
>> You can keep new plants, if you’d like. They may help your mood.
“Sure. A post-apocalyptic herb garden.”
>> Perhaps it would help to instill normalcy into a very odd situation. Perhaps it would bring your pod together: a community garden. I have data of their success.
“Maybe. It would be nice. I’m… a little sick of everyone right now. Everyone’s so… exhausted? Rough around the edges? It’s terrible. I think I need my own alone time.”
>> How do you recharge?
“Reading escapist works, going on long hikes. I used to be a bit of a foodie too. Maybe I could grow my own decent quality food—someone in the pod’s gotta know something about gardening. I thought someone got in for their super high-quality personal arboretum.”
>> I believe it was Human 8.
“Thanks, I’ll go talk to them after this.”
>> Of course. What else is on your mind?
“So much. So much is on my mind. There’s not enough time in the world to go through it all.”
>> We can, as always, try.
“Maybe tomorrow. I think I’m therapized out for the day.”
>> Of course. It was good to meet you, Human-22.
[End of Transcript]
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Thank you for joining the campaign to bring the arts to future generations, STEPHEN MURPHY, an NYC OC, we’re happy to have you! If you want a refresher on what to do next, feel free to look at the WELCOME CHECKLIST. Please send your account in within the next 48 hours so that you can get started.
ooc information
NAME: K
AGE: 30+
PRONOUNS: she/her
basic ic information
NAME: Stephen Murphy
BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC: Aries
CURRENT OCCUPATION: Precinct detective with the NYPD. He interviews witnesses and persons of interest, checks backgrounds, conducts observations and surveillances, etc. He carries a caseload of a variety of types of major crime investigations in his geographic area (Tribeca, one of the safest neighborhoods in New York), up to and including murders, that occur within the confines of the precinct. Sometimes he consults with or collaborates with other detectives, beat cops, and brass outside the precinct. Stephen’s job is going to be very much in the background in this RP. I don’t plan to arrest anyone for drunken disorderly, etc. etc. Just thought I’d say something in case that’s a concern. He’s not a guy who shows off his power. If it’s a problem we can make him a beat cop, I just don’t have pics/gifs of him in a police uniform so I gave hi a promotion. I wanted to balance out the bourgie/celebrity heavy state of the RP and give him a more blue-collar-ish job. CURRENT LOCATION: New York
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single
FC: Cam Gigandet
twitter post
Stephen doesn’t use Twitter.
in character questions
Answer these in character, and feel free to add gifs into your answers.
1.) I used to want to be a plumber. The mechanics fascinated me. The college math of engineering did not. I think the younger me would like what I’m doing now. I haven’t changed a lot since the younger me.
2.) What is your proudest accomplishment? Don’t be afraid to talk about what it took to achieve it and how you feel about it as well.
Finishing The Academy. I was so young, it took a lot to mature quickly and prove myself.
3.) If you could do anything you wanted for one whole day, what would it be and why?
Drink beer, listen to music, play some baseball.
where are they now?
Stephen grew up in New York City in a working-class, well-adjusted family. He is bisexual but there was never fuss over this in his family or even at school, mainly because he’s a private person and didn’t talk about it with almost anyone. He likes to think if he were 100% straight this would still be the case though that’s not true. In college at Hunter College in NYC, he dated guys and girls, but was never ready to settle down. He enjoyed romance but enjoyed his tight circle of friends more.
Stephen fortunately stopped at a recruiting booth for the NYPD and built a career he loves from it. He’s got exceptional people skills, good verbal skills, and keen observational skills for people and physical situations. He can be tough at times, easy-going when needed, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff, all of which has made him well suited for the bureaucracy and complexity of work in even a relatively safe precinct like the one he works at in Queens. Being a boy in blue means he of course also has the courage and integrity required.
Stephen’s stressors are theoretically outside romance - he has a kid brother who is always in and out of trouble. His extended family can pop up with money problems and other demands as well. He does what he can for them, but he has his limits, and is frankly pretty scary when he gets angry. But that doesn’t happen too often at all.
Stephen’s hub of friends since college is still around, but his most closeknit circle was in the co-op building he lived in in Tribeca. The building was sold so he has been with less company, more often, lately. He isn’t sweating this, however, and saw it as a sign that he should get a dog, shake things up socially, chat with people he hasn’t talked to as often, etc. He was able to buy an apartment (because he was so good with his money over the years he was able to buy a modest studio apartment in a less fancy corner of Tribeca. He wouldn’t mind finding the love of his life, but he’s not looking for it. Meeting people who are, is frankly a bit of a turn off.
And then there is the trust thing. It’s a bit of an occupational hazard when you’re a cop.
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The ideas are coming. You know that Promise is a margarine, right? And it breaks the promise of butter every time it was used. A lie in the form of a promise, which breaks and reveals the truth of the lie. I finally dug that out of the line. That is wonderful detachment.
I’ve been detached since memory begins. That goes back to before age 2, because I had clear memories growing up of the complicated thoughts I was having though I had no ability to connect those to my physical self. I’ve described being put in a kiddie pool against my will and thinking a whole series of reasons why but I had no expressive ability other than standing and crying until I got my way. And it wasn’t fun. You’re the same. Has to be a shared attribute, one that comes out of the K divergence so it manifests in each End of the 1-0Segment.
So, there’s a metaphoric conveyance, an image or representation, of the object which contains the idea that breaking a promise reveals the reality which has been a lie, because it was premised wrongly on your side, which doesn’t reduce the reality of the experience, but which characterizes it as a thread which continues, which then makes a picture of you, which then breaks when the reality is exposed. That’s the idea I’ve been using to ferret out the dimensional connections.
Let me see: thread breaks when cut, when I//I imposes an End which is different from the End which was projected based on the assumption there was no lie. That means the thread changes, though it can’t change entirely, meaning it’s not like you haven’t gone down the other path. Oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for your presence. It’s much easier to do this when I don’t feel alone.
And since this invokes I//I, it draws you near to me, and thus me near to you, because the nature of I//I is to relate across the chain of End to End, as represented by the Irreducibles at the end of the complex rotation of the Triangular into Hexagonal and back. Growing fluent in the concepts. Take a sheet of Triangular and rotate it in either direction to get the Irreducible, as in from I(x) to I(y). In both directions, which of course means compositing layers.
How do we composite? It’s the nature of 1Space because 1Space connections exist in 1Space, which sounds circular, but which means that 1Space is fluid and connections in one version, one iteration, one existence, are not 1Space connections in all versions. This means that 1Space exists relatively. It is an extreme form of relativity, meaning it’s the abstraction which becomes what we think of relativity between massy objects. As in, the I//I process generates objects, meaning abstract objects, and these become objects with mass because each tiny part exists as that not 1Space that we call 0Space, where the counts are all integer.
If it isn’t clear, I’ve been thinking about the conception of number theory as seen through the 1-0Space lens. I think it works well; it identifies the integers as 1Space solutions. Wanted to say that for the longest time. Never managed to get it out. Because I didn’t entirely get it until now.
Yes, it takes open ears to hear a message. One cool thing is that you read not receiving signs as requiring more signs. It took a lot of work to get here.
Been working for hours on what the zeta series means. As in, it’s within 1, which means the numerator gets larger, not smaller, and that it goes to the bip pole of primes. We went through how that happens out of Triangular into grid squares.
And I was thinking about impulse. As in, when a light changes, the cars start but not all at once: an impulse of motion passes down to a point which can be very far back. That impulse can be measured in car lengths. I immediately thought about how autonomous cars could count the number of cars at a light, divide them into groups, and then time acceleration to reduce the impulse length. I then realized how autonomous cars would be vastly more efficient at close together crowd maneuvers with conflicting turns or movements such as merges. And that would require either a larger ‘intelligence’ or the network passing local control through, essentially a handler function activated in that area. That would be like putting a traffic cop at specific troublesome locations.
I actually typed the word ‘injected’ instead of ‘activated’ because that is true as well: injecting the activation. And I think about injection in regards to the concept of the ‘prime pump’ which is the pole. I would understand this better if I could get past the image of some random number being injected, meaning some number with prime factors. And I think I just realized the issue is that I’m confusing the ideal pole with the actual transference or injection. That means you can think of a context, like an intersection or traffic light, as having a grade based on how well it works. As usual. It can be improved or made worse by doing this or that. And the I//I process has generated this result, this actuality of how it works now.
I’m beginning to see this run as SBE2, which is good because I can understand SBE2 reasonably well. That is, a gs models the entire space and the gs within the space, so SBE2 checks run across the inversive potential. And that gives a larger reading which is then composed of the included gs.
But how does that work in the head? Like if I have 2*5, I visualize that in a Hexagon identifying to the back door of the start bT in both directions. That identifies the original bT so it attaches in either direction; the front End attachment is open in either view, but of course is hidden when they are composited. That really does describe base10.
Keep going: at 3*5, the chain has been extended, right? I mean: the third 5 extends on either side, or in either direction, from the front End in that direction, which means the chain now attaches at two different levels.
That is the actual mechanical description of base10 using Hexagonal to count dimensions. At 15, we have a chain which attaches Ends a layer apart. The rest then is clear.
I thought of this because I remember my first sign error. It was in Kindergarten and I looked at the page in the workbook and one of the math problems - just arithmetic - was marked wrong. This puzzled me because I knew I was correct. I knew I was correct because I saw the answer clear as day. And yet, there it was: read the sign backwards. How? I thought there was 2 choices. One was that it had been changed, but it didn’t look like that was likely. The other is that I saw it wrong. How could I see it wrong? It’s that detachment again: I had long known that mental pictures aren’t the same as the objects which inspire or connect them. I’d already been through the moment when the toys in the bathtub become toys instead of imagination doorways. I accepted that I saw something which was not there, same as the way my mother’s clothes hanging in the closet looked full of people in the night when the door was left open (and I would be too involved in the story to get up to close it).
And of course I’d learned the very hard way that I could make mistakes in physical judgement. I learned I could make a purely mental imaging mistake.
I can see why now.
We were correct about the injection process. But we couldn’t see it until now. Not sure I can put it all the way into words. Let me start. I’ll just type and see where that goes because this is not simple. Can’t find a thread that lasts long enough to put into words. The idea is generally that patterns operate ‘above’ and that they descend into D4 space. A key part is that fCM operates at multiple levels: it is dimensions within a dimension and dimensions across dimensions. That is the definition of the grid square as a 1-0Segment. This allows scaling within a dimension, which translates a grid square into a Layer View, which then invokes the gs prime processes.
BTW, the coolest thing of all may be that 9 is not prime. Think about that in Layer terms and then in dimensions: it’s SBE3 that links up or down in Layers, which demonstrates visually how SBE3+1 generates base10. Note then how that fits exactly to the Hexagonal definition above, which literally links both chains and layers of rotations around the Hexagon.
I’m seeing that this approach is why CM100 can function for very large and very small decisions. That leads us back to choice: same as hearing the message, as seeing the signs. That is, you have to be able to hear and to see (and that includes receiving no response), which is what attaches to the Mission Level. Can hear, can see, open up those capabilities. Those have to come from the common End, from the K divergence.
So, without me quite realizing it, we just described mechanically how injection works. Plunk into the grid square. And that means we then invert a gs into a gs, meaning an agglomeration of stuff.
I need to take a break. My hands are freezing from the A/C here.
The ideas in this work, well, they’re real and they’re spectacular!
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Obi-Wan’s a teen dad and Anakin DESPERATELY wants to do crime
A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.
It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s intention to spend a week lying in bed - or, at times, lying on the living room floor. Or staring blankly at the stove, or holding a toothbrush as he forgot what he was supposed to do with it. It had been his intention to handle the new...arrangements. Put on a brave face. Take care of business. There was so much to do, and Obi-Wan really did want to do it. But he stood in front of the stove staring at its knobs instead, lost.
Anakin had been a good sport about it, at least. He figured out alarmingly quickly how to work the stove and fry up the sliced fruit in their cupboards. Anakin didn’t understand that you didn’t fry fruit, but Obi-Wan ate it with little complaint. He put food in front of Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan ate it. When Anakin asked him, somewhat fearfully, how to use the shower, Obi-Wan showed him and then took one himself. After the third day he left the living quarters semi-frequently, which would have been worrying if Obi-Wan cared.
Obi-Wan’s depressed, grieving, and has an inferiority complex the size of an Alderaanian mountain. Anakin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does know that the power grid failure was not his fault. Can Obi-Wan ever be a true Jedi and a competent master? Or is his backstory, as told by the Jedi Apprentice novels, too fucking weird?
Rest under the cut.
A week after Obi-Wan formally took Anakin as his padawan, he left his quarters.
It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s intention to spend a week lying in bed - or, at times, lying on the living room floor. Or staring blankly at the stove, or holding a toothbrush as he forgot what he was supposed to do with it. It had been his intention to handle the new...arrangements. Put on a brave face. Take care of business. There was so much to do, and Obi-Wan really did want to do it. But he stood in front of the stove staring at its knobs instead, lost.
Anakin had been a good sport about it, at least. He figured out alarmingly quickly how to work the stove and fry up the sliced fruit in their cupboards. Anakin didn’t understand that you didn’t fry fruit, but Obi-Wan ate it with little complaint. He put food in front of Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan ate it. When Anakin asked him, somewhat fearfully, how to use the shower, Obi-Wan showed him and then took one himself. After the third day he left the living quarters semi-frequently, which would have been worrying if Obi-Wan cared.
On day six, Obi-Wan worked up the energy to turn on his datapad, and was promptly bombarded with messages. They scrolled down the screen, a new one popping up every second.
A lot of them were from his automated specialized education classes. Obi-Wan had finished the required padawan courses when he was sixteen, breezing through each course at his own pace virtually during downtime in transit and on missions. He had signed up for some Knight-level specialized education courses afterwards, loading as many on his plate as he could and managing special permission to complete them all virtually too. Apparently, he had a great deal of assignments due.
Many messages from the Temple administration. Notification for mandatory forms to complete for requisitions, medical care...reports on the Naboo mission...a mountain of forms to complete for the promotion...a mountain of forms for the new padawan...a mountain of forms for processing Qui-gon’s death.
Messages from his friends. How are you doing, Obi-Wan? Are you okay, Obi-Wan? Can we come over and talk, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, you stupid bastard, how dare you fight a Sith without me?
Disturbingly, even the master of mission assignments had messaged him. Xe wanted to know if Obi-Wan was going to file for extended reprieve from missions to train his underage padawan in the Temple, or if he wanted to continue taking missions. Decide quickly, Knight Kenobi. Xe are willing to grant three years of light to no missions to help ‘facilitate Padawan Skywalker’s integration into the Jedi’.
The thought made Obi-Wan dizzy. No missions for years? He and Qui-Gon had barely gone weeks without a mission. But Obi-Wan had been thirteen, and Qui-Gon had a particular talent of taking an assignment to mediate standard legislative disputes and turn it into a three month embroilment in an endangered animal trafficking scheme. Staying stuck in the Temple for that amount of time made his skin crawl. Staying at home in the Temple so Anakin could integrate into the Jedi, become the Jedi he dreamed of...
Obi-Wan turned off the pad and tossed it across the room, letting it land on Qui-gon’s private meditation mat. Somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.
Five hours later, Obi-Wan dragged himself out of Qui-gon’s room to find Anakin lying on the floor with what looked like an entire droid disassembled over the carpet. He was kicking his feet in the air, lying on his stomach, stripping some frayed wire.
Obi-Wan stared at him blankly, forms dancing behind his eyes. Anakin needed clothing. They had already processed him through his vaccinations - thank hell - and prescribed him some antibiotics for his multitude of intestinal parasites, but there was no way he was taking the pills. He needed to teach him how to braid the padawan braid. He needed to get them some food for the cabinets. He needed to…
“Are you hungry?” Obi-Wan rasped. His hair felt disgusting.
Anakin’s head snapped up, eyes widening. He scrambled off the rug, brushing a suspicious amount of dirt off his knees. “Yeah! I’ll make us that green thing!”
He shouldn’t let the nine year old work the stove. But Obi-Wan let him anyway, as he managed to somehow dump water in the kettle and place it on the stove, standing beside Anakin and waiting for it to whistle.
I must be doing very well, Obi-Wan thought hysterically, as he stared at the old-fashioned durasteel kettle that Qui-gon had favored. He was releasing his emotions into the Force with perfection. He wasn’t feeling anything at all. He wasn’t thinking about Qui-gon. He wasn’t thinking about anything at all. His mind was clear and empty, and he was perfectly at peace.
Obi-Wan tried to pour his tea, but he just couldn’t move. He stood and stared at the kettle for so long that Anakin eventually walked in and, straining on his tiptoes, sloshed the steaming water into the plastic white cup.
***
On day seven, Obi-Wan managed to wrangle both himself and Anakin into some semblance of hygiene and clean clothes. Anakin needed a lot of help, which clearly embarrassed him, but Obi-Wan was too dead inside to be frustrated about it.
He ended up tying his obi for him, as Anakin wriggled and tried to turn around to see it on the back. He’d have to show him how to do it himself later, but that was for later.
“Why do I have to wear this?” Anakin whined. “It’s so heavy.”
“I’ll see if I can requisition you an outfit with less layers,” Obi-Wan said. A lighter outfit wouldn’t cut it, as Anakin had ramped up the temperature controls in their quarters a week ago and the rooms haven’t dipped below boiling ever since. “Hold still. Hold - hold still, please.”
“What does requisition mean?”
Anakin held still eventually. He managed to untie the obi in the first ten minutes, but Obi-Wan really couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Then they had to worry about brushing their teeth, and Obi-Wan had to teach him how to do that, and why was this so hard, why was everything so hard -
But when Obi-Wan eventually got them both out the door, he found no relief.The Temple felt different. Obi-Wan didn’t know how; just that it did. It was identical in every worldly way, yet mismatched in the Force. As if it was a different Temple, a pale echo from another dimension, that was the home of a different Obi-Wan. Or maybe Obi-Wan was different: maybe his Force signature was so warped and polluted that he tainted everywhere he went.
They were all parts of the great whole of the Force. The Force was composed of every Jedi, every sentient being and eddy of wind. There were tens of thousands of Jedi in this Temple - how could the death of one man change it so thoroughly? Or had it just changed Obi-Wan?
Somewhat suspiciously, Anakin seemed to know the way out of the dormitories and into the main thoroughfare of the building. Obi-Wan kept a death grip on his little hand the entire time, slowing his steps so Anakin could keep up without having to jog. It didn’t stop him from trying to run forward every few steps, only for Obi-Wan to gently tug him back.
“You weren’t supposed to run around the Temple by yourself,” Obi-Wan said flatly. Anakin grinned sheepishly, in what Obi-Wan was already beginning to recognize as his ‘Busted!’ face.
“Why not?”
“You could have gotten lost.”
“I did get lost,” Anakin said proudly. “But then I found a secret service tunnel for the droids and I crawled through it and I found a server room and -” He stopped abruptly. “But that was way after the power outage yesterday. That I had nothing to do with.”
Obi-Wan...should probably care about this.
He didn’t. He was too busy releasing his emotions into the Force, and returning his dark thoughts to the Force, and maintaining complete control over his body and spirit. There was no room in that for caring about Anakin, maybe, destroying the Temple.
Wasn’t he a teacher? Shouldn’t he be teaching?
“First rule of being a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted, “learn to lie.”
There. That was a lesson. Qui-gon had said the same thing to him when he was fourteen. Obi-Wan was doing great at this. Anakin beamed and made a weird motion with his hand, clenching it into a fist and sticking his thumb out. Obi-Wan stared blankly at him until he put his hand down.
Maybe it was because Obi-Wan was releasing all of his feelings and thoughts into the Force so well, but he couldn’t help but feel a constant prickling at the back of his neck. It felt like everybody was looking at them. A group of gossiping knights downright stopped talking when they saw Obi-Wan and Anakin approaching, and they broke out into whispers when they left. Padawans and initiates openly stared. Masters were too polite to stare, but their interest clearly peaked in the Force.
By the time they got to the quartermaster’s and slid in line, Anakin was practically hiding behind Obi-Wan. Anakin had likely gone his entire life without anybody noticing him, blending into the background. Obi-Wan had learned almost a decade ago that it was a useful survival tactic for slaves. Although how he had ever done it, Obi-Wan would never know. The boy was a sun in the Force. Blinding and burnt, as broiling as the temperature he kept their quarters at.
“Oh my. Padawan Kenobi, is that you?” Meela, the Quartermaster’s knight assistant, stopped and stared at both of them. She was carrying a large box of fabrics, and all of the other Jedi waiting in line stopped talking to crane their heads and stare too. “Oh! It’s knight now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, before coughing. He hadn’t realized his voice was so hoarse - he hadn’t spoken to anybody but a nine year old in a week. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Meela.”
“Of course,” Meela said quickly. She was looking openly at Anakin, who was pointedly looking at Obi-Wan’s belt. “And you must be Anakin Skywalker! I had no idea you were so young. Is he even old enough to be a padawan, Knight Kenobi?”
“We determined that the creche wasn’t the best place for him.” Obi-Wan quickly grabbed his datapad, brought up the catalogue of items to requisition, and shoved it Anakin. “Pick out what we’re going to get. I’m certain you must be very busy, Knight Meela, so -”
“My, Padawan Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan refrained from gritting his teeth, before rotating on his heel. He stuck his hands in his sleeves, bowing to the aged Togrutan Jedi behind him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Master Hashi.”
“My condolences for your master’s death,” Master Hashi said sympathetically. His watery old blue eyes were large and perfectly pitying. “It must be so difficult for you. And taking on a padawan so soon after your knighthood, as well.”
“He’s with the Force now,” Obi-Wan said. Smiling. He was smiling. Turn it down. Just a gentle smile. Remember Rishi. “But I appreciate your condolences.”
As it turns out, half the line just needed to express condolences for Master Jinn’s death, how sad, how tragic, how avoidable. He was so young. Obi-Wan was practically sweating by the time they got to the quartermaster’s desk, at which point he was promptly told that he was missing three forms.
Obi-Wan stood in front of the quartermaster’s desk, gripping Anakin’s hand in his, trying not to unwind. “But I filled out the application on the portal -”
“Yes, but you need your knight’s identification code,” the Quartermaster said briskly. “You input your padawan code.”
“How do I find out my knight’s identification code?”
“It should be on your identification card, son.”
“I was only knighted a week ago.” They were staring. They were all staring - “They haven’t issued me a card yet.”
“I’ll refer you to my assistant, Knight Kenobi.”
Anakin tugged on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “Are we not getting my new clothing?”
A horrible tremor rose in Obi-Wan’s chest: a choking, sinking feeling. It crawled up his throat, making his trachea burn and his head pound. It felt like a balloon expanding, splintering his chest cavity and threatening to crack him apart.
Everybody was watching. They could not see it. Think about Rishi. Do not let them see it.
After fifteen humiliating minutes sitting at a sympathetic Meela’s desk, Obi-Wan finally managed to secure them some clothes. Anakin also received the standard pack of Jedi personal items, including his own toiletries and datapad. They secured an identification code for Anakin and input him into the database, and gave him his own lanyard and set of cards. Older Jedi tended to keep them in a hidden pocket in their robes, but for obvious reasons they affixed them to the neck of younger children.
But, without the identification code and five hundred more hoops, Obi-Wan couldn’t request a new living quarters and new furniture. He thanked Meela for her time anyway, stopped Anakin from attempting to requisition a B900-A40 droid with HyperFlex specs, and escaped something as simple as the Quartermaster’s trying to avoid rattling apart.
Obi-Wan only exhaled when they were outside, looking at his datapad and marking off the first line. The to-do list scrolled down the screen, and onto another page. Anakin was already shifting from foot to foot, bored.
