#arkofangels

[arkofangels]

Don't wait up

Summary: In the heart of Gotham, you juggle the pressures of your final year at college and your prestigious Wayne Tech internship while sharing a cramped apartment with your chaotic but well-meaning roommate, Mia. A quiet night in quickly takes a turn when Jason Todd—your elusive criminology classmate—crashes, quite literally, onto your fire escape, wounded and bleeding.

a/n: slight swearing, mention of blood/injury, not proofread I wrote this half-asleep

You never thought Gotham would be home. Not really. It was a pit stop, a means to an end, a place where you could work, grind, and claw your way toward a future that didn’t involve dimly lit apartments and the constant hum of sirens outside your window. But Wayne Tech’s internship program was too good to pass up, and now, here you were—sharing a cramped studio apartment with Mia, your chaos-loving, party-going, endlessly exasperating roommate.

Mia was a hurricane, a whirlwind of bad decisions and infectious energy that somehow made life feel a little less bleak. She had a way of pulling you into her orbit, dragging you to bars, forcing you to meet new people, reminding you that there was more to life than deadlines and high-stakes projects. But tonight? Tonight, you needed quiet. Needed stillness. Needed a break from everything and everyone.

You curled up on your bed, cradling a mug of tea as lavender-scented air from your diffuser wrapped around you. The new semester was already stretching you thin—your grades had slipped last year, and you weren’t about to let that happen again. You had a plan. Study. Work. Graduate. Get the hell out of Gotham.

And then the window rattled.

The sound wasn’t loud, not at first, but something about it sent a spike of unease through you. The city had its own rhythm, its own sounds—the low thrum of traffic, the occasional shout in the distance, the ever-present hum of life pressing against the glass. But this? This was different. A sudden impact. A groan of metal under weight.

You turned, heart in your throat, just in time to see a shadow slump against the fire escape. A hand smeared red streaks across the glass, and beyond it stood the last person you’d ever expect to see in this part of the city.

Jason Todd.

You knew him. Or rather, you knew of him. The quiet guy in your criminology class who always sat in the back, never spoke unless called on, and somehow still managed to answer everything perfectly. The guy with the sharp eyes and the sharper wit, the one who never stuck around after lectures, always disappearing before anyone could get too close.

And, apparently, the guy bleeding out on your fire escape.

Your first instinct was to call the police. But something about that felt... wrong. Jason Todd wasn’t the type to be involved in anything illegal—at least, not in the way that would warrant calling the cops. But the leather jacket, the streak of red across his chest, the faint emblem of a bat barely visible beneath layers of fabric—it all told a different story.

Your stomach twisted.

You knew what you’d seen before. The Red Hood. A myth, a ghost, a brutal hand of justice that left criminals broken in Gotham’s gutters. You had seen him once, in passing, in Crime Alley when you’d taken the wrong turn after class. You’d been more intrigued by his tech than the man himself—wondering what kind of genius had built something so efficient, so powerful, so lethal.

And now he was here. Bleeding out. On your fire escape.

“Fantastic,” you muttered, grabbing the first aid kit you kept under your bed. You weren’t a medic by any stretch, but this was Gotham. Everyone had to learn basic wound care at some point.

You unlatched the window and shoved it open. The cold air bit at your skin as Jason tensed, his hand twitching toward the pistol at his side.

“Relax,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I'm just trying to help”

His mask tilted up, white lenses locking onto you. A pause. Then, with a grunt, he staggered forward, collapsing onto your couch with the kind of drama that suggested this wasn’t his first time doing this.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice rough, like gravel scraped across asphalt. “Hope you’re not too attached to this couch.”

“Not particularly,” you shot back, already pulling out gauze and antiseptic. “But I’d rather not have to explain a bloodstain to my landlord.”

Jason let out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it turned into a wince. You peeled back the ruined fabric of his shirt, assessing the damage. A deep gash along his side, ugly but not fatal. He’d live. Assuming he didn’t pass out on you first.

That was Jason Todd. The guy who never talked in class. The guy who was always there but never quite present. And now, the guy bleeding out on your couch, wearing the unmistakable gear of the Red Hood. Your classmate. The vigilante. The myth you’d only half-believed was real.

Your hands kept moving, more out of instinct than conscious effort, dabbing antiseptic onto the wound, pressing gauze against it. The weight of the realization settled in your chest, heavy, cold.

Jason Todd was the Red Hood.

It should have sent you into a spiral. It should have had you freaking out, or at the very least, demanding an explanation. But instead, you found yourself slipping into something easier—small talk, grounding yourself in the mundane while your mind scrambled to process everything else.

“What the hell did you get into?” you asked, threading a needle with steady hands.

“Let’s just say Black Mask and I have some... unresolved issues.” His smirk was sharp, even through the pain. “He doesn’t play nice.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. Just watched as you worked, his breathing slowing as the pain dulled to something distant. You didn’t ask the obvious questions. Not yet. How long had he been doing this? How had no one figured it out before? What else had you missed, sitting three rows behind him in class, thinking he was just another student with sharp eyes and sharper instincts?

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken questions. You weren’t sure why you spoke, why you let curiosity override common sense, but the words tumbled out anyway.

“The mask,” you said, nodding toward the helmet on your coffee table. “Tech like that doesn’t come cheap.”

Jason’s lips quirked. “What, you looking to upgrade?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “I’m a tech designer. It’s kind of my thing.”

He blinked, like he was seeing you for the first time. "Wayne Tech?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the employee ID you’d left on the coffee table, his expression unreadable.

“Intern,” you clarified, finishing the last stitch. “Not that I’d expect you to care, Mr. Vigilante.”

“Wayne Tech, huh?” His tone shifted, edged with something unreadable. “Guess that explains why you’re not running for the hills right now.”

You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen worse injuries in the R&D lab. You’re lucky I didn’t just slap a band-aid on it and call it a night.”

That earned a real laugh, low and rough, but not unpleasant. “Fair point.”

You leaned back slightly, taking him in. The Red Hood. Jason Todd. The same person. And yet, nothing about him had really changed. He was still the sharp-eyed guy from class, still the one who always seemed to know more than he let on. The only difference was that now you knew, too.

“Not many people build helmets with integrated HUDs and infrared vision,” you shot back, “or crash into my fire escape, bleed all over my couch, and make themselves at home, But here we are."

Jason smirked, something softer beneath it.

As the silence stretched between you, the sudden jingle of keys at the apartment door shattered the fragile stillness. Both of you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Your stomach dropped.

Mia was home.

"Oh shit... that's my roommate," you whisper sharply, snatching Jason's mask off the table. Without thinking, you step closer and position yourself in front of him, blocking the unmistakable bat emblem on his chest with your body. It wasn’t subtle—you could feel Jason’s eyes on you, probably amused despite the situation—but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The door flew open, and Mia swept in with her signature flair, her hair slightly disheveled and her eyeliner smudged. She froze mid-step when her eyes landed on Jason sitting on the couch.

"Uh... hi?" she said, raising an eyebrow, her gaze darting suspiciously between you and him. "Did I miss something?"

"This is... Jason," you said, fumbling for words and gesturing awkwardly toward him. "He’s in my Data Analysis class. Had a bit of an accident and, uh, needed some first aid."

Jason gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, somehow managing to make the situation seem less bizarre than it was.

Mia narrowed her eyes for a moment, clearly not convinced, but then shrugged it off. "Right. Well, I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is," she said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and disappearing into her room without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "That was close," you muttered, turning back to Jason. He was leaning back now, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused.

“Data Analysis class? Really?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "You're welcome for saving your secret identity, by the way. And it's not that bad—we're going to the same college. She’s bound to see you around campus eventually."

You let the silence settle for a moment before shifting your weight, glancing at him. "So," you began, your voice softer now. "What's it like? Being..." You gestured vaguely at his suit.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Being what? A guy who bleeds on random people’s furniture?”

You rolled your eyes. “A vigilante. You know what I mean.”

He leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, as if weighing how much to reveal. “It’s not glamorous, if that’s what you’re asking. You get used to stitches, bruises, and sleeping with one eye open. But… someone’s gotta do it.”

You shifted on your feet, watching him carefully. "Hey, you know you don’t have to do this, right? There are people—Batman, for one—who can handle this kind of thing."  

Jason let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Batman can’t save everybody." His voice was firm, unwavering. "Someone has to step up."  

"And that someone has to be you?" you asked, your voice quieter now.  

He shrugged. "Guess so. Not like I could sit back and watch this city tear itself apart."  

Your lips pressed into a thin line. There was something undeniably admirable about his resolve, even if it sounded like a lonely existence. A life of sacrifice. Before you could respond, the sharp buzz of Jason’s phone cut through the quiet room. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.

“Trouble?” you asked.

“Always,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing his jacket. 

“Thanks for the patch-up. I owe you one.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by Gotham’s shadows. You stood by the window for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against your skin. 

