This is a list of my original fics for my OC Cherry. These are not connected to any of my rps although I do consider them to be Cherry's true canon so I will draw from them when I thread.
Phase 0: Cherry's past/time working for Norman Osborn
Phase 1 : Cherry is rescued by Tony Stark where her identity is changed and she is employed as his personal chef.
Phase 2: Cherry's role in the Avengers changes as she heals and becomes closer to her friends. She also finds herself reversing roles with Tony as he deals with the Trauma of Iron Man 3 and Avengers: Ultron
Phase 3: The largest leap in Chery's development. She has stepped down as Tony's personal chef and stepped up as his personal assistant. She becomes Tony's ever present shadow. Their roles start to switch after Civil War as Cherry helps Tony deal with the trauma of Steve's attack and the revelation of Tony's parents death.
She gains the Amulet of the Goddess from Wong during the attack on New York. During the Blip she has a relationship with Ward Meachum and strikes a very strong friendship with Wong as she learns how to use the amulet and starts to help around the Sanctum.
She also has to endure Tony's death which is the darkest point she's ever experienced since she escaped Norman's clutches.
Amulet of the Goddess pt1
Amulet of the Goddess pt 2
One Harmless Dance pt 1
One Harmless Dance pt 2 (trigger warning: gaslighting, verbal abuse)
Phase 4: Cherry begins to forge her identity without Tony Stark. She begins to assist May Parker at F.E.A.S.T. and finds herself becoming a fixture at the Sanctum Sanctorum where she and Wong continue to dance around each other's obvious feelings. Steven Strange and Peter Parker meddle...a lot. Original storylines here will include Ward Meachum's betrayal and the Norman Osborn: Sorcerer Supreme.
realized last night that stephen strange and matt murdock canonically attended the same university (columbia) AT THE SAME TIME for at least a year if they both went to uni straight out of high school . strange is ~3 years older than matt so it’s totally plausible
Before I remake this blog, I got to get one thing off my chest. Appreciate and interact with original characters. Yeah, I know there are douchebag OCs who are overpowered or only want romantic ships, etc.. BUT DON’T LABEL THE MAJORITY BY THE MINORITY. Especially, if it’s a person you know who has a canon muse and is a nice mun. They aren’t going to change into a completely mean person just because they have an original character.
As a person with quite a few original characters, lemme tell you:
It takes time to get their personalities just right so they don’t come off as a mary sue/gary stu
If you have a female OC, good luck getting interactions because it’s 4x as hard for them [us]
It takes time to get a faceclaim that works just right OR if you draw your characters you will be forever in icon hell.
And once you get that faceclaim. The manga/comic/anime caps can take DAYS if you are doing them by hand. Then you have to resize them, color them, put overlays on theM.
A LOT of times your faceclaim doesn’t have renders so you gotta do that yourself and design a flipping background for a container so you look “cool” because some reason you will be overlooked just because you don’t have it [WHICH SHOULD CHANGE!]
Backstory. Backstory. Backstory. It takes days of research to come up with this stuff and if you are building a world…holy guacamole. Some people draw maps, do languages, and even draw EVERYTHING.
And you know what? MOST OF THE TIME PEOPLE DON’T EVEN READ YOUR SHIT. LIKE ALL THAT RESEARCH AND DEDICATION DOWN THE DRAIN.
So. PLEASE. Respect original characters. Try interacting with them. If you’ve had a bad experience, I understand. But if it’s a person you’ve interacted with before [as in canon muses] then please try to interact with their OCs at least. Maybe expand your horizons after. Trust me there are so many fun OCs out there with the sweetest muns who deserve love and respect.
Hey hey! Just a quick thing before this holiday weekend swallows me up.
I’m seeing a couple new followers (HI!!!) and I just wanted to say if you’d like to RP I am always open :D I can’t always make a starter because I’m hella busy but if you ever want to drop me a meme or anything I’m always super grateful.
