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[pinkthick]

Ephemeral Voices

AO3 link: Ephemeral Voices

Chapter one: May I join you? — Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

Chapter two: My favourite coat — Alastor stormed into his dimly lit apartment, the weight of the night's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. With a resentful grunt, he tore off his blood-stained coat, tossing it carelessly onto the bathroom floor.

?

[pinkthick]

Ephemeral Voices

Pairing: Human!Alastor & Female!Reader (He will love the reader but not in the way you think)

Human!Alastor & Human!Mimzy

Summary: Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

Notes: I do not know what I’m doing but enjoy 😭😭 (Credits to the artist @xixixixi1037 on Twitter)

Masterlist

Chapter one: May I join you?

In the dimly lit jazz club, the air hummed with the sultry notes of saxophones and the rhythmic tapping of drumsticks. Y/N sat at the corner table, her fingers tracing the rim of her whiskey glass as she lost herself in the melodies swirling around her. The ambience was intoxicating, drawing her deeper into the world of jazz.

Mimzy, her vivacious friend and a regular performer at the club, took center stage, her voice weaving through the room like silk. Y/N watched with a fond smile, admiring Mimzy's talent as she commanded the attention of the audience.

Amidst the crowd, a figure caught Y/N's eye. Tall and enigmatic, he moved with an effortless grace that seemed to defy the very essence of the music. His crimson suit gleamed under the soft glow of the stage lights, and his presence exuded an aura of mystery.

Alastor, that was his name, though Y/N didn't know it yet. He danced with Mimzy, his steps synchronized with the rhythm of the jazz. There was something captivating about him, something that tugged at the edges of Y/N's curiosity.

She took another sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving the pair on the dance floor. There was a story there, she could sense it—a tale woven within the threads of music and movement.

As the night deepened, Y/N found herself drawn closer to the stage, her heart quickening with each note that hung in the air. Alastor's presence loomed larger, casting a spell that seemed to envelop her in its embrace.

Mimzy's voice faded into the background, replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat as she watched Alastor's every move. His eyes, piercing and intense, met hers across the room, sparking an electric current that sent shivers down her spine.

Their gazes lingered, a silent exchange of recognition and intrigue. Y/N's pulse quickened, her mind ablaze with questions she couldn't yet voice. Who was this man, and what secrets lay hidden behind his captivating facade?

As the final notes of the jazz melody faded into the night, Alastor and Mimzy took their bows, their performance met with thunderous applause from the audience. Y/N remained rooted to her spot, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger who had ignited a flame within her soul.

In the hushed aftermath of the performance, Alastor made his way through the crowd, his eyes never straying from Y/N's as he approached her table. There was something interesting in his gaze.

"May I join you?" he asked, his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers cascading down her spine. Y/N nodded, her voice caught in the swell of emotions that threatened to consume her. As Alastor took his seat beside her, the world around them faded into oblivion.

"I couldn't help but notice you were staring, dear," he remarked, his voice a sultry cadence that danced through the air. Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly, caught off guard by his direct acknowledgment. She laughed, a soft and melodious sound that echoed in the intimate space. "Wasn't everyone?" she replied, attempting to mask the fluttering excitement in her chest.

Alastor's smile widened, revealing a hint of charm beneath the enigmatic exterior. "Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt," he introduced himself, extending a gloved hand toward Y/N. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as she placed her hand in his, their fingers interlocking in a fleeting moment of connection.

"Y/N," she responded, her name rolling off her tongue with a grace that matched the jazz melodies still lingering in the air. "Nice to meet you, Alastor."

Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, his eyes betraying a curiosity that mirrored her own. "Are you here all alone?" he inquired, his voice a whisper that stirred the air between them.

Y/N shook her head, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Oh, no. I came with Mimzy," she replied, her words laced with warmth and affection for her friend.

Alastor nodded, a knowing glimmer dancing in his eyes. "Ah. A friend of Mimzy’s is a friend of mine, Miss Y/N," he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

"She's a really good dancer," Y/N remarked, her eyes fondly following Mimzy's movements on the stage.

Alastor chuckled softly, his gaze still fixed on Y/N. "She's one of the only people who can really keep up with me," he revealed, a note of pride in his voice.

Intrigued, Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Are there others?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Alastor chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers "I do not know, my dear." he replied, extending a gloved hand towards her. “Care to find out?”

A spark of excitement ignited in Y/N's eyes as she accepted his invitation. Their fingers intertwined once more, and Alastor led her to the dance floor.

As the music enveloped them in its intoxicating embrace, Y/N found herself swept away by the rhythm of the jazz with Alastor as her guide. "I must say, Miss Y/N, you're holding up quite well," Alastor remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Y/N, breathing a little heavier, managed a breathless laugh. "I don't know how you're still doing this," she admitted, a playful glint in her eyes.

Alastor, the epitome of grace, chuckled softly. "Years of practice, my dear. It becomes second nature after a while." Despite her best efforts, the fast-paced dance proved to be more challenging than she anticipated. Y/N struggled to keep up with Alastor's effortless elegance, her breath quickening as fatigue set in.

She even stumbled occasionally, her steps faltering under the weight of the rapid movements, but each time, Alastor was there to catch her. “For someone who's not a usually, this is quite the workout." she quipped, attempting to catch her breath.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with mirth. "You're doing splendidly, considering," he complimented as he guided her through a series of spins with effortless grace.

As the jazz melodies reached a crescendo, their dance intensified, weaving patterns of connection between them. Y/N embraced the challenge, determination in her eyes, even as the fatigue started to set in. Alastor sensed her effort and, with a twirl, brought their dance to a graceful conclusion. They stood at the center of the dance floor, breathless but exhilarated. Y/N, her cheeks flushed, couldn't help but smile.

"I must admit, you have a unique charm on the dance floor," Alastor complimented, a genuine warmth in his gaze.

Y/N grinned, playfully rolling her eyes. "Maybe not as unique as yours, but I'll take it."

They returned to their table, the echoes of their dance lingering in the air. Mimzy, observing from afar, joined them with a knowing smile. Her voice cut through the lively chatter of the jazz club, her tone laced with playful concern. "Take it easy on her, darlin'," she chimed in, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Alastor turned to Mimzy with a charming smile, his eyes alight with amusement. "Of course, Mimzy. Wouldn't want to wear out my dance partner too soon," he replied, his voice dripping with playful banter.

Y/N laughed, sharing a glance with Alastor. "I was just trying to keep up honestly.”

Mimzy winked at Alastor. "Not everyone can keep up with this one.”

Alastor leaned back in his chair, a contented expression on his face. "What can I say, just pour me some whiskey, and I will be on the dance floor all night long."

Y/N chuckled, raising her eyebrows playfully. "A man of simple pleasures, I see. I'll remember that for next time."

Mimzy chuckled as she rolled her eyes "Well, well. Alastor, you're quite the dance enthusiast, aren't you?"

Alastor grinned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Guilty as charged. It's hard to resist the allure of a good dance."

Mimzy smiled, pouring a glass of whiskey and sliding it across the table to Alastor. "You know where to find me if you need a dance partner. Now, enjoy that whiskey, darlin'." With a wink, Mimzy returned to the performance area, leaving Y/N and Alastor at the table.

As the jazz melodies continued to fill the air, Y/N reached into her bag, producing a pack of cigarettes. With a swift motion, she took one out, placing it between her lips, and lit it with a flick of a match.

Alastor, watching her with mild surprise, hummed, "Didn't take you up for a smoker."

Y/N exhaled a thin stream of smoke, her eyes meeting his with a knowing smile. "It's a bad habit, I know," she admitted, the smoke curling around her like a veil.

Alastor nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "We all have our vices."

Alastor observed Y/N, her features softened by the glow of the match and the ambient light as she nodded.

He noticed her gaze shift towards a clock on the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Something on your mind?" he inquired, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor. Y/N glanced back at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Just checking the time. It's later than I thought." Alastor followed her gaze to the clock, realizing that the night had indeed slipped away.

Y/N took a final drag from her cigarette before flicking away the ash "I should probably be heading home."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "So soon? The night is still young, my dear."

Y/N nodded, her eyes lingering on the clock for a moment longer. "True. It's just... I have an early morning tomorrow.“

Alastor, sensing Y/N's impending departure, smiled warmly. "Then allow me to escort you home," he offered, a gesture that held both politeness and genuine interest.

Y/N looked at him, touched by the offer. "That's sweet of you, Alastor. But it's not necessary. I can manage on my own."

Alastor chuckled, his gaze unwavering. "Consider it an old-fashioned courtesy. Besides, a gentleman wouldn't let a lady navigate the streets alone, especially at this hour. It's the least I can do after the delightful company you've provided this evening." He would know that.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at his charming demeanor. "Well, who am I to refuse such a gentlemanly offer? Escort away, Mr. Hartfelt."

As they made their way through the jazz club's exit, Mimzy waved them off with a wink. "You two take care now. See you again, Y/N!"

The city night enveloped them as they stepped onto the streets, the echoes of jazz fading into the background. Alastor's presence offered a sense of comfort, and Y/N found herself enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

As they strolled through the dimly lit streets, Alastor engaged Y/N in conversation, the night air carrying their voices in a gentle exchange. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the whims of fate that had brought Alastor into her evening.

"Excuse my curiosity, but are you working at the jazz club?" she inquired, her tone gentle.

