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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
Please read the [rules] before commenting!
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... )
“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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My lawyers told me buying you a dress could be construed as sexual harassment, which this totally isn’t, by the way, so I settled on proper accoutrements. A few more pairs are being delivered (by SHIELD, don't worry) to your safehouse, so don't feel like you can't wear them because they'll be ruined. Made a nice, practical modification myself, too. If you’re looking to pass yourself off as a foreign debutant for your solo Charlie’s Angels schtick, you should look the part. A cheap outfit isn’t gonna fool any of those evil dictators’ rental-girlfriends at a party, trust me. They’re vicious. All the more reason to look hotter than them, right (still not sexual harassment, just saying)?
I’m still willing to get you a/several believable dress(es), too, if you promise not to sue me later. Whatever you want. Apparently I can claim it as a tax write-off for business. :)
You know where to find me. -T
She lifted the box; it covered a small clutch and a pair of shoes. Said box almost hit the floor, however, when she realized just what she had received. A pair of Christiane Louboutin Bianca pumps, in black, with a similarly-colored Pigalle-style clutch to go with it. Outside the realm of arms and ammunition, she was pretty sure no one had ever spent this kind of money on her. She recalled her night out with Pepper; even if Tony had done this at her behest, he'd gone far above and beyond anything the two women discussed, in true Stark fashion. Never would she have expected to be a recipient of his gilded generosity. The realization of having one of the richest men in the world as not only a coworker, but a friend, made her a little dizzy.
Curiosity piqued by the “modifications” comment, she picked the shoes up, first. She saw a thin slit in the front of the shoe, so she tapped the stiletto heel against the table experimentally; she was rewarded with a three-inch blade jutting out from between the sole and heel of the toe-end. A smirk tilted the corner of her lips. She always had an appreciation for the classics. Another tap retracted the blade so she could try them on - they fit perfectly, and Natasha was too pleased with how they looked to be truly concerned as to how Stark had acquired her shoe measurements. Taking a moment to glance around her surroundings in case anyone had noticed what she was doing, she turned her attention to the clutch. In it was a small cylinder, about the size and appearance of a mascara container, with a small button on it. Another note was there, as well.
You know those lasers on the suit’s wrists? Here you go. They’re one-offs, but I can always make more. Use ‘em when you’re in a really tough spot. That’s always been my problem with espionage: no backup when you’re up shit creek without a paddle. Maybe even use it like a lightsaber for me, just once. Each one has only about three seconds of cutting power, but hey, better than nothing. Consider them an insurance policy. I really wouldn’t want to deal with Barton if you didn’t come home someday.
Natasha smiled in spite of herself at the piece of paper. She wasn’t quite sure what to think, now that it was apparent narcissism was a curable condition.
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That had made it an open challenge. He’d been loath to crack SHIELD’s databases again, since he’d already tipped his hand using the trick once before, but with his pride in his stubbornness on the line, there was no limit to how far he’d go for his information. So, cracked the database he did, and acquired Barton’s address, though he lamented the crude methods he’d taken to do so. Now, all that was left was an appropriate revelation of his success. Harassment was his knee-jerk intuition, but he realized Barton was the only one left who hadn’t been enlightened on how epic it was to have Tony Stark as a friend.
Objective data was one thing, but learning anything about Barton was proving several magnitudes more difficult. The man was a damned wall, and whatever hesitance in the name of privacy Barton had felt in the beginning, Tony was now almost certain had been replaced with reserved amusement in watching his teammate squirm. There weren’t many ways to get one up over Tony, after all. He gave a heavy sigh, and spun himself around in his chair. On the far wall, he caught a glance of Sting the sword hanging on it; it was one of the two actual props made for filming. Bidding on it, Pepper told him, had been vicious, but he’d instructed her to spare no expense to own it. Acquiring the sword had been a particular point of pride, as he rarely indulged in feeding his geeky tendencies…if he did more often, he’d probably be bankrupt.