I will try to get a couple open starters out soon (like…in a week soon lol)
Wong was far from ignorant of the state Stephen was in. The dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes and Wong had been pressing him to eat more when he could...but that was hard. Since the battle was over, the kitchen was...lifeless. The little space Cherry had occupied during the Blip, the domestic heart of the Sanctum, was empty and most of the food she'd cooked was gone. Wong found himself and Stephen were back to their bachelor staples. He hoped she'd return once she had her space and grieved for Stark, but it had been weeks.
He was worried about her and he was worried about Stephen and he'd been so busy. The blip wasn't just causing chaos to mortal world, it was causing chaos to the magic world too. Everything was shifting and misaligned and unbalanced. Then there were the funerals. Sorcerers at Kamar Taj that had been blipped and then returned only to die at Thanos' hand.
Then of course, coming full circle, there was Stephen. Stephen who seemed to constantly be in his chambers, Stephen who Wong only saw once every couple days, Stephen who looked more and more gaunt and haunted every time he saw him. There was so much they needed to speak of...but when?
Stephen's words were sharp and defensive as they walked together towards the gather crowd. This day wasn't easy for any of them. Wong's eyes flickered towards his friend and then scanned the crowd for a familiar curly head.
"Don't think I'm going to let you be alone today," Wong said, exhaling through his nose, swinging his eyes back to Strange. He had wanted to stay. Of course he did, but his friend's behavior was worrying him. He could at least find Cherry long enough to give his condolences, to let her know he was there for her, but she had the whole Avengers squad on her side...did she really need him? "You've been keeping to yourself for too long, Stephen. Today is not a day to be alone,"
Most of the family had given up on trying to console the young woman. Tony had always been her guiding hand and now that he was gone...she was rudderless. She just found a large willow against the bank and stared numbly out into the waters of the lake.
More than one had approached her.
May and Peter Parker offering sweet sympathies, offering to help in anyway they could. Peter's dark eyes empty, but he was still trying to be strong for those around him. Cherry couldn't drum up a smile for the young man she used to keep treats on hand for.
Rhodey tried. He'd tried to talk to her...to offer some sentiment about great sacrifice and legacy and she'd walked away in the middle of it. Not because she felt they weren't true, but because Tony shouldn't be dead. The world still needed him. He still had Morgan to raise. Peter to mentor. What about his machines and his technology and his brilliance? Why was she...someone who had nothing to give alive and he was nothing now but a memory.
It had taken nearly three long pulls of whatever Happy kept in his flask for Cherry to come down the stairs. Her old friend offering to take her elbow, to lead her to the family and she flinched away at the touch of his hand. She pulled back with the old sick nausea that plagued her years ago. She thought she'd never feel this way again.
The look of shock, of concern on the older man's face nearly made her turn on heel on and go back into her room. This wasn't what she wanted. This was supposed to be for him...for Tony...for his family, for his wife and kid. She was making this worse with her stupid problems that wanted to come up at the worst times.
"I'm...I.." She couldn't say the words fine. She couldn't lie. Her world was being torn apart at the seams and she was hoping the liquor that tasted like bitter ash and peanuts in her mouth would get her through the ceremony. " Please...please, I just want this over with, Happy," She begged. She wanted to be back in her room, to oscillate between numbness and blinding pain without being a burden on anyone else. She didn't want Pepper or god forbid Morgan to see her like this. They were grieving their father, their husband. They didn't need to pull Cherry out of her pit.
"Cher-bear, it's okay...I know..." He swallowed hard, lines deepening around his eyes. "I know...come on...the other's are here...No one's going to bother you,"
She wrapped her arms tight around her self as if she could insulate the pain that felt like it was leaking out of her body and followed Happy's lead. Nearly fifteen years she'd been with Tony and Pepper and Happy...and it they'd been the happiest she'd ever been...and now, it was all over.
Wong was worried. He felt torn into two different halves, but he could only pay attention to one thing at a time. Stepping through the portal he'd summoned, dressed in somber black robes, he looked back at his newly resurrected friend.
