While art is subjective, your hate for Stephen Vincent Strange was pure and simple. An arrogant, crude and tasteless man. One of close-minded thinking and a lack of creativity.
This was the type of person any artist like you would despise.
~~~
All...
You felt the cold, solid ground beneath you, dust and rubble on your fingertips. The texture rubbed against your skin, leaving goosebumps to form slowly.
"Welcome back," that sickening voice chuckles.
You snap your head up, crawling back with a rapid heartbeat. He hasn't changed from when you last saw him, though he seemed more amused now. He rested his head against one hand, relaxing against his throne and sighing in contentment. "Nightmare,"
"In the flesh... partly," he gestures to his rotting flesh, "I missed playing with your little head, dear,"
"What the hell do you want now?" You get up to your hands and knees.
"To retest my little theory," he descends the steps, throwing his staff from side to side and twirling it, the razor-sharp tip lifting your chin. "Weakness and fear can really vary between each person... you, for example, fear losing so many of your loved ones,"
"And? Who the fuck cares?!" pulling away, it was obvious someone else had arrived behind you.
"Who cares?? Well, I do, of course! You're the key to my success," he tugs your hair so your head turns to see Stephen groaning against the ground, dropped by a gruesome figure resembling the woman from before.
Blood dribbles down his cheek from a blunt-force-caused wound on his temple, and scratches line across his body. He gripped the ground in an attempt to get up, not wanting you to see him like this. The frayed fabric of his robe dragged across the dirt, blood and sweat collating along linings between skin and clothes.
"Stephen," you choke out, clawing at the tight grip against your scalp. The blood splattering out his lips, maroon palm to his chest, who could blame the tears streaming down your face? "Let him go! Please!"
"That is fear! The fear of loss... and for so long, I had no way to play into this little arrogant ass' fears," Nightmare threw you to Stephen.
The air knocked out your lungs as each grasp forward brought you closer to him. You crawl to his side desperately, sobbing as he leans against your shoulder, "Please tell me you're okay,"
"Oh, no, the great Stephen Strange hadn't one fear!" The dream demon yells into the abyss he called home, craning his neck back to see Stephen try to console you despite his state. "But he did have one great weakness... his poor heart,"
"I'm okay," he assured, trying to smile at you, hands shakily going over your hair and pulling you close. "I promise we'll get out of this. I promise."
"Petty and empty promises, I must say," Nightmare kneels, watching you both clamour against each other. "Stephen Strange, I have brought upon your darkest fear," his every word laced with the most vicious malice, taking a serrated steel blade and dragging you back by the neck like a puppet by their strings.
"Y/n!" He yells while reaching for you. "Y/n- wait, Nightmare, please! I'll do anything! Just-"
"Anything?" He breathes in success, those three words feeling like a fantasy brought to life. A dream come true.
Teary eyes snapped up in shock. "What are you doing, Stephen?!" The last bits of air started to fade from your lungs until a tinge of mercy was cast upon you. While thick, the breath of cruel air gave you enough consciousness to continue focusing.
"He's saving you, darling," Nightmare mocks, "it was like a rom-com, watching you both fall in love with each other," he complains, kicking some dirt away. However, the glances up of disbelief brewed amusement in his stomach. "Oh. Oh... you didn't know?" his cackle rings out again, "The only reason you're the key to my success is that you're the sorcerer supreme's weakness," Nightmare's eyes seem to gleam a firey emerald. "Y/n L/n, you're the woman he loves,"
Clawing at his grey skin, you wished there was another way. You wished you both could have said something on your own accord. Not like this. Not with his consciousness fading, your blood spewing across skin and stone like a macabre work of art. This seemed to be the end, yet your story had hardly begun.
"Give me the stone, book of Cagliostro and Demonicus, and my precious steed's saddleback," a blade of serrated fear dug into your neck once the demon's grip faltered to the nape of your neck, "give me this or Stephen Strange won't only have lost his hands but his heart as well,"
You had never seen Stephen cry in such a manner. Tears strained and almost glossed red with rage and regret, regret he couldn't save you easily, and he looked up for mercy. That brought a bigger smile to Nightmare's face, a man of such pride strung up to the point of silent pleads of mercy. Oh, it was a dream come true.
"Stone, two books and your saddle. You can have it; just... let her go," he begged, taking the stone away from his neck and tossing it over.
"Oh, since you asked so nicely!" He tossed you forward, the ground scraping your skin with a fiery sting. Stephen immediately did his best to crawl your way.
"Y/n? Oh god, I'm so sorry," he rests his head against yours, "I'm so sorry," his trembling hands grasp at yours desperately while you let the tears flow against his clothes.
"You shouldn't have let him have all those things, Stephen. You don't know what he could do to the world or universe with that power," you say between heavy, painful breaths.
"None of that is worth losing you," he kisses your forehead, "I would make the same decision each time, trust me,"
"Oh, enough of your stupid love shit!" Nightmare scoffs, "It makes me sick," he stalks over and grabs the necklace from the ground. "Books and saddle, too," he holds his hand out, waiting impatiently.
Stephen did his best to conjure the books in his hands alongside the saddle slowly. They floated in a sphere of orange after materialising from thin air, "here, just please-"
"Yes, yes, let you go," he scoffs and goes to grab the items before a web somehow catches his wrist and pulls him away.
"Incoming!" Peter swings in, boots first against Nightmare's face. "Ew! I got grease on my shoes!" He groans when he lands.
"You complain more than Stark," Clint was flung to his side by Sam, who was followed soon by Cap and Bucky.
"Sorry we're late," Tony lands by your side.
"We got a bit lost," Wong coughs, catching his breath after running over a hill of skulls.
"Yeah, and it doesn't help it stinks here," Pietro arrived with a clothes peg over his nose. "Shall we?" He cracks his knuckles, taking Peter by the hand and running right at Nightmare. Each hero gave it all they could, every punch and kick becoming personal.
"Enough!" Nightmare yells, the echo meeting each corner of the realm, heard by every creature. The shock wave of sound conjured a crowd of nightmarish animals ready to devour or tear each hero apart.
"Okay, let's get you two out of here," Bruce took your hand while Wong took Stephen by the arm. "You're both in critical condition. I have no idea what happened, but we need to get you to the tower as soon as possible,"
"Luckily, it's easier to conjure the right portal out, oddly enough," Wong used a different spell book to conjure a portal.
~~~
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Am I aware of the plot hole abt getting out of the nightmare realm? Yes but we're just going to ignore thattt