You weren’t sure what this meant, if it meant anything at all. But one thing was certain—Jason Todd had crashed into your life, and something told you he wasn’t done yet.

[arkofangel]

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From Gaza Strip i extend my heartfelt congratulations to America and its people on the inauguration of President Donald Trump, hoping this moment marks the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity for the world.

A few minutes to the beginning of a new era. I hope that peace will prevail throughout the world.

[arkofangels]

{Anomalous Beginnings  II ch.1}

Summary: After being forcibly displaced from your multiverse, you find yourself in a reality unfamiliar with your origins or purpose. When the Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Strange, confronts you about your anomalous presence, you’re forced to adapt quickly—right down to altering your accent to blend in. As mistrust turns to curiosity, you and Strange form an uneasy alliance, setting the stage for a partnership that may determine the fate of realities far beyond your own.

a/n: little bit of doctor strange in his sassy era

The Sanctum Sanctorum was quiet, save for the faint hum of magical wards layered through its ancient walls. Stephen Strange sat in his study, poring over a shimmering projection of the multiverse. His fingers hovered above the intricate web of threads, tracing a faint disturbance. One thread was frayed and pulsing erratically, its energy sending ripples across the network. He frowned, his focus narrowing on it. This kind of anomaly didn’t appear often, and when it did, it rarely resolved itself.

A sudden surge of energy rippled through the room. Strange stiffened, the projection vanishing as he rose to his feet. A low hum built in the air, growing louder until it was a roar. Without hesitation, he conjured a protective barrier, his crimson Cloak of Levitation snapping into place as he turned toward the source.

The air shimmered violently in the center of the Sanctum’s grand hall, the distortion widening into a crackling tear in reality. With a flash of light and a deafening *boom*, the tear closed, leaving behind a figure sprawled on the polished stone floor.

Strange approached cautiously, his hands glowing with latent magic. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

You groaned, pushing yourself upright. Your attire was odd—sleek, utilitarian, and distinctly unlike anything Strange had seen before. You brushed the dust off your shoulders and glanced around, your eyes landing on him. Recognition flickered across your face.

“Oh, great,” you muttered, your tone laced with frustration and disbelief. Your accent was unmistakably foreign—not from another country, but entirely alien, with lilting tones and inflections that didn’t belong to this world.

Strange’s brow furrowed. “And you are?”

You groaned again, brushing your hair from your face. “An anomaly. Or, at least, that’s what your timeline thinks,” you replied, your unusual accent making the words sound almost melodic.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here.”

“Give the man a prize,” you quipped, dragging yourself to your feet. Your tone was dry, but your voice sounded out of place against the Sanctum’s austere backdrop. You sighed, placing a hand to your temple. “Hold on a second. This isn’t going to work.”

Before Strange could respond, you muttered an incantation under your breath, your fingers glowing faintly. The air shimmered subtly around your throat as the spell took effect. When you spoke again, your accent was gone, replaced with one indistinguishable from someone native to Strange’s world. “There. That should make things easier.”

Strange’s wariness didn’t fade. “What did you just do?”

“Adapted,” you said simply. “You’re welcome, by the way. My original accent? Let’s just say it’d have distracted you the whole time.”

“Interesting,” Strange muttered, though his suspicion lingered. “Explain.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “In my multiverse, the multiverse isn’t some hidden secret. It’s public knowledge. People like me? We’re trained to monitor it, fix anomalies, and keep things stable. That’s my job. Or it *was* until I got yanked out of my thread and dumped into yours.”

Strange didn’t lower his guard. “How?”

“Something happened to your timeline’s version of me—if they even existed,” you replied, your tone grim. “They’re gone. And when they disappeared, something decided I was a good enough substitute. So now I’m here, and your universe is stuck with me.”

He regarded you silently, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he turned and summoned the multiverse projection again, the glowing threads weaving together like a vast, luminous tapestry. His eyes locked on the previously frayed thread. It had smoothed over, its jagged edges now neatly woven back into place, though a faint distortion lingered, a testament to your arrival.

He gestured to the healed thread. “This was you.”

You stepped closer, your gaze flicking to the projection. “Yeah. That’s me. The multiverse just patched itself up—well, mostly. The distortion is a side effect. It’ll probably settle. Eventually.”

Strange’s tone turned measured. “You’re a placeholder.”

You glanced at him, something weary in your expression. “That about sums it up.”

For a moment, silence filled the room. Strange studied the healed thread, his mind racing through the implications. You weren’t just displaced; you were tethered to his universe now, a living artifact of a frayed reality. He turned back to you, his expression still wary.

“You said you’re trained to deal with anomalies,” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “What does that entail?”

“Fixing broken threads, stabilizing breaches, cleaning up the messes people make when they start messing with realities they don’t understand,” you replied. “But this? This is new. I’ve never been the anomaly before.”

Strange folded his arms, his gaze appraising. “So you’re here to help?”

“I’m here because I don’t have a choice,” you said, leaning against the nearest wall. “But yeah, I want to fix this. I don’t belong here, and I’m not about to let your universe unravel while I’m stuck in it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “How generous of you.”

“Look,” you said, straightening. “I didn’t ask for this, but I know how these things work. If I don’t do something, this thread could unravel again, and trust me—you don’t want to see what happens when that goes unchecked.”

Strange hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Fine. You can stay—for now. But don’t expect me to trust you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “But you might want to get used to me being around. Something tells me this isn’t going to be a quick fix.”

The projection flickered again, the distortion rippling faintly. Strange’s jaw tightened as he dismissed it, turning toward the stairs. “If you’re going to stay here, you’ll follow my rules.”

You crossed your arms. “Sure, Doctor. Whatever you say.”

Strange paused, his eyes narrowing. “It’s *Doctor Strange.*”

You grinned, falling into step behind him. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” 

Doctor Strange didn’t reply, but you caught the subtle tightening of his jaw as he ascended the staircase. His Sanctum was an intricate mix of the mystical and the modern, a labyrinth of ancient artifacts and arcane energy that felt as alive as the man leading you through it. Every step hummed with power, and though you’d been trained to handle such things, this place still gave you pause.  

“Don’t touch anything,” Strange warned, not bothering to glance back at you.  

“What, not even that glowing orb thing over there?” you teased, pointing at a crystalline sphere suspended in midair, swirling with iridescent light.  

He stopped abruptly, spinning to face you. “Especially not that. Unless you’re interested in finding out what it feels like to be erased from existence.”  

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Alright, Doctor Serious, noted. No touching shiny, glowing things.”  

He turned again, muttering something under his breath about “anomalies with attitude” before continuing down the hall. You trailed after him, taking in the strange beauty of the Sanctum. The walls seemed to shift subtly as you walked, as if the building itself were watching you.  

“So, Doctor Strange,” you began, your tone casual. “What’s the plan here? You going to lock me in a magic cage, interrogate me, or just brood dramatically until I solve all your problems?”  

He stopped at a heavy wooden door, placing a hand against its surface. With a faint pulse of energy, it swung open, revealing a room filled with books, scrolls, and an assortment of magical instruments. He stepped inside and gestured for you to follow.  

“None of the above,” he said, pulling out a chair and gesturing to another across from it. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about your timeline, your multiverse, and what exactly you were doing when you ended up here.”  

You took the seat, leaning back with a casual air that clearly irritated him. “Alright, fine. Where do you want me to start? The part where my multiverse is way more advanced than yours, or the part where you all still seem to think magic and science are two separate things?”  

Strange arched a brow but didn’t take the bait. “Start with how your multiverse operates. If what you say is true, I need to understand what you know about managing dimensional threads.”  

You tilted your head, tapping a finger against the armrest as you considered. “Okay, here’s the short version. In my world, we’ve known about the multiverse for centuries. It’s not a secret—people learn about it in school, and there are entire agencies dedicated to monitoring it. Kind of like your sorcerers, but less... cloaks and incantations, more tech and precision.”  

“And you worked for one of these agencies?” Strange asked, his tone skeptical.  

“Worked for?” You scoffed. “Try ‘led operations for.’ I was good at it, too. Fixing frayed threads, closing breaches, neutralizing rogue anomalies—you name it, I’ve done it.”  

Strange studied you, his expression unreadable. “And yet you’re the anomaly now.”  

You leaned forward, your smirk fading. “Yeah. Funny how that works, isn’t it? One minute, I’m the one fixing the messes. The next, I’m the mess.”  

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on you as if trying to discern whether you were telling the truth. Finally, he leaned back, crossing his arms. “You said the distortion in the thread might settle over time. How long are we talking?”  

You shrugged. “Could be days, weeks, months. Depends on what caused it. If your timeline’s version of me was taken out of the equation, that’s not something the multiverse fixes overnight.”  

“And if it doesn’t settle?”  

“Then we’re both in trouble,” you admitted. “That distortion could spread. Other threads could unravel. Worst-case scenario, this entire dimension could collapse in on itself.���  

Strange’s expression darkened, his fingers drumming against the table. “Then we’ll have to act fast. If you’re as experienced as you claim, you’ll work with me to stabilize this.”  