Alastor's eyes flickered with amusement, and he chuckled softly. "Ah, no, my dear. I'm just a patron who appreciates good music and the art of dance. Although, I must say, the idea of working at such a place is intriguing."

Y/N smiled, finding a shared appreciation for the enchanting atmosphere of the jazz club. "You seem like you'd fit right in.”

Alastor tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Perhaps. I work at a radio station. Mostly a podcast focused on dramas and comedy ," he confessed.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "A radio podcast? That's unexpected," she admitted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I would have never guessed."

Alastor nodded, his enigmatic smile never fading “I reckon you heard of ‘Ephemeral Voices’ from WWL.”

N's eyes widened with recognition. "Wait, 'Ephemeral Voices’? I've heard of that! I never connected the dots until now."

Alastor's smile widened as he took out a small card from his pocket, handing it to Y/N. "Well, now you have a face to put to the voice. Feel free to tune in whenever you like."

Y/N took the card, a mix of disbelief and excitement on her face. "I can't believe I've been listening to your podcast without realizing it was you." Alastor shrugged playfully at that.

As they arrived at Y/N's house, the night air took on a hushed quality, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. Y/N turned to Alastor with a grateful smile. "Thank you. You didn't have to come with me, you know," she expressed, the sincerity in her voice echoed in her eyes.

Alastor's gaze met hers, and he replied with a casual shrug. "I beg to differ. A gentleman wouldn't leave a lady to navigate the night alone. It was my pleasure."

Y/N chuckled, appreciating the chivalry that seemed to be second nature to him. "Well, I appreciate the company, truly. It's been quite an unexpected night."

Alastor's enigmatic smile lingered. "The best nights often are."

Y/N fumbled with her keys, her gaze lifting to meet Alastor's. "I suppose this is where we part ways," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

Alastor nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I trust you'll rest easy knowing you're home safe and sound.”

She extended her hand, which Alastor took with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor bowed slightly, a gesture that seemed to belong to another era. "The pleasure was mine, Miss Y/N. Until next time."

As Alastor bid her farewell, Y/N watched him disappear into the night and she entered her home, the door closing behind her.

She couldn't shake the smile that lingered on her lips.

[pinkthick]

Just answer Via

Summary: "I understand you're upset, Octavia. But I love you more than anything. Please don't shut me out like this. I'm begging you."

Notes: Mind you, I didn’t watch Helluva Boss yet. (Just watched 3 episodes but the Goetia family got my heart so I needed to write something. 😭) Again, there is a bit of self-harm so um yeah. Enjoy

Warnings: Blood and Self-harm(cutting), Hurt No Comfort

A Octavia lay on her bed, ignoring the incessant buzzing of her phone. Messages and calls from her father flooded her notifications. She couldn't bear to listen or respond; the pain was too fresh. Stolas, on the other hand, found himself alone in bed, tears streaming down his face as he sent desperate apologies to his daughter.

He was drowning in regret. His perfect starfire, how could he hurt her? Tears cascaded down his face as he lay in bed, haunted by the distance between him and his beloved daughter. Desperation fueled his fingertips as he composed messages, pouring his heart out in a digital plea for forgiveness. The room echoed with his cries as he poured his emotions into each desperate attempt to connect with his daughter.

Octavia, however, was resolute in her decision to shut him out. She couldn't bear the disappointment and pain that seemed to accompany Stolas wherever he went. And fuck him. She didn’t need him. And dad Stolas sure as hell didn’t need her.

"Via, my love, please hear me out. It's all a terrible misunderstanding," Stolas pleaded in a shaky voice through a voice message, his vulnerability exposed.

But Octavia just tossed and turned in her bed, drowning out the incessant buzzing of her phone with a pillow over her head as more of his messages were coming in.

"I understand you're upset, Octavia. But I love you more than anything. Please don't shut me out like this. I'm begging you." He clutched his phone tightly, fighting back his own tears, but to no use. "I know I've been a fool, but you are my world. I would never willingly hurt you. And Blitzo—he doesn't mean more to me than you do. I never left you for him," he sobbed into the phone as he fervently composed one apology after another.

She didn’t want to entertain his attempts to explain himself. That was what she was telling herself over and over. In truth, she knew that if she allowed herself to listen, she might be swayed by his words. That were probably lies. All he did was lie.

Stolas' voice cracked with emotion as he spoke “You're my little girl, and I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please, let me make things right. I don’t want to spend an eternity without you, Via.” I’m so sorry my baby.

Stolas continued to call, each ring intensifying her frustration. Unable to endure the constant intrusion any longer, she seized her phone and, fueled by anger and disappointment, hurled it with all her might against the wall. The shattering impact silenced the incessant ringing and buzzing, providing a momentary respite.

The room fell into an eerie quiet, broken only by the sounds of her sobs. Her chest was heaving with a mixture of anger and relief as she glared at the broken pieces scattered on the floor.

She just..stood there. Breathless even. The moonlight streamed through the shards, casting an eerie glow that seemed to mirror the shattered fragments of her own emotions. She couldn’t take her eyes off the glinting shards—they suddenly seemed sharper, more defined.

The pain sometimes provided a twisted solace. Not always. But sometimes it did.

She bent down to pick up the scattered remnants of her phone. As she started to gather the broken pieces, a small shard embedded itself in her hand. There was a brief pause, but Octavia's expression remained stoic. It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel — enough.

Examining the shard in her hand, she felt an odd sense of detachment and she calmly removed the shard, and a slow trickle of blood began to stain her hand. The black droplets fell, but she continued cleaning up.

The room felt colder and despite the discomfort, a strange tranquility settled over her as she gazed at the glistening blood on her hand.

But it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

—

Stolas paced around his trashed room, frustration boiling over. "Damn it, Octavia! Why won't you let me explain?" he muttered to himself, fists clenched. The shattered remnants of his belongings lay scattered on the floor. His attempts to reach Octavia only led to the voicemail now "Blocked me, hasn't she?" Stolas seethed, resentment simmering beneath his feathers. He felt abandoned, misunderstood.

Stolas couldn't contain the turmoil within him any longer. With a guttural scream, he hurled a crystal vase across the room again, the shattering sound punctuating his frustration. “Satan forbid I try to be happy for once!” he growled, his fists now indiscriminately demolishing everything in his path. He knocked over a grand bookshelf, sending leather-bound tomes crashing to the ground.

His anger manifested in every strike, every shattered item a reflection of the shattered connection with his daughter. Stolas grabbed another vase, memories of happier times with Octavia flashing before his eyes. With a furious yell, he sent it flying, watching it disintegrate against the wall. "Stella, you wretched fiend!" he spat, resentment fuelling his rampage. He tore down curtains, the rich fabric torn to shreds in his hands.

The contents of drawers spilled onto the floor as Stolas overturned a dresser, the crash punctuating his fury. He kicked at the debris, uncaring of the damage inflicted upon his once-stylish attire.

Why wasn’t he allowed to be happy?

Stolas's rampage came to a sudden halt as his eyes fell upon a small, damaged frame. He bent down, trembling hands carefully picking up the remnants of a drawing — Octavia’s drawing. "No—no, no, no!" Stolas gasped, horror etched across his face as he cradled the fragile piece in his hands. The once-pristine frame lay shattered, and the drawing bore the scars of his unchecked fury.

A choked sob escaped him as he traced the lines of Octavia's childish strokes. "Not this drawing—oh, fuck," he whispered, guilt and regret intertwining in his voice. Stolas hastily searched for tape, his hands shaking as he fumbled through.

With a watery chuckle, he found the tape and delicately began piecing the frame together, his movements careful, as if mending this small drawing could somehow mend the larger wounds. As the drawing took shape again, albeit marred and fragile, Stolas looked at it through tear-filled eyes. The crayon depiction of a happy family seemed to mock him as he gently wiped away a tear that threatened to stain the paper.

I would never hurt her.

But you did.

Stolas settled onto the debris-laden floor, clutching the repaired drawing against his chest. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at the innocent depiction of a happier time. Silent sobs racked his frame as he whispered to the drawing, "My baby... my starfire," with a trembling hand, he reached for his phone.

He scrolled through his messages and soon the cruel reality struck. Octavia's name remained devoid of any response — what did he expect really?

Desperation etched across his features, Stolas dialed Octavia's number once again. The familiar tone of voicemail filled the air, echoing the emptiness of his heart. He clutched the phone, tears streaming down his face, as he whispered brokenly, "Please, Octavia, just talk to me." Stolas pressed a hand to his chest, as if physically trying to ease the ache within. "I've messed up," he admitted through choked sobs, his vulnerability laid bare. “I know I did, Via.”

Gasping for breath between sobs, Stolas's trembling hands scrolled through his contacts. After a moment of hesitation, he scrolled down to 'Stella.' A deep inhale preceded the press of the call button, the phone ringing.

Then, against his expectations, a begrudging voice answered on the other end. "What do you want now, Stolas?" Stella's tone dripped with irritation, a testament to the strained dynamic between them.

Stolas hesitated, his voice catching in his throat before he managed to stammer, "Stella, please, it's about Octavia. I need to talk to her." His desperation clung to his words.

A heavy sigh on the other end hinted at Stella's exasperation. "How many times do I have to say it? Octavia doesn't want to talk to you. Is that so hard for you to grasp?" The blunt truth struck Stolas like a blow, and he felt the weight of his actions press down on him.

