A/N: Okay so its been a lonnnnng while since I last updated and as much as I'm sure you'd all love to sip tea with me next to the fireplace and listen to me gripe about why I've taken so long...uh, tada! Spooky update with lots more spooky horror tropes!

A warm thank you to Samantha-Shakespeare and Soprano Shadow for taking the time to beta!

Princess Aziza: Thor will have a chapter interlude all to himself alongside Hela and Lady Death. Frigga might be starring in future chapters possibly sticking her nose in Darcy&Loki's relationship.

jenefaner: the naughty book of smexy images is most definitely making a comeback in the next dream sequence.

Summary: Right as our favorite taser wielding heroine does her research on Strange's medieval ancestor, Loki's ghostly shenanigans finally make their way to the forefront, with less than savory results.

The Covenant

Chapter V

"What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?"

― George Eliot, Middlemarch

Sitting on top of the living room's itchy throw rug, the squatter's book in one hand and a pencil in the other, Darcy Lewis gazed up at the foreboding portrait of the house's ominous first owner, her eyes scrolling down to the inscription written underneath.

Sir Stephen Strange: Royal Court Physician to Queen Elizabeth the I.

More like court magician, Darcy thought with a slight frown.

Having just skimmed through the ramblings of a madman, the intern had discovered quite a few interesting tidbits on Sir Stephen Strange- information his descendant Carl Strange had carefully chosen not to tell them. Like how the head physician of the Virgin Queen had been sentenced to a beheading. Accused of harbouring religious conspirators from the Crown, accused by royal advisors of dabbling in the 'dark arts' with the aid of a swirling golden eye. The very same one he wore in his dreary self-portrait. It even had a name: the Eye of Agamotto. This house's unwanted guest had written all about it in his jumbled notes as having some kind of "otherworldly" power. Mr. Squatter here had even been trying to obtain it for a cult called The Harvester of Eyes.

Yeesh, the intern thought with a roll of her own eyes, what's with all the looney-tuney eyeball imagery?

Darcy grimaced as she recalled the unsettling red-eyed smeared on the wallpaper upstairs.

This really can't just be a coincidence though, she thought, these things are an obvious link to something bigger. Like, what if Jane's new science friend has been partaking in this cult's kool-aid?

Darcy felt a shiver rise up her spine, what if he's their ringleader?

Now flipping to the end of the notebook Darcy found a few blank pages left, and jotting down some of her own notes, she tried to piece together the amount of strange she'd learned thus far. Because the story of Sir Stephen 'The Sorcerer' hadn't just ended with a quick "off with your head" by the Queen. Nope, according to this scatter-brained cultist it had ended right here in this very house. Having mysteriously escaped his royal confinement, the Queen's doctor had fled back to Sanctum manor, or more precisely, back to the monastery buried underneath this manor. That's where he'd been greeted by the religious fanatics he'd been accused of harbouring, the monastery's former monks he'd placed in charge of guarding a crystallized fossil, some kind of a petrified tree sap. Throughout the ages the monastery had been protecting it from a sinister Dark God called-

"Dorh'maa muu?" Darcy's brow creased as her tongue stumbled along the odd pronunciation.

Well, the name sounded made up anyways, as did the majority of this story. Believability wasn't exactly this cultist's strong suite and, for the most part, it was hard to make sense of so much nonsense, especially this tale's grisly end.

While Strange had been doing time in a royal tower somewhere, his black robed friends had grown overly possessed with laying claim to his glorified artifact. Believing it to possess the ability of actual reanimation they'd been plotting to locate and steal it, until that is, their master had safely returned to them with his head still intact. Not deterred by this new setback the monks had resorted to anointing Strange's reunion supper with odorless poisons, leading the dazed sorcerer into the deepest alcoves of their underground monastery, leaving the guy betrayed and chained to the vault of the relic they had all sworn to protect. But the monks never did get away with it, or make it past the manor's front door for that matter, because with his last dying breath Sir Stephen Strange had used up all of his "sorcery" to place a potent curse on the rogue monks, condemning them for all eternity to never leave this place, cursed to make good on their sacred vows: to protect this house for... well. Forever.

Like zoinks!

Darcy nervously laughed, quickly setting the squatter's book down, I think that's enough cray for today, she resolutely thought, I'm only psyching myself out if I believe in any of this crap.

