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pinkthick · 1 year ago

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Doctor Strange Supreme

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s Marvel for all of you.

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pinkthick · 1 year ago

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You’re okay

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Fem!Reader

Summary: His throat begged for relief as if scorched by an unseen fire. The burning sensation clawed at his senses, a relentless reminder of a desperate need that seemed perpetually out of reach. The elusive promise of a drink lingered just beyond his grasp, taunting him with its absence.

Warnings: Blood, Minor Character death

Credits for the art with Stephen lolojefie/jay on Tiktok.

In the dim haze of consciousness, Stephen Strange found himself suspended in a disorienting void. A throbbing ache enveloped every fiber of his being, a cruel symphony of pain that rendered him powerless. The mere thought of opening his eyes seemed an insurmountable task, as if the weight of the universe bore down upon his lids. His body, a canvas of agony, pulsated with an unrelenting torment. Each attempt to move was met with a searing reminder that something was profoundly wrong. The world around him felt like a blurry, chaotic whirlwind, and the mere notion of steadying himself slipped through the cracks of his fragmented awareness.

His throat begged for relief as if scorched by an unseen fire. The burning sensation clawed at his senses, a relentless reminder of a desperate need that seemed perpetually out of reach. The elusive promise of a drink lingered just beyond his grasp, taunting him with its absence. So so thirsty.

A tempest of anguish stormed through his mind, his head a battleground where every thought waged war against the others. The ache within intensified with each passing moment, a merciless crescendo that threatened to shatter the fragile remnants of his composure. A disconcerting vertigo gripped him, the world spinning in a disconcerting dance that left him suspended in a disoriented limbo. His attempts to move only deepened the sensation, as if the cold floor beneath him had become an unstable sea, threatening to capsize his already battered senses.

His neck, a tenuous link between consciousness and the void, throbbed with a relentless pulse. It felt as if it were melting away, dissolving into the chaos that surrounded him. The sensation of bones breaking echoed through his perception, each imaginary fracture adding to the cacophony of torment that consumed him. Amidst the symphony of pain, he questioned the nature of his own sounds—were they screams of despair or tears of anguish? The line between agony and expression blurred, lost in the tumultuous storm that raged within the confines of his battered body.

A new wave of torment surged through Stephen, a peculiar agony that seemed to originate from within his own mouth. His teeth, usually stalwart guardians of his resolve, now betrayed him with an intensity that bordered on the surreal. It felt as if new teeth were erupting from his gums, an excruciating transformation that defied all logical explanation.

In the midst of his cries, a desperate symphony of pain, he was almost certain he heard a haunting giggle—an unsettling sound that echoed through the darkness, as though mocking his suffering. The cryptic laughter added an eerie layer to his predicament, an unsettling presence that danced on the periphery of his awareness.

His attempts to move, to escape the relentless agony, were thwarted by an unseen force. Something, insidious and unyielding, held him in check. Every strained effort to break free only intensified the pain coursing through his body, as if the very fabric of reality conspired against him.

With a surge of determination, he managed to pry his eyes open briefly, revealing a darkened room that enveloped him in shadows. The feeble illumination hinted at the cold glint of some chains.

What..I..I was on a mission, right?

As Stephen forced his eyes to remain open, the dim light of the room gradually revealed obscured figures in the shadows. His vision, still clouded by the remnants of disorientation, struggled to bring the mysterious shapes into focus. The people in the room appeared as mere silhouettes, their features shrouded in a veil of uncertainty.

A disconcerting realization gripped him—his Cloak of Levitation, a constant companion in the arcane battles he faced, was conspicuously absent. The absence of the sentient garment left him vulnerable. Levi?

He didn’t feel okay. There was a hunger that had never experienced before and it gnawed at his insides.

And then..

A sudden, sharp pain jolted through Stephen's lower lip, drawing his attention to an unsettling discovery. In the dim light of the room, he felt an unusual protrusion—fangs, elongated and alien, had emerged where none had existed before. The realization struck him with a disorienting force, amplifying the dread that coiled in the pit of his stomach. As he explored the newfound appendages with his tongue, a metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth.

