tangleweave

[tangleweave]

Peter squinted and tilted his head at the other man. "Really? Did I just get dunked on by another me?" He shook his head. "Wow, kinda bottom of the barrel, here. Or maybe some kinda existential… I mean, I love being me, but I don't always like me, so there's that? So I guess I get where you're coming from?"

But already the other man was turning around and walking away. Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, okay, I guess if I was you, I'd only feel like I could trust myself, too. Stranger in a strange land and all that."

Seeing the seriousness with which his counterpart faced him, though, Peter felt himself straighten a bit, and his expression set into something… cold.

"Uncle Ben was dead on the sidewalk by the time I got to him. All for a lousy bodega's cash drawer. I didn't even see the guy's face, just the tattoo on his arm. Never found him. And I didn't become Spider-Man because of the responsibility line… I just needed a disguise. The guys I was shaking down to find the shooter, they'd've hurt May or… or Gwen."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders almost all the way up to his ears, vanishing nearly the full length of his neck in the process. "Being responsible came later for me, I guess. And I get it, I'm not the kind of beast-mode, multiverse-hacking Peter Parker you're looking for, but… I haven't walked away yet."

He took a cautious step forward. "Look, just... okay, you told me all that and I really don't even know how to start carrying any of it. So gimme a chance to start wherever the beginning is. And for me, it's just to ask... what can I do to help you?"

"Geez, for a Peter Parker, you can certainly be a little prick." Peter huffed in disbelief, running a hand through his hair as he took a step back. The skate park was empty outside of the two of them. There was no risk here but what he felt completely exposed.

"Your Kingpin isn't into science-y stuff but mine was. His wife and son were killed in a car accident and he was trying to find alternate versions of them to bring back to our universe. He wanted his damn family back and he was willing to tear apart the fabric of reality to find them. When I first sneaked into the building, I heard some of the scientists talking about the different universes - the multiverse. They called mine either earth-118 or earth 1610."

It was becoming clear his pleas were falling on deaf ears. He was going to have to do things himself and hope for the best.

"You know what, never mind. Obviously, I fell into the universe with a dud of Peter Parker of all places!" Walking away, Peter paused after a few steps before turning back, the look on his face having to fallen to one more solemn. The thought physically hurt him but he had to ask, it was a last ditch effort to get this Peter to listen to him.

"Is your Uncle Ben still alive? Cause mine died in my arms after he was shot trying to stop a robber. He said with great power comes great responsibility...it's why I became Spider-Man."

[tangleweave]

How much stock does Vision put in first impressions? What is the best way to make a good first impression with him?

[ Random Asks / Always Accepting ]

One would think Vision's processes are constantly re-estimating the people, places, and circumstances surrounding him, since every second of sensory input gives him that much more information to work with and to compare to every previous second's worth of data he's stored. But, in fact, much as with human methods of estimation and data collection, he will identify specific moments and actions in the lifespan of his awareness of a given individual, and give himself a collection of "snapshots" to assess. It allows him to make judgments more quickly and efficiently, rather than devote all of his considerable capacity to the persistent re-measurement of the world around him -- which would be exhausting even for the nigh-omniscient.

A first impression is a lasting one for Vision, precisely because it's the first. It's the snapshot that begins the photo album. It's the beginning. Everything from that moment onward will contribute to the definition of that person, place, or circumstance, but the specific moment of meeting it for the first time is as close to sacred as anything gets with him.

As far as how to make one, Vision has a deep appreciation for open-mindedness, for patience, for polite manners, for curiosity, and for steadfastness, especially as relates to moral standards. A code of conduct is essential to him because he operates on nothing but codes... and he is always fascinated to learn what codes motivate those around him.

[tangleweave]

What would make Stephen immediately abandon a date?