“Sure thing, Doctor,” you said, flashing him a grin. “But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t take orders. We’re equals here.”  

He raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “You’ve been here for less than an hour, and you’re already negotiating terms?”  

“Hey, you’re the one who said you didn’t trust me,” you shot back. “If we’re going to work together, we do it on equal footing. No hierarchy, no ‘because I said so.’ Deal?”  

Strange regarded you for a long moment, the tension thick in the air. Finally, he nodded. “Deal. But don’t test my patience.”  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, rising from your chair. “Now, if we’re done with the Q&A, I’d like to get a better look at that thread distortion. You’ve got some fancy magic tools, right?”  

He stood as well, gesturing for you to follow him again. “This way. But remember—don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.”  

“Got it, Doctor Bossy.”  

He sighed, but you caught the faintest hint of a smirk as he led you out of the room. though the path ahead was uncertain, one thing was clear—you were both in this together, whether you liked it or not.  

[arkofangels]

New Years Special: "A spark Through Time"

summary: a calm simple new years with dr.strange and wong, nothing could be more perfect.

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEARS 2025 ✨

The Sanctum Sanctorum was unusually festive. Strange’s usually pristine, mystical workspace was littered with half-filled glasses of sparkling cider, paper streamers, and an inexplicable number of confetti cannons—your doing, of course.

“You’ve turned my Sanctum into a circus,” Strange muttered, brushing a stray piece of glitter off his cloak.

“It’s New Year’s Eve!” you replied, grinning as you adjusted a string of twinkling lights you had draped over a relic pedestal. “Even Sorcerers Supreme need to let loose once in a while.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly, though he didn’t stop you. The Eye of Agamotto pulsed faintly, as if it too were protesting the festivities.

Despite his protests, you noticed Strange hadn’t shooed away the few other magical acquaintances who had dropped by—Wong among them, though he was already helping himself to the snacks you’d set out. The smell of freshly baked dumplings mingled with that of warm cider, and you caught Strange glancing wistfully at a platter of cookies before quickly looking away.

“Are you actually going to join us, or are you going to stand there sulking until midnight?” you teased, balancing a ridiculous party hat on his head. 

He promptly removed it. “I have better things to do than celebrate an arbitrary human construct.”

“Wow, you’re really the life of the party,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s not about the date—it’s about taking a moment to reflect and… I don’t know, actually enjoy life for once?”

Strange didn’t reply, instead shifting his attention to the window. Outside, the city glowed with anticipation. Fireworks vendors dotted the streets, and groups of revelers were already counting down hours early. There was something infectious about the atmosphere, and even Strange, ever the stoic, seemed to soften slightly.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing a pair of steaming mugs from the table. “Come on. You can’t be all brooding and mysterious when there’s cider involved.”

He took the mug reluctantly but followed you out onto the balcony. The chill of the night air hit you instantly, but the sight was worth it. New York City stretched out below, alive with light and sound. Strings of fairy lights wrapped around balconies, laughter echoed from distant rooftops, and the distant thrum of music filled the air.

“This is what you wanted?” Strange asked, leaning on the railing. “To watch people shout numbers into the void?”

“Not just that,” you replied, nudging him. “It’s about marking time. Starting fresh. Seeing how far you’ve come and deciding where you want to go next.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “And where do you want to go?”

You shrugged, the weight of the question catching you off guard. “Honestly? I don’t know yet. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Endless possibilities. That’s what makes it exciting.”

For a moment, Strange said nothing, his gaze fixed on the skyline. The first fireworks of the night erupted in the distance, scattering bursts of gold and red across the sky. The light reflected in his eyes, making him look less like the formidable Sorcerer Supreme and more like someone simply… human.

“You’re an anomaly,  in more ways than one” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“Was that a compliment?” you asked, grinning.

“Don’t push your luck,” he replied, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

The two of you stood in silence as the fireworks grew more frequent, the city erupting in cheers as midnight drew closer. Wong poked his head out onto the balcony at one point, raising a toast before disappearing back inside to raid the snacks. You made a mental note to buy more dumplings.

When the clock finally struck midnight, the city exploded in celebration. Fireworks painted the sky, their booms reverberating through the air. People shouted, hugged, and toasted to a new year. Even Strange, standing beside you, seemed to relax just a fraction.

Strange turned to you, his expression suddenly unreadable again. “You’ve brought a strange kind of chaos to my life,” he said, his voice low enough that you almost didn’t hear him over the crowd.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, your tone playful but soft.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his gaze lingering on you.

The crowd below erupted into cheers as the clock struck midnight, fireworks exploding in bursts of color and light. Before you could respond, Strange leaned in, his hand brushing your cheek, and pressed his lips to yours. The world seemed to fade for a moment, the noise and light melting away until there was only the warmth of his kiss and the gentle weight of his hand.

When he pulled back, there was the faintest trace of vulnerability in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual composure. “Happy New Year,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

You stared at him, stunned for a moment, before a grin broke across your face. “Happy New Year, Stephen,” you replied, lifting your mug in a mock toast.

For the first time in a long while, the world felt… simple. Just for a night. And that, you decided, was worth celebrating.

[arkofangels]

Sandwiches and Sorcery II ch. 2

Summary: After stepping out of the Sanctum Sanctorum into the vibrant chaos of New York City, you’re confronted with a world that feels both familiar and alien. As an anomaly in this reality, your very presence draws the scrutiny of Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, who reluctantly takes on the task of monitoring you. Though his demeanor is sharp and unyielding, the two of you begin to forge a tenuous partnership—one tested when a dimensional rift suddenly tears open the fabric of this world.

a/n: Dr.strange kind of uses the word "anomaly" as a slur, and oh boy, does he say it a lot. also NGL I low-key write each chapter like 3 hours before posting so I have no plan of where this story is going.

The streets of New York buzzed with their usual chaotic energy as you stepped out of the Sanctum Sanctorum alongside Doctor Strange. 

The contrast between the mystical silence of the Sanctum and the mundane noise of the city was jarring. Cars honked, pedestrians bustled past, and the faint strains of a saxophone played by a street musician wafted through the air.

You paused at the threshold, letting the sights and sounds wash over you. It was familiar yet alien. The buildings seemed taller, the air heavier with pollution, and the people—so many people—were oblivious to the fabric of reality that could unravel at any moment.

“Keep moving,” Strange said, glancing back at you with his typical air of impatience.

“Sorry, just taking it all in,” you replied, stepping forward. “It’s weird, you know? Being in a world that feels so close to mine but… not quite right.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said flatly, adjusting his cloak as it billowed around him. 

Despite his usual brusque demeanor, you caught him scanning the crowd, his eyes flicking to the shadows and alleys as if expecting trouble.

“You’re tense,” you noted, falling into step beside him. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll wander off and touch something I shouldn’t?”

“The city’s unpredictable,” he replied, his tone clipped. “And you are an anomaly. I’d prefer to keep an eye on you.”

“Aw, you care,” you teased, flashing a grin.

He didn’t dignify that with a response, instead steering you toward a quieter street lined with brownstones.

 The noise of the city faded slightly, replaced by the rhythmic clatter of your footsteps on the pavement.

“So, what exactly are we doing out here?” you asked after a moment of silence. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the fresh air, but you strike me as more of a 'research in a dark room' kind of guy.”

“Observation,” Strange replied. “I need to see how you interact with this world. How it reacts to you.”

You frowned. “What, like some kind of science experiment?”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. “You are an anomaly,” he said firmly. “Your very presence here could destabilize this reality.

 I need to know if there are any immediate effects—on you, on the people around you, on the fabric of this dimension. This isn’t about curiosity; it’s about containment.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you said, raising your hands defensively. “No need for the lecture, Doctor Buzzkill.”

He rolled his eyes and resumed walking.

As you trailed behind him, you couldn’t help but study the world around you. It was so alive, so vibrant. 

The people moved with purpose, their lives unfolding in a way that seemed both chaotic and orderly. 

In your world, the multiverse had always been a backdrop, a concept so ingrained in daily life that it lost its wonder. But here? These people lived unaware of the threads that bound their existence together, and there was something strangely beautiful about that.

A flash of movement caught your eye, and you turned to see a child chasing a bright red balloon down the sidewalk. 

The string slipped from their grasp, and the balloon floated upward, caught in a gust of wind. 

Without thinking, you extended a hand and whispered a quick incantation. The air shimmered faintly, and the balloon drifted back down into the child’s waiting hands.

The child beamed, shouting a quick “Thanks!” before running off.

Strange stopped mid-step, his gaze snapping to you. “What did I say about using magic?”

“It was a balloon,” you said defensively. “Hardly the end of the world.”

“Even the smallest actions can have consequences,” he warned. “You can’t afford to be careless.”

You sighed but nodded. “Fine. No more magic unless it’s life or death. Happy?”