But then…

Even though the so called "not an uncle" of Carl Strange's wasn't a very reliable source, much less a very believable source, it would definitely explain the amount of weird that had been going on ever since they had arrived here. Darcy shivered. If one thing was for certain, this place sure as hell felt haunted. Even their host had been antsy while inside his family's manor, especially while standing in this spot in particular. Definitely spine-tingle worthy. It may have been a muggy British summer outside, but in here it was like sitting in a polar icecap. The intern pursed her lips in displeasure at the sensation, at the gnawing feeling that she was not alone, the same one she'd been dead set on ignoring.

It was then, at that ill-conceived moment, an unwelcome thought suddenly occurred to Darcy Lewis, one that left the intern in a cold sweat. Because if mythological people like Thor just so happened to exist, and magic just so happened to exist, and both defied all known human logic, then there really was no limit to what other 'outer limits' were out there, much less in here. What was stopping this cult enthusiast's twisted tale of a demonic God and ghoulish monks from being any less true, any less real than, say, Thor's twisted brother Loki?

Color returned to Darcy's cheeks at the thought of him and the leading role he had played in her R-rated bedtime fantasy, but the blush quickly subsided from her cheeks when she felt a pair of eyes on her.

Again.

Taking a deep breath, the intern looked up to catch the cold gaze of Sir Stephen's portrait glowering down at her. Darcy couldn't help but wince at the sobering realism in his stoic stare, her brow narrowing as she glared right back. She found that if she stared long enough into Strange's pasty features, his impressionable sneer wasn't so much a sneer, but a look of a man deeply invested in his own sorrow, his aloofness almost lonesome. It reminded her a lot of another forlorn figure she'd seen, one that'd been wandering around outside, one with an inky mess of black hair and pale skin, a man who had been practically transparent.

What if… Darcy wondered as her skepticism of the supernatural began to wane, what if they just so happened to be the same person? What if I had actually crossed paths with this man's ghost?

Darcy shivered as she felt the hairs on her neck begin to rise.

What if it's his very presence I'm feeling right now?

Turn the page already, damn you!

Patience, it had always been a virtue Loki had prided himself on, but now as the God hovered over the small frame of Jane Foster's help, patient he was anything but.

Whilst in the attic the girl had cleverly pocketed away an item he would not have minded being in possession of, if of course, he could only possess her to be in possession of it. The incorporeal God gritted his teeth as he watched the way Miss Lewis skimmed through her new discovery only to then sluggishly inspect each sentence of each word, on each page, as though examining the details on fine embroidery. There was no doubt in his mind that she had already read this particular page, if not twice. And with each snail-like flip of paper, each absurd remark and loud breathy gasp Loki's own curiosity intensified along with hers. He too wished to know why this Strange fellow kept secrets from even his dull-witted companions. It was in his experience that men like the Sorcerer, only moved valuable trinkets, like the ones in the attic, if they believed themselves under attack. And there was no doubt in his mind the mortal man was under attack, the ritual markings of blood magic he had attempted to cover up were an obvious indicator, if not a poorly executed one. Which now begged the question: who exactly it was this sorcerer thought he was under attack from?

"Dorh'maa muu?" The mortal piped in as if to answer his question and, taken aback by her outburst, Loki gave what she said some thought.

He'd heard that name uttered before….

When the Sorcerer had used the astral plane to accuse me of spying!

At once Loki reverted back to peeping over Darcy's shoulder like an eager schoolboy, now combing through the details on a pocket dimension and a demonic ruler unfamiliar to him, and there had been many outer realms he was familiar with. He would have liked to think that he'd heard of this Dormammu fellow before, especially if this Demon God had been making contact with the mortal coil in pursuit of the Sorcerer. Loki grinned. Their sour history might even mean he'd found himself the perfect ally, and an ally was sorely needed in a situation like his. But, as Darcy Lewis flipped to the next page, all such thoughts of contact with the lesser God evaporated from Loki's mind.

Ripped and pasted from the library's dusty chronicles was the illuminated sketch of a tree root, one he would have recognized anywhere, a golden root of Yggdrasil. Four cloaked figures held up a chalice to it, bleeding the root dry of its magic, of its green glowing elixir. It was surprising to say the least, incomprehensible even, that these barbaric creatures had come across the world tree's lifeblood and turned it crystalline, but at this point Loki couldn't care less about the how. Since time immemorial the power within Yggdrasil's lifeblood conducted the eternal flow of souls to the realms of living and dead, reaping the old and rejuvenating the new. It was what had sustained his own soul when Hela had submerged him under the river Gjöll, under Gjallarbrú, the golden bridge that would lead him back to Asgard….

