mostly-romance

[mostly-romance]

oh my god. og my god. the symbolism of it all

[mostly-romance]

Random Sherlolly head canon. On nights when she doesn’t have to work the next day, Molly has a habit of staying up too late reading a book and falling asleep in her sitting room chair. On more than one occasion, when showing up to use his favorite bolt hole, Sherlock has had to carry her to bed and tuck her in with far more tenderness than what would probably be considered necessary for a 100% totally purely platonic friendship. 🤭

I am 1000000% behind this HC. 12/10.

[mostly-romance]

reblogging as a warm-up to finishing this fic

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

Chapter Two

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love ❤️

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 3.0k

moodboard by @strangelock221b 💙🩵💜

The weeks ticked down towards Christmas, and Stephen remained as occupied with his work as in any other month of the year. And still Hope held steadfast to her promise to ask nothing but his tolerance as she rang the season in. Every few days, when he emerged from attending to his Sanctum duties or his ongoing studies, or returned from a far-flung mission or from Kamar-Taj itself, he would find she had added some new decoration or holiday detail, making not only his quarters, but the main floor as well, ever more festive. Her Artist's eye insured that she kept everything tasteful and in accord with the surroundings. Hope's latest addition had been an evergreen garland for the fireplace on the main floor, lit with colorful fairy lights and frosted candle holders of varying heights bearing ivory or red candles, nested along the greenery.

Whenever he complimented her newest handiwork, Hope would give a modest little shrug as she thanked him, moving onto the next subject of conversation without so much as a pause--though Stephen could absolutely feel how pleased she was. Thus, their equilibrium continued, and despite his ambivalence about the holiday season, he found himself quietly looking forward to each new surprise.

One such surprise was Hope's newfound dedication to attending the weekly vigil service each Saturday evening of Advent at a small Roman Catholic parish in Brooklyn. In their occasional discussions of philosophy and faith, she had given Stephen the impression that although she was lapsed from organized religion, Hope still held a true belief in a higher power. Indeed, he always saw her as a living example of the biblical maxim 'do unto others...'. And of course, she had understood and respected the beliefs he had come to hold about soul & spirit, and good & evil, based on his experiences and encounters with mystic realities.

In response to his curiosity on the first Saturday she shared her plans, Hope fell back on a familiar explanation. "It's a tradition that does my heart good to honor," she told him frankly. "It connects me to my family even when we're apart. With those who've passed on...and with past generations." He didn't miss the flicker of grief in her eyes and in the set of her mouth at her reference to those who had passed on, though soon enough, her honest smile replaced the sorrow. "Besides which, I love the music...the lights on the tree...the aroma of the incense they save for the most sacred moments. That sense of being one with a community of like-minded souls is vital to my experience of the Christmas season." Stephen found none of this surprising, for such was her nature, and part of the reason she had conquered his heart with no effort at all.

With a scant two weeks until Christmas Day, the Sanctum felt ripe with Hope's inimitable brand of holiday cheer. The sights, the scents, the flavors, and the very sounds that filled his rooms, became reminders of his own Christmases past, though Stephen refused to entertain those memories as he knew they'd only leave him morose.

Even the Sanctum kitchens had their own unique decorations, courtesy of some of Hope's grammar school-aged students; a couple dozen had given her handmade, crayon-colored Christmas cards and Tempera-painted winter scenes of snowmen and Santas, Angels and Christmas trees, or sledding and skating children, which found their way onto the walls and the refrigerators. She'd even fashioned a miniature tree as a tabletop centerpiece, festooned with a popcorn & cranberry garland and a tiny paper chain of red & green construction paper loops. In a surprising moment of clarity, Stephen remembered the several years when he still believed in Santa Claus and had helped his mother create the same sort of decorations for their tree, and how excited he'd been counting down the days until Christmas morn. Memories of a simple happiness that he'd quite forgotten had been his. Gazing at Hope's little tree brought a warmth to his chest he would like to share with her - but he stopped himself each time, knowing full well that if he let that recollection bubble forth, it might open the gates to other memories not as pleasant.

Most evenings now found Hope settled on the sofa wrapping presents or penning personal greetings in Christmas cards, while her favorite Christmas movies played on television, setting what she considered the ideal mood. Stephen eventually ended up joining her some evenings, and once he took his place beside her, she very willingly set aside her project in favor of cuddling on the couch with him. He ended up adopting the habit of fixing them hot chocolate, and in Hope's homey company, he discovered that he didn't even mind the movies he'd once found trite and too sentimental since his undergraduate days. Besides, they made Hope happy--and her happiness had become key to his own.