He didn’t know what to say but Stella's voice turned colder, cutting through the strained air. "Was the sex worth it?" she asked as Stolas felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

His words stumbled as he tried to justify himself, "It wasn't just about that, Stella. I needed something more, something that made me feel alive."

A bitter laugh escaped Stella's lips, a sound tinged with both anger and disbelief. "Alive? You chose momentary pleasure over your daughter's happiness. What kind of father does that?"

A simmering anger brewed within Stolas as he clutched the phone as he retorted, "What kind of mother does what you do? All you ever did was show her off to your friends—you never cared for her! I don't even know if you love her!"

Stella's voice, now laced with a mix of anger and hurt, responded, "Don't turn this around on me. You're the one who shattered our family for some demon's affection. I did my best for Octavia, and I won't let you blame me for your mistakes."

Stolas, undeterred, retorted, "Your best? She needed both of us, Stella. We both failed her. You were more concerned with appearances than being there for Octavia. Don't pretend you're innocent in all of this."

A bitter laugh echoed through the phone as Stella responded, "But where is she now, Stolas? Is she staying with you?" The question hung in the air, a cruel reminder that Octavia had chosen to distance herself from her father in the wake of his mistakes. Stolas felt a lump forming in his throat, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. He glanced around the shattered room, now devoid of any semblance of the life he had once known. "No, she's not with me," he admitted, his voice carrying a defeated tone.

Stella's laughter persisted on the other end, a sound that grated against Stolas's ears. "Of course she's not with you. Why would she want to be? You've made your bed, Stolas, and now you have to lie in it."

A heavy silence settled between them, and Stolas struggled to find the right words. "I... I messed up, Stella.”

No shit.

"I'm going to check up on my daughter since you probably disturbed her night with your calls," Stella declared, her voice stern and resolute. The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, leaving Stolas with a sinking feeling that he had pushed Octavia further away.

"Stella, please—" Stolas began, his plea interrupted by the decisive click of the call ending. He stared at his phone in silence, the dim glow of the shattered room casting shadows over his disheveled appearance.

—

Octavia stealthily made her way to the kitchen, ensuring that her mother or uncle were not present. And they weren’t, thank Satan. She cautiously opened drawers, her search focused and deliberate. Her hands sifted through the utensils until she found what she was looking for – a cold, gleaming knife tucked away among the ordinary cutlery. Octavia's gaze lingered on the blade, reflecting the moonlight that streamed in through the window.

Via found herself descending onto the cold kitchen floor, the knife held loosely in her hands. Conflicted emotions swirled within her, a storm of pain, anger, and confusion. Her own mind was a battleground, torn between the yearning for control and the dread of succumbing to old habits. She traced the edge of the knife with her fingers, contemplating the scars that adorned her past.

The temptation to cut again clawed at her again. It would be so simple. Peaceful even.

She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. She just felt numb thinking about her insignificant existence. Her parents didn’t want her. They needed a heir and they got one. She realized that no matter what she’ll do, her life will atone to nothing. The only time the emptiness was filled was when the slits from her wrists were open and blood poured down her arms.

Memories of Stolas flooded her mind. She couldn't escape the vivid recollections of his face, a mix between concern and disappointment, every time he discovered the evidence of her self-harm. His eyes mirrored the pain he felt for her, a silent plea for her to find solace without resorting to self-destruction. My beautiful girl. My beautiful miracle girl. Why would you do that to yourself?

He always asked the same questions.

Octavia could almost feel Stolas' gentle touch as he cleaned her wounds, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied the frustration and sorrow etched on his face. His gentle touch, the careful application of bandages, his tears for her.

Lucifer knows, one of them had to pretend to care .

The knife felt heavier in her hand for some reason. She didn’t.. set out to do this tonight. Gripping the knife tightly, she steeled herself for the familiar dance with pain. She held her breathe as she pressed the blade against her skin, tracing lines that mirrored the scars of her past.

It was always fascinating. Hypnotizing. And before Octavia really understood what her body was doing, the knife was squeezed tightly in her fist and was cutting again. The pain was sharp and sudden, but faded as soon as the beautiful red started to run. She never realized how beautiful blood could be. The color was bark and painful but soothing at the same time. Stunning.

It’s scary. She shuttered to think of what Stolas would think of her if he knew she had intentionally cut up her arm again. Blood isn’t comforting, she knew that.

What did she really do?

—

Stolas summoned a hologram of a little Octavia. The ethereal form glowed softly, capturing the innocence and purity of his daughter in happier times. The miniature figure stood before him, her eyes wide and curious.

"Why are you crying, Daddy?" the holographic Octavia asked, her voice a sweet echo from the past. Stolas looked up, his tear-streaked face met with the spectral image of his daughter, a painful reminder of the joy he had inadvertently traded for fleeting moments of pleasure.

He struggled to find words, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "I'm sorry, my starfire," he whispered, reaching out as if to touch the hologram, only to grasp at the emptiness.

The holographic Octavia tilted her head, her innocence contrasting starkly with the broken reality surrounding them. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, confusion clouding her ghostly features. Stolas shook his head, his heart aching at the notion of his little girl blaming herself. "No, no, my love. Daddy made some mistakes, and I hurt you. I hurt us," he confessed, his voice trembling.

"Can't you fix it, Daddy?" she asked, her small form glowing with hope.

"I'll do everything I can to fix it, my precious. Daddy promises," he vowed to the ethereal image.

A gentle, playful giggle emanated from the holographic Octavia, her form shifting to mirror an older version of herself. "You're still embarrassing as fuck, Dad," she quipped, her tone filled with a teasing familiarity that sent a wave of relief through Stolas.

He was stunned and looked up from his tear-stained hands, and his eyes widened at the sight of the hologram transforming into an older, more mature Octavia. The glow of the projection illuminated the room, casting an ethereal light on the wreckage. A tentative smile played on Stolas's lips as he took in the image of the holographic Octavia, her features reminiscent of the daughter who had distanced herself from him. "Via, my dear, I... I miss you," he admitted, his voice carrying a mix of longing and regret.

The holographic Octavia, now resembling the older version who had grown distant, rolled her eyes playfully. "You've got a lot of making up to do, old man," she said, her tone softening as she reached out, the glow of her hand brushing against Stolas's cheek — but he didn’t feel it.

He wished he could feel it.

"I'm so sorry, Octavia," Stolas began, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never meant to hurt you. I've made terrible choices, and I've hurt you. I just want you to know that I love you, more than anything."

The holographic Octavia regarded him with a mixture of warmth and skepticism. "You messed up big time, but you’re lucky I love you too." she responded and Stolas melted before her.

As their interaction deepened, Stolas found himself immersed in the illusion, the holographic Octavia's laughter and responses feeling so authentic that, at times, he forgot she was merely a projection. So Stolas allowed himself to believe that the hologram before him was his actual daughter.

—

Stella burst into the kitchen, her eyes widening in shock as they fell upon Octavia, blood running down her arms. Anger and concern clashed on Stella's face, her expression darkening. "What the fuck, Octavia? You're cutting yourself again?" The words were sharp, a mix of frustration and worry. Octavia felt a pang of guilt and shame. She stammered, searching for words that could explain the inexplicable.

"Mom, I—" but before she could finish, Stella's voice cut through, more forceful this time. "I can't believe you're doing this again. Fuck, we need to clean up before anyone sees, especially my brother." As Stella moved towards Octavia, a mix of urgency and irritation, Via instinctively tried to shield her actions. "No, I can handle it myself," she protested weakly.

Stella, however, wasn't having it. "Handle it yourself? Look at you, bleeding all over the damn place. We don't have time for your bullshit. Now, give me that knife, and let's clean you up." She hesitated but she did give the knife to her mother.

As Stella examined the wounds, Octavia winced, and a cry escaped her lips. "It hurts!"

"Stop acting like a baby," Stella snapped, her tone harsh. "This is your mess, and you're going to clean it up.” Her mother retorted, her voice stern as she led Octavia towards the sink. The moonlight painted a macabre scene as Stella started cleaning the wounds, Via started to watch as her blood fell to the bottom of it and mixed with the water until it turned pink and pooled around the drain.

Stella, frustration etching her features, demanded an explanation as she asked, "Why did you do it? You stopped doing this awhile ago." Octavia, still sniffling, looked up at Stella and whispered, "You know why." Her mother’s eyes softened briefly, a mix of sympathy and exasperation in her gaze. "He's not worth it. Doing this to your body isn't worth it." she insisted, reaching for a cloth to start cleaning Octavia's wounds.

Via, her voice shaky, responded, "I can't... I can't get his face out of my head.” As Stella dabbed at the cuts, Octavia winced "Why can't you see that you're worth more than whatever he did?" Stella pressed, frustration tingeing her words. "Cutting yourself won't make the pain go away. It only adds to it." Octavia, tears streaming down her face, struggled to find a response.

Stella, her hands continuing to move methodically to clean Octavia's wounds, couldn't hide the frustration in her voice. "Now stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can't waste a pretty face like you have," Stella remarked, her words sharp and tinged with frustration. "You can't be pathetic like him."

Octavia, still sniffling, met Stella's gaze, her eyes reflecting a tumultuous sea of emotions. "Why did he choose him over me?" she asked, her voice tinged with a vulnerability that echoed through the room. "The Imp?" Stella clarified, pausing for a moment. Octavia nodded, prompting Stella to scoff. "Because he's a fucking moron who gets crazy over a dick," she retorted, her disdain evident in her tone.

