#my eternal muse

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

'It's Not the Years, Honey - It's the Mileage'

a Whumped Doctor Strange one-shot

Inspired by a couple of pre Multiverse of Madness articles comparing Stephen Strange to Indiana Jones😉😁

genre: whump, hurt/comfort, light humor

rating: general audience

characters: Stephen Strange, Tess O'Neill (Healer of Kamar-Taj, OFC); established relationship; Cloak of Levitation

word count: 1.9k

It was supposed to have been date night, but Stephen was overdue. Three hours overdue. Again. Tess had taken these things in stride, right from the start. After all, you can’t be lucky enough to be the significant other of the Sorcerer Supreme without being incredibly patient, understanding, and flexible. Besides which, he was always so adorable when he finally found his way home, sincere in his apologies, and more often than not, presenting her with a fresh bouquet, which he managed to conjure even before he uttered a single word. Tonight’s transgression was bound to be a two dozen roses mea culpa--and she just knew he’d make them her favorite: pale pink American Beauties.

Not that he ever needed to. His company was dear enough recompense for any time he kept her waiting. Except for the worrying, of course, but Tess had quickly adjusted to that, and so far she hadn’t made any complaint, no matter how late her Stephen managed to show up. She’d rather spend their precious time on more pleasant pursuits--and on showing him however she could, how happy he made her simply by being...him. 

And so, Tess had adjusted down their plans. First, from dinner out and a movie, to take-out and the latest blu-ray release. And then from that, to something she could whip up, quick and easy, in the Sanctum’s smaller kitchen. Stephen was bound to be hungry when he arrived, and she had a hearty pot of stew simmering on the stove and a batch of honey cornbread ready to pop into the oven while he cleaned up. 

Tess had just given the stew another stir, when she felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to find Cloak looking battle singed and...well...harried. How this being without a face could express such a wide range of emotions was a continual wonder to her--but right now her immediate reaction was to ask if Stephen was alright. 

Cloak’s collar shook a clear ‘no’, and then it tugged at her arm, to get her moving. She turned off the stove and moved the stewpot to another burner, and followed Cloak down the grand staircase. And there sat Stephen on the third step, head bowed and shoulders hunched, his bloodstained tunic rent in several places. Tess’s heart leapt to her throat, though she tried to remain calm, realizing that he needed her as a Healer tonight, far more than as the woman who loved him. 

She dropped to one knee in front of him, noting that the shelf of his jaw bore a dark bruise, and that he had a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, a black eye and a split lip. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching her sure hands towards him, studying his wounds with practiced eyes, evaluating which she should address first. Thankfully, the blood on his clothing was dried, so that Tess concluded he wasn’t actively bleeding. “What happened,” she asked quietly, concerned to see him breathe shallowly, as breathing any deeper appeared to make him wince. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as she placed both of her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, searching for any internal damage. 

“Ow...ow...ow...owwwwwwww,” he grumbled, “Is this really necessary?” 

Cloak was flitting back and forth, giving the closest approximation of pacing as possible. “It certainly is, as well you know...Doctor.” To that he only grunted, then followed with a heavy groan when she palpated his lower ribs and abdomen. “Stephen,” she informed him patiently, “You’ve got at least three cracked ribs...” 

“I know,” he replied curtly, “Don’t you think I know that?”

Tess tried to placate him. “Of course you do--but there’s no need to be pissy about it. It’ll just take a simple healing spell to start them knitting properly together.” 

“I...know,” he repeated through gritted teeth, attempting to stand. Cloak had to swoop in to keep him from landing hard on his bottom. 

Tess rose and wiped her hands on her denim capris. “Cloak, can you get him up to the infirmary, so I can take care of him properly?” 

Cloak nodded, but Stephen had other ideas. “No infirmary--just get me to my room...” 

Honestly, doctors really do make the worst patients, she thought, although she held her tongue, telling Stephen instead, “Nope. It’s the infirmary for you.” He huffed, but didn’t speak up. “And that’s Healer’s orders, Stephen. I outrank you in this, at least for the moment...” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively. He handed her his sling ring, “We can portal there--it’ll be quicker and a less bumpy trip than relying on...” He wagged his head in Cloak’s direction. 

Tess had to suppress a chuckle, as Cloak’s reaction to that perceived insult was to turn its back to Stephen. “Alright,” she sighed, slipping his ring on and bringing the golden circle to life. She returned to his side and offered him a hand to help him stand up. “Just lean on me, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.” 