That was a whole can of worms he hadn't even touched yet. When had they had time? The battle of Thanos, the death of Stark...Cherry...
He hadn't seen the young woman since the end of the battle. The blue eyed woman was no warrior, but she was bound to do what she could to help. No one could help Tony Stark though.
Focus. One problem at a time.
"Are you ready?" He asked Stephen, who seemed more interested in his cufflinks than the cabin in front of them by the lakeside. Wong blew a sigh out of his nose. "Stephen..."
After the Battle to Save the Universe, Stephen stayed as far away from Rhodey, Pepper, and Cherry as he could. This was a decision five years and his own death in the making. It had been a few weeks since then. He mostly hid in his room or the Sanctum library. It wasn't that he was cowardly or cruel, no he was mourning in his own way. As selfish as it was, he wasn't mourning Tony, he was mourning the loss of his own naive innocence when it came to confronting death.
You lack a spine, Stephen.
The words of his previous mentor echoed in his ears. Well, I suppose I have a spine now, hm? Although if he ever came face to face with Mordo there would be no sympathy over this decision. Mordo would have merely said it was his punishment for using the time stone to defeat Dormammu in the first place. The bill comes due. At times like these, he really wished he had his mentor to rely on. Mordo had a spine, he had conviction. He would have been able to sacrifice Tony Stark without mentally imploding. Mordo would have been a better Sorcerer Supreme. If he hadn't of defected, then Stephen wouldn't have been put in the position of responsibility he was appointed to when Thanos attacked. It wasn't just Tony. It was the loss of Mordo and the loss of his innocence too. Then the criticism started to saturate his world. What happened on Titan became public knowledge and people doubted Stephen's accuracy. They believed there was another way. They grieved Tony, too. Tony because the iconic Jesus figure; a matryr that saved us all and Stephen became Judas. The first to betray Jesus and the ultimate cause of his death.
"At least Judas had the decency to hang himself." Someone had said that to Stephen on a run of the mill trip to his favourite food place two blocks from the Sanctum. Stephen didn't leave the Sanctum after that. If he wanted something, he would just portals or ask Zelma to get it for him politely. At first he used a lot of Xanax to sleep. Long drawn out hours of sleep that let him pass time in a peaceful state. During that time he barely ate. The next couple of weeks after that he was about 75% whiskey 25% person. He was careful to hide it, though. He didn't want anyone to know he was struggling. The court of public opinion was divided. With all the problems becoming unblipped caused, more people were resenting Stephen's decision. The social ramifications were huge and honestly? Stephen hadn't once thought about the effects of blipping when he decider that this was the only way. Life took precedent to him. He was rapidly learning that not everyone felt the same. Especially because people became displayed and geopolitics were starting to become strained.
Then it was the funeral. Stephen was unsure why he was invited. Pepper organised it mainly and with her forgiving nature, he imagined she didn't hold a grudge. It took some convicing to go though. In the end, he figured his absence would be worse than his appearance. So he suited up with Wong and went.
He abstained from drugs and pills for the funeral though. Out of respect. That left him a bit of a nervous wreck, however. He was playing absentmindedly with his cufflinks. Wong asked him if he was ready and he snorted.
"I'll never be ready." He replied, tone irritated and short. Brushing down his jacket, he stepped forward to move towards the lake, close enough to hear but far enough away so he didn't draw too much attention. The best possible outcome would be ignorance. If people ignored him, he could pay his respects in peace and leave quickly. Wong would stay to tend to Cherry, no doubt. That made him envious too. He was gone five years and Wong had simply found a replacement. Did he not grieve at all? Stephen had many questions and many wounds to lick. "I know you'd like to stay but I'm here for the service then I'm leaving." Stephen said the words pointedly. "I don't expect you to leave with me."
An open book? There were a lot of people that would argue that, but He rolled his shoulders easily in a shrug. The compliment though was surprising and nice. He reached out to take the belts and boots from the other man, setting them out of the way.