On the 18th, Stephen was called to Kamar-Taj for an emergency meeting of all the Masters of the Sanctums and those in charge of the various disciplines. A rift in Earth's reality had opened inside the Kibo caldera of Mount Kilimanjaro, and whatever entities had worked that magic, it appeared they were trying to wake the dormant volcano into eruption. He only had time enough to fire off a cursory text to Hope, warning her he might be away for several days--and advising her not to worry. Then he was off to Tanzania, along with Wong and a dozen other Masters to beat back the incursion and seal the rift.

'Twas a grim Stephen that returned to the New York Sanctum just after midnight on December 21st. Hope was sound asleep, and he didn't have the heart to awaken her. He was sporting a split lip and multiple abrasions to his face, neck, and hands, and though he had been charm treated in the Kamar-Taj Infirmary, he still had a slight but nagging cough from smoke inhalation.

Yet he had gotten off more lightly than most of those who had to battle the dragonlike creatures that seemed to be ideally suited for a volcanic environment; that breathed fire and fought ferociously to maintain their foothold. Two Masters had fallen to their flames, and three more had suffered severe enough burns to be placed in magic induced comas while Healers worked around the clock to hasten the regeneration of new, healthy skin. Wong, who had suffered a broken wrist, bore the same sort of wounds as Strange and the other Masters did. Stephen was heartsick over the lost lives and the pain of his brothers & sisters, and his body ached all over.

Casting the Mirror Dimension on the master bath, he bundled up his rent robes and buried them deep in the hamper so Hope wouldn't see how badly they were damaged and bloodstained. Stephen had already repaired Cloak, and it had flitted off upon their return to the Sanctum to see to its own ablutions. He soaked in the tub of hot water and Epsom salt for nearly 90 minutes, trying to put the pictures frozen in his mind of the battle and the wounded behind him. Fearing that sleep would still elude him once he finally went to bed.

In the wee hours before sunrise, he slipped carefully and quietly between the sheets, and by some lovely instinct, Hope turned to him. She stirred a bit when he placed her hand above his heart--for he always found that soothing--and after a few moments she whispered, "Missed you, magic man. Is everything alright?"

Stephen sighed in the darkness, unwilling to disturb her peace with the truth, and murmured 'yes', and then, 'I missed you too'. What he wanted most was to forget everthing for a little while, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, he nuzzled the tender haven of her hair, focusing on Hope's softness until he was able to drift off the sleep.

Stephen rarely indulged in the luxury of sleeping in, but this day it had been a necessity. Though he felt physically refreshed when he finally left his bedroom, his spirit was all too weary, and he remained disconsolate in his very bones. No matter the season, he would've felt this way following the outcome on Kilimanjaro--but somehow looking at Hope's cheery holiday trimmings made it even worse. When he found her in the kitchen baking cookies, the sweet sight of her, so incongruous with the miasma he was lost in, prompted him to issue her a fair but regretful warning.

She had just moved a batch of cookies onto a wire rack to cool, then turned to greet him--but her smile faltered the moment she saw the misery on his face. "It went badly, then." Stephen nodded, and then she was sliding her arms beneath his, holding him tight, murmuring against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Stephen. Do you...do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and simply held her close, grateful that she was his true and loving sanctuary. When they parted just a little, Stephen cleared his throat before speaking. "Hope...honey..." he began, cupping one hand against her cheek, "I really appreciate how patient you've been with me this past month. And I appreciate everything you've done to bring Christmas to our..." He paused when his voice cracked, taking a moment before continuing, "...to our home."

Empathetic as usual, Hope simply reached to cup his cheek in her hand, and he wished he could just let himself melt into the moment. "But I dunno if the miracle you're hoping for is gonna happen this year. The past few days were pretty rough and given that...and the ghosts of my Christmases past...well, I think it's best if you lower your expectations about the holiday. I don't want to disappoint you but...well...I'm not gonna be catching the Christmas spirit this year."

Hope sighed and turned her face enough to place a soft kiss on the base of his thumb. "It's alright, darling. I...I understand." She sighed and stood tall enough to kiss his mouth, then whispered against his lips, "Whatever you need, Stephen. However things go." She embraced him warmly, then moved enough so she could look him in the eyes. "I spent five Christmases wondering how things might have been if you had survived Thanos. I know what's most important to me now--so in the end, all I really want for Christmas is you."