She could feel his aversion to appearing so needy, even as he braced himself with an arm across her shoulders, but knew well that it wasn’t on her account. Stephen generally disliked showing weakness to anyone, although as their relationship had blossomed, his trust in her had been enough for him to reveal much of what he hid from the world behind sarcasm and bravado. Tess had always taken such precious trust as both a privilege and an honor. Stiff lipped against his pain and leaning on her heavily, they hobbled through the portal and Tess led him to sit on the nearest bed. 

The infirmary was empty but for them, and she took a moment to close the portal, and then rushed to gather her supplies. Disinfectant and a basin of warm water, along with a washcloth and the softest, fluffiest towel she could conjure, for after she got him cleaned up. And bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. Tess returned to Stephen’s side to find him struggling to remove his tunic. She set down her things, telling him, “Here...let me...” 

“I’ve...got...this.” he grunted, though it was clearly hurting him to raise his arms above his head. 

“No. No you don’t,” she corrected him gently, “Please--just let me do my job, Stephen.” 

“Alright...alright...” He did his best to relax as she worked the garment over his head and off. Tess gasped at the network of contusions across his shoulders and upper chest. “Dammit, Tess...that hurts!” 

“I know, darling. I know.” To her relief, most of his bruises appeared superficial. “Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, okay.” Stephen nooded, and closed his eyes as she washed the cut on his nose, and several shallow scratches on his cheeks and chin, finally seeing to the split on his lower lip. 

Next, she addressed the wounds on his back, circling behind him and perching on the edge of the bed. She was relieved again to find that they were rather shallow as well, and made quick work of cleansing them. Tess chose that moment to speak to him as his woman, rather than as a Healer. “You know--you’re extremely fit for a man your age, darling. But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more careful out there.”

“It’s not the years, honey...” he snorted, “...it’s the mileage...” Stephen had stiffened despite her gentle approach, but when she applied the disinfectant, he hissed out a string of very un-Stephen-like curses. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she muttered, her patience beginning to strain.

“I’m not,” he responded petulantly. 

Coulda fooled me, she thought, but bit back that retort. A few minutes more and she had his wounds properly bandaged. Tess set aside the basin and the towel, telling him, “Now let’s see about those ribs. Do you think you can lay back? It’ll be easier that way.” 

“Of course I can,” he barked, “I’m not an invalid, you know.” 

No, you’re just the crankiest Master of the Mystic Arts that I've ever encountered. Bravest and most selfless too, so I suppose I can forgive your churlishness.

He winced when she placed her hands on his shoulders, helping to ease him onto his back. Closing her eyes again, she skimmed her hands above the skin covering his damaged ribs, whispering the charm needed to bolster his body’s natural healing ability. Satisfied that she had succeeded once she could feel the spell take root, Tess pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. Stephen’s were closed, and his face had gone slack with a look of relief. Good enough, she concluded, hoping he would sleep a long while to aid in healing. 

Still, she thought she could do a little something to speed the reduction in the nastiest of his contusions--and it would be best to try while he was asleep. She reached tentative fingers to Stephen’s right shoulder. His eyes flew open with a start, “Owwwwww...that’s still tender, you know!” 

“I’m just trying to help...” 

“Well...I don’t need a nurse anymore,” he groused, “I just want to sleep.” 

“If you let me see to these now, you’ll feel much better in the morning...” Tess trailed her fingertips along his jaw, channeling her own energy into relieving his pain. “Any better?”

"A little,” he pouted, “But it hurts...almost everywhere...”

There seemed to be no pleasing him this way--but still, it was her nature to try. Exasperated, she blurted out, “Well, dammit, Stephen--where doesn’t it hurt?” 

Looking defiant, he showed her his elbow, “Here.” Tess laid the softest kiss she could upon it. 

“And...and here,” he added, pointing to his forehead, his whole demeanor softening in response to her tenderness. Cautiously, Tess leaned in and planted a loving kiss there. Momentum had turned in her favor. 

Stephen pointed to his un-blackened eye, “Um...here?”

Tess smiled softly, watching his eyes flutter shut, and then brushed her lips as lightly as she could upon his eyelid. There was a moment as her face hovered over his, and the look when he opened his eyes made her heart start to melt--for within their mercurial depths, she saw both gratitude and an apology for his childish behavior. Stephen tapped his lips and murmured, “Here.” 

