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thenexusofsouls · 11 months

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Mantis realized that Stephen didn’t seem to notice the selflessness of his own actions. He said it wasn’t a choice, but it was. Mantis had been loyal to an omnicidal god, only turning against him after she learned that paternal love was a thing. She let her half siblings die, and Ego’s Expansion would have wiped out the entire universe. If there had been a choice, Mantis chose to be selfish over and over again and she was baffled by the distorted image others had of her; kind, selfless, sweet. She felt like a deceiver. Like she was brainwashing everyone into a completely different reality, one where her soul was pure.

And she felt so awful when he mentioned his sister because it was another reminder that one was not supposed to let their siblings get hurt. Stephen felt like a failure, but at least he felt he had the duty to protect his sister. Mantis wanted to say something, afraid as she was that his biting sarcasm would find a way to dismiss her. “I didn’t know her, but I don’t think she would want you to beat yourself up like this.”

She gave a shrug when he stated he didn’t have time for affection. “That’s okay. It’s not for everyone.” There was a pause before she crossed her arms. “You hugged me back, however, so I don’t understand.” When Stephen suggested making something to suppress her powers, Mantis just… ignored him. Blatantly so.

She turned her attention to Brumbin. She wanted to do good. No; she wanted to remind herself that she could do good. “Aww, he’s a dad!” Mantis smiled, patting Brumbin’s arm. “You’re the best dad! Well, the second best. Drax is the first.” Even though Drax lost his daughter, Mantis found it odd yet sweet how he was protective of her simply because she reminded him of his daughter. “I’m sorry you’re away from your family,” she added when she felt the creature’s sadness. And then she hugged him… again. Brumbin was very huggable.

“Okay.” Mantis sighed, wringing and rubbing her hands when Strange agreed to let her calm his mind. She blinked when he asked her not to poke around in his head longer than necessary. “You have to stop thinking I want to use your brain as a stress ball. I’m not going to squeeze it until you see stars. I don’t- that’s not-” Her cheeks puffed out as he kept giving her instructions. Could he stop talking? She lifted a hand to his cheek, as if to hold him in place. “Be quiet, please.” It wasn’t a command; she wasn’t using her powers yet. Mantis knew he had no real reason to trust her. But Brumbin was there, and the cloak was around Stephen’s shoulders. It was safe to assume that if they thought she was taking it too far, they would intervene; especially the cloak, since it was loyal to Strange. Mantis could make him forget. Easily. However, that was not what she was going to do. By ‘calming his mind’ she meant calming his mind. Any other added meaning was his doing. Probably as a result of anxiety, fear and mistrust. Understandable.

Her hand moved from his cheek to rest on his forehead. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her tone calm and reassuring, before her antennae started glowing. This couldn’t be that hard. She had been able to put Ego’s planet-sized mind to sleep, so she should be able to calm a mind that had witnessed millions of possible futures. Admittedly, it was tempting to take a quick look at them. To know if Ego would ever return. To know if the Guardians were going to be safe or if she was going to lose someone else. To know if her own powers would keep evolving after she had been in contact with Thanos’ mind, then dead and resurrected, until she became too dangerous to be near the Guardians. She wanted to know… but she did not look. Mantis closed her eyes. “You’re at ease,” she said, sending a wave of calmness through him.

There was noise, but not the kind of noise that one could hear. His mind was fractured, his thoughts scattered like stars across the galaxy in constellations shaped like fear, if fear could have a shape. His anxiety was unmatched, probably because he was experiencing the fears of millions of timelines. Keeping the thoughts of fourteen million six hundred and five lives inside one single mind was as painful as it sounded, and Mantis couldn’t help but shed a tear as his struggles became her own. Her hands hurt, shaking and twitching with the aftermath of a surgery she never had. To keep them steady, she placed both her hands on his temples instead. Her powers nearly faltered. Mantis couldn’t imagine anything happening to her hands, since they allowed her to interact with the world around her… No, focus. Each tiny piece of Stephen’s mind seemed to be ready to float and fly away on its own, and he was barely able to hold them down. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the fear of going crazy… The pressure behind Mantis’ eyes was unbearable. Stephen’s mind had been hurt by the experience, just like her own while she held Thanos down. So much suffering, all because the Mad Titan wanted to play God. Mantis shed another tear.