The truth in Stella's words hung heavy in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of the absurdity that had fractured their family "You're better than this, Octavia. You're worth more than someone who would choose... that, over his own daughter. Don't let his colossal mistake define your worth."

Octavia, her voice heavy with pain and resentment, confessed, "I hate him. He promised he would never leave me, but he didn't even bat an eye when he had the chance."

Stella, finishing up and turing off the water, frowned at Octavia's raw confession. "As I said, he's a fucking pathetic old gay—"

"Mom," Octavia interrupted, her tone pleading. "I just wanted him to love me more than he loves Blitzo."

Stella's expression hardened briefly, a flicker of anger in her eyes. "His name doesn't even deserve to be in your mouth," she asserted as she continued "You're his heir, Octavia, and he should have put you first. I don't care about his reasons; abandoning you was inexcusable."

Octavia looked down, her mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. "I thought I meant more to him," she admitted, her voice a mere whisper.

Stella's tone grew more unbearable as she patted Octavia's head with a forced semblance of affection. "You're a fool for thinking that," she remarked, her words a cold reminder of the harsh reality they were grappling with. Octavia, looking up at her mother, felt a surge of frustration and yearning for understanding.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Stella cut her off. "Now, we had a great heart-to-heart talk, but you need to clean up here. We'll talk tomorrow," she declared, her abrupt shift in demeanor signaling the end of their conversation. As Stella stood up, leaving Octavia on the kitchen floor, she stopped in the doorway, her gaze lingering on her daughter "I don't think I need to tell you that you need to wear shirts with long sleeves the next few weeks?" she remarked.

"No, Mom," Octavia replied, her eyes downcast as she reached for a towel.

“Great! Now chop-chop," she declared as Via nodded, her movements mechanical as she began the task of cleaning up the blood from the floor. The room seemed to blur as a vivid memory transported her to a moment years ago, a time when Stolas had bandaged her wounds.

Octavia sat on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down her face, her arms marked with fresh cuts. Stolas knelt beside her, gently cleaning the wounds with a tenderness that seemed incongruent with the pain etched on his face.

"I'm sorry—" Via began to apologize, but Stolas, his eyes welling up with tears, cut her off with a quiet intensity. "You don't need to apologize for this," he insisted, his voice a mix of sorrow and genuine concern.

He pressed his forehead to hers, a tender moment that spoke of a father's love grappling with the pain of seeing his daughter in such a state. "I just wish you'd stop doing this."

She just continued to scrub at the floor.

—

The holographic Octavia, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, suggested, "How about we go to dinner this Friday at that new local place? Just you and me, Dad." Her proposal hung in the air “Just like old times.”

A surge of joy mixed with sorrow filled Stolas's heart as he tried to reach out and touch her, only to be met with the intangible glow of the hologram. Frustration etched his features as the realization dawned upon him. "You're not... real, Via," he admitted —to himself.

The holographic Octavia simply smiled, her expression retaining a gentle warmth. Which wasn’t real. It was only in his head.

A profound sadness gripped him as he realized that this connection, no matter how comforting, was merely a mirage—a fleeting illusion that couldn't replace the tangible presence of his estranged daughter.

In a moment of despair, Stolas clenched his fists, his vision blurred by fresh tears. "I'm so sorry, Via," he whispered, the sincerity of his remorse echoing in the quiet room. He raised his hand and swiped through the holographic projection and the radiant image flickered, and Octavia's form began to dissipate like mist in the wind.

Stolas cried out, a raw and anguished sound as he sank to his knees, the weight of the real world crashing down on him once more. But the sudden ring of Stolas's phone shattered the heavy silence in the room, jolting him up. Hope flickered in his eyes as he fumbled to retrieve the device, a desperate anticipation that maybe, just maybe, Octavia was reaching out.

However, as he glanced at the caller ID, disappointment and frustration welled up within him. It wasn't Octavia; instead, the name "Blitzo" blinked on the screen. Stolas hesitated, his thumb hovering over the answer button.

He chose to not to answer though, letting the call go to voicemail.

Oh, Via..

As he glanced out of his own window, the moonlit sky seemed empty. Stolas knew, more than ever, that he needed Octavia.

—

Octavia, sat by her window and her arms now bandaged, her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon. The city lights twinkled below, reflecting in her eyes, yet the flicker of resentment lingered. She convinced herself that she no longer needed Stolas. The night sky stretched above her, mirroring the vast expanse of the void that had replaced the warmth of their connection.

Separated by physical and emotional distance, father and daughter found themselves gazing at the same sky, yet the chasm between them seemed insurmountable.

[pinkthick]

R u still working on maybe a monster??

Hii, I’m actually taking a bit of a break right now with that series. After I’m done with some fucked up exams next week, I’ll probably start writing again.

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This.

what if...doctor strange was treated with respect in the mcu?

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a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.

I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!

So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!

Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:

Requests:

If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.

Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations

Any and all MCU characters are allowed

Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.

Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.

Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts

The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!

I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys

No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.

Prompts

I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!

Relationship Prompts

1. Enemies (taken by @theysaywhatasadsight)

2. Best friends/childhood friends

3. Coworkers

4. Internet friends

5. Neighbours/roommates

6. Fake dating

7. Commuters

Alternate Universe Prompts

1. Florist AU

2. Showmance AU

3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU (taken by @splintered-emotions)

4. Thieves/Heist Group AU

5. Time travel AU

6. Pirates AU

7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)

8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

9. Chef AU

10. Roadtrips AU

Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!

1. Shipwrecked together on an island

2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco

3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is

4. Treasure hunters AU

5. Faking death

6. Professional cuddlers AU

7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)

8. Orpheus and Eurydice

9. Villain x hero

10. Hitchhiking

11. Carnival of Horrors

12. Robin Hood

13. Matchmakers AU

14. Insomniac x narcoleptic

15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU

16. Doomed By The Narrative

17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes

Dialogue prompts

You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!

Angst

1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you."

2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?"

3. "We failed. I would do it again."

4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."

5. "You make me feel so alone."

6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

Crack

1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid."

2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."

3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."

4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)

5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."

Fluff

1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday."

2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."

3. "You're all I think about."

4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow."

5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)

Word Prompts:

Flesh

Strawberry

Bruised

Groovy

Jump

Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)

Alchemist

Wayward

Offerings

Mischief

I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.

Lots of love <3

-Ari

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Hi!

Can you write a fanfiction with Surgeon Strange and Y/N who are in a relationship and Y/N finds out she's pregnant because a colleague of hers from the hospital needed help with some students since it was their first day they will use the ultrasounds and Y/N and other nurses/doctors were the ones the students practied on.

Prompt nr 18 angst "Hey, hey it's okay. Breathe,"

Thanks! (Sorry if I have grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language.)

I AM WRITING THE REQUESTS 🙏🙏 (finally, I know) Thank you for your request!

Hey, it’s okay

Pairing: Surgeon!Stephen Strange/ Fem!Reader

Summary: As the room buzzed with a mix of laughter and surprised murmurs, Stephen, still engaged in a conversation with Maria, glanced at the ultrasound screen wanting to see what was all the fuss about.

Stephen and Y/N sat in the bustling hospital cafeteria, their scrubs slightly wrinkled from the day's hectic surgeries as they enjoyed a rare lunch break together. The clatter of trays and the hum of conversations filled the air around them.

Y/N sighed, exhaustion evident in her voice, "I'm already tired." Her eyes spoke volumes of the long hours and demanding nature of their medical profession — which they loved of course, but sometimes it was too much.

Stephen, his piercing gaze softened, chuckled in response, "But you actually slept last night. Like 8 hours of full sleep." He affectionately reached across the table, gently squeezing Y/N's hand.

Despite his attempt at reassurance, Y/N shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she was poking at her salad, "Still feels like I didn't sleep." She took a bite of his sandwich, the hospital's ever-present fluorescent lights casting a glow on her fatigued features.

As they shared the worn cafeteria table, conversations around them blurred into the background. Stephen studied Y/N with concern, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her hand, "You've been pushing yourself, love. Maybe take a day off soon?"

Y/N nodded "I know, but we're short-staffed, and Stacy will complain if I leave her alone, even for a day.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair, her tired eyes meeting Stephen's caring gaze. His attempt to respond was cut short as Tiffany, a lively colleague known for her cheerful spirit, slid into the seat next to Y/N, disrupting the tranquility of their lunch. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked with a playful grin.

Y/N chuckled while Stephen was giving Tiffany a side-eye, "You already are." Stephen rolled his eyes slightly irritated by the interruption. "Aren't you supposed to teach the ducklings today?" he asked, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Tiffany shrugged, her grin widening, "Well, I am, but I need a person since Nicole got sick. It's ultrasound training day, and we really need another woman." She flashed a pleading look at Y/N, who exchanged a glance with Stephen, silently seeking his opinion. Y/N hummed, "It depends. What exactly do you need help with?"

Tiffany leaned in with a grin "They're practicing on the ultrasound, and we need someone to guide them. Make sure they're comfortable, you know?" He gave a subtle nod to Y/N before she turned back to Tiffany "Alright, I can help. Just give me a few minutes to finish lunch." Her face lit up with gratitude, "You're a lifesaver, Y/N! I owe you one." She quickly excused herself, heading back to the bustling hospital corridors.

