#it was like. illegally satisfying to make a mask of his face. I spent loving hours on it

[robinsceramics]

face reveal! not my face though. Weary Willie's face

image description: a photo of a person in a sweater holding a ceramic clown mask over their face. The clown mask has a sad, pleading expression, a brown painted beard, a red nose, and untidy dark hair. He has wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes.

[glorianamultistan]

Repeated love (Baekhyun x Male Reader)

Part 2

Should there be a second chapter, when all has ended with the strokes of a few signatures? There are times when butterflies have left the cases of some lepidopterists and with winged effects brought tornados to register that they lived and still have enough life even though they glorify some shelves or walls from behind the glass.

It all comes down to a slip in the wrong room while trying to find a place to lie down. Baekhyun never thought that seeing y/n sitting all dolled up for the party would make him lose some balance of mind.

The next mistake was of y/n, running arms open to kissing his ex in a room where he spent the former night with his husband.

Neither of the two was going to take a chance like this, they were not allowed to, too much was at risk. Two well-publicised marriages establishing relationships between multiple elite families, and here still, with whispers and moans, y/n let it all go. Four months and the body breaks only for the one the heart accepts.

After the dilemma of not wanting to leave each other's warmth, both went their separate ways for the sake of the party.

The next few days were hard for y/n as he tried hard to face his husband calmly. He was not a bad man per se, he liked y/n and was respectful to him and his choices, it was just that he was not, for now, allowing y/n to go out alone.

"Y/n I just ask for a month, after that, you can go wherever you wish to, I promise complete freedom, not from marriage obviously as we are in it till the end."

"But why!? This is illegal! You can't possibly not let me go out. I have a life to live, and events to attend."

"Oh honey, you come from L/n family, you know how laws are for all of us, right? Now, be a good husband and wait for me, I will be back soon."

It was a forced hug and a close-lipped kiss, and with that, he left y/n in the study, miserable enough to cry a little before going to his room to get his phone and message.

'I am not allowed to go out hyung. All of them, even my parents are in this.'

'Baby, I will be meeting your husband today in a meeting; I will ask about you.'

'Hyung! Why will you do this!? Don't do anything rash like this.'

'Don't worry, I will ask as a person interested in knowing the new partner of their business partner.'

'Just don't let the mask fall, please.'

'Won't you pick it up if I do, like the last time?'

'If you put me in such a position then I will have to do it because I do not want the chances to end like this.'

Explicit extramarital affairs as a member of such a class would not only ruin the chances of future re-establishment of the name but it will once and for all make the life in the country end too. Even though Baekhyun has connections well enough that he can leave the country and still confirm an easy life for y/m and him, he still has to plan everything properly; after all his own husband should not get the idea of anything going on.

The days go on as slumbered heat makes them overlap for y/n; he talks to Baekhyun without any concerns about being surveilled as in the manor, he is promised by his husband that no such practices will be allowed.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, controls his urge to run and pick up y/n and lock themselves in a room to never leave the bed, by constantly reimagining the night of the reception party and keeping his husband satisfied too; a single doubt of unwanted physicality can lead to a lot of assumptions and Baekhyun already slipped once when his husband notices nail marks on his back after the party. That was settled with a few nights of unwavering reverence for the body which was bound to Baekhyun as forcefully as his separation from y/n happened.

After two months of extended restrictions, y/n was allowed to visit his friends, and the first thing he did after creating facades of three to four parties was to throw a party at the same hotel and invite Baekhyun and his husband to the event too. It was just a celebration of 'close families' younger generation' that meant some of the most celebrated faces present in a hall with drinks and airs about them.

Just as y/n excused himself to use his room, Baekhyun excused himself with a smile to go to the washroom which he did not know where it was, and y/n as the good host coyly took the precedence to guide him as he would be visiting the wing with rooms.

'Hey Baekhyun, you can just use our room; you can relax there a bit too and get to know y/n; you have been persistent in meeting him; till then, let me entertain your husband.' 'What do you say hun?' Y/n's husband asked him but the younger was not ready with any response to such a situation; it was like exquisite wine being served and you taste it through your lover's mouth.

So Baekhyun did reply with a laugh, a kiss on his husband's cheek, and a warning to not steal him which y/n's husband repeated too, and they left for the rooms.

P.S.:- If you liked it, you can support me by buying me a coffee; link's on my page.

[disneydreamlights]

Cendrillon

FFN | AO3

Summary:  Gula's job as a mercenary for hire means he never turns down a job, even if that job is killing the heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Vulpes. [GulAva]

A/N: Inspired by this. Originally this was written for the 2019 rarepairs zine but the tight deadlines combined with my busy work and class schedule did not work out, so I had to drop the zine and left this on the back burner for a while. Cue a sudden burst of creative energy this month and some determination and I returned to this fic to finally finish it almost a year later. 

Gula pulled down on the mask once more, giving it a firm tug to make sure his face couldn’t be seen underneath the leopard styled mask. The masquerade ball tonight was important after all, Lady Ava of the Vulpes kingdom was going to be making her grand debut, and it would be best to make a good impression.

Or at least, that would be what most would be thinking as they prepared for tonight, but as Gula straightened out the tie on his golden yellow suit, he had a lot more pressing matters to be thinking about. The knife, hidden in his socks felt cold, just one of many hidden, but hired killers had to be prepared. It really was nothing against his mark, she probably was a fine girl, but this was his job.

“Name?” Gula smiled as the guard looked at him with no more scrutiny than any of the stuffy royals that had entered into ballroom that night. 

“Ventus, of the Kingdom of Leopardus.” The guard nodded, likely assuming he was simply a lower noble. Which was fair, royalty in Leopardus changed often enough that even in the kingdom of its closest allies, it was difficult to keep track. As he officially entered the ballroom, he couldn’t help but reflect on how that had been a part of why he had been brought into the ball in the first place.

The man had entered Gula’s home about two weeks ago, shortly after Gula had returned home from his last mission. He was dressed in a black cloak, with his face fully hidden in its shadows. “Why hello there, it took you long enough to get here.”

“How did you get into my house? What do you want?”

“Easy there Tiger, I’m not here to make any enemies. I just need a favor, heard that you’re willing to do any jobs, legal or illegal, if the pay is high enough.”

“Most of my clients don’t stop by my home.”

“Yeah, well mine is a special task.”

Gula had raised an eyebrow at that. “What did you have in mind.”

A bag was placed on his desk, holding what looked like well over a few hundred thousand munny after a quick investigation of its contents.

“I need you to kill the crown princess of Vulpes, Lady Ava.”

The plan was most definitely simple enough. Sneak into the ball in her honor, find her, stab her, get out. Leave the leopard mask behind to implicate Leopardus. War would allow for whatever his name (X? He was pretty sure that was some part of the name given) to take over the kingdom, reinstate peace. Murder admittedly was not one of Gula’s usual tasks, but money talked, and true to the meaning of his name, he was never satisfied with what he had. Not to mention, there was so much wrong with the nobility anyways, even if an innocent had to die, a new ruler might mean a new chance to fix the world, he couldn’t complain about that. He wandered the floor aimlessly, enjoying the party for what it was, listening in on the conversations of the various nobles and sneaking some of the food while he waited for the princess’s presentation.

“Why aren’t you talking with the rest of the guests?” A girl’s voice rang caught his attention, as a young girl around his age stood in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. He took in any details about her he could. If he got caught and needed to clear up the loose ends, he would need to remember any details. She had pink hair, and a fox’s mask covering almost as much of her face as his own leopard mask.

“I’m not one for small talk, it doesn’t really have much point.” And it was true, small talk was hard to maintain, and he had no interest in learning about any of the nobles who would be out for his blood before the clock struck midnight.

The girl gave him a confused look. “If you don’t like small talk, then why are you at the party?”

“I like to dance.” It was the first excuse he could come up with, but she seemed amused by the way her mouth threatened to turn into a smile. This was bad, he didn't want to be remembered here. “I understand social niceties, even if they aren’t my favorite thing,” he added on afterwards, hoping she’d buy it.

She did, seeing as she nodded. “Who are you anyways, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lord with blond hair as messy as yours.” She poked at one of the many spikes coming from his head, it was one of the few things of his natural appearance he’d retained. 

“Ventus.” Gula used the same fake name he’d used for the guard earlier. Best to keep it simple.

“My name’s…” The girl hesitated for a moment, as though holding the knowledge of her name close to her. For the first time, he was actually intrigued by her. Why was this girl holding back her name? Was it possible that she, too, was an uninvited guest to the party.

“Fox.” He supplied the name for her, surprising himself. “You wear a fox mask, if you want to avoid using your name at the ball, why not go by the name of the animal you’re wearing a mask of.”

She nodded, her face brightening. “Fox is good!” She paused for a moment, almost as though she was unsure of what to talk about with him. For a moment, Gula was almost sure she had the intention to find the next sulking partygoer, but she seemed to stay quiet.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Fox, but I can’t stay and talk for--”

“Wait.” Gula stopped, letting the girl talk. “Could I have just one dance?” He was about to answer no, but she continued. “You did say that dancing was the main reason you came, don’t you want to?”

He could tell her no, but placating the girl would better serve his interests better. It would be better if she remembered the unknown lord as a good person, rather than poorly. Then he wouldn’t have to take out any more people than necessary. Fox had been nice enough anyways to him.

“I suppose one dance won’t take too much time out of my night.” And before he knew it, he was pulled out of his corner by Fox, who seemed to take a natural lead as she put her hand on his shoulder, clasping one of his with her second. He settled for a hand on her waist, sharing the dance floor as he chose to let the girl lead. She moved swiftly and gracefully, but she was a noble. It wasn’t a surprise that she knew how to dance. The two fell into a natural silence, following the rhythm of the music, following through each step.

“You know, for a self proclaimed dance lover, I’m surprised you’re letting me lead.” A small smile formed on Fox’s face as she teased him. 

“You’re the noble, I’m just the party crasher who likes a good waltz. Leading’s in your job description.” It was true enough. Besides, he’d rather not risk leading her in the dance on the off chance she saw through his flimsy lie. The fact that she’d bought it so far was a surprise enough. “It gives me a chance to see if you’d be a better one than all the others here so far.”

“Not a fan of the current ruling party?” Fox turned a corner, pulling him with her and keeping them moving in the same pattern as earlier. “I can’t say I blame you, I know a lot of the commoners aren’t very fond of us either.” 

For a moment, Gula couldn’t help but wonder if there was something different about Fox than the rest of the nobility she was a part of. The frown she wore on her face seemed genuinely upset at the thought of not being loved by the people she ruled over, but he dismissed it. Nobility didn't care for everybody else. That’s why he needed to take jobs like this in the first place. “I don’t care for them, no. Life in Leopardus isn’t easy, but I’ve heard life in Vulpes is worse.” 

“Maybe Lady Ava will change that?” Fox spoke in a small voice. 

“Maybe.” Maybe she could’ve, but she wouldn’t get that chance for sure. He raised his arm, allowing Fox underneath it while she spun. “But nobody knows what she’s like. Perhaps she asked for her grand debut to be something as glamorous as this ball, and she’s worse than both her parents.”

Fox’s face scrunched up in disgust at that thought. Despite being a look of disgust, Gula couldn’t help but find it cute in a way. “It’s a terrible way to make a public appearance. All it does it make a show, like some display of power. I can’t imagine anyone liking it.”

“Not a fan of balls I take it?” Gula asked. 

“I’d like them more if they were events for fun for everybody. A party only allowing nobility...like I said, it doesn’t do anybody good.” She shook her head. “I know the commoners don’t like this ball at all. My friend, Ephemer, he said--” She stopped herself the moment she realized the song ended. “I’m sorry, I asked you for a dance and instead I spent the whole song rambling to you about why I don’t even like the ball.”