“Rest,” she murmured, and suddenly there was gravity in Stephen’s mind. The little pieces that threatened to float away fell into place, landing softly. His mind became clear, and the millions of things he saw in different lives became faint, dull, without disappearing completely… but quiet enough to bring him relief. Peaceful like a melody. Just like Stephen asked her to, Mantis released his mind as soon as she was done. She opened her eyes just in time to see the white glow of her antennae fading away, running her thumbs over Stephen’s eyebrows just once in a soothing gesture; she did it to Quill when he was drunk, crying over Gamora. She did it to Thor when he was part of the team, crying over his family. She did it to Groot when he was a baby - even though he had no eyebrows - crying over… well, anything, like babies did. She would even do it to Ego when she was much, much younger, before realizing he only kept her alive because her abilities were useful.

Retreating her hands, Mantis waited for a reaction. “Is that better?” she inquired, her tone hopeful. Taking a few steps back, she gave him space to recover from the experience of receiving someone inside his mind. “You should be able to sleep well tonight, you might dream of space, or of songs you like… You will have an easier time separating yourself from the thoughts that cause you anxiety. Focusing will be easier. You will stay like this for a couple of days,” she explained, anticipating the questions she knew he would have. Only then Mantis realized she had shed a tear or two during the process, and she turned away from him, wiping her cheeks with a chuckle. “It gets a little bit overwhelming sometimes,” she casually told Brumbin.

(No because same, you write your muses so well 💚 You clearly enjoy fleshing them out. Mantis is entertaining even for me I mean she will act like a princess 24/7 then suddenly pull the wildest shit outta nowhere and it’ll leave me like “…….K”)

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{ Awww, thank you! ^_^ And haha, those are the best muses, the ones that make you go... seriously? That’s what you want me to write? Really? XD I feel like when I do finally get around to watching the GotG movies, I’m gonna have your Mantis in the back of my mind, haha, because I adore your interpretation. Also... can I just say that you’re whole description of being inside Stephen’s mind was absolutely amazing? I teared up, I really did. I was so beautifully written, so descriptive, I kindof got lost in it and forgot where I even was, it was that engaging. From one writer to another... well done! }

When Mantis said Donna wouldn’t want him to beat himself up, Stephen huffed cynically. “She can’t think or feel or want anything anymore. She’s dead. So. Who’s to say what someone who was completely robbed of their ability to have any more thoughts would think,” he said with a bitterness directed at himself. “I, for one, do not presume to know what the dead think.” A pregnant pause, and then, “Frankly, I don’t want to know.” There was a bit of fear in his eyes when he said that. Stephen had wronged a lot of people, failed them, gotten a lot of them killed. He really didn’t want to know what they thought of him now.

“Well, you... seemed like you needed it, I mean, you launched yourself at me, so that... was a pretty clear indication...” he said, still feeling awkward from what he’d said previously. “I may not initiate a lot of physical affection, but that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when someone else needs it.” Didn’t it, though? Stephen was terrible with bedside manner, and wasn’t that another way of saying that he was emotionally... a bit tone deaf? That he didn’t always pick up on emotional cues? Perhaps that wasn’t it at all, but rather, he did pick up on all the cures, but chose very often to ignore them or pretend he didn’t see them, for a variety of reasons.

His brow furrowed when she very obviously ignored his offer to help suppress her powers sometimes if they got too loud or intrusive. He felt a little badly, like he might have inadvertently insulted her somehow. “Okay...” he said, lowly, deciding it was probably better to just let it go. Mantis clearly did not want to discuss this topic further and he was not about to force her to. Goodness knows, he hated it when others tried to force him to talk about something he didn’t want to.

Stephen was surprised to hear that Brumbin, the hulking, furry, many-limbed interdimensional traveler, was... a family man? That actually made Stephen very anxious. One person getting lost somewhere in the multiverse, okay, that’s... that sucks, but it’s just one person. At least, that’s how he rationalized it in his head and ratcheted down the emotional aspect of it. But... a father? A mate? And one who missed his family and wanted to return to them? That wasn’t okay at all. No amount of rationalization would make Stephen feel better about that. His mind immediately began wandering and catastrophizing, as it did almost one hundred percent of the time, to think of what might happen if Brumbin never returned home. He’d be heartbroken, for sure. But more importantly, would his family starve to death? Would his mate think he abandoned her? Would his children think he didn’t love them? And just how primitive a race was Brumbin’s? Would another male move in on the family? Take Brumbin’s mate and murder his children because they aren’t genetically his own? God, what the hell. Fuck, why do I do this to myself? His heart hurt. “We’ll get him home,” he said with a renewed determination in his voice.