“Content,” he replied curtly, though you noticed his posture relaxed slightly.

The two of you continued walking, the city gradually pulling you deeper into its rhythm. Despite his earlier words, Strange seemed to loosen up as the minutes passed. He even paused to grab a hot dog from a street vendor, much to your surprise.

“Doctor Strange eats hot dogs?” you asked, barely suppressing a laugh.

“Don’t read into it,” he muttered, taking a bite.

“Too late,” you said, grinning. “So, what now? Do we just keep wandering around until the universe decides to give us a sign?”

As if on cue, a sudden tremor rippled through the ground. The air grew heavy, and a faint, otherworldly hum resonated in your chest. Strange’s expression darkened as he handed the half-eaten hot dog to you.

“Hold this,” he ordered, stepping forward and conjuring a glowing sigil with a flick of his wrist.

“Seriously?” you muttered, holding the hot dog awkwardly as Strange scanned the area.

The hum grew louder, and a shimmer appeared in the air ahead. It expanded rapidly, tearing open into a swirling vortex of energy. From within, shadowy figures began to emerge, their forms twisting unnaturally as they stepped into your world.

Strange’s cloak flared out behind him as he prepared for battle. “Stay back,” he warned.

You dropped the hot dog, energy already crackling at your fingertips. “Not a chance, Doctor.”

He shot you a glare but didn’t argue as the first of the creatures lunged toward you both. 

He shot you a glare but didn’t argue as the first of the creatures lunged toward you both. 

You sidestepped the creature’s claws, your hands moving instinctively as you conjured a shimmering shield of energy. Strange, meanwhile, unleashed a burst of golden light that sent the creature staggering back, its form distorting as if it were struggling to maintain its shape in this reality.

“These things aren’t from here,” you said, ducking as another creature swiped at you.

“Sharp observation,” Strange quipped, casting a portal beneath one of the creatures and sending it tumbling into a dimension of swirling fire. 

“They’re dimensional intrusions. Unstable. 

Be careful—their energy signatures could interfere with yours.”

“Good to know,” you muttered, firing a bolt of crackling energy at an approaching figure. The blast hit its mark, but the creature dissolved into a writhing cloud of shadows before reforming a few feet away.

“They’re resilient,” Strange warned, stepping closer to you as the creatures began to circle. “We need to push them back through the rift before more arrive.”

You nodded, already analyzing the rhythm of their movements. 

Together, you and Strange began to synchronize your attacks, each strike aimed at driving the creatures closer to the vortex. 

The air buzzed with magic and energy, the ground trembling beneath your feet as the rift pulsed with increasing intensity.

“Almost there,” Strange said, his voice tight with focus.

One of the creatures broke through the perimeter, lunging toward you. Without hesitation, you summoned a blade of pure energy, slashing through its form. The creature let out an unearthly shriek before dissipating into nothingness.

Strange cast a final spell, the vortex collapsing in on itself with a deafening roar. 

The remaining creatures disintegrated as the rift sealed shut, leaving the street eerily silent.

“Well,” you said, brushing dust off your sleeves. “That was fun.”

Strange gave you a pointed look. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Relax, Doctor Serious. We handled it.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue, instead turning his attention to the now-empty space where the rift had been. 

“This isn’t over. Something caused that breach, and we need to find out what.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. 

“Guess that means we’re stuck together for a little while longer.”

Before either of you could say more, a low growl came from your stomach.

 You glanced at Strange sheepishly, while he raised an eyebrow. “All that fighting works up an appetite,” you said.

He glanced around, his expression softening marginally. “There’s a deli nearby,” he said. “It’s not far. Let’s go.”

A few minutes later, you found yourselves standing in front of a small, unassuming storefront. The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat wafted through the air as you stepped inside. 

The deli was cozy, with wooden tables and walls lined with photographs of smiling patrons.

 A bell jingled as the door closed behind you.

“This place doesn’t seem like your usual haunt,” you remarked, following Strange to the counter.

“Even sorcerers have to eat,” he replied dryly, scanning the menu. The person behind the counter greeted him warmly, clearly recognizing him. Strange nodded in return before ordering a pastrami on rye.

You ordered a turkey sandwich and followed him to a corner table. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the recent battle still lingering.

“So, do dimensional breaches always come with a side of deli sandwiches?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Strange gave you a pointed look but couldn’t suppress the faintest smirk. “You’ll find that food is one of the few constants across universes,” he said, taking a deliberate bite of his sandwich.

“Fair point,” you said, savoring your first bite. “But seriously, do you have any idea what caused that rift?”

Strange set his sandwich down, his expression darkening slightly. “Not yet. But it wasn’t random. Something—or someone—is most likely pulling strings. We’ll need to investigate further.”

You nodded, finishing a bite before replying. “Sounds like we’ve got a long road ahead. Good thing we’ve got sandwiches to fuel us.”

[arkofangels]

Out-of-Body Experience II ch.4

summary: After Strange forces the reader into an astral projection to stabilize her volatile energy, she awakens disoriented and frustrated by the invasive tactic. The ordeal leaves her physically drained and, to her horror, causes her suppressed magical projection to unravel, bringing back a strange, alien accent that she had long hidden. Tensions escalate as she confronts Strange about the unintentional side effects, accusing him of carelessness. Despite her anger, Strange remains composed, assuring her the instability is temporary and can be fixed with time and control. While her frustration lingers, his unflinching confidence and subtle humor offer a flicker of reassurance, even as the multiversal stakes grow increasingly complicated.

a/n: (t:w reader turns a bit British at the end)

You gasped as you were yanked out of your body, the deli and Strange fading into a shimmering, translucent haze. 

Your physical form slumped back into the chair, unmoving, as your consciousness hovered just above it.

The world around you was surreal, muted, and strange—the colors softer, the sounds muffled, and everything edged in a faint, otherworldly glow.

“WHAT THE HELL?” you shouted, or at least tried to. 

Your voice echoed strangely, as though you were yelling into a canyon. You turned to see Strange standing calmly, his hand still raised, his expression unreadable.

“You forced me out of my body?” you exclaimed, your astral form twisting to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“You left me no choice,” he said coolly, lowering his hand. “You were on the verge of losing control.”

“Losing control?” You gestured wildly at yourself—or rather, your now-disembodied form. “How is this not losing control? You can’t just rip me out of my own body whenever you feel like it!”

“You were generating enough unstable energy to fracture the room,” Strange retorted, his tone calm but firm. “This was the safest way to contain it without triggering a multiversal ripple.”

“I was upset!” you shouted. “That doesn’t mean you get to shut me down like a light switch!”

He stepped closer, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You don’t understand the scale of what’s happening, and I can’t risk a repeat of what just happened. 

Your connection to the multiverse is fragile, and if you keep reacting without thought, you’ll do more damage than you realize.”

His words hit harder than you wanted to admit, and for a moment, you were silent, the faint hum of the astral plane filling the space between you. You crossed your arms defensively, floating slightly above your slumped physical form.

 “You could’ve just… I don’t know, talked to me.”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “I tried. You started yelling.”

You glared at him, but there wasn’t much fight left in you. The weight of everything you’d seen, everything you’d felt, pressed down on you even in this strange, weightless state. “What now?” you muttered, your voice quieter.

“Now,” Strange said, his tone softening further, “you learn to focus. Your emotions are directly tied to your connection to the threads. 

If you let them overwhelm you, you risk destabilizing not just yourself, but the world around you.”

He gestured toward your physical form. “Take this moment to breathe. Feel what it’s like to exist outside the noise of your body, your thoughts. Use this to center yourself.”

You frowned, skepticism creeping into your voice. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll keep spiraling, and the consequences will be far worse than an outburst in a deli,” he said plainly. “The multiverse isn’t kind to anomalies, especially ones who don’t understand their own power.”

You floated in silence for a moment, the tension in your chest slowly easing as you took in the stillness of the astral plane. 

Despite your frustration, a small part of you knew Strange was right. You needed to learn control—not just for yourself, but for everything and everyone else caught in the threads you didn’t yet fully understand.

“Fine,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “But if you ever pull that stunt again without warning, I’m finding a way to haunt you.”

Strange smirked faintly, the barest hint of amusement crossing his face. “Noted.”

With a flick of his wrist, the sigil reappeared, and the world blurred around you. 

A sharp pull yanked you downward, and suddenly, you were back in your body. You inhaled sharply, your senses flooding with the familiar warmth and noise of the deli.

“Better?” Strange asked, his tone neutral.

You glared at him but didn’t argue. “We’ll see.”

Rubbing your temples, still trying to adjust to the sensation of being back in your body. 

The astral projection had left you disoriented, like your mind was trying to catch up to your physical form. Strange stood a few feet away, watching you closely, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable as usual.

“So,” you began, your voice slower than you intended, “was that… normal? Just casually yanking someone out of their body like that?”