If Gula was honest, he hadn’t minded the Fox’s rambling. In general, she seemed to dislike the way other nobles ran things. Perhaps he could negotiate with his boss for her to get a higher up position after the fallout, have her help make change. “Ramble away, your opinion is a breath of fresh air compared to most of the others I’ll hear tonight.”

“Oh?” She looked at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of balls either.” And he wasn’t. “Truth be told, it wasn’t even my choice to come here.” She’d been honest with him, a random stranger at a ball. And she at least seemed to give half a mind about commoners. He owed her a small part of the truth.

“But you said you liked dancing.” She tilted her head, though somehow he got the feeling that it was just for show than not knowing as though urging him to continue. “So if it wasn’t dancing that brought you, what did?”

Gula released her hand for a moment as they continued their dance, and put his finger to his lips. “I’m not allowed to say. That’s going to stay a secret.��

“Hey! I won’t tell!” Fox protested, and the serious girl who’d shared her political views on all of this snobbery was gone. “There’s no reason I can’t know.”

He chuckled, finding her energy endearing. “It’s not a secret if you include somebody else in on it.” Besides, it was better that she didn't know. Forgetting that she would become a liability, it’d put her in real danger. She’d be a conspirator, and somebody like her being involved in a murder plot wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Sure it is. That’s what makes it a secret, when it’s shared between two friends.” Mentally, Gula cursed. He hadn’t wanted to make a friend. He hadn’t wanted to be seen. Somehow, this girl had managed to throw a wrench into all of his plans. She’d be able to point them to Lady Ava’s killer in an instant.

Somehow, none of it bothered him.

“You’ll know before the night is done, don’t worry.” He pet her on the head, watching her pout. “In the meantime, maybe I could learn more about you.” He was searching for any conversation topic. “I have until midnight before I can complete my task, and I’m sure you’ve got a lot of interesting things to say.” 

And so they talked, and in spite of himself, he found himself listening to her every word attentively. About her stubborn and overprotective mother, her overbearing father with no sense of what the world needed, her best friend Ephemer who was a commoner she had befriended while sneaking away unnoticed, who told her all about the world and how hard things were. And in turn, he shared with her what he could about himself. About his older brother Aced and how they didn't talk much anymore since Aced didn't approve of his job (not that he said what that job was), how Aced’s husband would check up on him, make sure he was doing okay, and he even threw in a few tales of his more noble deeds. 

A small voice in his head whispered that Fox was a liability, that she was learning too much about him, but he didn't care. She was by far one of the most genuine nobles he’d ever met, and as they continued to share dance after dance, he couldn’t bring himself to regret this friendship they’d struck up.

“Ventus, do you think we could leave the floor for a bit?” Fox smiled. And for the first time, Gula noticed how tired she looked. They had been dancing for a while.

“Of course, my lady.” The words left his mouth as a part of the character he was playing, but he still couldn’t help but wince at how they sounded. She didn’t seem to mind as she led him out to the balcony, away from the dancing party. In the distance, he could see a clocktower, proclaiming the time as 11:30. A half hour until the mysterious princess would reveal herself, and Gula could finally take out his target.

At first, they sat in silence before Fox walked over to the edge, looking down at the plaza below as she leaned on the railing. “You know, I didn’t think I’d have any fun at tonight’s party.” He was surprised at her honesty, but then again, he shouldn’t have been. The whole night Fox had been nothing but open with him. 

“So why did you come?” As much as it turned out he definitely didn’t hate her, he still wished she hadn’t. He still berated himself for letting himself be so clearly recognizable to her. He walked next to her by the railing. “You could’ve been off, sneaking around with...Ephemera?”

“Ephemer,” Fox corrected him before turning to face him. “I would’ve skipped it if I had a choice, but I’m obligated to be here.” Gula remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. She chose not to. “I’m glad I got to meet you, if nothing else, it means I get to have at least one more friend.” She reached her hand out tentatively, resting it on his.

He looked at Fox, noticing her smile. “I can’t say I hear that often, but I’m glad we met too.” And it was the truth. There would be problems, but it was nothing he couldn’t try to smooth over with his boss later. They fell into a companionable silence, just enjoying being in the other’s presence.

Finally, Gula spoke once more as the minute hand slowly got closer to the nine. 11:45. He needed to get into position. “Fox I–”

A small gasp sounded from behind them, causing both Gula and Fox to separate. “There you are Lady Ava! Your father’s looking for you!”

Lady Ava!?

If it wasn’t for the fact that the servant had come in, Gula would’ve uttered every curse he could think of. What did she mean Lady Ava? That...no, that could not be right. Ava was his target. And if Fox was Ava…

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Fox...Ava? gave the servant girl a small smile and watched as she left before sighing. “I guess this means our night has come to an end.”

“You’re Lady Ava.” Gula could only repeat those words emptily, as though changing them would somehow allow him to change the fate he would be forced to give her. As though she could go back to being Fox. The worst part was, this was perfect. Ava was his target. Ava was right here. He could complete the crime, leave no loose ends, and nobody would even know. It might not be as showy as his client wanted, but it would do. Ava would be dead and it might stir up more talk about the quiet assassin who managed to kill the princess without anybody having seen her.

But she was also Fox. The girl who had approached him because she’d thought he was lonely and ended up deciding to bug him enough to show him a small piece of her life, and got him to open up about his in return. She was a noble who he was so sure would bring about change in the world, and he was going to have to be the one to end her life. End the spark before it could even begin.

“Ventus?” Evidently Ava had been talking to him while he’d been lost in thought trying to comprehend what that meant. “Ventus!”

Gula shook himself from his thoughts and looked at Ava, still trying to figure out what he was going to do about all this. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was apologizing.” After a moment of silence, she added, “For lying to you about who I was. I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just there’s so many expectations on me tonight. I’m sure you know why this ball is being held, and you know my distaste for it.” She stopped. “I just wanted to have a normal night before my anonymity is permanently ruined.”

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t alright. He now had an attachment to his target. It was unprofessional and embarrassing. Murder may not have been his field of choice, but that doesn’t make the fact that it happened any less of a problem. But he didn’t want to make any of this worse. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ava gave him a smile, a genuine one, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “It was nice meeting you, Ventus. I had a wonderful night with you. I know you’re not really here as an invited guest, but I hope I’ll get to see you again anyways.”

Had this been anybody else, Gula would have let her walk out the door and back into her dance. He would’ve gotten into position and waited for her to be presented, and then taken her down and escaped. But this wasn’t anybody else, and in that moment, the conflict he was experiencing came to a resolution. “Gula.”

She paused at the door and turned back to look at Gula. “What?”

“My real name,” he said, “it’s not Ventus. It’s Gula.” Ava turned around and closed the door back into the ballroom, which he took as a sign to continue. “I’m not who I said I was, Fox.”

Rather than flee, Ava walked back over to him and sat on the railing. “I have ten minutes before my father starts the ceremony.” She was willing to hear him out.

He could possibly save her.

“I mentioned my brother doesn’t normally approve of my job. That’s because I don’t just do odds and ends jobs that I can find. I’m a mercenary.” Once the words left his mouth, it wasn’t long before Gula told her everything about tonight. How he’d been hired by somebody to kill her, how at midnight, when she was presented, he was to do his job. She remained silent throughout, wanting to hear him out on what he said.

“I don’t want to kill you, Lady Ava. I’ve enjoyed the night we’ve shared, and I think you might be what this kingdom needs to finally start getting things right. To fix this broken world.” And he did, he believed in Ava as hard as it was to say.

“So don’t. You don’t have to do anything.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. Ava may have had a friend or two, but her lifestyle had been horribly sheltered. It was unlikely that she would understand the choice in front of him. “You may have been hired to kill me, but you can refuse the job.”

“It’s not that simple.” So long as his client knew about him and his brother, so long as Ava breathed, he wouldn’t be safe. “If you’re still able to take the throne come the end of the night, then my client will know I failed. It would cause problems.” Problems he couldn’t afford. Problems Aced couldn’t afford.

“There’s always a third choice Gula, one that doesn’t result in death.” Well he could always kill the person who hired him, but somehow, that option didn’t seem like one Ava would approve of. 

As Gula went to respond, the clocktower’s bell went off, ringing one drawn out bell at a time. They had run out of time. “It’s midnight.”

Ava nodded. The two looked at each other, unable to look away for fear that if they did, then Gula would make the decision to kill Ava. 

“...What if the world thinks I’m dead?” Ava spoke so quietly, it was almost impossible for Gula to hear what she had said at first. But the moment he realized it, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face. 

“It’s perfect.” If the world thought Ava was dead, then that fulfilled his contract. It would be more difficult for her to change the world if she was no longer the crown princess of Vulpes, but it would save her life. 

But it would also end everything about her life as it is now. Lady Ava of Vulpes would be dead to all but himself. “If we do this, you can’t go back. The world has to think you’re dead.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft as she acknowledged what he said. “But I don’t want you to be in danger either.” She took off her mask and looked up at him. Able to see her whole face, he looked her over for any hint that she wasn’t sincere. That she was lying just for the sake of her own life. Instead he found nothing but sadness for what she would be losing, and determination to save them both.

Gula smiled. “Then let’s get started.”

[fraink5-writes]

From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 8

Is there a more exciting way to start the best month of the year than with a heartfelt conversation between two fictional characters?

Thanks to @leio13 for her innumerable contributions!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

The sky glowed bright orange, not unlike Childe's hair, when Childe's eyes cracked open. With a lingering hazy look upon his face, he gazed up. "Zhongli?" he asked in a mumbled whisper.

"Did you sleep well? Are you feeling better?" Zhongli smiled.

Childe nodded. "I had the strangest dream…"

Zhongli could not suppress his sigh. As long as Childe believed that what happened was a dream, Zhongli's secret was essentially safe.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" Before Zhongli had realized, Childe's eyes had returned to their usual keenness.

Zhongli conceded with a shake of his head.

"I knew it," Childe declared while sitting up. “But don’t worry; I won’t ask about it—as per contract.”

“It’s all right.” Zhongli fidgeted with his ponytail. “It would be better if I told you myself than let it fester wildly in your imagination.”

“Good plan.” Childe smirked. He scooted next to Zhongli, crossed his legs close to his chest, and leaned his chin on his hands as though eager to hear a story.

Zhongli inhaled. This was the consequence of his actions. The price was only fair. Childe had risked his life to keep Zhongli from danger; as such, it was only natural that Zhongli put himself at risk by revealing his secret as repayment. He exhaled. “As you saw, my hair has the power to heal injuries. When I use it, it glows just like this.” Zhongli held out his now-amber hair for Childe to see.

“Woah…” Childe’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Does it… does it do anything else?”

“Anything else? Not as far as I know.”

“How long has it been like this…?”

“As long as I can remember.” Zhongli twirled a few tiny strands of hair that he had hidden behind his ear. “When it’s cut, it loses its power and doesn’t grow back. That’s why my mother hid me away in that tower, and I never left. If someone were to find out about its power, they would try to take it for themselves. Such a power needs to be protected.”

“But now you’re old enough to leave on your own.” Childe gazed sympathetically as he reassured Zhongli. “You’ve spent all that time training to protect yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Zhongli was at a loss; he didn’t know what kind of reaction he would receive—he had never even planned on telling anyone. Yet Childe’s composure put him at ease—if only a little.

“Come on. Like I said earlier, don’t worry. What could happen with the two of us?” Childe’s confident grin mellowed into a small grin. “I appreciate that you told me this.”

“I didn’t think it would be possible to keep that secret much longer.”