[ Random Asks / Always Accepting ]

Blatant innuendo. This is not to say that Stephen doesn't appreciate a few good lines designed to make the color rise in one's cheeks, but there is such a thing as trying too hard... and then there is such a thing as not trying at all (in this case, to disguise one's intentions). If there's no such thing as witty banter to make the eyes flash? If there's no repartee to show him that there's a mind at work beneath that meticulous coiffure?

Then one has to wonder what on earth she would need a neurosurgeon for.

[tangleweave]

A proviso about inviting Peter Parker to any kind of event was that his attendance was unlikely, or at best, he would be very unfashionably late. Tabby knew this. Everyone knew this. Still, as she caught some fresh air out on the balcony, the lights of Manhattan filling the skyline, Tabby sent him a selfie that was part peace sign and a lot of bare thigh. “Hope you can make it before they bring out the birthday cake. And tell whatever goons are slowing you down, that I wore this skirt just for you and I’ll be mad if you don’t get to enjoy it.”

[ Talk Dirty To Me / Accepting ]

The text message notification came with spectacularly right timing; New York's senior neighborhood wall-crawler had just finished trouncing a dozen rogue Maggia cronies holed up in a warehouse on the docks. Normally he might have considered allowing the mob to take care of their own problem, except that these guys had purchased tech from the Tinkerer to make a move against Tombstone... and that was asking for a bad time to be had. Best to destroy the artillery before anyone had the opportunity to pull any triggers.

Weaponry was said to endow man with half the power of God. In Spider-Man's experience, men rarely came equipped with the wisdom to exercise due discretion with that amount of power. Delivering that solemnity to them with a well-placed series of punches and expertly-timed cracks seemed like the only decent thing to do.

And so when his fist had connected with the last goon's temple and laid him out, he couldn't help the chuckle at the back of his throat when, without missing a beat, a faint alert sounded in his Bluetooth earpiece to let him know a message had just come through.

"Oh, a picture, is it?" he mused aloud, and he scanned the scattered supine thugs for any sign of movement. Beyond sallow breathing, there seemed none in the offing, and his spider-sense was settled at parade rest.

A quick web-yank to propel himself to the rafters, and he settled against a support while pulling his phone out of its pocket on his utility belt to check the image. Behind his mask, his eyes widened a fraction, and a smirk played on his lips.

[text: Tabs] Just a little cleanup on aisle 5. Be there soon.

Another text message was directed to his SHIELD liaison. There was a strange sort of comfort in having a handler assigned to him; it meant he didn't have to worry about bothering Fury or one of his subordinates at a bad time when something important came up. A reply of acknowledgment came swiftly.

He found his way back to the skylight through which he'd plummeted to startle the crew, and made a hasty exit.

It wouldn't be nice to keep his girl waiting.

[tangleweave]

// Saw Venom: The Last Dance. No spoilers. I honestly found most of it quite enjoyable. The visuals are a masterpiece, Eddie is a beautiful disaster, and it tugged my heart strings to hear him call his Other "buddy". But I don't think it would kill Sony to learn a few pacing lessons from Marvel.

[tangleweave]

// Awful rough, isn't it, when you're the last one to realize you actually aren't friends with That Person like you thought you were.

Could be that buddy you had from Back Home, who came to visit but then demonstrated an unforgivable lack of manners.

Could be that elder whom you held in high regard until they uttered things you fundamentally disagree with.

Could be that co-worker who thought it was odd that you don't cultivate friendships at work.

I've got a terrible case of writer's block surrounding a story I've dearly wanted to write for a long time, but I think all these experiences serve as a reminder for one of the themes of that story -- which is that not every relationship survives to a happily ever after. Time and circumstances cause change within us and rifts between us.

Oftentimes we outgrow one another.

But.

We grow. And we find new people. And we explore new relationships. And the right ones will make us giddy all over again, like our brains are Etch-A-Sketches.

Growth is painful. But it's also beautiful.

[tangleweave]

He's definitely heard this one a lot.