Stephen managed a small but genuine smile. He had expected no less. Undaunted, Hope briskly changed the subject. "How about I fix you some lunch and you go unwind with some mindless television? I'll bring it right to you."

"Actually, there's a little something I want to take a look at in my study...if you don't mind too much..."

"Of course, of course," she answered gamely, then swatted him softly on his way, "Gourmet grilled cheese and tomato soup are the special today, and the only tip I require is a couple dozen kisses."

"You can add those to my tab, honey," Stephen chuckled, then headed down the hall to his study, grateful for the distraction which he knew awaited him on his desk. Getting lost for a little while in a recently discovered manuscript might be exactly what he needed to get through the day.

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist

tagging: @strangelock221b @mousedetective @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @ben-locked @hithertoundreamtof23 @aeterna-auroral-avenger @lorelei-lee @stewardofningishzida @thelostsmiles @mrs-cookie @paperclippedmime @groovyqueer @mckiwi @dragonqueen89 @strangeflashholmes221 @strangesunicornsparkle

[mostly-romance]

reblogging as a warm-up to finishing this fic

[excerpt from an upcoming Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

(Indulge me, if you will? Not sure if I'll be able to complete this story by Christmas, let alone the New Year ~ but the need to write this part is strong upon me, while my loves for Stephen and for Story compell me...)

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love ❤️

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 1.2k-ish

...Beverly Strange had been a music teacher before she ever became a farmer's wife. And for most of her life--despite how stony her husband grew over the years, grimly implacable in the face of what he found to be frivolous--she had done her best to fill their household with music. It was no fluke that Stephen developed such a great love for music that his prodigious intellect maintained a mental catalog of music trivia encompassing multiple genres.

Beverly had given private piano lessons as much for fulfillment as for the extra money the family had needed in lean years on the farm. Until the birth of Stephen's younger brother Victor, she had volunteered as Choir Director at the community's small Lutheran church. Stephen could remember spending many an afternoon in the weeks leading up to Christmas and Easter in the choir loft, coloring quietly and humming along while Beverly conducted practice. Once her youngest child, Donna, had been old enough to sit in a church pew under Stephen's supervision (for their father rarely attended weekly services) Beverly had resumed a place in the choir and was often featured as a soloist during the holidays. Stephen had been damn proud watching his mother sing her favorite carol, 'Oh, Holy Night'; how straight she had stood, free of his father's angry shadow, and of how flawlessly (to him, anyway) her notes had risen--in his child's mind he had been sure they had reached Heaven itself.

Most of all, though, he had always been proud to see when some parishioner or another was moved to tears by the purity of her rendition. Decades later, he could easily recall that feeling if he allowed himself to remember, could hear her in his mind--but the pain of Donna's death and the toll it wreaked upon his mother usually precluded him from indulging in such sentimental recall. Beverly's music had fallen mute the day his sister had drowned; she had never sung in church again, nor had Stephen ever heard her sing in their own home in the too short years that followed before her grief prematurely aged her into an early grave.

Stephen himself had adopted a stoic mien in the wake of losing Donna, internalizing the blame he felt for failing to save her, and by extension, their mother. Nearly two decades later, it still hurt too damn much to remember the first--and very rare--people who had loved him unconditionally, as both had been lost to him well before their time. And as his most vibrant memories of them included Christmastimes, he had turned his back on all but the most superficial of holiday celebrations.

He kept his painful thoughts and memories buried deep and had only confessed them to Christine (whom he realized in retrospect was the third soul to have loved him unconditionally) one sloppy, drunken night two months after his accident. She had given him what solace she could, gently urging him to not be so hard on himself, reminding him that both Donna and Beverly would wish for him to seek some healing, and staying with him until he drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she returned to check on him the next day, he had closed himself off again, rejecting her concern as unnecessary. Brushing off the incident as impertinent to his current life and goals.

But now...oh now! A wee bit at a time, Hope--who loved him as unconditionally as his past dear ones--had been chipping away at that wall. Reintroducing Christmas into his life by osmosis, without a hint of pressure for him to embrace the season. As she'd promised four weeks ago, she'd gone about her Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother him. With each little Yuletide advance she had made in the Sanctum, he had found himself relaxing and accepting, smiling in concession, happy to play witness to her happiness in the season.