Confusion mingled with horror as he retraced the fragments of memory that now clawed at the edges of his consciousness. He recalled going on a mission..to eliminate some vampires. He couldn't believe that he had become the very thing he sought to eradicate.

“No," he muttered in disbelief, the word escaping through his bloodied lips.

The mocking laughter of a woman reverberated through the dimly lit room, a cruel echo that punctuated Stephen's grim realization. Her voice, dripping with amusement, sliced through the air as she observed his plight. "You know, I really thought you wouldn’t have made it, but look at you. A sorcerer turned vampire, we don’t get to see that often," she taunted, reveling in the incongruity of his transformed state.

Stephen's response was a hiss, an involuntary reaction fueled by a potent mix of defiance and the primal instincts that now coursed through his vampiric veins. The expletive, a defiant retort, betrayed the frustration and desperation that festered within him.

"Fuck you," he spat, the words laced with venom as he strained against the chains that bound him. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, a visceral reminder of the surreal reality he now faced. Unfazed by his outburst, the vampire woman continued her cruel commentary, addressing the unseen others in the room. "Look at him, a newborn vampire. Isn’t he just so cute?"

The condescension in her tone deepened Stephen's sense of helplessness. Each tug on the chains echoed his futile resistance, a symbolic struggle against the insidious fate that had befallen him.

The entrance of a human woman, tears streaming down her face, marked a chilling turn in the macabre tableau. Her anguish was palpable, a visceral counterpoint to the cruel amusement that danced in the eyes of the vampire woman who orchestrated this nightmarish scene.

As they positioned the sobbing woman almost within arm's reach of Stephen, an insidious scent wafted through the air, igniting an unholy hunger within him. His mouth watered involuntarily, and his eyes betrayed a feral transformation—deepening shades of crimson replacing the once-familiar hue.

Sharp Claws extended from his fingertips, catching him off guard. The realization that he now possessed such predatory appendages intensified the surreal horror that gripped his every sense. What had he become? The question reverberated through his newly altered consciousness.

His gaze fixated on the wounded human, a profound conflict raging within him. A sinister smile played on the vampire woman's lips as she observed his internal struggle. The scent of her blood was intoxicating, an irresistible lure that goaded the primal instincts now coursing through his vampiric veins.

A guttural growl escaped his throat, the struggle against his burgeoning hunger manifesting in the tense rise and fall of his chest. The internal battle played out on his features—a dance of torment, desire, and self-restraint.

The vampire woman, reveling in the macabre spectacle, posed a taunting question to Stephen. "Aren’t you hungry?"

The words hung in the air, a malevolent invitation that pierced through the cacophony of his internal turmoil. Stephen's breath quickened, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions churning within him. The pull of his vampiric instincts clashed with the vestiges of his human morality, and a desperate plea for restraint echoed in the recesses of his mind.

In the grip of his insatiable hunger, Stephen succumbed to the primal urges that now dictated his existence. With an explosive burst of strength, he shattered the chains that bound him to the wall, his predatory instincts propelling him forward.

He practically lunged at the weeping woman, driven by an overwhelming need for the crimson elixir that promised both sustenance and a dark euphoria. The taste of her blood, once a distant temptation, now coursed through him like a potent nectar, momentarily drowning the turmoil within.

The woman's anguished cries filled the room as Stephen, consumed by the ravenous frenzy, sank his fangs into her neck. Each swallow was a macabre communion with the darkness that enveloped him, an unholy ecstasy that eclipsed reason and morality.

"No! Please—I... It hurts so much. Please stop!" she pleaded in vain, her desperate pleas echoing through the chamber. Stephen, lost in the throes of his predatory trance, remained deaf to her cries as the life force drained from her.

It was only when the woman went limp against him that a dreadful realization crashed upon Stephen's consciousness.

The haze of bloodlust began to lift, revealing the haunting truth—he had just taken the life of someone innocent.

