shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

“We’ll be missed.” It was a half-hearted protest, at best. Tony Stark was famous for doing what he wanted, and she knew she’d not be missed. Despite the organisers’ insistence on her attendance, almost no-one knew who she was. Oh, she’d been politely greeted by many people, and equally politely dismissed. She might as well leave.

With Tony.

“Yes, fine. Let’s go.” Summer glanced around and left her glass on a nearby table. “Before someone misses you.”

Tony drained his glass and set it aside as they walked out one of the side doors. “They’ll miss my check book,” he corrected absently, glancing back at the cluster of pompous important CEOs and dignitaries making nice for the cameras. He knew all too well the politics they dealt with trying to run their respective public images, and he was frankly sick of it. The last year of being solely ‘IRON MAN’ to the press and not a drunk, partying billionaire fool had been refreshing. At least people only noticed him for his heroics and his money now…. the technology, too, but that was a given, because Tony Stark makes sexy bots. Always, they are sexy. The exception therein being Butterfingers, but that’s one of his babies. Sexy wasn’t a requirement – he just needed something to love at the time, really.

He led Summer out of the building, typing a command to JARVIS to bring his car around. “Got plans for the night that doesn’t involve the snore fest? Cause I got nothing pressing to do…”

“Not /plans/, as such, no. I was just going to slip out after a while and go home to bemoan my, um, lack of interestingness?” Summer fished around for the right word. She actually had no idea what was going on here. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming? Hit her head? Gotten drunk and hallucinated? Because it sounded like Tony had just asked her to hang out with him.

“I’m just a boring person when I’m not, you know, being a heroine.” Pausing on the steps, she pried off her shoes, looping the straps over her fingers. “Oh god, I always forget how much better I feel barefoot.” Or was he asking her to his home?

Tony laughed as he trotted down the steps in the direction of the limo. She might be totally serious, but he still thought her funny. He turned on his heel about halfway down and stood in front of her. Though he would forever deny it, there is a photograph of his expression in that moment that could only be described as ‘Bitch, you fabulous, I know you didn’ jus’ say dat!’

“Sweetheart, really! You light yourself on fire and fly. That’s the least boring thing in the world. Maybe we should go blow something up? — In a lab, of course, because science, and because Pepper will /ground me again/,” he grinned at the thought of getting into that much trouble. He looked up at Summer, and jerked his head towards the car.

“Come on! Life’s never dull with me!”

He was so outrageous, Summer had to laugh. “All right, all right! I’m coming!” She ran down the steps past Tony, jerked open the limo door, and climbed in. “I put myself entirely in your hands, Mr Stark.”

Tony dropped into the seat beside her (careful not to land on her shoes), and closed the door. He had the driver take them back to the Tower, an idea growing in the back of his mind, and took her all the way up to the top floor.

“You’ve got to see this – think you’ll appreciate it, if anyone does,” he says, passing his bar and the still-not-repaired indent of Loki on his floor ((It now has a small plaque that reads ‘Hulk Sorry’ on it, because Tony thought it’d make family dinners less awkward. Didn’t work, but he loves it!)) to the landing deck.

Tony glanced back over his shoulder to Summer, left his shoes and inside sat on the ledge above the city. “Have a look,” he motioned towards the skyline. At this hour, with the sun almost down, it looked like the sky was on fire. Probably more because of pollution and the constant repairs being done to the skyscrapers bad guys seemed to love trashing, but nonetheless, it was pretty neat.

“Gods, that’s so beautiful,” Summer breathed. “I never have the time to really look, when we’re working, you know? But up here, just looking, I can remember why it’s worth it. Why it matters. Makes it hurt a little less.” The wind stirred some loose wisps of hair around her face, and she brushed them back.

Turning, she looked over her shoulder back into the building. “This … is your place.” Her face was a little grave as she looked back at Tony. “I, um … “ 

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

“We’ll be missed.” It was a half-hearted protest, at best. Tony Stark was famous for doing what he wanted, and she knew she’d not be missed. Despite the organisers’ insistence on her attendance, almost no-one knew who she was. Oh, she’d been politely greeted by many people, and equally politely dismissed. She might as well leave.

With Tony.

“Yes, fine. Let’s go.” Summer glanced around and left her glass on a nearby table. “Before someone misses you.”