“That…means a lot,” He admitted. “But do you suppose there’s a universe where I’m not the responsible one and you are for a change?” He chuckled a little at his own joke, trying to lighten the mood a little, but Strange was lost in looking at his own scars. “But…I did lose my Stephen for five years…I gained Cherry in those three and she’s a different sort of influence,”
Does it matter?
“No, you’re right,” Wong answered, not wanting to subject his friend to anymore pain. As Strange busied himself with getting in the tub, Wong was setting out the towels he’d grabbed. He sighed, wrinkling his nose a little at the state of Strange’s soiled and ratty robes. He wasn’t sure Natasha or Cherry would be able to do anything about them. He was debated casting a couple cleansing spells over the robes when something zoomed into the room fast enough to rippled Wong’s robes. There was a yelp and a loud splash and then Natasha and Cherry bursting into room.
Natasha had apologized briefly before hurrying over to Strange’s side and Cherry gave a bemused smirk, “Sorry…Roachswag had other ideas…”
“Maybe it’s a little better this way…” Wong sighed as Natasha and Strange exchanged a couple quick hand gestured. “But we should still, “ Wong raised his voice so Natasha could hear. “Give Strange some privacy to bathe,”
Cherry chuckled and nudged the Sorcerer Supreme with her elbow, “Be nice…I don’t think they’re used to being apart,”
“Of course we have a washing machine,” Cherry chuckled at the question, her blue eyes bright with humor. “Sorcerers aren’t savages, and Wong tries not to use magic all the time. Says it can be harmful to lean on it too much, which makes sense to me,” Cherry gave a little shrug of her shoulders as she opened the door to the basement.
Roach seemed none to happy, flapping and straining against Natasha’s grip. Cherry felt bad, misinterpreting the frantic movement like a scared bird, and not for a strong headed beast with a will as iron clad as its master’s…maybe more so.
Her brows knit in sympathy, the curly haired woman stepped closer to Natasha, moving to stroke the leathery cloak in hopes of giving it some comfort.
“It’s going to be okay…just a little wa-” Her words turned into a yelp. Just as it seemed the cloak was cooperate, it gave am imhumane sound and lurched upwards. The sudden movement startling Cherry and her arms flew upwards defensively, knocking into Natasha and loosening her grip on the cloak. Roachswag took the moment of opportunity and zipped off down the hall back to its master.
Wong folded his arms behind his back as he walked. An easy and well practiced gesture as he listened to the other Strange.
“Did…you not know your Wong for very long?” The Sorcerer Supreme asked curiously. Wong was not lost on the looks the wayward sorcerer sometimes cast at him. A wistful look you’d think of someone looking at a photograph of an old friend or lost relative, only it wasn’t a photograph Strange was looking at, but Wong himself. He thought perhaps Strange was close with Wong’s variant…but maybe not? “I fought more, after the Blip,”
Wong hesistated and then continued. He couldn’t expect Strange to answer personal questions if he didn’t answer them as well. “It was difficult, the transition to Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen had been captured and I was guarding the Sanctum…I thought the Avengers could handle it. Someone had to make sure the Sanctums didn’t fall in case Thanos had plans of breeching through the mystic realms. I have never been so wrong. The next thing I know half of everything living thing was snuffed out, included Stephen. The mantle passed to me. I didn’t even have time to mourn my friend. I had to act…I had to find a way to undo the damage Thanos had done to the fabric of reality and the balance of magic. So much lost so quickly…” Wong took a breath, remember the old aches and the heaviness he had felt in those days, before his friendship with Cherry, before befriending those outside of the mystic arts, when he had felt so alone he thought he’d tear in two.