Stephen sighed, his playful annoyance evident, "Well, there goes our lunch break." Y/N laughed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, "We'll catch up later.”

Stephen sighed, a hint of melodrama in his tone, "My last surgery is at 11 PM, that is if the others go right. It will be a lifetime before I'll see you again." Y/N, amused by his theatrics, quirked an eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

He grinned, stealing a forkful of her salad, "I thought it was the normal amount." Y/N chuckled, swatting his hand playfully, "You're such a dork." she shook her head, making a smile appear on his face as he continued “But seriously, we need to find some time for ourselves. Maybe a weekend getaway or a quiet dinner?" Y/N smiled, appreciating his effort to bring a touch of balance to their lives, "Sounds like a plan.”

As they prepared to part ways for the remainder of the day, Stephen leaned in kissing her, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him. Breaking away, Stephen smiled at Y/N, his eyes reflecting both love and understanding. "Take care, okay?" he whispered, his hand gently caressing her cheek.

Y/N nodded, reciprocating the warmth in his gaze. "You too," she replied, stealing one more kiss before they both left the cafeteria.

Y/N made her way to the room where the medical students were gathered for the ultrasound training. Upon entering, she found Tiffany already there, coordinating the session. The room buzzed with the anticipation of learning, and Y/N could see around 15 medical students eager to enhance their skills.

Other colleagues from the hospital, including Maria and Sarah, were seated on chairs beside the ultrasound machines, ready to guide and support the students. The hum of conversation and the soft whirr of the ultrasound machines filled the room as Y/N joined the circle of mentors. Tiffany greeted Y/N with a grateful smile, "Thanks for helping out, Y/N. We're about to start. If you could take this group here," she gestured to a cluster of students, "that would be great." Y/N nodded, rolling up her sleeves and joining the students.

As Y/N took her place among the instructors, the room buzzed with anticipation. The medical students, filled with a mix of nervousness and enthusiasm, looked up to their mentors. Y/N exchanged encouraging glances with her colleagues, silently conveying the importance of this teaching moment.

The ultrasound training session unfolded, with Y/N and the other experienced doctors guiding the students through the intricacies of the procedure. In the midst of explanations, demonstrations, and hands-on practice, the room became a dynamic space of shared knowledge and collaboration.

As the ultrasound training continued, two hours had already passed. Stephen appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Billy, his assistant, holding a cup of coffee. Stephen, engrossed in a conversation with Maria, one of the ER nurses, spotted Y/N and gave her a little wave. Y/N, seated in the chair where the ultrasounds were stationed, smiled back at him.

Meanwhile, Patricia, one of the students Y/N was mentoring, was making impressive progress. She confidently manipulated the transducer, moving it around Y/N’s skin. "So, that's the liver, and... that was your gallbladder, stomach?" Patricia asked, seeking confirmation. Y/N nodded with approval, "Yeah, good job." Patricia beamed, a sense of accomplishment evident on her face.

Patricia continued to explore with the transducer, gaining confidence in her newfound skill. "I really thought it was going to be harder, but it's pretty easy," she remarked, glancing at Y/N with a proud smile. Y/N chuckled, "I told you so." The atmosphere in the room was light and filled with the excitement of learning. Patricia, still moving the transducer, continued her observations, "And that's your uterus..."

However, Y/N's initial amusement faded as she caught sight of the ultrasound screen. A wave of surprise and disbelief washed over her face. That was a pretty clear image of a fetus, around 4-5 weeks. She stared at the screen for a moment, processing the unexpected discovery. Tiffany, noticing Y/N's reaction, laughed, "No way." The realization spread across the room, and soon, the entire group of medical professionals and students turned their attention to the ultrasound screen, curiosity and disbelief etched on their faces.

As the room buzzed with a mix of laughter and surprised murmurs, Stephen, still engaged in a conversation with Maria, glanced at the ultrasound screen wanting to see what was all the fuss about. His coffee slipped from his grasp involuntarily, crashing to the floor with a clatter. The unexpected scene had caught him off guard. Y/N, stood up abruptly, excusing herself from the group. The room fell into a brief silence, the atmosphere shifting from amusement to a more solemn acknowledgment of the emotions at play.

Stephen, realizing Y/N's distress, swiftly followed her out of the room. Catching up with her, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe." Y/N, her emotions welling up, turned into his comforting embrace, tears streaming down her face.

Y/N, her emotions pouring out, cried softly, burying her face into Stephen's chest as he held her close. Her words trembled, "I thought that we were—safe, Stephen... I—" Stephen tightened his embrace, soothingly running his hand over her back. "Shh, hey, it's okay," he whispered, understanding the weight of the unexpected revelation. He gently pulled away, cupping her face to look into her eyes. "Let's go to the rooftop to get some air, okay?"

Nodding, Y/N allowed him to guide her towards the elevator. The hospital corridors blurred as they ascended, finding a temporary refuge from the whirlwind of emotions on the quiet rooftop. Once there, the cool breeze and the distant hum of the city provided a backdrop to their conversation.

Stephen held Y/N close as she continued to cry, gently kissing her forehead. "Accidents happen, Y/N," he murmured softly. "We were safe, but maybe a condom broke or... I don't know."

Y/N, her voice wavering, confessed, "I didn't even notice I missed my period. I—what do we even do?" The weight of the situation hung in the air, uncertainty clouding their thoughts. Stephen sighed, his fingers tenderly brushing through her hair, "First, we take a deep breath. Then, we talk about it. We have options, and whatever decision you make, we face it together. You're not alone in this."

Y/N's tears flowed more freely, her emotions intensifying. Stephen held her even closer, offering comfort in the face of uncertainty. "Oh darling, it's going to be okay," he whispered, his words a soothing melody amid the turmoil.

Y/N shook her head, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation. Stephen gently wiped away her tears, encouraging her to take a moment. "Just try to breathe," he urged. Y/N, taking a shaky breath, admitted, "I'm scared." Stephen, still holding her close, chuckled softly, "Me too." Stephen pressed his forehead against Y/N's, their breaths intermingling in the quiet space of the rooftop. "But it's going to be okay," he whispered, his words filled with unwavering certainty.

Y/N, still gripped by fear and uncertainty, voiced her doubts, "You don't know that." Stephen tenderly brushed his thumb over her cheek, "But I do. As long as we're together, everything will be fine. You'll see."

Y/N, overcome with emotion, tightened her embrace, burying her face in the crook of Stephen's neck. "Okay," she whispered, the vulnerability in her voice revealing a silent acceptance of the reassurance he offered.

They would be okay.

Notes: I’m going to be honest, I’m not really proud how this turned out😭

Tag list: @strangesgirls @paola-carter @hamandchickensandwhich @captainannamerica @ivyheliotrope @lilithskywalker @yumeillu @winter-cant-decide @andlizeth @mintssanctuary @strangesslut @rotindselain @herseraphwings @kujosux @alahmorah @sa-filonzana @kety25jhosson @alchemxx @lucimorningst4r @dragonqueen89 @rinacreateart @clockblobber @quillweavianstuff @k1mikoz @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson @crazyhearttragedy @bobateadaydreams @darlingxgirl @crushingonfreddie @cloudedfairydust @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @cemak @d0ct0rstrangewife @annabelloki @allie131313 @paola-carter @annemarielovesbeenjuice @hamandchickensandwhich @rachelessfreedom-world @strangelockd @indoraptorgirlwind

[pinkthick]

I’m goint to write a crack fic💔

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If I manage to finish 2 requests today, man, I’ll call myself a superhero.😭

[pinkthick]

I just need someone too

Pairing: (minor) Doctor Strange Supreme/Christine Palmer

Doctor Strange Supreme & Uatu| The Watcher

Summary: The monsters' voices seized the opportunity, injecting doubt and self-loathing into his fractured psyche. "You're dangerous, a threat to all realities," they whispered malevolently. Stephen's hands shook as he vehemently denied their accusations, trying to drown their voices. “You don’t deserve anyone.” they jeered, a relentless chorus that fueled his internal chaos.

In the eerie confines of his pocket dimension, Doctor Strange Supreme grappled with the wailing of voices echoing through his mind. The melded creatures and demons within him clamored relentlessly, their collective whispers taunting his sanity. The Watcher had abandoned him, leaving Stephen to drown in the increasing discord. Their anger and whispers grew louder, drowning out any semblance of peace and every attempt to silence the creatures proved futile, their demands becoming more insistent. "Let us control you," they hissed, weaving a web of doubt around Stephen's fractured mind. The struggle within him intensified, a battle between the remnants of his humanity and the monstrous forces vying for dominance.

Desperation crept into Stephen's heart as he yearned for anyone’s guidance. Why did everyone leave him? His composure shattered like glass. Tears streamed down his face as he paced feverishly, the distorted echoes of his cries reverberating in the desolate pocket dimension. The twisted amalgamation of creatures and demons within him whispered louder, feeding on his unraveling sanity.

"I helped them, didn't I?" Stephen's voice cracked, choked with anguish. He clutched at his head, feeling the weight of a thousand creatures clawing at the recesses of his consciousness. The realization of his own mistakes bore down on him, leaving him teetering on the edge of madness. "Why didn't the Watcher ask if I wanted to go to another universe too?” he screamed into the void, the pocket dimension trembling in response. He knows he could easily get out, to another universe—but that wasn’t the point. “ Maybe I just needed someone to care!”