She wondered if he felt her indulgent smile as their lips finally met, but before too long their kiss had gone from chaste to something deeper and more enduring, as he relaxed completely under her loving ministration. When she finally pulled away, Tess found that her kiss had worked a magic of its own, and her beloved Stephen was out like a light. 

Tess arose and draped the sheet across him lightly, then levitated the next bed over and landed it flush against his. Her hunch was that he’d sleep through the night, but she wanted to be close by if he should need her. 

Come morning, she awoke to find him gone--can’t keep a good Sorcerer down for long, she mused--but in his place, he’d left three dozen pale pink American Beauties, and a small piece of handwritten parchment. It was brief but to the point:  

Thank you, honey. For everything. Love - your Stephen xx

tagging: @hithertoundreamtof23 @stewardofningishzida @ironstrange1991 @mousedetective @aphroditesdilemma @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @battledress @aelaer @mckiwi @couldntbedamned

[poppingmary]

Louise Brooks 1928

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” – Lao Tzu

@darsynia

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[gvnchyno2]

Andrei | Amadeo | Armand

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Watching No Way Home and I just wanna shout:

Isn't he MAGNIFICENT!!! - at the sight of the magic literally flowing from Stephen's hands in his final scene 🥰🥰🥰

...and also...

Please, oh please, can't we just have some more of Stephen mentoring Peter Parker and America Chavez? PLEEEEEESE??? That's not too much to ask for, is it?🥺🥺🥺

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

Such a sweet, beautiful face that hides such a deep story. And such a mischievous side.

Robert Downey Jr. in "Sr." (2022)

[andrastes-cheeks]

Did I disappoint you?

Will they still let me over?

If I cross the line?

Close up and wordless under the cut

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

“In the end, you will not see the physical beauty in others that caught your eye but the fire that burned within them.” —Shannon L. Alder

@darsynia @fanartka @strangelockd @icytrickster17 @cirocity @harlekin6 @sinisterstrange616

[speakofcompersion]

TAEMIN - 'Eternal' Track List ♥︎

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

They crack their knuckles. Okay kiddos, you wanted to know, then sit and listen. This is why Tony is the most beautiful MCU character.

Tony's beauty comes from his heart. Yes, when we look at him, we're drawn to his physical appearance. His eyes are full of emotion, his mouth is sinful, and his bone-structure is damn near godlike. But all of that doesn't matter if we don't see the character that is behind the face.

For those who don't know - and I've had a couple that don't - about him, we're first introduced to an arrogant, playboy millionaire. And he's a total prat. But as we progress through his story, you can find out that it's all a defense mechanism put in place to protect him from his past and who he became because it got him attention. We also know that he's a recovering alcoholic from the comics. We see that he has very little in the way of care for anyone in his life, with the exception of Pepper, by the way that he talks to the reporter he slept with at the beginning of the first movie.

And sure, it's attractive in its own way, but we already know that if that was us in her place, we'd be agitated. Running from the trauma inflicted on him from his childhood made him into someone that no one could relate to passed being a sexy face and a one-night stand. He is rude, selfish and detached passed physical attraction. He probably had a lot of nasty habits that we can only see in the comics (of which I have not read but have knowledge) that are not shown in the MCU. I think of him exactly as I do his actor: He went through addiction and only got better because Pepper put her foot down and said "no."

"There has to be a point where you make your own choices and own up to what you did not being your parents' fault." ... Hello? This is Tony Stark: Money makes everything disappear. No, he didn't have to own up to everything because he had enough in his bank accounts to make even King Richard blush. To him, that protected him from everything, and the alcohol wiped away whatever else he didn't want to m remember from "events".

The fact of the matter is this: Tony didn't get beautiful until after he realized who he was meant to be.

This was the turning point when you really get to see what Tony is, when we get into the truth of when his beauty starts to come out. We see him completely stripped of all his money, his life is in imminent danger and he's working with someone who doesn't give a damn who he is, someone who befriended him because he was just another person stuck in the same wet, cold cave in the middle of the desert that he is. This is when Tony began to realize who he really was and exactly who he could be. What he could be and when he lost the doctor to the men who were holding him hostage, he gave himself a new purpose: Take responsibility for what he had created and protect the people from being further hurt by his creations. Tony's problematic past begin tragic and full of personal conflict leading him to be a hero is a classic trope for comic characters, but there's a romantic aspect to it when we see someone bring it to life on the big screen. And the fact that Robert Downey Jr holds a similar past with his own father and addiction, getting his life together and going on to be a hero to many people (without as much of an ego) lends to that beauty.

