#wizardstrange

[faltineborn]

@wizardstrange

Okay, maybe she hadn't been the kindest. Kindness, in some ways, wasn't in her vocabulary. It wasn't in her innate nature to soften blows or sugarcoat unpleasantries. Softness was not favored in the Dark Dimension; kindness too easily became synonymous with weakness in the minds of the Faltine, and they had bred out any inklings to lean that way throughout the centuries. Before she had even met him, Clea had known that Stephen Strange had messed up. He had created an incursion and now someone had to fix it. Clea had enlisted herself to be that someone, but her annoyance ran high.

Why, then, did she feel the softness creeping in?

It had begun at the Baxter Building. The fanged spider-hero — Miguel O'Hara they called him — had come at Stephen for his errors. He hadn't been wrong, exactly, in his judgements, but he hadn't entirely been fair either. A streak of protectiveness had begun to burn in Clea that she hadn't expected. This would be no surprise to her mother; Umar had long believed her daughter to be too soft. Maybe that's why she had entangled herself with Stephen Strange and his problems: despite her best efforts to the contrary, Clea cared.

The kitchen she found herself in was an unfamiliar one, as was the Sanctum Sanctorum the multiversal refugees — or so they had been called — had taken shelter in. It made more sense to stay there than the Avengers Compound that had been offered. The downside, of course, was co-populating with a multiversal variant of herself that was married to a Stephen Strange with a sickening devotion. So far, she had been able to avoid them with varying degrees of difficulty.

On this morning, however, Mr. & Mrs. Strange were not in the Sanctum. Clea hadn't asked where they were going. Instead, she had busied herself. A royal by birth, the kitchen had never been a place for her to spend her time. Still, she would make do. An apology for almost throwing Stephen under the bus wasn't on the table; she hadn't actually done anything. Still, a part of her longed to be comforting and not hostile. They needed to be allies in this strange ( no pun intended ) situation they had found themselves in.

"You've slept half the day." The words were spoken over her shoulder as Clea summoned two mugs to pour the boiling water into. She was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know how to work the coffee pot, so tea it would have to suffice. "You didn't happen to dream up any missing memories, did you?" Stephen had seemed on the verge of a panic attack with the accusations being thrown at him — accusations he claimed to not understand or fully remember.

There was a moment of silence as Clea shifted from one foot to another, one nail tapping at the glass of her mug. "Stephen." Her lips pursed. A sigh. "We're allies in all of this, and I acknowledge that I may have been...harsh. So. I apologize." The apology she had said she wasn't going to give felt clunky and awkward, but it was there nonetheless. It was a start.

[nexusbeings]

"Then we find ourselves in the same boat. No answers, but many eyes on us. I feel guilty, but this is not my doing. I don't know how to undo it. All I can do is commit myself to looking for answers."

"I'll take some tea, but I'm not expecting any answers. I'm not sure I could give any myself, either."

[amricas-archive]

America’s in denial. 

That’s the nicest way of saying it. She’s in denial because it’s the easiest thing to be — and easy has never been something that she’s been allowed to have. Life is hard. No one knows that better than the orphan who became adrift in the multiverse because she hurt the people who loved her more than anything. America’s lost, and she’s lost, and she’s been lost. It took a long time to find people to love again. Once she did, she vowed to never lose them or let anyone hurt them. Stephen, Clea, Wong. They’re her people now. America isn’t adrift even if she’s still lost. 

The denial: something could possibly be wrong with Stephen Strange.

Ever since she heard about the explosion, she’s been in pieces. America should have been there. She should have been there. She could have done something — like open up a portal and gotten everyone to safety. Maybe if she’d been there, Stephen wouldn’t have died. But no, she had been in Kamar-Taj with her stupid sling ring trying to do some stupid magic that doesn’t come naturally to her. By the time Wong came to her with a somber countenance it was too late. Stephen, Sam, Clint. All of them. Dead.

Ever since the resurrection, America’s tried to not be a pain. She doesn’t want to be clingy, but she also doesn’t want to let anyone out of her sight. The search for her mamá’s has been sidelined entirely. Instead, she sticks around the Sanctum and makes excuses as to why she can’t return to her room at Kamar-Taj. For the most part, Wong hasn’t pressed her. He knows America isn’t a permanent student there.

When she finally finds Stephen, there’s an exhale of relief. He’s alive, he’s fine. He has to be fine. “Hey,” she shoves some dark hair behind an ear. “I was looking for you. You want to grab a slice?” All she needs is to spend some time with him to alleviate her nerves.

Everything is fine. 