That there existed a relic within this putrid hellhole that could possibly breathe life and grant him back his. It was as if time itself had stood still for the disembodied God.

Was this how the Demon God sought to travel from this dimension and into the mortal coil? Loki wondered, his excitement now palpable. Did he plan to tear down the veil between worlds using the blood of Yggdrasil itself?

Now that had the potential to be a rather sound plan, the smirking God thought, unless of course I beat him to it.

The mere notion of accomplishing such a feat made Loki's head reel, made him heavy with relief, as though at any minute his ghostly self would sink straight through the floor with it. It was a pure hysteria, one caused, in most part, by his being in such close proximity to the human. Like an incubus he had been absorbing the residue of her mortal energy, her mortal emotions and, in his incorporeal giddiness, Loki wasn't sure if he wanted to pick up the young woman next to him and shake her or kiss her hands in gratitude.

"Oh, I don't think you realize just how truly happy you've made me, Miss Lewis," Loki crooned combing through the split ends of the oblivious woman's hair, grinning at how the growing static caused her frantic shivers, "or realize the many, many ways that you will aid me."

Loki's self-assured smile was short-lived, however, when Darcy flipped to a blank page at the back of her book; resolutely remaining there.

"No, no, go back, go back," he snapped, "turn back!"

But, of course, no matter how much conviction his voice shook with, Darcy Lewis never acknowledged a word of what he said. Her ignorance of his existence a glaring reminder of just how invisible he still remained, and it was nerve wrecking. Having to wait and bide his time, wait in long-suffering patience, in feverish hope for a mortal woman to jump back to a page in a bloody book that, quite possibly, held the very key to his existence. It was driving him mad, had him debating whether or not he should just throw caution to the wind and flip to the bloody page himself, consequences be damned. The woman's tardiness had him on edge, had him watching her every move, his eyes tearing her apart with a sort of weary enthrallment, one borne from a bored mind. It had him practically committing to memory all the ways the girl would fidget on the rug with her incessant scribbling, would sulk and suck her cheeks in, impishly biting her lower lip in concentration. Loki watched with gnashing teeth as her own teeth left behind small reddened marks on her already wine stained lips. It left him to absently wonder if they tasted the same way as their coloring suggested.

Loki grimaced.

It was only a morbid curiosity. The God assured himself, a passing fancy, nothing more.

Exasperated Loki took instead to examining anything other than the mortal's foolish ticks, his eyes scanning the painting she seemed to place so much importance on, and for some time he honed all his contempt towards it.

"I've faced worse than you and your little heir," he finally sneered at the dusty portrait, "much worse than your precious-"

"Sorcerer Supreme?" A male voice boomed loudly from behind them, "Sounds like something they serve you over at Taco Bell."

Loki turned towards the familiar annoyance, one he recognized as the agent who routinely flirted with the girl, the one she called Matthews. Dressed in an ill-fitting black ensemble the woman's potential suitor was sweating profusely, his sun burnt skin an indication he'd spent his day outside in the summer heat. In his hand he held a glossy bag; one he swung back and forth as he read-a-loud the blushing assistant's ponderings.

Dropping her pencil and book to the floor Darcy Lewis slouched her shoulders in agitation, the bellowing toad's close proximity turning her cheeks crimson with fury.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite shadow." Darcy growled barring her teeth in a sarcastic smile. It was clear to the God that she was still wary of her agent and his male companions after their previous quarrel. A knowing smile spread across Loki's face as he watched them bicker. Soon his ghostly meddlings would pay off and the tension between them would grow palpable, in fact, he was counting on it.

As Darcy continued to glower Matthews angled his body around her and swiftly seized her book.

"Hey!" Darcy's face turned ashen as he skimmed through her private scribblings.

"Any particular reason you've been sketching the face of a dead guy?" He whistled. "I'm no art critic or anything, but shouldn't what your drawing at least resemble your subject?"

Curious Loki strode closer, peering over the idiot's shoulder to see what he was rambling off about. It appeared that while the mortal had been fast at work taking notes she'd also been drawing her new fixation, and as the agent had indicated, her doodles looked nothing like Strange's ancestor, in fact, they held an uncanny resemblance to-

Loki cursed as he stared back at his own muddied likeness, his own callus eyes staring back at himself. It was as he feared; the more time that passed between them, the more she grew aware of his presence here, and each passing moment could spell his last if he didn't take control of her soon.