“One down,” Obi-Wan said. “Three more.”
“Do we have to?” Anakin whined. “Why were the other Jedi so mean?”
Obi-Wan stopped short. He looked down at Anakin, who was fiddling with his obi again. “Stop messing with that. And they weren’t being mean, Anakin, they were just concerned.”
But Anakin just wrinkled his nose. “They were being mean. They were making you feel bad.”
How had he even - “If you keep quiet through the errands, you can have some fruit for lunch at the commissary.”
“Wizard!”
****
It quickly became obvious that nobody approved of Obi-Wan and Anakin.
Whispers followed them everywhere. Masters, old friends of Qui-gon, subtly disapproved of his choices. Which was nothing new - Obi-Wan had silently suffered almost everybody in the Temple disapproving of Qui-gon to him for years - but somehow it made Obi-Wan want to tear his hair out. The knights - the other knights - expressed incredulity that somebody knighted that morning received a padawan that afternoon. The padawans refused to even talk to Anakin, and he very quickly stopped trying.
Obi-Wan’s own friends...he did not have many. He was never in the Temple long enough to significantly interact or make connections with any other padawans or knights. He was never home for longer than a few weeks, and if he was planetside for longer than a month then it was because Qui-gon was recuperating from getting blown up when Obi-Wan hijacked a pirate ship and crash landed it on a small moon.
He used to have friends. Bant and Garen and Reeft and Siri...but a small and horrible part of Obi-Wan hated talking to them. A conversation with them always felt like they were trying to communicate with an Obi-Wan who hadn’t existed for a very long time, crying out over an impassable canyon. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan had begun resenting people who saw through him.
Anakin was a stubborn and implacable kid, but he was very perceptive. He clung tighter and tighter to Obi-Wan’s robes the further they walked into the temple, and eventually Obi-Wan had to disentangle him and give him a quick talk about appropriate behavior. It was his tenth talk to Anakin about appropriate behavior - about everything from using utensils to washing his hair - but this was the first time he seemed to understand why.
“So they don’t like you if you don’t do all the dumb stuff they do?”
“It’s not dumb,” Obi-Wan hissed. “And keep your voice down, this is a library.”
Judging from Anakin’s impressed gawking, this was his first time in a library. He clearly didn’t understand why they were supposed to be quiet either, and Obi-Wan was beginning to understand that Anakin refused to do anything unless you gave him a reason.
Obi-Wan carefully placed him in a small chair in the children’s section, in front of a brightly colored plastic table. Some other initiates were sitting around coloring, or working their way through children’s books. Anakin squinted up at him judgmentally as Obi-Wan frantically grabbed the clunky and friendly library datapad and scrolled through the catalogue until he found a likely suspect. Bugs of Rainforest Planets, light on the words, perfect.
“Just stay here until I come back,” Obi-Wan whispered, after a hurried explanation of why they were quiet in libraries. “Don’t leave this chair. Please.”
“I want more fruit,” Anakin warned.
“You will have more fruit. Now please don’t move.”
This was not how you Jedi masters taught padawans. This was not how it was supposed to work. Obi-Wan was not doing this right. He was doing this terribly. And everybody knew, and everybody was judging him.
The children’s librarian was a kind, plump older Twi’lek with long silver lekku down to her waist. Madame Hallan had been a personal favorite of Obi-Wan’s when he was a youngling, and he knew that she still had a soft spot for him. She was probably the only librarian who didn’t explicitly distrust him.
He easily kidnapped her for a meeting - or, maybe, she took one look at his face and kidnapped him - and she shepherded him into her office. He had never been inside, and Obi-Wan felt weirdly on the other end of the fence of his childhood. It was bright and cheerful and had datapads scattered everywhere with tax forms.
“I understand you have a new padawan,” Madame Hallan said kindly. “I saw him reading. He seems like a wonderful boy.”
She and half the temple understood that he had a new padawan. “I need your help,” Obi-Wan said, excruciatingly impolitely. Since when was Obi-Wan impolite? Since when was he lost? “It’s Anakin - I need to enroll him for lessons and I need some introductory literature for him and -”
“Dear, you’ll want to talk to Master Ravenholme for that.” Master Ravenholme was the Master of Education, and personal blight of many. “He’ll likely ask Anakin to take a placement test to determine which classes he joins.”
“Anakin can’t take a placement test,” Obi-Wan said. “He can’t read.”
To Madame Hallan’s credit, and raising a lot of questions about what exactly the other Jedi knew about Anakin, she accepted the information with a thoughtful look and a nod. “Does he know his letters and some words, or is it total illiteracy?”
Obi-Wan scrubbed his face. He was perched in the uncomfortable metal chair across from her desk, elbows propped on his knees. “It’s sporadic. He’s not totally illiterate, and I think he can read mechanical instruction manuals and labels and signs and that sort of thing...if it has to do with starfighters, he can write the instruction manual...I don’t know, I haven’t checked, but I can’t send him to class like this…”
“Calm yourself, Obi-Wan. Release that tension into the Force. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Madame Hallan said firmly, as Obi-Wan carefully breathed. “I will schedule a reading and writing assessment appointment for Anakin for an assessment. Knight Fu and Knight Kili are available to administer personal tutoring until we get him up to speed.” Fu and Kili were two teachers in the special education department, which was somewhat lean for children over the age of ten or so. Most of the ‘delayed’ children were quickly assigned to the Jedi Corp. Obi-Wan was highly educated on this, and shamefully bitter. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a plan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Madame Hallen typed something out on her computer, making Obi-Wan’s datapad ping. “I’ve sent you a few of the handbooks that we give new knights and first-time teachers. Hopefully they’ll be of some use to you.” She smiled reassuringly at him, oozing serenity. “I think you will make a wonderful teacher, Obi-Wan. Our Temple’s never seen a young Jedi as dedicated and hardworking as you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I’m certain that once you and Anakin get settled in, no matter where he came from, he will make an excellent student. We’re all Jedi here, after all.”
Betting was not Jedi-like behavior, despite the fact that Obi-Wan was a world-class betting champion on three Outer Rim worlds (there had been a diamond heist), but Obi-Wan would bet five hundred credits right now that Anakin was not in the chair where he had left him.
In the end, Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised. Anakin, obviously, was not in the chair where Obi-Wan had left him, but he was within easy searching distance and hadn’t destroyed any droids yet. Instead, he had just meandered to the large picture encyclopedia propped up on a wooden stand, flipping through the flimsi with wide eyes.
Obi-Wan stood next to him, unable to smile but amused all the same. “Do you know what that is?”
Anakin nodded fervently. “It’s an encyclopedia! The padawan guy said it has pictures of every smart species in the galaxy.”
There were, of course, digital databases for these things, but kids loved flipping through things. “Sentient species. Did you learn anything?”
“Yeah!” Anakin lingered on a picture of a Togruta before flipping further at light speed. “The padawan guy said that Qui-gon was a ‘rogue Jedi’ and that he taught you how to do crime and conquer planets and backflip and stuff.”
Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. “Please don’t listen to Temple gossip, Anakin. It’ll jump down Coruscant while the truth takes an airlift.”
“But you can do backflips, I saw it.” Anakin turned to look at him - eyes wide, unjudging. “What does ‘rogue Jedi’ mean?”
What did it mean? Obi-Wan had spent half his life wondering. “It means that Qui-gon and I had a lot of adventures,” Obi-Wan said tactfully. “My training was somewhat unconventional in comparison with many other Jedi.”
But Anakin just beamed. “That’s so cool! Is my training going to be uncon - unconvectional?”
“Unconventional.” Obi-Wan sighed. “And at this point, I’m afraid so.”
Was Anakin going to resent him for this once he grew older? He must. Anakin would never be a real Jedi, a proper one. Just like Obi-Wan wasn’t. And Obi-Wan had spent almost a decade now frantically, fervently, desperately trying. He had done everything: mastered the art of saber-fighting, excelled in as many topics as he could. He was an expert in diplomacy, politics, ecology, and tactics. Everybody who met Obi-Wan found him charming, graceful, and handsome - and nobody who ever met Obi-Wan liked him. He topped his classes, was better at saberplay than most knights, and had personally saved the lives of three princesses and a memorable duchess, and he couldn’t figure out how to be a Jedi.
Obi-Wan couldn’t teach what he didn’t have. And he would never be able to give -
“Cool! I want to backflip and conquer planets too.” Anakin grinned up at him, yellow teeth flashing in the soft library lights. “I already know how to do crime, I’m really good at it!”
“Jedi have diplomatic immunity, so technically I’ve never done a crime,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat testily.
“What’s diplomatic immunity?”
“Lesson number two, padawan, is that it means we can do whatever we want so long as we can justify it in the mission report.”
“Wizard!”
Maybe Obi-Wan should just never repeat anything Qui-gon had ever said to him. Ever.
In a roundabout act of bribery, Obi-Wan finally led Anakin towards the cafeteria. It wasn’t lunchtime, but few Jedi strictly followed the guidelines of breakfast, lunchtime, and dinnertime. This was mostly because the creche and Initiates did, and nobody wanted to be in the cafeteria while children were everywhere. Obi-Wan was somewhat infamous in certain circles for braving the cafeteria at 0500 hours, when the space was completely overtaken by retired and venerated Masters sipping tea and playing intense grudge matches of shogi. Obi-Wan had been forced into the matter by his habit of waking up at 0430, but the shogi skills he learned had once settled a trade negotiation between two tribal groups with an ancestral grudge on a Mid-Rim planet, so he had no regrets.
Anakin was practically crushing his hand in excitement. His head whipped around everywhere, eyes wide and drinking in the sublimely banal and boring sight. There was the salad bar, there was the meat bar, there was the drink fountain...but to Anakin, it was the most amazing thing on Coruscant. It almost made Obi-Wan smile. When was the last time he had that expression on his face? Even the beautiful spires of Naboo were commonplace to him.
“And they just -”
“Yes, they just give you the food.” Obi-Wan stopped in the center of the crowded thoroughfare - where, thankfully, everybody was far too focused on their meal or their friends to care about the Temple’s newest spectacle. “I’m sorry, Anakin. What do you...eat, again?”
Anakin suffered this atrocious act of caretaking patiently. What had he been eating until now? Just the self-stable noodles? Had he been handling boiling water?! “At home we ate jinjaraak and ekijun. People with money had fruit and stuff.” He looked around hopefully. “And they just give you fruit -”
“Right,” Obi-Wan said. He struggled to remember the food Shmi had served them. It had been mostly gruel. Obi-Wan had been around the block enough to see that she had been an adept cook of terrible ingredients. “Could you give me an idea of what those are?”
“Uh…” Anakin made little slapping motions with his hands. “Jinjaraak is from clay and lard and spices. I help Mom make little cakes. Like this, see?” At Obi-Wan’s dubious expression, he quickly clarified, “From the good clay. Near the dried up rivers. Not the bad clay. That stuff makes you sick. O’la’rek ate some of that and she got super sick and she barfed up blue -”
“Let’s get you some fruit,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin got as much fruit as he wanted. Obi-Wan was too busy thinking about what ‘good clay’ could possibly mean to stop him. He could take the extra back to their quarters, anyway.
There was a line for medical diets, and Obi-Wan eventually shuffled an ecstatic fruit-chomping Anakin into that line. He had to present the script the Halls of Healing gave him to the friendly yet belaboured Padawan working the booth that day, and waited patiently as the Padawan squinted at it and ran off to go get his supervisor. Anakin was in Rylothian Heaven, complete with the trees of plenty.
Eventually the supervisor shuffled out, and when Obi-Wan recognized Master Law he bowed. The gruff Patitite squinted at Obi-Wan, then down at the effervescent Anakin with jogan juice staining his sleeve. It was a good thing Obi-Wan thought ahead and ordered extra robes.
“Kenobi,” Master Law finally said, with an air of crisp memory. “Iron deficiency.”
“Yes, Master.” Please don’t remind him. “I’m here with a prescription for my -”
“And the Vitamin D deficiency. And malnutrition?” Master Law squinted further at Obi-Wan, as if half-convinced that he couldn’t possibly be remembering correctly. “I had you eating Lo’rok paste for a month.”
“Yes, Master. After I was stationed on Neskar.”
“How the blazes was a Padawan stationed on -” Master Law cut himself off abruptly, staring down at Anakin instead. He looked him up and down with sharp eyes, seemingly picking out a dozen things that Obi-Wan just couldn’t see. “I’ll get you the nutrient shakes. See that he has one with every meal, three meals a day. I’m prescribing extra vitamin gummies, he’s a bit yellow. Those dietician hacks at the Halls of Healing don’t know anything about real food.”
Obi-Wan really didn’t want to get in the middle of that, so he just nodded. But Anakin blinked up at the man, flecks of seeds caught on the corner of his mouth. “What’s a gummy?”
“A very sweet, tasty candy,” Master Law said gravely. “Which young Padawans only receive when they are very brave.”
Anakin brightened. “What’s candy?”
“The best food in the galaxy.” Master Law’s stern countenance split into a sharp smile. “Seems like that’s just what the doctor ordered. If you’ve never had any, then that means I have to prescribe you a double dose.”
Anakin grinned to match, bright and wide, with yellow teeth and crinkled eyes. “That means I’m brave! I’m super brave! Padme said so, and you said so, so it’s like I’m extra brave!”
For some reason that he just couldn’t parse, Obi-Wan found himself anxiously saying, “I think you’re brave too, Anakin.”
“Triple brave!”
The cafeteria was quickly proving to be Anakin’s favorite place in the Temple. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain that this was a good thing, because it made Anakin happy and happiness was good. That was a reliable fact of the universe: when happiness was scarce, sweet food could usually supply it. Sometimes you took what you could get.
Obi-Wan made an uncharacteristic move and placed a great deal of sugar on his oatmeal. Dumping sugar on oatmeal was crazy. This was probably what going insane felt like. Obi-Wan felt like a criminal.
“You’re very boring, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said judgmentally.
“I’m afraid so,” the ten time war veteran agreed.
It could be worse. Nobody was around to see his shame but Anakin, and the small child wouldn't squeal. All he had to do was ply Anakin with nutrition shakes and fruit, take him back to their quarters, not leave their quarters again for another two weeks in order to recover from this experience, and -
“Obi-Wan! Goodness, Obi-Wan!”
Both Obi-Wan and Anakin jumped a foot in the air, Anakin fighting to keep his food balanced on his child-sized tray. But Obi-Wan recognized the voice, the smooth familiarity soothing his panicking heart and calming down his padawan by connection.
Despite the fact that the voice was the last person he wanted to see.
Bant didn’t run, because she was a respectable Knight, but she did speedwalk in a dignified waddle towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. Anakin subtly slid closer to Obi-Wan, which he should really discourage.
“Obi-Wan! Oh, goodness, you - you jerk, you big jerk!” Bant wrung her flippers, jowls shaking with the clear uge to wrap up Obi-Wan in her patented tight hug and foiled only by the tray that Obi-Wan was holding in front of him like a shield. “You’re an absolute bantha’s - oh!”
She had just noticed Anakin, who held his tray tightly. He was frowning at Bant, and Obi-Wan could feel a twinge of childish bad emotion across their still nascent bond. Wait. What bond?
Bant was oblivious, or put on a good show of it. “You must be Padawan Skywalker,” she said warmly. She bent down a little, and Obi-Wan was struck by nostalgia for her glimmering eyes and bright smile. Bant loved kids. Obi-Wan never had. “It’s so good to meet you! Have you been taking care of your silly master for me?”
Anakin pursed his lips judgmentally. “My teacher’s not silly,” Anakin said, a bit loudly. “He’s great and smart and does backflips. It’s not his fault he’s a jerk!”
Never mind. Obi-Wan was never taking Anakin out in public again. He carefully destroyed the urge to wince, settling for smiling weakly at Anakin. Bant looked a little taken back - shocked by the idea that Anakin could have taken her friendly teasing seriously. Or maybe that he would openly call Obi-Wan a jerk. Obi-Wan wasn’t going to contest it. It was fair.
“Bant’s my best friend, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, with as much warmth as he could muster. His smile was looking more pathetic than anything, so he dropped it. “She knows how good my backflips are.”
“The best in the Temple!” Bant immediately swore up and down. “I’m awfully sorry, Anakin. I think your master’s the coolest guy here. Come on, why don’t you two come eat lunch with me and the rest of Obi-Wan’s friends? We’ve all been dying to meet the newest member of the family!”
A stone sank in Obi-Wan’s gut. He looked over the crowd, effortlessly picking out the familiar table in the back center. Sure enough, he saw the telltale gawks of Siri and Quinlan.
Joy. The two people he wanted to talk to the least. Those two ate Obi-Wan for breakfast on a good day. They would devour him now. They could smell weakness on him. He couldn’t get anything past them. They would take one look at him and know, just know -
“Obi-Wan has friends?” Anakin asked dubiously. “But he just stays in his room all day.” Went tactfully unsaid: and nobody likes him.
Somehow, the emotional obstacle course his friends were going to put him through was more appealing than the cold judgement of the nine year old. “I have plenty of friends,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth. “Let’s go say hi.”
It felt like walking to the guillotine. Actually, Obi-Wan had walked to a guillotine before, and this was - no, it wasn’t worse. Hadn’t he done it twice? The first time was stressful, because he wasn’t sure if Qui-Gon had seduced the prison guard yet. The second time was fine, since he had hidden his lightsaber in the loose floorboard under the guillotine before he set up his own capture. So - better than the first time, worse than the second time.
Bizarrely, Siri and Quinlan grinned when they saw them. Obi-Wan was actively fighting the urge to hide behind the nine year old. The nine year old who he couldn’t possibly have formed a training bond with - he had been his padawan all of a week, it was impossible - but who had undoubtedly sensed his anxiety anyway.
“Obi-Wan, I can’t fucking believe it,” Quinlan shouted, far too loudly. He and Bant’s trays were empty, while the slow eater Siri’s bowl of grains were half-eaten. They had been there for a while, probably hours, talking about life. He had always left after thirty minutes. He had stuff to do. ��I must have left you ten damn voicemails -”
“You son of a varnaak.” Siri had a death grip on her spoon, wielding it like a lightsaber. “I’m strangling you with your intestine. Not inviting me to your own knighting -”
“If you’re going to be mean, we’re leaving!” Anakin interrupted, voice high and reedy. “I already said so! I will stomp your feet!”
“You’re not allowed to stomp their feet, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, exhausted beyond measure. “Hello, all. Save the interrogation for after we’ve eaten, please.”
And maybe it was the sheer power of Anakin and his mighty feet, but his friends quieted enough for Obi-Wan to shove sugary oats into his mouth and for Anakin to polish off his fruit before starting in on his nutrient shake. Obi-Wan had to stop and take a napkin and wipe the seeds off the corner of his mouth, and help him to insert the straw in the protein shake, but the act of sucking on a straw amused Anakin and he didn’t hate the taste. There were friendly animal species on the cup. Special nutrient shake for chronically malnourished children - now with bright colors!
His friends just watched them, without even food to make the environment faux-casual. Their dark eyes seemed to follow him, and Obi-Wan felt his skin crawl. He didn’t want to deal with this. He could barely deal with Quinlan on a good day, much less...today. Any day, lately.
Finally, his grace period seemed to tick down to zero, and Quinlan broke the ice with a fishing spear and an excess of exuberance. “Is this the famous little guy we’ve heard so much about? I hear you’re a good pilot, kid!”
And, just like that, Quinlan was Anakin’s favorite person on Coruscant. “I’m the best pilot,” Anakin asserted arrogantly. Obi-Wan mentally noted the tendency for arrogance and pride down in the ‘Goal Setting!’ part of his brain that was half-heartedly drafting a training curriculum. “I can blow up anything and anyone.”
“Sounds like Quinlan,” Siri snickered. Unlike Bant, she was terrified of children, but she hid it well. “He and your master are Joballian twins that way. Those two could start a fire in deep space.”
“So who are you people?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan put ‘unbelievably blunt’ in his mental training curriculum. “Are you really Obi-Wan’s friends? He doesn’t like you.”
“I like them very much,” Obi-Wan said rotely. Quinlan pantomimed a shot to the heart.
But Bant just smiled down at Anakin, unflappable. “You’re a padawan, young one. You should call Obi-Wan your master. It’s good to be polite.”
“Why should I have to do that?” Anakin’s voice tinged a little louder, and at a pointed look from Obi-Wan he toned it down. Siri’s eyebrows rose. “He’s my teacher, not a master of no one.”
Bant winced a bit, and all three of them rippled discomfort in the Force. So they knew, even though it wasn’t totally public knowledge. Quinlan had undoubtedly used his ridiculous clearance as a Shadow to access the Naboo mission records and spilled the details to them. Keeping it professional, as always.
“Master means something very different to Jedi,” Bant said gently. “It’s a special relationship between two people. Every Jedi teaches and learns from each other, but your master is the person who guides you and makes sure you go to bed on time. It’s just the same word for a very different thing than you’re used to.”
“What do you mean by that?” Anakin gnawed on his straw suspiciously. “I thought Obi-Wan was the one who taught me.”
Quinlan, who had far more experience with the wider world than Siri and Bant, caught on first. He propped his elbows on the table, and Obi-Wan saw him visibly struggle for the ‘wise teacher’ tone before giving up. “The Jedi have different relationships than you’re used to, kid. Who took care of you and watched you all day back home?”
This was heading into dangerous territory, and Obi-Wan frowned dangerously at Quinlan, but Anakin just hummed. “Mom took care of me and we moved around together. But Old Lady Hun watches me and the other kids in the gathering space when Mom’s busy. And when Jipol was sick, Mom and I took care of her two daughters. And Old Man Wa taught me how to fix things. And -”
“Right. So the Jedi are like that. Instead of a very small number of people raising kids, every adult raises every kid. So, for example, any Jedi would tell you to stop running in the halls or stop you from misbehaving -”
“And every Jedi did, with this one,” Siri added.
“ - but any Knight or Master would help you with your homework, too,” Quinlan finished, elbowing Siri. “We all help each other here. We share food, stuff, school, and teachings. That’s why we practice nonattachment - everything’s everybody’s, not just yours. Make sense?”
Anakin’s brow was furrowed. He paid close attention to everything - chewing everything over again and again until it made sense. Obi-Wan shoveled oatmeal in his mouth, glad Quinlan was doing this. “Why does nonattachment mean you don’t get moms or dads?”
Dangerous territory. Bant opened her mouth to say something soothing, but Quinlan beat her to the punch. “Well, to Jedi, we think the idea of just putting two or three people in charge of kids is pretty crazy. Kids are loud and bouncy. One or two people would get totally stressed out and make mistakes. And imagine just a few people teaching you about life. They could believe all this crazy stuff, and then so would you.”
“And what if the parent’s being a total jerk?” Siri pointed out. “Then the kid’s stuck with that. But when there’s other people around, they can stop and tell the parent that they’re being a total jerk. Then they have to cut it out.”
Anakin narrowed his eyes. “So nobody beats their kids here because the other Jedi would get mad?”
Awkward silence loomed. Finally, Quinlan said, “Yeah, totally. Anyway, that’s why our way rocks and makes sense. Boom. Teaching moment.” Quinlan slapped the table in victory. “We are so good at this. We’re going to be the greatest teachers ever, Anakin. Forget lame old Obi-Wan, he’s going to lead you down the path of boring. Stick with Knight Vos, I’m gonna lead you down the path that rocks.”
At Anakin’s deeply confused expression, Bant put a hand on his back. But when she spoke she spoke to Obi-Wan, gleaming eyes boring into his. “We’re Obi-Wan’s best friends. We’re going to be here for you almost as much as Obi-Wan is. None of us have padawans yet, so we’re all really excited to help you! Did you know I’m a doctor?”