“I also needed a way to keep the Sanctum open. I know I could just create money, but that is against the natural order. I don’t need to flood this broken economy with enchanted currency. So, I started taking up fighting. The money was good, I was good, and it damn well helped with everything I had inside. Then Cherry came along and I’d be a lot uglier without her help. You’d be surprised how good she is with a needle and thread. She was more supportive before Stark’s death,”
Wong felt a little relief that Strange clearly had no interest or curiosity at Cherry’s quarters. So he took him to his own. It was a room the size of Stephen’s own, but no nearly as garish. He liked things sleek and simple. He gathered a few things as Strange sat down.
“Strange knows now. It wasn’t something I was going to confess to him, but it’s not something I can exactly hide,” He turned with a small stack of towels and wash clothes in hand when he noticed the other’s naked forearms and the many, many distinct and runic scars that lay open. Wong may not have known what each scar was for, but he knew what caused them; forbidden magic. The price of love, Wong thought sadly and took a step closer to Stephen.
“You put a high price on her…” He murmured to the pale sorcerer, clearly making connections between Strange’s scars and the woman he’d fought so hard to save. He lifted his eyes from the scars to Strange’s face. “Would you do it again?”
“I never said sorcerers were savages.” She laughed a little. “Stephen told me the same thing, but he still doesn’t have wifi or cell service in his home.” adding the last bit with a little sarcasm. His home was a broken dimension, of course there wouldn’t be any technology left despite what Stephen could power himself through magic. Natasha frowned a little. “You mean they would use the grip on reality?” Well, if their eldritch broomstick would be anything to judge by, magic could drive people crazy. The widow still didn’t actually consider herself a wizard, sure she was learning how to correctly use magic to not hurt herself or anyone else but that didn’t make her part of the club.
Roach pulled and flapped his fabric together in a way that made it sound like a snarl. “Alright you unholy garment. We’ve been over this. I would never do anything to hurt you. Cherry I woul…” But Natasha never got to finish her sentence as Cherry reached out to pet the leathery fabric, it just waited for an opportunity and while Natasha was already anticipating the helloundish cloaks shenanigans, Cherry was still new in dealing with it. As the older woman knocked into her Natasha immediatly reached to steady her, but in turn, Roachswag found his chance of escape. “You okay?” She asked the curly haired woman. “Roach is stubborn. he enjoys playing tricks on people. Never trust him. He usually tries to drown or murder people.” Natasha found an odd tone of fondness while she talked about the murder cloak. “He’s proud and petty basically. And constantly jealous. But he cares for Stephen.”
“Roachswag! You come back here this minute!” She yelled after him. For a second the cloak stayed put in midair, then billowed and took off again. “One day I’ll use him to re wrap a book in Stephen’s library, seriously. Come on. We better go catch him before he starts snarling at Wong for being close to his master.” Taking Cherry’s hand she took off after the garment, up the stairs, a hard left, through places of the sanctum Natasha had never seen before. One could easily get lost here.
The cloak busted through a door on their right down the hall, finally finding it’s master and just hitting his clasps into his shoulder, hard. Natasha and Cherry followed suit just a couple of seconds later. Natasha let go of her friends hand to take a breath when she saw Stephen’s scars. Sighing, she shot him a look as if to ask if he was alright again. He had answered no the first time and she was worried about her teacher. “Roach just took off. I think you might want to dunk him in the bath with you.” Natasha suggested with a shrug. “Maybe this whole thing is a bit more complicated then anticipated.” Looking at Wong Natasha realized that they basically barged into his private quaters. Crap. “Sorry! Damn it. I didn’t mean to.” The young woman actually seemed flustered for a minute. “We can just. Wait outside? Or Stephen could you? I dunno, command Roach to not play tricks on Cherry?” Natasha looked at Cherry, hoping she would smooth things over with this breech of privacy.
She was eyeing the robes, still soiled and ripped, with scars and people Natasha sighed. Seriously, these things should get burned or tossed out, but Strange had deemed them irreplacable, so she would at least try to work some of her magic once they got Roach taken care of. There was already commotion, lots of things going on. She wasn’t sure how much more Stephen could take before he started his distance staring again, so Natasha simply tapped his hand to get his attention and quickly signed the way she would usually do with Clint. (“Do you want me to try and fix them while you’re in there?”) she asked, pointing at his robes.