Strange didn’t answer immediately, tilting his head slightly as though considering his response. “Not normal, no,” he admitted finally. “Necessary? Absolutely.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Great. I’ll just add that to the list of weird stuff that’s happened to me in the past twenty-four hours.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal.”

“Calm?” you said, giving a weak laugh. “I’m too tired to freak out right now. Whatever you did—that whole ‘astral yoink’ thing—that takes a lot of energy. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

Strange’s lips twitched, almost as if he was holding back a smirk. “Astral projection can be taxing, especially if you’re not prepared for it. 

Your body and mind are adjusting. The fatigue is normal.”

You blinked slowly, the heaviness in your limbs growing harder to ignore. 

“Normal for you, maybe. I’m not exactly used to being forcefully evicted from my own body.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said dryly, though his tone softened slightly. 

“But you’ll adapt. You’re stronger than you think, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

“Yeah, well, strength doesn’t do me much good if I can’t stay awake long enough to use it,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. 

The warmth of the deli and the lingering exhaustion from the vision felt like a weight pulling you down.

Strange studied you for a moment, then sighed, his tone shifting from authoritative to almost… gentle. 

“Rest is as important as control. You won’t be much use if you push yourself to the point of breaking.”

You yawned, trying and failing to stifle it. “Was that your way of telling me to go take a nap?”

“It’s my way of reminding you that the multiverse won’t wait for you to catch up,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge. “But even the strongest threads need time to regain their tension. Go. Rest. You’ll need your strength for what’s coming.”

You let out a soft chuckle, already leaning further back in your seat. “Multiverse metaphors. Nice touch.”

Strange didn’t reply, simply gesturing toward the doorway with a flick of his hand. “The Sanctum has plenty of space. Pick a room and use it.”

Your head tilted as you smirked at him. “So generous of you, Doctor Strange.”

He gave you a long-suffering look, but you were too tired to banter further. Pushing yourself up from the booth, you swayed slightly, catching yourself on the edge of the table.

“Careful,” Strange said, stepping forward instinctively, though he stopped short of offering help.

“I’m fine,” you said, waving him off as you steadied yourself. “Just tired.” You took a wobbly step forward, but the effort seemed monumental. The room tilted slightly, and your legs buckled under you. Before you could hit the floor, a firm grip caught you.

“Of course you are,” Strange muttered under his breath, his tone half-exasperated, half-concerned.

You barely registered the words as darkness edged into your vision, the exhaustion overwhelming any attempt at protest. You felt yourself being lifted, your body weightless in his arms, and a fleeting thought crossed your mind: *Is this… bridal style? Seriously?*

Strange carried you with an efficiency that suggested he’d done this kind of thing before, though his expression betrayed a flicker of discomfort. “You’re more trouble than I signed up for,” he said to no one in particular, though there was no heat in his words.

The city outside blurred past as he opened a portal with a quick gesture, the glowing circle swirling into view just ahead. 

With a step, he crossed the threshold, the familiar mystical energy of the Sanctum Sanctorum washing over the both of you. 

The air inside felt quieter, heavier, a stark contrast to the chaos of the city and your own unraveling thoughts.

Strange carried you through the hallways, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. Despite his brusque demeanor, he was careful not to jostle you, his arms steady as he navigated the dimly lit corridors. 

He entered a guest room, the space modest but comfortable, its warm lighting casting a soft glow over the bed. Without hesitation, Strange lowered you onto the mattress, his movements precise but surprisingly gentle. 

You stirred slightly as he placed a blanket over you, your eyelids fluttering open for just a moment. “You’re… surprisingly good at this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Carrying people. Tucking them in. Should I call you Doctor or nurse?”

Strange rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been the faintest hint of a smile. “Go to sleep,” he said simply, his voice quieter than usual. 

You managed a weak grin before your eyes closed again, your exhaustion pulling you under completely.

Strange lingered for a moment, watching as your breathing steadied. His gaze softened briefly, though the concern in his expression didn’t fade entirely. 

He turned and left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. As he walked back toward the Sanctum’s main hall, he muttered under his breath, “This is going to be more complicated than I thought.”

You stirred slowly, your body heavy with exhaustion as your mind clawed its way back to consciousness. 

The soft light of the room filtered through your closed eyelids, a stark contrast to the chaos that lingered on the edges of your memory. 

The visions, the masked figure, Strange forcing you out of your body—it all came rushing back in unwelcome waves.

A groan escaped your lips as you shifted on the bed, pressing your hands to your face. “Strange,” you muttered, your voice muffled against your palms, “you owe me another apology.”

You sat up slowly, the ache in your muscles making every movement feel like a chore. Then you froze.

“Wait—what the hell?”

Your voice was… wrong. The cadence, the tone—it wasn’t how you had sounded in since you got to this universe. 

The lilting inflections and unfamiliar rhythms were unmistakably alien, as though the words you spoke didn’t fully belong to this world. Each syllable sounded foreign to your ears, and the realization made your stomach drop.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, your voice rising with panic, the unfamiliar tones twisting around the words. 

“What’s this, then? Why is it back?”

The magic that anchored your identity, that let you exist unnoticed—had unraveled. Your projection. That damned projection. 

Whatever Strange had done had shaken the foundation you’d built for yourself.

Pushing off the bed, you stumbled to your feet, the dizziness nearly sending you back down. Your heart pounded, and a wave of nausea crept over you, but you forced yourself toward the door, gripping the frame for balance.

The Sanctum was eerily quiet as you made your way through the hallways, the hum of latent magic surrounding you. It felt oppressive now, a constant reminder of what had changed. You followed the faint glow coming from the main hall, your steps unsteady but determined.

You found Strange standing near a levitating orb, its golden light illuminating his focused expression. His hands moved in precise, practiced gestures, and the orb pulsed in response. He didn’t look up until you called out.

“Oi, Strange!” The words came sharper than intended, your voice carrying the alien accent you could no longer control. Strange turned slowly, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the sound of you.

“Interesting,” he remarked, letting the orb dissipate as he fully turned to face you. His gaze flicked briefly to your face before settling on your posture and the clear distress in your expression. “That’s new.”

“No kidding!” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “This is what happens when you rip someone out of their own bloody body without a warning! My magic’s gone haywire, and now I sound like I stepped straight out of an interdimensional tourist brochure!”

Strange crossed his arms, his expression calm but filled with that irritating curiosity of his. “Your accent returning is a side effect of your magic destabilizing. It makes sense. 

The astral projection disrupted the energy you’d been using to suppress it.”

“Makes sense?” you repeated, throwing your hands in the air.

 “Oh, well, as long as it makes sense!” 

Your words dripped with sarcasm, but the lilting inflections only made your frustration sound oddly musical. “You couldn’t have warned me? Or, I don’t know, not shoved me out of my own body?”

Strange’s head tilted slightly, as if weighing his response. 

“You were generating an unstable energy surge that could have fractured this dimension. There wasn’t time to explain.”

“Oh, great,” you said, your voice rising as you gestured wildly. “So your brilliant solution was to accidentally unravel all the progress I’ve made managing my magic and turn me into a walking enigma again. Fantastic. Really stellar work, Strange.”

He stepped closer, his gaze steady and unflinching. “It’s not permanent,” he said firmly. “Your magic isn’t gone—it’s simply unbalanced. Once you regain control, the suppression will return, and so will your usual tone.”

You glared at him, your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “And what if it doesn’t? What if I can’t get it back? What if everything spirals out of control because you couldn’t keep your cool?”

“You won’t,” he said simply, his confidence unwavering. “Because I won’t let it. And neither will you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you stared at him, unsure whether to be comforted or even angrier. 

You folded your arms, your voice lower now, though the alien accent still wove through your words. 

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“I have to be,” Strange replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Someone here has to keep their head.”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself. The exhaustion that had been building since you woke up crept back in, sapping the energy from your frustration.

“For the record, you still owe me an apology. And maybe a spell to fix this ridiculous accent.”

Strange’s smirk grew just a fraction, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes and walked off, your voice trailing behind you in an alien cadence. “Bloody sorcerer thinks he’s so clever…”

[arkofangels]

A Return to the Sanctum II ch.5

Summary: Wong returns to the Sanctum after investigating a mysterious rift in Hong Kong. His findings reveal critical information about the masked figure,  whose actions are destabilizing the multiverse. Wong’s presence brings a stabilizing force to the chaotic dynamic between the reader and Doctor Strange, but tensions simmer as Strange’s controlling tendencies clash with the reader’s growing frustration over being treated as a liability. 

a/n: (t:w) male manipulation, side note~ I had to beg my dog to let me write this by telling that if he doesn't move people are going to show up to our house and burn us at the stake....he moved thou!

The Sanctum Sanctorum buzzed with quiet energy as you wandered its halls, still adjusting to the strange blend of ancient mysticism and modern technology. The events of the past days still weighed on you—visions of other versions of yourself, Strange’s high-handed approach to “teaching,” and the disorienting experience of being yanked into the astral plane.