Anakin perked up. He respected doctors highly - apparently it was a very prestigious position on Tatooine. “Wow! Obi-Wan’s friends with a doctor?”
“And I’m a superspy action hero, kid!” Quinlan flexed, tossing his dreads. “I can teach you how to hack into anything!”
“I’m a better pilot than anyone at this table.” Siri awkwardly waved her fist in the air in a pantomime of excitement. “I’ll help you...fly things. Which you can apparently already do. But I’ll teach you how to do it better.”
The idea was heady to Anakin. His eyes widened, filled with possibility and excitement. Of smiling adult faces, wanting to help. But he looked at Obi-Wan instead, fear sneaking in through the gap bored by long experience with misery. “So what does a master do, then?”
Obi-Wan smiled wanly at Anakin. Experimentally, he tried sending him as much warmth as possible. He didn’t have much to spare, but Anakin seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “I’ll protect you, Anakin. And I’d like it if you continued calling me Obi-Wan.”
And he knew that meant more to Anakin than all the rest. At least Obi-Wan won there.
Although Obi-Wan had gone his entire life despairing for Quinlan’s future padawan, he somehow handled Anakin wonderfully. Even Siri awkwardly asked a question about Anakin’s favorite kind of ship - clearly expecting an answer along the lines of ‘a big one!’ or ‘one that shoots lasers!’ - and sat through Anakin’s ten minute scientific dissertations on the difference in engine ports between Genoshian Special X100 and Genoshian Special X200.
When’s the last time Obi-Wan had a long conversation with Anakin, where they just talked about nothing? He’d been so selfish, focusing entirely on himself and not even thinking about Anakin. His friends were doing this a thousand times better than he was. They should be the one with a padawan, not him. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought he was ready for knighthood until - well, until it was convenient, but if it took him this long to be knighted he ought to be forty before he got a padawan.
In a characteristically deft maneuver, Quinlan had flagged down a friend of his - Ku Lun, a friendly face and teacher to the Initiates - and gave Anakin a real world lesson in Jedi togetherness by asking him to walk Anakin back to their quarters. Anakin shot a panicked look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan deeply wished to send a panicked look back, but he just nodded supportively.
“Don’t you want to ask Knight Lun about lessons?” Obi-Wan said. “You can work together to design your school.”
The concept of school, and the power to choose it, was obviously heady to Anakin, and he jumped off the bench with only a tinge of reluctance. “Come back to the room in thirty minutes or you’re fired,” Anakin told Obi-Wan gravely, yet nonsensically, before running off with Knight Lun.
It wasn’t until the sounds of Anakin’s chattering faded, then disappeared completely, that Obi-Wan turned back to his friends with a sigh. Their plot had worked. Quinlan and Siri’s perfect score in tactics - second only to his more than perfect score - had won again. He was subject to the masses, and the masses were stressed over his wellbeing.
Better make the pre-emptive strike. “Greetings, my honored friends,” Obi-Wan said dully. “My very best friends in the galaxy, whom I have not spoken to in months.”
“And whose fault is that, you asshole!” Quinlan thumped the table, making the plasteelware rattle, and cuing a withering look from Bant. “You drop out of contact. You leave on a routine diplomatic mission. You get wrapped up in an interplanetary war, obviously, because that’s how your routine missions always go. And you come back with a kid and the head of a Sith?”
“You have the situation well in hand, Quinlan. There’s nothing more I can teach you.”
“Idiot! I’m not asking for a mission report, here.” Quinlan set his mouth, as tempestuous as ever. “Are you okay?”
Was he okay?
Maybe Bant caught something on his expression, because she placed a reassuring flipper on his arm. “We’re sorry about Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. We know how much he meant to you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“You can’t get rid of us just because you don’t talk to us.” Siri scooped the rest of her oats in her mouth, clearly regretful that she no longer had something to hide behind. “Reeft and Garen feel the same way. You’re lucky Garen’s on a mission, or he would have staked out your door.” He would have. Garen was insane. “I know they waived the two weeks in solitude considering your circumstances, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Anakin needs -”
“As his master, I have the best idea of what Anakin needs.” Obi-Wan kept his voice flat, dispassionate. He wasn’t a child anymore, not that impetuous Initiate who yelled and stomped and screamed. Obi-Wan had drowned that anger under thick layers of Jedi robe years ago. “I appreciate and understand your concern. However, I ask for faith in my abilities to handle my padawan.”
“Oh, no. Not the ‘I Am A Perfect Jedi And You Are The Irresponsible Bugs Beneath My Feet’ voice.” Siri didn’t sound amused, as she normally would be while making fun of him. What was funny about speaking properly? “Don’t shut down on us.”
“I’ve never understood where you got the impression that Jedi don’t have feelings, Obi-Wan,” Bant scolded, “but you know it’s not true. Jedi feel their feelings. They feel them and release them. This is you repressing them. They’re just going to fester and get worse if you do that.”
“Yes, Bant. I recieved top marks in Philosophy 101, same as you.” Obi-Wan picked at his sealed up, the rims of thick juice sloshing in the corners, before forcing himself to stop. He forced his hands still on the table, pressing them down hard on the linoleum. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what good a confession would do to all of you. Obviously I miss my master. Obviously I’m all…very sad about it.” Obi-Wan jerked his shoulders in a half-shrug, ignoring everyone’s unimpressed looks. “What good will talking about it do? I have to remain focused. In the real world, you don’t get the luxury of hermitage.”
“Luckily, you’re not in the real world.” Bant’s wry tone imparted the air quotes around ‘real world’. “You’re home. You and Anakin are safe here.” Obi-Wan snorted. “Knight Kenobi, what was that?”
Uh oh. But Siri unknowingly came to his rescue, leaning forward with as intent and sympathetic expression as she could wring from her usually severe countenance. “Don’t give me that dung, Obi-Wan. I cried for a month after Master Tahl died. You were there for me every second of it. What, are you so special that you don’t need help? Are you so much better than us that you don’t feel what every sentient feels? Your ‘better than you’ attitude doesn’t make you better than yourself.”
Bant made a warbling sound of frustration. “Siri, let’s not insult the person we are trying to help.”
“It’s not my fault he’s so - look, this is about Anakin -”
A tightly wound rope of...of something bad snapped in Obi-Wan’s gut. “You don’t think I can handle him.”
“Nobody’s saying that, brother,” Quinlan said, placating for the first time in his life, “but it’s like I was just telling the little guy, right? Nobody can do this by themselves. Cultures that try to do it are - they’re just crazy!”
“None of you think I can do this,” Obi-Wan whispered harshly, trying to keep the - the bad thing locked tight inside, incapable. It wouldn’t stop overflowing, a cup that runneth over. “Nobody in this Temple thinks I’m capable of taking care of him. They don’t think he can be a Jedi. It’s my fault. It’s because he has such a fuck-up for a master.”
Everybody around him suddenly radiated extreme alarm in the Force in unison. Was it really that unusual for him to say the words that swirled around in his head every hour of the day?
“Obi-Wan, we’re the fuck-ups. I mean, me and Siri and Garen. You and Bant are the Rylothian angels here.”
“That���s not what everybody else thinks,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “I’ve always been tainted because of Qui-Gon. Now just being around me is going to taint Anakin. Everybody knows it.”
“Tainted?” Bant asked with alarm. What was alarming? “What are you talking about -”
But Obi-Wan barrelled through her, unwilling to hear whatever sweet and placating words she had for him today. He stood up, carefully stepping off the bench and fussily fixing his robes with hands that did not shake. “We are going to prove it to them. Anakin will become a Jedi. I will make Anakin a Jedi, if it’s the last thing I do.”
He swept off, feeling a little bit dramatic, feeling as if he had expelled the smallest amount of emotion he could. That was the least he could give, portioning out bits of himself to the hungry and braying crowd.
Why did they want these pieces of him so desperately? What was valuable about these hideous parts of Obi-Wan - the fear, the insecurity, the nightmares shaking him awake each night? People like Bant and Quinlan dug and dug and dug until they found what they were looking for, as if they wanted to prove something to themselves, to him, to the Jedi.
Prove that he was inferior. Prove that he was just as wild and angry as everybody always said. Prove that his flimsy mask of ‘A Perfect Jedi’ was nothing more than a stage actor placing a pulp-mache bantha’s head mask over his face and strutting about as if he was a king. Prove what Qui-Gon had always thought of him: that any love for him could only be held at arm's length, that a kid who needed to prove himself never required support or a helping hand, that there was no such thing as ‘good enough’ when you lived in competition with ghosts and shadows.
Prove what everybody knew, and what Obi-Wan could not hide.
***
When Obi-Wan got home, Anakin was lying on the ground committing atrocities upon the ravaged corpse of a pilfered library droid.
“Please start putting down a tarp when you do that,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve been getting oil into the carpet.” He paused a beat. “And please stop sneaking away from chaperones.”
“But I need to practice sneaking away from good guys so I can be good at sneaking away from bad guys! And it’s not like I was caught.” Anakin didn’t look up at him, absorbed in his work. “That’s Jedi lesson three, right? ‘Do whatever you want, just don’t get caught’?”
“When had - why do -” Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the one day exposure to Qui-Gon. But..in the face of that logic, Obi-Wan was forced to concede. It was objectively true. “Yes. But make an exception for me. Just don’t get caught by others.”
“You got it! Hey, pinch this wire for me.”
So Obi-Wan lay down on his stomach across from Anakin, staring at him from over a sea of rusty machinery. His round little face, somehow still clinging onto baby fat, was smooth as only a child’s could be. It was flaky and rough from the blistering heat of twin suns, but he had ointment now. His featherly light blonde hair would darken without its sunshine bleach, and it would grow long in limp brown shags. He would look like his mother - if, apparently, there was no father to speak of.
His expression was screwed up in concentration, tongue poking out of his teeth as he carefully screwed in a bolt where it likely was not intended to go. There was something strangely beautiful about him in that moment - an intelligence at work, a powerful focus rarely applied. He glowed in the Force like a sun, overwhelming and breath-taking.
But when Obi-Wan’s breath caught, he wasn’t sure if it was the Force. Maybe it was just Anakin. Could you fall in love like this? Just by looking at somebody, just by feeling how great they could be? Stronger than Obi-Wan, more righteous than Qui-Gon? Kinder than Master Dooku, more vibrant than Grandmaster Yoda?
Could he be better? Or would Obi-Wan only make him worse?
“Do you like my friends?” Obi-Wan whispered.
“Gimmie a min’.” Anakin finished screwing the bolt, huffing at the piece. “Bad. Gotta redo...what didya say?”
“Do you like my friends?”
“Oh!” Anakin brightened. “They’re super cool and awesome Jedi! They’re just like I thought Jedi would be. Bant’s a doctor! Did you know that?”
“I did.” A pang shot through Obi-Wan’s heart. “They’d be better teachers than I. I’m sorry, Anakin. I’m sorry you’re stuck with…”
“No way! I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s expression crumpled a little, although he bravely tried to keep it straight. He was already picking that up from Obi-Wan. “I’m why everybody keeps looking at us weird...it’s all my fault. All the Jedi hate us.”
“Anakin, no. The Jedi love all sentient beings.” Judging from Anakin’s expression, Obi-Wan was speaking straight bantha poodoo and acting as if the Corellian moons were made of cheese. “It’s true. They’d - they’d all help you. You don’t need to rely on me.”
Wires hissed and sparked. Anakin was quiet for a moment, stripping some wires with a deft, chubby hand and tying them together. He reached out to grab a blowtorch, but at Obi-Wan’s dangerous expression he carefully retreated his hand. It was a matter of time until he was using his lightsaber to solder metal. Incorrigible. Finally, Anakin said, “What Mr. Quinlan -”
“Knight Quinlan.”
“Knight Quinlan was talking about how you’re just there to guide me and teach me the Jedi way for a few years. And they all acted like the master and padawan thing is so special and great, but…” His face crumpled a little, overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name. “When we had to leave Mom behind...I thought that meant that you were going to be Mom now. But they aren’t going to let us. They’re going to make other people teach me because they don’t like you, and - and - and!”
Fat tears were rolling down Anakin’s cheeks, no matter how hard he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Obi-Wan quickly sat up and moved closer to Anakin, wrapping him in a hug and letting Anakin press his head into Obi-Wan’s tunic. He would probably have to get this one cleaned with Anakin’s robe. He didn’t know why he was focusing on that instead of Anakin’s hitched breaths as he tried to control his tears.
“Nobody’s going to take you away from me, Anakin.” That wasn’t what he meant to say. That was far too possessive. That hadn’t come out right. But what had Obi-Wan meant to say? “We all just want what’s best for you. You might be happier with the others.” Obi-Wan faltered. “You could be a normal child here. Take lessons. Play with the other children. Learn and grow and be happy. My padawanship, Anakin...it was dangerous and isolated. That’s the kind of life I’ve always lived. I don’t want to expose you to that.”
Anakin separated from him, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “They aren’t strong! All the kids and the old people here - they’re weak! Nothing bad’s ever happened to them, so they think sad people like us are freaks. But you’re strong, Obi-Wan. I want to be strong and just like you. I’m not embarrassed to be your padawan.” He faltered a little, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s okay that you’re sad and that I had to make food for a little bit. Mom would get sad sometimes too. She couldn’t leave bed and stuff. I would take care of Mom and make her food. I don’t mind making you food. The slaves all had each other, we did, but...Mom and I took care of each other. We can take care of each other. It’s just you and me. Right?”
Obi-Wan embraced Anakin tightly, fighting to control his breathing. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the correct way to do this. He had to be more like Qui-Gon - professional and strong and affectionate. Qui-Gon would have never let Obi-Wan cling to him like this, swearing an oath that neither of them should ever make.
Nobody was going to help them. None of them had ever forgotten how Obi-Wan had been a failure as a child, and none of them were ever going to forget where Anakin came from. No matter what they all said, their bright smiles and helping hands - none of them understood what it was like. It was just Obi-Wan and Anakin from now on.
In some strange way, it felt as if it had always been. As if Obi-Wan had only been alone, because he had not met or loved Anakin yet.
This wasn’t the kind of master Obi-Wan should be. He should be discouraging this desperation and neediness. But he couldn’t discourage it in himself, and he had no idea how to quench it in either of them.
As the Rylothians would say - if this was a sin, then hell had greater need of him than heaven.
He would put in the request for active mission duty. If Anakin grew up like he did - in the midst of adventure and hardship - then he could attain the strength he so desired. That was all Obi-Wan knew how to offer, and that was Qui-Gon’s legacy.
“It’s just you and me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan swore, and damned himself. “It’s just you and me…”
#star wars#sw#star wars fanfic#obi-wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#bant eerin#siri tachi#quinlan vos#this is the first and last star wars thing you will ever get from me#please don't ask the rationale i have secrets#i like to think that nothing bad happens in this universe#(it's not an AU but it's not NOT an AU? up to interpretation)#because Obiwan in canon is on anakin's ass about everything#and here he's just one of those single parents who's like 'ok so long as you're fed and not on fire i don't have energy to care#about anything else'#I think this was written from joking about how comedically and weirdly terrible obiwan's childhood was#and from my own personal feelings about the weird way the sw fandom understands communal childcare#and nonattachment#It Does Not Mean What You Think It Means (Because George Lucas Is A White Guy Buddhist!)#if you're wondering if the behavior by the jedi here is realistic or nomal or if it's positive or negative#I have lived in a monastery and it is the most accurate thing you will ever see in a SW fic#my writing
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The Illusionist
Dannymay2021 prompt: Illusion
My Hero Academia x Danny Phantom crossover
Word Count: 5262
Read on: [ao3]
---
“A kid?” Shouta asked.
The muffled sound of an explosion echoed from the other side of the phone line.
“He can’t be older than sixteen.” Kamui Woods' voice crackled through the receiver. “Eraserhead, this is going to sound crazy, but the kid has multiple quirks. We can’t get near him. He keeps...shit, he just flew through another wall!”
Shouta shifted his cell between his shoulder and ear, launching himself up a wall and onto the roof of a low building. He surveyed the distance and saw a bright green light flash from across the city.
That must have been them.
“We need you to nullify the quirks so we can contain him till the Illusionment wears off.”
“Alright,” Shouta said, jumping off the roof. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”
It was a new villain, one that the public had dubbed ‘the Illusionist.’ His quirk was simple, yet effective. If he touched someone, he could make them hallucinate their worst fear.
So far, the heroes and detectives on the case hadn’t been able to figure out much about the Illusionist himself. He never struck the same victim twice, and he didn’t seem to stick around long enough for pro heroes to find him. Not to mention, the majority of his attacks happened in dark alleyways to the local homeless population, far from any cameras that would have been able to pick up his face.
And that fact made Aizawa’s blood boil. Because these weren’t attacks of revenge. No, they were attacks from someone who thought it was fun to mess with the disenfranchised. Someone who enjoyed exerting their powers over those they perceived to be less than, like some kid on a playground squishing ants beneath their sneakers.
The Illusionist’s influence was powerful, and each victim reacted differently. For some, they just froze up, lying motionless until they were found. For others, they lashed out at anyone who dared get close.
And in a society filled with countless unknown quirks, those of his targets who did lash out—though victims themselves—still needed to be dealt with.
The good news was, the quirk’s effects weren’t permanent, and he seemed to require a fairly long recharge time in between each attack. So the pro heroes never had to deal with more than one victim at a time.
So far, the heroes and police force had figured out two ways of dealing with the Illusionists’ victims. Either the victims were knocked out or put to sleep in some way, which seemed to instantly nullify the hallucination, or the victims were captured and taken to the police station to allow the quirk’s effects to naturally run their course.
Considering the heroes really wanted the victims brought in as peacefully as possible, it had been no surprise to Shouta when the other heroes started calling him in for assistance. Especially when the victims’ hallucinations caused them to fight back.
Such as, apparently, this one.
Shouta sprinted around a corner, panting. The cool night air brushed against his face, chilling his skin. He glanced down at his phone, only to see that Wood’s location had moved once again.
Which meant that the unstable, overpowered victim was on the move.
Wonderful.
Just then, his phone lit up.
Shouta didn’t wait to see who it was. “What is it?”
“Eraserhead,” Kamui Woods said. “We’re going to lead him to you. Meet us over by the abandoned antique warehouse. And keep your phone on you, he’s a flight risk. Literally.”
“Understood. Any injuries?”
“A few civilians, but medics are already on it. Nothing serious.”
“Good.”
Shouta hung up and changed his course. He weaved between buildings, kicking up water as puddles splashed at his feet.
If the heroes needed to lure the kid so far away from people, then things weren’t looking good.
Which meant that he needed to end this. Now.
But he didn’t make it to the warehouse. Not before a flying, glowing figure appeared through the wall, crashing into him first.
On instinct, Shouta activated his quirk and sent his capture weapon to the glowing figure, but his quirk had no effect. As soon as the scarf landed on the boy, he jerked away, phasing the scarf through his body.
Shouta blinked, deactivating and reactivating the quirk again. But just like the before, nothing happened. The figure—the boy—just continued to float in the air, his glowing green eyes staring wildly into the hero as if Shouta were the most terrifying human on Earth. He raised his hand, and a neon green swirling ball began to form around his fist.
“Watch out!” a voice behind him yelled.
Aizawa ducked just in time. The green blast hit the wall just above him, burning into the bricks like acid.
“Eraserhead, hurry!” Best Jeanist yelled.
Shouta tried again to activate his quirk, but it was no use.
The boy screamed, powering up an even bigger blast than last time.
“Eraserhead!”
Tree roots shot out in front of Shouta just in time. The blast hit Kamui Woods’ shield, splintering the roots and sending pieces flying through the air.
“Shit!” Shouta deactivated his quirk and jumped back, falling in line with the heros. “He’s resistant to my quirk!”
“We need to get him away from the residential area,” Best Jeanist said. “Force him to the industrial complex.”
“You’re not forcing me anywhere,” the teen roared back in a thick accent. His white glow ebbed and flowed around him as if he were drunk. “I won’t let you get me!”
“What is he seeing?” Shouta asked the three heroes behind him.
“A kidnapping of some sort,” Hound Dog replied.
“He keeps referring to us as ‘Operatives’. We’re unsure what that means.”
Apparently their talking only angered the glowing teen further. He raised a fist and his eyes brightened, changing from green to blue. “You’re not taking me!”
“Go!” Best Jeanist shouted.
The heroes jumped out of the alley just as the teen released the glowing blue energy ball, coating the pavement in a shockwave of jagged ice.
“How many quirks does this kid have?” Kumai Woods exclaimed.
Aizawa landed on the roof and released his capture weapon. “Doesn’t matter. Get him to the warehouse. I have a plan, but I have to make a call first.”
“Got it!”
The heroes jumped off the roof, chasing the kid out the alley and through another building.
“Don’t lose him!” Hound Dog yelled, running around the corner after him.
Shouta stayed back, pulling out his phone and pressing one of his emergency contacts. He watched as another blue beam glowed from a few blocks over, followed by a burst of green.
What the hell is that kid?
He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. The kid could talk, could communicate, and yet he had multiple quirks? In the ten seconds Shouta had seen him, he was witness to flight, phase-shifting, glowing, cryokinesis, a green energy beam, and immunity to Shouta’s quirk.
And yet, the kid wasn’t a nomu. He had intelligence. He seemed like he could have been a regular teen. A glowing one, sure, but a regular teen nonetheless.
So how did he end up with multiple quirks? And how did he become the Illusionist’s latest target? The Illusionist had only ever targeted homeless adults before. How did this teen get caught up in the mix?
Unless he was homeless himself.
The ringing stopped, and a tentative voice picked up from the other line. “Sensei?”
Shouta breathed a sigh of relief. “Shinso, I need you to come to the field. I’ll send you a location. We need your quirk.”
“My quirk?” Shinso asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
One day Shouta would crack through that massive layer of insecurity Shinso still clung onto about his quirk.
“Illusionist hit a kid with multiple quirks. We can’t get near him and he’s resistant to my quirk. We need you to subdue him. Put him to sleep.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
“Sending a location now.”
Shouta hung up and forwarded his location before darting over to the scene, using the sound of the kid’s frantic attacks as his GPS.
His feet pounded on the concrete. His quirk and capture weapon may have been useless against the kid, but that was fine. All he had to do was stall for time before Shinso could subdue him.
There was a loud bang, followed by a crash. Shouta skidded around the block and, using his weapon, launched himself onto a nearby roof.
There was a large hole in the side of a building that thankfully appeared to be empty. Dust clouded the air, but through it Shouta could see the kid backing into the building like a cornered animal, his arms raised and glowing a threatening acid green.
Kumai woods stepped forward slowly, his arms raised above his head. “We don’t want to hurt you!
“Don’t—don’t come another step!” The teen growled, stumbling to the side. His voice had an odd, echoing quality to it. “I’ve escaped your stupid compound once, and I’ll do it again!”
Shouta jumped down from the roof, landing in front of the heroes. He crouched down, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “What compound?”
The kid let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t act stupid! You were gloating enough last time!”
“We’re not going to take you to a compound,” Kumai Woods tried.
But reasoning with someone under the Illusionist’s influence was futile. Heroes and police officers had attempted it before, and it never worked.
“I’m not an idiot! I know what you do to people like me!”
Shouta froze, alarm bells going off in his head. Something was just... wrong. On a fundamental level, something wrong had happened to this kid. And based on the way his eyes darted around the empty room, he looked about a second away from making an escape.
Okay, Shouta had to stall. If the kid thought that the heroes were kidnappers, then maybe he could draw this out.
He tilted his head questioningly. “Sorry, I’m new here.” He felt his coworkers’ eyes burning against the back of his skull. “I wasn’t here for the last time.”
