Prompt Post 3
Welcome to norsekink .
Keep up the awesome, folks.
Announcement: All new and continuing fills for Round 3 should be posted in the Overflow Post.
THIS ROUND IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
( Rules )
Keep up the awesome, folks.
Announcement: All new and continuing fills for Round 3 should be posted in the Overflow Post.
THIS ROUND IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
( Rules )
“It is… good that my brother has found a friend of sorts in you,” Thor says at length, his eyes fixed straight ahead of himself. “You are a good man.” He reaches over, claps a hand against Steve’s shoulder, but still doesn’t quite look towards him. Then he smiles a smile which doesn’t really reach his eyes. “In truth, a better man than I. I can see why he would seek out your company.”
A lot of people have paid a lot of compliments to Steve ever since he came out of the ice. It’s been strange, he can admit, because he doesn’t generally feel like he’s earned them. Sure, he likes to think that he’s a good man, and most days he doesn’t have a reason to doubt it. But are good men really in such short supply? You’re supposed to be a good man, Steve thinks. It’s when you’re not that it’s noteworthy. He only really feels comfortable with those kinds of comments when he’s around people who, well, who he feels like he’s earned respect from. Proven himself to. The rest… frankly, the rest probably just think he punched the actual Hitler all those times, and that, he knows, is just ridiculous.
Thor’s one of those people who Steve can, on an ordinary day, feel like he’s earned his respect from. Some other time, if Thor had told Steve he was a good man, it wouldn’t have made him worry. But right now it feels a whole lot like Thor is talking more about the kind of man he isn’t, and the kind of man Steve is reputed to be, rather than anything good or solid between the two of them.
The day that Bucky fell to his death, Steve didn’t feel like a good man. He felt like a failure. He felt like the kind of person who put their friends in danger, and then didn’t have the strength to drag them back out of it again.
Once upon a time, Steve knows, Thor watched Loki fall. And yes, it was different. But maybe not as different as all that, when it comes right down to it, and Steve is suddenly hit by the notion that Thor is lucky. Because Loki’s still out there. Still breathing. As long as he’s still breathing, that’s still a chance, isn’t it? A chance to make things right. A chance that’s a whole lot better than nothing.
“I think the only reason he talks to me is because he wants to talk to you,” Steve finds himself saying. Thor blinks, and finally looks over at him. Properly. And on that note, Steve decides that this, right now, this is the best theory he’s ever come up with for what’s really going on with these phone calls. “Makes sense when you really think about it,” he continues, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “I mean, you and I aren’t really all that different. We’re both huge. Blond. Stubborn. Not always, you know, on par with the genius types and all their gadgets and robot suits and magic spells and everything.” His wrist protests a little bit as he motions vaguely between the two of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with this ‘good man’ business, but it’s not like you to put yourself down. Doesn’t do anyone any favours, either. If you’re asking me, I think you’re a good man, but if you disagree, well, then maybe you better settle the score with yourself.”
Thor blinks again.
Steve opens up the phone, and hits the little center button that says ‘menu’ in tiny white letters, and scrolls down until he’s managed to get a handle on the ‘recent calls’ list. Then he hits the button for the long number at the top (Loki changes numbers a lot, he’s noticed) and hands it over to Thor. “Press the green button to talk. If you want,” he says. “I’m going to hit the showers.”
He’s halfway across the room before Thor speaks again.
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As promised, Steve hits the showers, and in the end he doesn’t see Thor again until the next day. When he does Thor wordlessly gives him back his phone. Steve decides not to pry, and instead nods, and pockets it, and then waits. And waits. And time passes, his life doesn’t really slow down any, but he doesn’t get anymore phone calls from Loki, either. No more text messages. No more photos. He isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one. Oddly, he finds, he almost misses the conversation. Sure, it had been weird. But somewhere between the first injured phone call and the photos of Loki’s stylistic choices, it had also become consistent. And maybe in some way it had been kind of nice to have someone to just randomly talk to.