As you stood by the staircase, contemplating whether to risk touching the glowing orb hovering in the corner, a portal crackled to life behind you. The sudden noise made you whirl around, instinctively raising your hands, magic flickering at your fingertips.

Through the swirling light stepped a man you hadn’t met before. He was tall, dressed in a simple yet elegant robe, his expression calm but authoritative. He glanced at you briefly before turning to Strange, who appeared from one of the adjacent chambers.

“Wong,” Strange said, his tone neutral but carrying a note of relief. “You’re back.”

“Obviously,” Wong replied dryly, brushing the remnants of portal energy from his sleeve. “I’d have been back sooner, but I was busy dealing with *your* mess.”

You smirked slightly at his tone. Finally, someone who didn’t treat Strange like he was infallible.

“What did you find?” Strange asked, ignoring the jab.

Wong sighed, stepping fully into the Sanctum and letting the portal close behind him. “The rifts are spreading faster than we thought. The one in Hong Kong nearly collapsed half a city block. It’s not random, Stephen—someone’s targeting weak points in the dimensional fabric.”

At that, Strange’s expression grew darker. “A rogue sorcerer?”

“More than that.” Wong’s gaze shifted to you, his tone growing cautious. “I’m guessing this is the anomaly you mentioned.”

You bristled slightly at being referred to as an “anomaly,” but before you could snap back, Strange spoke.

“Yes. She—” he hesitated, glancing at you briefly, “—was displaced from her own dimension. We’re still figuring out the connection.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

Wong’s lips twitched, as if suppressing a smile, before his expression turned serious again. “I think I have an answer to your connection problem. The rifts, the anomalies, the destabilization—it all ties back to one figure. A name we haven’t heard in years.”

Strange’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Wong glanced between you and Strange, his tone heavy with meaning. “Malakar.”

The room fell silent, the name lingering in the air like a storm cloud. You tilted your head, looking between the two sorcerers.  

“Who’s Malakar?” you asked, breaking the tension.  

Strange’s jaw tightened, but it was Wong who answered. “A rogue sorcerer. Once one of the most promising minds in the mystical arts—until he went too far. He believed the multiverse was broken, fractured beyond repair, and sought to remake it in his own image.”  

“Let me guess,” you said, crossing your arms. “That didn’t go over well with the magical council or whatever.”  

“Not exactly,” Wong replied, his expression grim. “Malakar’s methods were... extreme. He tore through dimensions, destabilizing weaker universes to strengthen his own. When we tried to stop him, he destroyed his own reality rather than let us interfere.”  

You blinked, your stomach sinking. “He destroyed an entire reality? How is he still alive?”  

“Because the void didn’t kill him,” Strange said, his tone clipped. “It transformed him. He’s not bound by the rules of reality anymore. That’s how he’s been able to manipulate the Core Thread without unraveling himself.”  

You froze at the mention of the Core Thread. “Wait—what does he want with the thread? And what does that have to do with me?”  

Wong’s gaze softened, but his words carried weight. “Because you are the thread. Or at least, part of it. Your existence is tied to its balance. If Malakar can manipulate you, he can control the thread itself—and by extension, the entire multiverse.”  

You stared at him, the enormity of the revelation crashing over you. “So... I’m not just an anomaly. I’m some kind of key?”  

“Unfortunately, yes,” Strange said, his tone as blunt as ever. “And if Malakar gets to you first, we’re all in danger.”  

You let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Okay, so why am I not being protected by some kind of magical council or something? Shouldn’t there be a team of sorcerers guarding me or, I don’t know, warding me against rogue maniacs like Malakar?”  

Wong hesitated, glancing at Strange, who sighed heavily.  

“They probably didn’t even know your existence was possible,” Wong admitted.  

“We didn’t even know your existence was possible until you showed up here,” Strange added bluntly. “You’re not just an anomaly—you’re unprecedented. A living piece of the Core Thread? That’s not something anyone could have prepared for.”  

You stared at them, caught between disbelief and frustration. “So, let me get this straight. I’m tied to the balance of the multiverse, a rogue sorcerer wants to use me to take over everything, and no one—*no one*—saw this coming?”  

“Pretty much,” Strange said, his tone almost casual. “But hey, we’re here now. That’s something, right?”  

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, comforting. Thanks.”  

Wong gave you a sympathetic look. “We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone in this.”  

Strange crossed his arms. “And we don’t plan on letting Malakar get anywhere near you. So maybe cut the sarcasm and let us do our job.”  

You sighed, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “Fine. But if this magical council of yours suddenly shows up, I’m giving them a piece of my mind.”  

Strange smirked faintly. “Fair enough.”

But the weight of their words pressed down on you, and frustration  soon replaced fear. “So what’s the plan, then? Lock me up in the Sanctum and hope Malakar doesn’t come knocking?”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “If that’s what it takes to keep the multiverse intact, yes.”

You threw your hands in the air.

“Unbelievable. You keep talking about me like I’m some kind of ticking time bomb, but I didn’t ask for any of this! Maybe if you trusted me enough to actually explain what’s going on instead of pulling this cryptic sorcerer nonsense, we’d get somewhere.”

“Trust is earned,” Strange said sharply, his tone cold. “And so far, you’ve done nothing but prove how volatile you are.”

Your frustration boiled over. 

“Volatile? Are you kidding me? I’m standing here trying to figure out how not to get weaponized by some dimension-wrecking lunatic while you give me the emotional equivalent of a shrug!”

“Stephen,” Wong interrupted, his voice calm but edged with authority. “That’s enough.”

Strange fell silent, his jaw tightening, but he stepped back, clearly begrudging Wong’s intervention. Wong turned to you, his tone softer, though no less serious.

“You’re right to feel overwhelmed,” Wong said. “This isn’t fair, and none of us are handling it perfectly. But if we’re going to stop Malakar, we need to work together. That means trusting each other—on both sides.”

You hesitated, glancing at Strange. His expression was still stony, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe. Wong’s words settled something in you, though it didn’t erase the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But if Malakar shows up, I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”

Wong gave a small, approving nod. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Strange, however, gave you a pointed look. “You’d better hope you’re ready when that time comes. Because Malakar won’t give you second chances.”

Strange turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode toward the Sanctum's library. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “If you’re going to survive this, you’ll need more than resolve—you’ll need knowledge.”

Reluctantly, you followed, Wong walking silently at your side. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing rows of ancient tomes and glowing artifacts, their power humming faintly in the still air. Strange gestured toward a table piled high with books and scrolls.

“Start reading,” he said bluntly. “The more you understand about the Core Thread and Malakar, the better chance we have.”

You exchanged a look with Wong, who gave you an encouraging nod, before sitting down and cracking open the first book. Hours passed as you combed through texts, each passage only raising more questions.

When the words began to blur and exhaustion tugged at you, Strange finally dismissed you, saying, “Get some rest. This is just the beginning.”

Later, as you wandered the Sanctum, Wong’s words echoed in your mind. Trusting each other. It sounded so simple, yet the weight of the multiverse made it feel impossible. Despite his reassurance, doubt still gnawed at you. What did it mean to be tied to the Core Thread? And what would happen if Malakar got what he wanted?

The Sanctum was eerily quiet, its vast halls casting long shadows under the dim glow of ancient lamps. As you turned a corner, a familiar shiver ran down your spine—the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

You stopped abruptly, heart pounding, and glanced over your shoulder. The hallway stretched empty behind you, but the air felt heavy, charged with an invisible presence.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing faintly in the silence.

No response. But then, just as you turned to continue walking, the shadows shifted unnaturally, pooling in a corner where there was no light to cast them. You froze, watching as the darkness rippled like water.

And then you heard it—a voice, faint but unmistakable, slithering through your mind like smoke:

“We’re not so different, you and I...”

The shadows stilled, leaving no trace of movement, but the words lingered in your mind.

Your heart raced as you took a cautious step back, your eyes fixed on the now-empty corner. The voice—it wasn’t just in your head. It was something tangible, pressing against your thoughts, leaving behind an unsettling residue.  

“Who’s there?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.  

Silence. The only sound was your own shallow breathing and the distant hum of the Sanctum’s wards.  

You turned slowly, scanning every corner, every flicker of shadow. The corridors felt alive, the walls watching you as you moved. The feeling of being hunted refused to fade, and though the voice was gone, its cryptic words echoed over and over in your mind: *We’re not so different...*  

As you rounded another corner, you nearly collided with Wong, who was carrying a stack of ancient tomes. He caught your startled expression immediately.  

“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone calm but edged with concern.  

“I—” You hesitated, glancing back over your shoulder. “I don’t know. I think... I think someone was here. Watching me.”  

Wong’s brow furrowed, and he set the books down on a nearby table. “What do you mean? Did you see anyone?”  

“No, but...” You rubbed the back of your neck, the unease creeping back in. “The shadows—they moved. And then I heard a voice. It said, ‘We’re not so different, you and I.’”  