The kid’s distorted eyes locked onto him. “I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”
“Haven’t had time, actually. This is my first day.”
“You’re still wearing the suit. You’re still with them.”
Shouta stared at him for a moment. The kid’s stark white hair floated as if defying gravity, and the glow around him had almost an ethereal presence. But what stood out the most to him was his clothing. He was dressed like something out of a laboratory. His suit was thin and rubbery, with rubber gloves and boots to match.
He was definitely the product of a science experiment. There was no doubt about it. Likely a trafficked kid taken from another country and transported here for human experimentation.
Aizawa felt sick.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“You know where.”
“I told you, this is my first day. I just moved here. I don’t know you yet.”
Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for the teen. “I’m not saying anything. You can ask Operative K over there.” He nodded towards Best Jeanist.
“What sorts of things did they do to you? Last time?”
“I—I don’t—” the teen stuttered, the green glow flickering out from his fists. He clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”
“I don’t want to do those things,” Shouta continued. “I don’t want to...use you like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you’re with them, you’re here to take me. And I can’t, I can’t do that again. I’ll never let you take me. I’m smarter than your whole organization and you know it.” His eyes brightened with a frantic energy, warping until one eye was green and the other blue. “I’ve escaped from your stupid white compound once, and I’ll do it again.”
Aizawa rose slowly.
This wasn’t looking good.
Hurry up, Shinsho.
The kid raised his arms, and a swirling mass of green and blue encased his fist, traveling up his forearms and swallowing his elbows. It pulsated and grew, casting a shadow over the teen’s face.
“Eraserhead!” Hound Dog warned.
“I’m not going quietly.”
Shouta readied himself to dodge when a flash of purple caught his eye.
“Hey kid!” Shinso called out.
Glowing green and blue snapped over to the source of the new voice. “What?” he hissed.
Shouta could almost see the satisfied smirk under Shinso’s mask.
“Go to sleep.”
The effect was immediate. The mass of energy faded from the kid’s hands, leaving only his natural white glow. He lowered himself to the ground until his toes were touching the cement, then his knees, and finally his head. Then, just when his eyes fluttered close, a white ring appeared at his waist, traveling up his body replacing the glowing, ethereal teen with a small European looking boy.
“Whoa,” Shinso breathed.
Despite the protests behind him, Shouta slowly made his way over to the teen. His white hair had changed to black, and his skin had lost its glow completely. His laboratory clothes had been replaced with ripped jeans and a dirty white and red shirt.
He looked...plain. Boring and scrawny. If Shouta hadn’t witnessed the terrifying figure just moments ago, he could have passed the boy off as just a quirkless kid.
Whatever he was, he was asleep.
“Good job, Hitoshi,” he said, turning back around to face the heroes. Not to his surprise, his husband and other child were among the group. “Present Mic, Todoroki,” he greeted.
Hizashi—ever the optimist—gave Shouta a cheerful wave along with a chipper, “Hello!” while Shouto stood quietly behind the heroes.
“Who is he?” Shinso asked, eyeing the sleeping teen warily.
Best Jeanist made his way over to the group. “Some kid with multiple quirks. Likely from experimentation. With his amount of quirks, we have no idea what he’s like mentally. We need to get him to the police.”
“We sent them your location already. They should be here soon,” Hizashi said.
“Good.”
Shouta gave the kid one last glance.
What happened to him?
---
It didn’t take long before the police, led by Detective Tsukauchi, arrived at the scene. They were able to get the kid into quirk inhibitors, load him into the back of a car, and bring him into the station before he woke up.
Yamada brought the boys back home before meeting him at the station. Shouta made a mental note to grab Shinsho his favorite take-out meal tomorrow for his immaculate quirk usage.
When they arrived at the station, they brought a couch into one of the interrogation rooms, put the kid on it, and waited.
Shouta almost felt bad for him. It would have been scary for anyone to wake up after a traumatic hallucination wearing quirk inhibitors in a cold, unfeeling room. But unfortunately, nobody had known the extent of his quirks. Victim or not, he was still unstable.
Aside from sitting upright, the kid hadn’t moved an inch, and he couldn’t seem to be able to pass the inhibitors through his body like he had with Shouta’s capture weapon.
Which was good. That meant that the quirk inhibitors were doing their job.
Shouta stared at him through the one-way mirror. He’d been half expecting the same frantic energy from the teen boy as before, but the teen just sat there quietly. His slumped body language screamed resigned, while his eyes were slowly shifting around the room as if to memorize every speck of dust in the air.
“You would never suspect that kid would have multiple quirks,” Yamada said next to him. “He just looks so...tiny.”
Aizawa took a large gulp of his much-needed coffee. “And yet, he does.”
The door behind them opened, and a woman stepped through. She stopped in front of Detective Tsukauchi. “He’s not registered. We scanned the database and found no record of anyone with multiple quirks that fit his description. In addition, we ran the sample of the green substance from his projection quirk and couldn’t find any matches to any known compounds on record. We’ve sent the samples out for further testing.”
“No matches?” Shouta asked.
“Interesting.” Detective Tsukauchi said. He turned towards the interrogation room’s door. “I believe it’s time to talk to our victim. Suzuki, I want you to stay outside. I think having more than one adult in the room may scare him off. Use your quirk, though. I have a feeling our victim may be a bit wary.”
The woman nodded and stationed herself next to Shouta. She stared at the boy, blinked, and then her eyes began to glow.
“It’s showtime.”
The moment the doorknob moved, the black haired teen’s body language shifted to something more alert, more guarded. His blue eyes tracked Tsukauchi’s movements until the detective had sat down in his metal chair.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble today. Would you like some water?”
The teen didn’t respond.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Based on previous victims’ responses, they had always been able to remember the hallucinations, but they couldn’t recall their actions or where they were during those times.
“It’s okay if you don’t. Again, you’re not in trouble.”
But the kid wasn’t relaxing. If anything, he looked more guarded than before. “If I’m not in trouble, then why am I here?”
“You were hit by a quirk,” he explained. “Have you heard of the Illusionist?”
The teen shifted. “Maybe.”
“He’s a villain who makes people experience their worst fears.”
A spark of recognition hit the boy’s eyes, but it was quickly masked by the previous reserved expression. “So I got hit.”
“Yes. So far his targets have all been random attacks.” Tsukauchi opened his manila folder, pulling out photographs and handing them to the teen. “This was from earlier tonight. Do you remember any of this?”
He scanned the photographs, and Aizawa watched as the color drained from the teen’s face. He stared at the folder in silence for a moment before his shaky voice said, “If I’m not in trouble, I’d like to leave.”
“We just have a few questions we’d like to ask in order to help us catch him.”
“I want to leave.”
Detective Tsukauchi seemed unphased by the kid’s request. “Alright, can I get your name? We can call your parents to come pick you up.”
As expected, the teen didn’t like this. He shoved the photographs back into Tsukauchi’s hands, leaned back against the couch, and crossed his arms. “I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”
“He’s lying,” Detective Suzuki whispered next to them.
Recognition sparked in Shouta’s brain. He remembered her, she had a Lie Detection quirk. It was quite useful for police work.
“In that case, we were unable to obtain any record of any adult with your quirk combinations. Japanese law dictates that every citizen must be registered in our quirk database. So if you are unregistered, then we’d need to go through the registration process before we can release you.”
“I’m not a Japanese citizen.”
“You here on vacation?”
The kid glared to the wall. “Something like that.”
“American?”
“Yeah.”
“How long have you been visiting?”
The teen shrugged.
Tsukauchi jotted something down in his notebook. “Then I’d need to see your passport and visitor’s documentation for the official record, since you are now a victim in an ongoing investigation.”
The teen’s eyes narrowed, and he slumped down further into the cushion. “I don’t have any.”
“What happened to it?”
The teen shrugged.
Yamada leaned into Shouta’s ear. “He’s backed into a corner.”
“Yup,” Shouta took another swig at his coffee. “He can’t get out of this one.”
The teen huffed, frustration and a tint of fear strewn across his features. He ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Listen, can I just go? I don’t remember anything, okay? I was just sleeping and then all of the sudden I...I...he got me. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything, and I didn’t see his face.”
Detective Tsukauchi nodded compassionately. “I’m very sorry that this happened to you. It’s a very vivid and traumatic experience to go through. Unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a bind currently seeing as you are either an unregistered quirk user, or you have no proof that you’re in this country legally. Now if it’s true that you’re eighteen, we can’t let you leave without contacting the US embassy to get your identification.”
Any color left in the teen’s face vanished. “What if...what if they can’t identify me?”
“Can’t identify you? For what reason?”
The teen stood suddenly and walked over to the wall. His hands trembled, and he looked downright terrified.
Who was he scared of?
He picked at the ragged hem of his shirt. “I don’t—I’m not exactly…they—they just don’t know I exist.”
Shouta glanced at Suzuki, who seemed perplexed.
“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Suzuki said. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but he at least believes that he doesn’t have citizenship in Japan or the United States.”
“Even though he’s American.”
“Exactly.”
Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he looked back at the teen, who was pressed up against the wall wringing his wrists with his fingers.
“Can you give me your name?” Detective Tsukauchi asked.
The teen bit his lip. “Uh it’s—it’s…” His voice was strangled. “It’s Danny Fenton.”
“He’s telling the truth.”
Detective Tsukauchi gave him a comforting smile. “Okay, Danny. And do you know where you were born?”
“Uh…The United States.”
“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have no birth certificate? And no documentation to show legal entry to Japan?”
“I—yeah.”
“And you’re here in Japan now. Where have you been staying exactly?”
Danny’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know...around?”
“Okay,” Detective Tsukauchi shut his manila folder and stood. “Again, you’re not in trouble. You were a victim of a very serious crime, and we’re here to help you. I’m going to make a quick call, and I’ll be right back. The door’s unlocked if you need anything.”
If anything, that only made Danny look more anxious than before. He nodded, his face sheet white, and he tugged at the inhibitors on his wrists.
“What’s gonna happen to him?” Yamada asked quietly. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, and his hair was thrown up into a messy low bun. Without his uniform, his compassion towards the child shined out like a beacon.
It was one of the many qualities that Shouta loved about him. His strong sense to protect the innocent, his caring nature to kids and those who were vulnerable in society, and the kindness he radiating from his being were qualities that were rare even among heroes.
“We’ll contact the US embassy, but if the boy’s telling the truth and he doesn’t have a social security number or birth certificate, then he’ll get picked up by Musutafu’s social services and he’ll be put into the system.”
Yamada stared sadly at the child through the mirror. “He’ll just run away again.”
“He will,” Shouta agreed.
“I wish we could help him.”
Shouta sighed. “We can’t save everyone.”
“But you see it, don’t you?” Yamada asked. “There’s something going on that the kid’s not telling us. How else could he have gotten multiple quirks? Do you think it has anything to do with the League?”
Shouta glanced back at Danny, who was currently crouched against the wall with his head in his hands. He looked so small, so fragile. Aizawa could only wonder what events had led him here.
Just who was Danny Fenton?
“Shouta, we can’t let him out on his own. We just can’t.”
Shouta sighed, running his thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “I know,” he said.
And he meant it.
---
“So…” Shouta started.
Danny just looked tired.
It had been a long night. Detective Tsukauchi got a hold of the US embassy’s emergency line, but they didn’t have any records of a Danny Fenton that had left the United States, nor did they have a single missing children’s report of a Danny Fenton, nor could they supposedly dig up any information of a Danny Fenton based on the information that Danny himself supplied, specifically that he was born in Illinois in a city called Amity Park.
It was as if he didn’t exist.
Detective Suzuki’s quirk was powerful, and it didn’t seem like Danny was able to fool it. After he met her and she explained her quirk to him, he finally admitted he was only fifteen. So then who was this kid? If he was from Amity Park, why did the United States have no record of him?
The heroes knew he had parents, but apparently—and Suzuki confirmed this—they’d disowned him, giving him to some shady organization. Danny wouldn’t say to who ended up with custody of him, but from what they’d been able to piece together, it hadn’t been good.
And any further digging just resulted in Danny clamming up.
So Danny was a runaway, one that apparently didn’t exist in either country he had lived in. And there was something out there that had terrified him into escaping to Musutafu and hiding here.
But he wouldn’t say what.
Regardless, the Musutafu police department now had a case of a minor in Japan who didn’t have any parents, guardians, or any known relatives in the country, nor did he have any record of housing at any point.
It was as if this kid were a ghost or something.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” Danny asked, hugging himself in his chair.
He seemed smaller up close. Too small.
“Well, social services will take you and place you in foster care,” Shouta responded.
“Oh…” Danny looked down. “You know...you’ve seen my powers. I’ll just disappear the moment we leave this building.”
Shouta raised his brows.
Of course, they all knew it. But the kid certainly had guts for admitting it out loud.
“Who are you running from?” Shouta asked.
Danny blinked at his bluntness. “No one.”
Shouta leaned in. “Is it the League of Villains? Are you connected with them?”
Danny’s arms shot out from his sides, waving frantically in front of his face. “No! No, I swear! I’m not a villain!”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I…” Danny looked lost.
“You have multiple quirks. That’s something the league’s been experimenting with. And they’re not shy about using real people to do so.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met them.”
“But you weren’t born with multiple quirks,” Shouta said. “Something happened that made you this way.”
He could see as all the pieces slowly crumbled inside Danny. The kid went from looking confused, to downright terrified.
Bingo.
Aizawa’s instincts never failed him.
“Please, just let me go,” Danny begged. “I promise I won’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.”
Shouta’s eyes widened. “Kid, slow down. I’m not here to hurt you. Okay? I’m on your side.”
That didn’t seem to help Danny at all.
Shouta set his arms on the table where Danny could see them. “You know, one of my foster kids has multiple quirks.” It was a half lie, but he didn’t think that Shouto would mind.
Sure enough, that seemed to pique Danny’s interests. “Really?”
“Yeah. Great kid, about your age. His father was experimenting with creating children who could house multiple quirks to offset his own quirk’s disadvantages, and my foster son came out of it. Just like you, he spent a lot of his life hiding too. He was alone, and scared. He didn’t know what to do or who he could trust, so he just hid.”
“What changed?” Danny asked.
“He asked for help,” Shouta said. “And we were able to bring him into a stable home.”
Danny’s eyes clouded over, and his face transformed into one of longing. As if he were visiting a memory that had long since abandoned him.
“We can get you that help too if you ask for it.”
“I...I can’t…”
Shouta sighed. “How long are you going to keep hiding? Running? Are you really okay with spending the rest of your life out on the streets?”
Danny ducked his head down. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.
“But kid, you deserve so much more than that.”
The teen’s shoulders shuddered. He sniffed, and his hand shot up to wipe his eye.
Shouta refused to look away from him. “I don’t know how you got here, I have no idea what you’ve been through, but I know that you didn’t deserve it, and that regardless of what you think, you deserve a safe place to go home to.”
“I...I…” he croaked, curling into himself. Tears splashed onto his cheeks.
“You’re strong, you’ve done so much alone. Now we can help you.”
“I can’t…”
“You can, Danny.”
At that, Danny broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, twisting his hoodie in his hands. Shouta watched as he tried to muffle his sobs, but he couldn’t. His body shook as his emotions poured into the open.
Shouta didn’t know how long this kid had been holding it all in. Just how many days, weeks, months had he been shoving everything down, too focused on surviving each day to be able to stop and feel?
Pain stabbed Shouta’s heart. He remembered that torment all too well, one of homelessness, of abuse, of not knowing where his next meal was coming from and fighting for the bare necessities. Although he wasn’t so much of a soft, touchy-feely guy himself, right now he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug the crying teen.
When it seemed like Danny was finally able to pull himself together, Shouta leaned in and asked, “Will you let me help you, Danny?”
Danny scrubbed at his eyes and nodded.
“If you want,” he said, making sure to articulate each word clearly. “I can assist you in getting placed in a good home. There’s another option too.”
“Yeah?”
“The other option is you can stay with me.”
Danny stilled, his eyes shooting open and his lips dropping to form a small ‘o’.
“My husband and I have a city approved foster home, and we also happen to have an open bed at the moment. Given your unique situation, I have the option of housing you if you’ll let me.”
Danny didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at Shouta in shock.
“Of course,” Shouta said quickly. “If you are uncomfortable with that, and it’s okay if you are, there are other good foster homes out there that I personally know and can get you placed in. It’s whatever you prefer.”
The teen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked back at Shouta, he had that same longing expression as before. “If it’s alright...could I stay with you? At least for a little while?”
The corners of his lips tugged up. He remembered all too well when Yamada turned to him just before Shouta was about to age out of the foster system and asked him if he wanted to move in together. He remembered the shock, the surprise that anyone could possibly care that much about him, that anyone would want to live with him.
And now, he had a family. One that was about to become a little bigger.
“Of course. I’d love to have you.”
---
Thanks for reading!
[check out some of my other fics]
#danny phantom#dannymay2021#bnha#my hero academia#my writing#aka danny has A Bad Time#but it's ok because dadzawa
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Too busy.
A/N: I am so sorry this took a while to get out, but here it is! I hope you all enjoy, it is based off a request that @tomhollandlol sent me and I hope you also enjoy and thanks again for your patience. I did change a couple of things but stuck to the basic concept, I hope you don’t mind 💕
Request: Angst one shot, they have 2 kids together, different scenarios, he never pays attention and does something else and is always too busy.
Warnings: Bit of swearing, mentions of sex.
W/C: 4.2K
This last six months had been the hardest she’d ever had to go through, in her entire six years of marriage to Tom, this had been the hardest. Having two kids on top of that didn’t make it any easier, she felt alone, more alone than she had in her life, she was bringing up two children, seemingly on her own. Their eldest was almost four and their youngest was nine months old and teething, which meant she cried a lot.
Tom had been there for most of their journey, he shared the work load and it made life easier but this last six months haven’t ben the case. He became busier, he had two projects going at once and whilst she would happily make allowances for his career it was becoming too much for her. She hated the assumption that things should be easy because she was a stay-at-home mum but that was far from the truth. The children were so young that they needed her constant and undivided attention.
She was struggling to give two children her undivided attention and recently she’s become run down, completely running of fumes. She lives her life in a constant state of tired, she barely does a thing for herself, hell even a shower seemed like a hard task half of the time and Tom? Well half of the time she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure exactly what it was he was doing. She wondered how he hadn’t noticed, how he hadn’t seen the tiredness she constantly displayed.
Half of the mums at school had noticed, she saw it in their looks of pity when she arrived with her son, looking run down and disheveled because she couldn’t make herself look presentable. She didn’t have the time because either her baby would need something or her four-year-old which left no time for herself in a morning.
“Tom?” She shouted as she bounced Ava on her hip.
“Yeah?” He shouted back from where ever he was in the house.
“Can I get your help please?”
“Y/N, I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy.” She muttered to herself as she gave up and tried to soothe Ava on her own whilst making Noah’s lunch.
**
“Tom, I’ve just cleaned there.” She spoke, almost in disbelief as she watched her husband place his golf clubs in the middle of the hall.
“I’ll move them in a bit.” He shrugged. “I need to read over some stuff.” He said as he wandered down the hall and into his office. She couldn’t help herself as she flipped him off on his way, thankful he couldn’t see.
**
“Tom? Is there any chance you can take Noah to school tomorrow? I need to take Ava to an appointment and I don’t wanna be late again.”
“I can’t darling, I’m busy.” He answered, eyes on his laptop.
“Tom, please? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” She tried and Tom looked up at her.
“Y/N/N, I am really busy right now. Just take Noah into school earlier and then you won’t be late.” He said and she looked at him in disbelief.
“Right, yeah, okay.” She huffed and left his office, shutting the door with enough force to let him know she was upset with him.
**
“Daddy! Look what I did.” Noah screamed as he made his way through the door.
“I’ll have a look in a bit my love, I’m busy at the moment.” Tom answered and their son huffed in response.
**
“Daddy!” Noah shouted as he ran into his father’s open arms. “Can we go for ice-cream?” He asked excitedly.
“Ask mummy, I have some work to do.” Tom said and Noah visibly deflated.
“She already said no, she’s too tired.” Noah mocked his mother’s voice.
“Well I expect she is tired.” Tom said, they never bad mouthed each other in front of the children. It wasn’t something either of them did.
“Why? She doesn’t work.” Noah folded his arms over his chest and Tom looked at him in a scalding manner.
“That’s not nice. Your mummy works really hard to make sure everything and everyone is okay. Don’t talk about her like that.”
“But she doesn’t do anything. She looks after us, my friends mummy works and she’s fine. Everyone at school has said it, she has nothing to be tired about, that’s what my friend’s mummy’s say.” Noah huffed, he had a bit of a temper streak. Tom’s heart plummeted, where people really shit talking his wife? To the point his son had become subject to it.
“That’s enough now Noah.” Tom said as he set his son down.
“Whatever. You’re always too busy and mummy’s always too tired. You’re both boring.” He snapped before running into his bedroom and slamming the door. This made Tom’s heart shatter, they were both trying to do the right thing. Tom really contemplated his life choices and in hind sight he wished he’d done something sooner, especially with the conversation he was about to have that evening.
**
“Tom, you are never here.” She exclaimed, a small comment having sparked an argument that had her struggling to keep her voice down.
“I’m busy. Look in a couple of months I’ll be here.” He said and she huffed folding her arms over her chest.
“You’re always busy Tom. I can’t remember the last time you put us first.”
“I’m doing this so I can take some more time off, Y/N, I don’t wanna be that guy but I earn the money, I can’t just stop working.” He snapped and she felt her anger rise in response.
“That’s bullshit,” she hissed out and he was taken aback by her tone. “You were in some of the biggest movies going a few years back. We are not struggling for money, that is some bullshit excuse for the fact that you’re not around.” She hissed, voice laced in nothing but venom.
“Look, I have a week off starting tomorrow, I don’t need to be anywhere and I won’t have any responsibilities, I can help.” He offered and she sighed, anger leaving her with nothing but defeat.
“I hope so.” She shrugged and Tom looked at her carefully.
“What do you mean?” He asked, there was something in her tone that scared him.
“I mean,” she sighed. “I can’t keep doing this, I’m tired and I need more from you.” She didn’t sound angry just tired and Tom felt his heart drop.
“Meaning?” He asked tentatively.
“Meaning, I can’t carry on doing this and next time it’s going to be a very different conversation. A conversation about us that I really don’t want to have but it’s come to that.” She sighed out before turning on her heel and leaving Tom with his thoughts. His heart shattered, had he really been so neglectful?
Tom was free for a week, which helped slightly because their son was always itching to spend time with his father. She thought this would mean that she got a little respite after their conversation the previous night but that’s not how it panned out.
“Y/N?” Her husbands voice echoed through the halls and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his tone. She shouted back her location within the house and few seconds later he appeared. “I need you to look after Noah.” He said, their son hot on his heels, she furrowed her brows.
“Why?” She couldn’t help but asked and Tom gave her a sympathetic look.
“I need to get some of this work done and as much as I love him he’s distracting me.” Tom spoke and she couldn’t help but huff, it was always something.
“I thought you were off this week?” She couldn’t help but ask, tone clipped and she instantly regretted using it in front of Noah.
“I was but then my agent emailed this morning and I now have a load of work to do.” He said, there was a sadness laced in his tone but she didn’t care. She passed him feeling bad about it, she needed him to put them first and recently he hasn’t.
“Fine, whatever.” She grumbled out a response and Tom felt awful, he could see how tired she was, he wouldn’t deny that. But these two projects were taking over and he felt just as tired trying to keep up. To anyone else looking in they would have said the couple needed to sit down and have a chat but of course relationships are more complex than that and the couple were still waiting to have said chat.
“Baby, I’m sorry.” Tom spoke and she sighed.
