The Perfect Soldier

Ship that you’re indifferent to: 😑

Ship that makes you sad: 💔

Ship that you find disgusting: 💩

Ship that you find cute but don’t ship: ✌

Ship that you secretly like: 💚

Ship that you used to have as an OTP: 💙

Ship that you find most sexy:👅

Ship that you can never see happening: 👎

Ship that is canon but you don’t ship: 💤

Ship that is unpopular but you still like: 💘

Ship that is taboo: 💦

Ship that pisses you off: 💣

Ship you’re curious about: 👀

Ship that needs more love: 💖

Marvel TaskForce Hiatus

To our members and followers, 

We here at at Marvel TaskForce would first off like to apologize for lack of updates on the behind the scenes of the group. As some may have noticed, activity has dropped to an all time low that it is almost nonexistent, and as such we have been contacting members in the hopes of determining where to go from here. 

Unfortunately, this has brought us to the determination that the group has gone dead. 

After a year and a half run, we’d like to say thank you to all members that played on our roster and all those that followed the stories we created. We encourage anyone who was looking at the group to consider others, as we do not think that a revival will come to the group any time soon, if at all. 

We wish everyone that finds this group before it is taken down the best of luck in their RP endeavors and happy RPing in the future!

Best, 

“Stark’s?” He tilts his head and draws back with a scrunched face as if the man had just suggested he would look good in pink. “Tony Stark? ‘Course I’m not… I can guarantee he hasn’t made nothing as durable as me, pal.” He does find it odd that a comparison to the billionaire with shiny toys is the first thing that comes to the man’s mind. He makes a note of it, but focuses on the present.

He chews absently at a wad of nicotine gum that has long since lost its flavor and any ease it might have. He’s supposed to be cutting out bad habits and to be fair the kids hate it when he walks the halls smelling like an ash tray. He peeks over the man at the bike and shakes his head. “Damn, what a shame… she’s a beauty. I’ve got an old 1953 Indian Chief I like to tinker on in the garage. She’s heavy in mileage and old but she keeps ticking. But hey, none of us are getting any younger.”

“You don’t seem too worse for wear though. That’s lucky.” He knows it’s got to be more than luck. You can’t do that much damage to metal and expect an average man to just walk it off. Something was screwy about all this. The guy looked familiar. Sort of. It was fuzzy around the edges and when you lived as long and lived through as much as he had, some things just blurred or were better left forgotten.  Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the setting, but he needed a better look at the guy to be sure.  “You need a hand there, bub?”

A brow rises and the Captain finds himself grinning, despite his recent accident. Well, he doesn’t know what that means, but Stark hasn’t created life yet and humans were the most durable beings Steve had ever encountered. So there was that and, the fact the man was upset over the bike, leaves him believing that he’s hardly found an enemy out on the road. 

“Got a newer Harley at home, but you just can’t beat the purr of something older. Poor girl gets laid down more often than I’d like, though,” Steve grumbles, hauling the bike upright and allowing the kickstand do its job, albeit being bent. “Too many people don’t watch where they’re going. And when you’re on this thing, you’re damn near invisible to them anyways.” 

Thank God for his reflexes. 

“Any sort of hand would be great,” he says, relief tinging his voice as he offers a hand to shake over the twisted but still functional metal. The truth is that his leg is burning up a storm from the road rash, but there’s worse things than walking through it. Not the worst injury he’s ever had, nor his last, but he is favoring it ever so slightly and trying not to move around much now that he has the bike as a cane to lean on casually. “Steve, nice to meet you. Guess I wasn’t paying half as much attention as I should have been. Despite it not being as cold out as it could be, still can be slick in some places, you know?” 

Not normally a chatty Kathy, the Captain finds looser lips around strangers that share an interest. Besides, the more he talks, the less he focuses on a dull throbbing around his hip and knee. It’ll be fine... he thinks. And it’s not like he’s that far from Rochester, where he could at least ask for a ride if he needed to. He’s sure Ali wouldn’t mind, though he wonders if he’d be able to hide a limp from her.  

The time in which Steve walked away and returned felt like a fraction of a second– Clint head being spacey and so consumed with jumbled thoughts that he was heavily displaced. Turning, the archer accepted the packaged toothbrush and toothpaste, eager to get the bad taste out of his mouth. Coffee sounded good, especially with his refusal to go back to sleep. It would have to be black, and strong enough to give a bitter burn all the way to the pit of his stomach.

After freshening up and looking somewhat better than he was, Clint followed Steve into the kitchen and took a seat at the dining table. His arms came to rest atop it, one hand propping up his head as he watched the captain flip on the coffee maker. “Nah. Always been more of the night owl type with a tendency to sleep in. More things tend to happen at night anyway.” Except recently. He and Steve had been attacked in plain daylight, and even Clint’s confrontation with Loki had been during a time when the sun was still lingering.