[tangleweave]

Maybe it is because they are the only sentient life for miles or more on this paradise planet. Maybe it was because Bill is enjoying this far more than he might let on and something in him is just as playful as she is, likely due to the fact that he hadn't had a lot of time to be young and carefree in the past. Maybe they both have a certain nature that lends itself to being both predator and pray. Whatever the reason, they've spent most of the afternoon chasing and hunting one another. Running until the air in the lungs threatened aching, until their legs gave way beneath them and tumbled them to the ground, and thence proceeding to carry on their mock battles by toppling one another when one got half a chance to rise. She lays on her back with Bill the clear victor. His legs lay on either side of hers and he rises above her like the very vault of heaven, hands braced on either side of her head. Her chest heaves with how much effort she requires to try and catch her breath. Her cheeks are mottled not just with tiny, near invisible freckles but with a healthy flush. Sweat damp locks fan out behind and beside her framing her in red-hinted chocolate waves. She is Ophelia. Juliet. Holly Golightly. And he is Hamlet. Romeo. No, Heathcliff is a much better romantic figure. Her Paul Varjak. One who offers an almost dainty nuzzle at her neck that she might kiss is brow. Sweet turns to warmth which soon enough blazes in every part of her despite the reticence that suffuses his frame. It occurs to her then that maybe Bill has as little experience as she does. Maybe he fears he's misread something between them and is loathe to upset the already thriving enjoyment they share with one another. One of her hands rises to rest on the spot where his heart thunders, that birthplace of all storms. The other rises and rests against his long jaw. Her words are quiet, there is no need to be loud when the rest of her is already practically screaming. "Taste me." It is an offering, not a command. "Fill me." She shifts only to kiss his lip-less mouth. "I need to feel you in me."

[ Talk Dirty to Me / Accepting ]

It is not often acknowledged that Bill is not merely the last son of Korbin… but also the last of its predators.

So many worlds in the Milky Way galaxy seem to possess some sort of long-faced, quadrupedal beast of burden that looks curiously akin to the Terran stallion. Some part of Bill suspects that the more mischievous elements of Asgard might be responsible for it; perhaps some manner of genetic seeding or breeding event across the domains conquered and protected by All-Fathers of yore. The creature which gave inspiration to the geneticists, roboticists, and bio-engineers of Korbin -- a varenach -- had been the most fearsome predator of his former homeworld… to find Earth comparisons, as cunning as a velociraptor, as brutal as a bear, and as lethally efficient as the sharks Beth claims as part of her ancestry.

He has described the varenach to her before. Shown her images and historical tapes of its ferocity. Long-faced and quadrupedal, yes, but no domestic beast of burden… rather, a hulking two-meter creature, both powerful sprinter and keen stalker, all muscle and sinew and no remorse, that all of nature knew to avoid. The sight of the beast in action had only served to put stars in her eyes, and then an ocean of hurt filling the space among those stars to know that the species -- like so many others -- is extinct now, in the wake of Korbin's destruction.

The varenach is not nearly the whole of who and what Bill is. But because the universe has determined that it will never know the varenach in ubiquity, there has always seemed little use in explaining his appearance… or the desire lurking beneath the surface to put the instincts that are unavoidably part of him to their proper use.

He has drawn rivers of blood. Crushed mountains of bone. Carved a swath across the void between galaxies as he defended the Korbinite cryo-fleet and sought a path to a new home for those precious few survivors. He, and he alone among the Korbinites, would know the toils and despairs of the tortured flight… and that is only proper. But what is a warrior who has no battles to fight? What is a predator with no prey to seek?

There has been no one, not on Earth, not on Attilan, not even on Asgard, who has sought to commiserate with him on this point. No one… until Beth.

Beth, who has seen him in moments of peace and moments of war, and every moment in between. Who despises war and yet understands that peace cannot be achieved without speaking truth to power, confronting the oppressor, standing against those who shamelessly gloat above all others. She is the only one in all the universe to ask him…

…to play.