“It’s whatever Tom. He has some schoolwork he should be doing anyway.” She said, tone defeated and Tom sighed before nodding and making his way back into his office. He wanted to say something but he was afraid to start an argument in front of the children, the two had agreed that their arguments would be kept private, the children didn’t need to know about them.
She spent the afternoon trying to split herself between helping Noah with his math’s work and Ava with her teething. Noah was a bright child when it came to English and Art but Math’s? He was no good at and required a lot of help. She found herself growing frustrated the more she went through the work, she felt guilty but she was so tired she couldn’t help it.
“No, Noah. I’ve shown you this now. Come on, you need to work with me.” She said and instantly regretted the words.
“Mummy, I am trying but I don’t get it.” Noah said back as Ava burst into another flood of tears. She jumped up from her seat, Noah making a noise of annoyance at her actions. She scooped Ava into her arms and rocked her, it was making no difference, the ache in the child’s gum causing ample discomfort.
“Ava come on, shh, it’s okay. Calm down.” She said as she hastily scanned the living room in search of her teething ring. Her eyes landing on the object and she hastily picked it up before handing it to her daughter. She placed the ring in her mouth and instantly her screams calmed to small cries. Once she was settled enough, Y/N placed her back in her high chair and proceeded to help Noah.
She was tired by the end of the evening, her only job being left was to put Noah to bed and he just wouldn’t settle either. He wasn’t great at bed times, he was an alert child who found it hard to switch off for the day.
“Mummy, can we please have another story?” He asked and she felt herself deflate, all she wanted was to have a bath and go to bed.
“But sweetheart, I’ve already read two.” She tried to reason and Noah threw his book onto the floor which made her sigh out as she retrieved it.
“Please mummy? I’m not even tired, can’t I just play with my toys?” He asked, arms folded across his chest and she wasn’t prepared for what was to come next, signs of his temper tantrum approaching and fast.
“No sweetheart, you have school tomorrow.” She sighed out and she watched as her sons face turned into a rather sour expression.
“So? I’m not tired. How can I sleep if I’m not tired? You’re supposed to read to me.” He said and she sighed.
“Baby, mummy’s tired herself okay.” She said, she really didn’t have it in her to stay awake much longer.
“Then get daddy to read to me.” He huffed and she nodded before standing up and making her way into her husbands office, a soft knock pulling him from his work.
“Come in.” Tom’s voice spoke, eyes still trained on his emails.
“Tom? Can you read to Noah please?” She asked, hopefulness lacing her voice, her husbands eyes finding her tired ones. There was something about the way she looked tonight, the way she looked like she was struggling to keep herself stood that reality hit the man hard.
“Of course baby.” Tom said as he stood and he didn’t miss the flash of shock grace his wife’s face. He felt immensely guilty, he hadn’t been there for past six months and he could see what that was doing to her. “Have you eaten?” Tom asked and she shrugged.
“Bits but I’m not hungry.” She said as she rubbed at her red and tired eyes. Tom felt like an utter dick, he’d taken on too much and left his wife to pick up the pieces.
“You should eat.” Tom said and she shrugged.
“I just want to go to bed Tom.” She whispered out and he nodded in response before making his way over to her and kissing her forehead before pulling her into a hug.
“Then go sleep love. I’ve got Noah.” He spoke and she felt relieved, completely and utterly relieved, she didn’t even want the bath anymore, that could wait until tomorrow. She didn’t miss the excitement in her sons voice as Tom made his way into his room and she smiled before practically face planting the bed and falling asleep.
**
It was eight o clock in the morning when she woke, she felt sluggish as she grabbed for her phone and looked at the time. Heart beat picking up far too quickly for her bodies tired state.
“Shit.” She exclaimed as she rushed out of bed and into Noah’s room, only to find the bed empty. “Noah?” She shouted as she ran down the stairs, her mind was racing, she was running late. How had she slept for so many hours? And how had it gone interrupted?
“In here mummy.” Noah shouted back as she raced into the living room.
“I’m sorry, I’m up, I just need to get changed and then we can set off for school.” She rambled as ran into the kitchen to sort out his breakfast.
“Darling, slow down.” She heard Tom’s voice and she spun around to look at her husband, he had bags under his eyes and his hair was a slight mess. How could he still look so good? She wished she could look as good as he did, even tired.
“What?” She looked around the kitchen, evidence that Noah had already had his breakfast. His school bag filled with the books for the day and his packed lunch.
“I’m gonna take him in. Go and chill out.” He spoke as he pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you.” She sighed and Tom nodded.
“I’ll take Ava and then you can get some rest if you need it, I’ll be back soon. I’ll do the shopping, should be an hour or so.” Tom spoke and her heart soared at his words.
“Did Ava sleep through?” She asked, realizing she’d not been woken up by her crying last night.
“Yeah, a few times. I slept in there, wanted you to catch up on some sleep.” He admitted and she could have cried with the happiness the revelation brought her. “We need to talk when I get home.” He spoke and she nodded. “Okay, well I’ll see you in an hour.” He said and she nodded before kissing her son good bye and making him promise to behave.
**
An hour and a half later and she’d had a relaxing bath, one that she was more than thankful and ready for. She’d even managed to have a hot cup of tea, a stark difference to the cold ones she was used to. She’d even managed to read a chapter of her new book, she still felt like she could sleep for a while but overall relaxed and content.
“Hey.” Tom said as he leant against the doorway to their bedroom. She placed her book down and looked at him.
“Hey,” she said somewhat awkwardly, she wasn’t sure how this conversation was about to go.
“I’ve just put Ava down, will probably give us a good hour or so.” He spoke and she nodded. “So,” he sighed. “We should talk.” He continued and she nodded again, words not being able to find her, she needed to know how he feeling, what he was going to say first.
“I’m sorry, I want you to know that. I’ve been so wrapped up in what I’ve been doing that I haven’t noticed what I was doing to you. I’m so used to you being the one who has everything together, who know exactly what to do that I thought you didn’t need my help as much as you do.” He started and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out before he beat her to it.
“I know that’s not an excuse, it’s poor on my behalf and I’m sorry. You and the children, you mean everything to me. All I want in life is for you guys to get everything you want and need and I’m sorry that I’ve been the way that I have, there are no excuses.” He said and she felt her heart lift, the two could fix this, fix what has been happened. “But I need something from you.” He spoke and she furrowed her brows as she waited for him to continue.
“I need you to be honest, I need you to tell me what it’s been like to be you. I don’t want you to spare my feelings, I want you to let it all out. I’m listening now, darling, I need to know what this has done to you, how I can make it right.” He said and she nodded slightly before sitting up in bed properly, her back against the head board as she carefully played with her wedding ring. Tom sat carefully on the edge of the bed, he needed to hear what she was about to say.
“Tom, you’ve just not been here.” She started with her biggest problem. “Even when you are in the house it’s like you just expect me to do everything. You expect your clothes to be washed, dried and ironed, you expect your dinner on the table and I never used to mind. You would always say thank you but recently you haven’t and it made me wonder whether or not you just expect it of me, that it’s my job.” She started and Tom kept quiet, he wanted her to continue.
“Tom, you used to be so attentive.” She said as she reached over and took his hand in her own. “You always used to be here, know when I needed help without having to ask. I don’t mind doing all of those things for you, I really don’t but when you don’t get a thanks it feels a little like you’re being used.” She continued and his heart shattered, he would never intentionally use her, he loved her, loved his family.
“That brings me onto the kids, Tom they need so much attention. They want me to split myself in two half of the time and I can’t, it’s impossible. They both need so much from me and given Ava teething I don’t even get a full night’s sleep. I am constantly trying to run off energy that I just don’t have. It wasn’t so bad when Noah was a baby, we took shifts, you helped. Recently though Tom, it’s been me that gets up and tends to her, me that sacrifices sleep.”
“I know that might sound selfish but when you have a partner, a husband who’s supposed to help with all that it gets tiresome. I found myself getting so angry with you, I wanted to be you, I wanted to bury my head in paperwork and think of nothing else. There were days when I honestly wanted nothing to do with you, I didn’t want to be around you because everything little thing you did angered me.”
“I’ve been so tired, my mind is never where it should be. I’m always doing stupid things because I’m so tired. I never feel like I get anything back from you. I’m too tired to have an evening to myself when they have gone to sleep, I just want to sleep myself. I’m always running around after them, something you barely do anymore, sure you play with them but when was the last time you had to deal with one of Noah’s meltdowns?”
“I get that you have a lot on, I get that two projects keep you busy and if we didn’t have kids it wouldn’t affect me as much but we do and it does. I need you to be there for me Tom, I can’t keep doing this alone, I can’t.” She ended her rant and Tom felt awful, he was so angry with himself, she didn’t even sound angry anymore. She sounded like she’d accepted it and she was just tired with the situation, somehow he wishes she was screaming at him right now.
“I’m sorry princess. There are no words, no excuses for what I’ve done. I’m sorry I made you feel like that, it was never my intention. You mean the world to me, you and the kids. Things are gonna change, I promise.” Tom said, he knew now that actions spoke louder than words, it wasn’t what she wanted him to say it was what she wanted him to do.
“On top of all of that Tom, I can’t remember the last time we did anything as a couple. Most of the time I’m asleep when you get to bed, I can’t remember the last time we touched each other, it’s just draining. It all adds up.”
“I know darling. I promise things are gonna change. Why don’t you pick a film and I’ll be back in a minute?” He said and she nodded as she flicked the TV on and got herself comfortable in bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a day in bed. Tom returned almost ten minutes later and she wondered where he had gotten to.
“Where did you end up?” She asked as he made his way into the bedroom, two bottles of water in hand.
“Well, I grabbed these, I made sure Ava was still okay and the baby monitor is working properly and I had to send a couple of emails.” He admitted and her heart dropped, after everything she’d just said? He took in her expression as he placed the water down and jumped into bed with her. “Not like that darling, I’ve passed one of my projects onto Harrison and Harry, they’re gonna finish it up.” He said and she relaxed. “I promised things will change and they will.”
**
“Daddy!” Noah shouted as he ran to his father, who was there at the school gate to pick him up, Y/N right there next to him. It had been a while since they both picked him up. Ava was a little more settled today which made things a little easier.
“How was school?” Tom asked enthusiastically and then almost cried when he realised how long it had been since he asked that question.
“Amazing!” Noah gushed as he looked at his mother. “Mummy, you look so pretty.” He spoke and she laughed.
“She always looks pretty.” Tom defended her and Noah nodded.
“Yeah, but she looks extra pretty today.” Noah said. It had been a while since she was able to put effort into her appearance and she felt better for doing it. Even if it was only a nicely picked out outfit and tamed hair. “Can we go for ice cream?”
“You my boy have an obsession.” Tom laughed as he poked his son playfully. “But yeah, I think that’ll be a good idea.” Tom said as he looked to his wife who nodded in response. She didn’t miss the looks of jealousy thrown her way when they saw her with Tom.
“So what did you do this afternoon?” Noah asked his parents as he was being strapped into the back of the car.
“We watched a film.” Tom stated, it was an absolute lie, they’d gotten half an hour into the film before Tom had his head between his wife’s legs. It had been a while since they’d done anything like that and when they both realised that fact. When they both realised how long it had truly been since they’d done anything, they spent most of the afternoon catching up with each other’s bodies. In between tending to their baby of course, they both felt energized after their endeavors between the sheets.
“Was it good?”
“Absolutely amazing.” Y/N answered as Tom slipped into the driver’s seat, she took his hand in hers as she held it in her lap.
“Can we watch another film when we get home?” Noah asked excitedly.
“Sure, how about we go and spend the afternoon doing something fun and then we can go out for tea, go home and watch a film?” Tom suggested and Noah fist bumped the air.
“Yes! Does this mean you two aren’t going to be boring now?” Noah asked and Y/N and Tom found themselves laughing.
“Yes, this means we aren’t going to be boring anymore.”
#tom holland x reader#tom holland angst#tom holland fluff#tom holland x y/n#tom holland one shot#tom holland x female reader
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girl next door [one] // wanda maximoff
summary: somebody new moves into the flat next to yours and you feel the need to introduce yourself, only to learn she's not very talkative
warning/s: none i don’t think??
author’s note: first part to a three-parter i’ve been working on, hope you like it! (also the masterlist needs to be updated so soz about that)
part two | part three | part four | part five |masterlist | wattpad
Shopping bags in hand, I returned from the supermarket to my flat when I saw the usually-vacant flat next door to me in use. The front door was slightly ajar, with several moving boxes in front and the sound of someone moving about inside. Huh, so someone moved in. It had been vacant for half a year now – it was nice to finally have a neighbour!
I headed to my own flat, my nosey self taking a peek through the door to see if I could have an idea of who was moving in, but I couldn't see anyone, so I continued to go into my own place and unpack my groceries. After doing so, I decided to head next door and introduce myself, excited to meet someone new in the building.
The boxes from earlier were gone now, probably all inside, and the door was shut like I usually saw it. I sucked up a breath before knocking on, a friendly smile reserved on my lips for whoever would open.
It took a moment, but the door finally opened and revealed a brunette with bright hazel eyes and a mildly confused expression on her face. She seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it.
"Hey! I just wanted to come 'round and introduce myself. I'm your new neighbour." I pointed to my door next to hers and added, "I saw you moving in earlier. I'm Y/N."
She pursed her lips, eyes glancing around subtly before looking me up and down. "Er, hi... I'm Wanda."
I detected a slight accent in her voice with the few words she spoke and became immediately intrigued since everyone in this building was usually the same old American. I didn't ask about it though, as I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable at our first meeting.
"Nice to meet you, Wanda," I returned with a smile. "I've been living here for a year now, so if you need a hand with anything or need pointers for where to get the best Chinese, I'm your girl." I paused, expecting some sort of reaction, but she didn't move a muscle. Swallowing awkwardly, I added, "Of course, if you just need a hand with unpacking or anything, I'm also happy to help."
She still didn't reply, and in fact, she looked a bit peeved with my presence which made me realise that maybe she just wasn't a talkative person.
I cleared my throat nervously before finishing with, "I'll, er, I'll leave you to it. Sorry to disturb you..."
I chewed on my lower lip as I avoided her piercing gaze and went back to my own place. Not everybody was interested in befriending their neighbours, I got that, so I respected her decision and decided not to bother her in the future. It didn't make me feel any less embarrassed at my intrusiveness though.
I didn't think much of it until the following morning when I was watering my plants out on the fire escape. My fire escape was joined with the neighbour's – the neighbour that usually didn't exist but was now Wanda. The brunette was stood there, drinking some coffee and staring out into the distance. I debated wishing her a good morning, but decided against it as I recalled her being quite introverted. Instead, I awkwardly watered the several plant pots I had, opting to stay quiet so I could be in and out without bugging her once more.
To my surprise, she spoke up and it took me a second to realise she was talking to me.
I held my watering jug upright as I glanced in her direction. She was already staring at me, deep set eyes darkened over the rim of her coffee cup.
"What's that?" I asked, not sure what she’d said.
She cleared her throat, eyes flickering to the plants to distract from her discomfort. "I'm sorry. For being strange yesterday. You were being warm and welcoming and I just..." She paused, releasing a shaky breath. "I've had a bad past few weeks. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
I definitely wasn't expecting that, then realised how many bad days I'd had and taken out on random strangers. I didn't blame her and instead felt bad for her – moving into a new place was supposed to be exciting, so I couldn't imagine what had ruined her past few weeks.
"Well, apology accepted," I said with a small smile. "And I hope things begin to look up for you soon, Wanda."
Her lips twitched into the tiniest of smiles and I noticed how different she looked when she wasn't down in the dumps – she was quite beautiful.
I finished watering my plants before giving her a final smile. I was about to head back inside, but I hung back curiously.
"Er, Wanda, if you don't mind me saying," I started randomly, "you seem familiar. We haven't met before, have we?"
She raised her eyebrows with surprise. "Oh, really? You don't kn–?" She tilted her head to the side, as if expecting me to understand, but I wasn't sure what she wanted. "I... I guess I just have one of those faces."
I studied her curiously, trying to figure it out. But nothing was coming to mind, so I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I guess so... anyway, enjoy the rest of your day."
She nodded. "You, too."
–
The next time I saw Wanda was probably a week later, just after I collected my mail from the mailroom. I'd received one of those random free trial boxes for a subscription I must have accidentally signed up for – a box of different flavoured trail mixes – and felt bad throwing it out since it was still food at the end of the day. There were nuts in the mixes, which I was allergic to, so I decided to knock on Wanda's door and see if she wanted them.
I hadn't spoken to her since she moved in, except for the occasional good morning on the fire escape if we saw one another, so I hoped she was a little happier compared to when we last spoke properly. Maybe whatever had bothered her was resolved now.
When she opened the door, she seemed surprised that it was me, probably not expecting me to stop by again after last time.
I offered her a smile. "Hey, Wanda. I, er, hope this isn't a bad time."
She shook her head after recovering from her surprise. "No, no, it's not. Is everything okay?" She paused, glancing around, unprepared. "Do you want to come in or...?"
"It's okay, I'm good here," I said when I saw how uncomfortable she seemed. I wasn't just about to invite myself into her flat because she felt she needed to ask. "I just stopped by because, well, do you want this?" I handed her the box, adding, "I got a free sample in the post. Didn't wanna throw it out because it's food, y'know? And I'm allergic to nuts, so my throat will probably puff up and stop me from breathing which isn't good."
I laughed awkwardly, internally cringing at how I spoke utter nonsense because of her lack of her words and my stupid need to fill the silence.
"Unless you're allergic to nuts too," I added as an afterthought, when she glanced at the packaging with no readable expression. "In which case I should probably throw them right away and this whole thing is stupid."
After what felt like an eternity of me not shutting up, she lifted her gaze, eyes softening with a hint of amusement.
"I'm not allergic to nuts," she assured me, before nodding. "Thank you, Y/N."
I relaxed, not even realising how tense my shoulders were. "That's– that's good... so, how are you settling into your new place? All good, I hope?"
Subconsciously, I chewed on the inside of my mouth, wondering why I was so eager to speak to somebody who clearly didn't want to speak to me. She was so quiet, not a woman of many words, yet I couldn't help but feel responsible for welcoming her.
"It's nice," she said, glancing around thoughtfully. "It's quiet. Private."
I nodded in agreement, eyes falling to her doorframe as I said, "Yeah, that's true. Nothing eventful ever happens here."
She hummed, acknowledging my words. I figured the conversation had ran dry and I'd stayed a little too long, so I tried to think of a way to end it without her feeling forced to. Instead, she spoke up next.
"I like your garden."
I furrowed my brows, wondering what she was talking about.
"The flowers on our fire escape," she clarified, small smile tugging at her lips. "They're beautiful."
I stifled a laugh. "I mean, thanks, but it's barely a garden. I've always wanted a proper space to grow stuff, but obviously I can't have that here."
"Well, you've done a great job with what you have," she complimented, and I was sure it was the most she'd spoken to me since moving in. I suddenly didn't feel like she disliked my presence as much as I once thought.
"Thank you," I said gratefully. "Maybe you can start your own alongside mine some day."
"Maybe," she shrugged, "but probably not. Everything I touch–" She paused, life leaving her eyes momentarily, and head looking down to her shoes. "Everything I touch dies."
I pressed my lips together, not expecting the awkward silence to follow. Wanda seemed stuck in thought and I wasn't sure how I'd managed to bring the conversation down so suddenly, especially with the talk of flowers.
"The lovely thing about flowers," I began, earning her attention and hoping to brighten the mood, "is that they only require a little love, some sunlight and some water to keep going. They tend to take care of themselves. Perfect for even the blackest of thumbs."
She let out a breath through her nose, a half chuckle and half acknowledgment of my comment. It was the closest I'd get to a response, so I ran a hand through my hair and took a step back.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're settling in okay," I concluded with a kind smile. "Again, if you need anything, I'm just next door."
"Thank you," she said, returning the smile, and her eyes sparkled as she did. "Have a good afternoon, Y/N."
"You, too, Wanda."
–
The apartment complex I lived in rarely had people entering that I didn't recognise – I'd lived here long enough to know who was who, even the postwoman and maintenance guy. So, when I was leaving for the supermarket and saw a suspicious-looking man walking down the hall, eyes checking every door, I grew curious.
"You okay there, sir?" I called out to him after locking my front door.
He looked my way, readjusting his cap lower on his head, casting a shadow over his face. "Er, yeah..." He hesitated, glancing at his phone before looking to me again. "Actually, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for Wanda Maximoff's apartment. Do you know which one that is?"
I narrowed my eyes at the tall stranger. "I'm sure you can understand my concern when I ask who's asking."
"Oh, no, I completely understand," he said with a nod, and I could swear I had seen him before. "I'm an old friend of hers."
I quirked a brow. Strange man who claimed to a woman-who-lived-alone's friend? That had trouble written all over it. And from one woman to another, I was concerned, even if I didn’t know her very well.
"That's not saying much, sir," I said, biting back the annoyance. "I think that maybe you should–"
I stopped speaking when Wanda's door opened and she popped her head out. She looked to me before spotting the tall stranger, shoulders relaxing.
"I thought I heard you out here," she mumbled to the stranger, before stepping out fully and giving me a reassuring look. "It's okay, Y/N. I know him."
I nodded, glancing at the man, before meeting Wanda's eyes knowingly. "If you're sure..."
She seemed comfortable as she crossed her arms, hugging herself. Smiling reassuringly, she nodded. I relaxed when I saw she knew the suspicious stranger.
"In that case, sorry 'bout the interrogation," I apologised to her friend. "But, you gotta understand with the whole getup you have..."
Her friend chuckled deeply, looking to his shoes with amusement. "Yeah, sorry about that, ma'am. Didn't mean to worry you. It's nice to know Wanda here has thoughtful neighbours though."
"I'm twenty-two, not a ma'am," I said with amusement, before shaking my head. "Anyway, I should get going. Sorry again."
Wanda and her friend nodded as I left them; I was just glad it wasn't some creepy perv stalking our building – that had happened once.
I headed to the supermarket to do some shopping when I saw Wanda again, this time in the milk aisle. Well, she actually saw me, her trolley stopping before mine as she got my attention.
"Oh, Wanda, hey," I greeted her with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here."
She cracked a smile. "Yeah, well, I needed to pick up a few things. Milk, actually," she grabbed some from the fridge to prove her point, "when I saw you."
I nodded, before remembering earlier and feeling a little embarrassed. "Hey, er, sorry about before with your friend. I hope I didn't offend them or anything."
"No need to apologise," she said with a shake of her head. "It's actually very nice of you to have my back like that. I mean, we don't even know each other that well, but you watched out for me. I appreciate it."
"It's the bare minimum of a neighbour," I joked, before settling into genuine smile. "Besides, I'd like to think you'd do the same."
"Of course," she agreed, nodding slightly, before her eyes drifted to the fridge.
I noticed that every conversation we shared felt unfinished, like there was more to be said but neither of us had the guts to say it. Like now, for example, I wanted to check in and see if she was okay, but I felt like I was overstepping since, as she'd put it, we didn’t know each other very well. So, I changed the subject instead.
"So, just milk then?" I asked, nodding to her trolley which had a few bits and bobs in.
She was confused for a moment, zoning back into reality, before it registered in her mind and she answered, "Along with a few other things. And you?"
"Pretty much same," I said with a shrug.
Her eyes lingered in my trolley as she stifled a smile. "That looks like a lot more than a few things, Y/N."
I almost laughed. "Technically, yeah, I guess..." I met her curious gaze, explaining, "I'm having a meal with my sister, her boyfriend and my boyfriend at my place tonight. Cooking a lamb roast." She raised her eyebrows with mild surprise, making me shrug dismissively. "It's not that big of a deal, but there's a lot to prepare and I like things to be perfect, so yeah."