Christmas was still a week away, and Stephen had begun contemplating what sort of gift he might manage for his own Who-girl. He hoped to find a gift that spoke his heart clearly, but each idea that came to him fell flat soon after he thought it up.

Settled comfortably in his study this evening, he was delving into a freshly discovered manuscript that appeared to have been penned by The Ancient One when she had been apprenticed to Merlin, during his tenure as the Londinium Sanctum Master. Though it should have been a fascinating read, Stephen found himself distracted by the question of what to give Hope--and by the carols she was playing in the living room portion of his quarters. Celtic Woman, he told himself with no effort to recall the facts; released October 2006, peak chart position number one on Billboard for US Worldwide Albums. The trilling of the all female group was pleasant enough, but not at all conducive to the study he was attempting.

Meaning to simply ask Hope to lower the volume so he could concentrate, Stephen removed his reading glasses, leaving them to rest atop the open manuscript and then headed the short way to the main room of his suite. The fragrances of cranberry and evergreen greeted him as he drew near, for she'd made a substantial investment in candles for the season, and they were clearly alight as she wrapped presents. Hope was deep in her element and happy to be so.

The music paused between tracks, and when it resumed, it stopped Stephen in his. The opening strains of 'O, Holy Night' filled the air, and in a heartbeat they landed upon him, sending him back to his youth, well before he had known loss and heartbreak. To those crisp, cold Nebraska evenings when his heart had swelled with love and pride to see his mother sing. Unprepared as he was for those powerful images and sounds to fill his senses, Stephen backed away, his eyes prickling with tears of mixed grief and recollection. Tears he'd put off for far too long in his quest to avoid the pain. And yet he knew that just several feet around the corner was the very soul who had given him the exact comfort, love, and strength he'd needed to complete the dreadful journey he had undertaken to save this Universe from Thanos--and that she'd be only too glad to learn this part of his past and help him find healing.

By some remarkable coincidence, or as if she'd heard his thoughts, Hope's answer came unbidden, her voice blending in as though it had been meant to be a message for his ears alone.

'Sweet hymns of joy, in grateful chorus raise we..., ' she sang as his heart seemed to crack open in bittersweet relief. 'Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices...' Stephen wrapped his arms across his chest while he wept to remember the love and warmth that had been his in the little church and in every moment spent in his mother's company. How had he made himself ignore such a miraculous gift? Surely the joy of it far outweighed the sorrow. How foolish to have gone so long without allowing himself such comfort.

The carol now drew swiftly to it's close, and still his Hope sang sweetly, following the notes faithfully, unaware that she had reawakened a dormant part of his heart. 'O night,' she crooned, in happy harmony with those recorded singers, 'O night divine!' He swiped his tears away with both his palms, deciding he must tell her this part of his story. His reasons for divorcing Christmas from his life. And that he understood at last that every day of this beautiful season, she'd been patiently showing him that love was stronger than even grief...

[to be completed - once I finish the beginning as well!]

tagging: @aeterna-auroral-avenger @strangelock221b @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @ben-locked @lorelei-lee @mousedetective @darsynia @bakerstreethound @hithertoundreamtof23 @rmoonstoner @mckiwi @doctorstrangeaskblog

[mostly-romance]

reblogging as a warm-up to completing this fic

(The going has been slow to finish my Stephen Christmas fic ~ so today I'm rewarding myself by sharing a snippet from Part Two of 'Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories')

...even the Sanctum kitchens had their own unique decorations, courtesy of some of Hope's grammar school-aged students; a couple dozen had given her handmade, crayon-colored Christmas cards and Tempera-painted winter scenes of snowmen and Santas, angels and trees, or sledding and skating children, which found their way onto the walls and the refrigerators. She'd even fashioned a miniature tree as a table centerpiece, festooned with popcorn & cranberry garland and a tiny paper chain of red & green construction paper loops. In a surprising moment of clarity, Stephen remembered the several years when he still believed in Santa Claus and helping his mother create the same sort of decorations for their tree, and how excited he'd been counting down the days until Christmas morn. Memories of a simple happiness that he'd quite forgotten had been his. Gazing at Hope's little tree brought a warmth to his chest he would've liked to share with her - but he stopped himself each time, knowing full well that if he let that recollection bubble forth, it might open the gates to other memories not as pleasant...

tag list:

@strangelock221b @lorelei-lee @aeterna-auroral-avenger @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @ironstrange1991

[mostly-romance]

reblogging as a warm-up to finally completing this fic

Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

Part One

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: approximately 3.1k

moodboard by the very generous @strangelock221b 💙🩵💜

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen..." she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

He felt more than heard her sigh, understanding that she would not be deterred--while well aware that as ever, whatever form her persuasion would take would be gentle. Patient. Quiet. Stephen couldn't help but love that about her.