This was an ideal choice of world, and of environment, to engage one another in pursuit. Unsettled and unblemished by any pretense of sentience, never mind civilization, the nameless planet is far from the lanes of interstellar commerce and situated amidst a host of other systems bearing no particularly fruitful elements… permitting Beth and Bill to hunt, to chase, to tussle, to do all and none of the above and any combination thereof…

With Beth pinned beneath him, he cannot recall feeling more like a carefree child than in this moment.

His ocular sensors read the flush of her skin as heat spikes, translated into the brilliant orange of an enrapturing sunset. Or perhaps dawning light is more appropriate, as her lips pull back into a breathless smile for half a moment. The first moments of a sun spilling its gift of light across a horizon thirsty for that warm caress.

It is to that breaking of dawn in her smile, the radiance of her face, that he dips his head. And it is not the instinct of a varenach that draws him to brush the arch of his muzzle against her neck.

He knows fire intimately. How it is both tool and weapon, blessing and curse, boon and liability. But this experience, this warmth, it is new. It bears no threat, and inspires neither fear nor anger. This is not fire -- it is light. Glorious in ways that he can scarcely define, though as Beth's hand traces up the center of his chest, he promises himself that he will one day try, if only so that he can conquer the linguistic obstacle that ought not even be present with his gift of the All-Tongue.

A gift which continues to give, as Beth murmurs the desire of her heart to him, where no other in all the universe can hear.

There is a single beat of silence between them in the wake of her invitation. A beat which, thanks to the capabilities granted him, could be left precisely as long as it actually exists… or stretched into half an eternity. He allows himself a space within that span which will not transform the moment into a needlessly pregnant pause. A mere instant to take her offer into the most earnest consideration… because it is an offer. Even without the blessing of All-Speech, he would be able to perceive her voice bearing that feather aloft upon a fragile branch.

The moment that he takes is not to consider whether his reply should be in the affirmative or the negative. It would be an egregious lie of word, body, and soul for him to declare this is something he does not want. These months they have been together, she has become closer a companion to him than any other, save for Skuttlebutt… and he wonders if she can hear his heart calling for her as clearly as her own body seems to be beckoning his.

No, he needs the moment to wonder to himself whether the creature straddling her now is the one she truly wishes to be with… or whether he should summon Stormbreaker to his hand, and deliver to her the man that needs not be the beast. The scholar without the warrior.

He can still recall, with perfect clarity, one of the first questions Beth had ever asked him. A question offered in wide-eyed, hushed awe. "Are… are you an… angel?" And though he had assured her in the moment that he was not… she has never taken it back. Rather, she has made it into a term of endearment for him. He had at first believed it to merely be a reaction motivated by the endorphins of relief -- he had saved her from a grim fate of isolated suffocation aboard a dead derelict hanging in the unforgiving void, and of course she would look upon him favorably for it. But her adoration has not lessened one iota over the time they've been together. Were it anyone else, it would likely have worn off.

But Beth is not just anyone else. And during that very first meeting, she had called him beautiful -- a compliment she has repeated nearly every day since, whether alone or among company. Without reservation, without hesitation, without shame or even really any forethought.

It has been almost enough for him to start to believe it. Today… it is enough that she does.

One huge hand draws down, drifting the knuckle of his thumb against her cheek, while he brushes his muzzle against her other one. It's the closest he can offer to a kiss without the face he was born with, and though it is not the first he's given her, it carries a new weight to it now. It is a touch of affirmation… of assurance… of love.

Though neither of them has ever uttered the word aloud, there can be no doubt it has been spoken between them in many other ways.

And now, one more.

"Then let us be made complete… with one another."

He draws his face down and brushes the facade of his teeth against the side of her neck, before closing them gently about her exposed clavicle. The skin drawn taut there is graced with the ridged surface of his tongue, drawing in for the first time the flavor of her… cinnamon, flowers, sweetness and salt. His broad torso dips lower to her, a silent offering of his own to take what she pleases -- by tooth, nail, or claw, it does not matter. His skin is notoriously resilient, but he is certain that if she wishes to pierce it, she can.