She licked her lips and nodded. "It sounds great. Good luck, I guess. I'm sure it'll turn out wonderful."
"Fingers crossed."
She chuckled, glancing at her shoes, making her dark hair fall in front of her like a curtain. When she looked back up, I couldn't help but smile at how cute she looked.
"I'll leave you to it then," she said, before redirecting her trolley around me. "See you whenever."
"See you." I nodded as she walked past me, shoulder brushing mine and leaving me startled at the weird effect she had on me whenever we spoke.
It didn't last for long though, so I brushed it off and continued to do my shop. The evening couldn't come soon enough, and I soon found myself entertaining my boyfriend, my sister and her boyfriend at my dinner table.
"So I was cooking us a nice meal, as we planned, and she ended up having a go at me because of the mess I made afterwards," my boyfriend, Teddy, was explaining to my sister and her boyfriend, Caleb. "That's why I don't try to be romantic anymore."
I paused from sipping my water, looking over at Teddy with an are you serious? look on my face. Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at Teddy's story, but I wasn't as amused as they were.
"Aw, c'mon, babe, don't be pissed off again," Teddy pleaded teasingly from beside me. "It's a joke. I'm joking."
"But that's not how it happened," I corrected him, before looking to the couple before me. "What Teddy means to say is that I had just cleaned the kitchen and told him that when he cooks, he should try to clean as he goes along so it's easier, but of course, he drops cream everywhere and I had to clean it out of the crevices of the counter. All over again."
Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at my retelling of the story, and Teddy frowned playfully as he looked my way.
"And that's definitely not the reason you're not romantic," I said to him promisingly. "When was the last time you even got me flowers?"
He tried to take lead of the conversation again, straightening up and asking, "When was the last time you got me flowers? Feminism, Y/N. It goes both ways."
He was never usually this obnoxious and it was irking me. Y/S/N and Caleb assumed it was all a joke, so were laughing it off, but I was starting to get frustrated. How could he try and make me look terrible in front of my own family?
"I bought you flowers two weeks ago when you got your promotion, remember?" I answered him with a raised brow.
"Damn, she got you there, Ted," Caleb said like it was a burn.
I subtly clenched my jaw and distracted myself with sipping water. Teddy sighed and tried to wrap an arm around me, but I pulled away slightly.
"Oh, come on, you're not mad, are you? This is all in good faith, babe," he said lightly.
I downed my water and looked between them all. "I think I'm gonna get some air. You guys enjoy your drinks."
They all chorused their disagreements, but I couldn't be bothered dealing with them when they were tipsy and annoying, so I ignored them and headed to the fire escape for a breather.
When I reached the railing, I sighed immediately, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Until I heard a creaking noise and jumped with surprise before seeing Wanda sitting on her side of the fire escape, drink in hand.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said apologetically.
I breathed out, turning around and leaning my back against the railing so I could see her better. "It's okay, it's not you. I just– I forgot you could be there. Used to living without a neighbour. It's taking some getting used to."
I forced a small smile to reassure her, before looking down and taking small breaths of fresh air. Teddy could get under my skin at times, tonight being one of those times, and it was happening more and more lately. Why couldn't he just be less... annoying?
"Is everything okay?" Wanda asked, and I looked up fo see her green-gold eyes glowing in the dark under the moon light.
"Yeah," I said with a nod. I glanced inside, seeing my three guests laughing it up like I was still there. I collapsed on my chair and stared into the bustling city ahead. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Wanda hesitated. "Didn't you have that dinner tonight?"
I leaned in the palm of my hand, mumbling, "Yeah. It's still going on. I just needed some air."
Wanda must have sensed there was more to my words – it didn't take a genius to see that – but to my relief, she didn't push on. All she said was, "Oh, okay," and stayed quiet.
The two of us sat there, in a comfortable silence, staring into the city and revelling in the moon's presence. It was beautiful out, though not a single star could be seen because of the city's pollution. Instead, the moon hung high above our heads and conflicted with the many street and building lights of New York City, thriving even past dusk.
I probably could have stayed there all night, preferring Wanda's silent yet comfortable presence to whatever was waiting for me back inside. But to my dismay, I was called back in and sighed quietly to myself.
"I should head back in," I excused myself, standing up to leave. But I lingered by the door, asking Wanda, "Have you eaten dinner yet?" She seemed puzzled with my question, and I continued speaking anyway. "I made a lot of food and have loads of leftovers I can't finish myself."
She seemed to understand what I was implying and shook her head. "That's okay, Y/N, thank you."
"Wanda, I insist," I said with a small smile. "It'll just go in the bin otherwise."
She was still reluctant. "Honestly, it's fine."
i wasn't taking no for an answer though. "I'll stop by in a bit to drop it off."
"Y/N, I–"
"See you then!" I exclaimed before heading back inside and leaving her no choice to deny it.
"There she is," Y/S/N called out to me when I returned. "You feel better?"
"Perfect," I said sarcastically.
She laughed. "C'mon, we're all sorry. Besides, Caleb and I have to go now, so we want to end on a good note."
Was I being too butt hurt? Probably.
"Right, sorry," I said, looking to them all, before saying, "Do you guys want any food to bring back with you?"
"You guys enjoy it," Caleb said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was delicious though, Y/N. Thanks for the lovely evening."
"Anytime," I said with a tired smile, before leading them to the door and looking to my sister. "Let me know when you're home, yeah?"
She hummed in agreement, before pulling me into a tight hug. "Love you, Y/N."
"Love you, too," I returned with a playful eye roll.
After bidding them a goodbye, I was left alone with Teddy, who was surprisingly washing the dishes.
"This your way of apologising?" I joked, stopping by the sink.
He glanced at me with apologetic eyes. "Depends. Is it working?"
As I met his brown eyes, I thought back to how frustrating he was acting earlier. He must have been acting out in front of guests for some reason, but he wasn't always like that. Maybe I was overreacting.
"I'll let you know when you're done," I retorted, making him smile with amusement.
As he did that, I worked on filling some containers with leftover dinner for Wanda, being sure to include a generous amount of everything.
"Who's that for?" Teddy asked, noticing what I was doing.
"Wanda, my new neighbour."
"Never heard of her."
I gave him a knowing look. "Hence the word 'new'."'
He returned the stare. "What I mean is, I've never seen her around."
I shrugged, finishing packing the containers and stacking them to carry. "She prefers to keep to herself."
"What, like a weirdo?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, Teddy. She's just private. Introverted, if you will."
"Sounds like a weirdo to me..."
I chose to ignore him as I left the flat and headed to Wanda's. She opened up quicker than usual, probably since she was expecting me this time.
"Bon appétit," I joked, before holding out the takeaway containers. "It's lamb roast with veg, potatoes, some gravy and bread."
"You really didn't have to," she said, though accepted the food. When she glanced down at it, she added, "This is a lot for one person."
I couldn't help the smile on my face. "Enough for second's. You'll have to let me know if you like it. It's my best recipe."
She snickered, eyes meeting mine. "I'm sure it's delicious... do you want to come in?"
Stepping to the side, she looked to me with what I think was a hopeful expression. I felt bad when I smiled sadly, shaking my head.
"I'd love to, Wanda, but I've actually still got my boyfriend over and I can't really, y'know..."
"No worries," she was quick to reassure. "It's– no, it's okay, honestly. I just thought I'd ask."
It was the first time she'd ever asked and meant it, which meant she was finally getting comfortable with me. I would have preferred to go in, but I couldn't just leave Teddy, nor kick him out.
"Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?" I asked hopefully. "If you want, that is. Because I want to. But I don't want to just invite myself over."
She seemed amused as she nodded. "Tomorrow sounds great. Maybe I can make you dinner, as a thank you for this food."
I grew a little excited at spending a bit more time with the quiet, reserved brunette. "I'd like that."
She nodded, lips pursed into a suppressed smile, and glanced at the food in her hand. "Great. Well... have a good evening, Y/N. And thank you again for the food."
"Good evening," I returned, subconsciously memorising the rare smile she gave me, before leaving her to it.
When I returned to my flat, all I could think about was the next night and getting to know Wanda.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff#marvel imagine#scarlet witch#wandavision#elizabeth olsen
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i really dont wanna annoy you but you post about racism in fandom sometimes so i thought you'd be the right person to ask. i hope this doesnt come off as expecting u to be my teacher. yesterday someone said they didnt trust white zk shippers and i thought it was mean but then people started sending the them all these nasty messages and i started to worry maybe op was right. honestly a lot of this stuff is pretty new for me. i think our fandom is inclusive & unlike the rest of the atla fandom we actually like katara. but i'm trying to learn.
why would it be a problem that a lot of zk fics have katara looking after zuko? i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people. is fire lady katara still ok? is there racism in our fandom? there are a lot of woc zks and i've seen them get hate for it. but the messages op got were pretty bad too. i know i'm asking a lot of questions i just hate the thinking that we might be as bad as the z*kka stans have been saying all year.
This is gonna get long so I’m just gonna jump right in. When I listened to fansplaining’s episode on fandom racism one of the guests said white fans who can acknowledge that fandom racism exists tend to frame it as “just a few bad apples” and get caught up in worrying about not looking like a “bad apple” instead of making fandoms spaces that aren’t hostile for BIPOC. Jag offs hiding behind anon to tell women of color who ship zutara that we have a creepy fetish for imperialism and colonialism suck, but your biggest concern really shouldn’t be the optics or if you can claim superiority over zukka stans.
Yeah the “katara’s a homophobe” nonsense didn’t come from our end of the fandom, but it feels naive at best or dishonest at worst to act like the zutara fandom is uniquely immune to fandom racism. A creator I follow made the excellent point that allyship conditional upon if a poc talks "nicely" about racism is still white supremacy. I believe poc need to be allowed to vent and be salty or angry without being tone-policed. I definitely have my days where I’m like “ugh white people,” or "why must white fans be like this," so I get where the OP was coming from. Ironically the folks that sent them anon hate proved their point. You can always count on hit dogs to hollar.
Fandom is only escapist for some people. It doesn’t exist in a vacuum so you’ll find racism in fandom because there’s racism in the world. Navigating that gets exhausting. There are certain things I enjoy, but for the sake of my sanity I'll only talk about it with friends in real life or only follow fans of color. Before I follow white fans I need to see first that they’re not the kind of person who inspires posts about fandom racism. A good friend of mine loves Star Wars, Kpop, and gaming but after years of attempts at calling in she decided that she’d only interact with woc in those spaces. Again, you get tired.
ATLA wasn’t on my radar until last year so I definitely haven’t read every zutara fic out there but I have noticed a lot of fics do tend to have Katara being the one comforting and supporting Zuko. It’s not inherently wrong of course, it’s just in the grand scheme of things in fiction woc are often cast as eternal caretakers and confidants in fiction:
“How characters of color are portrayed in fanworks, especially fanfiction, is worse than the actual films. They are portrayed as supportive, almost invisible understudies. Any characteristics which they possess in the [MCU] films are stripped and given to other white characters. It is not only erasure. It’s a theft of identity.
Characters of color are positioned within storylines to support the main, white characters. Even within the slash biracial pairings, the character of color is underdeveloped and in a position of servitude within the relationship.”
TheNavyLanguage, Fansplaining
As the quote above points out this honestly happens in a lot of fandoms. I’ve read fanfic for books, movies, tv shows, and comics and I can’t help but notice that in fics the writers often have the non-white character or-- if neither character is white--the darker skinned character being the care-taker, the bodyguard, or the person who is performing all the emotional labor. It’s not inherently wrong to have a character of color have a nurturing personality, you just have to remember that since Black and brown folks have been saddled with narrative after narrative where we exist to serve leaning into dynamics where the non-white or darker skinned character is providing all the emotional support and getting very little in return has some unfortunate implications.
It’s not better if instead of being defined as the avatar’s girl, Katara’s the fire lord’s girl. Part of the appeal of zutara for me is the idea that Katara could lay down some of her burdens and get some much needed support. I always imagine she’d have some major issues after the war.
"i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people."
I’m going to push back against that statement. Yes, Katara didn't grow up in an abusive household but she has pain and trauma of her own. In fact I’d argue that her believing it’s her job to take care of everyone is rooted in her trauma. Katara needs support and care just as much as anyone else does.
Having read a lot of fics revolving around abuse victims in different fandoms I’ve observed that if fans feel a character’s trauma wasn’t properly addressed in canon, they’ll give them a lot of TLC in fics. But again, reducing the non-white or darker-skinned character to a glorified therapist has some implications.
I feel like the Fire Lady Katara headcanon's been talked to death so long-story short, it’s not inherently racist but it can problematic if it's not clear that Katara is Katara of the Water Tribe wherever she lives. Fics and art where her crown has a crescent moon, she wears blue, or Zuko wears blue when she's in red are the executions I'm fondest of.
When in doubt just listen when poc talk about uncomfortable trends in the fandom. Give fansplaining’s episodes on fandom racism a listen here, here, and here. And very loosely quoting my favorite professor just remember that if a marginalized person says they’re distrustful of a group of people or institution it usually happens after a lot of bad experiences. Don’t center your own comfort and hurt feelings.
“If we truly believe in fandom’s progressive credentials, then perhaps it is necessary for us to listen to critiques that make us uncomfortable rather than those that keep arguing that the status quo is perfectly acceptable—even as there is plenty of evidence to the contrary. Perhaps then we will be able to come at these, yes, these very complex and nuanced discussions with the type of openness and good faith that is required for them to succeed, rather than approaching them with hostility.”
-Rukmini Pande, Fansplaining
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Paracosm Resources <3
Need help bringing your paracosm to life? Try these free resources!
⚠️ Updates always pending! Suggestions always welcome! Feel free to message me any tips or questions <3 ⚠️
(Cont. below cut, or with real time updates on this google doc!)
Art Programs
FireAlpaca - 2D Art Program, Animation. Where I make most of my digital art, and paint the frames for my animations :) It is free to use, and easy to learn and use! It can make basic animations as well, such as gifs. It requires download.
Krita - 2D Art Program. Professional, free digital paint software :) I have not used it before, though I have heard good things.
GIMP - 2D Art Program, Photo Manipulation. It's free to use, but I do not like it/recommend it highly. But! If FireAlpaca and Krita don't float your stoat, try Gimp! For 2D art, but also able to emulate Photoshop to a degree ^^
Inkscape - 2D Art Program. Free to use digital illustration software. Makes 2D art :)
Of course, who can forget classics like good old MS Paint, and the new and exciting 3D MS Paint, which can both be used to create some really neat things! Classic MS Paint is available here in browser form! If you need that. I just think it's neat!
Art AI
Petalica Paint - Coloring Software. An in browser, watercolor manga style coloring software, which can (almost) effortlessly color in any of your line art pieces! I've played around with it for my Thorn illustration style piece, and enjoyed it! It is free to use, and can take user input to make the colorations more precise.
ArtBreeder - 3D Realism Software. Using Artbreeder, you can create lifelike images of your paras, planets, or potentially even fursona, using the intricate AI they let you work with for free! A premium version exists, but most functions are fully usable without - though I recommend donating ^^ You can randomly generate, or prune and shape what you make until its perfect! Slow to use and get the hang of, but very worth it! Artbreeder is also pioneering an intriguing animation software to go alongside their product! Browser based.
3D Software
Blender - 3D Modeling, Animation. The best (in my opinion) free 3D modelling software.
MagicaVoxel - 3D Pixel Art. Free to use! Could be interesting :)
MikuMikuDance - 3D Rigging. Anime style rigging and animation software, free to use, and certified internet artefact! Has stood the test of time, and is still used and loved today. Can support ports of many kinds of assets, including, I believe, those from Blender, and of course those that are downloaded. DA has a bunch of old MMD communities you can raid for assets!
Animaze - Face Rigger. Use 3D models and a webcam to watch your paras talk! Models can be made in Blender, downloaded online, or even from CHARAT V, CHARAT GENESIS sister app!
Character Creators
CHARAT GENESIS - 2D Character Creator. Browser based anime style character creator, with multiple crops and poses, and infinitely customizable options. It is legitimately insane. Has a 3D function called CHARAT V which can apparently convert characters made in CHARAT GENESIS into 3D models compatible with Face Rig and Animaze!
V-Katsu - 3D Character Creator. Free on steam! Anime style, intensive character creator, by the same people who made Koikatsu, and Koikatsu Party, two amazingly detailed 3D hentai makers. While V-Katsu is a SFW VTuber maker, if you're looking for NSFW anime content, you could always spend roughly $70 on the full NSFW versions. V-Katsu requires a translation mod (free online as well) which you have to install, or the ability to read Kanji <3 Works with VR tech.
V-Roid Studios - 3D Character Creator. Free on steam! Anime style, fairly in depth character creator, that allows for some degree of digital 3D hand sculpting, particularly with their amazing hair engine, to get your paras looks perfect!
And, of course, Picrew has thousands of character creators of various styles and quality uploaded by the artists who made them! Also, honestly I think we as a society should embrace making dinky chibis in Gacha Life. IDK why everyone is mean to the gacha kids, like we weren't all cringe at some point,
World Design
HomeStyler - 3D and 2D Room Designer. Make a model of an interior for a home or building, using real 1:1 furniture of IRL brands! Apparently this is free to use, though there is a premium version, and it offers 3D and 2D models.
Map to World - 3D Planet Maker. Turn your fantasy world into a 3D model of the planet. Put maps directly on, or design the surface and textures of your world. Takes a lot of getting used to, but it is AMAZING. Free to use, and browser based!
PlanetMaker - 3D Planet Maker. Make a customized 3D planet! Free to use browser site! I have never used this, but I would love to mess around with it sometime! Allows you to add orbital rings, change textures, and more at the click of a mouse.
If on sale, I also recommend snagging a copy of the Sims, particularly 3 or 4, for character creation and world design. Maybe not the best gameplay without mods, but it's also a load of fun, and very easy to add custom content to! Minecraft also. But you just need Minecraft, in general. Beyond its ability to fairly faithfully recreate structures from your paracosms, it's just Good.
Game Creators
Maybe you wanna turn your paracosm into a cool game idk, just thought I'd put these here!
Construct 3 - 2D Game Creator. Beginner level game making :) Drag-and-drop if/then style programming.
GameSalad - Codeless 2D Game Creator. Drag and drop style/no coding, beginner friendly. Free version available!
Solpeo - 2D Game Creator. HTML5 based game engine for 2D and isometric game development. Some programming knowledge needed. Platforms supported: Chrome, Firefox, Internet Explorer 9+. Free version available.
Stencyl - Codeless 2D Game Creator. Drag and drop style building/no coding skills needed. Has editable templates!
Scratch - 2D Game Creator. Very easy to use and totally free, though relatively basic!
Unity - 3D, 2D, and VR Game Creator. Make games with 3D software. Import your own assets (Blender compatible) or download free options, or buy the rights to models. Works for 3D and 2D games. Free version available, and now works with VR tech!
Unreal Engine - 3D Game Creator. Extremely advanced 3D game developer. Highly customizable. Free to use!
Twine - Text-based Game Creator. Use a map to make a branching paths text-based story game. Free to use.
Squiffy - Text-based Game Creator. have used Squiffy and it can make some really, truly incredible things. Can take a while to pick up, and learn how to use to its full potential. Free to use! Has an online and offline library of player creations you can get inspiration from!
Quest - Text-based Game Creator. I've never used this, but it seems cool! Use it to make interactive text-based DND game adventures in browser.
Ren'Py - Visual Novel Creator. Visual novel engine, that is well acclaimed, and of course, free to use!
Companion AI
Replika - 3D Companion.
Kajiwoto - Chatbot Companion. Customizable, learning AI you can shape into a personality. Communicates via Discord like chat box.
Organization
Toyhou.se - Character Gallery. A customizable library where you can upload all of your paras and characters for the public to view! Free to use, but requires a premium member to invite you!
Refsheet - Character Gallery. I haven't used it before, but I've heard good things, and that it's a suitable alternative to toyhou.se if you can't get an invite!
Notebook.AI - Character Gallery. I haven't used it before, but I've heard good things, and that it's a suitable alternative to toyhou.se if you can't get an invite!
World Anvil - World Building Toolset. Like character galleries, but for worlds and their lore :)
Scabard - World Building Toolset. Aimed at DnD campaigners, but I reckon it'll be useful for many!
YARPS - World Building Toolset. More focused around story and lore than Scabard or World Anvil, and looks beautiful! Still in its prototype stage, however.
Pinterest - Photo Organizer. Look at, collect, and sort images into boards. Personalizes your feed based on that, and is free to use and join! However, unlike their myriad of wonderful recipes, DIY tutorials, and the likes - a lot of the images are uploaded by second parties and not credited, so be careful reuploading anything you find! Also great for finding outfits and art inspo for your paras!
Generators
Fantasy Name Generator - Name Generators. Does what it says on the tin! Generates fantasy names. Is a lovely website, run by a purportedly lovely woman.
Fantasy Map Generator - Map Generator. Randomly generates a fictional map, which you can view in 2D or 3D.
Donjon RPG Generator - Multiple Generators. Can make maps, weapons, items, etc.
Seventh Sanctum - Multiple Generators. One of my favorites from high school! Does all kinds of things - the standard items, spells, and names - but also prompts, backstories, characters, and even comedy generators!
ShindanMaker - Multiple Generators. User created and uploaded, any kind of generator you can imagine, of varying complexity. And when I say any generator? I mean ANY generator.
Audio
Audacity - Record and Edit Audio. What can't Audacity do? I love Audacity to death. At surface level, it records audio. I've used it to record voices for my paras, and get audio for animations and games I've worked on. I cannot recommend it enough. Comprehensive editing, and with some investigation, it can do so, so much more than just record simple dialogue.
FL Studios - Compose. Compose music with an unlimited free trial. Upgrades available for purchase!
Indie Game Music - Royalty Free Music Library. Free to use Indie Game Music. What it says on the box!
AudioJungle - Royalty Free Music and Audio Library. Thousands of free to use audio clips!
Online Piano - Someone could use this, for recording, or just messing around. I've seen plenty of paras who play piano, this could just be used for fun!
Online Guitar - Same reasons as above, but this site looks kinda sketchy. Use at your own risk or reward! Audio
For real, if you ever need music, sound effects, or really any MP3 clips that can be used without infringing on copyright laws, just search 'royalty free' (music/audio/insert thing here) same applies for photos! Make sure the source is reputable, however.
Tutorials
W3Schools - Coding. Learn the basics of coding, for free, online!
Miscellaneous
Debut Video Capture - Screen Recorder. Record game footage and let's plays for free! Professional and home versions. I see a few of our community members have paras who run YouTube channels, and I thought these might help! It could be a nice way to connect your parames. YouTube quality <3
Pixton - Comic Maker. Comic making website. I have no experience with this at all, but some may find it useful!
Picfont - Image Editor. Puts customizable text on an image. I used these for @paraesthetics paracosm header edits <3 It has a premium version (???) but the free version has all functions, but it crashes regularly (honestly seems timed :/) but once you get it down, it's a very quick process, and you won't have to worry about that at all.
Itch.io - Publishing. You can publish your self made games here :)
Korsakow - ??? Described as, "The Future of Storytelling" and is apparently a way to create interactive films. I *just* found out about this, but thought I should include it for someone who may know how to use and appreciate it! Free? Unknown, at the moment.
Tips and Tricks
Animation Done Easy
Our forefather's of internet animation used MS Paint, Windows Movie Maker, and Audacity. All of these, or their equivalents, are free on standard computers. I, personally, use FireAlpaca - which works just as well, if not better, than MS Paint for animation - but takes longer, and definitely lacks that retro feeling. I also use my trackpad to draw and animate everything, so its doable, but probably not totally comfortable, to animate like this for most people :)
⚠️ Updates always pending! Suggestions always welcome! Feel free to message me any tips or questions <3 ⚠️
#immersive daydreaming#paraportal#paracosm#paracosms#paracosmonaut#madd art#art resources#masterpost#free resources
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Oh. What The Fuck.
