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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND FOUR WILL OPEN AT 10PM EST ON MONDAY THE 14TH.
ROUND THREE
closing at 5000 comments
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REMINDER: THERE IS A SPOILER POLICY IN PLACE UNTIL 7 MAY.
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!Put [RPF] before RPF prompts ( Read more... )
He arrived at the door to Fury’s office, but noted someone was already inside. It couldn’t have been too private, as the door remained open. Tony recognized Thor’s voice.
“I do not understand how my request entails such difficulty.”
Fury gave an exasperated sigh that lit Tony’s face with a smile.
“I don’t know what kind of international security budgeting exists in Asgard, but this is a governmental agency. I’m lucky I can upgrade you to first class and let you run around and sampling Turkish delight for weeks on end. You have to fly commercially because I can’t set aside guaranteed flight access at anytime, anywhere with the aircraft we have, and even if I could, you’d still have the same problem. Humans don’t typically come in the seven-foot-tall, megaheavyweight class.”
“Can these crafts not be refitted?” The Asgardian asked. Fury outright laughed.
“You wanna march out and tell the CEO of Delta his airplane seats are too small for the one demi-god gallivanting across the planet and should change them, be my guest. In fact, record it for me.” Tony could almost perceive Thor’s rising indignation. Someone cleared their throat.
“Sorry,” Fury recanted, “but look, but my hands are tied on that one. Having had to fly coach in the past myself, I can only imagine how…claustrophobic you would feel. However, refitting entire aircraft for the personal use of one person just isn’t in my discretionary budget. Now, I have a meeting with Stark soon.”
Thor sighed. “Forgive my imposition.”
“It’s fine.”
“Tough luck, Point Break,” Tony remarked to Thor’s back as he left. He only received a gruff grunt in response.
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“I’m afraid that wasn’t part of my brief, sir. That said, I do know it was a request from Mr. Stark.” What he didn’t tell his passenger was learning that tidbit had required quite a bit of snooping about the office, as it was proof he’d broken protocol. Being a simple, regional courier, it wasn’t often he had to transport an Avenger in-the-flesh to a seeming clandestine location. He waved his badge at the security on-site to be let in onto the airfield itself. A few minutes later, they pulled into their final destination - hanger 26. Thor gave a nod of acknowledgement to his driver, confusion still obscuring his features. A man stood atop a small flight of stairs leading up to an aircraft, this one a bit smaller than the ones Thor had become accustomed to traveling on. As he approached the plane, he could also see a woman standing behind him, just inside the door on the side.
“Hello, sir. We’ve been expecting you,” the man introduced.
“Who are you?"
“My name is David. This is Stacy,” he said, gesturing to the woman behind him, who waved. “I’m your pilot.”
“Forgive me, but I do not understand.”
“This plane is yours. Stacy and I are paid solely to take you wherever you want, anytime.” Thor’s jaw dropped. He ascended the stairs, and his companions stepped aside to let him in. It was furnished in a way completely alien to what he’d seen in the past; the cabin was more akin to a living space, being open with a small bar, television, and table off to one side. Towards the back were four seats, all separate from one another, and each the size of a small throne, but still with the restraints common to all aircraft.
“The seats can be repositioned for sleeping if necessary,” Stacy added over his shoulder.
“I knew nothing of this,” Thor murmured incredulously.
“So we’ve been told, but nonetheless, it is yours.”
“Stark…”
“Excuse me?” asked David.
“Stark!” Thor exclaimed, “He is the mastermind of this, is he not?” The two shared an uncomfortable glance.
“We were specifically instructed not to mention who commissioned the outfitting of the plane and who hired us,” David replied hesitantly. Thor gave a loud bark of laughter.
“Your concern only confirms my suspicions. Worry not! I will ensure he knows you did not break confidence.” They both relaxed visibly at his reassurance. “Well then, sir,” David asked, “where would you like to go today?”
“Tell me of a place you have been, and we shall head there. It seems men of your profession have seen much of this world,” the demi-god suggested.
“Where I’ve been? W-well…Israel is nice this time of year, and less tourists.”
