#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)

[speakofcompersion]

TAEMIN - 'Eternal' Track List ♥︎

[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

[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

[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.”

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Stephen Strange...and a special Blue Morpho butterfly

(Excerpt from my fic,'Friday in the Park with Stephen'; takes place pre-Infinity War. Posting it now simply because it makes me happy to do so.)

...Stephen missed Hope's call again late Sunday morning, growing a bit frustrated that they were left to play phone tag, but within the hour he’d had to assume the full mantle of Master of the Mystic Arts and join several others in the Basque countryside of Spain, to beat back an incursion fire-breathing Wormes; he’d ended up staying there two days longer as the Sorcerers searched for and finally sealed their point of entry into Earth’s dimension.  Stephen returned from that foray slightly singed, and in need of a hot shower and a cold beer or two.

He found a large manila envelope waiting on the desk in the study he had commandeered as his own. It was marked in one corner ‘Please Do NOT Bend’, addressed simply ‘Stephen Strange’, and had to have been hand delivered, for there was no stamp or postmark—and in place of a return address was the inked image of a small but vibrantly blue butterfly, leaving him without a doubt whom had left it for him.  Intrigued, Stephen carefully slit beneath the sealed flap and pulled out two pieces of 11 x 14 cardstock that had a piece of sketch paper sandwiched between them.  

He thought that it must be the portrait Hope had done of him, as they sat on the grass in Washington Square Park, and he smiled broadly despite his exhaustion, recalling the pleasant way they had whiled away the day, of their evening stroll to Hope’s place in Brooklyn, of the starlight kisses they had shared—and most especially of how reverently she had held his hand against her cheek, gingerly kissing his scarred flesh, and of the image that had flashed through his mind of her with her hair undone, looking very like she was ripe for his taking.  

Stephen let out a slow breath, and with hands that tremored from his old injury, removed the sketch from its protective cover.

"Whoa,” was all he managed, thunderstruck by a new image which Hope has so faithfully rendered.  The paper itself was similar to that in her sketch pad, but  even to his untrained eye, of higher quality.  She had titled the piece The Nature of Beauty--and had depicted a beauty he had honestly not believed was there. Her Artist’s eye was truly keen, for she had captured his every minutia from memory alone.  

The back of his left hand was displayed as though on its side, with his right hand draped across that wrist.  She had added both his bracelets (fashioned of bead and leather, gifted to him by the elders of an Indi village after he had vanquished a Blight Demon that had laid waste to nearly half their fields) and his watch; he recalled her curiosity at him wearing a broken timepiece, and how she had only nodded in understanding when he replied it held sentimental value beyond any question of time, respecting his privacy enough not to press for more. Hope had thoroughly filled in the details, even down to the cracks on the watch face. His fingers were relaxed, though his right index finger was held just slightly bent—and upon it sat the Blue Morpho, it’s wings and body so meticulously portrayed that Stephen could almost see it flutter slightly.  

She had drawn the piece in blacks and greys, with the subtlest hints of color at the his beaded bracelet and his watchband--though the butterfly held the echo of it’s true color, in sky blue chalk (so like the color of the sky that afternoon) which she had treated with a some kind of fixative to keep it from smudging.  He found the sketch reminiscent of DaVinci’s detailed, realistic style, in his multitude of studies of the human form—the perfection of the human form which he had ever worshipped. Lastly, Hope had placed the date in the lower, righthand corner, and her initials bordered on the sketch itself.

But his favorite detail—one he never would have guessed he would find pleasing—was her depiction of the scars upon his hands. Hope had not stinted in depicting the weals that marked them, but she had given them an unexpected softness that left him with a soft appreciation in the center of his chest.  Stephen decided on the spot that he would have it framed right away, to hang above the small desk in his quarters; it would be a gentle reminder of that old axiom ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder ’—and of an extraordinary soul whom fate had somehow sent in his direction on a sunny, spring afternoon. Hope had taped a note loosely on the reverse of the sketch, which he removed with care. It read:

Dear Stephen,

I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I have enjoyed creating it. This is the original, of course--but I have kept a scan of it for my portfolio. At the least, perhaps it will remind you that beauty is well beyond skin deep, and that others often see what we think of as our flaws in a kinder light than we see ourselves. You may not know this, but in many cultures blue butterflies symbolize joy, beauty, and good fortune--most appropriate when I think how lucky it was that our paths came to cross that day. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of trying my best to capture the unique beauty of your hands...scars and all.

Sincerely,

Hope

PS   I promised patience, and I swear I am a woman of my word.  But please do keep trying, Stephen—as I’m certain that our paths are meant to cross again. xx

Energized by her astonishing gift, Stephen didn’t hesitate.  He grabbed his cell from the shelf where it sat charging, sending a silent request unto the universe ‘please—let her pick up in person this time’.  And perhaps because his prayer was fervent—perhaps too, because he’d earned himself some good karma—Hope picked up on the third ring.  “Stephen,” she exclaimed brightly, “I just knew it would be you this time!”

“I just got back in town, I’m looking at your gorgeous sketch, and I’m thinking we have to get together this afternoon.”  Before something calls me away again. “You game?"

“Absolutely,” she averred, “And what do you have in mind?”  The note of mischief in her voice caused his pulse to speed its pace.

“There’s this great little pub on East 4th Street, The Four-Faced Liar. Some of the best burgers in the city…”

“Got it…”  She sounded as eager as he felt, “Hey, that’s about halfway between our places.”

“Yup.”  Stephen was already planning his route—well, where he could discretely portal to, giving him adequate time to shower and get dressed first, “Let’s say an hour, I’ll meet you there?”

“It’s a date, then?"

“You bet’cha it’s a date,” he promised, “And Hope?”

“Yes, Stephen?”  He could swear he felt her smile across the miles between them.

“Wear some comfy shoes, okay?  There’s no telling what adventures we might get up to today.”

The sigh she gave at that sounded as full of possibilities as his heart was hoping for.  Of course, only time would tell—and as a master of time (in his unique way) he knew that time, in this case, was surely on his side.

Hope & Stephen ~ probably my most popular, most widely read, pairing...

Thank you from the bottom of my ❤️ for creating this @fanartka❣️It's a huge and indescribable thrill to see them together outside of my imagination!!😍💙❤️🦋

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

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

Let me share with you, paying it forward @darsynia

[purplefeathersandblackleather]

“Love is the emblem of eternity; it confounds all notion of time; effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end.” – Madame de Stael

[ohmuqueen]

Can we talk about the contrast between the two rooms in the background? The lighting alone is such a striking image- on the left it’s like a seedy basement, on the right beautiful sunlight streams in.

Even the sides they’re on - left handedness has been associated with the Devil, and being on someone’s right hand has long denoted trust and being of high status. Also the opposite of right is wrong.