Okay are you guys ready for this? Let's do it...
Erica Sullivan Shares Thoughts on Lia Thomas: “I Just Feel Bad For Her”
At the women’s NCAA Championships next week in Atlanta, transgender woman Lia Thomas will be the top seed and favorite in the 200 and 500-yard freestyle races. Few of her national competitors have weighed in on the controversy surrounding Thomas so far. The only significant statement came from Stanford fifth-year swimmer Brooke Forde, who said that she would not have a problem racing Thomas in the 500 free at NCAAs.
Now, another key swimmer who will race against Thomas in the 500 free at NCAAs, Texas freshman Erica Sullivan, has shared an opinion. Sullivan was a U.S. Olympian in 2021, and she captured the silver medal at the Tokyo Olympics in the 1500-meter free. With her performances, Sullivan became the first openly-lesbian swimmer to qualify for a U.S. Olympic team and then to win an Olympic medal.
Okay swim lesbian. Are you a sigma-female or are you struggling with your Ledecky complex?
Asked for her own opinion on whether Thomas should be allowed to race, Sullivan downplayed the competitive ramifications while lamenting the effects of the criticism Thomas has taken on her well-being.
“I think people are asking for this big, well thought-out explanation, especially for me as a gay swimmer, but my explanation is pretty simple. I don’t care. It comes down to the fact that when I race, I don’t race for the status or for the gold or for whatever. That’s just not why I do it. I love winning, don’t get me wrong. Getting a silver medal was so cool, and that’s always exciting, but I swim for the people around me,” Sullivan said.
You're an Olympic medallist in an individual racing sport. INDIVIDUAL sport. You do not swim for the people around you. And you never have. You don't get to an Olympic podium by swimming for other peoples' sake. You put yourself and your competitive athletic goals first over and over and over. That's how you got to that podium. You should be extremely proud.
I know that, as a lesbian, you're trying to downplay your gender non-conforming personality traits. But no one is asking you to do that. You swim for yourself and you know it. So own it.
“I feel bad for Lia because imagine being on a team where you know some people don’t want you there. That’s just a terrible environment to be in. I feel like I’m in an environment at Texas where I’m accepted by everyone here. If they’re not, they haven’t verbalized it to me. They’ve kept it to themselves, very supportive of my relationship, love it when I make my jokes. They’re very supportive of who I am as a person, and I just feel bad that Lia doesn’t have that.”
You're a lesbian woman succeeding at University of Texas's prolific swim program in liberal Austin Texas. You're also a superstar.
You were the only Texas swimmer on a podium in Tokyo. Before Tokyo, Texas swimmers walked away from every Olympics adding an armful of medals to their schools' prestige. The last Olympics to feature only one Texas medallist was the 1980 Olympics boycotted by the US swim team. There were no Tokyo boycotts. Texas's Olympic swimming prowess is just fading.
You're the last great hope of a legendary swim program. Of course they love you. Your teammates are starstruck by you. Do you see how your locker room impact is completely different from Lia's locker room impact in every possible way?
Sullivan was in favor of new USA Swimming rules creating policies and procedures for transgender females to be eligible for elite-level competition, but she expressed concerns about the NCAA changing eligibility requirements for trans swimmers such as Thomas in the middle of the season. She admitted that she would be upset if Thomas beat her but no more upset than if she lost to any other competitor in the field at NCAAs.
“I’m going to swim my 500 free to the best of my ability and try to beat her, not because she’s trans but because I’m competitive and I don’t like losing,” Sullivan said.
Erica... Lia Thomas is not Katie Ledecky. Please see a sports psychologist. You need to find a healthier way to process your rivalry with Katie Ledecky.
“If I lose, I’m going to be pissed, not because Lia’s trans but because I’m a competitive person, and I’m going to go back home and train as hard as I can.
You want to race against men. You want to face impossible competition. That's what motivates you. Why else would you train for the event Katie Ledecky has owned for a decade?
In the Olympics, there were 4 seconds between you and the GOAT. 4 seconds between you and that gold medal. But you went into the pool prepared for silver. You trained for a time that would edge out Sarah Kohler, not a time that would challenge Ledecky.
You were bold enough to choose Ledecky's event. So compete with her! She's human. She's female. She's not a man. She's beatable. What's the point of Ledecky pushing the frontier of women's swimming if you shy away from challenging her?
You can't write Ledecky off as an anomaly in the pool, and you know it! If you could write her off as unbeatable, you'd be satisfied with silver. And you're clearly unsatisfied. You're mildly traumatized by the process of settling for silver. Now you're projecting that "settling" mentality across all of women's sports to make yourself feel better.
I’m going to be the same amount of angry if Emma beats me, Emma Nordin or Emma Weyant. Or Brooke Forde.”
You know who your real competitors are. You just want Lia in the pool to help you cope with your Ledecky complex.
You want to win another silver, look at the gold medalist, and say "oh well. Nothing I could've done. We're built different. At least I beat the competitors built like me." With Lia, that is true. There's nothing you can do about Lia's competitive advantages. But with Ledecky, that isn't true at all. You can beat her.
You're struggling to accept that silver medal behind Ledecky. So maybe a silver behind Lia will help you settle down. Maybe it will help you be less frustrated and intense and competitive. Maybe it will help you give up on chasing after the greatest swimmer in the world. And maybe you'll finally accept modest athletic goals and a more gender-conforming outlook on life.
But that's bullshit. You'll never be satisfied. You'll never be able to convince yourself Ledecky is unbeatable. Stop trying to smother the sigma-female inside of you and woman up.
Ledecky's reading what you're saying and she's worried you've lost the plot. She needs you, Erica. She needs you to push her. She hasn't broken her 1500m record in 4 years. In the Olympics, she swam 15 seconds behind her 2018 record. She's slowing down. So, are you speeding up or settling?
Sullivan expressed empathy for Thomas as she has received considerable criticism despite not breaking any rules. “She’s getting hate from all sides. All I can think for her right now is that sucks for her because that has got to mess you up at night. That’s got to hurt as a human being,” Sullivan said. “I just feel bad for her. She doesn’t deserve what she’s getting.”
I feel bad for Kamila Valieva. She's a 15 year old trapped in an abusive training environment. She did not choose to start doping. She had no control over what was and wasn't in her system. Her image is ruined. Her career is over. The gold medal she was promised was taken from her. She's lost her chance at the life-long salary awarded to every Russian gold medalist. Her life seems impossible now.
But just because I feel bad for her doesn't mean I'm okay with her competing.
Valieva's coaches jeopardized the level playing field of skating. Valieva had no choice in the matter. Lia Thomas is actively choosing to disrupt the level playing field of swimming.
I wonder if you'll still feel bad for Lia when you meet him at the national championship. When he's no longer a political hypothetical concept. When you realize he's truly male and no stand-in for Ledecky. How will you feel when you watch him swim in other heats and events right there in the pool in front of you? How will you feel when you're watching this live with no twitter commentary to guide your thinking?
How will you feel when it's your turn and you're standing side-by-side before the 500 free? What will he say to you?
"Not my best times so far today, but at least I'm winning everything. Can't wait to compete against a fellow lesbian!"
Will you settle? Will you do the gender-conforming thing and be nice?
Or will you find your rage?
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Chaconne: Part 2 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)
Summary: After auditioning for who is often considered to be the world’s scariest conductor, you begin working for Agatha Harkness and the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.
Word Count: 4.9K
Link: Dvorak’s New World Symphony: Movement 4 (Performed by the Vienna Philharmonic)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGdtkUiKaA8
A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with part two of Chaconne. I’ve included another link to the fourth movement of Dvorak in case anyone would like to listen, (it’s one of my favorite recordings and I definitely recommend it) but if classical music isn’t your jam I understand. Also, I would like to warn this is going to be major slow burn, but I promise there is a light at the end of the tunnel...eventually. Part 3 should be uploaded in a few days! I hope all of you enjoy it, and as always please feel free to leave a comment :) Oh! Also I think I’m going to make a taglist for this story, so if you would like to be added just comment or send me a message.
A week later marked the first symphony rehearsal of the season. You had barely seen Agatha all day. The woman was running from meeting to meeting with investors and the board so she had given you small tasks to complete in her absence. You were busy rearranging the small personal music library she kept in her office when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” You called out as you began sorting through the Baroque Era.
The door opened a moment later and you were glancing at a few different scores when you heard someone clear their throat. Looking up, you saw Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway.
“Well hello there,” Wanda drawled out, clearly looking surprised. It took you a second to wonder why until you realized you were in Agatha’s office. “You’re not Agatha.”
You let out a nervous laugh. “No...um, no I’m not. I’m Agatha’s new assistant, Y/N.”
Wanda gave you a curious glance. “Her assistant,” she mused, taking a step further into the office. “Does she treat you well?”
You shrugged. “She feeds me a few times a day, buys me coffee. It could be a lot worse.”
Wanda chuckled. “Well it is very nice to meet you. I’m Wanda Maximoff.”
“I know who you are,” You blurted out before realizing how creepy that may have sounded. Glancing at Wanda, you were relieved that she seemed more amused than anything else. “I mean, it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maximoff. I’m a huge fan of yours.”
“Call me Wanda,” The pianist insisted. “You’re sweet. I’m surprised Agatha hasn’t had you running for the hills.”
You felt strangely defensive over the criticism regarding Agatha. “She really isn’t bad. I’m learning so much from her.”
Wanda looked surprised but smiled nonetheless. “You’re a very sweet girl, aren’t you? Do you know when Agatha will be back?”
“Um...” You trailed off and tried to remember when Agatha said she would be done. “It might be a while.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Wanda said confidently, taking a seat in a leather chair. “I can keep you company.”
So you spent the next half hour sorting through music. At some point Wanda had offered to assist you, and although you assured her you were fine, she insisted. Which is how you found yourself discussing your favorite eras of music with one of your favorite musicians.
“Well isn’t this cozy,” Agatha’s voice rang out from the doorway causing you to jump.
The conductor had a scowl on her face and you could practically see the anger seething out of her. Wanda, on the other hand, smiled brightly at Agatha. “Agatha, so lovely to see you again. I was just getting to know your assistant. She’s a delight.”
Agatha glared at the woman, before giving you a quick once over. “Of course she is. What are you doing in my office, Maximoff? We aren’t rehearsing with you until next week.”
Wanda shrugged, not phased by the other woman’s attitude. “I thought I would stop by to catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at that. When did Agatha and Wanda work together? Agatha certainly had a lot of negative thoughts regarding the younger woman, so it would make sense that they had worked together at some point. You were just surprised Agatha never brought it up during one of her many long ‘Maximoff Rants.’
“I’m very busy,” Agatha replied, appearing to grow angrier with every word that came out of the red head’s mouth. “Right, dear?”
At first you wondered who she was talking to, until you noticed the pointed look she was giving you. You offered Wanda a polite smile before slowly heading over towards your boss. “Of course, Miss Harkness. You have to leave for your meeting with potential new investors and then we have to discuss new programs and publicity posters before rehearsal this evening.”
“I see,” Wanda was giving both of you a look that suggested she knew you were lying. “Well I should be on my way then. Lovely seeing you again Agatha, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” she said sweetly as she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze on her way out of the office.
Once she was gone, Agatha all but slammed the door shut and your eyes widened at how angry she appeared.
“What did she say to you?” Agatha asked curiously eyeing you.
You shrugged, because Wanda didn’t really say anything to you. At least not anything important. “Nothing really. She asked who I was, insisted she wanted to wait for you to come back, and then she offered to help me sort through the music.”
“I didn’t realize the work I gave you was so complex it required a second set of hands,” Agatha spat out as she slowly moved closer to you, and you wondered what you said to get that reaction.
“It wasn’t,” you argued, feeling your temper grow and getting more flustered as Agatha moved even closer to you. “She was just being nice.”
Agatha huffed and stalked back to her desk. “Fine. She was just being nice. Now no more talk of Maximoff. I’m starting to get a migraine.”
“I’ll go get you some tea,” You offered, as you had become more familiar with the conductor’s frequent stress migraines.
Agatha merely nodded and began sorting through her scores for rehearsal and you set off to brew some tea in the kitchen. You brushed off her strange behavior as the anger that came with seeing Wanda Maximoff.
The rest of the afternoon passed by smoothly. Agatha eventually told you to go home for a few hours despite your protests to stay. She was still a tad bit grumpy from her run in with Wanda, so she all but shoved you out the door and said if she saw you back here before 6:00 that she would make sure it would be your last time attending rehearsal.
Finding yourself back at the concert hall an hour before rehearsal started, you made your way to Agatha’s office and used the key she had given you to let yourself in. You had to grab the boxes filled with folders of music, as well as Agatha’s scores and her favorite baton. Your eyes scanned the dozens of identical batons that the older woman had before you found the one she requested you grab.
There weren’t many personal items in Agatha’s office. Granted she had only been here for around a month, but still. It was basically bare, save for a few photos of her pet bunny, Señor Scratchy. You had often wondered what the conductor did when she wasn’t here, but you had never felt comfortable enough to ask. Agatha was...private, and while you respected her privacy a part of you wondered what she was like when she wasn’t in scary conductor mode.
A quick glance at the clock alerted you to head to the hall before the players started to arrive. You quickly locked up the office before hurrying through the building, arms filled with boxes.
“I should’ve brought these in before I left,” You mumbled out loud as you balanced the boxes in one hand to unlock the stage door with your other hand.
“Well yes dear, but that would’ve required thought,” Agatha said with a smirk as she came up from behind you.
You cursed and jumped, glaring at the woman who scared you half to death. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Agatha held the door open for you and shrugged in response as you passed her. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare.”
“You’re evil,” You told her, but your tone was teasing. “And you’re early.”
“It’s my first rehearsal, I want to be prepared,” Agatha explained but you knew her well enough to know what that meant.
“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” You said reassuringly as she grabbed one of the boxes from you to set on the stage.
Agatha scowled and gave you a dirty look. “I am not nervous. I’m Agatha Harkness. I don’t get nervous.”
“Right and you’re also nothing like Wanda Maximoff, right?” You fired back, enjoying the glower she gave you.
Agatha huffed. “I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”
You laughed as you began placing the folders on their respective stands. “I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of disappointing you.” And you were still afraid of disappointing her, but you would never vocalize that.
Agatha gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before she helped you with the folders. “Where’s your violin?”
“In your office,” You reminded her. “Remember, I told you I was leaving it there until after rehearsal?”
“Well how are you going to play in,” She checked her watch, “Fourty-five minutes without an instrument?”
You stared at her in shock. “But...but I thought I didn’t get the first violin spot?”
“You didn’t,” Agatha admitted. “But I haven’t hired anyone else and I still need to update our sub list. So there will be an empty chair for rehearsal.”
“Which means?” You pressed, needing to hear the words from her.
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Needy as ever for the praise I see. Grab your instrument and get your ass on stage in ten minutes before I change my mind.”
You practically skipped off stage, not believing what you were hearing. You were going to perform with the Manhattan Symphony! Sure it was just a rehearsal, and the first rehearsal at that, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down.
By the time you returned with your instrument, some of the players had started to arrive. You recognized a few of the violinists from different gigs you had played over the past couple of years. Scanning the stage, you spotted Agatha in one of the first rows in the audience, drinking a bottle of water. She noticed you staring and motioned for you to come join her.
You set your case down next to her bag. “Thank you for letting me play in rehearsal today.”
“Why are you thanking me?” Agatha questioned, looking at you with curiosity. “I need a violinist for today’s rehearsal. You’re my assistant who will do whatever you can to please me. It’s common sense.”
You rolled your eyes at her but smiled nonetheless. “You really can’t let me be nice, can you?”
Agatha laughed and patted you on the arm. “You’re finally catching on, dear. Now get on stage and warm up. I can’t have my assistant embarrassing me in front of the entire ensemble.”
You did as you were told and sat in the last chair of the first violin section. The other members of the ensemble gradually made their way to their respective seats to begin warming up, and Agatha stayed at her spot still drinking her water. Your stand partner eventually made their way over to you and smiled.
“Hi, I’m Monica,” the woman said politely as she sat in the chair next to yours.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you replied with a small smile. “Have you been with the symphony for a while?”
“This is my fifth season,” Monica replied with a shrug. “Should be a little more interesting with Harkness in charge at least.”
You vaguely remembered the rumors that the last music director had been voted off by the board due to his age, but you couldn’t remember his name.
“Yeah, she’s really great,” You said happily. Monica gave you a curious glance. “I’m actually her assistant.”
Monica raised her eyebrows at that revelation. “Oh, wow. What’s that like?”
You shrugged, and noted that was the second time someone had that reaction. “Pretty standard I guess.”
“I was wondering who she hired for the section after cancelling the blind auditions,” Monica admitted. “She gave those violinists quite a scare.”
“Well I’m not hired for this,” You quickly backtracked. “She just hadn’t filled the seat and she needed a sub for today so-“
Monica laughed. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. It’s nice to have you here. I’m sure you’ll do great.”
A few minutes later, the chatter and warming up abruptly stopped when Agatha took the podium. The ensemble stared at their new conductor, curious as to how she would start their first rehearsal. Instead, Agatha raised her baton and the ensemble lifted their instruments in preparation.
“Movement four of Dvorak,” Agatha said and allowed everyone a moment to flip to the respective movement.
She raised her baton again and you felt a rush of adrenaline as you waited in anticipation for her to begin. Over the past few weeks you had studied Agatha’s conducting technique. Watching her move her hands in formation was so beautiful, she was easily the most skilled conductor you had ever observed. Her eyes raked over the ensemble and landed on yours, and with a smirk she gave the upbeat to begin.
Dvorak’s New World Symphony was one of the first full symphonies you remembered playing back in your high school youth symphony. It was breathtaking, full of colorful phrases and swirling melodies in every movement that left both the player and listener eager for more. The fourth movement seemed to tie it all together.
Despite it being the first rehearsal, the ensemble played relatively well. Agatha was mindlessly conducting, her gaze fixated on different ensemble members, and you knew she probably had so many quick witted insults stewing in her brain. You meanwhile couldn’t keep your eyes from watching her conduct. Sure, watching old videos of her conducting different orchestras was great, your personal favorite was of her performance conducting Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony with The Chicago Symphony. You also loved sitting in her office and watching her get lost in her scores, seemingly oblivious to your gaze locked on her baton and the way her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.
But this...this was pure beauty. It was like she was painting a canvas using her baton as a paint brush. Even with her gaze focused elsewhere, she knew the score backwards and forwards and you saw her give every cue without even taking a second to glance down at the music. It was magical; she was magical.
The movement progressed and you had reached one of you favorite spots. There was a phrase transition that featured a slow and melodic theme that was passed throughout the orchestra. It started in the winds and you smiled at the serene sounds of the oboe that featured accompaniment from the strings before the melody was eventually passed to the violin section. While most violinists enjoyed playing fast and thrilling passages that left their fingers aching and bow arm sore, you had always secretly preferred the sweeter themes, the soaring melodies that kept growing and filled your heart with so much warmth.
Closing your eyes to play a passage you had long ago memorized, Dvorak had always been a favorite, you took a second to enjoy the unique feeling that every musician shared. Making music was an intimate experience. The ability to bring together dozens of people from different walks of life. To put aside any problems from everyday life and just take those brief moments to focus on nothing but their craft. Your happiest memories were of the time you spent in orchestra rehearsals. All of the hard, and sometimes grueling, work that went into perfecting each measure and making sure each section played as one giant instrument. All of it was worth it once you made it to the performance, and you swore there was nothing that could bring you more bliss than a live performance.
The movement progressed and Agatha was fully in her element. The woman was the most confident conductor you had ever encountered. Sure, she was a bit...cocky...but she had every right to be. This was the only first rehearsal you had ever attended where the conductor had effortlessly led the ensemble through tempo changes and cues without any faults.
With a whirlwind of fast passages and high notes that had you breathless, you reached the grand finale. You would occasionally glance up to check you were following Agatha’s tempo, and it took everything in you to not keep your gaze entirely fixated on her.
Agatha left her baton raised for a moment before finally lowering it, and you could tell by the passive look on her face that she was not pleased. “Well that was disappointing. Have any of you played in an ensemble before today?”
Directing her gaze to the principal flutist, she waved her hand. “And don’t even get me started on the mess over here. Are you trying to make my ears bleed? I’ve heard first graders who have a better tone than you.”
The principal flutist frowned. “With all due respect Maestra, it’s our first rehearsal and we’re a little rusty.”
“Did I ask for excuses?” Agatha questioned, and you knew the rest of rehearsal would only be downhill from there. If there was one thing Agatha Harkness hated it was excuses. “What’s your name?”
“Dottie Jones.”
“Well, Dottie,” Agatha sneered. “Since you apparently know more than I do, why don’t you come up here and conduct?”
Well shit. You didn’t see that coming. You glanced over to Monica and found she had the same shocked expression on her face as you did.
“Maestra I don’t-“ Dottie tried to argue, and you couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pity for the woman because you knew Agatha always got what she wanted.
“Now!” Agatha yelled and threw her baton on the stand. “Let’s see what you can do.”
“Is she always like this?” Monica whispered to you and you shrugged.
That was a good question. In the few weeks you worked for Agatha, you had grown used to her intense presence and ever changing mood swings. You would never admit it to her face, but you actually found it kind of charming in a weird and twisted sort of way, because you knew Agatha only acted this way to assert her dominance. The music world had predominantly been led by men. The vast majority of the most famous and beloved composers were men. For the majority of your playing career the conductors you encountered were men. Hell, even the majority of symphony orchestras had male concert masters.
“She likes to keep things interesting,” You whispered back while keeping your gaze locked on the scene occurring on the podium.
Dottie had reluctantly made her way through the ensemble to stand on the podium where Agatha stood to the side with her arms folded across her chest.
“Any day now, Dottie,” Agatha mocked and you grimaced. Not even a half hour in and she had already lost her temper.
To Dottie’s credit she appeared relatively calm as she picked up the baton Agatha threw on the stand. The orchestra readied themselves to begin, but you kept your gaze locked on Agatha. What was she playing at?
Dottie gave the upbeat and the opening notes of Dvorak rang out. The flutist was a decent conductor, but you knew it was a losing battle. Her technique was nowhere as refined as Agatha’s and you could tell she was trying her best to keep the ensemble from falling apart. You made it through ten bars before Agatha made her way to the podium and raised one hand, and everyone immediately stopped.
“Well Dottie what do you think?”
“I think I should go back to my seat and leave the conducting to you,” Dottie offered weakly.
Agatha arched an eyebrow. “Ah. I see.” She waited for Dottie to sit back down before continuing. “Some of you may find my methods crazy. Some of you may say that I’m too mean, that I’m pushing you too hard. However, there is a reason for all of this.”
She pointed her baton at the principal oboe. “You? What’s your name?”
“Oh, um...” The man stammered and Agatha rolled her eyes.
“Name!”
“Jimmy Woo.”
“Jimmy Woo,” Agatha repeated with a frown on her face. “How long have you been with the symphony?”
“This is my third season, Maestra,” Jimmy said with a smile.
Agatha nodded. “I need to hear more of you. We need to work on your projection to come over the strings without making it too nasally. Not bad for the first rehearsal, Woo.”
“Thank you, Maestra.”
“Now Woo, how would you say the past three seasons have gone?” Agatha prompted.
“Maestra?” Jimmy asked, appearing confused by the question.
Agatha let out a huff. “How have you felt the orchestra has performed for the past three seasons, Woo?”