[faltineborn-archive]

@wizardstrange​​

Collected by a child. That’s how Clea learned of everything that transpired: through the mouth of a minor. Of course, America Chavez is no ordinary girl. She traipses the multiverse freely; it’s a power that Clea herself wouldn’t mind having. But she doesn’t. Even though she can go to and from the Dark Dimension easily, it’s her home ties that make it possible. Her magic is limited no matter how powerful she becomes. It’s for this reason that she had sought out Stephen Strange after he caused an entire incursion. They had been together a short while before everything had fallen apart, and Clea had yet to reconnect with him. He was far from impressive in her mind, but an important player none the less.

America hadn’t begged, but she had been firm in her demands. Clea would leave the Dark Dimension and return to see Stephen. Something is wrong, she had explained. Something is wrong but I don’t know what. Why America had come to her was Clea’s first question. Stephen had gotten quite close to her variant — yes, Clea knew about that — but America said that reality’s Clea was too close. This Clea lacked the love and had more clarity. In the end, Clea had acquiesced. She would return to New York and talk to Stephen.

After being told by America where to find the former Sorcerer Supreme, Clea used her blades to tear open the dimension so she could slip through into what seemed to be a study. It’s cozy in a way that makes her uncomfortable. Someone clearly occupies the space. 

“Stephen Strange,” she takes a step towards him. “I leave you for how long? Not long at all, yet you get murdered. You do realize that you are utterly useless dead, don’t you?” She’s being too harsh. Clea knows that. She stiffens, but softens all the same. “I came to check on you.”

[nexusbeings-archive]

@wizardstrange​

Clea Strange was on a warpath. Wanda knew why, of course, but that didn’t mean she could do anything to help. If anything, she felt like the bearer of bad news. The invitation to the Sanctum Sanctorum felt more like a summoning than anything else, but Wanda had remained cordial. She had accepted the tea offered to her and let the spiced overtones fill her nose. Taking a sip, the witch waited patiently for Stephen to finish speaking.

Wanda’s recent involvement with Krakoan resurrections had been kept under wraps. Somehow, it had gotten out that she had exposed the Eldritch Orchard and helped expand mutant resurrections, effectively transforming her from the Pretender to the Redeemer. That didn’t mean that Wanda had all the answers, however.

“I understand, Stephen, what you’re asking. And I know how it looks for me to say no, but I can’t. What I did extends to mutants and no one else. If we begin to resurrect every being that has passed through the Earth, where would that leave us? You know as well as I do that some scales need to remain balanced. The mutants have found an answer that the rest of us have not. I must respect them, especially after all the harm I’ve caused there.”

[scrletscarab]

"I've been racking my mind looking for an excuse as to why I came, but I don't have much. I don't know. I wish it wasn't for answers, but I think it is."

"If you've come to ask for my help, I know just as much as you do." Which was unfortunately, nothing. It was a hard pill for Stephen to swallow, but it was the truth.

[corruptedscarlet-archive]

@wizardstrange​

Wanda had waxed on about repentance enough. Even though she knew it was an ongoing process, her internal monologue was getting a bit tedious. Yes, Wanda was sorry. Yes, she would continue to try and prove that. Sitting in deep contemplation was not the only way to start doing so. There was a lot of work she needed to do on herself, but there was also a lot of work in the world to be done.

Her pose was one she had grown accustomed to when searching the multiverse. Hovering above the circle she had created with legs crossed, green eyes remained closed. Instead of scanning the multiverse for selfish reasons, the Scarlet Witch was moving through different magical channels in search of the soul of one Stephen Strange. 

She remembered Latverion. It would be hard for a reality sensitive being like Wanda like not to. She knew her Stephen -- although she had little right to call him that -- had suffered. His murder at the hands of the Thors Corps had been painful to watch, but his resurrection was a relief. The Stephen Strange of Earth-616, however, hadn’t been lucky. It was him that Wanda looked for as a favor.

“Stephen,” her eyes opened as she slowly straightened and lowered herself to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m not seeing him at all. There are some who move to places where their souls can’t be reclaimed.” Her mind flashed to the husband and brother she had lost. “I am not saying that’s the case, but there are some lines I’m no longer willing to cross to find people.”

[sorcerersuprme-archive]

@wizardstrange​

Clea Strange did not know what the hell to do.

It was as simple as that. She had all the knowledge of the Sorcerer Supreme and countless magical artifacts at her disposal and she was completely and utterly at a loss. In her defense, everyone seemed to be. Even the Fantastic Four, the famed scientists who were multiversal experts had no answers. All they knew was it’s going to be a week, give or take. Hug your loved ones.