Did you not know your Wong very long? “A few years. I considered you a dear friend, but neither of us were very up front about important things. Either you’re more of an open book than the man I knew, or perhaps given more time you might have… trusted me more, I guess? No way to know,” Strange murmured quietly, fidgeting with his belts and boots as he listened quietly to the story. “I think you make a fine Sorcerer Supreme. You were always far more responsible than me.” The slight, shadow of a smirk on his face fell again as he spotted Wong’s attention on the scars ringing his wrists, his head lowering again to hide his expression.
A high price… “You have no idea.” Would you do it again? His expression became distant, eyes locked on a far away point, mind clearly shuffling away. “Does it matter? It’s been done and can’t be undone.” His voice was quiet, just as distant as his gaze, autopilot seemingly taking over as he carefully shrugged out of his outer robes, but swayed to his feet again as he crossed to the tub to crouch and fidget with the water while Wong set up what he might need. Hunched beside the tub, the man seemed diminished without the robes, even just shirtless, emaciated, pale, something occasionally shifting under the eldritch-scar-riddled skin unnaturally over his bones.
After a long tense silence, he drew in a breath as though about to say something- right when his cursed cloak practically broke the door down and leaped against his back, nearly knocking him into the half-filled tub with a strangled yelp. If it was possible for him to get any paler, he looked positively green in the face, clutching the cloak around himself as he peered past Roach’s collar at their sudden additional company.
Natasha was speaking, but her voice seemed muted, the world sinking away- he flinched as she touched his hand gripping the edge of Roach, blinking down at her as she wove her hands- a spell? No. Language. Right. ASL. She had been teaching him. Words. He started with a dim nod, just to assure her he was paying attention before his grip relaxed and he signed back stiffly, (”I’m not ok.”) He drew in a deep breath, clearing his throat and glancing away as he added, (”Will be ok. Yes. Robes.”)
“I’m glad you know how to deal with them,” Cherry laughed, but cast a wary eye up at the flapping books, glad to pull Zelma out of the library. She wrinkled her nose at the other woman’s explanation, “Well…that explains why he can’t get that smell out of his robes. His poor cloak…it’s been pretty mopey,”
Zelma’s insistent pleas made Cherry’s laugh turn bright. It always made her happy when someone liked her cooking, “Yes, yes, I’ll be cooking. Who else would be?” She said as they made their way down the hall.
“Zelma,” Cherry popped her head around the corner and gave a small smile. She was happy Stephen had employed someone else in the Sanctum (not that Cherry was exactly employed) and that it was another woman. She was still getting a feel for the other woman though and hoped they could become friends, “you feel like taking a break? I was going to make some lunch,”
Zelma stood ontop of an old ladder, trying to catch one of the flying books that haywire magic had set afloat. "Careful Cherry, some of them bite today. I swear, Strange has set off the winds of Watoomb or something and the books have all gone crazy... Well crazier then usual." She stepped down, jumping from the last part of ladder, only to grab a book and seal it shut. "I'm not sure why, but they seem to like to get their spines stroked. It calms them down." Shaking her head, Zelma pulled her beenie straight, then set the book back into it's self. "Lunch sounds great. As long as it's not that alien noodle concoction Strange has to eat. I'm a long way away from that hopefully."
Cherry usually kept clear of the library. When she first started to assist at the Sanctum, she had tried to help, but after getting lost in a never ending loop of shelving and having several books divebomb her head, Cherry had given up.
She watched Zelma with admiration as she wrangled the flapping book down from the air. She wished she could be so gutsy.