Brumbin, oblivious to Stephen’s distress, nodded and chuckled happily with his booming voice as Mantis celebrated the fact that he was a father. Brumbin was proud of that. He loved his children... and he wanted to return to them. He frowned and seemed to slump as she said she was sorry. It wasn’t her fault. It might be this other guy’s fault, but it definitely wasn’t the little cute one’s fault. She was so nice to him an seemed to understand what he was going through, and Brumbin really appreciated that. When she hugged him, all six of his arms hugged back, gently enough, but to the point where Mantis was fully engulfed in Brumbin’s thick, soft fur.

Although Stephen had given mantis permission to attempt to quiet his mind, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fully comfortable with the whole process. Or at least, with what he thought would be the process. But as she shushed him, Stephen’s eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut in semi-humorous affront. “Yes ma’am,” he said, and fell silent as she had asked. The way she touched his face though, rather arrested him. Stephen wasn’t used to being nicely touched. So even if he hadn’t been inclined to acquiesce to her request before, the feel of her hand on his cheek and then forehead combined with her calm words had silenced him anyway as Mantis tried to work her magic on him.

Stephen’s mind was a mess of chaos, anxiety, and the desire to control a multitude of outcomes that may or may not even be relevant anymore. All of the possible outcomes, divergent paths, branches, and deviations from the Sacred Timeline that he’d witnessed and lived through in order to find one in which Thanos could be successfully defeated had left Stephen almost frantic to control everything. Ever since Donna fell through the ice when they were children, Stephen had wanted to control death, to control the circumstances that led to it in a very nearly irrational attempt to outsmart it. Becoming a doctor had been his answer to that anxiety turned clinical obsession. It gave him control and provided him with an outlet for the sense of urgency and the stress that resulted from feeling so out of control. When his hands had been all but destroyed, that anxiety had taken over his mind and caused his mental health to spiral. Becoming a master of the mystical arts... had been his next answer. A way of getting control back.

However, seeing just how easily things could get out of hand, how easily certain people could die, or worlds be destroyed... that had shaken the minimal stability that having control of magic had provided him. Now... he felt like he didn’t have enough control. But how much was enough? Answer: nothing short of total control was enough to ease his anxiety. And so his mind raced on a daily basis with the worries and stresses of all things seen, heard, and lived that only he knew about. He was alone with this, day after day, his mind fractured and tugged in a multitude of directions, and thus his focus and concentration shot.

Even when he tried to meditate to regain some of that focus, it was through sheer force of will, his consciousness barreling through his subconscious like a bull in a china shop, or a coat of whitewash carelessly splashed over bloodstained walls. And so... the china was no longer in his way, but the broken shards crunched audibly beneath his feet as he walked, and the brown color of dried blood seeped through the thin white paint, muted but not forgotten. So, too, was his mind restrained rather than healed. He could break and cover and shove aside all he wished in favor of focusing with brute force, but everything that made him ill was still there, made even more chaotic and messy by his attempts to control them. His remedy for what ailed him turned out to be poison instead. And yet he clung to it, forcing order to a mind that only needed peace.

Each problem led to another. Or five. Each potential threat couldn’t be dealt with because seven others needed to be taken care of first. He couldn’t deal with this one thing because ten others depended on it, and all those outcomes would need to be remembered and analyzed to make sure he was doing this right. Only one shot, in most cases. Only one shot to get it right. I can’t fail. Each problem couldn’t be solved because these others have to be first. Everything he tried to do... lead to and was contingent upon a multitude of others. He was on his way to a breakdown if no one intervened, for the only thing worse than his anxiety over not being able to control everything in life was the guilt. That he would miss something. That something would go overlooked. That he wasn’t doing enough. That he wasn’t enough. That he needed to try harder. That it wouldn’t matter in the end. That it would all be his fault. That he wasn’t in control. That he-

Dear god. It was like his head had been physically held in a vice, and now someone was turning the crank, releasing the pressure. How long had he had that headache? How long had his thoughts felt this heavy? It was all falling into place now, grounded, anchored. Like books neatly organized on shelves, all of Stephen’s problems, thoughts, and tangents receded and settled without issue, to be dealt with later. The voices were lowered, the images were dimmed, and suddenly he could hear himself. Himself, not the world, not the universe, and not the burden of everything. His own thoughts. Linear and beautiful and simple. And as Mantis stroked his eyebrows and released his face and his mind, Stephen’s eyes opened, and there was such innocence in them. Innocent wonder and gratitude.

“Yeah...” he said in disbelief. “Yes, it is, actually. It’s...” Stephen instantly got a little choked up, but they were tears of relief. “It’s just... one...” he said, making a little pointing motion with his hand to denote a line of something. “One line of thinking. One... thread.” All others were tucked away, quiet for now. “There hasn’t been just one in... in years...” he said, smiling even though his eyes welled up and he could barely see. “Thank you, Mantis. That’s... what you do is incredible. Forgive me for ever doubting it. Or you. Please accept my apology.”