But still, he was so tired. Clint had been entirely off his game for the past few days and he knew he was far from his best. Hopefully things stayed tame, because if it came to another battle he wasn’t quite sure he would have it in him to be a reliable fighter. He felt sore, even sickly in the way his muscles ached and his eyes burned. There was a constant throbbing in his head, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the lack of sleep or something else. Recently he just hadn’t felt…right.

At least for now the room wasn’t spinning quite so bad, but that was just another bad sign to add to the rest.

“What are your plans for today?” Clint asked, more in an effort to make small talk as he listened to the coffee being brewed. He wasn’t even sure what he would do himself. Feeling like shit had a way of messing with his usually organized and prepared thoughts. He would have teased Steve, asking if he was going out to grocery shop like a good little house wife, but couldn’t be damned near interested enough to do so.

“Luck is on your side, my friend,” Steve offers quietly, tapping the side of the coffee machine to make sure it’s on. “When daylight breaks, I’m awake. No matter what’s happened the day before or if I want to be.” 

Something about a bugle playing every morning for a long while might have something to do with that. 

Besides his waking hours and how little he actually slept in, the Captain was hardly a morning person. Surly at the best of times, he spent more time glaring at the machine slowly percolating than he did glancing at Barton. When the question about his day came at him, he answered honestly, too inhuman at the moment to do anything else. Perhaps that made him more human, the early dawn hours bringing an honesty that most would keep trapped shut. 

“Fuck if I know. As far as I’m aware, I was going to patrol in the early evening after dark and then I’m somewhat stuck for the night indoors. Not like there’s many places open when I’m dealing with adrenaline or punching things out,” he offers, one shoulder coming up in a shrug as he crosses his arms. It’s lazy, or feels that way, leaning back against the counter and blinking around the kitchen like he should be doing something in it that he didn’t remember. “Days are normally spent training, but I have a feeling I should actually do something others would consider productive.” 

It comes with a derisive snort as he shakes his head, finally moving to get something like food started for the both of them. Pancakes were simple, thick, and warm, all things needed at this time in the morning. 

Add in coffee, and they were cooking with gas. 

Clint manages to lift his arm high enough to flush the toilet and its obvious he’s lost in his own head because he doesn’t even notice Steve is up and bringing him things. As far as he thinks, he’s somewhere alone, and so when he hears the voice behind him, Clint is up on his feet in an instant, whirling around with a look crossed between confusion, panic, and a deadly promise to fight back.

In a split second he’s looking for a weapon and a way out, but upon realizing it was Steve in the doorway, the adrenaline burst passes and Clint promptly deflates into something weaker. It takes him another moment to remember where he is and how he got there, and then he’s shaking his head. “I’m fine.” He answered, voice raspy. “I’ll take the spare toothbrush though.”

He’s up against the sink now, turning on the faucet so that he could collect cool water in his hands and splash it on his face. There would be no chance of resting now, and so now was as good as any time to head out and patrol the city. No point in sticking around.

He feels dizzy though, unsteady, and it seems neither the water on his face washing his sweat away or the grip on the counter was helping much. Maybe leaving just now wouldn’t be the best idea. “Sorry for waking you.” Clint said softly, glancing over his shoulder before letting his head hang once more. He offers no explanation, and was rather grateful he wasn’t being questioned. Even if there were questions he would have no idea how to answer them, not when he had so many of his own.

What was happening? Why was he being plagued by these terrible nightmares and was feeling this constant weight on him, like there was something dark clinging to his shoulders. Maybe this was Loki’s doing, but even then what was there to back up the blame?

Steve doesn’t move a muscle, watching his friend from the corner of his eye instead. He isn’t fine but the Captain will hardly call him on it when he already looks ready to flee to someplace different. Better to keep the man where he is and get him to calm down than have him run into the night and end up on the short end of trouble. 

“I was awake. Just because you’re in bed, doesn’t mean you’re sleeping.” Not hard to believe, though not entirely true. Frankly, he rather be awake than not these days. “Let me get you that toothbrush.” 

Slowness allows his movements to be recognized, spaced out, and taken stock of. It’s something he learned around soldiers, when they woke up in the night, and considering what he knows about Clint’s file, he’s got no qualms calling the crying out ‘shell shock’ in his head. They all had been places they would rather not be, and who’s to say that any of them wouldn’t be in a similar spot some nights? 