“Right? It’s only been two days, but it’d be hard to say we’re strangers at this point. Well, I consider anyone willing to fight with me a friend—which makes you, by definition, a friend!”

“Is that so? A very odd definition of friends, especially since we don’t properly know each other’s names.”

“Ahaha…” Childe scratched his head while laughing weakly. “So that wasn’t a dream either…”

“No.”

“Are you mad?”

“Not particularly. But I am curious as to why you chose to lie.” This was true. As their contract essentially stipulated that they remain strangers, he couldn’t expect Childe to follow the same code of personal conduct. However, he couldn’t help but agree that he and Childe had, in fact, surpassed the status of strangers, so, accordingly, he was curious about Childe’s real name.

“Don’t take it personally! I didn’t just lie to you; I stopped using the other name a long time ago.”

Zhongli and Childe stared in silence as Zhongli tried to repress his curiosity. Childe's face, as usual, was illegible, but rather than a fake smile, his mask was solemn.

"Alright, I'll tell you." Childe sighed. "Because I think you have a good point about the names." Breaking eye contact, he leaned back. "Ajax. That's the name my father gave me."

"'Ajax'… That's a nice name. Certainly not one to be ashamed of."

Childe chuckled with a shake of his head. "Don't misunderstand—it's a noble name. The original Ajax was a great hero and adventurer." As Childe explained, Zhongli thought he glimpsed a flash of light in his eyes.  Zhongli wished to grab hold of it and draw it out, but it quickly vanished into a shadow. "Such a proud name shouldn't be tarnished. That's why I left it behind when I started down this path." Childe laughed hollowly. "So that's it."

That's it? The empty conclusion brought a brief frown to Zhongli's face, but he was quick to push it aside on his search for Childe's light. "I want to know more about Ajax."

"Ajax?" It was a promising start as Childe smiled again. "Where to begin… As a great hero in Teyvat, he has many stories—" But the attempt ended in failure.

"No, the other Ajax."

"The other Ajax?" Childe blinked. "Are you sure? It's not a very good story. Boring at best, a downer at worst."

"I don't mind. I enjoy reading non-fiction." Frankly, Zhongli did not care about drama or excitement; he preferred facts about the world around him, and, in this case, he wanted to know how the man besides him came to be the way he was.

"Suit yourself." Childe sighed. "I'll do you a favor and skip all the boring parts though. One day, when Ajax was fourteen, he was walking through the woods. All of the sudden, some scary wolves appeared!" He paused for dramatic effect then continued miming the story with his hands. "Their claws marred the snow's face with dirt—and their fangs! Their fangs were dripping with blood! Powerless against the ferocious pack, Ajax turned and fled. He jumped over logs and ducked under branches, but alas! He was not careful enough as he went tumbling into a deep, deep hole! And, unfortunately, Ajax never quite made it out of there. The end."

Zhongli clapped. "That was a compelling story, but it was missing one crucial part." As emphatic a storyteller as Childe was, his story had a glaring hole. But it was such a dark and ominous gap that Zhongli dared not explore deeper. Its contents were locked deep in Childe's heart, where they should remain undisturbed. "The beginning."

"You really want to hear that?"

"Of course, the beginning is essential for getting to know the characters."

Childe raised an eyebrow. "Fine." Despite his reluctance, a grin sprouted on Childe's face as soon as he started speaking. "There once was a boy named Ajax, who lived in Snezhnaya, where it's so cold that if you stop moving, you freeze to death. He was named Ajax by his father after the great hero, and this fact brought much pride to the boy who loved ice fishing."

"Ice fishing?"

"Yeah, it's a little different than regular fishing." Childe mimed casting a fishing line into the water. "Once you've found your spot on the ice, you drill a small hole—a fish-sized hole—lower your bait, and then wait. Wait, wait, wait. If you feel a tug, you've got one! Sometimes it never happens, and that's fine too."

"How inefficient.”

Childe laughed. "Well, the fish aren't important. What's important is what you do while waiting. For example, you can sit down next to each other and tell stories, just like we are. That was Ajax's favorite part, listening to his father's stories. Thrilling adventure stories of renowned heroes and many from his father’s own youth. To little Ajax, his father was the greatest hero. As Ajax listened to these stories, hooked on every word, he dreamed of his own adventures, ones that would impress even the heroes he admired."

Just like little Ajax probably felt listening to his father, Zhongli was enamored by Childe’s storytelling, but, on the contrary, the details felt like the least important thing. He was mesmerized by Childe’s hopeful gestures, excited tone, and his eyes, which dazzled like the surface of the ocean on a cloudless day. They exuded an unfamiliar warmth, drawing Zhongli closer.

“Ah! How could I forget?” Childe suddenly exclaimed. “I should introduce the other major characters.”

Zhongli tilted his head.

“You see, besides his loving parents, Ajax has many wonderful siblings—five, to be exact! Two older and three younger: Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They are his world. Let’s see. Teucer is still so young, so he loves toys, and, among those, his favorite one is ‘Mr. Cyclops.’ I just defeated four of them back there, you know. Anyway, to Teucer…” As Childe described Ajax’s family, a subtle but persistent upturned curl played at his lips. His words fell softly like a blanket enveloping the characters. His faraway gaze reflected a fathomless affection, and, after an indefinite time, when they finally turned steadily towards Zhongli, he nearly melted. “How was that? Are you satisfied?”

Zhongli nodded. “Almost. However, I think I prefer Ajax.”

“Huh?” Childe’s head turned. “But you don’t even know him.”

“That’s not true. I just met him, and I’ve learned so much from your stories. He’s much more genuine.”

“If you think so, I’m glad.” Although Childe smiled, his eyes were dull with sorrow.

“It’s not too late. To be the hero in Ajax’s dreams, to be the person Anthon, Teucer and Tonia believe you to be.” Zhongli reached out his hand, his fingers lightly brushing Childe’s cheek. “I know that Ajax didn’t die in that forest. May I call you that, Ajax?”

Childe nodded, gently intertwining their fingers.

***

Ajax could feel heat building up under Zhongli’s hand on his cheek. He glanced side-to-side. Since when was it so dark? He had been so caught up in stories of the past that he forgot about the passage of time. He stood up. “I didn’t realize it was so late. You must be hungry. I’ll go get something to eat.” He quickly turned around.

“Thank you.”

Ajax paused. “You don’t know how to start a fire, do you?”

“I may have read about it in a book.”

“Alright, let me show you real quickly.” Ajax scrambled to create a fire pit. Then he carved his drill and board in order to create the beginnings of a fire. “The goal is to create enough friction in order to get sparks.” When he created enough coals by turning the drill, he lightly blew on them to encourage a flame before putting them in the pit. After a sizable fire had started, Ajax stood with his arms akimbo. “See? Just like that.” Zhongli stared wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape. Of course, Ajax knew that it was a terrible demonstration, but he wanted to leave quickly. “I’ll be back soon, okay? I don’t expect any trouble, but if anything happens, you can hold your own.”

Zhongli scooted closer to the fire. “I’ll be fine here. Good luck out there, Ajax.”

Ajax’s heart thudded. He nodded brusquely before taking off. Running away from a fight was the response of a coward, but this was different. He needed to be alone to think and catch his breath.

Ajax, Ajax, Ajax. Ajax’s heart beat rhythmically to the repeated echo of his name. It had been years since anyone had called him that, except his family (and even then, he rarely had the opportunity to see them.) The sound of it bounced around his brain with such trepidation, such joy.

Was it okay for Childe to have told Zhongli all that? His name, his past and his family were his greatest secrets that he held closest to his heart. Not even his fellow harbingers knew about Ajax.

But Zhongli was different. He wasn’t calculating or malicious. Although justifiably paranoid, Zhongli lived earnestly and put a lot of trust into his principles and into others. Childe had given up on living like that, but he wanted to be worthy of Zhongli’s trust. 

Childe scoffed. Perhaps telling Zhongli about Ajax was another act of deception, for it was too late for Childe to return to how Ajax once was. He was a member of the Fatui. He operated through manipulation and murder. Even as he guided Zhongli to Liyue Harbor, the true intentions of his trip had always been to steal the power from Rex Lapis. At his core, nothing remained that was worth trusting.

When Zhongli dropped his paranoid guard, he was in fact too trusting. That fact had not left Ajax’s mind since Zhongli befriended the Crux Fleet. Although such a weakness was objectively exploitable, Ajax found it to have the opposite effect as well: it was endearing. It was an earnest, inadvertent manipulation that transformed Childe from a weapon to a shield. Maybe because Zhongli had not felt the cutting edge of Childe’s blade, he believed in Ajax. In return, Ajax would protect him. If Zhongli were the only person who believed, Ajax would become a hero like those of stories for him alone.

At least until Liyue Harbor. At Liyue Harbor, no matter what happened, Childe would have to confront all that had led up to that point. At Liyue Harbor, it would all end.

After Ajax had gathered a decent amount of berries and sunsettias, he was met with the issue of the main course. His only two blades were impractical for hunting if he chanced upon a bird or boar, but fruit would not suffice as a meal. He circled around the pool at the earlier battlefield until he spotted a shielded mitachurl sitting against a stone wall. Although there was no fire, it was unlikely that a hilichurl would make camp without a meal. Ajax crept closer, sure enough there were two more hilichurls and a boar carcass. Perfect. After clearing out the hilichurls, the meat was Childe’s for the taking.

Childe charged at large hilichurl. It jumped up, erecting its sturdy shield. With no way to deal with the shield, Childe danced in circles around the beast, swiping continually with his blade. An arrow grazed the side of his head. Aside from a few strands of hair, it was probably nothing to worry about. His thoughts returned to his main target: the mitachurl. On the next opening, he jammed a dagger into its back. Seeing their strongest member stagger, the samachurl frantically waved its oversized wand a few times before scrambling up the cliff and away. The hilichurl with a crossbow fired several directionless shots, but it too dropped its weapon as Childe slowly approached. Childe waited, daggers in hand. Finally, it turned, running after the samachurl. 

Ajax sighed as he inspected the dead boar. He and Zhongli would not need so much meat. Besides, he didn’t want to be the one to show Zhongli his first animal butchering. So he decided to carve out a piece there and carry it back to their fire. The hilichurls could enjoy the rest if they ever returned.

Crunch.

Ajax peered at the ground below his foot. There laid a red mask, broken in two. It must have been knocked by that arrow. He sighed. Despite never wearing it properly, Childe had always been fond of that mask, but he couldn’t possibly fix it—not in his current situation, at least. He stuffed the two pieces into one of his pockets. Then he hurried back to Zhongli, picking up some mint for flavor.

“Welcome back, Ajax.” Zhongli warmly greeted Ajax upon his return.

“Sorry for the delay.” Ajax sat by the fire and prepared for phase two: the actual cooking.

“It’s no problem. It looks like you brought back plenty. Do you need any help?”

“Nope. Just sit back and relax. I don’t think I mentioned this, but Ajax is also a talented chef, you know.”

“Is there anything he isn’t?”

“A good diplomat, for one. Unless you count being atop everyone’s wanted list.”

Zhongli’s laugh brushed past Ajax’s ears like a warm breeze. “Well, I’m looking forward to whatever you make.”

Ajax impulsively looked away, blush creeping on his face. “It’ll be ready soon. In the meanwhile, if you’re hungry, you can eat the fruit; they don’t need to be cooked.” For the remainder of the cooking time, Ajax focused keenly on the roasting beef.

When the beef was nicely cooked, he seasoned it with a bit of mint then handed a portion to Zhongli. “Enjoy!”

“Thank you.”

Before he could even think about eating, Ajax watched intently for Zhongli’s reaction as he bit in. Widening eyes, curled lips and a swift second bite—even without words, Ajax knew he had succeeded. His chest swelled with pride. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help himself. “How is it?” He asked. 