Brumbin didn’t understand why this creature was upset, or even... really if he was? Regardless, he stomped closer and patted him on the shoulder empathetically.

Stephen chuckled. “Thanks, big guy. Let’s get you home, shall we?” he said, picking up the book again and flipping through the pages with far less haphazardness than he had before. “Here. This might work,” he said before long, pointing to one of the pages. “It creates a portal, or I do, but it uses his memories as the destination anchor. So I put him in a circle, and whatever he visualizes, that’s where the resulting portal will lead to. The only question is whether it’ll work across layers of the multiverse, but it’s probably the simplest option. We can try this, and if it doesn’t work, we find something else,” he said almost matter-of-factly, calmly, and with perfect focus. “Alright, Brumbin... Stand here and don’t move. Pretty lights are gonna glow around you, but don’t mind that. I need you... to picture home. Picture the exact spot you want to be right now. Okay? Visualize it in your mind as best you can. Can you do that?”

Brumbin nodded.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Stephen said to Mantis with a big smile, wiggling his eyebrows a Mantis before beginning the incantation...

#muse: stephen strange #{this was such fun to write but also so draining heh}#{stephen i love you but your mind is an absolutely dumpster fire wrapped in a goat rodeo}

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bylightofdawn · 1 year

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Man, I hope people don’t mind random-ass perspective shifts in a chapter because this one has like swapping back and forth between Jaster and Myles pretty shamelessly. I tend to TRY and stick with one POV per chapter but if I can’t, I’ll generally try and swap it at like a major chapter break.

This chapter though it starts out very much from a Myles POV for like….a short bit and then I was like ‘whelp swapping to Jaster. -has him wander out of the room to make a phonecall to Plo- then have him wander back in, speak with Myles and now it’s swapping over to Myles POV for this next part for very important plot reasons.

I myself as a reader, I don’t really care. I DO notice when it’s like a co-written fic where I think people were pretty much just RP’ing and then they just altered it to be a fanfic after the fact. When you can see those major POV shifts from where one author hands off to another. And they don’t quite make the transition as smooth as it could be then I’ll notice cause it stands out sorta like a sore thumb. Again, it’s not anything I’m going to put down a fic for but I do notice those kinds of things.

And typically just for coherency’s sake, I’ll try and stick with one POV for a scene or even an entire chapter.

Then I get outlier chapters like this and get randomly paranoid people are going to notice and or care. And realistically? Who is REALLY going to care about that but me? The neurotic, chronic over-thinking self-catastrophizer that I am?

No one cares, Karen.

And sometimes, you just gotta tell yourself that over and over again until you either believe it or bully yourself into getting out of your own head. Or at times, make it worse and you get stymied cause that 1,000% can happen as well. Ask me how I know?

Seriously, the amount of needless self-doubting and overthinking I will do, ya’ll don’t even see a sliver of that shit show. I will grind to a FUCKING DEAD STOP mid-scene and spend an hour needlessly researching one little point that literally no one but I will notice or care. But can I stop myself from having that almost compulsive need to research and make sure I’m using the right medical term or describing something correctly in hopes one person who might work in that field will notice and appreciate my obsessive need for correctness? Or worse, they are in said field, I fucked it up and then it stands out to THEM as much as a sore thumb?

I cannot be the only person who does this, right?

EDIT: Also? Fanfic writing is not going great this morning, mainly because I am not a morning person so it's hard to fucking FOCUS especially when I'm going on life five hours of sleep to boot.

My brain is an ADHD dragonfly that flits from one topic to another seemingly on a whim. As anyone who looks at my blog and the random amount of reblogs and random bullshit I've been posting the past hour or two can attest.

I'm debating giving up and just taking a shower to try and fully wake up for work because I can barely keep my eyes open and I keep yawning like crazy.

Bleh, sometimes you just can't write and I am trying to get better about being kind to myself when ADHD brain kicks in and I cannot simply sit down and focus on my fic long enough to get more than a few words at a time written.

And that's perfectly okay. It does not make me bad a author or a failure as a writer. I just need to put the fic away and go do something else instead. The words will come eventually.

#el writes #fanfic writing woes #fanfic related musing #the life and times of a neurotic self-sabotaging fanfic writer.#and now with words of encouragement for myself? IDEK #This year is all about giving myself grace and forgiveness.#ya'll just get to witness my mental health journey #sometimes it's a goat fuck rodeo spectular bananza #and sometimes it's something beautiful

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