The monsters' voices seized the opportunity, injecting doubt and self-loathing into his fractured psyche. "You're dangerous, a threat to all realities," they whispered malevolently. Stephen's hands shook as he vehemently denied their accusations, trying to drown their voices. “You don’t deserve anyone.” they jeered, a relentless chorus that fueled his internal chaos.

"Monsters don't deserve care from people.

Each step he took felt like an eternity, the monsters' voices becoming a deafening roar drowning out reason. The remnants of his past deeds haunted him – the arrogance, the mistakes, the thirst for power. He was trapped in a never-ending loop of self-condemnation. "Why did I let this happen?" Stephen wailed, his voice a desperate plea for reprieve. The monsters reveled in his vulnerability, exploiting every crack in his fractured psyche. "You're alone because you deserve to be," they hissed, their words like venomous tendrils wrapping around his sanity. The once mighty sorcerer collapsed to his knees, the weight of his perceived monstrosity too much to bear.

"I—deserve care too, don't I?" he begged, a pitiful plea lost in the void. Do you really? Tears streaked down his face as he wrestled with the realization that he might truly be beyond redemption.

The monsters just mocked him, amplifying his deepest fears. "You thought you could play god, but you're just a wretched creature. No one will ever care for a monster like you!"

That’s not true—he isn’t a monster. He isn’t.

He heard a scoff and his desperate gaze fixed on the reflective surface of the pocket dimension's wall. Two versions of himself stared back, one consumed by despair and tears, the other stoic and unyielding. The juxtaposition ignited a furious spark within him. "Why aren't you crying?" he seethed at the composed version of himself. The stoic reflection regarded him with a cold detachment that only fueled Stephen's rage. "We're the same person! How can you look at me with such disgust?"

His fists collided with the reflective surface, the impact echoing through the pocket dimension. The wall cracked slightly, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue "How dare you judge me?" Stephen screamed at his own reflection, the air crackling with a volatile energy. The distorted image sneered back, a grotesque mockery of the sorcerer's own visage.

The cracked wall oozed with an otherworldly substance, and Stephen's widening eyes fixated on the unsettling sight of blood seeping through the fractures. Horror painted his expression as he recoiled, stumbling backward. The monsters' whispers escalated, celebrating the tangible evidence of his inner torment. Panicking, Stephen scrutinized his trembling hands, only to discover claws extended from his fingertips. He stared, aghast, at the cruel amalgamation of man and monster.

Stephen's tortured world suddenly shifted as a sweet, haunting giggle echoed through the pocket dimension. His bloodshot eyes darted around, seeking the source, until he reluctantly turned back to the cracked wall, now stained with his blood. There, amidst the grotesque reflection, stood Christine with an ethereal smile. The sight sent shivers down his spine as her voice, laced with a mixture of warmth and mockery, reached his ears. "Evening, handsome," she cooed, the words dripping with an unsettling sweetness. A pang of guilt and longing gripped Stephen's heart. "Christine, I'm so sorry," he stammered, the weight of his sins pressing upon him.

Christine's ethereal smile remained, a soothing balm "What are you even apologizing for, silly?" Her voice, a melodic whisper, echoed in the pocket dimension. Her spectral form seemed to glow with a warmth that Stephen desperately craved. The sorcerer, torn between reality and illusion, let out a breathy chuckle. His hand reached towards the wall, attempting to bridge the gap between them. Yet, as his fingers touched the surface, a disconcerting absence greeted him. The ethereal connection remained one-sided, his touch met with a vacant emptiness. “I... I don't know. Everything, I suppose," he admitted.

Christine's hand pressed against the wall too, a gesture that made Stephen’s heart jump. "I've missed you," she murmured, her gaze lingering on his haunted eyes. "I’ve missed you too" Stephen confessed, his gaze locked with Christine's phantom eyes. Her form flickered, a wistful sadness in her eyes. "I know, Stephen. But you have to let go. You can't keep punishing yourself," she implored, her words carrying a weight of wisdom from beyond.

"I just wanted for us... to be happy. Why weren't we allowed to be happy?" Stephen's voice wavered, carrying the ache of a love lost and a future denied. Christine's gaze softened, mirroring the ache in Stephen's heart. "I don't know," she whispered.

Stephen's hand, still pressed against the cold, cracked wall, yearned for a connection that transcended the boundaries of the spectral and the tangible. He spoke again, a plea tinged with desperation "I tried to fix everything, to save you, to save us.”Christine offered a sympathetic smile, her hand on the cold wall mirroring his desperate touch. "You can't control everything, Stephen."

"No—I can't," Stephen uttered, his admission heavy as Christine's eyes welled with tears and Stephen instinctively reached out to wipe it away. Yet, his hand didn’t passed through the ephemeral droplet, a painful reminder of the intangible nature of their connection. "You can't," Christine echoed, her voice carrying both acceptance and sorrow.

Unable to hold back his own emotions, Stephen closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cracked wall. The cold surface offered no comfort, only the stark reality of his fractured existence. Christine mirrored his gesture, sharing in the silent communion of grief and longing. "I just wish we could have at least had more time together," Stephen murmured, his voice a fragile whisper that resonated through the pocket dimension.

They stayed in silence for awhile until Stephen opened his eyes and called out for her. "Christine?" the echoes of his own voice bouncing off the walls of the pocket dimension. His eyes searched desperately for the spectral form that had briefly offered solace and understanding.

But she wasn't there anymore.

The pocket dimension seemed to close in on him, the air growing heavier as Stephen's breaths quickened. The absence of Christine left an emptiness that the monsters wasted no time exploiting. Their whispers, once momentarily hushed, returned with a vengeance, taunting him with the fragility of his connection to any semblance of peace.

Panic gripped his heart. "Christine! Please, don't leave me alone with them," he pleaded, desperation lacing his words.

As Stephen slid down against the unforgiving wall, the monsters' mocking whispers intensified, wrapping around him like a suffocating cloak. "Why are you so afraid?" they taunted, their voices a venomous chorus that echoed through the pocket dimension. "We are one and the same, Stephen. That's because of you." Clawed hands pressed against his temples as Stephen struggled to drown out their voices again. "You thought you could control us, mold us into something you could use. But look where it got you," they sneered, the shadows deepening around him.

Barely holding onto the fragments of his sanity, Stephen's voice trembled as he begged the monsters for respite. "Please—please stop," he pleaded, his words a desperate plea echoing through the distorted corridors of his mind. The monsters, however, reveled in his vulnerability, their whispers escalating into a malicious symphony. "Stop? Why should we stop, Stephen?" they taunted, their voices intertwining with a sadistic glee. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Power beyond imagination. Accept it."

Stephen's hands shook as he pressed them against his ears, attempting to shut out the relentless onslaught of voices. "Make it stop!" he cried out, his voice raw with desperation. The monsters' laughter echoed through the twisted corridors of Stephen's mind, a malevolent crescendo that reverberated in the suffocating silence. "Our powers weren't meant for humans, Strange," they jeered, each syllable laced with a cruel certainty.

Stephen, weary and battered, felt the weight of his isolation crushing him. Nobody cared about him anymore. The people that did care—were gone now. Because of him.

"Come on, let us have control," they coaxed, their words a venomous lullaby tempting him to surrender. Overwhelmed and drained, Stephen succumbed to the monsters' insidious whispers. His resistance crumbled, and with a surrendering sigh, he let them seize complete control. As the monsters took hold, his human form shattered like fragile glass. Claws extended, horns twisted, wings unfurled, and fangs emerged – Stephen's essence transformed into a grotesque fusion of demons and creatures. The pocket dimension trembled as the once-mighty sorcerer relinquished the remnants of his humanity.

A demonic entity now stood in place of Stephen, a manifestation of the twisted power he had sought to command. The monsters, now in control, reveled in their newfound freedom. "Let's have fun," they hissed in unison, their collective voice a perverse harmony echoing through the distorted realm. The demon that was once Doctor Strange Supreme lurched forward, a malevolent force eager to unleash chaos upon the multiverse. The monsters' laughter echoed with a sadistic pleasure as they revelled in their newfound dominion, leaving behind the shattered fragments of the man who had once dared to tamper with powers beyond his grasp.

Notes: Not sure if I should make a part too for this since I think I left it on a decent ending? 😭 I love love love Supreme’s story, it’s so tragic and again, I think they could have had done more with his story. (Also, please be nice, English isn’t my mother tongue)

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I did this for you

Pairing: Doctor Strange Supreme/Reader

Summary: Time hung in suspension as the Watcher's dispassionate voice echoed, "You were supposed to let her die, Strange." Stephen, fueled by a stubborn will to defy fate, roared in defiance, "But the world shouldn't pay for my arrogance! Punish me. Not the world! Not Y/N!"

Warnings: Talking of suicide/suicide attempt

In the desolate remnants of a collapsing universe, Doctor Strange Supreme clung to the one thing he managed to salvage—Y/N. Their reunion, though victorious, was overshadowed by the impending doom that loomed over them. Stephen desperately pleaded with the Watcher, his voice echoing through the void, "Please! You can undo this!" The Watcher, a stoic figure bathed in cosmic light, scoffed at Stephen's plea. The universe, still unraveling, seemed indifferent to the sorcerer's struggle. Stephen strained against the impending chaos, attempting to wield his powers to stave off the inevitable.