She has, after all, already pierced every other defense he has.

[tangleweave]

@fasciinating -- If you haven’t seen this yet... I promise you, it’s worth your time.

[tangleweave]

// The cybertruck is a laughably piteous device. Setting aside the embarrassment of design flaws, this hideous shmuckwagon looks like it came straight out of GoldenEye. Did Tesla cancel its NX subscription in favor of rendering the shell on a Nintendo 64? Does the wankpanzer come with big head mode?

[tangleweave]

// When you realize a former mutual has hard-blocked you... and you actually feel more relieved than anything else, because the last time you talked they had asked if you'd be willing to write things not just outside your comfort zone but specifically on your Rules page as something the mun and the muses aren't into.

[tangleweave]

// I was saddened to learn of the passing of the legendary Tony Todd earlier this week. He's been a persistent presence in my consumption of media throughout my life, but I see it as a crowning triumph that he got to portray one of my all-time favorite comic book characters.

Thank you Mr. Todd. Whether as the Candyman, William Bludworth, Kurn, or Venom... your work will always have a special place with me.

[tangleweave]

It wasn't possible for Eddie to know the things Heather refrained from telling him during the daytime hours, of course, and so their thoughts were unavoidably disparate when it came to notions of helping her manage some sort of stress relief. Even Eddie would have to admit that he was fairly basic in considering solutions regarding the management of emotional and psychological health... though that was surely owed to his own circumstances growing up.

Not that it was anything he felt like thinking about in a moment like this. No, in his ascent up out of the abyss of sleep, he had become aware of how his body was moving, what his uands were up to. It had started off as a wickedly erotic dream, which had probably been stoked by the fact that there was a naked woman directly beneath him... and so in the dream he had simply gone with the flow.

But when shaking out the cobwebs of sleep and realizing that he was groping Heather in the realm of reality, there had been two options at hand. One, to apologize and retreat to the chair -- two, to lean into it and give her a choice. It wasn't that he'd intended to molest her helpless body. It had... simply turned out that way. And it was true that he wanted to give her something to enjoy, something to look forward to, something to break the misery of the situation.

Her slow, emphatic nodding was the clearest signal she could possibly send him.

The hand cupping her breast gently kneaded her flesh and alternated between massaging and gently twisting her nipple. He lifted his other to his mouth and drew his first two fingers along his tongue to wet them properly, then sent them back down between her legs to more earnestly seek out her folds. He could feel her twitching as he parted her and caressed the petal softness there. Such an event should be a gentle greeting... and it was with that in mind that he sought out the pearl of nerves just a little higher, just a little deeper...

There. There she was. Shy, helpless, trembling, anxious -- but she was there. And his touch was the sweetest massage of reassurance across that sensitive space... letting her know that he had no intention of abusing her, but would take care of her the best way he knew how.

tangleweave:

Three Hours Later -- Had Eddie been sleeping in the chair, nothing would have happened. But he wasn't sleeping there; instead he was draped across Heather like a man-shaped blanket, and in his sleep, his body had begun shifting about restlessly. It's entirely possible that in the haze of unconsciousness, his hands didn't recognize her for who or what she was. But if one were to reflect on it, one would be hard-pressed to answer for how his hands eventually began to slip across her bare skin at various angles. First her arms, then down her sides and hips... one wound up underneath her, sliding up to cup one of her bare breasts, while the other was drifting ever closer to the divide of her legs. And he most certainly could not have been asleep when the stubble of his chin grazed against the crook of her neck, and he breathed a gentle warm breath into her ear. It couldn't have been coincidence that the soft shudder of that breath came in the same moment that the solid bulge which she'd felt earlier was pressing against her asscheek. Somewhere along the line, he had to know what he was doing... right? His voice sounded quietly against her earlobe. "I don't want you to feel bad all the time... I wanna make you feel good... I'll stop if you shake your head no... but I'll keep going if you nod yes."