“Down in the dumps, Cap?” Tony asks him one evening, and he blinks, because he hadn’t realized he’d been at all obvious about it. But before he can answer, Tony keeps going. “We haven’t had a lot of breaks lately. You know, you should get out more, see more of the modern world when it isn’t being attacked by psychopaths.” He snaps his fingers. “I know. Van Dyne industries is having one of their charity fundraisers next week. Normally I just make a short appearance at those things, but Jan always knows how to a throw a good party. We should go. Make a splash, break up the routine a bit.”
Steve considers this.
“The last party we went to got crashed by that Hulk fella,” he feels compelled to point out. What he actually means is ‘I’m not much for those kinds of shindigs’, but it seems rude to say it. Especially when Tony’s making an effort to cheer him up.
Tony waves off his comment about the Hulk. “A fluke. Besides, intelligence reports have suggested that he’s in South America right now. What are the odds of it happening again?”
Pretty low, Steve finds out. But apparently fancy parties are just magnets for larger-than-life men with a taste for the colour green, because Loki shows up at this one. And not in his subtle-mode either, Steve notices, as yet another ice sculpture comes to life and starts pecking at party-goers. He manages to get the shield out of his briefcase, and covers Tony while his briefcase turns into a useful set of red-and-gold armour. There’s screaming. There’s shouting. Tony calls for back-up as a variety of party accoutrement comes to life, and a few rampaging boars decide to appear from seemingly nowhere. Loki, of course, is at the center of it all, smirking and wielding a spear that’s taller than he is.
“I thought you said we were going to break from routine?” Steve quips, as he sends the shield smashing through the necks of several malevolent ice swans.
“Tell you what - when this is over, I’ll take you to Disney World,” Tony replies, before trying to blast Loki into the sky. His repulsor beams pass right through the trickster’s image, which shimmers slightly, and then slam into the building behind him. Tony swears. “I hate fighting this son of a bitch!”
“Watch your tongue, my friend!” a familiar voice booms at them from overhead. “That is also my mother you speak of!”
“Right, sorry,” Tony acknowledges, before waving pointedly towards Loki. Or the projection of Loki. “Go, smite, wrath of the gods, you know the drill.”
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That leaves him with the ice dragon.
He dodges another bout of icicle breath, one of the shards ripping through the shoulder of his suit, and sends his shield arcing towards the corner of its neck with as much strength as he can muster. There’s a tremendous crack, and the thing roars, a frozen tail whipping out to knock Steve into the air. The shield hits with enough force to lodge itself firmly in the joint between the dragon’s shoulder and neck. Steve rolls when he lands, and scowls, because now he’s got to go and get it back. Which means scaling the dragon.
No pun intended.
The tail comes back for a second round. Steve grabs onto it instead of getting hit this time, and grits his teeth as he gets whipped through the air. It’s spiked. That’s actually a good thing, because it means he has plenty of handholds as he drags himself along the dragon’s body, wincing at the impact as the tail crashes through a few nearby tables. The ice is cold against his palms. But it’s not melting, which at least means it’s not slick, either, so it only takes him a minute to scramble onto the thing’s back. He clings to the base of its wings as it roars, and its head snaps around, trying to bite him. Ice breath streams past its transparent fangs, but only succeeds in glancing against his leg. It freezes the fabric of his suit.
Steve’s not thinking about anything at all as he keeps going. He’s definitely not thinking about what happened to him the last time he felt this cold.
And while he’s busy not thinking of anything, and just climbing, the dragon gets fed up with trying to bite him and decides to just take off instead. Icy wings rock around Steve as he hangs on. Once. Twice. Then with a sweeping gust that sends shards of ice flying in all directions, the dragon leaps into the night sky. Through the transparent sculpture of its body, Steve watches as the party gets tinier and tinier below them. He redoubles his grip, wishing that he was wearing his boots and not fancy party shoes as he looks up, focusing on the glimpse of his shield up ahead. Framed by the glitter of ice against the starless sky.