"Alright," she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow."

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That's my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter. Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet lovely truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too terribly."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once she came back, my mother never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of family near."

Stephen's first thought was of his mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

[to be continued���]

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/prompt fills as part of their ongoing series, The Wizard and the Artist

tagging: @strangelock221b @mousedetective @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @darsynia @ben-locked @hithertoundreamtof23 @aeterna-auroral-avenger @lorelei-lee @stewardofningishzida @thelostsmiles @mrs-cookie @paperclippedmime @groovyqueer

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“In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you”

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The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon - The Book of Carol (2023- ) The Walking Dead (2010- 2022)

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Daphne du Maurier, from "Rebecca," originally published in August 1938

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Molly: [to Sherlock] When I say, ‘I love you,’ it’s not because I want you or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a person, Sherlock Holmes.

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Benedict Cumberbatch - War Horse. This is a special edit for a fanfic of @sobeautifullyobsessed. Started up with a blank vintage postcard and thought it would be good to make it Jamie’s note to his loved one (background is added as well). I hope you like it.

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Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts 2 and 9 with Stephen Strange x Beauty, please? It might be sweet seeing him comfort her after she had a really cold and exhausting day.

2. "Drink some of this tea, it will warm you up."

9. "Go to sleep, I will not leave you alone."

Hurt/Comfort Stephen Strange x Beauty Lincoln (OFC)

Hey, Stephen - I'm so so sorry, but I'm gonna have to cancel on our plans tonight. I've had an incredibly rotten day at work and stuff, so I just want to curl up on my sofa & watch something mind numbing & lick my wounds a bit.🥺Even though I miss you like crazy, I just wouldn't be good company at all. We'll have to try again, hopefully soon. Love you. Always.💋💋 

Stephen gnawed on his lower lip as he read Beauty's text a third time. His schedule lately had been jampacked as supernatural activity across the globe has kicked into overdrive in the month leading up to Halloween. The rise in incursions from eldritch realms was to be expected at this time of year, but it was often complicated by amateur ghost hunters and wannabe practitioners of magic or voodoo either trying to fight the baddies on their own, or summon malevolent spirits to do their bidding. Meaning he and his fellow sorcerers had twice the work to do—protecting humanity from both mystical dangers and from the foolish antics of those who believed they had a calling to do the same.

He glanced over at the vase holding a dozen and a half long stem American Beauty roses in several shades of pink, which he'd meant to accompany his apologies for missing their last three date nights. Thinking that his girl must be in a very bad way to make tonight their fourth miss. Crap. Stephen decided at once he wasn't going to let that happen. As quickly as his scarred fingers would allow, he texted back. 'Understood. Missing you too, sweetheart. We can reschedule. You rest up & take it easy tonight. And please just let me know when you get home safely...so I don't need to worry so much.'

Beauty's reply came right away. 'Will do. Thanks for understanding, magic man. And for worrying about me.💗' Stephen had to smile fondly; a sweet sort of warmth always filled his chest when she called him that. And man, had he been missing that warmth! If he hadn't already decided to surprise her, that simple little phrase would've been enough to set his plan in motion. 

Beauty stood before her door, damp-haired (having forgotten her umbrella in her desk drawer) and with the lower half of her sweater-coat and her suede boots drenched from being splashed by a taxi that had pulled up to the curb as she been waiting to cross the street. At least the first time Stephen sees me in weeks won't be with me looking this bedraggled, she consoled herself. Although I'd rather warm up in his arms than in that old afghan thrown across my sofa top.

It's better this way anyway, she sighed forlornly, zipping off the text he'd asked her to send so that he'd know she'd gotten home in one piece. Stepping through her door, Beauty noted the room was candlelit and redolent with one of her favorite scents in the world. Gingerbread. This just had to be Stephen's work! Already her heart—weighed down by all the bad news she'd received at work this day—began to feel a bit lighter.

She dumped her attache and pocketbook on the floor and shrugged off her wet sweater, hanging it on one of the hooks beside her door. Inhaling deeply (he must've found her stash of gingerbread scented candles) Beauty called out his name.