Zhongli daintily patted his lips clean before responding. “It’s delicious.”

Ajax beamed. “What did I tell you?” Only when he was full on compliments did he take his first bite.

“Ajax.” Zhongli lowered the sunsettia he was eating. “Concerning tomorrow…”

“I know, I know. Tomorrow’s the Lantern Rite, right?”

“Yes. Of course, you know this route better than I, but…”

“Don’t worry! We’ll definitely make it on time. But we should leave early, at dawn. I want to show you all Liyue Harbor has to offer.”

“Okay.” Zhongli sighed. “What a relief.” After finishing the sunsettia, he stood up. “It would be good to get some rest soon.”

“Yeah, about that, we should sleep in shifts. Unpleasant types flock around ruins. Sorry that I can’t provide anywhere better to rest for the night.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve already done so much.” Zhongli covered a yawn with his hand.

“Why don’t you go on and sleep first? I already got plenty of rest earlier.”

“Then I will. Thank you.” A meter away, Zhongli lay down on the grass, his back to the fire. “Goodnight, Ajax.”

“Goodnight.” So soft, Ajax’s whisper probably never reached Zhongli’s ears. As he finished off the remaining food, unwilling to make waste, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Zhongli’s shoulder blades. How peaceful. How could he, a man who had more at risk than Childe, trust the man at his back so blindly?

Ajax put out the fire to deter any potential visitors then he crept closer to Zhongli. When he was certain Zhongli was sleeping, he picked up a few silky strands of hair and brought them to his lips. How strange to think that this hair was the string of fate which drew them together, that it was the source of their problems.

I’m sorry, Zhongli, about our contract.

[masterstrange-closed]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 / 616 inspired au.

Please note that while a vast majority of this verse comes straight from the canon 616 biography of Stephen Strange, there are elements and head canons that are strictly my own mixed in. So, do not use this as a source for any other means than interactions with my muse. This is also the default verse I will use for most Marvel characters that are not MCU affiliated, but also open to MCU muses as well as an AU.

Stephen Strange was born November 1st, 1930 to Beverly and Eugene Strange while the pair were on a holiday out of town in Philadelphia, away from their farmhouse in Nebraska. He had three siblings, Donna Strange (1932), April Strange (1934), and Victor Strange (1937). April died before her third birthday due to ailments that medicine at the time were not equipped to handle, nor could the family really afford anything that did exist as the Great Depression was in it’s early days. Stephen has only a fleeting memory of her, but he would have been only six by the time she died. As per their father’s wishes, only a few photos of her remained in the house as the memory of losing her was too painful for their parents to confront day after day.

A couple years later, he began facing terrible nightmares — his parents believed it was caused by the stress and sadness of losing his sister, and being too young to fully understand what was happening. While that might have fed things, what was actually happening was far more sinister. Somewhere far away, a man known as Yao — the current sorcerer supreme, had seen a prophecy. His successor had been chosen, and it was none other than the young Nebraskan child. Of course, it would take years before he was ready to take on this mantle — but the news of this angered one man in particular. For Yao had a disciple, one who believed that the role of Sorcerer Supreme belonged to him. This man was Baron Karl Mordo, and desperate to secure his legacy, he began an assault on the young boy through a psychic connection. Every night, attacking him and plaguing him with night terrors that might push the child to another path. That might make him crazy and unable to take what he believed to be his!

Yao eventually realised what was happening and stopped Mordo, vowing to protect the child. He also decreed that Mordo was too dangerous to be kept unsupervised and also decided to keep him by his side to watch him. To keep his enemies where he could see them. However, the damage was done, and even without Mordo intervening, the night terrors were here to stay. After suffering night after night for what felt like an eternity, Stephen eventually found a solution of sorts. Unfortunately, it came in a bottle — copying what he saw his father do after a long stressful day, he began to drink in secret.

Years passed, and eventually Stephen found his life’s calling (with the aid of Donna and a rollerskating mishap), like his father before him — he wanted to pursue medicine, and he was determined to make it so. Perhaps then, he could gain the approval from his parents he desperately wanted. He graduated school with honors, and awards that were enough to get him into a good pre-med program in New York City. The first year away was a taste of the difficult road ahead, Stephen studied long and hard, but his stress was at an all time high. Luckily for him, he knew far too well how to numb himself to it by now.

Around his nineteenth birthday (1949, second year of college), Stephen came home to visit his family for a long weekend. While home, Donna wanted to show off her ‘cool college brother’ to her friends down by the lake — having missed his sister’s company while away, he agreed. This would become one of his greatest regrets, as the day was fated to end in tragedy. Donna and Stephen decided to race with some friends in the water, but after awhile, Donna suffered a severe leg cramp. She was far from shore, and the time of year made the water colder (even though it was still mild that year, weather wise), and as she tried to make her muscles work, the combination of the cramp, the water temperature, her panic and trying to call for help, tired her to the point where she could no longer keep afloat. Stephen eventually dragged her from the water, but it was too late. His sister was dead.

Stephen grew colder after that day, he blamed himself for not being able to save her — and as she had been the catalyst for his career choice all those years ago, she became the motivation that pushed him to extremes to succeed. He refused to fail, to lose someone because he failed to act in time or properly. It became a matter of pride over the years. A combination that worsened as his mother grew ill and passed away, followed by their father years later. His sister April, had also passed away years ago because of medicine failing her. People kept dying around him, and he couldn’t stop them. This pushed him, motivated him through school and into his career.

His father, he decreed, was the final straw. He couldn’t bring himself to go to the deathbed and bury another person he loved. So, he lied. He told his brother he couldn’t get there, and to drown out the pain and guilt, he went out. Got happily drunk and took someone home to distract him, but the distraction fell short when he found his brother in his apartment. Furious and betrayed, the two of them argued before Victor stormed out. Stephen went to follow him, to try to make amends and make him understand, but he never got the chance to. For Victor had accidentally stumbled into the street as he tried to get away from him and into oncoming traffic. Stephen, unable to cope with another loss, went to extreme measures to save his brother’s life. He knew current medicine was lacking… but he if he could keep him on ice, frozen until a time where perhaps medicine could save him, then he had to try. He failed everyone else, he refused to fail Victor too. How could he let his baby brother down once more?

The final bit of innocence he held had died, Stephen Strange had no more room for lost causes. He only took bets he could win, he only took patience he could save. Of course, he also thrived on a challenge — had that not been what motivate him here in the first place? He took the unusual cases, ones he knew he could win — but would be very difficult and extremely noteworthy. He reasoned, his issues in the past had been emotional. He had let himself be too attached to his work. So he distanced himself, he viewed patience only as medical problems. His original spark for choosing medicine was gone. Only arrogance and dangerous coping methods remained.

His drinking never ceased, he had picked up smoking too. While he was always upfront about what he sought after in relationships with partners, more often what that was were meaningless hookups or dynamics in which they both had something to gain. He was spending his days pioneering medical breakthroughs, earning success and accolades. By night, he was a sad man who needed a distraction, who was never satisfied and tried to numb the ghost that haunted him. He had a few love affairs, but they all ultimately ended. Not to mention, he held certain “urges” (re: non-heterosexual fantasies and feelings) that he couldn’t bring himself to face or admit to, as it was now the 1960′s. Life was becoming increasingly hard for Stephen, but he seemed to have it under a degree of control. As long as he kept himself together when it mattered, who cared if the mask cracked in the off hours? He was heading for disaster, and that was exactly what was going to happen.

February 2nd, 1963: to this day, it’s unclear what the exact cause of the accident was. The initial report, said that the poor weather conditions had made the road unsafe and the accident was entirely just that. An accident beyond anyone’s control. Some people, further into the investigation, once Strange was in medical care realised that the man wasn’t exactly sober behind the wheel, and perhaps this was a perilous example of driving under the influence. Yet, even now, years later a voice still whispers in Stephen’s ear when he’s alone at night; when he’s run through or weak that says: but what if it was on purpose, and the only accident was remaining alive? No matter what the case was, the result was the same. Stephen’s accident had come at the cost of his hands. The bones broken, nerves damaged beyond repair. As a surgeon, as any doctor would have forced to accept, there was no coming back from this. His career, and by extension, his life was over.

Thousands upon thousands of dollars were spent, even ones he didn’t actually have to spend, were poured into Stephen’s quest for some cure that would save his hands, eleven different operations, ones that included untested, and even some illegal, methods and surgeries and substances — all coming up with nothing but a worsening condition. He was in a debt he’d never be free of, and bills were piling up. What happened, was of no surprise to anyone — he was evicted from his home. His belongings seized to repay his loans and bills. With only a small backpack and a limited amount of cash — Stephen Strange was homeless.

He spent a year in and out of shelters, unable to find work (both due to his disability and his pride) before being fully cast out onto the streets. Much of what he had taken with him, was sold or traded for food and warmth. He could often nick a bottle or smoke from workers by the docks, who would sometimes give him dock work when they could find something he could manage. His hopes were dwindling, and Stephen gave up. Winter was coming, and he made peace with the knowledge he would not survive until spring one way or another.

However, that changed when he overheard the dock workers one day. Talking about claims of a Tibetan monk who had the ability to heal the “un-healable”. Something Stephen scoffed at, until he recognized the face of the man making the claims. A man named Pangborn who had once come to his clinic for treatment, but Stephen had turned him away as his paralysis was incurable… but was now standing in front of him and doing athletic feats that were impossible. Stephen used the last of his money, to book cheap passage to Tibet. His hope restored on the promise of what did he have to lose? If it was a lost cause, what did it matter if he died in New York or if he died in Tibet? He was nobody now. It made no difference.

The journey was long and rough, but eventually… haggard and beaten down, Stephen finally found himself on the steps of a large palace. He was admitted inside, and finally came face to face with the man who had saved him long ago, Yao.. or as he was known by everyone, The Ancient One. Stephen pleaded with him to save him, but he offered no medical miracles, only the study of mysticism. Claiming that had been what cured Pangborn. Dejected, furious, Stephen was heartbroken. His final glimpse of hope dashed by a charlatan and some magic tricks. He wanted to leave immediately, planning his final journey… but a blizzard struck unexpectedly, forcing the Ancient One to insist he spend the night until it cleared.

The whole time, he noticed Baron Mordo watching him closely, and couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen him before. Perhaps this was what led Stephen to catch what the other man was plotting, an attempt on his master’s life! Forced to involve himself, Stephen’s doubts about magic subsided quickly as he faced things he believed to be impossible. Once Mordo had been subdued, Stephen’s change of heart made him accept the offer to learn at the Palace, which he learned was actually a sanctum known as Kamar-Taj.

For years, Stephen studied along side Yao. His impressive affinity for magic, and his closeness with the Ancient One, prompted Mordo to officially leave the Sanctums and go rogue. Once he had learned all he could in Tibet, Yao informed him the rest of his studies were back home in New York City. Placing him in charge of the sanctum in Greenwich Village, Stephen was on his way to fulfilling his destiny. Years passed, as his connection with magic grew, he felt changes in his body become more apparent, but for the first time — he had a purpose, one that was noble and fulfilling. One that wasn’t born out of fear or personal desire.

As the years passed, it became clear that Stephen was ready for the final test: facing Death himself. At the end of this, The Ancient One was at peace, knowing his time on the physical plane was at an end and was finally ready to transfer the role of the Sorcerer Supreme to his pupil. Stephen inherited everything, including his ageless life, Stephen Strange was finally Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and Master of the Mystic Arts.