His life depended on it.

"Should I be jealous you're crushing on Count Chocula over there?" Matthews smirked.

"Stuff it Jacob." The red faced girl hissed as she snatched the book back, clutching it possessively to her chest.

"Does that even belong to you?" The agent asked his tone no longer jovial, "Look Darcers, I know you don't like Strange for giving you the academic cold shoulder, but uh, stealing?" Matthews winced

"Well, technically, it's not his either." Darcy said, now uneasy from the accusation.

"Then whose is it?" The agent continued seemingly intrigued, but his raised brow said otherwise, and Loki grinned as Darcy, unaware of the man's skeptical look, had lit up at having even been asked.

"Dude, wait till you get a load of this."

It was amusing, Loki mused, if not borderline comical, the way the young woman now enlightened her dull companion of all she had learnt, the enthusiastic way she embellished telling her grisly tale of supernatural murder and betrayal, as though the old sorcerer were a romantic figure in dire need of sympathy and applause. Her flare for the theatrical even had him hanging onto her every word, her hard spun verbosity almost melodious. And, in that moment, Loki almost pitied his little story teller, for the longer she delved into her tale's sordid details, the more absurd her story became.

"...before they sent him away, into the mad house that is, this 'Helter Skelter' wannabe had gone downstairs deep into the catacombs to map his every step. He was convinced that this," Darcy pointed towards the picture of the glowing stone, "this magic stone was down there. He even claimed to be chased out each time by the monks when they thought him closing in on it, even claimed to hear the rattling chains they had tied Sir Stephen Strange himself in." Darcy shuddered not at all phased by the sceptical look on her friend's face. And, as an awkward silence passed between them, the young woman held her breath in wait for what her thick headed suitor would say.

At first Matthews lowered his head in what appeared to be contemplative thought only to then sheepishly grin. "You completely lost me at Doom-doo-muu," He admitted shaking uncontrollably in what looked to be self-contained laughter.

"Ten minutes inside your head, Darcers that's all I ask." The man said patting the sour-faced woman soundly on the head. Loki tsked, delighted by the idiot's reaction, he awaited the oncoming storm.

"Haven't you been listening to a thing I've just said?" Darcy balked. "For Christ's sake, this house's first owner had a documented track record of witch-craft and his decaying body now resides 15 feet below us!"

"I don't think your Necronomicon there can count as a 'well documented track record' of anything, and besides, if you dig around in an old house like this long enough you're bound to find a couple of ghosts." Matthews shrugged.

With a deep-seated frown Darcy's hands balled up into fists as she whipped up the last of her remaining bravado, "Don't you get it? Strange is up to something! You're telling me you don't think it at all suspicious how this man never once mentions having a sister, but can lie through his teeth about a dearly departed uncle taking care of his entire family's estate? How 'bout the part where this Blue Oyster Cult is hung up over a magic eye necklace that looks exactly identical to the one that Sir Stephen Strange is wearing right freaking there?" She said madly pointing to the portrait.

"He's clearly been covering this whole thing up ever since we got here; what with all the construction workers and the movers. You know it's bad enough when not even the people who work for him wants to go anywhere near this place, calling it haunted." Darcy breathlessly said, but Matthews did no more than blink at her outburst, and Loki noted that, though thoughtfully silent, the man no longer looked quite so amused at just how desperately she wants to be believed.

"Come on Matthews, aren't you the least bit curious? Don't tell me you can believe in aliens but you can't even believe in ghosts." The girl said now looking rather defeated, if not a little hurt by her friend's cold stance.

"I've seen aliens, Darcy, first hand in New York," the agent said, "and I have enough clearance of information that would give Area 51 a run for their money, but you have got to st-"

"You saw the look on Clay's face when he came running out of the priest hole!" Darcy spat, "There's something down there and maybe he wasn't just pretending, maybe he felt it too." At the mention of the other agent a deep frown marred Matthews boyish features.

"You can drop the act now, Darcy. The gig is up and I'm much too old to take your bait." Matthews said dropping his glossy bag into her unsuspecting arms, "you might have Clay convinced of this Hocus Pocus, but I'm not going to bite."

"Wait… what?" Suspiciously weighing the bag he had handed her Darcy peered inside and, startled by what she saw, dropped its contents to the floor. A red cylindered container smacked the carpet as all her bedroom's dolls came tumbling out with it. Loki smiled wickedly at the telling way she reacted to what now lay nestled at her feet.

