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doctorstrangegifsparadise · 9 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Ch.One | Ch.Two | Ch.Three | Ch.Four

Chapter Five

Attending to his responsibilities as Master of the New York Sanctum often kept Stephen away from Kamar-Taj for days, or even weeks, at a time. As a key bulwark in the defense of Earth against other worldly and other dimensional threats, the Sanctum was his top priority, even as he continued to refine his skills and hone his mastery of the mystic arts. Fortunately, his former career had left him well prepared for the pressure and demands upon his time and talents, forging him into an accomplished multi-tasker. With constant vigilance as his watchword—and the assistance of a dozen advanced Adepts rotating through his Sanctum on a regular basis--Stephen succeeded handily.

He returned to Kamar-Taj after a two-week stint, which included a protracted battle against several demons who sought to assert mind control over a gullible group of religious cultists, hoping to use them as conduit from one of the dark dimensions to create a foothold upon Earth. Glad for the quiet and orderly calm which the compound offered, Stephen headed for the library before checking in with masters of the various disciplines—for Wong remained his best source for keeping track of not only crucial developments within the facility, but for updating him on the small details of everyday life among the students.

Crossing the courtyard, he spotted Teyla—now clad in the currant-colored garments of an Adept—sitting on one of the waist high stone partitions, speaking with a male Adept who appeared about her age. He was leaning against the low wall; they looked quite comfortably close, as she laughed at something he had said. Another young man soon joined them, boosting himself up to sit beside her. Stephen was glad to see this indication that Teyla had found a good fit among her peers; her focus had been so steadfast upon training, and upon the work she longed to do, that he’d been concerned she might isolate herself from social interactions. He grinned as her honest laughter carried across to him easily on the clear, morning air--making him wish he could be party to the trio’s conversation, and discover what had animated her so.

Mixed in with his curiosity, Stephen felt a quiet swell of protectiveness move him, for Teyla’s sake. He supposed it wasn’t too unusual—he did bear a share of responsibility for her well-being, after all. Yet the music of her laughter was lovely enough to leave him with a twinge of longing for a chance of his own to make her laugh, and to see the amusement that must color her soft doe-eyes…

With a deep breath, he shook off his uncharacteristic woolgathering and turned his mind back to practical matters, making a mental note to ask Wong about the Adepts paying such close attention to Teyla—reasoning that Moraine wouldn’t want them distracting her daughter too much from her training regimen.

Teyla’s voice followed him as he reached the steps leading to the library, “Doctor. A moment of your time, please?” Stephen turned back, to find her sprinting towards him.

“Good morning, Teyla,” he grinned, noticing the bloom of healthy color in her cheeks; life at Kamar-Taj obviously suited her well. “What can I do for you?”

She reached his side, bright eyed and not winded in the least, “I wished to welcome you back. I am glad to see you are well, and safely returned to us.”

“Thank you—I’m happy to be back myself.” And he was; coupled with Teyla’s sincere, enthusiastic greeting, there was something rejuvenating in returning to the place where his eyes had at last been opened to the hidden wonders of the universe. “I see you’ve advanced quickly while I’ve been gone.”

She gave a little twirl, showing off her new tunic, and beaming with delight, “It was only yesterday I was awarded the ranking of Adept.”

Though the last time they had spoken, she had sworn again to work her hardest, Stephen hadn’t expected her to achieve that rank so quickly. “You have good reason to be proud, Teyla—you’ve accomplished much in your time here.” His honest compliment was rewarded with her prettiest smile yet. “And I’m sure your mother will be pleased with your progress,” he added.

“That is one of my hopes, Doctor,” she proclaimed, “But in truth, I have other priorities beyond pleasing Mother.” For the first time, Teyla seemed unintimated by Moraine’s heavy-handed expectations—and if it was her studies at Kamar-Taj that had awakened this new streak of independence, he would be delighted to encourage her.

“Teyla, am I correct in guessing there may be something I can do to help you accomplish these goals?”

