tangleweave

[tangleweave]

// Pope Francis, you were a good and faithful servant, and Heaven is sure to welcome you with open arms. Requiescat in pace.

[tangleweave]

For Stephen-

𝓕 : My muse’s handwriting. (Is it good, bad, difficult to decipher, do they prefer writing by hand or with the help of some form of machine, e.t.c.) 

[ Dig Deep / Accepting ]

When growing up, Stephen was urged to excellence in all things, up to and including his handwriting. His parents already had in mind, virtually from infancy, for him to find gainful employment in either medical or legal practice -- because there would never not be a need for doctors or lawyers, nor would there ever not be a significant fee for their services -- and they held him to a standard of precision in both written and spoken word. Stephen recalls that in addition to a specific fawning adoration for cursive, his mother had a few choice words for medical professionals with lousy handwriting. Because of course she would have strong opinions about being able to read what she was presented.

He sought to make his own writing virtually indistinguishable from a typeface he admired. If one were to ask, he would insist he succeeded... and that it was distinctly unfortunate the name of that font happened to be Lobster, which he only learned long after adopting its succinct yet rounded cursive sweeps.

During medical school, he relied more and more on devices that he could type with, but he realized his path to neurosurgery would require truly astounding levels of endurance, and so he did everything he could to bolster his digital stamina... up to and including handwriting exercises. The fast-paced nature of residency forced his style to suffer some degradation, but the important part was that it retained unquestionable legibility. And so it did, until he reached the pinnacle of his medical career.

Then the accident happened.

The damage wrought upon his hands from his horrific car crash had been nearly enough to warrant amputation. As such, it was something of a minor miracle they'd been salvaged at all. Stephen endured months of physical therapy and painful successive procedures to try to regain the control and range of motion he'd once had, but even as he was selling the last of the furniture out of his high-rise apartment, he still struggled mightily against tremors and paresthesia to make the pen put his name to paper.

Nowadays, Stephen prefers to keep to himself any hobbies or pursuits which require fine motor control; his hands seldom experience peace thanks to the nerve damage, which he now knows was in fact exacerbated by some of the procedures he underwent in his desperation. There are some injuries that all the surgeries in the world are simply not meant to repair.

Stephen Strange's life was spared on the day of his car crash... but his cursive was a casualty.

[tangleweave]

For Coulson -

☙ : My muse’s favourite food. (Bonus: A memory, be it good or bad, associated with said food.)

[ Dig Deep / Accepting ]

A sesame seed bun, toasted to perfection, so that when his fingers clutch it, it crackles before it gives way to them. Within the bun, two steaming hot beef patties, each with two slices of American cheese melting atop them. An ice-cold slice of fresh tomato, an equally frigid iceberg lettuce leaf, and then two slices of bacon that just stopped sizzling three seconds ago. An excessive splotch of hot mustard.

Phillip smiled at his dad. For once, it was the elder Coulson male wearing the apron. And the food he was serving looked and smelled positively divine.

"Try not to wolf it all down in one bite," his dad admonished. "Take your time to savor it. The apple pie'll still be here when you're done."

The junior Coulson was only all the more excited by the dessert. Even through its covering, he could tell there was a mountain of apples hiding beneath the pie shell. "And ice cream?"

"Waiting in the freezer. So take your time."

The boy was vibrating with excitement. He'd not quite yet reached the age where he would begin rolling his eyes at his father and declaring everything he did to be uncool... and it would take him quite a long time still to realize the perfect moment that this was.

"Want a drink, son?"

Phillip glanced to the arrayed soda bottles on the end of the picnic table, his gaze brightening more at each one. Could this get any better? But he stopped and blinked at one beverage in particular, already served up in a weird-looking glass. "What's that one?"

His father glanced at the drink in question, and let out a chuckle. "Oh, glad you caught that, that one's mine. Just a mai tai."

The boy tilted his head in curiosity. It sure looked good. "What's it taste like?"

"I hear it's magical."

~ ~

Phil's eyes opened to the dull gray of the ceiling in his quarters.

For just an instant, he could have sworn he saw operating lights.

[tangleweave]

❒ : My muse and gifts. for a certain Mr Peter Parker

[ Dig Deep / Accepting ] (honorable mentions to @inhcritance and @brooklynislandgirl)

Among the paupers, Peter Parker is a prince. Somehow, with barely even two dimes to rub together, he manages to assemble the resources he needs to make a gift that is genuine, sincere, and heartfelt. It may not be worth much in the way of money, but it'll always come from his heart.