Passed the pretty features, the dazzling smile and the gorgeous body is a man who has such a deep, rich story from a playboy to a family man who sacrificed himself so that his little girl's world could continue to exist is what makes Tony beautiful. Tony - and Robert himself - is a beautiful person because his heart was too big for the life that he was born into, and it took them both a tragedy to figure out who they really are.

who’s the prettiest mcu character, and why is it Tony

Oh, heck yes. Tony is the prettiest because he's Dramatic, and Not Always On Purpose. Look at this:

God he is ENTIRELY HOT through the whole of Civil War. I'm losing the plot here.

He's even pretty in flannel??

oop one more from Civil War...

What do you think, @purplefeathersandblackleather, anything to add, dear?

[yadntve]

el woo woos

[sheherlestat]

i cannot stop thinking about she/her lestat and i KNOW you know that but hear me out. lestat has been playing the lelio, the pretty male lover, for centuries - and it's pleased her mostly but the 21st century is a HOMECOMING for her. The Vampire Lestat doesn't demand any kind of gender or sexuality. she's a creature unto her own. she wears what she wants and she can sing about sex with men and anything she damn well pleases and people will LOVE HER for it. she has always been "non discriminating" and it's no small thing that "companion" and "lover" are gender neutral terms that she and other vampires have been using for centuries. she, and louis, and all the other queers in this fucking show, have ETERNITY to figure themselves out. what it means to posses a body. what pleasures that body is capable of. all aided by the ever evolving spirit of culture and gender/sex liberation movements and the internet. good god. get lestat a vibrator and a bralette and a twitter account and she's gonna be unstoppable.

[krsnaradhika]

something something about the peace in his eyes. the wisdom in them. the calm of his temples. the stillness of his visage. something about the way he's ever ready to lead. he holds her hand and walks ahead. she follows as she loves to. a bow on his shoulders, and a flute tucked safely in his waistband. the swarthy skin of his glinting beautifully against her pale one. he is more full of life, she is a ghostly shadow of it.

“and what if it doesn't work out? what if i fail? what if i disappoint you and them again? lord, what if this is a dead end?” she implores and shivers in terror, wincing as she tries to hide behind his back. a cold gust of wind goes by and raises the hackles on her. a wickedly restless heart thumps wildly in her chest. he smiles and holds her hand tighter, the gleam of his dark irises multiplying manifolds.

“and what if you just trust me and let them talk? how about you do your best, and let go of everything else? what then, sakhi? you know what karmayoga is, now, don’t you?”

they stop at the frothing ocean lapping at their feet, sand slipping away like an illusive trap. fishes and conch shells line before them, the moonlight dancing on the waves. the nightfall has never been darker, except for the one when he had arrived. the distraction is fascinating but her fingers tighten around him unnecessarily, some part of her knowing that she might be lost.

she heaves a breath and blinks away her tears— no, you must not leave me to myself again. you must not take away this assurance of your touch, lord— “then i find you again?”

his eyes crinkle in crescents— naive sakhi, always forgets the same thing and always comforts herself the same way. cries and cries but never quite drifts away. never too gone to not be saved— “then i find you again. beyond the ties of right and wrong, uncaring of how tainted your soul maybe from your past lives and actions. i find you, and we walk through the shores again— as forever companions.”

“promise?” her drenched eyelashes look up to his looming handsome face and she sniffles, ridiculous to every bit as a few last stray tears of hers are brushed away by a lotus palm.

a soft sort of longing is in his heart too. “oh i haven't been surer of anything else.”

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

Thank you, @harlekin6 You know me so well, sunshine 💕

Let me share with you, paying it forward @darsynia

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄 Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories 🎄

a Stephen Strange Christmas fic

Chapter Two

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

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

word count: 1.9k

Reposting from last year as edits have been made on the way to finally completing this fic.⛄️🩵🎄

moodboard by @strangedreamings 💙🩵💜

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 few 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 14th, 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 17th. 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. These works can be found both on tumblr and on AO3.