“Is mind-reading one of your many skills, Doctor Strange?” She laughed softly, and somehow the charm of it—coupled with the guileless admiration in her warm, brown eyes—left him feeling about ten years younger, and very light of heart.

“I’m afraid I’m not that talented,” he chuckled, “Let’s just call it an educated guess instead.” She acquiesced with a small nod, so that he asked, “How can I help you, Teyla of Hadeeth?”

“Well, there are two matters on my mind, Doctor,” she began, “I hope to begin studies in the mystic healing arts of Kamar-Taj. I am already skilled in those of my own people, and I wish to learn as much as I can here, not only to expand my abilities, but to share them with other Healers when I return home.”

“A reasonable request, and one I recall from your arrival here.” He weighed her entreaty only a moment before telling her, “I think we can make arrangements to begin, so long as you maintain good progress in your other studies…”

“Yes…yes, of course,” she readily agreed.

“And you will continue in your efforts to develop a better understanding and some control over your prescient dreaming…” he reminded her.

“Absolutely!” she exclaimed.

‘Excellent,” he commended her. Then, in light of his role as her tutor on the subject, Stephen continued, “And how goes the dream journal these days?”

Teyla raised a brow and parted her lips to respond, then seemed to reconsider her answer before replying cautiously, “I have made a record of my dreams, though…hmmm…for the most part, I do not believe they are of import to my training…”

“Are you that certain, Teyla?” His curiosity piqued, Stephen felt obligated to advise her, “Perhaps you should consult with Master Salma or myself; sometimes a student lacks the perspective to judge such things for themselves.”

She looked away, abruptly self-conscious and fairly stammering back, “No, Sir…no. I am certain my…these…these dreams are merely the ordinary dreams of…of a mind tired by days of rigorous training and study.” Facing him again, her eyes plead silently for him to let the subject rest at that.

Perplexed, Stephen chose not to belabor the topic—for now. “Okaaaay. We can hold off on that a bit—as long as you’re sure there’s nothing important.” He observed her closely for any clue as to what might eclipse her usual candor. She showed relief—and gratitude—but no hint of any secret. “And your second request?”

Eagerly, she addressed a subject much dearer to her heart, “My father, Doctor. I thought perhaps you might allow me time to visit him. I have fulfilled my promise, after all—and I long to reunite with him soon.”

Her visible affection for her father would be persuasion enough, even without reminding him of his promise. “The sooner, the better, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, Sir. Yes…please?”

“I’ll need to check with your other Masters first, but I can’t imagine they’ll give me anything but glowing reports about your progress.” He laid a hand upon her shoulder, happy to fulfill her fondest wish, “Consider it as good as done, Teyla. Will tomorrow morning be soon enough?”

She replied exactly as expected, “Oh yes, Doctor Strange. Thank you so very much!” And then, to his surprise, she moved in close and brushed a fleeting kiss upon his cheek. Not giving him a moment to react, she backed away, “Do forgive my forwardness—I’m just…I’m very glad for this gift.”

So pleasant a kiss—and light as a fairy’s, he mused. As though he’d actually been kissed by a fairy at any point in his life. Recovering swiftly, Stephen quirked her a crooked smile, “Think nothing of it, Teyla—I’d kiss me too over such good news.”

She regarded him skeptically, then allowed his ready humor to set her at ease. “Indeed, Doctor Strange. That’s quite a thing to picture.” She bobbed her head in farewell, “I should be off to class, but will look for your affirmation later.”

“Yes.” As she turned to go, he remembered to ask, “By the way, just where on Earth does your father live?”

“New York City,” she nearly sang in her delight, “In the village of Greenwich.”