In the case of Tabby, he established that tradition with a birthday card he'd handmade for her all the way back in 6th grade. They hadn't even been attending the same school (and they never would) but a chance encounter between the two outcasts at a sports event had led to a fast friendship, handwritten notes, texting when they could finally both afford it... but gift-giving had truly begun with that card.

He could have asked Aunt May or Uncle Ben for a couple dollars to get her a Hallmark, something professionally resplendent -- and they would gladly have given him the money, at that -- but instead he had spent not just one evening, but two (one for design, one for execution) in the pursuit of making her something perfect, something unique... something that deserved the Peter Parker stamp. Because that's how rare and special friendship is to him, and has never once sought to take it for granted.

It has been a tradition he's stuck with ever since those days where life was relatively simple and all he had to worry about was his A.P. class load. Everyone important in his life would receive something lovingly handcrafted -- Gwen, Harry, Tabby, Beth, Ned -- and often he'd have to endure either their apologies about not having anything so unique for him in exchange, or a token protest of how he hadn't needed to go to such effort.

But he did, and he does. Because he's Peter Parker. And that's just the kind of guy he is.

[tangleweave]

Send me a symbol and I will write a headcanon about…  For multimuse blogs, please specify!

𝓕 : My muse’s handwriting. (Is it good, bad, difficult to decipher, do they prefer writing by hand or with the help of some form of machine, e.t.c.) 

✈ : My muse and  traveling. (If they do it frequently and why, if they never left their home town, e.t.c.)

✿ : My muse and nature. (If they are an ‘outdoorsy type’, like the sound of bird’s singing, if they have never set foot in a forest, e.t.c.) 

☼ : My muse’s first memory. (Where it was, who was with them, how this memory makes them feel, e.t.c.) 

☙ : My muse’s favourite food. (Bonus: A memory, be it good or bad, associated with said food.)

♬ : My muse and music. (What type of music they like listening to and in what context, what music they would never listen to, e.t.c.)

↺ : My muse and the past. (Do they live in the past and struggle to let go of past grievances, or move on more easily, is there anything in their past they want to forget, e.t.c.) 

☾ : My muse and sleep. (How much they sleep, how much they wish to sleep, if there is something that never fails to put them to sleep, e.t.c.) 

✧ : My muse and art. (If they have an artistic side or not and why, favourite artist if they have one, e.t.c.) 

❃ : My muse and social media. (If the muse is/would be on social media and why/why not, their general opinion on it, e.t.c.) 

✉  : My muse and others. (If they social and outgoing or more introverted, and why. If they prefer communicating with others face to face or in written form, e.t.c.). 

▶ : My muse and level of education. (If the muse has some form of education, what education they perhaps wish they had, e.t.c.). 

◐ : My muse and animals. (If they like animals and treat them well, do not care for them at all, e.t.c.). 

❒ : My muse and gifts. (If they are good/bad at finding gifts, good/bad at receiving gifts, good/bad at wrapping gifts, e.t.c.) 

☘ : My muse’s relation with their family. (If they speak with each other and how much, if they are close or estranged, e.t.c.). 

[tangleweave]

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒

BOLD what applies to your muse, ITALICIZE if there’s potential / it’s dependent on external factors. CROSS OUT if there’s NO potential under any circumstances

holding hands | buying flowers | cooking | cuddles | writing a poem / song | holding door open | tying shoe laces | sharing a milkshake with two straws | offering their jacket when it's cold | kissing in the rain | publicly confessing love | long walks at the beach | doing the titanic pose on a boat | taking cute pictures in a photobooth | sharing a taxi / uber | kissing the back of their hand | slow dancing | getting tickets of their favourite artist / sports team / other | introducing them to their parents | lighting candles | flower petals on bed | love letters | star gazing | brushing / doing their hair | picnics | teaching them to play an instrument / a sport while gently guiding their hands | compliments | late night drives | taking selfies together | drawing them | self-made gifts | massages | proposing with a family heirloom ring | lending them their favourite book to read | paying for dinner / coffee | mixtapes / playlists | surprise birthday parties | feeding them | handing them keys to their apartment | making space in drawer for their clothes when they stay over | sharing a blanket | couple costumes | tucking a hair strand behind their ear | running after them at the airport / keeping them from leaving | moving cities to be together | blowing a kiss | breakfast in bed | defending them in a fight (verbally / physically) | joint bubble baths | dropping the l - bomb ("i love you") | dedicating a song at the karaoke bar to them | wearing their clothes | yawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movie | grant them the last bite from a meal

Tagged by: @divinityrisen

Tagging: Yarr, all my mateys.

