Elliot. Lesbian. Doctor Who, Marvel, and a smattering of other things. Ao3:@thecumberbinch
the fact that Doctor Strange is and will always be a doctor; bound to the Hippocratic Oath long before he was bound to a mystic one; and the tensions as well as the conflicts that creates now he is a superhero… is so interesting me.
plus of course, the amazing symmetry of his hands as rare tools of medicine now being the vehicles of rare and intricate magic, adds another profound and beautiful layer to this man.
“I think everyone hates me. At least you seem to like me.”
I like the thought no matter how strong people act they are, we are all just human in the end.
doctor strange: the infinity stones are extremely powerful artifacts that when combined can give its wielded ultimate power
peter parker: oh so like the chaos emeralds?
tony stark: please shut the fuck up
Anonymous asked:
amethyst-noir answered:
First of all, thank you for a prompt that contains some of my favorite tropes. Yay! I didn’t know if you wanted a get-together or an
established relationship so I choose the first scenario since I haven’t posted
one of those before. I couldn’t leave Stephen in this place of desolation so part
two became a necessity. I do hope you like your angst with a happy ending. This
is also the part that got waaaaaaay longer and sweeter than anticipated. Is it
too much? Maybe. (Probably.) I don’t know and I don’t care. I hope you enjoy, dear anon, and you and others like this story half as much as I loved
writing it.
“Good evening, Doctor Strange.”
Stephen smiled at the greeting and looked up to find the nearest camera. “Hello, FRIDAY. Where can I find him?” The day had been long and stressful and to be honest all he wanted to do right now was to portal home and go to sleep. But he had promised Tony to drop in and as much as he wanted to sleep he also wanted so spent some time with the guy.
“Downstairs, in the laboratory, with Bruce.”
amordantia asked:
ssironstrange answered:
mmmm cuddles… so soft…
lets see if i can’t conjure up some quick cute bullshit shall we. i need a little practice doing fluff, so….
Another summer thunderstorm rolled through the night before, leaving everything outside soggy, the air heavy with humidity with not enough of a breeze to rid of the staleness. It wasn’t hot, but remained just warm enough to be uncomfortable; sticky and hard to breathe simply standing in it.
A loud crack of thunder jolted Tony out of sleep. It was rare he actually slept at night, so go figure once he did something would wake him up. An of course, he couldn’t get himself to fall back to sleep. Stephen, on the other hand…
Tony glanced over at him, smiled and shook his head. He was still out, curled up on his side under the pile of extra blankets he liked to heap on himself. That man could slumber through the end of the world once he finally got to sleep. Tony leaned down and kissed against a streak of gray before getting up.
Stephen, after having a fight with Tony: *holding a boombox blasting “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel above his head outside of Tony’s lab*
Tony: What the fuck are you doing?
Stephen: Peter said he saw it in a movie once.
Tony:
Stephen: Is it working?
Fandom: Marvel
Words: 2,376
A/N: Group chat mentioned hanahaki days ago and I’ve had this prompt in my head since. I’m not one to write angst, so here’s a little spin-off of the trope. Also featuring Wong and Peter because I need to write them more.
Strange thought nothing the first time a flower had sprouted behind his ear while reading, sometimes worse things would manifest while learning a new spell. This was tame, though he couldn’t recall even skimming over any reading that mentioned flowers or any other form of vegetation. Then again, strange things had happened, like the time he had lost himself in a dimension where up was down and right was left. It took a while for Wong to find where he had disappeared, and Strange wished the mostly stoic librarian didn’t find so much pleasure in his humility.
Flowers became a common occurrence, for whatever reason. They’d appear randomly among the strands in his hair, vines forming around his ankles would cause him to stumble or on some occasions trip, flowers would bloom at his fingertips. It was starting to affect his magic, and what he first thought was innocent soon became a curse. He couldn’t perform is sorcerer duties if he could only produce petals and bouquets. He’d have to find a cure.
Anonymous asked:
klimt-and-cumberbatch answered:
“Hey, baby, have you s - sssswoah, holy shit.”
“They’re temporary,” Stephen growls.
Tony hopes to fucking God that they are. Stephen Strange is standing in his kitchen, with honest-to-God wings and horns and a tail. Huge, leathery bat wings, massive curled horns sprouting out of the sides of his head, and a goddamn lizard tail flipping out on the floor.
“Do you have control over that thing, or are you - ?”
“I’m pissed off,” Stephen snarls, and his tail whips loudly against the floor, sending Tony back a few paces. “This wasn’t supposed to - I was careless, and I slipped up, and now I look like this.”
“Well… I mean, it’s like you said. They’re temporary.”