Stephen came around the corner from the kitchen, wearing his dear, lop-sided grin and one of her frilly aprons over jeans—surely a sight he intended to amuse her. He had the sleeves of the dark blue silk shirt she'd recently given him (just because she'd known he'd look damn fine in it) rolled up, further indication he had something brewing in the kitchen. "Oh, Stephen...you didn't have to go to this trouble. I would've been fine just crashing on the couch."

"Nonsense," he insisted as he came to stand in front of her, smoothing one hand over her wet hair. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't do what I could to take care of you?" 

Speechless for the moment, Beauty lowered her gaze shyly—and to hide the fact that tears stood in her eyes. Stephen's voice, low and deep and rich with honest concern, continued, "I've lost track of all the times you've taken care of me at the end of a rough day. It's long past time I returned the favor." He pulled her into his ready arms.

Beauty nodded and laid her head upon his shoulder, and then the tears did come as he rocked her gently. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, baby. Just let me be here for you—and let me remind you of how much I love you..."

She had cried for a good ten minutes, clinging tightly to him, only aware that her hair and clothes and boots had dried completely in the interim (a subtle charm Stephen had worked for her comfort) until shegathered her wits and backed out of his arms. "Go get changed," he instructed her gently, "I laid your jammies and robe out on your bed, and then you can meet me back her for something to warm you on the insides, okay?"

Beauty nodded silently, kissing his cheek before following her good doctor's orders. When she returned to the living room, she discovered that Stephen had set a small tray on the coffee table, along with a vase of gorgeous roses. He motioned for her to take a seat.  "Drink some of this tea, it will warm you up."

Meekly, gratefully, she accepted the cup, sipping gingerly until she could tell it was the perfect temperature. "Now," Stephen told her, picking up the remote control, "I've got The Princess Bride cued up for your viewing pleasure, unless you prefer Practical Magic to begin with instead..."

"You remembered..."

"That we were watching that the first time I finally had the sense enough to kiss you?" Stephen cupped her cheek and leaned closer, "How could I not, sweetheart? That was the best first kiss of my life..."

"Don't tease me," she whispered.

"Simple truth, Beauty. And my life has been better and better every day since." Stephen took her free hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles, "I should probably tell you these things more often. I'm gonna try my damndest going forward, to do just that. And to take care of you as you deserve." He stood up, "And now supper. Your favorite comfort foods on the menu. Pizza Hut pepperoni pan pizza—and a mac'n'white cheddar cheese that I made from a box mix myself."

"Will there be dessert," she asked, gifting him her sweetest smile—the first of the evening.

"Ben & Jerry's reverse chocolate chunk--"

"But they don't make that anymore!"

"I know," he winked, "But don't ask a sorcerer to reveal all his secrets, honey. There needs to be at least a little mystery to keep the spice in a relationship."

Sated on pizza, mac'n'cheese, and her all-time favorite ice cream, Beauty was feeling a whole world better than before she had stepped through the door of her flat. As they watched the magical romance, she shared with Stephen the things that had made her day so awful. Budget cuts at the Library meant she's have to lay off at least one staff member and truncate the Library Page program she'd started two years earlier. She'd found out that one of her students in the 5-8yr old reading group was battling leukemia and had been sent to St. Jude's Hospital in the hopes of getting lifesaving treatment. And shortly before she had initially texted Stephen, her brother had called with the sad news that his wife had miscarried four months into her pregnancy. In Stephen's arms, she found the exact comfort she had been needing, but hadn't wanted to impose upon his valuable time to ask for. 

The heavy emotions of the day, coupled with the carb heavy meal Beauty had consumed, finally asserted themselves as bone deep exhaustion. Though she was doing her best to stay awake, Stephen could feel her drifting off. He nuzzled the top of her head and tightened his arm around her. "You wanna go to bed, honey? We can pick up the movie where we left off, on another night."

"Uh-huh," she yawned, snuggling even closer, "I'd rather stay here with you, Stephen. It's been ages since I've felt this warm and cozy. I...I don't want it to end."

Stephen hummed agreeably. "I know the feeling, baby. I've been missing this more than I even realized. I'm not gonna let us go this long apart again. We both deserve better. So for now," he sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head atop hers, "Go to sleep, I will not leave you alone."

Secure in the care of the man she adored, Beauty slept more soundly than she had in months. In the morning, she awoke in her bed beside him, and it proved to be the beginning of a very beautiful day.