As he withdrew from the now lifeless form, horror etched across his features, he recoiled in shock. The woman's face was no longer obscured, and in the ghastly revelation, he beheld the face of his wife, Y/N. A profound wave of grief and remorse washed over him, his heart heavy with the weight of an unspeakable atrocity. He recoiled from the bloodstained reality before him, grappling with the monstrous act he had committed. Y/N's lifeless eyes stared back at him, accusing and haunting.

Stephen's anguished cries reverberated through the dim chamber, a heart-wrenching lament that echoed the depth of his despair. Clutching Y/N's lifeless form to his chest, tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood that stained his hands.

"Y/N! I’m sorry; I’m so sorry darling. I didn’t—" he wailed, the sound of her name a tortured plea that hung heavy in the air. The weight of his grief, compounded by the monstrous act he had committed, bore down on him like an insurmountable burden.

Amidst his mourning, the cruel laughter of the other vampires resounded, a sinister chorus that intensified the throbbing ache in Stephen's head.

In the cold grip of the night, Stephen bolted upright in bed, his labored breaths betraying the remnants of the nightmare that had seized him. Disoriented and consumed by the lingering horrors, he found himself enveloped in the soft glow of Y/N's presence. Her eyes reflected concern as she observed the anguish etched across his tear-streaked face.

Y/N gently cupped his face in her hands, her touch a soothing balm against the spectral memories that haunted him. "Hey hey, Stephen. Breathe, come on," she murmured, her voice a tender reassurance that cut through the lingering echoes of his night terrors.

Stephen struggled to obey, his attempts to draw breath feeling stifled by the lingering shadows of the dream. His hands trembled as he desperately clung to Y/N, seeking solace in the tangible reality of her presence.

"Stephen, love, breathe. You're here, you're home," she urged, her voice a lifeline that pulled him from the abyss of his subconscious terrors. Her words, a gentle reminder of the sanctuary that surrounded him, began to coax him back to the realm of wakefulness.

But as Stephen's breaths steadied, a haunting revelation clawed its way to the surface. His voice, choked with remorse, cried out, "You were... I was the one that killed you. I—"

Y/N, recognizing the depth of Stephen's pain, brought his head to rest against her chest, offering the solace of her heartbeat as a grounding rhythm against the lingering echoes of the nightmare. Silently, he continued to weep, his tears a testament to the profound weight of the dreamscape that had ensnared him.

"I'm not dead, I'm okay. You’re okay. It was just a nightmare," Y/N reassured him, her voice a gentle melody that sought to dispel the haunting remnants of the dark visions that had tormented his sleep.

Pulling away from her chest, Stephen clung to Y/N, his arms wrapped around her in a desperate embrace that refused to let go.

His words, uttered with a mixture of relief and residual fear, broke the silence. "It wasn't a nightmare with Dormammu at least."

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on his back. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to," she offered.

A heavy silence lingered between them before Stephen found the courage to articulate the haunting images that clung to his consciousness. "I was back in that room, and it was exactly how it happened, except that the woman I killed was..."

Y/N, sensing the weight of his unspoken words, pressed a tender kiss to his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of her understanding and unwavering support.

"You know it wasn't your fault," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm that sought to dispel the shadows of guilt that clouded his mind. Stephen scoffed, his self-reproach evident in the lines etched across his face. "It sure felt like it was mine."

Undeterred, Y/N continued to hold him, her arms a comforting embrace that refused to let go. In the quiet sanctuary they had carved out for themselves, she reaffirmed, "It wasn't your fault, Stephen. And you know that.”

He didn’t respond as he clung to her, the echoes of the past began to lose their grip, dissipating in the warmth of their shared embrace. Y/N's presence, a steadfast anchor, reminded Stephen that in the sanctuary of their love, the wounds of the past could heal. In that moment, they found solace in each other's arms, reaffirming that, despite the darkness that lingered in the recesses of memory, they were okay.

Notes: Not sure if I should have posted this, but there’s that. 🙃

Hope you enjoyed reading this.

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