Stephen glowers at Tony, and Tony swears he can see fangs curling just underneath Stephen’s lovely top lip. “But I have to look like this until they fade. And you are going to keep looking at me like that.”
“…Like what?”
“Like I’m going to eat you.”
Tony pauses, reading the room. Yeah, he can go for a little humor. Might diffuse some of the insane tension happening right now. “…are you?”
“Get out.”
“This is my apart - “
“Get. Out.”
Tony doesn’t need to be told twice.
He takes a little walk around the block, buys some flowers to make up for the poorly timed joke, has a chat with the lady that lives on the corner, gets himself a cup of coffee, and then makes his way back upstairs.
Stephen-with-wings-horns-and-a-tail has moved himself to the sofa, and is pouting like the world is ending and he’s gotta get all the pouting done before the sky caves in. Tony hesitantly approaches, roses outstretched.
“Truce?”
Stephen turns to examine the roses, and Tony holds his breath as he waits for the fire - he is a dragon, right? - to come shooting out of his lover’s scowl. Instead, a shaking hand reaches for the bouquet, and it gets planted under Stephen’s nose.
“Thank you,” the sorcerer says gruffly. “They smell wonderful.”
Tony takes that as progress, and gives Stephen his space.
It takes some getting used to. But a week into horns and wings and tail, Tony doesn’t mind it much anymore. The wings are kinda cool - Stephen lets him get up close and personal, study the bone structure and where they generate power from. The tail is less cool - Tony trips and faceplants over that thing during 2 AM trips to the bathroom more than twice, and then demands Stephen starts tucking it in. The horns are a plus, too - great handlebars for bedroom activities.
Stephen is less pleased. It was a mistake in inter-dimensional travel, he explains. There’s a whole dimension of dragon-people, and he’d gotten spliced - he’d made to come back to this dimension, someone got too close, and here he was. Every day, he spent hours slowly untangling their interwoven souls, trying to get the dragon-person out of his body and back to their dimension.
It takes time. And it’s agonizing.
Tony is there whenever the pain gets to be too great, or the exhaustion settles too deep in Stephen’s bones. He’s there to rub his wings, gentle him into bed with kisses and soft words of praise and acceptance, bring him soup when solid food gets to be too much for his body to handle. He makes tea, he sings songs, he does whatever he can to bring Stephen comfort.
Then, finally, one day, the wings and horns and tail are gone.
Tony gets up to go to the bathroom at 2:37 AM, and he doesn’t eat the hardwood floor this time. He realizes it as he’s peeing - no tail!
“Steph,” he grumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Steph, baby, wake up.”
“If you don’t fucking let me sleep, Stark - “
“Honey, I love you so much I’m not even gonna get mad about that one, just sit up and look - “
Stephen does. He finds himself lighter. He tries to stretch his wings - no can do. No tail to speak of. Hornless.
Back to normal.
There’s a sudden scratching at the closet door, followed by a weak voice speaking some garbled language.
“Shit,” Stephen hisses, then garbles back.
“What’s that, then?” Tony asks.
“The dragon,” Stephen answers, going to free the poor creature from its trap of Versace and Armani and McQueen.
There’s a brief kerfuffle as Stephen explains to the confused beast what’s happened. Tony sits back with cup of coffee and watches, sipping every now and again when his grip on reality gets too damn weak. He watches Stephen portal off and then reappear, thankfully still sans dragon accoutrements.
“Everything - kosher, then?” Tony asks, extending an arm.
Stephen gladly takes shelter in it, resting his head atop Tony’s. “Yes. Everyone’s settled at home, safe and sound. And clearly I’m whole again.”
“Yeah,” Tony breathes, kissing Stephen’s neck gently. “I’m glad you’re back, babe. Although you know I love you no matter what you look like.”
Stephen snorts. “You say that now…”
“Baby, I ate your ass when you came home covered in purple boogers that smelled like Bath and Body Works. Your ass, Stephen. I put my whole tongue - “
“Yes,” Stephen cuts off, flushing a rather appealing shade of pink, “I recall.”
“Good,” Tony huffs, tugging Stephen back to bed. “I was proud of that performance.”
They get settled into bed again, adjusting limbs until their wound together, just as tightly as Stephen and his former dragon soulmate had been. Tony checks the time - nearly 4 AM. Great.
“Close those pretty eyes, baby,” he murmurs to Stephen. “You’ve still got a good three hours of sleep left.”
Stephen hums, nuzzling against Tony’s chest. “Mmkay. Thanks, Tones.”
“No problem, hon.”
Silence.
“…not gonna lie, I am gonna miss the leverage I got with those horns - “
“Get out.”
“But this is my be - “
“Get. Out.”
this is SO GOOD
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