“Greenwich Village,” he had muttered as he watched Teyla cross the courtyard en route to her class. Why does that not surprise me? It was enough to make him speculate that the Universe had a perverse sense of humor. Weeks ago, when Teyla had revealed her history of dreaming of his hands, he’d acknowledged it was more than just coincidence that their paths had eventually crossed here in Kathmandu. After the initial shock—and the uneasy hours spent wondering if perhaps she’d been given those visions in order to save him the tragic damage that destroyed his old world—Stephen had accepted it as yet another marvel of his new world, and as a sign he was exactly where he was supposed to be. This latest detail almost seemed like overkill—but also led him to suspect that this kind, ingenuous young woman might have a significant role to play in the mystic mission of Kamar-Taj…and mayhap, in his own service to the multi-verse.

As promised, Stephen sent a Novice to deliver a message to Teyla that evening, telling her to be ready to depart from the main courtyard at 9am the next morning--and that he would accompany her. He planned to conjure the portal himself, bringing her to the New York Sanctum personally, before setting out for her father’s place. Though he felt a bit anxious, he remained intrigued to see what further “coincidences” might arise between them, and if there might be an overarching purpose revealed as to their unanticipated…entanglement. Perhaps meeting her father might shed some light on the rapidly multiplying twists of fate that seemed to be bringing them together. If not, well…at least he could set his mind at ease, knowing Teyla was safely delivered to the one soul in a city of eight million plus, who would wish only for her best.

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doctorstrangegifsparadise · 10 months

Text

End of Story

Part of her felt bad for the other dimensions, specifically their civilians. They always succumbed to Dormammu’s power without much of a fight, if any was given at all.

That is until her uncle tried to invade Earth.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.”

(The story of how Clea and Stephen first meet)

Clea was now 42. She didn’t know her father very well, as he had died when she was very young, only 35 years old. She hadn’t necessarily grieved for him, as it wasn’t in her Faltine nature. However, her Human heritage left her feeling… disappointed? It was an odd feeling, to say the least. Her mother had been nearly 200, or 30 in Human years, when she had gotten pregnant. Her father, an actual Human, was in his early 30s. As Clea grew, she saw how rapidly he aged. She watched as the grey hair at his temples overtook his entire head. It seemed his face gained a new set of wrinkles as each year passed. By the time she was 6 in Human years, he was in his late 60s. Despite the world they lived in, his death was quick and painless. While Clea would miss her father dearly, her mother acted as if she were expecting it. “Humans are mortal. They live, they die. End of story.”

Clea knew her mother only a bit more than her father. She was still alive, just not around anymore. She tended to jump around dimensions, actively trying to ignore the existence of her daughter. It was Clea’s birth, after all, that rendered her mother unable to convert back to her Faltine form in all its glory. Instead, she was stuck in her “weak and miserable” humanoid form. With both of her parents no longer in the picture, Clea’s raising was left to her uncle, Dormammu.

She quite liked her humanoid form. Some aspects of her appearance showed whose blood she belonged. She had her father's hair and her mother’s face, for instance. Others were purely hers, and these things she took the most joy in. Her eyes were blue, a rare thing among her kind. Her humanoid form also hid the Faltine power that ran through her entire being behind a seemingly harmless facade. She was still a child in the eyes of most other creatures, should they have the misfortune to meet her. (They may have entered Dormammu’s home without him noticing, but none ever left). In this form, she could approach other creatures and not have them run away in fear.

Clea was well aware of how Dormammu kept their dimension as stable as it was. In a dimension that actively collapsed in on itself, he needed to constantly absorb other dimensions and worlds to keep the balance. Her Human heritage once again reared its head and part of her felt bad for the other dimensions, specifically their civilians. They always succumbed to Dormammu’s power without much of a fight, if any was given at all.

That is until her uncle tried to invade Earth.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.” Clea heard a man call from beyond.