[tangleweave]

Had she stayed in the study to allow her giggles to bloom there, Stephen might have considered telling her just how much he adores the sound. But as he patiently counts down the seconds while Sigyn seeks out her hiding place, he realizes that perhaps it's for the best that the opportunity had fled along with her. He feels like he's still stuck on how to express his feelings to her… for her. The words are there, but they aren't half as elegant as he wants them to be. And no amount of her bratty teasing and pestering him will entice them to come out the way he wishes they would.

Of course, she would make it harder on him by telling him seeking spells are off-limits for the purpose of this game. He can abide by that rule easily enough. She'd not stipulated other forms of magic meantime. He simply needs to take care in which kinds he applies. It would spoil her good mood if he cast anything frightening. His mind is already at work before he’s even begun to tick down the last ten seconds, and by the time he reaches zero, making a point of calling out, “Ready or not, here I come!”, he has several ideas in mind.

It has to be whimsical. It has to be fun. There ought to be a bit of a shock element in it, something to make her cry out in surprise and give away her position, but not in a frightening or off-putting manner.

He winds his arms, hands, and fingers about in midair as he begins stalking his way up the corridor. From the tips of his fingers there sprout little wisp-like tendrils of neon blue light which drag through the air and extend progressively further beyond his reach. The streamers are harmless, but they leave behind a chill touch upon whatever they come into contact with. He's used them before when it's grown too warm inside a space, or even just inside his own clothing. Their effect doesn't discriminate between anything living or not, so Sigyn can't rightly say they're seeking in nature, but they're of astral energy, permitting them to bypass the normal laws of physics and intrude past doors and walls.

He pads slowly through the hall, turning first towards the lounge. As unlikely as it might be that she's there, he steps into this room first and lets the streamers do their work, piercing through furniture and caressing dark corners. The ambient temperature in the room drops a good three degrees by the time he's satisfied that she's not here… but when he steps back into the hall, he notices it feels even cooler here. Perhaps he overdid it.

She couldn't have gone somewhere obvious, since she's in such a playful mood. She plays like she wants to be caught, and to be made to keep her promise… not that that should be terribly difficult, she's the goddess of fidelity, after all. But he knows her excitement lies in getting him riled up enough to be unpredictable. And it would be a lie for him to say that he isn't beginning to look forward to cashing in on the vow she'd made.

Three more rooms inspected and passed, with no sign of the Vanir gremlin… and the sentient items in the armory are exceedingly unhelpful. All that's left to him is to head downstairs and continue the search on the first floor. A thorough search of the central atrium yields nothing and no one, and Stephen finds himself beginning to wonder if there's an issue with his strategy. Perhaps a little pop psychology might go a longer way.

The chill streamers crept ahead of him and past the kitchen doorway moments before he himself entered. Now, this did seem an odd place to find a hiding spot, but if he takes a moment to consider her point of view, it might very well be the perfect place to seek her out. Who would play hide-and-seek in a kitchen? Children, perhaps, but surely not adults. There's hardly anywhere here to hide anyway.

Ignorant and uncaring of his thought process, his chill streamers dip through the various pantries and cabinets, casting light and a cold touch upon everything they find.

"You act like the spell's gonna disappear, I just wanna have a little fun first," She coos, a devilish grin still lighting up her features as she spreads her legs just a little further on his desk. Sigyn knows where this taunting is likely going to get her, and she can't possibly wait-- at least not for too much longer.

Her bottom lip finds its way between her teeth once he stands and invades her space. The goddess shuffles closer to him, leaving very little room between the lovers. Knowing that she is playing with fire only makes the thrill that much more fun.

"Mhm. Give me to the count of thirty, then come after me," She says in a low, husky voice before she lifts herself to gently press a kiss to his cheek. "Oh, and no cheating! Location or tracking spells are off limits!"

Within moments, she is out of the office and sprinting like a madwoman down the hallways of the Sanctum, her giggles echoing off the walls as she tries to think of a place to hide. It is the rare times like this that Sigyn is thankful for her small stature. It allows her to fit into smaller places, in which most cases, no one would think to look.

She has the perfect hiding spot in mind. She knows that there is one cabinet in the kitchen island that's still empty. The likelihood of him thinking to check there is not impossible, but she knows it would not be the first on his list.