“Excellent! Let us go forth!” He made to settle into one of the massive seats. Pleased with the trappings of his new transport, he promised himself to thank his small, metal-suited friend profusely as soon as he was able.
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This one made me genuinely go "Awww!"
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The cuteness factor is huge, you're making me so happy! Oh of course Thor would have trouble on a normal plane, of course... Really well thought out, I love it!
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“I don’t get what it is with Steve the past few days,” Natasha mumbled into her coffee mug. Pepper, sitting on the opposite side of the bar from her, tilted her head to the side in confusion.
“Something the matter?”
“Yeah, I guess, but he won’t open up about it. Clint and I both tried, but we got nothing.”
“What makes you so sure he’s upset?”
“Well, you know how on-task he is about everything he does, but lately he’s been distant. Not only socially, I mean just not there. Didn’t say a thing at our last group meeting, but Clint caught him down in the gym sending punching bags flying across the room.”
“Tony has told me about his,” Pepper coughed, “unique regimen.”
“Needing a battery of punching bags because they wear out too fast is one thing, but I’m talking about single kicks sending them in two different directions. Clint said he’d turned the floor into a beach with all the sand from the destroyed bags.” Pepper’s eyes widened in acknowledgement.
“Ok, yeah, that’s something else.”
“So, I drug him out for dinner night before last. All he’d tell me was it was something from the war. I told him there were plenty of people on site for PTSD, or something like that, but he just laughed me off and said it was nothing like that. Then he…drifted off, staring at some people dancing in the bar.”
“If he isn’t going to talk, then you’re just going to have to give him time,” Pepper said, “He probably finds it difficult to speak with you about something that happened before you were even born.”
“Good point. As long as it doesn’t affect his work, I guess I shouldn’t even been sticking my nose in his business-” Pepper interrupted her by laying a hand over her outstretched wrist on the counter.
“He’s your friend. You have every right to be worried,” Natasha blushed, clearly unsure how to process the realization. Super-assassins didn’t typically have friends like Steve.
Though she’s more likely to have a friend like that sooner than me, Tony thought, eavesdropping from behind the threshold between the elevator and the open space of the bar, peeking out at what he deemed appropriate times. He hadn’t intended to be in this position. They both knew he was home, working; he’d only come upstairs to show Pepper his new insight on tech for the suit, and had stumbled onto the girls’ conversation. In fact, he had been fully prepared to march right on in and move the conversation onto something vastly more interesting than Rodgers when Natasha had mentioned the dancers in the bar. It triggered a very old, almost completely blurred memory of a conversation he had similarly eavesdropped upon one summer he’d been home from boarding school. He’d been maybe sixteen. His father and Obediah had been drinking in the den, and Tony had sat at the base of the stairs, listening, though why, he couldn’t remember.
”…was a hell of a man. Never understood how he’d hooked her…son-of-a-bitch couldn’t even dance. Set up a date an’ everything when the ship went down. Peg’d have a hell of a time teachin’ that flatfoot, lemme tell you.”
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“C-can I help you?”
“Are you Steve Rodgers?”
He took an involuntary step back in suspicion. If she’d been a threat, their conversation probably would have never gotten this far, but one could never be too sure.
“Yes, I am,” he replied slowly. A hand shot out in greeting, making him flinch.
“Marinka.” He took her hand and shook it.
“Marinka…?” Steve prompted. She giggled and shook her head.
“Given what I’m here for, you’re lucky enough to get my real first name. That should be enough, don’t you think?”
“What are you here for?” He asked as he stepped aside to let her in.
“I’m here to teach you how to dance. Specifically, the foxtrot, a modern waltz, and maybe a bit of tango. I was told to focus on basics from around the 40’s.” Steve retreated, arms up and waving back and forth.
“What?" he cried. How could anyone have guessed what he'd been stewing over this week? "Uh, look, I’m sorry, I-I don’t know who told you to come down here, but it definitely wasn’t me.”
“No, it wasn’t, it was…we’ll call them a mutual friend,” she confirmed with a smirk, “and I was told to expect some reluctance.”
“Then, if you’ll pardon my French, miss, why the hell did you come down here?”