Wong’s expression darkened, his usually steady demeanor shifting into something more guarded. “The Sanctum’s wards would have alerted us if someone—or something—had breached its defenses.”  

“Well, something was here,” you insisted. “I *felt* it.”  

Wong nodded slowly, his gaze drifting toward the hallway you had come from. “The Sanctum responds to its inhabitants. It’s possible that whatever you felt wasn’t a breach, but something tied to you.”  

“Tied to me?” you repeated, your stomach sinking. “Like Malakar?”  

“Perhaps,” Wong admitted. “Or it could be the Core Thread itself reaching out. You are connected to forces far beyond our understanding. Manifestations like this might be a side effect of that bond.”  

You stared at him, trying to process his words. “So, what? I’m just supposed to get used to hearing voices and seeing things?”  

“Not without guidance,” Wong said firmly. “I’ll consult the archives for anything that might explain this. In the meantime, stay alert. If it happens again, let me or Strange know immediately.”  

You nodded, though the tension in your chest remained. Wong gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning back toward the library, leaving you alone once more.  

As you continued wandering, the corridors seemed even darker than before, their shadows deeper, more ominous. The words echoed again in your mind, unshakable: *We’re not so different, you and I.*

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the eerie feeling clawing at the edges of your thoughts. “Not so different?” you muttered to yourself. “I don’t go creeping through people’s halls whispering cryptic nonsense.”  

The sound of your voice barely reassured you, and the oppressive silence of the Sanctum quickly swallowed it. You turned another corner, hoping the familiar sight of the arched windows overlooking the city would ground you. The moment you stepped into the hall, the skyline came into view—New York’s restless chaos laid out before you, starkly contrasting with the stillness around you.  

You approached the window and leaned against the sill, staring out at the twinkling lights and bustling streets below. It was almost comforting, that constant hum of life. Almost.  

��This isn’t even my world,” you muttered under your breath, the weight of displacement settling heavily on your shoulders. “Not my world, not my fight, and yet here I am. Lucky me.”  

A shiver ran down your spine again, colder this time. You stiffened, instinctively glancing behind you. At first, there was nothing—just the flickering, familiar shadows cast by the Sanctum’s enchanted lights. But then, just as you exhaled in relief, the darkness at the far corner of the hall rippled, as if alive.  

Your heart sank. “Oh, come on,” you muttered, taking a step back from the window.  

The ripple of darkness twisted, spreading unnaturally until it formed the silhouette of a figure. And then, like some malevolent specter, Malakar stepped forward, his dark cloak flowing like liquid shadows. The featureless mask he wore caught the faint glow of the Sanctum’s wards, but instead of reassuring you, it made your pulse race faster.  

“You again,” you said sharply, crossing your arms in a weak attempt to mask your unease. “Do you ever take a day off from lurking?”  

Malakar tilted his head, his body language calm, almost mocking. “Why rest when the multiverse is in such chaos? Besides,” he added, his voice smooth and quiet, “I had a feeling you’d need a reminder of who you are.”  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite suppress the tension crawling up your spine. “Oh, good. Another unsolicited lecture. What is it this time? My *destiny*? My *purpose*? You love throwing those words around.”  

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound that made your skin crawl. “You mock what you don’t yet understand. But soon, you will.”  

“Right. Because cryptic riddles are so helpful,” you shot back, unable to stop the bite in your tone. “Here’s a thought—why don’t you just come out and say what you actually want instead of hiding behind all this ominous shadow stuff?”  

Malakar took a step closer, and you instinctively stepped back, though you tried to keep your expression defiant. The shadows around his feet twisted and writhed like they were alive, pooling outward in slow, deliberate movements.  

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the entire hall. “The pull of the Core Thread. The way it calls to you. The way it *belongs* to you.”  

You clenched your fists, ignoring the way his words seemed to worm their way into your mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” Malakar said, almost amused. “You’ve already touched it, haven’t you? Felt its power. Its pain. It’s not a gift—it’s a prison. And you... you’re its warden.”  

“That’s not true,” you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound strong. “I’m not like you.”  

“Aren’t you?” Malakar tilted his head, his tone softening, almost pitying. “You feel it, every time you reach out to the threads. The weight of it. 

The control it demands. Strange calls you an anomaly, but you’re more than that. You’re a tool. A tool to keep the multiverse in its endless cycle of suffering. Just like I was.”  

His words hit harder than you expected, slipping through the cracks left by your own doubts. “If you think I’m just going to help you destroy everything, you’re out of your mind,” you said, your voice sharper now, trying to cut through your unease.  

Malakar chuckled again, though this time, there was no humor in it. “I don’t need your help. Not yet. But you’ll see. When the threads fray again, when the Core begins to unravel, you’ll understand. And by then, it might already be too late.”  

“Get out,” you snapped, taking another step back. “I don’t care what you think you know about me, but I’m not buying whatever you’re selling.”  

Malakar didn’t move for a moment, the oppressive weight of his presence making it hard to breathe. Then, with a slow, deliberate gesture, he raised a hand—and the shadows began to consume him once more.  

“You can deny it all you want,” he said as he faded into the darkness, his voice a low murmur. “But the truth is already inside you. You’ll see it soon enough.”  

And then he was gone, leaving the hallway eerily still once again. You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your chest as if that could calm the frantic pounding of your heart.  

You didn’t know how long you stood there, staring at the spot where Malakar had been, before you finally forced yourself to move. The faint ripple of energy he’d left behind still clung to the air, but you tried to push it out of your mind.  

When Strange returned to find you later, you didn’t tell him about Malakar’s visit. Not yet. The sorcerer had enough on his plate without worrying about another one of Malakar’s mind games. At least, that’s what you told yourself.  

But as you stood at the window again, staring at the city below, his words lingered, refusing to let go: *The Core Thread isn’t your destiny. It’s your cage.*  

You wanted to believe Malakar was wrong. You *needed* to. But the doubt he’d planted had already started to grow.  

[arkofangels]

Balance in the Breaking II ch.3

summary: The reader grapples with unsettling visions of alternate selves across collapsing universes, each haunted by a mysterious cloaked figure who warns of a connection to the "Core Thread." Sharing this with Doctor Strange, she learns the multiverse may hinge on her in ways she doesn’t yet understand. Tensions erupt as fear and frustration boil over, leading to a volatile outburst of energy.

a/n: omg y'all im so sorry for the delay in chapters today y'all get two chapters, a film school student is hard.

As you settled into the booth, the comforting hum of the deli and the warmth of the food momentarily dulled the chaos of the day. You took another bite of your sandwich, but your thoughts wandered far from the plate in front of you. Strange had called your presence in this world an anomaly, a word that clung to you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. 

His warning replayed in your mind, nagging and persistent, as if it held more weight than he let on.

The rift. The surge of power. That suffocating sense of displacement. Something about it all felt… off. Like a melody you half-remembered, its fragments haunting the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but there were moments—brief and fleeting—when reality seemed to ripple, bending and twisting around you. It felt familiar, like a dream you couldn’t quite recall. Or one you couldn’t escape.

You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes for just a moment to gather your thoughts.

The Whispers

At first, they were soft, distant murmurs that echoed faintly in your chest. You told yourself they were nothing, just your imagination playing tricks on you. But they grew louder, more distinct, each word laced with meaning that burrowed into your mind.

*"This world is not yours... not the one you belong to. The threads... they call to you."*

The weight of the words pulled at you, resonating deep within. They weren’t just sounds; they felt like truths woven into the fabric of your being, truths you weren’t ready to face.

 A sudden wave of nausea rolled through you, and you gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles whitening as the world tilted and blurred.

Your head throbbed, each heartbeat pounding like a drum. 

The air grew thick, pressing in around you, and for a brief moment, it felt like the deli—the warmth, the noise, the chatter—was slipping away, unraveling like threads pulled from a tapestry.

Reality rippled, fluid and pliable, brushing against your senses like liquid silk. Threads of light appeared, faint at first, but growing brighter, pulling you deeper into their web. The world you knew dissolved entirely, and you were somewhere else.

You stood on a barren, sun-scorched plain. The sky churned above you, a sea of molten gold and red, collapsing in on itself. Another version of you was there, clad in weathered armor, your hands crackling with raw energy. The air shimmered with heat and power as you faced an unseen foe. Your voice echoed in the void—a scream without sound—before the world crumbled into ash.

The scene shifted.

A city in chaos. Towers of smoke rose into a blazing sky, the streets below a maze of fire and destruction. You—another you—moved through the crowd, a glowing staff in hand, a shimmering barrier protecting a group of terrified children. Your expression was grim, your eyes darting skyward as though searching for a threat yet to reveal itself.

At the edge of the destruction, a cloaked figure stood motionless, watching. The firelight glinted off his dark robes, the shadows curling at his feet like living tendrils. He extended his hand, and the flames rippled unnaturally, bending to his will. His gaze lingered on your alternate self, silent but unnervingly intent.