Another giggle is extracted from her as she hears the door to his office slam as she's over halfway down the stairs. She has to be quick, or else the chase will be over much too soon.

[tangleweave]

Eddie can't, in this moment, remember whether he's told Sigyn of the truth of how intertwined he and Venom are. Whether he's spoken of how, once fully ensconced in Their bond, Their nervous systems are united, and everything Eddie feels, Venom feels too -- and that the reverse is also true.

What if he said to her, here and now, that he can feel his Other buried inside her? That he can, in this very moment, feel Him fluttering, swaying, and pulsing inside her, stroking against every millimeter of her soft, tight walls, lighting her up brighter than the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center?

But his own thought processes are beginning to split apart, and he can't devote enough processing power to offering such a cerebral conversation just now. Maybe after they're finished, and he's scooping her up to deliver some well-deserved aftercare.

Which won't be for quite some time yet, if They have Their say.

Her plea draws another smile on his face, and now he shifts them both, pitching forward to make her lie down beneath him. For a few moments he enthuses in the feeling of lying atop her, and already he can feel her heels climbing up his hips, a preamble to wrapping around his waist. But before she can lock her heels behind his back, he rises up and sits back on his haunches, his gaze raking the full view of her bare body half-wrapped in obsidian tendrils erupting from him.

"Don't worry," he murmurs. "Not stoppin'… just changin' the pace a little."

On cue, his Other swells and flutters inside her again, and two smaller pseudopods form from the length that's already buried in her, finding their way to that space his fingers have just vacated so that the massage of her pearl can continue unabated. It allows Eddie himself the freedom to rise up and off the bed, to circle around to its foot, while the tentacles surrounding Sigyn's limbs tug on and reposition her to line her shoulders up with the edge of the mattress. Eddie catches a full grip of her hair in one hand, holding her head up and level, while the other caresses the front of her neck. Teasing her with the sensation she'd sought at the beginning of this exploration.

But perhaps most pointedly, he's positioned so there can be no mistaking what the next step is… and his length, still throbbing from her ministrations -- and which she's managed to keep hold of -- is now right in front of her.

He swallows thickly, and lets out a lower, more guttural murmur.

"I'm all yours."

Sigyn’s face flushes even more as she feels another wave of her slick gush out around Eddie’s fingers. She can only imagine how absolutely pathetic she looks, how needy and desperate. But Eddie’s seems to enjoy it, from what she can tell anyway. It definitely feels like he does.

Her body only continues to tremble at his words and an almost sobbing sound comes out of her as she grinds down against his fingers.

While Sigyn can’t entirely see clearly enough what’s happening between them, she can feel the essence of Venom moving around her thigh. She wonders what exactly they have cooked up inside their mind for her. Whatever it is she more than willing and grows increasingly excited.

Then Eddies teeth are her neck and her head is thrown back in pleasure, eyes rolling into the back her head. The nails on her fingers that have now moved to take hold of his shoulder pierce his skin from her tight hold. The hand she has around his length also tightens in grip around the head, but she’s still careful not to be too firm, although her strokes are losing proper rhythm.

“Oh, fuck!!” She whines before Eddie’s lips are on her’s again. She couldn’t see, so Venom’s entrance had taken her by surprise. The pulsating was new too and she couldn’t stop herself from rocking her hips, already close and desperate for more.

“Mhmm, I’m not gonna last, much longer..” Sigyn hums, already feeling the knot beginning to tighten in her, moments away from snapping.

“Please, don’t stop.”

[tangleweave]

“I miss you Eddie…”

Eddie's lips pursed at the wistful sound of Wanda's voice over the phone. If there was more he could tell her about where he was, he'd be doing it -- but the assignment he'd accepted meant that his location would have to remain under wraps until he was done with his fact-finding. The most dangerous places on Earth were places that had a habit of staying beneath the radar of the Avengers… and they deserved to have a light shone upon them.

But all things in their time. Hence the work Eddie was doing.

"Miss you too, babe." His grip on his cell phone tightened ever so slightly. "Hoping I'll be back home soon. How's everyone doing? News got all lit up about some sort'uh magic something in Salem. Normally I wouldn't'uh noticed, but… y'know, you bein' you an' everything…"

[tangleweave]

are you… jealous? (For Stephen!)

[ Who We Want / Accepting ]

"Hm?"