She whined softly in confusion as she started feeling someone touching her. Heather was asleep, barely awake as she whined and moaned. The grip on her breast brought a little more attention, making the intention very clear. This wasn't just movement as they slept, this was intentional. The words were very clear even as she drifted along the line between awake and asleep. She nodded slowly, whining into the gag.

Heather was scared and worried that something would happen to her from the moment he found her. But, she wasn't fully awake and that kept her mind a little damped down. She wasn't in panic mode. She was always in panic mode when she was awake. Heather normally needed medication to sleep, but she'd been exhausting herself as she cried or tried to run off. She was also too nervous to tell Eddie what she needed. It would be impossible for him to get for her, so she didn't want to humiliate herself by asking.

Heather just managed the panic and, when it got too bad, she tried to run off. She was a person who constantly felt panic, but she was doing her best to handle those emotions alone until she finally just started crying in his lap.

[tangleweave]

with all the posts that are floating around just a general psa for my partners

i will always do a platonic pair — even family 

i will ALWAYS take your females

i want your muses of color 

i will do aus that are canon (and not) 

aus that don’t involve romance 

i am okay with you losing muse for a thread

i want multiple threads even with the same muse 

tag me in posts 

i am OPEN and honest so just slide in my messages even if you’re just having a bad day

[tangleweave]

Three Hours Later

--

Had Eddie been sleeping in the chair, nothing would have happened. But he wasn't sleeping there; instead he was draped across Heather like a man-shaped blanket, and in his sleep, his body had begun shifting about restlessly.

It's entirely possible that in the haze of unconsciousness, his hands didn't recognize her for who or what she was. But if one were to reflect on it, one would be hard-pressed to answer for how his hands eventually began to slip across her bare skin at various angles. First her arms, then down her sides and hips... one wound up underneath her, sliding up to cup one of her bare breasts, while the other was drifting ever closer to the divide of her legs.

And he most certainly could not have been asleep when the stubble of his chin grazed against the crook of her neck, and he breathed a gentle warm breath into her ear. It couldn't have been coincidence that the soft shudder of that breath came in the same moment that the solid bulge which she'd felt earlier was pressing against her asscheek.

Somewhere along the line, he had to know what he was doing... right?

His voice sounded quietly against her earlobe.

"I don't want you to feel bad all the time... I wanna make you feel good... I'll stop if you shake your head no... but I'll keep going if you nod yes."

Heather was anxious as she felt an unmistakable bulge against her thigh. She was always nervous, but he really hadn't done anything to hurt her and she didn't think there was really a reason to worry. So, she didn't mention that it had happened. It was just an awkward position because she was tied down and spread out on the bed. That was fine. It was honestly her fault in a way.

Heather accepted the tape over her mouth, knowing that struggling against it wouldn't really get her anywhere. She was literally immobilized other than her head and he was trying to help. It was better to just let him gag her and it honestly wasn't even that bad. As much as she kind of hated it, she was starting to adjust to their routine. She was lonely, but she had honestly been lonely before. People didn't really talk to her much before all of this, but it was the socialization in general that she had missed. It wasn't like there was anyone in particular to go back to, just a desire to not feel alone.

Once the tape was over her mouth, Heather nodded to his words and closed her eyes to try getting some sleep.

[tangleweave]

I am so beyond sick of that bloated, rotting, addlepated, vicious orange tumor.

I am not ready to look towards the next step yet. I need a few moments to grieve the idea I had of my country. I'll get my dander back up in due course. But not today. Today I am angry and exhausted and disheartened, and I am nursing my bloody nose.

But Lord knows I've taken my share of bloody noses before. And I will get back up.

[tangleweave]

I hope none of you disappear in the coming days. Seriously don't do anything that can't be undone.