Tony drained his glass and set it aside as they walked out one of the side doors. “They’ll miss my check book,” he corrected absently, glancing back at the cluster of pompous important CEOs and dignitaries making nice for the cameras. He knew all too well the politics they dealt with trying to run their respective public images, and he was frankly sick of it. The last year of being solely ‘IRON MAN’ to the press and not a drunk, partying billionaire fool had been refreshing. At least people only noticed him for his heroics and his money now…. the technology, too, but that was a given, because Tony Stark makes sexy bots. Always, they are sexy. The exception therein being Butterfingers, but that’s one of his babies. Sexy wasn’t a requirement – he just needed something to love at the time, really.

He led Summer out of the building, typing a command to JARVIS to bring his car around. “Got plans for the night that doesn’t involve the snore fest? Cause I got nothing pressing to do…”

“Not /plans/, as such, no. I was just going to slip out after a while and go home to bemoan my, um, lack of interestingness?” Summer fished around for the right word. She actually had no idea what was going on here. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming? Hit her head? Gotten drunk and hallucinated? Because it sounded like Tony had just asked her to hang out with him.

“I’m just a boring person when I’m not, you know, being a heroine.” Pausing on the steps, she pried off her shoes, looping the straps over her fingers. “Oh god, I always forget how much better I feel barefoot.” Or was he asking her to his home?

Tony laughed as he trotted down the steps in the direction of the limo. She might be totally serious, but he still thought her funny. He turned on his heel about halfway down and stood in front of her. Though he would forever deny it, there is a photograph of his expression in that moment that could only be described as ‘Bitch, you fabulous, I know you didn’ jus’ say dat!’

“Sweetheart, really! You light yourself on fire and fly. That’s the least boring thing in the world. Maybe we should go blow something up? — In a lab, of course, because science, and because Pepper will /ground me again/,” he grinned at the thought of getting into that much trouble. He looked up at Summer, and jerked his head towards the car.

“Come on! Life’s never dull with me!”

He was so outrageous, Summer had to laugh. “All right, all right! I’m coming!” She ran down the steps past Tony, jerked open the limo door, and climbed in. “I put myself entirely in your hands, Mr Stark.”

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

Summer checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She was never comfortable with the way she looked, far less when she dressed up. But the letter had specified formal dress, so formal dress it was, makeup, heeled shoes and all. She’d braided her long hair into a double coronet around her head and accented the burgundy dress with garnet jewellery.

Probably she ought to be grateful to have her work recognised, but then again recognition had very little to do with what she did as a heroine. It was simply something that needed doing that she was capable of doing, that was all. But the folk who had organised this charity ball didn’t seem to think so, and they wanted the empath Summer Rainault, who had, in their words, ‘helped save so many lives during and after the Manhattan Incident,’ to be one of their guests of honour while the rich and powerful of New York City celebrated the end of the cleanup.

Summer anticipated being largely ignored while the attendees swarmed around better known heroes like Captain America and Iron Man. Which, honestly, was fine by her. Making polite conversation with people who were largely unaware of her existence, all the while knowing just how little truth was in their words, had never appealed. She smiled, posed, and waved to the paparazzi on her way in, hiding how awkward and out of place she felt. Once inside the ballroom, Summer found a corner quieter than the rest, acquired a drink, and tried to ignore all the butterflies in her gut.

Normally, Tony was all for the attention press and events brought. He was always obnoxious, loud and visible, and always made sure to have a good time – probably at someone else’s expense. That night, though, between JARVIS breaking down and the migraine from hell, he was sliding quietly along between dignitaries. He’d stop to shake hands or answer the same three questions about his company. Truthfully, he and Steve were just there to make an appearance. Clint was probably around somewher— oh, yes, look, he was under the orchestra pit, I’ll be damned…

He caught a glimpse or two of Summer in the first hour or so. When the dignitaries started grating on his nerves too badly (he made one cry, he was sure, and he’d done it with a charming smile), he backtracked behind the crowds in her direction. If anyone was willing to deal with his brooding silence, it would be her.

“Hey – enjoying our party as much as me?”

“I’m not even sure that’s possible, Mr Stark.” Summer gave him a slight smile, raising her glass to him. He looked damned good as usual, elegantly turned out and perfectly at ease in it. “Your parties are legendary.” Why did it have to be him who spoke to her? As if being dressed up at a formal event wasn’t nerve-wracking enough.