It's the first noise that escapes Stephen, and though it's meant to project momentary thoughtlessness, it's in fact a calculated measure. There should be no reason at all for Stephen to feel jealousy of... well, really, anyone at all. In the here and now, he's a demigod sorcerer. In the career he'd had prior to that, he'd been a world-class neurosurgeon. He's capable, he's driven, and his achievements are far beyond what most might ever dream of.

So where could he possibly find room for envy?

Of all places... in the two oddball aliens conducting a video game tournament right smack in the middle of New Asgard's favorite tavern.

He's heard of Korg and Miek before, though until this visit, he's not actually met them. At first glance, few would ever have cause to doubt their prowess in battle. Korg is a Kronan, a species whose biology defies any earthly understanding or description. Asgardians, perhaps wisely, are content to call his kind "stone giants", and indeed they are precisely that. Meanwhile, Miek is an insectoid creature whose species was never given a proper name, clad in an exoskeleton initially designed to give her an edge in the gladiatorial arena, but nowadays is employed to make her seem a little more… human. There is no avoiding the reality in her case -- on Earth, it doesn't matter how enlightened the human populace tries to be, a human shape means greater relatability and less vulnerability to persecution.

They'd become friends and allies on the scavenger planet of Sakaar. Different stories abound about their attempts at causing an uprising there; some said it was the Hulk who had inspired it, others prefer to claim it was Thor. Many who'd come from the Statesman had been refugees from that planet and to this day still can't come to an agreement on who was truly in charge there, whether it was the Grandmaster -- as Thor insisted -- or some nameless red-faced king.

What they could agree on was that anywhere was better than Sakaar… or an unarmed vessel blown halfway to Hell by the forces of Thanos.

That time is far away from most of their minds, now, as challengers line up to confront Korg and Miek on a series of movie-theater sized screens in the main courtyard of New Asgard. This place has become their new home, and of all places on Earth to be suddenly overwhelmed by the return of those who were Snapped into oblivion, New Asgard was the most welcoming and accommodating, in Stephen's estimation. Perhaps because the occupants therein -- Asgardian or otherwise -- understood what it was to lose an entire home, and how important it is to hold on to whatever's left with every last erg of energy that still remains.

But what had happened in the days and weeks following Stephen's return from annihilation? Had he been greeted with warmth and open arms by his colleagues and compatriots?

Had he truly seen any friends among the Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj?

A corner of his mouth quirks upward at Sigyn, and the answer he provides services both the question she's spoken aloud, and the ones he asks himself in silence.

"No. Of course not."

[tangleweave]

“Stephen….give me your hands.”

It was one of those nights. A bout of insomnia inspired by the paresthesia in his hands, which could manifest as burning, numbness, tingles, or all at the same time, which both confused and annoyed the hell out of him on those occasions it happened... and they weren't exactly infrequent. He'd been drifting the fingertips of one hand along the scars of the other, trying to soothe the screaming nerve pain by distracting his focus.

A few too many people out in the world thought that magic should surely be able to heal the damage to his hands, and therefore wondered why he didn't simply rig a spell to do exactly that. (Physician, heal thyself?) But magic was never so simple, especially not when exercising upon oneself. There were always prices to be paid, and things rarely worked out precisely as intended. Besides... he'd brought it on himself.

Wanda's appearance in the lounge of the Sanctum wasn't so much a surprise, but her invitation gave him a moment's pause. Deciding to see where it would go, he approached her and held out both of his hands to her.

"It's a rough one tonight," he supplied.

[tangleweave]

Two Weeks Later

A steady diet of chocolate and protein, supplemented by ample opportunities for exercise and weight-lifting, were all key in the plan to bring Eddie and his Other back up to Their best. They'd taken care not to reveal it explicitly to the agent, but the first time They'd adopted Their hybrid appearance as Venom (Their "public" face) after she'd absconded with Them had been… less than ideal. Eddie's musculature had clearly atrophied, and a significant portion of the Klyntar's bio-mass had been shed during Their incarceration as well.

Having spent months lacking the kind of nutrition suited to a world-class bodybuilder and an insatiable chocolate fiend meant that They'd been upset and disgusted by what They'd seen in the mirror. The Klyntar had done His level best to provide a base of skin-tightness and to enhance the muscles upon Eddie's frame, but any comparison that could have been drawn to Their previous level of fitness would prove that now They looked… narrow. Wiry. Almost spindly. Any manifesting of tentacles, teeth, and tongue the extraterrestrial had displayed in Their introduction to Jayden had been pretty much all for show, a demonstration of fearlessness which They did not actually feel… not that They would ever admit it.