“You’ve come to die. Your world is now my world, like all worlds.” Her uncle declared. She discovered the voice belonged to a man, a Human man she realized much to her delight, as he stared up in defiance. She hadn’t seen one of those since her father’s death. Finally, someone that looked vaguely like her preferred form. He wore a blue outfit and a red, heavy-looking fabric at his shoulders. Around his neck, he wore an amulet with a green glow. That same glow circled his arm. Her delight was short-lived, however, as her uncle sent spears flying at the man. Clea’s breath caught as the man flung up an orange shield at the last second. Ah, she thought, this Human was a magician of a sort. She didn’t even know those existed. Despite the magics he held, they were no match against the ruler of the Dark Dimension, and they both knew it. Dormammu’s power tore through shield and Human alike. Clea released the breath she was holding. She found herself frowning at the scorched ground and turned away with a sigh. She shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, he had put up a fight, but ultimately he was Human. They live, they die. End of story.

She was suddenly hit with a wave of Deja Vu as she heard the repeated phrase, “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.” Clea felt chills run down her spine. She whipped around to see the source of the voice and sure enough, the man was back, whole and not injured save for a cut on his cheekbone.

She found herself in awe as she realized what had happened, as did her uncle. “What is this? Illusion?”

“No, this is real.” The man answered. Clea heard the hint of smugness in his voice.

“Good,” her uncle said, and this time the man didn’t have time to throw up a shield before two spears pinned him in place. He hung there limply as he gave his last wheezy breath. Clea noticed the green glow continued spinning around his arm.

A flash of green. He was back, unscathed.

Once more, the man landed on the small sphere and checked that the green glow was still spinning around his arm. “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain!”

“You… what is happening?” Her uncle questioned. She’d like to know too, if she was being honest with herself. Never before had the Dread Dormammu killed someone and failed at it, let alone twice in a row.

The man stood tall and proud, “Just as you gave Kaecilius powers from your dimension I brought a little power from mine.” He raised the arm with the green glow, “This is Time. Endless, looped, time.”

“You dare?” Dormammu exclaimed and crushed him under his fist. Clea was not only shocked that this Human was putting up such a fight, she was also shocked at the fact he had elicited such a strong reaction from her uncle. Not even his sister’s abandonment had prompted such anger from him.

This little “weak and miserable” Human withstood Dormammu’s might three times now. Endurance like none she had ever seen. Most other creatures, both living within the Dark Dimension and those who didn’t, would pale at even the thought of facing off with Dormammu. And yet…

Clea was now 56. She returned to see how the human was fairing against her uncle. “Yes, but everyone on Earth will live.” The man said.

“But you will suffer,” Dormammu prompted.

The man smiled bitterly, “Pain’s an old friend.” He was quickly torn apart.

Clea was now 91. Every so often over the years, Clea would return to this spot to watch Dormammu’s prisoner, though at this point he seemed to be more of Dormammu’s jailer . Some of the man’s “loops” would last a short time, such as when her uncle simply stabbed him or obliterated him. Others would last longer, going on hours or sometimes even days. A few times Dormammu would simply leave the Human to die of thirst. It was during one of these loops that Clea got her first good look at the Human.

He was propped up against a rock, wincing slightly as he prodded at the cut on his cheekbone. He sighed and let his hand fall into his lap. The red fabric over his shoulders moved of its own accord and stroked at the injury. “Stop,” he muttered, jerking his head away from its reach. His face was rather narrow, but then again, it could be a perfectly normal look for a Human since her only experience with a Human was her father. He wore deep blue robes that seemed warm if the sheen of sweat was anything to go by, which made Clea wonder why he was shivering so much. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the rock, pulling his legs up to his chest. She briefly wondered how long a human could last without sustenance. She didn’t even know how long this loop had lasted already. His breathing deepened and she saw his head fall slightly to the side. She could say that he almost looked content if it weren’t for one of his legs bent at the wrong angle. “Can I help you?” He asked behind her.

She yelped and turned around to face a slightly transparent version of the Human in front of her. She gasped, “Are you dead?”

“Not quite,” he answered. “What’re you doing here, kid?” There was such concern in his voice that it startled her. He didn’t even know her. He certainly didn’t know she was the niece of his murderer.