Clea Strange didn’t have loved ones. Not anymore.

Others did, however. Stephen did, even if it wasn’t her. America had meant a lot to Stephen and now she was gone along with that agent -- Daisy Johnson, or something. Clea had been busy meeting with Wanda seeing if their magic was capable of doing any kind of locator spell on the two, but so far it had been inconclusive. It wasn’t the news that the Sorceress wanted to share with Stephen, but she had little case in the matter.

“Stephen.” Clea attempted to be as gentle as possible as she pulled the shades back to let some light in. “I think it’s time you come take a walk with me.”

[jasntodds]

can’t believe this. i was actually having a really good day you know mr. stark?

(which is to say that what you wrote was amazing and i’m about to cry thank you for tagging me sjdkdj

I’m sorry. I just had to write it. It had to be done and I’m sorry! But thank you ashfhe I worked hard lmao

Could’ve Been 

[hawkitout]

"I think I was very embarrassingly saying that I'm a big fan of your work while trying to introduce myself." Clint didn't let her mix with other heroes often. Her first shot had led to an awkward conversation with Doctor Strange of all people. "I'm Hawkeye. Hi."

"You don't say." Stephen took a long sip from his mug of coffee before swallowing thickly. "I'm not sure where we were to begin with."

[amricas]

@wizardstrange

If there was one thing that she should've understood, it was the multiverse. Yeah, yeah. The multiverse was vast; it was never ending, actually. A perpetual abyss of infinite potential and unlimited possibility. For most, it was overwhelming. Trying to consider how limitless reality could be was enough to melt the minds of some. Nothing could make you feel smaller than the moment you realized that you were you but there were other you's in other worlds you never could have dreamt of. Having a variant was a universal experience that could be extremely humbling in terms of individuality and uniqueness. Everyone could grapple with the fact that they were just one drop in a cosmically large puddle in their own way.

Everyone but America Chavez, that was.

Feeling special and being special were two different things, it turned out. Time had familiarized America to the perils of the multiverse. She had been a child when unfortunate circumstances had first forced her into it; lost, alone, and afraid, America had been adrift. Her mamá's were gone and it was no one's fault but her own. All they had done was love and care for their child, and America had failed them.

In the beginning, she hadn't known she was special. Even as each star shaped portal carried her to the next reality in her never ending hunt, America clung to the idea of home. The early days had been filled with hope; maybe there was a reality where she could get in contact with a version of herself who knew how to keep her curse under control. This variant could teach her, take her under her wing. With her tutelage, America would find her mothers. Reality after reality, however, proved futile. She looked high and she looked low, but no other America Chavez's could be found.

Eventually, she would learn of dreams. America knew the realities she visited were off-limits to everyone else she met. It was an isolating existence she had been forced into, to see things others never would. Often times, she had to remind herself to not get attached. The odds of her unpredictable powers taking her back to a reality was not a guarantee. She traveled, awake and alone. Others traveled, it seemed, in their dreams. Never a scientist, America didn't understand the details. All she knew was that others seemed to peek into other realities when they closed their eyes and fell asleep. They saw worlds. America? She saw darkness. Over time, she came to the conclusion that she was the only America Chavez there was. A girl in Earth-616 shared her name, but they were not the same. If America felt alone before, she felt it tenfold after. Being the only her didn't make her feel special or unique. Her lack of dreams every night only served to remind her that she was alone, a solitary figure untethered to anyone else.

But that was then.

It had taken almost being killed by a homicidal witch to find a place to belong. Earth-616. Stephen Strange. For the first time since she had ruined her own life, America had someone who knew that she existed and gave a shit if she lived or died. Her tears of relief were ones she shed alone, the years of hardening herself creating a sense of embarrassment over how emotional it made her. The world had not treated her like a child in a long time, even if she still was one. She continued to search for her mothers, but there was a home base to return to. There were friendly faces to grab a slice with. That's when America made her next mistake: she got comfortable.

When you spend most of your life traveling the multiverse, you begin to think you understand it. America was learning how to control her powers and travel freely. It was beginning to come naturally. That was why it was so jarring to wake up in a new reality with no clue as to how she had gotten there. She certainly hadn't portaled herself. One day she was in her room at Kamar-Taj, and the next everything had flipped. Eventually, America would learn what had happened to her wasn't an isolated event. The number of those ripped to Earth-Prime from their home realities continued to grow every day. It was inevitable for people to feel powerless with the sudden change, but no one felt it more so than America.