Oh, they’d spoken a couple times in the past, briefly and in passing and always, always in a working environment. Summer didn’t have time for nerves when she was suited up, didn’t have time to be aware of who was really behind the golden mask of Iron Man. And the thrill of his voice down her spine was just more fuel for her abilities.

Tony leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her chair, rubbing his temple, “This is hardly one of those. I’ll show you some time. One of the classy ones with dubstep and club dancing… Honestly, I’d rather be playing X-box right now.” Or asleep, in the lab, anywhere…

He glanced down at her – unlike on the field, she seemed ill at ease in this setting. Yet, she looked the part flawlessly. “I love the dress, by the way…”

Somebody popped open another champagne bottle, and Tony flinched at the loudness of it. He motioned to the back doors. “Wanna head out? I know maybe a dozen places where the people aren’t as fake and obnoxious as this.”

“We’ll be missed.” It was a half-hearted protest, at best. Tony Stark was famous for doing what he wanted, and she knew she’d not be missed. Despite the organisers’ insistence on her attendance, almost no-one knew who she was. Oh, she’d been politely greeted by many people, and equally politely dismissed. She might as well leave.

With Tony.

“Yes, fine. Let’s go.” Summer glanced around and left her glass on a nearby table. “Before someone misses you.”

Tony drained his glass and set it aside as they walked out one of the side doors. “They’ll miss my check book,” he corrected absently, glancing back at the cluster of pompous important CEOs and dignitaries making nice for the cameras. He knew all too well the politics they dealt with trying to run their respective public images, and he was frankly sick of it. The last year of being solely ‘IRON MAN’ to the press and not a drunk, partying billionaire fool had been refreshing. At least people only noticed him for his heroics and his money now…. the technology, too, but that was a given, because Tony Stark makes sexy bots. Always, they are sexy. The exception therein being Butterfingers, but that’s one of his babies. Sexy wasn’t a requirement – he just needed something to love at the time, really.

He led Summer out of the building, typing a command to JARVIS to bring his car around. “Got plans for the night that doesn’t involve the snore fest? Cause I got nothing pressing to do…”

“Not /plans/, as such, no. I was just going to slip out after a while and go home to bemoan my, um, lack of interestingness?” Summer fished around for the right word. She actually had no idea what was going on here. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming? Hit her head? Gotten drunk and hallucinated? Because it sounded like Tony had just asked her to hang out with him.

“I’m just a boring person when I’m not, you know, being a heroine.” Pausing on the steps, she pried off her shoes, looping the straps over her fingers. “Oh god, I always forget how much better I feel barefoot.” Or was he asking her to his home?

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

Summer checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She was never comfortable with the way she looked, far less when she dressed up. But the letter had specified formal dress, so formal dress it was, makeup, heeled shoes and all. She’d braided her long hair into a double coronet around her head and accented the burgundy dress with garnet jewellery.

Probably she ought to be grateful to have her work recognised, but then again recognition had very little to do with what she did as a heroine. It was simply something that needed doing that she was capable of doing, that was all. But the folk who had organised this charity ball didn’t seem to think so, and they wanted the empath Summer Rainault, who had, in their words, ‘helped save so many lives during and after the Manhattan Incident,’ to be one of their guests of honour while the rich and powerful of New York City celebrated the end of the cleanup.

Summer anticipated being largely ignored while the attendees swarmed around better known heroes like Captain America and Iron Man. Which, honestly, was fine by her. Making polite conversation with people who were largely unaware of her existence, all the while knowing just how little truth was in their words, had never appealed. She smiled, posed, and waved to the paparazzi on her way in, hiding how awkward and out of place she felt. Once inside the ballroom, Summer found a corner quieter than the rest, acquired a drink, and tried to ignore all the butterflies in her gut.

Normally, Tony was all for the attention press and events brought. He was always obnoxious, loud and visible, and always made sure to have a good time – probably at someone else’s expense. That night, though, between JARVIS breaking down and the migraine from hell, he was sliding quietly along between dignitaries. He’d stop to shake hands or answer the same three questions about his company. Truthfully, he and Steve were just there to make an appearance. Clint was probably around somewher— oh, yes, look, he was under the orchestra pit, I’ll be damned…

He caught a glimpse or two of Summer in the first hour or so. When the dignitaries started grating on his nerves too badly (he made one cry, he was sure, and he’d done it with a charming smile), he backtracked behind the crowds in her direction. If anyone was willing to deal with his brooding silence, it would be her.