The sword’s presence triggered a tiny detail from the New York incident. Had he not been distracted by the imminent alien invasion, he probably would have been rather shocked when he noted it at the time. When he’d made to grab Barton by the back of his shirt to take him to the rooftops, and christened his new nickname (which he’d promptly forgotten about the next day), Tony had seen for a brief, but undeniable moment, true joy in Barton’s eyes. Anyone else would have passed it off, but Tony knew that same fanboyish sentiment he’d recognized in Barton’s eyes had been reflected in his own many times over the course of his life. There was just this aura about people that let you know you were of a kin. An evil smile split his face. No wonder Barton kept his personal tastes so close to the vest.
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Found you. :)
Damn. Stark had finally figured it out. Clint had long since viewed it as a foregone conclusion, but was a bit sad to see his fun end. Their colleagues had been gossiping back and forth over Stark’s extravagant gift-giving, and Clint wanted no part of it. He hadn’t gotten specifics yet, as he’d been out of the country for most of that time on various missions; he wasn’t going to go out of his way to learn, either. It wasn’t his business. Stark was growing on him, sure, but throwing money at him wasn’t going to expedite the process. He had no need of anything material, and he had little intention of giving the billionaire reason to start thinking he did. He packed up his bag and headed for home, dreading what he was going to find when he got there. More post-it notes declaring Stark’s superiority, most likely. That, and obvious fingerprints proving he’d touched Clint’s stuff, just because he could. Upon arrival at his apartment, he flicked on the lights to find what he expected; the first of probably several post-it notes stuck to his kitchen counter.
You have unexpectedly good taste. Because I’m sure you’ll want to know: yes, they’re combat-ready. Use them whenever you want, I made sure they’d work with your equipment. Also, you should come over some time to watch all three. The equipment I’ve got is better than the theater.
His eyes shot up from the note and began suspiciously scanning the foyer and kitchen - nothing. Confused, he stuck the note back on the counter, went for his room, and turned on the light there to be confronted with quite possibly the most gorgeous sight he’d yet encountered in his life. Three perfectly replicated, full-sized bows from The Lord of the Rings universe; Legolas’ Lothlorien bow, a Galadhrim bow from Two Towers, and even Lurtz’s demonic-looking one from Fellowship of the Ring. Trembling fingers reached forth to touch the Lothlorien bow; Clint made a small squeaking noise when he made contact, proving the weapons were indeed there and he wasn’t dreaming. He was so stupefied by happiness and shock he couldn't spare the emotion to wonder, much less be angry, at how Tony had learned Clint even liked Lord of the Rings.
“Combat-ready,” Clint whispered reverently in repetition of Tony’s note. If Stark wanted to be friends this badly, he could consider the assassin bought and paid for. He never got to see the trilogy in-theater, due to the nature of his job; he’d kill to watch the Battle of Helm’s Deep on a large screen with multi-channel surround sound.
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The Avengers had assembled in Los Angeles for a run-of-the-mill monster extermination call. Before getting off the airship, Clint made a show of whipping out his chosen weapon for the day - the Uruk-hai bow, as its tension made it extra-deadly. He and Stark shared a grin, much to the confusion of everyone else aboard. He’d decided to take the fantasy bows on Avengers excursions, as they didn’t require the stealth and flexibility of his usual weapon. Soon as their transport kicked off from the landing zone, Steve began shouting directives for his team.
“Everyone got it?” Steve asked far below Clint, who’d been dropped off on the nearest tall building by Stark. Chirps of acknowledgement could be heard from everyone.
“Forth Eorlingas,” Clint murmured into the comm, really for no one but himself.
“The hell does that mean?” asked Steve.
“Clearly, it is an opening battle cry, asking for the blessing of his ancestors! SANNLEIKI OK HJARTA!” Thor added enthusiastically as he took off running, thrusting Mjolnir before him. Tony did his best to remain on a straight flight trajectory and avoid curling into a ball of laughter.
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A/N: Why yes this was a thinly-veiled excuse to use the phrase 'Forth Eorlingas' in a fanfiction how did you guess
Just for reference, Lurtz was the one Uruk-hai that killed Boromir in Fellowship of the Ring. Such a cool bow. :D The Galadhrim bows are the ones the elves are carrying that come to help the Rohirrim in Two Towers. Also, 'sannleiki ok hjarta' means 'truth and heart' super-cheesy I know but it's Thor come on. I found a Viking battle cry generator after some Google-fu.
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:)
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http://www.vikingrune.com/old-norse-motto-generator/
Have fun!
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