#The only reason that hasn't happened was cause he stayed in the Infinite Realms before

[hughmanbean]

Crimes Against Existence

The High Queen Phantom has expressed concerns about the state of law within the Mortal Realms.

Walker, sensing a chance to redeem himself in her eyes, volunteers to go out and report the state of the lands to the Queen. She seems pensive, but agrees. Under strict conditions that Walker must NOT detain nor arrest any mortals that would not have been taken into custody or otherwise punished by mortal authorities in the same situation.

She hands him an addendum to his book the Duke has written up for him to use as reference while he operates in the Mortal Realms.

He reluctantly agrees and makes his way to a mortal settlement with that he can sense has strong criminal influence.

He follows the trail to one of most crime-infested cities on Earth: Gotham. His guards clean out an old office, and he sits himself down into a desk.

He turns on the TV and tunes into a random channel. A man who seems like he'd fit with the Far Frozen is locked in combat with a skilled mortal in some sort of outfit. After a bit of research, Walker learns these are the rogues and vigilantes.

Well, this explained quite a few of the High Queen's problems. Though she doesn't know of them just yet.

Now, how do we rectify that?

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

doctor strange x reader: in time

hello, lovelies~ watched doctor strange to detox after a long day, and this plot bunny refused to let me be. hope y'all enjoy!

You know he follows you.

You've been onto him for a while, somehow hyper-aware of his presence, even if it isn't in the physical sense.

It had started sometime after he came back to New York, showed you the Sanctum, explained what he was, what he did.

You've gotten used to it, all of it, in the past few months.

His presence, astral you suspect, has its own warmth, almost an extension of who you are now.

He's not always there; his work is far too important for him to always be watching over you.

Maybe it’s a little cheeky, but knowing you've not only befriended but gained the protection of one of this 'verse's greatest defenders? You're more confident as of late, and just a little bit cocky because of it.

You know it's selfish, but sometimes you wish he would stay with you, come out from whatever pocket dimension or realm he's guarding you from.

Your wish is finally granted as you're coming down from one of the worst days of your life.

You're in your hallway when you feel him, the first time in nearly a week.

It's not that uncommon for him to disappear on you; you did become friends with a superhero after all. Of course he has more important things to worry about than you.

Normally, you could accept that feeling of insignificance with little effort, but in this moment you're just in too much pain to deal with it, and you hang your head, not bothering to suppress your defeated, exhausted tears.

The corridor is dark, your hair's a mess, nightclothes completely unflattering in every conceivable way, and you're crying.

What a great way to welcome him home.

You wish the floor would swallow you whole when you feel the ghost of a hand hovering over your cheek, wish you could die when you practically feel the embrace that's just beyond your reach.

You ache for him, and when you the sensation of a hand gently ghosts over your own, it's only reflex to try lacing his fingers with your own.

He freezes; you've never acknowledged his presence before, never told him that you knew he was there. It will going to be a very awkward conversation, but that's something for Future You to deal with.

Right now though-

"Stephen, please..."

You don't have time to defining what exactly you're asking for, because in the next moment the intangible becomes assuredly real, and he's holding onto you, both arms securing you against him, kisses and reassurances dropping to your crown in a steady shower.

You don't even bother trying to hide how desperately you need this, clinging to him with all your strength, burying your face somewhere between hiw neck and chest, pleasantly surprised to find a familiar cotton sweatshirt rather than his normal robes.

It's clear as day that he likely only meant to check in on you, probably was on his way to bed, too.

He's still peppering sweet nothings to the top of your head, the weight of his hands drawing firm circles across your back. The firmness, the steadiness, the repetition-

It's as if he's pulling all of the negative energy from you; you wouldn't be too surprised if he had a spell for that, too.

Not that it's important right now. You're practically melted into him, fingers buried into his hoodie, forehead tucked neatly into his shoulder.

All the while, still, words of comfort, praise, and-

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry-"

It's enough to still all your anxieties, all your tumultuous thoughts silenced as he continues his rambling apologies, for leaving you alone, for not being fully honest, for-

"Stephen."

He stops immediately, and you could swear the entire universe has stilled at the sound of your voice.

You pull away, just a little, just enough.

He's watching you with something heavy, something ancient, something so achingly familiar that your pulse flutters.

Whatever fears and doubts you've had before are long abandoned, and by the softening in his gaze, the way he melts into your touch, your palm resting on his cheek as your fingers trace a recent scratch that hasn't quite healed-

"Please stay."

The words are slipping out before you can think better of it, causing a gentle, if trembling, hand to rest atop your own.

There's a hesitance in his eyes as his lips part. "You sure?"

He's still feeling guilty over the whole stalker thing, and while you eagerly look forward to to thoroughly teasing him about it later, it's the furthest thing from your mind right now.

You had missed him, and now that you finally had him back, knew he was safe, and had come back to you, to you-!

"Stephen Strange, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Take it or leave it."

He takes another moment, desperately seeking out some sort of tell, searching for a lie that simply doesn't exist.

When he finally realizes that, accepts that this is real-

You can't decide if his beard more tickles or scratches you when he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for several seemingly eternal seconds.

His hands are on your cheeks now- when exactly that had happened, you can't say- and the look in his eyes as he withdraws-

He doesn't tell you how he feels about you, and you see no reason to tell him how you feel, either.

There's no need to right now, not when he's leaning in again, hovering, breath ghosting over your lips, patiently waiting for you to come to him.

You do so with a contented sigh, meeting him with all the softness you can muster, giving him all that you are and could possibly hope to offer.

You're nothing really but a speck in Infinity, but with the sudden shift of his mouth, and the definitive possessiveness to the way he's decided to start holding you, it's becoming infinitely harder to believe that.

You don't get the chance to tell him how you feel about him, every possible breath you would use stolen before you can manage a single syllable.

You likely won't get the chance to tell him much of anything for a while.

Not that you really need worry.

When your lover's Stephen Strange, you truly have all the time in the world.