The vision shifted again.

A forest, serene and aglow with threads of light weaving through the trees. This version of you was calm, seated cross-legged as your hands guided the threads into intricate patterns. But the tranquility shattered as a shadow fell over the clearing. Your face twisted with fear.

The figure stepped forward, darkness radiating from him like an aura. He didn’t cross the boundary of the glowing threads, but with a subtle gesture, one of them snapped. The intricate web unraveled, and your alternate self recoiled, panic etched into your features as the balance dissolved.

One final shift.

A fortress above the clouds. Grand and imposing, the chamber within glimmered with crystalline walls. This version of you was regal, commanding, pacing before a holographic map of the multiverse. But the map began to fracture, cracks spreading like spiderwebs as the figures you addressed vanished one by one. Alone in the chamber, your expression hardened into one of quiet resignation.

In the shadowed corner of the room, the cloaked figure stood once more, barely visible but undeniably present. His hand moved faintly, and the cracks deepened, the map flickering and shattering. For the first time, he turned his head, his gaze meeting yours across the chasm of dimensions.

The Figure Speaks

His presence was suffocating, like poison seeping into the air you breathed. When he spoke, his voice carried a weight that pressed against your chest, filled with both accusation and longing.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he said, his tone a cruel blend of mocking and measured. “Building, breaking, rebuilding… always running, always chasing. But never stopping to see the whole picture.”

Your alternate self froze, but his gaze wasn’t on them—it was locked on you, the real you, watching from the edges of this unraveling reality.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head, a faint, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Who am I?” he echoed, almost amused. “It’s not a question of who I am. It’s who *you* are.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you shot back, fists clenching as frustration mingled with unease.

“Doesn’t it?” he replied smoothly. The shadows at his feet writhed, mirroring the cracks in the multiverse map. “You don’t even know yourself, do you? The threads pull at you, the whispers haunt you, and still, you refuse to see.”

“I’m not running,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to understand.”

“Understand?” He chuckled softly, though the sound was devoid of warmth. “You’ll never understand if you keep looking outward. The truth isn’t out there—it’s within you. You’ve always been the thread, the key, the beginning and the end.”

His words struck something deep, and your breath hitched. “The thread…” you whispered, almost to yourself. “What does that mean?”

His expression darkened, a flicker of raw emotion—pain, desperation—breaking through his composure. “I could tell you, but what would be the point? You’d only deny it, like you always have. Even now, on the edge of oblivion, you refuse to see.”

“See what?” you pressed, stepping closer despite the warning voice in your mind.

“That you and I are not so different,” he said softly, his words a dagger wrapped in velvet. “We’ve both touched the fabric of existence. We’ve both seen what lies beyond. And we’ve both suffered for it.”

“I don’t know you,” you said, shaking your head, your voice trembling with defiance.

“No,” he said, his tone sharper now, the air rippling with restrained power. “But you will. And when you do…” He leaned closer, his voice a chilling whisper. “You’ll realize the choice you made then is the same one you’ll have to make now.”

The shadows surged, engulfing him. His final words echoed as the vision shattered around you.

“Seek the truth of the Core Thread….”

You gasped, your eyes snapping open. The warmth of the deli returned, the chatter of patrons and the clink of plates grounding you. But everything felt muted, as if you were still halfway between worlds. 

“You okay?” Strange’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and edged with concern.

You swallowed hard and nodded, gripping the table to steady yourself. “Yeah… just felt a little dizzy.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “No sudden headaches? Flashes of light? Uncontrolled bursts of power?”

“Nothing like that,” you lied quickly, your voice unsteady. “Just… overwhelmed.”

Strange didn’t look away, his gaze piercing, but after a long moment, he nodded. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

You hesitated, the weight of the vision still pressing on your chest. Strange’s piercing gaze made it clear he wouldn’t let much slide, but his reluctance to ask more felt like his way of keeping the peace for now. 

Still, you knew this wasn’t something you could keep to yourself, not with the kind of stakes his warnings hinted at.

“Uh, hey, Strange,” you said, your voice hesitant but steady enough to catch his full attention.

He raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his chest. “Yes?”

You took a breath, unsure how to put what you’d seen into words without sounding ridiculous.

 “What if… I just had a vision of all my alternate selves in different universes? And, uh… there was this masked figure in all of them, telling me I needed to find something—something important—to get answers?”

Strange’s face remained unreadable for a long moment. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “Start from the beginning.”

You fidgeted under his unwavering stare, trying to organize the flood of images and emotions from the vision into something coherent. “Okay, so… when I closed my eyes, it was like I was pulled out of the deli. 

I wasn’t here anymore—I was everywhere else. Different versions of me were… living these lives in other universes. One of me was fighting in a world that was literally falling apart, another was protecting people in a burning city. There was one weaving these glowing threads in a forest and—”

“Slow down,” Strange interrupted, holding up a hand. His expression was still unreadable, but his eyes betrayed the faintest glimmer of concern. “These alternate versions of you—did you interact with them, or were you just observing?”

“Just observing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “But they all felt… real. Like they weren’t just possibilities. They were me. I could feel what they felt, almost like I was living it.”

Strange pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slowly. “And the masked figure you mentioned—did they speak to you directly?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “They were there in every scene, just… watching. Sometimes in the background, sometimes close enough to feel like they were breathing down my neck. But it wasn’t just watching. They spoke. They told me I needed to find something—the Core Thread—to find answers.”

“The Core Thread,” Strange repeated, his brow furrowing. He began pacing, his cloak sweeping behind him as he moved. “Did they say what the Core Thread is? Or where you’re supposed to find it?”

“No,” you admitted, your frustration rising. “They were cryptic. They kept saying things like ‘the answers are within me’ and that I’ve ‘always been the thread.’ Whatever that means.”

Strange stopped mid-step, his gaze snapping back to you. “You’ve always been the thread,” he repeated under his breath, almost as if testing the words.

“Yeah, they were really big on metaphors,” you said, attempting to lighten the tension. It didn’t work.

Strange walked to a nearby table, where he opened a thick, ancient-looking book. 

Flipping through the pages with practiced precision, he muttered something to himself, his eyes scanning for… something. Finally, he stopped, his finger tracing a line of text.

“The Core Thread,” he said, his tone grave. “It’s not just a metaphor. It’s said to be the foundation of the multiverse, the singular strand that holds all realities together.”

Your stomach dropped. “Okay, and why would this creepy masked guy think I have something to do with it?”

“That’s the part that worries me,” Strange admitted, closing the book with a thud. 

“If what you saw is accurate, then this figure believes you’re connected to the Core Thread in some way—either as its guardian or as a key to unraveling it.”

“Unraveling it?” you echoed, a knot forming in your throat.

Strange nodded grimly. “The Core Thread isn’t just the foundation. If it were severed or tampered with, the entire multiverse could collapse. Every reality, every version of existence, gone.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “So… no pressure, then.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Strange said sharply, his tone cutting through your attempt at humor. “If this masked figure is trying to manipulate you—or worse, if they want to use you—you need to be extremely cautious.”

“Well, what do I do?” you asked, your voice rising slightly. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to look for or where to start!”

Strange sighed, rubbing his temple. “First, we stabilize your connection to the multiverse. If you’re experiencing these visions and interacting with threads of other realities, we need to ensure you don’t destabilize this one—or yourself. After that…” He hesitated, his gaze darkening. “We figure out who this figure is and why they’re targeting you.”

You swallowed hard, the enormity of the situation pressing down on you. “And what happens if we don’t?”

Strange’s silence spoke volumes.

The weight of Strange’s silence was unbearable, and frustration bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over. You slammed your hands on the table, the sudden sound making Strange look up sharply.

“That’s it?” you yelled, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “That’s your big plan? Stabilize me and hope for the best? I just had visions of my entire existence unraveling, some masked psycho basically told me the multiverse is hanging by a thread—my thread—and you’re telling me to calm down and wait?”

Strange straightened, his expression cool, but his fingers twitched slightly—a tell you’d picked up on, though you weren’t sure what it meant. 

“I’m telling you,” he said evenly, “to stop letting your emotions dictate your actions. Panic won’t solve anything.”

“Panic?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not panicking—I’m freaking out because I have no idea what’s happening to me, and you’re acting like this is just another Tuesday!”

His composure cracked, if only slightly, and his voice turned sharp.

 “Because if I indulged your panic, this entire dimension could collapse under your instability! You don’t even realize the danger you’re in—or the danger you pose!”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” you snapped, standing abruptly. Energy crackled faintly at your fingertips, unintentional but volatile.

 “You think I want to be some cosmic anomaly, pulled into a world I barely understand? Maybe if you stopped lecturing me for five seconds and actually helped—“

Before you could finish, Strange’s hand flicked upward in a precise motion, a glowing sigil forming at his fingertips. The energy hit you before you could react, and suddenly everything shifted.