But the universe, wounded and irrevocably damaged, resisted his efforts.

Y/N, bewildered and terrified, watched as Stephen battled forces beyond comprehension. Her eyes reflected the fear that gripped her soul, unable to grasp the cosmic turmoil surrounding them. Stephen, torn between saving Y/N and preserving the collapsing reality, looked at her with a mix of regret and determination.

Time hung in suspension as the Watcher's dispassionate voice echoed, "You were supposed to let her die, Strange." Stephen, fueled by a stubborn will to defy fate, roared in defiance, "But the world shouldn't pay for my arrogance! Punish me. Not the world! Not Y/N!" He strained against the cosmic forces, trying to shield Y/N from the impending cataclysm. The Watcher, an observer bound by the immutable laws of the multiverse, scoffed at the desperate sorcerer. "You knew the consequences of your actions, Stephen. The threads of fate cannot be rewoven once severed."

As the universe crumbled, Stephen's powers faltered. Y/N, caught in the chaos, gazed at him with fear, unknowingly witnessing a being torn between love and the burden of his own sins. The sorcerer, fueled by the urgency to protect Y/N, channeled the dark and forbidden magic he had harnessed in his pursuit of power. His hands moved with an almost frantic grace, attempting to hold back the impending collapse.

"You can't defy fate, Strange," the Watcher intoned, a voice untouched by sympathy. "You were warned of the consequences."

Stephen, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, met Y/N's gaze one last time. "I won't let you go. I won't lose you again," he vowed, his voice filled with a desperate determination. Stephen refused to succumb to the inevitability. With a surge of raw magical power, he attempted to create a pocket dimension, a sanctuary from the collapsing cosmos. His eyes glowed with an ethereal intensity as he strained against the cosmic forces tearing at the fabric of existence.

The Watcher, indifferent to the sorcerer's plight, withdrew from the collapsing reality, leaving Stephen and Y/N alone in the fragile sanctuary of the pocket dimension the sorcerer created. As the entity faded into the cosmic void, the echoes of its parting words lingered, a haunting reminder of the irreversible consequences. With the collapsing universe held at bay, Stephen's trembling form fell to his knees. The once-mighty sorcerer now appeared vulnerable, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his failures. Tears streamed down his face, his anguished sobs echoing in the ethereal confines of the pocket dimension.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Stephen whispered through choked sobs, unable to meet her gaze. The reality he had fought so desperately to preserve had shattered, and he found himself ensnared in the merciless grip of remorse. But Y/N, standing at a safe distance, seemed oblivious to the cosmic cataclysm that had transpired. The disorientation etched across her face betrayed her lack of comprehension. "This must be a joke, right? Right?" she stammered, her voice tinged with confusion. “We were just at the gala... weren't we?" Panic laced her words, the dissonance between her memories and the shattered reality causing her distress.

Y/N approached Stephen tentatively, her eyes filled with both concern and fear. "You were something weird just minutes ago, and now... What's happening?" Her voice trembled, mirroring the uncertainty that enveloped the surreal pocket dimension.

Stephen, unable to meet her gaze, raised his head. His tear-stained eyes reflected the profound regret etched onto his face. "I tried to save you. I thought I could fix everything," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of failure. As Y/N attempted to grasp the unfolding chaos, Stephen's shoulders shook with the intensity of his grief. "I never wanted you to be a part of this. I never wanted any of this," he confessed, his words a desperate plea for understanding.

Y/N's panic escalated into hysteria as she confronted the shattered reality that surrounded her. "No, don't give me that bullshit! What the fuck happened?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of desperation and frustration. The surreal circumstances, the shattered memories, and the dissonance of the situation fueled her distress.

Stephen, still on his knees, finally summoned the courage to look into Y/N's eyes. His own were red and swollen from tears. "I..." he began, his voice breaking as he struggled to find the right words to explain the unfathomable. He recounted the devastating event—the car accident that claimed Y/N's life. The unbearable grief that followed led him to seek solace in Kamar-Taj, where he embraced the arts of sorcery. In his pursuit of power, he discovered the Eye of Agamotto, a mystical artifact housing the Time Stone—a relic capable of bending time itself.

With a tremor in his voice, Stephen explained that Y/N's death had been deemed an absolute point in time, an event immutable even by the powers of the Time Stone. The Ancient One had warned him of the dire consequences of tampering with such pivotal moments, cautioning that altering this absolute point could unleash chaos and destruction upon the world. But Stephen, consumed by grief and blinded by his desperation to save Y/N, disregarded the warnings. He delved into forbidden knowledge, absorbing creatures and harvesting their magical essence for centuries, accumulating power beyond mortal comprehension.

"But I didn't care," Stephen admitted, his voice wrought with remorse. "I couldn't bear to live without you. The world, the universe—it all meant nothing to me without you by my side."

Y/N's laughter, a bitter and incredulous sound, cut through the heavy air as Stephen finished his agonizing confession. "You're a fucking idiot," she spat, the words a searing indictment of the sorcerer who had wrought chaos in the name of love. Stephen, still sobbing, reached out to comfort her himself . He longed for the solace of connection, a reassurance that the woman before him could somehow understand the depths of his regret. "Y/N..." he began, his voice pleading.

But Y/N recoiled, a mixture of disbelief and fear etched across her face. "Don't fucking touch me. I don't even know if you're my Stephen," she yelled, her eyes filled with a wariness that mirrored the shattered reality surrounding them.

Confusion and desperation contorted Stephen's features. "What? Y/N—"

"I don't know you!" she interrupted, her voice laced with frustration and anguish.

"You went back in time, manipulated the universe, absorbed creatures for centuries? You're not the man I loved. You're some twisted version of him, some monster who thought he could play with time and cheat death."

Y/N took a step back, eyeing Stephen with a mix of trepidation and disbelief. The sorcerer, his soul laid bare by Y/N's accusatory words, choked on the truth that had unfolded. "A monster? You think—I'm a monster?" he whispered, the weight of her judgment pressing upon him like a crushing burden.

Y/N, her gaze unwavering, met his eyes with a haunting intensity. "I don't even know if it's really you," she declared, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Stephen, desperate to bridge the widening gap, reached out once more. "Y/N, please. I did all of this because I couldn't bear to lose you. I thought I could save you, no matter the cost."

But Y/N remained steadfast, her gaze unmoving. "Save me? You dragged me into your madness. This isn't saving. This is a nightmare."

“Y/N, all I did was for you ," Stephen pleaded, his voice desperate, the echoes of his anguish reverberating in the dissonant pocket dimension.

"For me? What did you do for me, Stephen Strange? Huh?!" Y/N snapped, her anger a blazing wildfire. "You killed billions. You killed my family, your brother, our friends, innocent people, the whole universe!" The weight of the world, the ‘collateral’ damage of Stephen's pursuit, hung heavy in her accusatory words.

Stephen, unable to bear the onslaught of truth, covered his ears as if attempting to shield himself from the damning reality. "Please... no—stop," he begged, his voice a shaky whisper.

But Y/N, fueled by a righteous anger, refused to relent. "Look around you! You did this!" she exclaimed, gesturing to the fractured and chaotic remnants of the pocket dimension.

Tears streamed down Stephen's face as Y/N continued her tirade. "No... No. Stop," he pleaded, his heart breaking with each accusation hurled at him.

"I said fucking look around you!" Y/N's anger intensified, a tempest of emotions unleashed upon the sorcerer. Stephen, overwhelmed and tormented, snapped. His eyes glowed with a different intensity, a manifestation of the dark forces that had seeped into his very being. "I said stop! Fucking stop! " he yelled, the words resonating with an otherworldly power. The pocket dimension trembled in response to Stephen's tumultuous emotions. The fractured reality seemed to mirror the fractured psyche of the sorcerer who had dared to play with the fabric of existence. Oh, that wasn’t good.

As Y/N watched in stunned silence, Stephen, unable to contain the tumult of emotions within him, began losing control of his human form once more. The doctor cried out as his human body started to fall apart. His fingers on his left hand began to tremble and morph into tentacles. His wings sprouted from his shoulders and slammed into the walls of the pocket dimension. Then he experienced his vertebrae horrifyingly fracturing into something before developing into a tail. He wanted to puke, even he was repulsed by himself. He wailed once more as Y/N screamed at him? Stephen was unable to maintain his balance and the side of his face hit the ground below him. His body had stopped responding to him, and his brain was throbbing.

As Stephen, consumed by panic, curled into himself, the pocket dimension echoed with ominous creaks and cracks. His breaths ragged and uneven, he seemed trapped in the clutches of his own unraveling mind. The doctor writhed in physical agony, the monstrous manifestation contorting him and Y/N rushed to his side. "Stephen?" she called out in concern, but he only groaned in response.

Casting aside her anger, Y/N knelt beside Stephen, her eyes wide with helplessness. “Do something!” She exclaimed as she felt a tentacle rounding around her leg slightly

His cries of anguish echoed in the cavernous emptiness of the pocket dimension. "I can't—I... Y/N. It hurts so much," Stephen sobbed, his words a tortured admission of the agony consuming him. The swirling chaos of his monstrous form only intensified, and Y/N felt the eerie tentacle's grip tighten further. Okay, he needs to calm down so we won’t fucking die.