Bravado was a weapon in Their arsenal, to be certain. On the mean streets of Brooklyn, in the under-city of San Francisco, and all the places in-between where They'd had to engage in Their lethal brand of vigilantism, They had radiated dominant confidence… even -- and perhaps especially -- against foes capable of doing Them great harm. In captivity, Their motto had been "Bring it on." Oftentimes it was genuine, because as a former college linebacker who'd never dropped his workout routine, Eddie had already been a formidable wall of a man long before bonding with his Other, and as Venom, They were virtually unstoppable by any conventional means. For the times it was an act, it certainly was a convincing one; They couldn't count on all of Eddie's digits how many villains, thugs, goons, and other would-be attackers They had made cower and wet themselves, despite having the means to hurt Them badly.

But in the here and now, They couldn't disguise Their ravenous hunger every time a meal was put in front of Them. And the state-of-the-art gravity-modulated dumbbells and ankle weights that she'd somehow managed to procure for Them were a sure revival for Eddie's resolve. There was a reason the world knew Venom as a mountainous mass of muscle -- it was based entirely upon Eddie's own idealized body image, taken to its zenith by his alien companion. With each meal, They were invigorated. With each weight-lifting session, They were empowered… and more than once, needed a terse reminder from Jayden not just to take it easy on Themselves, but also to moderate the settings on the electronic weights, lest They fall through the floor.

Jayden provided Them trickles of information regarding the other teammates she had in mind for this little venture. Not every hint resonated with Them, but a wry crack about how one of them was even more slippery than Venom, and as course and irritating as his namesake, caused Eddie to toss his head and roll his eyes nearly to the back of his head in sheer exasperation.

"Oh, come on!" he groused. "Flint Marko? Really? That guy's got more baggage than We do, an' can't take three steps anywhere without buryin' an entire city block in sand! What're you even doin', picking the one S6 alum that's less subtle than Us? Also, anybody ever mention We don't get along?"

A black tentacle carrying Venom's face on its end manifested from Eddie's shoulder, and the Klyntar's razor teeth chattered around His slavering tongue. "He does not even taste good!"

---

( For reference )

Jayden did an admirable job of standing her ground when the Pair started implying that she had an illusion of choice. It would have been funny to her later. The doghouse comment was more accurate than They knew at the moment. Though that was one of the reasons she chose to start with Eddie and Venom. That knack of sensing truths people loved to hide behind boisterous lies and fronts meant little to Them. 

“I was the one that argued for this job. I brought the idea forward and got told that I was out of my mind.” She pushed off the door, another bar of chocolate coming from her pocket to be balanced on the curve of their forearm. “What would I possibly do with a bunch of would be villains or heroes that are a bit too heavy handed?” 

She stepped back from the doorway and back out into the hall. Shrugging out of her trench coat to cool her skin just a bit. 

“Well, let's just say that the reasons are selfish and centered on wanting to prove that rules, red tape, and media are only flattering to those that can be made into false idols while the rest of us get stuck with the clean up of their messes.” Hooking the collar over two fingers she draped the coat along her back and held it with her occupied hand resting on her shoulder. “I don’t like pretty much anyone’s rules. In fact I take great pride in breaking them as often as I can.” 

The thick file sitting on a desk or in a cabinet somewhere in the vast records was ample proof of that. Yet, despite their reluctance to say it she got more results when left unattended. 

“Clint has a chance of finding me. But he knows me better than most. With a small handful of others, there are three other people that can track my ass. Which is why the big bosses caved and let me do things my way.” She put her metal walls back up. She had to in order to resolve the first part of this entire operation. The first steps were always the hardest. “At least now they can say that the can keep an eye on what I am doing instead of being haunted by a ghost in their own house.” 

She felt her phone vibrate once. Meaning that the items she had ordered before the trio left the prison arrived. Something that would give her a chance to break free and get a few floors of space to restack the deck she was working with. 

“The party is going to have to wait until I get my HQ in order. Then find others that I think would be willing to take the same chance that I have given you two.” She turned and headed for the next suite over to her right.Opening the door though she didn't need to, it was more for Their sake. “Get cleaned up. I’ll have food and clothes for you when you are out.”

[tangleweave]

hey, I was just at "things got better" island and everyone there is talking about how excited they are to meet you

[tangleweave]

Stephen's head tilted to one side. It was one thing for her to say she was a demonologist -- self-proclaimed occultists were a dime a dozen in New York, and a vast majority of them were laughably incompetent hacks getting off on convincing themselves of the efficacy of crystals and pyramid power. But her mention of having worked with the Ancient One was quite another thing altogether, and the name-drop invited him to let go of the prior preconception.