"Oh..no," Cherry wrinkled her nose a little. She felt bad that her friend had to change his diet to such a disgusting thing. "Wong hasn't exactly shown me how to make that...I'm not sure I want to learn...but I can't help but feel maybe I could find a way to make it a little more palatable...I was thinking of something simpler like grilled cheese or something,"
Zelma clamped the book shut, then put it back in it’s spot all neat and proper. A court not towards a couple of the still flapping books. “You guys behave until I come back, if you don’t I’ll tell the Doc and you know what happens next.” The librarian shot them a look, pushing her glasses back up her nose, eyes glinting ominously. The books seemed to shudder and one who had been about to dive bomb Cherry flapped it’s pages hard to swoop over her head.
“And that’s how you deal with a flock of accidentally animated spellbooks. Don’t ask me why. They’ve been going haywire since Stephen tried to tap into the dragon lines to flush out whatever magic pollution got stuck in the sewers of new york. I didn’t ask too many questions.” She clapped her hands together, then stood next to Cherry and nodded. “Good. Grilled cheese sounds great. I could go for that. Please tell me you’re cooking. I miss your cooking.”
Alright I have been enabled so I’m gonna say somethings.
Fatalistic sarcasm is a thing, however, it usually hides deep feelings of insecurity, and whether you consciously recognize this or not, it validates them. Seriously, I used to constantly make jokes about how other people’s work was better than mine, and it did nothing for my self-esteem, it was a tool to deflect from my own feelings of inferiority and it actively worked against me thinking critically about my own and other people’s work. If it was a joke I could put myself down instead of analyzing why someone’s work was better and trying to incorporate that into my own
As someone who took creative writing courses I was constantly surrounded by other brilliant people, if I hung my head in shame every time I read something as good or better than mine I never would have lifted it.
As someone who has watched a lot of writers with very good idea’s crash and burn I mean it when I say you either develop a healthy sense of respect for your own work or you stop writing.
There’s three things I really wish more people consider
1. Do you think their work is better because it’s a different style, one that you like? There’s an element to ‘the grass is greener on the other side’, I have seen people work in some amazing styles that I wished to god I could replicate, some I managed, some I never did, but there’s nothing wrong with either. having a different style Is Not the same as having a bad style, each has their own strengths and you can admire one without putting yours down
2. Knowing someone who is a better writer is a blessing and if they knew you were using their work to bring yourself down they would not be happy, mooch off that friend, analyze their work, ask them to edit your shit, as long as you’re not annoying them be shameless about it. the best thing creative writing did for me was give me the confidence to ask people to critic my work and shamelessly better each other for that sharing
3. People need to normalize being confident in their work, the quality of your work has literally nothing to do with your worth as a person, the quality of your work has nothing to do with your worth as a writer. You can write something really shitty and the only thing I’d say to you is that your trying and I respect you for that
A/N: So this is becoming a thing and now you're all stuck with it. I dont know how much longer I'll be caling it a Marco Polo mash up or if I should. I'm clearly taking a lot of inspiration from there but it's quickly becoming it's own thing.
WARNINGS: DARK THEMES, ABUSIVE THEMES
NOTES: I’M STILL FIGURING OUT POWER STRUCTURES AND THINGS, OBVIOUSLY THIS IS NOT FOLLOWING THE SAME TIME LINE AS THE MCU OR MY OWN CANON. I’D LOVE TO HEAR PEOPLE’S THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS!
CREDIT: I OWN NOTHING BUT MY OWN FANGIRLISH DELIGHTS. PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY.
(AS ALWAYS, IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN MY WRITING PLEASE LET ME KNOW)
PART 1 PART 2
There were too many hands.
My voice was a breaking, ragged thing as I pleaded. Panic lodged like a stone in my chest, blocking my lungs, I couldn’t catch my breath. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t just trade me away like some useless trinket. I pawed and clawed at the hands that were attempting to remove my dress. They’d already wrestled me out of my coat and blazer, but why on earth did this need to go further?
No one needed to see what was under the knit garment.
No one needed to know.
There were two people with me, women, plain faced and robed, granted their faces were turning ruddy with frustration as I continued to fight them. The room was thick and humid and smelled of jasmine and that purveying cologne of incense. It felt too heavy here. It made me feel dizzy, but didn’t help I was near hyperventilating.