For the most part, Stephen spends his days battling the mystical and multidimensional to keep the world safe. He became well known as a Mystic in Greenwich, to whom people could turn to when having issues with the mystic world. He has amassed himself a small group of friends, although the nature of his world and his demeanor often strain these relationships at times. He is friendly with the Avengers and other heroes, as well as maintains connections with other sorcerers; but he is not affiliated with the official Avengers at this time. He never knows what’s going to happen, but what he has learned with his infinite life is that not knowing is half the reason to live in the first place.

[stranded-warriors]

 The druddigon's unconscious body laid before the Fighter, who without a moment to spare wrapped their large hands under the fellow’s shoulders and unceremoniously dragged him behind one of the thousand stacks, where he was dropped to the ground then laid against the wall like some plaything. Immediately Feraligatr padded down the fellow’s clothes, checked pockets, and searched everything shy of somehow turning the poor fellow inside out. A minute or two passed without much, but when Kaz stopped to see if they weren’t pummeling the poor fellow, Feraligatr stood up and handed him something small but heavy.

 This something was a flat stone object, as thing and as broad as it could possibly be without it becoming brittle. On one side was an emblem of two ornate spears crossed over a spherical object, and on the other side were rows of scratchy writing with a series of hieroglyphs in the bottom right. Although a clear amount of work had to be put into carving into such a frail object, the text was borderline illegible. Nobody, not even the best scholars in Kaz's homeland were mad enough to comprehend the text, but the more he stared at how each line had been arranged Kaz was able to make some sense of it.

 “If I'm expected to read this, I can't.” he admitted, “However, what I can do is make a fair guess: believe this here is a piece of identification, it may not have the dragon’s name on it, but I am going to assume it was his. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

 Kaz looked towards his friend, which judging by the long look strewn over their face they hadn't found what they were looking for. It would've been a fair idea to ask what, but provided they went around beating up more innocent dock workers they’ll be sure to stumble onto whatever it is they needed. Then Kaz looked back at himself, then back at Feraligatr, and after a minute of awkwardly shifting in place waiting for Feraligatr to signal they should better get a move on, tossed the stone back to them. He had thought of a plan.

 “One of us is covered in scales, and I am as pale as the moon. Since this direct approach had only painted our – mostly your hands in blood, I have a suggestion if you're so inclined.”

 They nodded.

 “We know there’s a checkpoint just down the way, and if all they are looking for is a piece of identification we might be able to slip past the guards provided we keep our cool.” he looked behind the corner where the Druddigon laid on the floor like a sack of dirt, “I can’t imagine they would let us pass if they saw what you did to that fellow, so we’d better act fast.”

 Feraligatr tapped the stone then pointed at themselves

 “Yes, you’ll be going first. You needn't tell me your much of a talker, I think you've established that fairly well, but whereas I know you’re not a dragon, compared to me you sure look the part. I don’t want them to be asking too many questions, and seeing a psychic type where he has no right to be raises too many on its own.”

 “Unless you have any objections my friend, then lead the way.”

>This plan is stupid

>You could come up with a better plan if you had time and the confidence, but without a weapon in your you lack the latter and can't buy the former.

>It must be the best Kaz can do.

 The fact Feraligatr was just stood there for a while had been a bit worrying, but Kaz breathed a sigh of  relief once they got the move on. The continuous roar of machinery they had come to tune out grew louder and louder as the stepped further away from the walls of cargo, and by time they stepped free from the maze they laid eyes on what was making all that ruckus. Within a clearing toward the gates stands a massive, crane-like machine operated by a dozen pulleys straining and squealing under the might of its deafened operators. Dozens of burly pokemon stood before a large tower, pulling massive ropes which all fed into an over-sized wheel, then all the way out into the docks where a harpoon big enough to catch three waillords was speared into the rock they came in on. On the other side of the dock was another machine operated by another army of mons, their collective strength coming together to slightly nudge the colossal boulder in the right direction. A feat of ingenuity; a testament to Palkia's brute strength.

 A few surveyor, and the flyers who they previously saw offloading the valuables from the rock onto shore and into these crates the former presided over, were the only people paying mind to the two strangers strolling by; however, none of them cared enough to go out of their busy day to bother them. Which was odd, considering the first person they met from here wanting nothing less than to ruin their lives. Perhaps the ones pulling the machines were slave laborers, but they too couldn't care any less  about the adventurers. If these workers weren't a problem, then it was bound to be something else.

-

 Two small structures spaced evenly apart lied at the end of the road. The distance between these two cabins were barely enough to fill two single-file lines, anyone who tried circumventing the check-point would come face first with heavy crystal bars stretching all the way down from the archway above.

 “It seems we’ve come at the worst and best of times, friend.” he tapped his friend’s back and murmured, “If they ask why you’re leaving between shifts, just say you’ve gotten ill. It usually works for me.”

 Feraligatr’s blank stare didn’t inspire much confidence in Kaz’s plan, but they were going to with it – they came this far anyways. Taking a wild guess they began walking towards the right booth, gripping the stone tightly in their claws. Inside it they saw stacks of stone plates, behind which was fraxure who had to be no less than a foot shorter than the water-type. The pokemon held their stubby hand open, and Feraligatr dropped the stone in their hands. In the dim candlelight they put their eyes up against the stone, flipping it over, scanning it for a dozen times, before finally saying something about it.

 Maybe Feraligatr’s blue and red scales were similar to the worker, but nothing about what they wore fit a part of someone who spent their time lugging boxes around. A person doesn’t simply go out to their job wearing full plate mail, a face mask, and a black hood unless they had something to prove. Feraligatr did have something to prove, but it wasn’t for this little runt.

 “It seems like today's going to be a good day.” the guard smiled as he began to fumble behind his desk, “The old geezer finally got what was coming for him!”

 Feraligatr queued their friend over, and Kaz was quietly made his way in line till he stopped shy of the  windowframe. The Fraxure didn’t notice the shuffling until he poked his head up, saw Kaz, sighed and put his head back under his desk. A minute later the dragon rose again, slapping down blank slabs exactly like the one they plucked off the Druddigon.

 “Oh, no.” Kaz interjected, “I'm simply the doctor they had check the body. Should it satisfy you, I'll have you know the old man had become truly unsightly.”

 The Fraxure quietly stowed a slab away.

 “Where's he now?”

 “Back where I had found them. I was told to leave the body the way it was so the just authority can handle it from there. My friend here was the first to find him, and needless to say they’re not feeling too well.” he leaned in like Feraligatr couldn't somehow hear him, “My friend quite hasn't the stomach for this as you and I.”

 Not a second afterwards the voice of Kaz rang inside Feraligatr’s head, “Look as though you hate everything about everything right now.” and Feraligatr’s blank stare warped into the most glower look of disgust imaginable. Their face melted into this horrible, glowering frown, and their teeth sagged out from their gums like furs on a wet, stray dog. Fraxure took a single look at the fighter only to pull away immediately, then slowly put the other slab with the rest of them.

 “I'll process you some other time,” he groaned, “get out of my face before your friend pukes all over my desk.”

 “My thanks. I'm sure the old man left doing what loved best.”

 Out of the all the lies Kaz just said, that last had stung the worst. The horrible feeling he suddenly had gotten in his gut was only made better by the knowledge that he, and his friend had gotten away with his hobbled-together plan.

[talesfromthepayload]

Charms

A/N: Nobody asked for this but I couldn’t just not do it because it wouldn’t leave me alone so here we go!

Strike Commander Morrison had assured you it wasn’t a punishment.

Commander Reyes had said it most definitely was.

Your lips were pulled in a frown as you watched your fingers tap against the solid wood of a table. Covert operations were one thing you’d definitely excelled at during your time with Blackwatch, but this one offered no excitement. You’d been sent to Japan to monitor the growing influence of the yakuza. The Shimada Clan, which was at the forefront of illegal activity, was a point of interest. Since you were pretty much on Overwatch timeout, they’d sent you instead of McCree.

Then again, you definitely have covert ops down, McCree doesn’t. He’s too set in his aesthetic.

“You are Artemis?” The voice, lightly lined with an accent, inquired before you.

Your facade nearly broke at the sound of your code name coming from someone who was decidedly not an Overwatch agent.

You met his hard eyes, the brown darkened with tiredness- or, perhaps, wariness. The corners of his mouth were turned down, his muscles tensed like he didn’t quite trust you. He was in traditional clothing with a stance that held power. This was the man you were looking for.

“Hanzo,” you bowed slightly.

After this mission, you had no doubt you’d be back on the Commander’s good side. He didn’t even expect you to make contact with the clan for at least another week or so.

You’d been invited to the Shimada Clan as an interested investor under the pseudonym Artemis Rhea, a nod to your love for Greek mythology as much as it was to your wisdom. The past week had spent creating the character of Artemis, a young lady who had inherited a great deal of money from her parents. She was a business woman, who yielded, not only results, but profit.

Gabriel was always impressed with your hacking skills, now you had no doubt he’d be even more pleased.

“We are honored by your interest in doing business with us,” Hanzo said respectfully.

A soft breeze blew through the open balcony, wind rustling through his hair. He had a deadly sort of charm about him, and you had no doubt he wielded a great deal of power beneath the calm face.

“I am honored you acknowledged my interest,” you replied smoothly, your entire being becoming the character you’d constructed.

From the expensive, lacy dress you wore to the confident smile, you were the picture of elegance and professionalism. Hanzo would never know you had three weapons stashed on your person and the strength to take down every one of his guards.

“Please, allow me to show you around,” he offered respectfully.

You’d be staying here for nearly a week, according to Hanzo’s invitation. He was giving you accommodations, as well the opportunity to better understand the business. It was perfect, really, and you knew that Gabriel was going to love it.

You graciously accepted his proposal, lifting yourself to your full height. Hanzo still stood a bit above you, caution in his stare.

From what you’d heard in rumors around the place, Hanzo was a rather strict ruler, even more so than his father. He was all business, unlike the infamous brother, Genji. 

Hanzo kept quiet for the most part, presenting important rooms that you’d need for your stay, but not much else. He gave you instructions on how to leave the premises, should you wish to visit Hanamura.

You’d been to a great many places in your time with Blackwatch, but Hanamura had a special charm to it. It was breathtaking, a picture of beauty among a location of horror. 

“Your home is beautiful, Hanzo,” you said, resting your purse on the wooden dresser.

The room was nice, and much larger than what you were used to. Ornate paintings and cherry wood decorated the room. One wall was almost made entirely of windows, the dimming light shining through with soft ambiance.

He bowed his head, acknowledging to compliment, before taking his leave.

As soon as he was out of sight, you shut the door, pulling the comm device from your purse.

“Your favorite agent, checking in,” you teased.

You heard a sigh on the other end.

“I’m his favorite agent,” was muttered in the distant, that southern twang prompting an eye roll.

“What do you have?”

Gabriel’s voice was strained, and you could almost see him running a hand down his face, his legs up on the computer table as he often did. You’d never admitted, but you kind of missed him. You kind of missed McCree too.

“I’m in,” you said, tightening the strap that held your six-shooter to your leg.

It’d been a gift from McCree for your birthday one year. It was pearly white, the barrel a clean silver, and the bullets a bright blue. He said he found it in one of the factories he’d ‘visited’ on his search for Lance Bushami, a very powerful investor with ties to Talon.

You smiled fondly at the memory. He’d spent the whole afternoon teaching you to shoot with it, and while you’d definitely excelled, he claimed you were a right cowgirl by the end of it.

“You’re in?” Gabriel mimicked.

“Yep,” you popped the ‘p’ with a shit-eating grin. 

There was something so satisfying about surpassing Gabriel’s expectations, and wowing McCree in the process.

“Gather what information you can,” he replied after a moment, a creak sounding as he leaned forward in his chair.

“You got it, boss,” you answered, mock saluting to the empty room.

“Oh, and (Y/N)?”