"Lylia." He rolled the name around his tongue for a moment. "Not a name I'm familiar with, but the Ancient One's had any number of associates over the centuries whom I've yet to meet. So, a pleasure to meet you."

He wanted to be careful about revealing the Ancient One's fate. Treachery was always a subject of sorrow and fury, and speaking of it to a stranger -- even a well-meaning one -- had the potential to beckon enemies to the gates. It wasn't the first time he'd decided to be circumspect in addressing the Ancient One's death. Let people think that the role had been peacefully abdicated, rather than thrust upon Stephen following his mentor's murder.

He glanced about the room once more as she sought his permission. There wasn't anything within a human's visual spectrum which indicated immediate danger, but looks could be deceiving, and a simple spell of revealing magical influence would reduce his apprehension. He lifted both hands, crossing his wrists just under his chin, and curled his twitching fingers into the 'devil horns' formation, supplicating the Vishanti for a wisp of wisdom. The request was answered with a faint haze of golden energy that washed across the room, highlighting the spell runes drawn on the ceiling, as well as what appeared to be a residual -- and bizarre -- blast pattern in the air beneath it. But there wasn't just the tang of vile energy here; the cloud appeared to have been swiped through with vicious claws, as well. Those could easily be attributed to the cause of the men's deaths.

The golden energy clung around Stephen, as well… though he found it fascinating that it seemed not to settle at all on Lylia. He arched an eyebrow at her. "A bona-fide demonologist with no magical artifacts? You either live dangerously or in a cloister."

He was the Sorcerer Supreme? The surprise she displayed was genuine. What could have happened to the Ancient One? Perhaps, if Lilith were lucky, this gentleman would divulge how his predecessor relinquished the position. Perhaps the Ancient One had finally ceased to be. Of course, they could yet still draw breath, but Lilith suspected not. It was a dangerous existence, manipulating the darker energies. Something always went wrong.

      “My name is Lylia,” she lied, “I’m a demonologist, I worked with the Ancient One.”

      She looked back at the carnage, but inevitably her gaze was drawn to the incomplete glyph.

      “Admittedly, it’s been a while since I investigated anything so… gruesome,” she said.  

      The best tales often spun fact and fiction. Her agreement with the Ancient One forced her compliance, not that the work hadn’t been entertaining. The creatures these sorcerers often fretted about; they were hardly worthy of being considered evil. Scenes such as the one she and Strange now stood in were nearly unheard of.

      “May I?” She gestured to the room, seeking permission to investigate closer.

[tangleweave]

"Not a scratch," Coulson replied, his tone somehow both sincere and cavalier, given the circumstances. "And for my own part, I'd really like if it stays that way."

He knelt down beside the downed would-be attacker and took up his fallen rifle. Within moments, it was entirely defanged -- magazine ejected, bullet out of the chamber, and then quickly and efficiently deconstructed to pieces. He didn't even spare a glance at the shop owner as he searched the gunman for other weaponry. Sig Sauer P365, also easily disarmed and stripped to parts, and a hunting knife, plus a bundle of zip-ties strapped to his belt… handy, indeed, since it meant that he wouldn't need to use any restraints of his own.

In a handful of moments, he had the gunman hogtied on the floor. "This guy's either exactly as sloppy as he looks or some kind of unmitigated genius, bringing all the implements we'd need to make sure anyone else this stupid thinks twice."

The injured agent, meantime, offered a faint smile to Corinne as he shifted his hands aside to allow her a better look at the wounds he'd sustained. "So, uh… come here often?" he asked lamely.

"You'll have to forgive Agent Jacobs," Coulson cut in, not unkindly but with a warning glance at his subordinate. "He's a bit lacking in social grace even when all of his blood is where it ought to be."

Jacobs might have flushed if his face had the blood to spare. "Oh… sorry. Come here often, ma'am?"

That, at least, drew a wry smile on the senior agent's face. "Not quite what I meant, Rick." Now was the time for him to glance at Corinne. "But according to his most recent physical, his heart's in the right place."

There was a swell of yelling outside the door, prompting both agents to draw service weapons from within their jackets -- handguns with neon-blue illumination panels on the back of the slides.