“A fair question. The way our friend first described you, I had thought they meant to request my other services, and was very close to hanging up.”
“I thought you were friends,” Steve asked, growing more and more confused by the second.
“Friends come in a wide spectrum, and this person is…well, challenging to deal with, but that’s not the point. Then, they told me a story about a man who had hoped to learn some classic footwork from someone special, but had missed out because he got hurt fighting for his country. And, well, our friend knows I’m a sucker for romantics…” she drifted off, shrugging. “However, if you find this arrangement too uncomfortable-"
Steve was floored. Of all the things - forget that - of all the people…he wasn’t sure what this meant, but he was pretty sure it was supposed to be positive.
“No,” Steve interrupted, “No, stay. Far be it from me to turn down beautiful woman’s invitation to dance.”
“Such a gentleman,” Marinka remarked with an edge of cynical surprise.
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“My god, he hadn’t been kidding when he said you could be clumsy,” she snickered good-naturedly, “but once you got it, you’re a pretty quick study.”
“He, hmm?” Steve repeated teasingly, “That narrows down the list.” Marinka tried to backpedal, but could only get out a few nervous ‘ums’ and breathy laughs. “I-I know a lot of people, Steve, it could be anyone.”
“I only have five friends, Marinka. Makes it pretty easy even when you only limit by gender. Besides, I already figured out who our mutual friend is. The list of people who know that story he told you is…very short. So, you teach him to dance, or was it your ‘other service’? What does that mean, anyway?” Marinka balked incredulously at his question and gave him an ‘are-you-serious’ look.
“What? Really, what else do you do?” She bit her lip, but continued to give him a curious expression.
“I’m an escort, Steve,” she said with a sarcastic chuckle, “but once upon a time I was something of a well-known dancer.” Now it was Steve’s turn at incredulity.
“Tony seems to know New York pretty well. Is that because of you? Why would he need someone to guide him through the city?” Marinka let go of him entirely, doubled over in hysterics. All Steve could do was shrug self-consciously. “Uh…I…what?”
“You really are too good to be true,” Marinka said after the worst of her laughter had passed. “Why don’t we leave it here for today? I’ll have time next Thursday, provided you’re not off defending humanity. Steve’s gibbering increased, but Marinka waved off his concern.
“Discretion is my business, don’t worry.” There would be plenty of time for questions another day, so Steve let them go.
“Then Thursday it is…Mari,” he suggested. Her perfect teeth glimmered in her first, genuine smile all afternoon. “Say hi to Tony for me,” she said in farewell. However, Steve had one, last burning question he couldn’t leave for another time.
“Why did he really do this?” Steve asked, stopping her. She sat back in reflection for a few moments.
“As I mentioned earlier, he is a difficult person to deal with, because, despite what a narcissist he is, he’s terrible at talking about himself when it matters. But once he attaches to someone, he’s impossible to get rid of, and often resorts to spending ridiculous amounts of money as his own kind of apology for being the way he is, so you’ll put up with him - at least, that’s how it works in his head. He respects you,” she summarized, “and this is the only way he knows how to show it. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”
“Uh…” Steve muttered, feeling a little ashamed for being so suspicious of Tony’s gift, “I see. Thanks.”
“You’ll get it, in time,” she reassured as the door shut behind her.
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In my head, I always have to remember that Tony is a billionaire and what I think is one type of spending isn't for him.
It makes for amusing self-conversations, in between this BEAUTIFUL FANFICTION OF WONDERFULNESS!!
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Loki sat, petulant as usual, in his cell back in Asgard. They had decided to keep him in a magical containment field while Odin decided what he was going to as penance for his crimes. Loki, even in defeat, spurned the pity and mercy of both Odin and Thor. Unperturbed, Thor still insisted on visiting his “brother” as often as possible, in between visits back to Midgard to assist the human peons. The would-be tyrant often regarded these intrusions with little more than sneering expressions, or, on a good day, a few bitter rebukes before Thor would leave again. A guard came up to the glittering energy field encasing him.
“Something for you,” the guard said bluntly, waving a box in front of him.
“My goodness, a gift? You spoil me.”