You hummed noncommittally, admiring the soft green accents to the room. It was decorated with a bird- sparrow, by the looks. It had an elegant charm to it, one that was equal parts traditional and stylish.

“You did good, kid.”

You smiled, slipping the device back into your purse. From what you’d gathered from the tour, and the blueprints you’d memorized of the place, you could guess you were in the west corner of the grounds.

“Smart,” you muttered, closing your eyes to visualize the blueprints.

Most of the illegal activity, from what you could gather, was ushered in the east wing. Clearly, Hanzo had taken you as far from there as he could. You were mapping routes in your mind, discovering exits and entry points as you began to shed your clothes for the day, when a rustling outside caught your attention.

Your fingers tiptoed towards the gun resting against your thigh, the cool metal a comfort as your bare feet padded against the cold ground. The light curtains of the window swayed with the breeze, moonlight casting a soft light into the room. The night was cool and windy, the perfect conditions for some smaller critter, perhaps, but your trained ears knew better.

It was a human.

One well-versed in the art of stealth, but a human nonetheless.

You could here the gentle patters of feet against the wall, growing louder as the person grew closer. It was almost impermeable, but then again, you were trained for situations like these.

You closed your hand around the handle of the six-shooter Jesse McCree had personally gifted you, ready to draw just as quick as he’d taught you.

It’s all in the wrist, he’d said.

You steeled a breath, waiting in silence as the sound stopped. He was preparing to hoist himself up.

You swallowed, shifting your weight as you pressed yourself forward the slightest bit. Just as you’d been about to draw your weapon, a tuft of green hair popped itself over your window, tumbling onto the floor.

You tilted your head. Surely, this wasn’t an assassin.

“Who are you?” You inquired, relaxing your grip for the moment.

The man seemed startled, jumping to his feet quickly, preparing a fighting stance. When he saw you, however, he dropped it, his arms crossing over his chest. He went from crawling into your window, to fighter, to flirtatious, all in the span of five seconds.

“My brother bought me a gift?” He practically purred.

Your eyes narrowed.

Wait, he didn’t think-?

Oh.

Oh.

“I am not a gift,” you ground out, half tempted to pull the gun from your leg.

“Such a beautiful woman, in my house, at night, in such clothes,” he gestured towards you.

Idly, you realized that yes, you weren’t wearing pants, and that perhaps you weren’t really wearing a bra either, but still, he couldn’t just assume you were- wait, his house?

“Your house?” You asked dryly. “Thought Hanzo owned the place.”

The man reacted poorly to the mention of Hanzo, rolling his shoulders back.

“The Shimada’s own the place,” he corrected, “and I am a Shimada, Genji Shimada.”

Your eyes widened a fraction and you mentally cursed yourself. Good thing you kept your cool well enough to not pull your gun on him, because you doubt they’d let you continue to stay there if you’d threatened a Shimada.

“Well, sorry then,” you mumbled. You always did hate apologizing, even if it was for the sake of your mission.

He shrugged it off, as if he himself didn’t much care for the Shimada title.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He inquired, a hand pointing towards your suitcase.

Clearly, Hanzo hadn’t informed his brother you’d be staying with them.

“Business,” you replied, voice tight. Once more you placed the mask of a business woman on, offering indifference and forced politeness.

Genji’s eyebrows raised, as if he almost noticed the change in behavior. You’d transformed from a mostly carefree agent of Overwatch into an intelligent businesswoman in the blink of an eye. Most wouldn’t have thought much of it, but that look in his gaze told you he noticed.

Perhaps there was more to Genji than met the eye, more than anyone of the Shimada clan cared to talk about.

“Then I am sorry to interrupt.”

He flashed you a grin, and you knew he was very happy he had interrupted. He didn’t even seem to care you were, as far as he knew, a potential investor.

“I am surprised, most of my brother’s business partners are not nearly as pretty,” he said smoothly, leaning against the wall, looking for all the world like he owned the place.

Well, he did, you supposed, but still, he looked far too confident for someone who’d jumped in through the window.

“I’m surprised as well,” you whispered sweetly, leaning a little closer to Genji.

His eyes darkened, gaze moving down to watch your chest, then back towards your face. He shifted a bit in stance, humming in question. His hand reached out, almost about to touch you. You could tell he’d done this many times before, charm certainly was something he had plenty of.

“Why would that be?”

You smirked, a devious little motion as your fingers stopped just below his chin. You pushed yourself closer to him, chest almost touching chest, but not quite. Your breathing sent a visible shiver down his spine, words low and sensual.

“They said you were the charming one.”

A sweet, melodic laughter rolled past your lips, your body rolling back as you shifted your weight towards the heels of your feet.

Genji had a frown, his eyes narrowed a fraction.

“I am very charming,” he challenged.

His posture changed, almost defensive as he rose to the dare your words had sparked.

“I suppose you have a week to prove that,” you shrugged innocently, a guiltless smile on your lips.

Genji grinned something fierce, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of a new chase. He looked near sinful, running his tongue along his front teeth.

“I suppose I do,” he breathed, voice just a tad lower than before.

Already, you could begin to see the cogs turning in his head, dictating the fate that would befall on you while in the Shimada Castle. He pushed himself off the wall, brushing invisible dirt from his shoulder.

“A week it is then,” he nodded, bowing from the waist down as he walked towards the exit.

The door creaked as he opened it, a pause before the light padding of his feet began once more.

“Good luck, Genji Shimada,” you called after him.

He cracked a smile.

[masterstrange]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 / 616 inspired au.

Please note that while a vast majority of this verse comes straight from the canon 616 biography of Stephen Strange, there are elements and head canons that are strictly my own mixed in. So, do not use this as a source for any other means than interactions with my muse. This is also the default verse I will use for most Marvel characters that are not MCU affiliated, but also open to MCU muses as well.

Stephen Strange was born November 1st, 1930 to Beverly and Eugene Strange while the pair were on a holiday out of town in Philadelphia, away from their farmhouse in Nebraska. He had three siblings, Donna Strange (1932), April Strange (1934), and Victor Strange (1937). April died before her third birthday due to ailments that medicine at the time were not equipped to handle, nor could the family really afford anything that did exist as the Great Depression was in it’s early days. Stephen has only a fleeting memory of her, but he would have been only six by the time she died. As per their father’s wishes, only a few photos of her remained in the house as the memory of losing her was too painful for their parents to confront day after day.

A couple years later, he began facing terrible nightmares — his parents believed it was caused by the stress and sadness of losing his sister, and being too young to fully understand what was happening. While that might have fed things, what was actually happening was far more sinister. Somewhere far away, a man known as Yao — the current sorcerer supreme, had seen a prophecy. His successor had been chosen, and it was none other than the young Nebraskan child. Of course, it would take years before he was ready to take on this mantle — but the news of this angered one man in particular. For Yao had a disciple, one who believed that the role of Sorcerer Supreme belonged to him. This man was Baron Karl Mordo, and desperate to secure his legacy, he began an assault on the young boy through a psychic connection. Every night, attacking him and plaguing him with night terrors that might push the child to another path. That might make him crazy and unable to take what he believed to be his!

Yao eventually realised what was happening and stopped Mordo, vowing to protect the child. He also decreed that Mordo was too dangerous to be kept unsupervised and also decided to keep him by his side to watch him. To keep his enemies where he could see them. However, the damage was done, and even without Mordo intervening, the night terrors were here to stay. After suffering night after night for what felt like an eternity, Stephen eventually found a solution of sorts. Unfortunately, it came in a bottle — copying what he saw his father do after a long stressful day, he began to drink in secret.

Years passed, and eventually Stephen found his life’s calling (with the aid of Donna and a rollerskating mishap), like his father before him — he wanted to pursue medicine, and he was determined to make it so. Perhaps then, he could gain the approval from his parents he desperately wanted. He graduated school with honors, and awards that were enough to get him into a good pre-med program in New York City. The first year away was a taste of the difficult road ahead, Stephen studied long and hard, but his stress was at an all time high. Luckily for him, he knew far too well how to numb himself to it by now.

Around his nineteenth birthday (1949, second year of college), Stephen came home to visit his family for a long weekend. While home, Donna wanted to show off her ‘cool college brother’ to her friends down by the lake — having missed his sister’s company while away, he agreed. This would become one of his greatest regrets, as the day was fated to end in tragedy. Donna and Stephen decided to race with some friends in the water, but after awhile, Donna suffered a severe leg cramp. She was far from shore, and the time of year made the water colder (even though it was still mild that year, weather wise), and as she tried to make her muscles work, the combination of the cramp, the water temperature, her panic and trying to call for help, tired her to the point where she could no longer keep afloat. Stephen eventually dragged her from the water, but it was too late. His sister was dead.

Stephen grew colder after that day, he blamed himself for not being able to save her — and as she had been the catalyst for his career choice all those years ago, she became the motivation that pushed him to extremes to succeed. He refused to fail, to lose someone because he failed to act in time or properly. It became a matter of pride over the years. A combination that worsened as his mother grew ill and passed away, followed by their father years later. His sister April, had also passed away years ago because of medicine failing her. People kept dying around him, and he couldn’t stop them. This pushed him, motivated him through school and into his career.

His father, he decreed, was the final straw. He couldn’t bring himself to go to the deathbed and bury another person he loved. So, he lied. He told his brother he couldn’t get there, and to drown out the pain and guilt, he went out. Got happily drunk and took someone home to distract him, but the distraction fell short when he found his brother in his apartment. Furious and betrayed, the two of them argued before Victor stormed out. Stephen went to follow him, to try to make amends and make him understand, but he never got the chance to. For Victor had accidentally stumbled into the street as he tried to get away from him and into oncoming traffic. Stephen, unable to cope with another loss, went to extreme measures to save his brother’s life. He knew current medicine was lacking… but he if he could keep him on ice, frozen until a time where perhaps medicine could save him, then he had to try. He failed everyone else, he refused to fail Victor too. How could he let his baby brother down once more?

The final bit of innocence he held had died, Stephen Strange had no more room for lost causes. He only took bets he could win, he only took patience he could save. Of course, he also thrived on a challenge — had that not been what motivate him here in the first place? He took the unusual cases, ones he knew he could win — but would be very difficult and extremely noteworthy. He reasoned, his issues in the past had been emotional. He had let himself be too attached to his work. So he distanced himself, he viewed patience only as medical problems. His original spark for choosing medicine was gone. Only arrogance and dangerous coping methods remained.

His drinking never ceased, he had picked up smoking too. While he was always upfront about what he sought after in relationships with partners, more often what that was were meaningless hookups or dynamics in which they both had something to gain. He was spending his days pioneering medical breakthroughs, earning success and accolades. By night, he was a sad man who needed a distraction, who was never satisfied and tried to numb the ghost that haunted him. He had a few love affairs, but they all ultimately ended. Not to mention, he held certain “urges” (re: non-heterosexual fantasies and feelings) that he couldn’t bring himself to face or admit to, as it was now the 1960′s. Life was becoming increasingly hard for Stephen, but he seemed to have it under a degree of control. As long as he kept himself together when it mattered, who cared if the mask cracked in the off hours? He was heading for disaster, and that was exactly what was going to happen.

February 2nd, 1963: to this day, it’s unclear what the exact cause of the accident was. The initial report, said that the poor weather conditions had made the road unsafe and the accident was entirely just that. An accident beyond anyone’s control. Some people, further into the investigation, once Strange was in medical care realised that the man wasn’t exactly sober behind the wheel, and perhaps this was a perilous example of driving under the influence. Yet, even now, years later a voice still whispers in Stephen’s ear when he’s alone at night; when he’s run through or weak that says: but what if it was on purpose, and the only accident was remaining alive? No matter what the case was, the result was the same. Stephen’s accident had come at the cost of his hands. The bones broken, nerves damaged beyond repair. As a surgeon, as any doctor would have forced to accept, there was no coming back from this. His career, and by extension, his life was over.