"Why the hell do you have this?" She demanded fiercely of her agent, but Matthews ignored her, choosing instead to continue on with his allegations.

"I'm still surprised you went to all this trouble for a practical joke. I mean, I understand your need to give Clay a dose of his own medicine, but I never knew you had such a mean streak. The guy's been through an awful lot today, Darcy. When we were lugging around Stark's shipment of supplies for the Foster teleportation device he suffered through a bad case of heat exhaustion, so he really needed that nap. But now he's refusing to go back into his bedroom, and it's all because of your cheap parlour tricks. Clay actually thinks there's something up there that's after him."

The agent sighed as he gently kicked at a fallen doll's porcelain head.

"And just out of curiosity, how did you get them to, uh move like that?" He asked motioning with his hands what the other agent had no doubt relayed back to him.

When Darcy didn't respond Matthews picked up the red container from the floor, "And vandalism Darcy, really? Writing cryptic messages on the poor guy's wall with sparkling pink blood, no with-," Matthews paused to read the inscription, "-with Gillette Raspberry Shaving Gel? On top of scaring Clay half to death were you trying to get his room to smell nice, too?"

"I think I was being quite resourceful considering all that I had to work with." Loki said rather indignantly, "How was I to know that the crimsoned-coloured tube would smear pink instead of red?"

The ghostly God sighed. It had been no easy task carrying all those dolls over to his hapless victim's bedside, especially in his precarious position as a ghoul. He must have spent an hour just tousling through the girl's possessions in the hopes of finding something that would be plentiful in its resemblance to blood and easily traced back to her. He'd been mainly hoping to find that appealing shade of red she wore along her lips, but then she must have carried that mortal cosmetic with her, for it had been nowhere in sight. So, instead, he had tactfully settled for the next best thing, and it seemed to have worked adequately enough on his sleeping target. Clay's terrified screams when he awoke had been ample indication to the Trickster God that his haunting had been a success.

Darcy's face was now a scalding red at the assaults laid bare against her, "I've been framed!" She roared at her accuser, but the silent agent remained unmoved by her righteous outcry, and Darcy's demeanor quickly began to fall as a result.

"I, I can't believe it; you're actually trying to pin this on me-"

"You know, it's my job to keep tabs on you, right?" Matthews said, "You were the only one up there when Clay was taking a power nap and we were all there when you stormed off upstairs."

"That's not true and you know it! Why don't you go question that pudgy old British guy hauling Strange's creepy antiques around in the attic? I bet he's still there. How do you know it wasn't him trying to scare Clay?"

"What, so now you're blaming the help on top of the host?" He snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Who's next your ghost?"

"It wasn't me; and our most 'gracious' host is up to something, a fishy cult something, and I can prove it you. There are rune markings, possibly blood stains, shaped like eyes covered in tarp-"

"Look Nancy Drew this isn't like back in New Mexico where you can get away with playing 'I Spy' anymore. You are digging way too deeply into this Carl guy's personal life, looking for things that just aren't there; it's like a borderline vendetta with you. Harbouring a grudge isn't the answer, nor is holding a grudge against us either. You might just think of us as a bunch of suits, but were under a lot of pressure right now. This is our job on the line; did you ever stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, Clay could get fired for his weird behaviour today?"

Darcy, dismal and shell shocked, didn't seem to be paying much attention to the dullard's lecture. The young woman was in a daze, a daze that Loki was quick to recognize, because he'd been in it many times himself. It was the heavy burden of knowing the blame you received held no justification, that it was merely assumed. It was the look of a labelled liar, and her defensive posturing was only making her look guiltier.

"I know you're upset; I get it. You're a continent away from home and you're not in Kansas anymore. But there's really no need to take that out on us." Matthews said his voice no longer holding the same edge as it had earlier, and looking genuinely concerned for her, a warm smile flipped across his sweaty face. "I know you might not believe this, but we're not your enemy," He said affectionately snaking his arm around her shoulders, "I'm not your enemy. And, if you ever feel lonely or just want to tal-" He began but, instead of the usual blushing face the Midgardian girl would wear at the agent's nearness, she simply shrugged away his friendly gesture, the charges now stacked against her having finally taken their toll.

"Stuff it, Jacob," was her lackluster response, her bright eyed face now dismal.