"Begging your pardon, and this is a horrible time for it, but I'm Special Agent Coulson, and the man who's leaking all over you is Special Agent Jacobs. We're from SHIELD, and this is no way to introduce ourselves, but assuming we all get out of this in one piece, I'm happy to throw some business your way. It might not be like that shawarma place the Avengers plugged, but…"

He might have had more to say were it not for the pair of armed men approaching the door and looking into the establishment to see one of their number already trussed up on the floor. But the sight of two armed agents staring down the barrels of their guns right back at them did, indeed, appear to make those men hesitate for a long second.

"I sure hope we're not driving away your usual clientele," Coulson supplied.

News of the protest came in increasingly larger increments steadily throughout the day. Corinne and her two assistants had noticed among the usual morning rush, a slew of customers with signs tucked under one arm while they placed orders.

In the morning as the doors opened and closed, it trickled inside through the sounds of raised voices, some amplified with bullhorns, and a din of various noises usually arising from crowds gathered in protest.

Most of it they took in stride attributed to the cost of doing business in the city. Increased foot traffic was a double edged sword though, dependent on the mood of the crowd and reason for gathering.

Caught between snatches of conversation, Corinne could roughly pinpoint the shift from righteous expression of opposing views to that of more contentious confrontation. If pressed later on, she might have been able to recall those few beats of stillness before chaos erupted into violence.

Not much time had elapsed between evacuating the few customers remaining and the intrusion of the disturbance itself bursting into her cafe.

She had turned to Joe. “Go in my office and get the first aid kit from the bottom drawer on the right side of my desk.” Corinne pulled keys from the pocket of her waist apron, handing them over to her assistant as she spoke. He met her eyes and gave her short nod of understanding. The first aid kit for normal emergencies was located in the cafe kitchen, not under lock and key.

Later memories would compress those beats of time even further, in the chaos of the moment it seemed as though she’d barely given Joe instructions when she saw the man who’d brought the injured man to her cafe quickly and efficiently quell the immediate danger. The dry comment after he finished drew a smile from Corinne. It was reminiscent of the gallows humor she and her former colleagues used liberally to get through shifts at the hospital.

She quickly surveyed the room, noting how he’d secured the shop for the moment.

Corinne turned her attention to the stranger and moved out from behind the counter stepping towards him. “Thank you, for that.” She said, waving a hand at the now disarmed man unconscious at his feet. “We can discuss your impressive skills with improvised weapons later, I’m going to see to your friend first.” She added, then tipping her head in the direction of the injured man he’d brought in for aid. She tried to do a quick assessment of the man standing in front of her before taking a step. She had a feeling he looked vaguely familiar though she couldn’t place him. More immediate was the need to triage the injured.

“Before I do anything though, I need to ask whether you are hurt?” The fact that he was standing didn’t necessarily mean he was uninjured or wouldn’t collapse the minute all that adrenaline coursing through his body stopped holding him upright.

[tangleweave]

@smolcuriouskitten

Eddie had been wrestling over the last few days with the persistent increase in Rocky's withdrawal from her own personal life. There was no mention of her birthday that wasn't met with a false smile, a casual dismissal of the event, and a quick pivot to other matters. The more she blew off the fact that her birthday was approaching, the more he wanted to try to make it special. But it was his Other who stayed his hand and quashed any notion of big plans.

She does not wish to celebrate the day because there is something sad and angering attached to it. Something which cannot be extricated. If she wishes to ignore it, the deepest respect We can offer her is to heed that wish and treat it as any other day of her life.

But it isn't just any other day. If there's something awful that's been made part of it, can't We do something to change that?

Yes, We can. By being exactly who We are. No more and no less.

Upon arrival of the day, Rocky had awoken early. Left early with barely a word spoken. And then had only come home after dark, looking worn out in every sense… such that Eddie might not have said a word had she chosen to go straight to bed. And it's clear, perhaps now more than ever, that had there been any kind of birthday acknowledgment at all -- a single piece of confetti, a balloon, a slice of cake with a single lit candle speared through it -- she would have done precisely that. But instead?

Instead, he's on the couch, playing Xbox, with one of her favorite blankets already draped over the seat beside him, and one of her favorite hoodies to steal from him waiting there atop it. The one she loves to bury herself inside and hide from the world.

He offers her a smile he hopes she will see is genuine. "Welcome home, babe. We're awake for a while yet, your spot's nice an' warm if you wanna come take a load off."

That's all. No surprise party. No special arrangements. No friends, no dinner, no cake, no ostentatiously wrapped gifts. Just Eddie and a comfy seat beside him.

[tangleweave]

@smolcuriouskitten