“Stop! Stop it!” I snapped out, desperate, heart racing, lungs burning when I suddenly saw it.
I didn’t see anything else. I couldn’t even tell you what the room looked like. I just saw the door. I found a strength I didn’t know I possessed, pushing away the two with the insistent hands, and darted over to the door when…he just appeared.
He didn’t come out of the door.
He didn’t side step into my view.
He literally appeared out of thin air with a cape of red swirling around his shoulders.
“That will be enough of that, Miss Hobbes,”
He stood well above my 5’4 stature. Unlike the earth toned robes of the servants around me, he wore blue ones, the same color as the eyes that peered at me and held me fast in place. It made the red of his cape even bolder. He didn’t look like the others I’d seen who were golden to dusty skinned and jeweled eyed. He was fair skinned with an angular face graced with a dark goatee and coiffed hair that was greying at the temples. He looked distinguished and out of place in this stone room.
I cowered, my fit of bravery over, evaporating like water on a hot skillet, sizzling away to leave me shaking and wild eyed.
“You know my name…”I whispered, brows knitting together. My chest was so tight. Was I going to have a heart attack?
“You could,” He answered, surreal blue eyes hooking into mine. “If you don’t settle down and let us help,”
I went cold all over and felt what strength I had leave me. Legs turning from brittle tingling splinters, to water, and I would have collapsed if the two nameless people weren’t there to grasp my shoulders.
“We’re not going to harm you,” The blue-eyed mind-reader said gently. “For someone who wanted to stay in Kamar Taj so badly…you’re in a hurry to leave,”
“Kamar Taj? We’re…back?”
The stranger didn’t answer but gestured to the two who assisted me, “Take her to the bath and leave. I’ll do the assessment alone,”
I had so many questions, but didn’t have the wits or the strength to ask them. Out of fight and out of options, I allowed the two plain servants to lead me back into the room and in doing so realized why they’d been trying to get me out of my dress and the reason for the humidity here.
It was a bath or more like a natural spring that the room had been built around. Suddenly the incense and jasmine made sense to try and hide the eggy notes of the naturally warm waters. The stone of the room more than just aesthetic it was an actual spring. There were large east facing windows, pebbled in texture for privacy, that let in dancing sunlight that mixed with the vapors of the water making the room feel that much more surreal and relaxing.
I still recoiled when I felt the hands at the zipper on my neck, “Please…can’t I just..get into the water alone?” I looked at the blue robed stranger, pleading. “I won’t run…if you can read my thoughts, you know I won’t…”
Quiet and then a wave of his hand,long fingered and elegant, the two servants straightened, offering a small bow and left. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I can’t read your thoughts…not truly,” He admitted. “But I can pick up on what people project and you project…very loudly,” A small, sad smile. “But I have to insist you undress. It is part of the assessment,”
“What assessment? I don’t understand what’s happening…please…can’t you tell me anything?”
He twisted a wrist and I caught something in the light, strange shiny skin on his hands, they…didn’t look quite right. With the gesture, much like himself, a little table appeared along with a tea pot and two cups out of the air.
“I will answer three of your questions,” He said simply. “And give you a chance to quiet your mind and then we really do need to move forward, Miss Hobbes,”
I was quiet, mulling over what he said as I sank on nerveless legs to one of the large rocks that lined the spring. With a another gesture the pot poured itself and the cup and saucer floated through the air to me, bobbing gently until I grasped it with my hands. The tea was pale and golden, fragrant, smelling of fresh grass. The ceramic was thin and delicate between my fingers, clearly it was expensive. I sipped on the tea allowing the light taste to invade my mouth.
“Who…who are you?” I asked softly, watching him with wary eyes.
“That is your first question,” He said, taking the other cup and drinking deeply. “And I am Doctor Stephen Strange, Court Physician and advisor to the Sorcerer Supreme,”