"Y/N...?" Stephen's pained voice wavered as he attempted to get up, his head pounding with an intensity that made every movement an agonizing endeavor. The mystical cloak attached to him, sensing his instability, fluttered and swirled, trying to keep him upright. Y/N, desperate to help, positioned herself beside him, attempting to steady the sorcerer in the throes of his monstrous transformation.

"Stephen, I'm sorry—no! Don't try to get u—" Y/N's plea was cut short as Stephen, struggling against the debilitating pain, almost fell on her. With a desperate attempt to regain control, he managed to stop himself from literally collapsing onto her, supporting his weight with his hands.

He stopped just short of falling completely, his hands—no longer human —pressed against the ground on either side of Y/N. She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Oh, fuck... okay. Shit." Y/N's voice held a mix of exasperation and concern as she found herself practically trapped beneath Stephen. His face had so many eyes, but the ones she focused on were the ones that were looking at her with infinite sadness. Oh Stephen..

Struggling to free herself from beneath Stephen, Y/N found her efforts thwarted by his unsteady weight. She shifted and squirmed, attempting to slide out, but it seemed that each move only entangled her further. "Great..." she muttered under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. Stephen, groaning in discomfort, was at least aware of the predicament. The pounding in his head intensified, and he winced, realizing the toll of his defiance against the natural order. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, a small reprieve emerged—the pocket dimension ceased its self-destruction. The fragments of the shattered universe, held together by the last vestiges of Stephen's magic, stabilized.

Y/N, realizing that attempting to move was futile at the moment, shifted her focus to Stephen. "Hey, are you alright?" With Y/N still trapped beneath the cloak and Stephen's weakened state, a muted irony colored his response as he managed to sit up slightly, leaning against a nearby wall. His wings and tentacles remained motionless as he remarked with a dry tone "I'm great, really.” She settled against the opposite wall as she managed to get up from under him, a heavy silence hanging in the air.

“I should be more scared.." she admitted with a heavy sigh, her gaze fixed on Stephen. But she wasn’t. She was concerned and angry. His response carried a wince, acknowledging the truth behind her words. "Probably," he conceded as he tucked his wings closer to hide his face.

Y/N's emotions, held in check by a delicate balance of anger and concern, finally broke free. Tears welled up in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the overwhelming weight of the recent events. Stephen, his own exhaustion evident, couldn't find the words to console her. As Y/N's tears fell, a strange warmth enveloped her. The once elegant blue dress and heels transformed into comfortable clothes and Converse shoes, a subtle magic weaving comfort into the surreal pocket dimension. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it spoke volumes about the connection between the sorcerer and her.

In a voice barely above a whisper, Y/N expressed her gratitude, "Thank you." The tentacles, dormant until now, stirred to life along with Stephen's tail, a response that mirrored the depth of emotion swirling within him.

Y/N's quiet voice cut through the stillness, her eyes searching Stephen's for answers. "So this is it? I won't wake up from a nightmare? We'll be stuck here forever?" The weight of uncertainty hung in the air, the echo of her words blending with the remnants of the universe that surrounded them. Stephen, meeting her gaze, struggled to find a response. The reality of their situation, trapped in this fractured refuge, was an unspoken truth neither wanted to fully acknowledge. His tentacles and tail swayed in a hesitant dance, reflecting the turmoil within. “I don't know," he admitted, his voice carrying a somber honesty.

Y/N's despair manifested in silent tears as she buried her face into her knees. The weight of the unknown future pressed heavily upon her, and Stephen, still and contemplative, grappled with the consequences of his actions. The fractured refuge echoed with the sobs that escaped from the depths of her grief.

A heavy silence enveloped them, broken only by Stephen's haunting words. "Maybe I should have killed myself," he uttered, a raw admission that cut through the stillness. Y/N, lifting her tear-streaked face, stared at him in disbelief. "I wanted to do it. Five times, actually," Stephen continued, his admission hanging in the hollow space. A deep sigh escaped him, his gaze distant as he faced the haunting echoes of his past

Stephen walked.

The light of the moon and the stars guided his way.

He visited Donna and Y/N’s grave earlier that night. It was always so quiet.

He found a little hill near Y/N’s grave. With a lot of flowers. It was nice. Pretty like her.

He sat on the ground and looked up.

In the end, she loved him. And he loved her. Too much that is.

He missed her bad jokes.

The gun felt cool in his hand, warm against his temple. “Y/N..what did the green grape said to the purple grape?”

A laugh.

Breathe, you idiot.

Stephen took a breathe.

And then—

"But I was a coward. Ironic, isn't it? I couldn't even take my own life—but I took the life of a universe." Y/N's tears intensified, her hand pressed against her mouth as emotions threatened to overwhelm her. In a moment of vulnerability, she disregarded the complexities of Stephen's past actions and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him. Despite his imposing form, he embraced her gently, claws and all. "I'm sorry," Stephen whispered, his voice carrying the weight of remorse. Y/N, still avoiding eye contact, didn't pull away.

"That doesn't mean I'm still not angry... and terrified," she admitted, her words muffled against his shoulder. "We'll talk about... everything," Stephen assured, his tone carrying a sincerity that resonated in the fractured haven. Y/N nodded, acknowledging the need for conversation amidst the cosmic echoes that surrounded them.

"We've got nothing left but time."

Notes: Love my tentacle boy, but he had done wrong. 😔 AND THEY DID HIM DIRTY IN THE LAST EPISODE FROM SEASON 2.

Either way, I’m writing a lot of things with him at the moment so um..if anybody even reads this. I’m sorry?

Tagging: @paola-carter @hamandchickensandwhich @captainannamerica @ivyheliotrope @dornishmanswife @lilithskywalker @yumeillu @winter-cant-decide @andlizeth @withalittlehoney @mintssanctuary @strangesslut @rotindselain @rookiemartin @herseraphwings @robinschaoticlittle @kujosux @alahmorah @drstrangefangirl8900 @sa-filonzana @kety25jhosson @alchemxx @rachelessfreedom-world @silver-shadow-crewe @wolfstarhufflepuff @lucimorningst4r @butchers-girl @dragonqueen89 @rinacreateart @clockblobber @quillweavianstuff @k1mikoz @indoraptorgirlwind @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson @crazyhearttragedy

[pinkthick]

I still love Doctor Strange Supreme😭🙏

[pinkthick]

I am in denial😇🙏 wtf was this finale pls help me. I even had some fanfictions with him that were coming up but now I feel like deleting everything 💀💀

[pinkthick]

Doctor Strange Supreme

Okay, so let’s talk about Doctor Strange Supreme from “What if?”. He really had a good start with his story, becoming Master of the Mystic Arts after losing Christine Palmer instead of losing the usage of his hands. (Since Christine is more important to him than his career in that universe). We all know how episode 4 from season 1 went, where he absorbed various interdimensional beings in order to attain enough power to alter the past and resurrect her. He succeeded even if others tried to warn him of the consequences and as soon as he resurrected Christine, the universe was falling on itself.

(Mind you, he managed to delay the collapsing universe with his powers for some good minutes. He even created a pocket dimension. 💀)

He realized his mistakes (even if it was too late) and more consequently, he regrets his actions.

“The world shouldn’t pay for my arrogance.”

“Punish me. Not the world. Not Christine.”

He has been left alone in that void for God knows how long and while he could have gotten out, he didn’t. He stayed there, making the pocket dimension his own prison. (Probably thinking of every single mistake he had done.)

Now let’s talk about episode 9 from season 1, where he literally went toe to toe with Infinity Ultron. (When the Watcher tried to fight him, he was literally losing but Doctor Strange Supreme managed to hold his ground and literally defeat Infinity Ultron).

But what I really want to talk about is when Killmonger tried to persuade Stephen into taking the infinity stones so that he could remake his universe and have Christine back. He could have easily taken them and just make his wish.

But he didn’t. He accepted his ‘punishment’ to guard the pocket dimension he made for Infinity Ultron and Killmonger, stating that it wasn’t really a punishment since he didn’t have to lose anything anymore. (He called the Watcher a friend too😭). But basically what I’m trying to get to, he said that he moved on. He had his redemption arc.

Now we’re back with episode 9 from season 2. Like what the actual hell. Why would he go through all that trouble when he could have gotten the infinity stones in the first place like..make it make sense. And don’t get me started on Peggy Carter and Kahhori. How did they even defeat Doctor Strange Supreme (what in the plot armour was this) like come on? Stephen fought Infinity Ultron and didn’t lose, but lost to Peggy Carter when she had the stones? She even punched him while he was in his monster form. 🙃

Yeah and about Kahhori. She is powerful but not that powerful.

To be honest, they should have left him have that ending from the season 1 finale if they didn’t have ideas for him anymore. Not literally make him the villain and kill him off.💀💀

But that’s Marvel for all of you.

[pinkthick]

THIS 😭😭😭

They could have used another villain and not putting off amazing character growths.

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I AM SO FUCKING PISSED💀💀💀💀

Thank you Marvel for giving me yet another reason to be sad in the end of the year, as if my depressed ass needed another trigger to make me feel like shit.

[pinkthick]

I’m going to write a whole rant about What if season 2 😭 Twitter, I’m coming to you too. (LAME FINALE)

Doctor Strange Supreme deserves a better story and ending (ONE THAT DOESN’T REVOLVE AROUND CHRISTINE)