With a heavy exhale of breath the agent was resigned to walking away, but before he left through the large rotunda doors Matthews turned to Foster's assistant.

"Just…just tell the truth, Darcy. Apologize and get it over with and lay all this ghost talk to rest," the solemn agent said. "Your boss and Wilson are back from their tour around the countryside and we're about to have dinner soon. So when you get your story straight, you might want to join us in the dining room." And with that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent left the young assistant to digest all of what he had said, left her with no doubt the realization that her inability to leave well enough alone had, not only cost her his trust, but also his invitation of friendship.

How disappointing, Loki thought. He'd been hoping to put a more permanent rift between the assistant and her potential suitor, instead their conversation had sounded more like a minor skrimish, nothing like the fireworks he had been hoping for.

Who knew mortals could be so…civil.

But civility would not save her from the accusations to come now that a scapegoat was needed to explain away all the strange happenstance.

Slow to movement, Darcy now clenched her jaw, squeezed her fists, and glared. Oddly enough, her point of focus seemed directed at him, her look of pain one he knew all too well.

Betrayal.

Loki couldn't help but wince under her accusatory gaze, though he knew full well he'd been its cause, he still bristled at how her sullen eyes made him linger on that unwanted sensation of guilt.

"Don't give me that look, dearest. I was only doing you a favour, showing you his true colours. Think of it as a harsh lesson if you will: no matter how hard you try, the lie will always be taken for the truth."

But his bitter message fell on deaf ears as the woman finally followed in the young man's footsteps and stormed out the door, leaving Loki standing alone and feeling rather annoyed at how a mere mortal could make him feel even remotely remorseful of his actions.

Long Ass A/N:

A nasty tinge of regret! My, my, my its sympathy from the devil! And it looks like he's a little smexually frustrated too, maybe he's been hanging around our plucky heroine too long that she's starting to rub off on him. lol

Hopefully I kept everybody in character for you guys. I do so like my Loki villainous ;p and right now he's had no time to heal after the events of the Avengers, so he's still as smooth talking a villain as he was before they muffled him and sent him off to Asgard. Setting Darcy up was just Loki doing what comes naturally to him, playing off all sides against each other and creating chaos and mistrust in order to win, well trick, Darcy over to his side. But somewhere in that shell of a heart I think he doesn't like seeing Darcy hurt,because whether or not he realizes it, he's starting to see something of himself in Darcy, and its that recognition of what they share with each other that will either make him or break him in this story.

Darcy seemed to really be getting the worst of it this chapter. I think the worst thing to be is not believed, it makes you doubt yourself and those around you since all relationships need trust to grow. And Matthews was a real tool. Though he's a secondary character I found when writing him I couldn't help but feel he's one of those two faced acquaintances you might have kept in high school. The absolute worst thing you can do to a friend is not believe them and not give them the benefit of the doubt and that is exactly what he did to Darcy.

A few scenes from this chapter I based off one of my fave story 'The Canterville Ghost' what with all those colorful stains Loki keeps leaving behind. I'd like to think of him as a 'Sir Simon' kind of figure in this story, existing between the realm of redemption and damnation. Poor ghosty!

Dormammu and The Harvester of Eyes all belong in the Dr. Strange-verse of Marvel and are enemies of the good Doctor. 'The Harvester of Eyes' is also a Blue Oyster Cult song, go fig. The Eye of Agemotto is a magic amulet Strange wears around his neck and is the source of a lot of his powers.

For the origin story of Sir Stephen there actually was a physician-in-chief to Queen Elizabeth called Rodrigo López, he was accused of conspiring to poison the queen and persecuted for being jewish so he was hung, poor guy. It's believed Shakespeare possibly used him as a prototype for Shylock and I'm pretty sure Neil Gaiman used him as inspiration for his Marvel 1602's Stephen Strange, a magician/physician to the queen. I'm actually really excited for this new Dr. Strange movie btw and I hope they don't make him a surgeon like in the comics but instead a scientist or physicist like they did Jane.

There exists a stone of resurrection in the Dr. Strange-verse...but the green glowing stone Loki is after is most definitely a Marvel Easter egg from the MCU and I'm sure you can all figure out which one..I believe in you;p

Well, hope you enjoyed my kooky story. The next chapter will have an irate Jane Foster, a wrongfully accused Darcy, and a kinda, sorta regretful Loki.

Stay tuned! And don't forget to tell me your thoughts in the box below!