What happened when you took someone whose powers revolved around multiversal travel and trapped them with no way to out? For the first time since her powers had developed, America was locked into one reality. She could create a star portal, sure, but no matter how hard she strained, she was unable to leave the New York of Earth-Prime. It was almost worse than not being able to control her transporting. Without her abilities, America felt a shell of former self. She put on a brave face because it felt necessary. Inside, she screamed. She focused so hard she almost passed out. Nothing. It was like someone had severed the bond that once tethered her to the multiverse.

Still, she tried. Normally brown eyes glowed white. The blue tinge cast a low glow around the room she had sequestered herself in. A door opening normally would have warranted a look —  rule twelve of multiverse travel: always stay on your guard —  but she was lost in a futile attempt. It wasn't until the star portal faltered and flickered away that America turned to face the intruder. Stephen Strange, her friend. Stephen Strange, one of the only people should trust. Even still, it took a moment to get the words out.

"— I think I'm broken. I don't understand. Why isn't it working?" Defeat, exhaustion, and desperation mingled together. "Why is this happening?"  

[bisteverogers-archive]

you’re super duper cool and i love you a lot and i hope we can get closer soon bc you’re amazing and great

anonymously (or not) send me your opinion of me; i can’t react, only publish.

[amricas-archive]

@wizardstrange​

Eight years.

That’s how long America had been a prisoner of Victor Von Doom. Eight years as a dehumanized entity; a star, not a girl. America had lived every second of her imprisonment. She felt it all, and yet, the years had a funny way of blurring together. Doom had done terrible things across Latverion and America had ( unwillingly ) been his mode of transportation.

But that was all over, wasn’t it? The entire world was gone as if it had never existed. It’s funny how reality works.

America was very much herself again. She was curled up on one of the musty couches in the Sanctum. Her converse had been kicked off so that she could tuck her legs underneath her; buried in an oversized sweater, America was trying to fight back against the New York autumn. She wasn’t terribly familiar with the cold. Her ability to travel the multiverse meant that she never stayed anywhere very long -- let alone somewhere that was cold.

“I dunno, Stephen.” America clutched her mug with both hands before blowing into it. “She doesn’t remember Latverion or anything -- not that a lot of people do.” Clea was like everyone else in that aspect, no matter how powerful she was. “Do you think if she remembered she’d be less... intense about all of this?”

Strange -- America’s Strange -- and Clea had been in love in Latverion. That had to count for something.

“All I’m saying is that at this rate we’re gonna have, like, a war with the mutants or something.”

[amricas]

"Recuerdos?" America parroted back. "What do you mean? Or, I guess, how do you know if you can't remember them?" Stephen had seemed normal, but it was hard to say with him. Sure, he seemed stressed, but that seemed to be pretty standard for the former Sorcerer Supreme. It was another thing to add to the growing lists of concern. If anything happened to him, America didn't know what she'd do. Even with the team she'd been assigned, Stephen was the only family she had left.

"America," Stephen hesitated, letting out a soft sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I thought I didn't know what was happening on a baseline level, but now I really don't know. I'm missing time. Entire memories."

[controlledrage]

"Come on, Doc. You know we're the lucky ones." Jen teased, her voice full of sarcasm. "Car accidents, gamma infused blood, magical mantles thrust upon us, getting sucked through the multiverse. It all feels a little personal sometimes, doesn't it?"

"It was sarcasm." Stephen clarified with an amused smirk, but it quickly faded as the gravity of everything started to hit him again. "My question is, why us? Why were some people left behind?"

[sorcerersuprme-archive]

@wizardstrange​

Grief had a way of warping a person. Clea was no stranger to it. The Daughter of the Dark Dimension had become the Brighter of Light. She had lived and she had loved and, now, she had lost once more. Their relationship had been tumultuous even before Stephen had erased her memories of their marriage. She had been angry, sure, but she would take the magical amnesia in a heartbeat if it meant Stephen was still alive in the world casting once more.

Clea Strange: Newly minted Sorcerer Supreme of Earth-616 & widow of one Stephen Strange.

The man who occupied the parlor with her was not her husband. Clea knew that. There were differences in the ways the two men held themselves and the lines in their faces. Still, Stephen was Stephen. There was a familiarity she knew that he hadn’t been introduced to yet.

“What the other me told you is true.” Purple magic painted the air around them. “You did cause an Incursion. But it’s not entirely your fault. It looks like they’re happening all over the place. I will do what I can, but we may need a scientist with expertise here.” Science and magic meeting did occur, but often contradicted one another. “The scale of this extends past the Sorcerer Supreme.”