The package was tossed carelessly through the barrier. It allowed the passage of inanimate objects; after all, it wasn’t like Loki had, or could conjure, any weapons on his side since the spell restricted his natural magical skill. Loki caught it, and gave the guard a final, scorning look for good measure as the man left. A note was tucked under the twine tied around the plain, brown paper surrounding the package. He snatched it up impatiently.
Learn to deal, dude.
What in the Nine Realms did that mean? And where had this come from? He tore the paper apart, revealing a book.
Adoption Healing…a Path to Recovery, by Joe Soll.
Loki growled with indignation at the cover, and threw it on the ground. Whatever person had decided to make light of his parentage had a serious death wish. After a few minutes of pacing around his cage to cool his head, however, he regarded the book again from afar.
Two days later, when Thor returned to visit, he found his brother sitting quietly, absorbed in a text he didn’t recognize. It had English on it, curiously enough, so Thor decided to let him be and retreated to his quarters.
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DID YOU
I MEAN
YOU FUCKING DID YOU'VE WON MY HEART AGAIN DAMN YOU
Sending Loki a book to help? A book about accepting adoption? GENIUS BUT ODDLY UNUSED PLOT DEVICE.
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<33333
I sincerely hope you enjoy the rest!
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“Welcome home. How was your girls’ night out? Or really, girl-and-super-ninja’s night out would be more accurate,” he snarked, sculpting himself a magnificent roast beef sandwich for his dinner. Pepper strode up and smacked him playfully on the arm with her clutch in rebuke.
“Stop that. Tasha’s a perfectly normal woman off the clock, you know.”
“She has no concept of being off the clock. The only times she knows is ‘humorless ass-kicking time’ and ‘waiting humorlessly for ass-kicking time’,” he insisted, making kung-fu-type swipes at the air as he spoke.” No one seems to appreciate how much more I have to relax and have fun for the sake of people like Romanoff that can’t shake the stick from their ass,” Tony whined theatrically at Pepper’s rolled eyes.
“While we were out today, we passed a store selling Louboutin shoes. She tried to hide it, but she was lusting after them pretty hard,” Pepper remarked with a smile. “She told me she tried to get SHIELD to spring for a pair ‘for undercover work’, but was denied.”
“Bureaucratic stinginess,” Tony huffed, “I saw the video from her last excursion to Russia. Good thing she was looking to get caught, ‘cause that $250 dress from Macy’s wasn’t gonna cut it if she wanted to blend in with the eight-figures-a-year crowd.”
Pepper snatched a piece of roast beef off the vulnerable sandwich while Tony fidgeted in the fridge for condiments. She taunted him with her prize when he returned his attention to his meal by tearing a piece of it off with her teeth, to which Tony responded by shaking a fist at her and grumbling a simile about ‘stabbing the Mona Lisa’. Pepper lent against the counter, suddenly contemplative, teasing the cold cuts apart mindlessly as she spoke.
“I offered to buy them for her, but she laughed me off and said they were too impractical for work anyway,” Pepper hesitated before continuing, “She’s told me before about she feels like she has no identity, no personality. I tell her it couldn’t be further from the truth, but I don’t think she believes me. It’s silly to admit it out loud, but I had hoped if I got those for her, she’d feel at least a little bit special…”
“Would shoes really fix an identity crisis, Pepper?” Tony asked skeptically. Pepper gave an exasperated sigh.
“Sometimes, a woman really wants to look like she just stepped off the catwalk and look like a bombshell, Tony. Especially when you’re stalking amongst a bunch of upper-crust snobs to bring down their totalitarian regimes.”
“I can appreciate that,” he replied, “If you felt that strongly about it, you should’ve just done it. Pretend to be me for five minutes.”
“Why should I do that when you’ll take care of it yourself, what with your little Santa Claus routine these days? ...That I totally don’t know about,” Pepper finished hurriedly, grabbing her water and running off for their bedroom before Tony could retaliate. He tossed an olive after her half-heartedly.
“Quiet, people might think I’m a nice person if you compare me to Santa,” he shouted off down the hall, “Also, I totally see what you did there, with that story. Now I might not, just to spite you.”
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