Feedback/Reblogs are incredibly meaningful. Please support content creators by doing us the honor. Thank you!

buy me a coffee?☕

@stewardofningishzida ~ thank you again for giving me a chance to write Beauty & her Stephen! It's been so damn long, and I've been missing them together.

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@lotrweek 2024 — day 2: histories and legacies ↳ aragorn + arwen and the lay of leithian

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Two sets of footsteps rushed up the stairs. School was done for the day and there was no question as to who it was. Rowan and Scarlet had distinctly unique footsteps. The discernment of his children’s footsteps may have been irrelevant to anyone else, but to Sherlock it was the comforting and constant reminder of their existence in his life. 

Rowan entered the flat first with Scarlet trailing closely behind him. Both of them froze, mid conversation, and narrowed their eyes in identical fashion at the scene before them. Their parents were seated and waiting expectantly for them. Sherlock was seated in his chair, hands resting leisurely on the arms, and legs crossed. Molly sat beside him, her back straight, and hands clasped loosely in her lap. 

Their eyes fell to the two kitchen chairs conveniently placed in front of their parents. It was reminiscent of the night they got caught returning home after sneaking out to that party. The one they were currently grounded for because of it. 

“ Is this a parental ambush? Are you going to give us The Talk?” Rowan asked as he dropped his school bag by the door. His wide eyes already displayed true terror at the thought.

” You needn’t be alarmed by sex. As two healthy growing teenagers, your bodies are undergoing significant changes, hormones are flooding your system, and your libido’s may even be-“ Sherlock’s face was passive and unashamed. He couldn’t resist the bait Rowan unknowingly cast. 

” Oh no, no no no! I’m not listening,“ Rowan covered his ears. 

” Mum, make him stop,“ Scarlet pleaded. 

They were both blushing profusely, the red tint spreading across their faces.   

” How about we save that for another day?“ Molly chimed over Scarlet and Rowan’s protests. She threw Sherlock a look, who in return gave her one of pure amusement. 

” Or save it for never,“ Rowan expressed. 

Scarlet set her school bag next to Rowan’s before nodding, ��� Agreed!” 

” Alright, now that that’s settled, will you two sit please? We still need to talk to you,“ Molly motioned to the chairs. 

They both sat, but there was a sense of wariness in their actions, as if they were expecting a trap. For a moment everyone was silent. 

” Your mother and I have talked it over and we have decided to lift your punishment. You two are no longer grounded. Mycroft has graciously restored your cell phones back to full use and access to your other electronics has been reinstated,” Sherlock held their gazes as he spoke. 

“ But,” Molly cut in before they had a chance to celebrate, “ we have a few ground rules. You must let your father and I know where you are going, if you are going out. And second, you both have a new curfew. On school nights you need to be home by 8:30 and 10 on weekends.”

“ Mum! A curfew?! What if we need to stay late at school for a project or what if we are delayed on the tube?” Rowan questioned. His frustration wasn’t hard to discern. 

Scarlet was silent, but it was easy to see that she shared in Rowan’s frustration. 

Sherlock adjusted his position in his chair before speaking, ” We will deal with that when the problem arises, but until then, you will abide by these rules.”

The celebratory mood Scarlet and Rowan were in before, dissipated. 

“ It may feel like it, but we aren’t doing this to punish you. This is your chance to earn our trust back and maybe, after a week, we can discuss a different arrangement,” Molly smiled at them to reassure her point. 

“ Do you two understand?” Sherlock leaned forward, trying to catch either of his children’s avoiding gazes. 

The terms weren’t too unreasonable and they were doable. Scarlet looked up first and nodded her reluctant agreement to the terms. Rowan followed shortly after.

“ Can we go now?” Scarlet asked, realizing there was nothing left to discuss. 

“ You may,” Molly answered. 

Scarlet and Rowan stood simultaneously at her go ahead, grabbed their school bags, and all but ran up the stairs to their room. 

Once her children were safely out of hearing range, Molly turned to Sherlock and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. 

“ What was that for?” He was taken aback by her unwarranted action. 

“ You know exactly what that was for,” Molly stood from her chair and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Sherlock alone in the living room. 

Sherlock smiled. The Talk. That was something to look forward to. 

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BRIDGERTON SEASON 3 (2024)

PEN AND COLIN

3.05

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(almost) every penelope featherington scenes (177/???)

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