“I’m not a kid,” she countered, “and that shouldn’t matter to you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “I may not be a practicing doctor anymore, but I think I know a teenager when I see one. Are you okay?”

She swallowed and nodded,“Yes. Are you?” She gestured to his physical body.

He huffed a laugh and parroted, “That shouldn’t matter to you.” He blinked heavily. It was then she realized his eyes were blue, like hers. “Were you spying on me?”

“It’s not very often we have visitors,” she said, not admitting the fact that yes, she had been spying on him this entire time.

“No more, okay? I don’t want you watching when things go south. Though, I imagine you already have.” He speculated. She nodded. He blinked heavily again and sighed, “In fact, you probably need to be going soon.”

His hands were shaking yet he was sweating. She couldn’t help but ask, “Are you afraid?”

He set that piercing gaze on her, “Answer for an answer?” She nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid. I thought making Dormammu agree to my bargain would be much quicker. But it’s been… how many years now? 7 years since I��ve started this loop?”

“I was 42 when you first came here, and now I’m 91, so that sounds about right.” She agreed. His face twisted into one of pure confusion. Before he could ask, she reminded him, “Only one question, remember?”

He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before settling on, “Do you know of anything that might make Dormammu more willing to take my bargain?”

She pursed her lips in thought, “Well… Dormammu is the ruler of this dimension. He’s always had the freedom to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. With you here, he can’t do that. You’re not his prisoner, anymore. He’s yours.” She handed him the knife she kept with her. “Here, take it as a gift of gratitude if not good luck on your mission.”

“Promise me something,” he started, taking the knife, “You’re not to watch me die anymore. No more spying.”

“I promise. In return, I get one more question.” She compromised. He gestured with permission. “What’s your name?”

It had been a few hours later, but she couldn’t help but notice that the loop had reset again too soon. She didn’t quite know what that entailed. What she did know, however, was that she was incredibly proud of Strange when she next saw the loop.

Strange had taken a pretty hard hit and was trying to recover when Dormammu spoke, “You will never win.”

“No,” the doctor agreed and struggled to get himself upright. “But I can lose. Again, and again, and again, and again forever.” He stood not quite as tall and proud as he had been, but no less defiant. “And that makes you my prisoner.”

“No-”

Clea was now 105. She kept her promise, and at that, kept her distance. She heard rumors of Dormammu’s sudden absence. Some suggested that he and his sister had fought. Some thought he had taken a prisoner if the occasional scream of agony was anything to go by. Only she would know it was the other way around. Every so often she would leave some food and drink out for Strange, should he ever revisit where they had first met. The food and drink were always gone when she came to replenish it.

Clea was now 126. At the brink of adulthood in Strange’s eyes if he were to ever see her again. He’d still think her a child. It’d been long since Clea started to find the food and drink she’d left for him go rotten. Still, she left a new batch. Every time she came back, it was in the same place she’d left it.

Clea was now 147. The citizens of the Dark Dimension had begun demanding a new ruler to be named.

Clea was now 168. The Dark Dimension thrived under her rule. She’d discovered a dimension that projected enough energy to keep her dimension fed for decades if not centuries, while also preserving her own. The food and drink she had been leaving was once again gone.

Clea was now 203. Her mother had returned and begged forgiveness. She hadn’t granted it. Instead, she went to sit propped up against a rock. She pulled her legs up to her chest and watched as pests ate the food she had left out.

Clea was now 238. She’d begun to wonder if Strange had given up on the loop, or if he had somehow managed to kill her uncle.

Clea was now 273. She looked to be about the same age as Strange when they had met.

Dormammu returned as a failure. The Earth had been saved by Doctor Strange. This marked the first time someone had entered Dormammu’s home and lived to tell the tale.

Clea was now 343. Incursions had started appearing throughout the realms. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him. “Doctor Strange?”

He turned around slowly, warily. The grey at his temples had spread only slightly. There were a few new wrinkles on his face. His eyes were still the same blue she remembered from her youth. He looked at her skeptically and asked, “Can I help you?”

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