Completely Random Thought That Has No Relevance To My Page.

Completely random thought that has no relevance to my page.

What happens if Black Bolt forgets the toilet paper...?

They’re just trying to have a peaceful dinner. I could just see Stephen and Kristoff exchanging disappointed glances.

(New Avengers #7)

Sometimes I feel like when a villain gives a monologue to the hero, what they really mean is-

“Let me tell you about all of this work I’ve done and am proud of because I really don’t have anyone else to tell this to. I’m lonely. Please acknowledge my efforts and hard work.”

Because there is NO logical explanation to giving the hero the full explanation and an advantage to beat them if/when they escape any trap the villain has put them in.

It’s beautiful...

Hey, it’s me, just crying over the fact that Stephen and Victor wore the very same armor once…..

Yes, I think about this daily……

It’s so painfully true, though.

When the Avengers tryna drag you into their drama but you got your own drama to deal with.

This....

ART! 😭

Mmmmm, would you just look at the time? It’s prompt time!

[tw: depression]

Stephen is in his Sanctum, it’s just another regular day. Yet, he feels devastated by loneliness. It has intensified in the past couple of days, result of the recent losses in his life. Guilt, self-loathing, pain, they all worsened his depressed state of mind.

It’s night and he’s trying really hard to keep himself composed. He feels like sinking into a pit of darkness, bottomless and suffocating. The radiance in his eyes is long gone. They only gleam when tears reflect light. And they’re coming. The sorcerer can feel it.

Resist. Resist, Stephen curls up on his bad, wrapping his arms around his legs. However, those thoughts feel like famished ghosts, haunting the host as an attempt of self-destruction. He thinks of Clea, and Wong, and Zelma. He thinks of how many people he has hurt through his life, physically or not. He doesn’t deserve love. He doesn’t deserve to be the Sorcerer Supreme. The only reason he still carries the burden is because, unfortunately, he’s still the most powerful user of magic on Earth.

Even so, saving lives is not enough to atone his sins. Finally, the pain strikes his heart and soul. His hands shake more than usual. It doesn’t feel like the habitual pain. He wishes it does. No, this time it feels overwhelming, aching like a burning hell of misery and despair.

Stephen gave in. It’s too much. Tears are the only thing capable of easing the pain, making him feel real and alive. Everything else seems fluid, abstract. There was also the fact that the sorcerer couldn’t send it away magically. The last time he sought such easy solution, he literally created a monster in his attic.

Luckily, he would soon grow tired, and the gentle touch of the Sandman would make it all go away, as a long past moment forgotten in time.

However, Stephen was not a lucky man. Magic is unbalanced. Someone is abusing of its power, mostly for evil. The sorcerer takes a deep breath, wipes the tears from his eyes and waves his hands, getting dressed and covered by his Cloak of Levitation.

He leaves the Sanctum, levitating towards the source. He sights a green energy on the horizon, its intensity increasing. He recognizes the energy. In fact, it’s quite familiar.

The place is the Baxter Building. The Fantastic Four is on the ground, defeated. Standing, there is Doctor Doom, ready to strike the last blow. Stephen knows that the ruler of Latveria is waiting for someone to stop him. Victor couldn’t afford having Reed Richards killed. Otherwise, his life would be meaningless, even though he would never admit it.

“Victor, I thought you have changed,” the sorcerer floats towards the villain, his tone disheartened. The man before him even took Tony Stark’s legacy once.

“Change is an understatement, sorcerer.”

Their dynamics have also changed. They’ve grown distant from one another, colder even. Victor has built an armor to protect him from harm, yet it also deprived him of kindness, and love.

The only man who once touched Doom’s heart was no longer capable of reaching him. It was just another failure in Stephen’s life. The sorcerer felt the weight increasing within, his heart becoming heavier and heavier.

It was a fierce battle, though. Stephen cast his best, most powerful spells. However, he was indeed tired, and his mind was doubtful. A sorcerer needs a clear state of mind in order to channel magic. Otherwise, they will fail. Stephen, as the Sorcerer Supreme, was still capable of conjuring and materilizing magic. On the other hand, its effectiveness was shameful.

For this very reason, Doom soon drained Stephen. The Shield of Seraphim, his last resource, was broken. He was entirely vulnerable, in more senses than Victor could imagine. The ruthless man finally approached his enemy. The word was even more painful when their background once considered they were very close partners. The sorcerer was on the ground, panting.

Doom kneeled before him. His cold steel fingers wrapped Stephen’s neck, squeezing and lifting his body in mid-air. The sorcerer was too weak to fight back. In fact, he was exhausted. His breathe was heavy, his lungs desperate for air as Victor’s fingers tightened their grasp harder and harder.

One last time, the sorcerer gazed at the ruler’s eyes behind the mask. He saw no soul, no feeling on them, no regret from the last time the same episode happened. It hurt him deeply, all that pain consuming, swallowing him entirely. Stephen then made up his mind. Some tears rolled down over his face as he closed his eyes, resigned.

I’m sorry, Victor. I’ve failed you.

Somehow, Stephen’s thoughts unintentionally reached Doom’s mind. Victor realized the sorcerer craved that. He magically had a glimpse of his pit of darkness and pain, and for a split second, he felt all that despair. The light in his eyes returned, and his heart ached as empathy took over.

Victor loosened his grap until he finally set Stephen free, leaving him on the ground once more.

“I cannot give you what you seek,” he turned his back on the defeated sorcerer, walking away as his cape swayed with the wind.

“You are… indeed… the most ruthless man I’ve ever met…” Stephen cried, his voice wrecked. “You had a glimpse of my soul… and still decided to walk away… when you could have ended it all. How could you? You’re really… a monster…”

Stephen’s words were like razors, cutting Victor’s heart. He never meant to be a monster, not to him. The sorcerer saw the ruler’s deepest side. He saw virtues, and he tried his very best in order to nourish them. Stephen knew Victor like no one else did. And it pained him.

“I have little concern of your impressions towards me, Strange,” the man replied. “Even so, this small portion within still compels me to act.”

Victor then turned once more and headed to the sorcerer. He kneeled again and touched Stephen’s face with both hands. Lastly, a spell came out from his mouth and a flash of light emerged from their respective eyes. All faded to black.

                                                           —

Stephen woke up on his bed in the Sanctum. He instinctively measured the magical balance on Earth in a hurry. It was restored. The sorcerer then turned his attention to himself. His body was still aching like hell, but his heart was… lighter, somehow.

Lastly, he recalled Victor’s words. He recognized the spell. Its purpose was sharing burdens. For some reason, Victor drained part of Stephen’s pain. There was still some left, of course. Even so, the gesture was wholesome. The sorcerer touched his chest and smiled.

He still can be saved.