Thousands upon thousands of dollars were spent, even ones he didn’t actually have to spend, were poured into Stephen’s quest for some cure that would save his hands, eleven different operations, ones that included untested, and even some illegal, methods and surgeries and substances — all coming up with nothing but a worsening condition. He was in a debt he’d never be free of, and bills were piling up. What happened, was of no surprise to anyone — he was evicted from his home. His belongings seized to repay his loans and bills. With only a small backpack and a limited amount of cash — Stephen Strange was homeless.

He spent a year in and out of shelters, unable to find work (both due to his disability and his pride) before being fully cast out onto the streets. Much of what he had taken with him, was sold or traded for food and warmth. He could often nick a bottle or smoke from workers by the docks, who would sometimes give him dock work when they could find something he could manage. His hopes were dwindling, and Stephen gave up. Winter was coming, and he made peace with the knowledge he would not survive until spring one way or another.

However, that changed when he overheard the dock workers one day. Talking about claims of a Tibetan monk who had the ability to heal the “un-healable”. Something Stephen scoffed at, until he recognized the face of the man making the claims. A man named Pangborn who had once come to his clinic for treatment, but Stephen had turned him away as his paralysis was incurable… but was now standing in front of him and doing athletic feats that were impossible. Stephen used the last of his money, to book cheap passage to Tibet. His hope restored on the promise of what did he have to lose? If it was a lost cause, what did it matter if he died in New York or if he died in Tibet? He was nobody now. It made no difference.

The journey was long and rough, but eventually… haggard and beaten down, Stephen finally found himself on the steps of a large palace. He was admitted inside, and finally came face to face with the man who had saved him long ago, Yao.. or as he was known by everyone, The Ancient One. Stephen pleaded with him to save him, but he offered no medical miracles, only the study of mysticism. Claiming that had been what cured Pangborn. Dejected, furious, Stephen was heartbroken. His final glimpse of hope dashed by a charlatan and some magic tricks. He wanted to leave immediately, planning his final journey… but a blizzard struck unexpectedly, forcing the Ancient One to insist he spend the night until it cleared.

The whole time, he noticed Baron Mordo watching him closely, and couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen him before. Perhaps this was what led Stephen to catch what the other man was plotting, an attempt on his master’s life! Forced to involve himself, Stephen’s doubts about magic subsided quickly as he faced things he believed to be impossible. Once Mordo had been subdued, Stephen’s change of heart made him accept the offer to learn at the Palace, which he learned was actually a sanctum known as Kamar-Taj.

For years, Stephen studied along side Yao. His impressive affinity for magic, and his closeness with the Ancient One, prompted Mordo to officially leave the Sanctums and go rogue. Once he had learned all he could in Tibet, Yao informed him the rest of his studies were back home in New York City. Placing him in charge of the sanctum in Greenwich Village, Stephen was on his way to fulfilling his destiny. Years passed, as his connection with magic grew, he felt changes in his body become more apparent, but for the first time — he had a purpose, one that was noble and fulfilling. One that wasn’t born out of fear or personal desire.

As the years passed, it became clear that Stephen was ready for the final test: facing Death himself. At the end of this, The Ancient One was at peace, knowing his time on the physical plane was at an end and was finally ready to transfer the role of the Sorcerer Supreme to his pupil. Stephen inherited everything, including his ageless life, Stephen Strange was finally Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and Master of the Mystic Arts.

For the most part, Stephen spends his days battling the mystical and multidimensional to keep the world safe. He became well known as a Mystic in Greenwich, to whom people could turn to when having issues with the mystic world. He has amassed himself a small group of friends, although the nature of his world and his demeanor often strain these relationships at times. He is friendly with the Avengers and other heroes, as well as maintains connections with other sorcerers; but he is not affiliated with the official Avengers at this time. He never knows what’s going to happen, but what he has learned with his infinite life is that not knowing is half the reason to live in the first place.

[stinkrascal]

Ok so I was thinking about your sims again 👉🏾👈🏾 and um ok so ik you said tarek's love language is romantic acts of service, but what about the others? Also like what would be their ideal first date? And how would they react to other people flirting with their partner? Like ik vlad would commit a murder, but what about brie 👀 ?

i actually listed all their love languages here!! but ideal dates?? jealousy??? OMG!! im gonna ramble so hard!! so i’ll put all this under a cut :’)))

vlad - a) vlad’s ideal date would be like... an idyllic picnic in a field, listening to soft music, chillin in the sun n eatin fruit n drinkin wine :-) all that sappy shit!! b) u know vlad. he will unalive u if u disrespect his wife. the truest simp. but anyways yes he is a very jealous person, sometimes it’s a little excessive and brie has to yell at him, to which he eventually realizes that he’s being unreasonable and he’ll step back. he really doesn’t try to be that way, sometimes he honestly just can’t help it. since he was alone for centuries, he’s extremely over protective of his family and can find pretty much any reason to dislike any man who so much as glances in breanna’s direction. his jealousy never stems from fear that breanna will cheat on him, but more so from his belief that pretty much every man on the planet is trying to bed his wife LMAO lowkey breanna loves the attention :’))

breanna - a) honestly, she’s very easy to please. just get takeout n get in bed n smoke a bowl n watch movies with her n she will be happy! ;w; b) brie is surprisingly not that jealous, like if someone finds vlad attractive shes like... well of course? look at him? Lmaoooo. unless someone poses a significant threat to their relationship, she doesnt see a reason to get worked up. like she knows how hard vlad simps u know, this man canonically KILLED her ex-boyfriend to be with her so like? she doesnt feel any reason to get upset if someone finds vlad attractive, bc she knows at the end of the day her husband is crazy obsessed w her and her alone so like <3

lucien - a) winery art galleries!! u know like where you go to art exhibits that have wine tastings!!!! sometimes they have those cute delicious tiny little cheeses that r just so good n fancy!!! going to that, then maybe takin a stroll around the park in the evening, then ending the night w a home-cooked meal. b) hes a touch possessive, but its all in good faith :’) if someone flirts with his WIFE he only feels it necessary that he puts them in their place and lets them know that she is, in fact, MARRIED!! like vlad, a true simp

gen - a) skatepark at night, long past closing time. its oddly serene, despite the faint threat of being caught. gen personally finds the parks lingering smell of cigarettes and weed very comforting. b) they r passive-aggressively jealous. they say theyre not a jealous type, but if the girl theyre talkin to is talkin to someone else, theyre like... ok. 😒😒😒

carlile - a) chiefin big rips then going to eat at a buffet....... he will eat so many frog legs like so fucking many!! then goin to see a movie in one of those big movie theaters and seein like a marvel movie or whatever. just somethin trite and theatrical with many, many explosions. b) not aggressively jealous, but his insecurities can sometimes get the best of him in arguments and sometimes he projects his fears that tarek will leave him for someone else, which isnt good u know but like :(( what can u do

nikolai - a) waking up with the sun and traveling to the largest museum he can find, followed by brunch at some hole-in-the-wall café tucked away in the city. the long drive home is spent listening to low-quality psychedelic indie rock, and when he and abigail arrive home, they nap for at least three hours. b) nikolai’s not really a jealous type, and abigail’s pretty clingy, so he doesn’t really have a reason to be jealous. although, when he's severely provoked, he’s prone to that tone of voice where it sounds as though you can’t choose between screaming, or crying.

klaus - a) perusing the local record shop, buying as many used vinyl he can possibly fit in his book sack, and listening to the new purchases in the dim-lit light of his bedroom while talking and napping in between. if he’s really into you, he’ll sing your favorite song—he might even play it on the guitar, too, if he can remember the chords. b) again, not much of a jealous type. most of his relationships have been nothing more than flings anyways, so he doesn’t often have the attachment to someone that would make him jealous, seeing as his relationships are often not exclusive.

anastasia - a) a long, early-morning walk through the aquarium, taking an extra long break to observe the sea turtles swimming about their tanks. she’ll gladly share all of her expansive sea turtle facts with you, if you promise to buy her a stuffed animal from the gift shop. afterwards, strolling downtown to shop in all the antique stores, then ending the date with lunch at her favorite restaurant. pls just let her talk your ear off and she’ll be satisfied. b) annie’s actually REALLY possessive, especially over her friends. she’s the type of person who will get offended if anyone else tries to say vaughn and caspian are their best friends, because, no? those are HER best friends? she’s never had a boyfriend before, but she can imagine she’d be just as possessive, if not more possessive, over someone she loved romantically. she takes from vlad :’)

ilya - a) he is literally like 1 yr old. he doesnt go on dates silly. when hes old enough to go on dates his dream date will be committing arson together <3 so romantic b) im sure he’ll be jealous af when hes older unless i forget u know we’ll see whenever he ages up yeah!!!!!!

bonnie - a) moving all the furniture in the living room, turning the radio up extra loud, and dancing to old-timey music!! then cooking a nice, healthy meal at home and watching reality tv while doing face masks. maybe ending the night w a nice bath fit for two <3 b) especially with her pregnancy, she’s been VERY jealous lately!! small things can trigger her jealousy, and sometimes she finds it difficult to be her usual, rational self when those feelings arise. luckily, it’s very easy to talk her out of this state, so she gets over these fits of jealous relatively quickly ;-;

 tarek - a) driving out into the forest, setting up tents in the middle of nowhere, and snuggling tight beside the crackling fire while watching the night settle. then waking early the next morning to go for a small hike towards the natural lakes scattered about. if carlile is too tired to walk, tarek simply carries him. :’)) b) level-headed as he is, jealousy doesn’t come to him often. it would take a lot to provoke him, and his relationship with carlile is so secure that he doesn’t really feel there’s a need to be jealous

abigail - a) midday trips to the mall with nikolai’s credit card in hand as he shamelessly lets her pick out anything she wants from any store she can possibly enter. she’s always sure to pick out a few outfits she’s certain he’ll love :’)). then going to get smoothies, yes nikolai’s paying for the smoothies too <3 b) abigail is extremely jealous, though she’s desperately trying to ease this habit. especially with nikolai moved to britechester, living with a female roommate, her jealousy often gets the best of her, and believe me when i say it isn’t pretty. she’s prone to dramatic outbursts, and she’ll even feel the urge to enact revenge (aka, cheat on you) if she feels you’ve truly cheated on her. she has to see and speak to nikolai often to have peace of mind, but even then, she often has her moments of insecurity. :((

caspian - a) watching some indie art film at a drive-in movie theater, binging on over-buttered popcorn and gas station hot dogs. if the weather allows for it, then he’ll lay a blanket out on the bed of his truck and lie back with his date, gazing at the stars, rambling about nothing. b) he’s a jealous type, but he doesn’t like admitting it. the truth is, though, it kills him to see someone he cares about with someone else. its just that he doesnt know how to express those feelings, so he often just shoves them away as if they dont exist at all. ;n;

vaughn - a) listen to him perform at one of his concerts, then let him fuck you in one of the bathroom stalls. a true romantic, i know. b) most of vaughn’s relationships are no-strings-attached anyways, so its rare for him to get jealous over a relationship thats already open to begin with. even when he did have partners in the past, he was never the type to be overly protective of his significant other

cooper - a) ok idc about cooper HAHA so like idk nobody is taking this man on a date anyways who cares. idk smoke a bowl with him in his car then go eat at a fancy restaurant that sounds like a very cooper bauer date to have yeah ok we’ll go with that b) he gets jealous but like in a baby way u know. if he thinks you’re into someone that isn’t him he’ll just bawl his eyes out and be like WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE!!!!!!!!! IS IT BECAUSE IM ONLY 5′6″!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yes cooper it is because youre only 5′6″ im sorry short king

wolfgang - a) going around his neighborhood late at night and poking holes in all the tires parked in the streets. yes, that’s super illegal. no, he doesn’t care. yes, this is considered a date for wolfgang. keep up. afterwards, maybe he’ll sneak you up to his bedroom so you guys can watch rick and morty... cuddle. b) i feel like im gonna spoil something if i answer this fully. so. lets just say. Yes he is very jealous :)

[mrmichaelchadler]

“Minding the Gap,” “The King,” “Devil’s Freedom” Among Highlights at DOC10 2018

You won’t find a more splendidly curated event dedicated to nonfiction cinema than DOC10, the annual Windy City festival presented by the Chicago Media Project. Ever since it kicked off in 2016, DOC10 has screened multiple films that have gone on to be ranked highly among my very favorites of recent years, such as Rokhsareh Ghaem Maghami’s riveting Sundance prize-winner, “Sonita,” and Theo Anthony’s thrillingly experimental mosaic, “Rat Film.” The third installment of DOC10, which runs from Thursday, April 5th, through Sunday, April 8th, at the Davis Theater, 4614 N. Lincoln Ave., promises to be no exception. 