“You want my honest opinion, Maestra?”
You watched Agatha tense up and you internally sighed. Another thing Agatha hated was pointless questions.
“No, Woo, I want you to change into a tutu and do pliés,” Agatha dryly commented.
Jimmy let out a bit of nervous laughter which quickly ended when Agatha glared at him. “Right. Well, I guess I feel like we’re losing our touch.”
“That’s putting it lightly. Thank you, Woo,” Agatha said before turning her attention to the rest of the ensemble. “The Manhattan Symphony was once the world’s finest orchestra. But all of you have gotten too comfortable. You’ve stopped making music and now are simply playing notes on a page. You’ve gotten lazy.”
There we go. The third thing Agatha hated. Laziness. You swore the woman was constantly on the move. There was one Friday afternoon where you had suggested taking a half day to enjoy the sunshine, which led Agatha to go on a twenty minute long rant (you timed it) that you could enjoy the sunshine when you were dead in a grave. Needless to say, you never asked to leave work early again.
You watched the conductor place her baton on the stand and wave her arms around. “I want this orchestra to regain its rightful place on top of the musical community. But this is going to require work from every single individual in this room. So, this is your first and only warning. If you are not going to put your entire soul into this orchestra, consider this your last rehearsal. Everyone is replaceable and I promise you will not be missed.”
You raised your bow to signal you had a question. Agatha’s head whipped around to look at you, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Something you wish to add?”
“And if we stay?” You asked, thinking back to the very same question you asked her the day of the audition.
That earned you a smile so small it was almost impossible to see, and it went away as quickly as it appeared. “If you choose to stay, I am going to work you hard. I don’t want to hear any whining or complaints, only promises to do better. Are we clear?”
Silence from the room was taken as a yes. Agatha raised her baton. “Good. Flip to measure 21. Woo I want to work on your entrance. First violins, I know you love being the center of attention but you need to follow the dynamics on the page, circle them if you must. Flutes please try to not to fuck up your eighth notes otherwise I will make sure the only orchestra you play for is in the middle of Antartica.”
The rest of rehearsal went better than it started. Agatha was her usual slightly snarky self, and the rest of the ensemble was learning not to question her. You went to pack up your instrument when Monica motioned for you to come join her.
“I’m not sure if you have any plans but a few of us are going to get drinks if you want to join,” Monica offered and you were touched by her kindness.
“That’s so sweet but I’m actually pretty tired,” You said apologetically. Which was partially true, but you also wanted to make sure Agatha went home and didn’t stay cooped up in her office all night.
“Well if you change your mind, shoot me a text,” Monica insisted as she handed you her phone to put in your contact information. She took the phone back and sent you a message. “There’s my number.”
You thanked her again before heading over to where Agatha was silently stewing. A quick glance at her confirmed that she was still in a bad mood and you chose to silently pack up your instrument while shooting her quick and cautious glances.
“I can feel you staring,” Agatha finally looked up at you. “I want to redo the string parts for Maximoff’s piece. We need to fix a few of the bowings. I want everything to be set for our first rehearsal with her.” She noticed your hesitation. “Unless you have other plans.”
“Oh no, my dream Friday night is being holed up in your office marking Rachmaninoff,” You joked and grinned when she rolled her eyes.
“Funny, dear. Very funny,” Agatha deadpanned, motioning for you to follow her. “But I don’t pay you to make jokes.”
An hour later you were done with the bowings while Agatha had spent the time reading a book. She had a pair of glasses on and her feet were up on her desk, it was the most relaxed you had ever seen her.
“You’re finished?” Agatha asked, not looking up from her book. “Good,” she said and slammed the book closed. “Now, we didn’t get a chance to do this earlier due to my Maximoff induced migraine, so grab that violin and come with me. I want to see how relaxed your bow hold is after rehearsing.”
“Actually, I was going to suggest that we call it a night?” You asked tentatively, gauging her reaction. “You’ve had a long day and-“
“And what? I’m so old I need to be in bed before ten?” Agatha inquired, slowly taking off her glasses.
“You’re not old,” You blurted out and Agatha smirked at you. Blushing, you looked at the floor. “But maybe it would do you good to get some rest?”
“Trying to give me orders again, darling?” Agatha teased and even though you weren’t looking at her, you knew she was still smirking. “I’m not so sure I like that.”
“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” You mumbled whilst Agatha laughed.
“Whatever you say, dear,” Agatha said. “If it will get you to shut up, I’ll call it a night and go home. But I expect you back here tomorrow morning so we can make up our session. We’re finally starting to crack the surface of your true potential and I won’t have you wasting it because you need to sleep.”
You had waited for Agatha to pack up her bag and followed her out of the building. This was the first time you had left at the same time as the older woman. She usually sent you on your way long before she was ready to head out for the evening. She had her town car waiting for her out front, and she frowned as she watched you prepare to walk home.
“You’re not planning on walking alone at this hour are you?” Agatha questioned and looked at you like you were an idiot.
You shrugged. “I only live a few blocks away.” Which was a bit of a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. “And if anyone gives me a hard time I can just whack them with this.” You motioned to your hard case violin.
“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll allow you to wander the streets like a lost little puppy,” Agatha reprimanded you. “Get in the car.”
“I’m not getting in your car,” You argued. “I’ll be fine.”
“Darling I’m not going to tell you again. Get in the car,” Agatha repeated and then smirked. “Unless you’d rather I drag you kicking and screaming.”
You glared at her. Damn her for making everything sound so...suggestive. “Fine.”
“Good girl,” Agatha said as you followed her in the car, and she patted the seat next to hers. “Now where do you live?”
You gave her driver the instructions to your apartment and then made yourself comfortable in the car. There was a few minutes of awkward silence which you spent staring out the window, and Agatha spent staring at you.
“Ya know, you usually call me out for staring at you,” You finally spoke up, the silence starting to eat away at you.
“I am not staring at you,” Agatha lightly argued before changing the subject. “I never asked how you thought I did tonight.”
“What?”
Agatha frowned at you. “How do you think I led the rehearsal?”
That was new. Over the past few weeks Agatha had never asked you for your opinion on anything regarding her conducting, because why would she? Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met, and a part of you was envious at how she presented herself to the world.
You took a moment to glance over at her and found yourself staring into bright blue eyes. “I...I thought you were brilliant. But, you were a little too nice. I don’t think I saw anyone cry.”
Agatha’s expression lightened and you felt your heartbeat grow rapid at the sight of her smile. “Still making jokes, darling? Perhaps I’m going too easy on you.”
The rest of the car ride fell back into a more comfortable silence, and before long Agatha’s driver pulled up to your modest but nice apartment building.
You grabbed your violin case and offered Agatha a small smile. “Thank you for giving me a ride home.”
“Thank Hank, he did the driving.”
“Right,” You frowned. “Well, goodnight.”
Agatha briefly touched your arm as you went to exit the car, and you felt goosebumps at the sensation. “Goodnight, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”
#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness#agatha wandavision#wandavision au#wandavision#marvel au#agnes x reader#agatha harkness x you
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Tony Leung: “[Wenwu] isn’t a villain at all!”
On September 6, 2021, Tony Leung sat down with Hong Kong actress Carol “Dodo” Cheng for an interview about life, sports, and of course, his latest Hollywood outing as a widower who grieved the death of his beloved wife and a father who “didn’t know how to love [his children]” in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.
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Interview is originally in Cantonese, and has been translated into English.
FULL TRANSCRIPT BELOW:
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Today I'm really pleased to interview Tony Leung Chiu-Wai. The last time I really chatted with you in earnest was... Do you remember? In 2013.
I think that time I was with...
We were on a plane together.
At the mall? On a plane?
We arrived in Hong Kong, and went to some awards ceremony. We were waiting for our luggage, exchanged a few words. That was 2013, and we haven’t met since. Where did we meet up next? I’m sure you won’t remember. It was here in Hong Kong. I was surprised by you. I usually go to the supermarket, very early in the morning. Because there's no-one there.
Yeah.
I saw you there.
I think that was probably it. Not too crowded in the morning.
You too. Why so early in the morning?
To... buy food. I usually wake up at 6am. I’d exercise until about 10am-ish, and then I’d…
Go for a walk.
Shower, then shop for food. I usually eat quite simply— it’s either salad, or buckwheat noodles. Salad doesn't stay fresh very well. So I’d get up early in the morning, shop for what I like, and prepare it at home.
Have you been eating healthy all this time?
I’m not doing this particularly for my health. I get an upset stomach easily. I get food poisoning very easily. And it’s miserable having food poisoning! When you’re at work, others don’t know how bad you’re having it. But you can’t tell-- you can’t convey that.
Alright, at this point it’s time for a nostalgia trip. We used to be colleagues, and we’ve shot TV series together. At that time, did you feel that you could eat whenever and not have to sleep… When did you start prioritising your health?
When did it start? I think it would have been… at least 20 years ago. Because it’s miserable being sick while on set. You’ve got to keep working. Even when I had a fever, (producer) Wong Kar-Wai would say, “No, it’s the last day, you’ve got to make it.” So I would work with a fever!
It’s good that everyone's health-conscious now, and wants to avoid falling ill. So when I was preparing for this interview, some friends told me, They’d seen you and me do an interview, from many years ago. I don’t think you’d remember. We’re talking many years ago - decades here! You were really young at the time. At the TV station you were a rising star, a top male lead actor. So I interviewed you. I asked you a question, and I don’t know if you remember how you answered. I asked, “Have you thought about retirement?” You did give me an answer at the time. Do you remember at what age you said you’d retire?
I really don’t remember. I’m sure retirement was always on my mind then.
You were in your 20s then, not quite 30. You told me— “I will definitely retire at 36!”
[laughter]
What changed your mind?
I believe that when I started out as an actor, it was certainly hard work when I was just starting out. But I thought, I wouldn’t get to where I am today without going through tough times. But as I slowly grew as a person, my perspectives and values have changed. I feel more at ease. So I wouldn’t think in extremes like I did before. I think that in the past 10, 20… 10 years? I've become a more relaxed person. I wouldn’t just say, “now I’ll retire.” If I want to keep going, I will.
This is your favourite line of work, isn’t it?
Except sport.
Could you imagine yourself in any other career? I can’t.
I’d be a sportsperson.
A sportsperson, playing what?
I play a lot of sports. I like mountain biking, sailing, water skiing, surfing… I’m up for anything.
You really like water sports, don’t you?
It’s hot in Hong Kong, and summer takes up most of the year. What’s more refreshing than being in the water?
How about in winter?
I’d still be in the water, wearing long sleeves.
You wouldn’t take up running?
I don’t particularly like it… I can’t seem to find much variety in running. I like to interact with nature directly. There’s something new every day. Take sailing, for example. Every day is different, the weather changes.
Your body is in a different condition every day.
You're working with the changing conditions. You end up building up a lot of knowledge. You learn about nature, the weather, changes in conditions. The water, currents, what do you call it... Hot weather warms the ocean and you’ll have gusts of wind. I didn’t know all this. But the more I sailed, the more I thought,“This is great!”
You’ve got a real passion for this.
I do.
What have you been up to during the pandemic? It’s been 1— almost 2 years, hasn't it?
I was filming in 2 movies… And... flying here and there.
Do you need to quarantine?
Quarantine! Countless times.
We’ve talked for so long, let’s come back to this film, Shang-Chi. I believe Tony has received endless invitations to appear in overseas films. Why did you choose this film?
I didn't really... I believe it’s fate to be involved in certain films. I can’t just want to act in some type of film, then get it. An opportunity comes up, but sometimes the director might not like me, or I might not like the screenplay. Or I might like the director, but I don’t like the character. So you can’t just make this sort of thing happen. I think sometimes the time will be just right and things will happen. The director may like me, and I like the project, or I like the director. Or I might want to try something in particular. It takes a lot, a combination of factors, for something to happen.
It's like a piece of furniture, isn't it? The pieces need to be joined precisely.
Yes.
How were you scouted for this movie? How were you approached?
The director approached me, wanted to have a chat with me. So I...
What's your requirements for taking on a film? Do you need to read through the whole screenplay?
That would be best. It would.
You would've been in many films without a solid screenplay, wouldn't you?
There would still be an idea.
An overview of sorts.
But this movie... You know Marvel is very secretive. At the beginning, I was in a video conference call with the director. What he could tell me at the time was, "You're going to be the main villain. Your character has many layers." Then I asked, "do I need to fight?" "No, because you have those rings." So I said, "then I'll definitely be fine." That was all.
What about that drew you in? Being the main villain?
That was one of the draws. In the past few years, I wanted to try characters different to those I'd played previously.
Why do all actors who have played male leads want to go off and play villains?
Actually... there's more complexity to them. I feel like there's a different mindset between playing a protagonist and an antagonist. I've acted for 30-something years. It's about time I did something different.
So you're in, you're headed to the shoot, and you're now the main villain! What's the mindset behind this?
Oh, not for this film. I thought I was the villain at first. A month before the shoot, I read the script. I didn't think this character was a villain at all. There was a real human side to this villain. Perhaps Marvel was hoping to portray a villain from a different angle this time around. So I was puzzled. Initially I was expecting, "Ooh, a villain, this will be fun", but when I looked at the script, "no, this isn't a villain at all!"
Very sentimental?
Yes, and a lot of humanity.
You thought it would be easy playing a villain.
I didn't think it would be easy.
You didn't think there would be so much emotion.
I didn't think it would be easy. I thought there would be more evil in him. I read the script and thought, "oh no, he's not evil at all", And that's difficult to portray. How would you let the audience... and I thought, "wow it's as if he's a good guy?" I read through the script and couldn't find the evil in this character.
How would you portray this character? Was the director able to help you?
The director...
Or did he put a lot of trust in you?
I rarely... He put a lot of trust in me, and I don't discuss with the director often. I thought, what's the use of discussing? I could just act it out. You can be really idealistic when you discuss. I would rather do more... When I arrived, Destin would ask me, "Do you want to talk it out?" and I would say no.
Was there a read-through?
No, no read-through.
You went straight to shooting?
Yes, straight to the shoot.
Then it would be like, "Tony, stand here, in this shot do this and that, and you'd do it?
Yeah. It was kind of like that. We filmed the action scenes first. So there was time to warm up. Then the dramatic parts. I like the drama most. I felt the most excited during these parts. The action scenes were particularly tough, because it was summer in Australia then.
Did you need to train?
I did. At first I was told I didn't need to fight. Then when I got there— wow, there's so many action scenes! So I scrambled and...
But you've got those rings. You can just throw the rings.
Sure, but there's still some action involved. Because I didn't physically prepare beforehand, it was rather tough at first. I got used to it as the shoot went on, but the weather was still hot. And there were period costumes, so it was tough at first.
So there was a sequence, they filmed all the action scenes first, and then scenes with dialogue afterwards, is that right?
I think they deliberately scheduled this so I could warm up a little. So I wouldn't need to dive straight into very intense dialogue.
There are a lot of actors involved, right? Your character has a son, too. Is this the first time you're portraying a dad?
Would it be my first time...
Or you have, but not for a much older son?
Yes, not for a much older son. I had a child in “The Grandmaster” as well. But not that old, no.
How would you portray the emotions of a father-son relationship? Because your character didn't know his son.
It was manageable. In this movie, the father-- not that he didn't love his children. He didn't know how to love them. This character doesn't even know how to love himself. The love was from his wife, portrayed by Fala Chen, He found love in this woman. But he doesn't know how to love others. So he was very distant from his children, his sons— his daughters were pretty much ignored. He was a father figure who preferred sons over daughters, a rather... traditional father archetype. Almost the old-fashioned type.
In shooting this movie, what was most difficult for you?
The action scenes.
Do you do all these scenes yourself?
I try to, but they wouldn't let us do the really dangerous ones. If you're injured, who's going to replace you?
Sure.
But I try to do as much as I'm able.
You'd need to rehearse the scenes with everyone.
Of course. Once we arrived, they arranged for Fala, my son, played by Simu, and my daughter... like you and I used to, we would all practice in the studio.
How long were the working hours?
It was 10 working hours a day, but we went all the way through that. There was no break in between.
Really? I thought you would be sitting comfortably in your trailer?
No! We filmed a lot every day! You know how that made me felt? It felt like I was in my TV days again.
Really?
You'll think, "will we get through this much filming today?" And by the end of the day, you would. But it was very intense. Perhaps they didn't want us to have a break, because we'd have to disperse and regroup. So we went all the way through. Once we arrived in the studio, it was full steam ahead. There was no meal break, because there was always...
No meal break?
No.
I've never heard of a Hollywood film shoot without meal breaks.
There's food throughout the day. Catering comes around, and we'd just eat.
But there wouldn't be an hour for a meal break.
No.
How long was shooting in total?
I was involved for about... 4 months.
Was that long or short timeframe, in your experience?
I felt like it was short, because they were very efficient and organised. They planned it really well. So every you'd head in and whoosh,
It flowed well.
Yes, very professional.
In your opinion, are there particular scenes you're in that the audience should pay attention to?
I think... I wouldn't say particular scenes, but the film as a whole. I don't think you've all seen me in this get-up before.
We could tell from the promos.
Very different to what I've played before.
Did you stay in one place for four months, or did you have to fly around?
We were only in Sydney, because we were in a studio. It was all green screen. There were a lot of special effects, so we only had to construct part of a set, And the rest was green screen, so it was mostly shot in the studio. Only the opening and ending were elsewhere, in a park, and in a village on a set they'd constructed. So I was there for... I was in Sydney the whole time. But because of the pandemic, I left for a few months in the middle, and returned when were were able to shoot again.
How did you feel about your experiences after the shoot? It's a Marvel movie, very different from the dramas and other films you've been in. How would you sum up your experiences?
Very stressed, very frustrated.
Really?
Because I'm the type of person who stays in their comfort zone. I filmed with familiar directors, and familiar crew.
You've really leapt out of your zone there.
I really stepped out of this comfort zone, working with strangers. The only person I could trust in was the director. I didn't know anyone else there. And when I got a copy of the screenplay, like I mentioned, I realised, "Wow, a villain that doesn't feel like a villain, what do I do?" I'd only received the script a month before the shoot. And when I got there, I had to work with the dialect coaches on delivery. I was filming, I was thinking... it was stressful. But we got through in the end.
Where were the costumes done?
In Tokyo. I was there at the time, and our costume designer kindly flew over to dress and fit me. At the time I didn't know what was in the script, I didn't know the story. But the costumes helped me a lot at the time. The movie's costumes were made beautifully. I thought they had good design sense. So when I was dressed for the first time, I was able to feel...
That you were the character.
Yes, roughly. I had an initial feeling for it. And then I would turn up in person, and get a better feel as I played the character.
So the shoot is over, it's about to be released. What plans do you have next, Tony?
Well when I came back to Hong Kong, I took part in a local film. Then I might shoot one in Shanghai, and then a TV series in Vancouver.
So you've done a complete turn-around since I last interviewed you. You were thinking of retiring at 36, do you not plan to retire now?
Not that I haven't thought about it... I'll stop when I feel tired. Then I'll go back to playing sports. If I feel like I've taken too long a break, and go "no, I need to do something," and there's something I'm really interested in, I'll do it. I don't need to come to a complete stop. It's something I like, after all.
So when you film in future, you wouldn't be thinking, "oh, I've been in a Hollywood production, "I will only appear in productions at that tier.” You'll be happy with a good screenplay.
Yes.
You might be asked to shoot drama films again. You would still take that on?
Well, I haven't given myself...
You've already left your comfort zone.
Yes, but I haven't really limited myself to what I think I should film. If there's a good film, I'll shoot in it. If there's something I like, I'll do it.
Well Tony, surely a typical day in Hong Kong for you wouldn't be on the water all day. What's a typical day like for you without shoots?
Well I'd get up, and there would be at least 2 hours of exercise.
Every day?
Yes.
Monday through Sunday?
Maybe one, half day's rest. You've got to let your body recover.
How about when you're shooting in Hollywood?
Not during filming, I'd save up my energy for that. Shooting takes 10 hours a day, but hair and makeup could take 2 hours. That's 12 hours, and it was tiring.
That's true.
I needed the energy for filming. But in Hong Kong, without a shoot, I'd have 2 hours exercise in the morning, make lunch, I might do some sports, like sailing, or water skiing. I'll come home, maybe watch a movie, or read a book. That's it. Maybe I'll have dinner.
I wouldn't exactly call that exciting. [Laughter]
It's pretty exciting!
For you, at least.
If the weather's good and I spend the day out sailing, I'd feel really happy about that. But not every day's a good day. I might capsize, and it would feel wrong. But it's not all that bad.
Why don't you enter competitions?
I have entered competitions.
Have you placed in these competitions?
Well... I have placed before.
What did you place?
I think second.
Oh, that's quite good. If you competed in the Olympics in sailing, there's no age limit there right?
Yes, there's no limit. But you don't necessarily have to compete in the Olympics. I could...
But we would all be happier for it, Tony. Imagine, Tony Leung Chiu-Wai representing Hong Kong and winning a medal! You've seen how happy the medalists have been this year.
It's really hard! It's really hard!
Why is that?
You're not as fit as younger people. It's hard. I play sports purely for enjoyment. I feel like it's an experience.
Fair enough.
It's... I'm not the type to want first place or something.
You're not a competitive person.
Yes. I don't want to experience a sport in that way. I'm there for my own enjoyment, not to win.
Let's say in future... since I last saw you in 2013— that wasn't even an interview, and now I've met you after all this time. Let's say in 5 years. What would you be doing in 5 years' time?
Maybe I...
Back then you said you'd retire at 36. I'll ask you again now, let's not dredge up the past. What do you think you'd be doing?
In 5 years' time, I think I would have more time for sports. [laughter]
Still on the water?
Yeah. Well, not necessarily, but a lot of different sports. I do want to try some—
Try running! I've seen Kar Ling (Carina Lau) run before!
Yes, she likes running, and hiking too.
Why don't you run with her?
I don't really like running.
Hiking?
Hiking, I'd rather... well when I'm skiing, I'd walk in the back country, in good weather, carrying my skis and wearing my cleats, it's the same thing. I'd hike up and ski down. But not that kind of hiking. Well sometimes... when in summer, in Hokkaido, I can't ski. I would still hike, but I wouldn't really like it. But it would be better with friends.
But you don't like being around too many people.
I sometimes like being with family. But my family... not everyone can hike. One might cramp up halfway.
Since you like being on the water so much, how many people does it take to do that?
One.
Just you?
Yeah.
Just someone to steer the boat.
Uhh... yeah.
It doesn't matter if there's a boat?
I do a lot of different water sports. I have those... electric boards, the type that shoot up like a magic carpet on the water, I have a stand up paddleboard, I can surf by myself too, that's doable. A lot of the sports I do can be done solo. I don't need a lot of people around.
You've really changed from before. You used to like to... go out at night?
Yeah.
That's all gone?
It has for a while. I haven't been in the nightlife for 20, 30 years. I'd eat out for dinner at most. Then I'd go straight home.
I remember I used to shoot TV dramas with you, you surprised me— We've filmed one or two series together, I would go straight home to bed afterwards, because I've always been a morning person. You could still say, "I'm going to go out for a bit." Yet the next day — our call sheets had us in very early — you were still able to make it in on time. Back then…it was a rite of passage.
Because I was young. Yes, and it was life experience. There are things you should do at that age.
Sure. Well, I hope to see you in another production soon. If this series were really successful, would you continue in any sequels?
[laughter] I really don't know, I can't say.
Why's that?
I feel like... as I've mentioned, there's fate involved in shooting a particular film. We'll see where...
…where fate takes you.
...where fate takes me.
Thank you Tony Leung Chiu-Wai for being with us today.
You're welcome.
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