“Hey – enjoying our party as much as me?”

“I’m not even sure that’s possible, Mr Stark.” Summer gave him a slight smile, raising her glass to him. He looked damned good as usual, elegantly turned out and perfectly at ease in it. “Your parties are legendary.” Why did it have to be him who spoke to her? As if being dressed up at a formal event wasn’t nerve-wracking enough.

Oh, they’d spoken a couple times in the past, briefly and in passing and always, always in a working environment. Summer didn’t have time for nerves when she was suited up, didn’t have time to be aware of who was really behind the golden mask of Iron Man. And the thrill of his voice down her spine was just more fuel for her abilities.

Tony leaned his shoulder against the wall beside her chair, rubbing his temple, “This is hardly one of those. I’ll show you some time. One of the classy ones with dubstep and club dancing… Honestly, I’d rather be playing X-box right now.” Or asleep, in the lab, anywhere…

He glanced down at her – unlike on the field, she seemed ill at ease in this setting. Yet, she looked the part flawlessly. “I love the dress, by the way…”

Somebody popped open another champagne bottle, and Tony flinched at the loudness of it. He motioned to the back doors. “Wanna head out? I know maybe a dozen places where the people aren’t as fake and obnoxious as this.”

“We’ll be missed.” It was a half-hearted protest, at best. Tony Stark was famous for doing what he wanted, and she knew she’d not be missed. Despite the organisers’ insistence on her attendance, almost no-one knew who she was. Oh, she’d been politely greeted by many people, and equally politely dismissed. She might as well leave.

With Tony.

“Yes, fine. Let’s go.” Summer glanced around and left her glass on a nearby table. “Before someone misses you.”

shoottothrillindustries:

iamthefirechild:

Summer checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She was never comfortable with the way she looked, far less when she dressed up. But the letter had specified formal dress, so formal dress it was, makeup, heeled shoes and all. She’d braided her long hair into a double coronet around her head and accented the burgundy dress with garnet jewellery.

Probably she ought to be grateful to have her work recognised, but then again recognition had very little to do with what she did as a heroine. It was simply something that needed doing that she was capable of doing, that was all. But the folk who had organised this charity ball didn’t seem to think so, and they wanted the empath Summer Rainault, who had, in their words, ‘helped save so many lives during and after the Manhattan Incident,’ to be one of their guests of honour while the rich and powerful of New York City celebrated the end of the cleanup.

Summer anticipated being largely ignored while the attendees swarmed around better known heroes like Captain America and Iron Man. Which, honestly, was fine by her. Making polite conversation with people who were largely unaware of her existence, all the while knowing just how little truth was in their words, had never appealed. She smiled, posed, and waved to the paparazzi on her way in, hiding how awkward and out of place she felt. Once inside the ballroom, Summer found a corner quieter than the rest, acquired a drink, and tried to ignore all the butterflies in her gut.

Normally, Tony was all for the attention press and events brought. He was always obnoxious, loud and visible, and always made sure to have a good time – probably at someone else’s expense. That night, though, between JARVIS breaking down and the migraine from hell, he was sliding quietly along between dignitaries. He’d stop to shake hands or answer the same three questions about his company. Truthfully, he and Steve were just there to make an appearance. Clint was probably around somewher— oh, yes, look, he was under the orchestra pit, I’ll be damned…

He caught a glimpse or two of Summer in the first hour or so. When the dignitaries started grating on his nerves too badly (he made one cry, he was sure, and he’d done it with a charming smile), he backtracked behind the crowds in her direction. If anyone was willing to deal with his brooding silence, it would be her.

“Hey – enjoying our party as much as me?”

“I’m not even sure that’s possible, Mr Stark.” Summer gave him a slight smile, raising her glass to him. He looked damned good as usual, elegantly turned out and perfectly at ease in it. “Your parties are legendary.” Why did it have to be him who spoke to her? As if being dressed up at a formal event wasn’t nerve-wracking enough.

Oh, they’d spoken a couple times in the past, briefly and in passing and always, always in a working environment. Summer didn’t have time for nerves when she was suited up, didn’t have time to be aware of who was really behind the golden mask of Iron Man. And the thrill of his voice down her spine was just more fuel for her abilities.