He reaches it, after what seems like a small eternity, hands gripping against the dragon’s spines and feet scrabbling for purchase against the smooth sides of its neck. Its head thrashes again, and cracks spread like spider webs from where the shield is embedded. Steve needs both of his hands to pull it free. So he takes a deep breath, grips the dragon’s neck tightly with his knees, and wrenches against the edge of it as hard as he can. The dragon’s wings beat the air behind him, and his breath fogs across the back of its head as it breaths a stream of ice ahead of them. Once last, desperate attempt. Then he slams the shield down again, hard, and the head snaps off with a sound like breaking glass.
It plummets towards the party below.
So, of course, does the rest of the dragon.
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He swallows as his shoes stick against the frozen ground, and his arms refuse to obey his commands. He manages to move his head, just a little, enough to look down and realize that the ice has reformed itself again, only this time it’s made a conveniently Steve-shaped prison.
The sensation is eerily familiar. For just a few seconds, he blinks - while he still can - and finds himself in the wreckage of Red Skull’s carrier, rather than the shattered remnants of a magical dragon.
A shadow falls over his shoulder.
“You know, it’s bad form to give away another person’s phone number,” Loki tells him, leaning sideways to rest one elbow against Steve’s shoulder. At the other end of the battle zone, Thor is busy fighting about four copies of his brother, all of which spin about him with incredible speed. Steve can’t really see Loki very well, even when he turns his head a bit. He only gets a glimpse of his profile, and the curve of a horned helmet in his shadow, and the glint of an emerald gauntlet resting near his chin. It occurs to Steve that Loki could probably kill him right now. He can’t move, after all, and he knows for a fact that Loki would be strong enough to run him through. For one short moment, fear takes full hold of him. Later on he won’t be certain which near-hysterical idea bothered him more - dying right there, or not dying, but staying frozen again for years and years. Until somebody decides the need him again, and wakes him up into a world where everything’s different, and everyone he knows is either dead or old enough to be his grandparents. Unbidden, he thinks, and I was just making friends again, too…
Then Loki reaches over, pats Steve almost fondly on the head, and saunters away. Ice crunches underneath his boots. “Tell my brother he’ll have to do better than that if he wants to catch me out,” he calls behind him.
By the time Hawkeye comes over and starts chipping him out, Steve has decided that, from now on, he’s decided that there’s just no point in trying to understand Loki, or Loki-and-Thor. Ever. On any level.
“I’m not even going to bother anymore,” he tells Clint, once he can properly move his jaw again. Clint looks at him and nods in something almost like sympathy.
“I’ve found that’s a good philosophy. You know, in general,” he agrees. “Now quit moving around while I set you on fire.”
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The picture is of a red, white, and blue-coloured popsicle.
The text reads:
‘this = u lol ;)’
Steve stares at it for a moment. Then he sighs, and closes his phone, and honestly?
He’s not even sure why he feels a little bit better about the whole thing now.
~
Fin.
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Steve is eating lunch. So is Clint, though Clint has made it very clear that he is eating his lunch Over Here, Leaning on the Counter, and Not at the Table with Steve Because Tables are For Sissies Who Don’t Lean (as near as Steve can decipher it, anyway).
Ahaha god I loved Clint in this. And the hold still, I'm setting you on fire bit.
I love the idea of movie night and everyone trying to catch them up to date and the communicators being designed with Thor and Steve in mind and their talks and Loki, oh my god. The texts killed me.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been pregnant?” Loki asks him one evening, after the Avengers have just finished dealing with a group of formless black shadow monsters which Dr. Strange had informed them were below his skill level and not worth his considerably valuable time, but still probably ought to be dealt with before they disemboweled anyone.
I full out belly laughed. I just need to reread this a hundred times because I can't stop giggling.
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I've just laughed three whole minutes on this sentence. You rock anon!
And aww Steveeee I want to give him a crushing-bone-hug. He's just SO adorable.
Loved this fic : DDD you didi a great job!
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That's probably a healthy attitude. Particularly Loki. I'm not sure he even understands himself :). Trying to understand them from a mortal perspective was probably doomed to fail from the start anyway.
Love that Loki enjoys his lol speak and spends so much time on boots and curtains and whatnot XD.
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