Opening the festival is “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”, the highly anticipated profile of television icon Fred Rogers, directed by Oscar-winner Morgan Neville (“20 Feet From Stardom”). Other selections this year include Robert Greene’s “Bisbee ’17,” a timely look at the mass deportation of striking miners, restaged onscreen by their descendants; Jason Kohn’s “Love Means Zero,” an in-depth conversation with formidable tennis coach Nick Bollettieri; Mila Turajlic’s “The Other Side of Everything,” an investigation of a Serbian family’s history and how its divisions reflect those that permeate their country; Elan and Jonathan Bogarín’s “306 Hollywood,” a more lighthearted look at the story contained within objects left behind by relatives; and Betsy West & Julie Cohen’s “RBG,” a rousing celebration of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And in an inadvertent nod to “Ready Player One,” the festival will debut its own “VR RV,” inviting guests to experience virtual reality documentaries while safely situated within a recreational vehicle parked in front of the theater.

I was able to screen five of this year’s selections, and they are all essential in their own respect, though none of them spoke to me on quite as personal a level as Bing Liu’s “Minding the Gap.” It is set in Rockford, Illinois, one of the saddest of all American cities, containing near-vacant streets that are an ideal stage for the free-flowing movement craved by young skateboarders. Liu grew up filming his friends, Zach and Kiere, performing bruising stunts on their boards, and in his extraordinary first feature, the director holds his camera on their faces, illuminating the buried pain that they share, as well as their need to escape it. The fact that all three men are victims of domestic abuse is alarming but also quite commonplace in a town like Rockford. Having spent a great deal of time there myself, it is clear to me that Liu understands the area so completely that its essence has seeped into the marrow of his bones. This is a city where nearly half the population is paid below the minimum wage for working jobs that are gravely understaffed; where funding is slashed for street lights in crime-ridden neighborhoods; and where the residue of violence clings to the interior of houses that were meant to comfort and protect. “This place eats away at you,” says Kiere, who relishes the fleeting sense of control he sustains on his skateboard, until he wipes out. Sure, the hobby may hurt him on occasion, but so did his dad, and he still loves the old man, though it’s telling that Keire finds catharsis in stomping on his boards until they splinter. 

Being part of a community is often the only source of empowerment for disenfranchised Americans, a key reason for why churches and gangs proliferate exponentially in Rockford. The young men at the center of this film have found that community in each other, and the beauty of “Minding the Gap” is in how it utilizes the art form of cinema to bring its subjects closer to a place of healing. “I saw myself in your story,” Liu explains to Keire, who likens the experience of making the movie to “free therapy.” As the filmmaker struggles to come to terms with the wounds inflicted by his own upbringing, he starts to see echoes of his abuser in the increasingly unsettling behavior of his friend, Zach. With remarkable tact and sensitivity, Liu coaxes a tearful confession from Zach, who admits to beating his long-suffering girlfriend, Nina, while acknowledging the demons he has strained to suppress with his cheerful demeanor. When Liu films his mother and simultaneously confronts her about the abandonment he felt as a kid, he keeps a separate camera fixed on his face, drawing attention to his own inability to break free from the pain of his past. Assisted by co-editor Joshua Altman, Liu weaves these stories together, forming a seamless symphony of anguish and euphoria, culminating in an extended montage so deftly executed that it left me in awe. Kartemquin Films has produced many of the all-time greatest documentaries over the past 52 years, and this is their latest masterpiece.

“Minding the Gap” screens at 5pm on April 8th, followed by a Q&A with Bing Liu and other special guests.

“Devil’s Freedom,” Everardo González’s harrowing look at the toll of Mexico’s drug wars on the human soul, clocks in just over an hour. Any running time longer than that may have proven unbearable for most audiences. It is unlike any talking head doc I’ve seen, concealing its subjects’ faces behind masks, supposedly to maintain their anonymity. It is also an aesthetic choice of unfathomable depth. All of the people González interviews have been robbed of their identities by the atrocities they either have committed or have endured at the hands of others. The sameness of their blank masks externalize the dehumanizing repercussions of murder in all forms. As victims are rendered faceless in the minds of their killers, the humanity that had once defined the faces of the killers themselves are removed as well. When González’s subjects cry, tears form on their masks like pools of blood. As one man justifies his string of homicides, his eyes are shrouded in darkness, causing his face to resemble a skull. After a mother attests to feeling compassion for her sons’ killers, who cower in shame while in her presence, she is able to take off her own mask, emerging from her despair as a whole person. Allowing for wordless stretches accentuated by a hypnotic atonal score, González conjures unspeakable imagery in our minds, as his probing questions enable each subject to come clean about their inner turmoil. Perhaps most potent of all is the interview with a man who recalls how his face changed immediately after he had killed a child for the first time. Suddenly, his entire being was consumed with regret, though he’s convinced that he had no choice apart from obeying orders. “I don’t deserve compassion,” he replies matter-of-factly. “When I die, I will have the same expression as everyone else.” He already does.

“Devil’s Freedom” screens at 12pm on April 8th, followed by a Q&A with professor Xóchitl Bada of UIC; professor Héctor García Chávez of Loyola; and Susan R. Gzesh, executive director of the Pozen Family Center for Human Rights.

The finest documentary I saw in 2017 was Angelos Rallis’ “Shingal, Where Are You?”, a shattering wake-up call to the world detailing the 2014 genocide waged by ISIS targeting a religious minority in Iraq known as the Yazidis (alternatively spelled “Yezidis”). With over 3,000 women held captive by ISIS, the surviving members of their community now live as refugees and are desperate to preserve what remains of their culture. Rallis’ film charted the efforts of a Yazidi family to negotiate the return of their kidnapped daughter through numerous intermediaries, while listening to her horrific stories shared via speakerphone. Alexandria Bombach’s “On Her Shoulders” serves as a fitting companion piece to “Shingal” by following another Yazidi woman, 23-year-old Nadia Murad, who escaped her captors and is now traveling the world with the hope of bringing ISIS commanders to justice. Bombach is less concerned with the particulars of Yazidi identity than with the universal qualities of Murad’s plight as a displaced woman who carries a profound weight of responsibility on her shoulders. No matter how much praise she receives from well-wishers, the humble activist says that she will only see herself as a person of worth when the terrorists who killed her family have their day in court. With three brothers and a sister still in captivity, their fates left unknown, Murad must continuously recount the suffering of her people in excruciating detail, while somehow keeping her ferocious strength intact. When other Yazidis break down in front of her, she urges them to wipe away their tears, just as she does when the sorrow threatens to resurface. She is an astonishing force to behold, joining the ranks of other towering young women whose spoken truths are bringing about tangible change, drowning out every sexist naysayer in their path.

“On Her Shoulders” screens at 4pm on Saturday, April 7th, followed by a Q&A with Alexandria Bombach; Matthew Barber, former executive director of Yazda in Iraq; Brannon Ingram, professor of Religious Studies at Northwestern University; and Dr. Nancy Bothne and Kaycee Foreman of TCSES.

There is nothing satisfying about the conclusion of Stephen Maing’s “Crime + Punishment,” and that’s as it should be. Like previous Oscar-winners “Citizenfour” and “Icarus,” this infuriating exposé champions whistleblowers who risk everything in order to bring deep-seated corruption to light. In this case, it’s a group dubbed the NYPD 12, comprised of officers who have charged their department with enforcing an illegal quota system. Using police as a revenue-generating agent for the city is assuredly against the law, and yet over $900 million of New York City’s annual budget is generated by summonses, many of which these officers are allegedly pressured by their supervisors to issue. Hidden cameras and audio recordings capture irrefutable evidence of the NYPD’s crimes laced with blatant racism. When Sgt. Edwin Raymond asks why he hasn’t received his richly deserved promotion, he is informed that his identity as “a young black man in dreads” is the chief reason. Another cop, Sandy Gonzalez, is penalized for not being in uniform, simply because he wore his winter hat while standing at his post on a chilly morning. When he explains that it felt much colder than the day’s projected temperature of 38 degrees, his superior snaps, “It doesn’t matter how it feels! It was expected to be 38.” To paraphrase the disgraced Commissioner Bratton, that’s some bulls—t right there. Watching this film, I was reminded of my favorite line from “Minding the Gap,” delivered wistfully by Keire: “My dad said that being black is cool because you get to prove people wrong every day.” Though the NYPD 12’s case against their department is lodged in legal limbo, these officers have pulverized the assumptions of their overlords, who thought they could intimidate their underlings into submission. Needless to say, they have been proven wrong. Boy have they ever.

“Crime + Punishment” screens at 9pm on Friday, April 6th, followed by a Q&A with Sgt. Edwin Raymond.

Fans of “Twin Peaks: The Return” are going to have a field day with Eugene Jarecki’s enormously ambitious visual essay, “The King” (formerly titled “Promised Land” upon its Cannes premiere). It tackles several of David Lynch’s most memorable topics: Elvis, Vegas, Hollywood, mushroom clouds, small-town idealism and the dissolution of the American dream. Mike Myers, of all people, has one of the film’s best lines, claiming that the nuclear testing in Vegas caused the city to become a “radioactive mutation of capitalism,” a pure expression of our prevailing values governed by the almighty dollar. Boarding Presley’s 1963 Rolls Royce, Jarecki embarks on a road trip across the United States, while building a brilliantly nuanced argument that the legendary singer’s life serves as a microcosm of the country itself. The issues explored here by Jarecki are endlessly provocative and could easily have been stretched into a miniseries, yet he and his quartet of editors somehow manage to make all the disparate pieces coalesce into a mesmerizing whole. Traveling from Presley’s birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi to the numerous colorful locales he once called home, the filmmakers invite a diverse array of singers to perform in the backseat, many of whom represent the genres that he embraced and arguably appropriated. As the election of Donald Trump looms on the imminent horizon (“He’s not going to win,” Alec Baldwin insists), the parallels between him and Presley prove to be inescapable—both are celebrities cross-branded to consumers and both are swayed into making self-destructive choices when prioritizing money over common sense. As the Rolls Royce starts to inevitably break down, the wheels have come off the very foundation of American democracy. I can’t imagine a more appropriately bittersweet closing night selection for DOC10 2018 than this triumphant ode to disillusionment. You’ll be discussing this one for days, preferably at The Bang Bang Bar. 

“The King” screens at 7:45pm on April 8th, followed by a closing night tribute to Eugene Jarecki, complete with a Q&A and musical performance.

For the full festival line-up, visit the official site for DOC10.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2ImTn5k