Quietly, he goes and returns, offering a toothbrush in a box and a resort style toothpaste to Barton. It’s from a survival bag in his closet, but how hard were these things to come by, really? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry seemed to have some sort of contraption or online store these days that sold soaps or pastes or something he could use in a pinch. This was just the tip of the iceberg, really, on what he had stashed in his apartment. 

“Besides, it’s early enough that a cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt anyone.” 

Still projecting his movements, the Captain just nods from the doorway and moves back, stepping light into the kitchen area. He allows the other to follow or not, giving the archer some space so that he can clean himself up. The bathroom is far too small, anyways, for the both of them and he didn’t particularly feel like blocking the door with his tall frame. It isn’t until he hears a small noise behind him that he acknowledges that he’s not home alone, flipping on the coffee maker with a beep, having loaded it in the meantime. 

Bruce bit back a small smile as Steve explained that he figured out his cellular phone all by himself. It wasn’t really a surprise. He didn’t think Steve was an idiot or anything (and, definitely not technologically stumped, as most assumed). He adapted well, from what Bruce had seen. All of them did – theAvengers. Whether it was for survival or just to blend in everyday life.

”They’re not that difficult to figure out with the manual, so I’m not really surprised that you figured it out on your own,” Bruce claimed as he finished up his drink in one last swig. He almost gagged from the burn in his throat. He really didn’t drink often, probably shouldn’t be drinking right now. But, he figured running into the Captain – the situation would be more… relaxing and not so much forced (or awkward) if they were both having a drink. Men did that, right? Friends did that. Not that they were friends. He wasn’t sure how the other Avengers felt about him or each other. Clint and Natasha – that was a given. He and Tony – another given. They had a lot in common. He figured at least Natasha and Steve would stay in touch more so than say himself and anyone other than Tony. At least, he thought they seemed like friends – good friend candidates.

Bruce eyed the glass in front of him with distaste. He was sure he’d been silent for longer than he meant. One drink didn’t make him tipsy, no way. Maybe it was his inadvertent introvert nature. That was a hard one to escape, not even alcohol could help him.

“Yup,” Bruce agreed to… well, he wasn’t entire sure. Maybe to the topic about Fury, or maybe that SHIELD literally had no idea what they were doing when they threw them all in a room together and titled them a team. Probably both. That made sense.

“Speaking of food, I cook a mean curry–” Bruce offered, leaving out the insult that the bar probably sold meat with pieces of rat in it. He had the look to follow through with the rumor. “Do you want to head to the tower? I’ve been researching some suits – modifications. You could give me an opinion on them. You know, in case the world can’t be saved by a swinging spider and needed you again.” Bruce suggested, not bothering to mention himself as part of the team. Because in reality, he wasn’t. Hulk was.

There was a manual? 

Steve blinks a few times, eyes just a little drooped from the atmosphere more than the liquor, and he wonders how many things he should have read the instructions for and just didn’t. Everything was on the screens and in English, it wasn’t as if it was rocket science, but the ins and outs of things he could have probably come upon faster that way than his own tours through his devices. Granted, as soon as he found the systems menus, everything else fell into place, but it still wouldn’t have hurt. 

“Haven’t tried curry yet,” the Captain admits, throwing back the last of his drink. There’s a sharp smile that crosses his lips as he pulls out a few bills and tosses them onto the counter, enough to cover his own tab from before and tips for the bartender. “After you, Doctor Banner.” 

Rarely, if ever, did he venture into the tower. So it should be interesting to see if it’s changed at all from when he last saw it, broken and abused from Loki. 

“Haven’t exactly retired,” he murmurs, gently patting Banner’s shoulder as he goes by. Hands quickly make their way into his pockets as he moves towards the exit, steps as firm and straight as ever. “I patrol every night. God knows that the next time something comes up, though, we’re going to need back up we don’t have.” 

SHIELD was gone. The team wasn’t exactly connected in a viable, call to arms fashion. Did he forget to mention he didn’t trust that his apartment wasn’t bugged again? But other than that, Banner was right. He’d need to know modifications to anything those who showed up on the battlefield had on them and he doesn’t think Stark would be so liberal with his plans, himself. After their argument about trust, he’d bet double on that. So if Banner is ready to show them off, he’ll take the step into that door and find out for himself what’s going on with the suits. 

Since Steve had left the spare key to his apartment in Clint’s ownership, the archer had made a point not to come barging in very often.He didn’t want to overstay his welcome or breach boundaries, not just with Steve but with himself as well. Trust was a funny thing though, and since Christmas there had been a couple of times Clint silently came in the apartment during the night, trying to get some rest on the couch with the knowledge he wasn’t alone. Only problem was, no matter where he seemed to be, he couldn’t settle into sleep long before he was waking in cold sweats.

Seeing Loki again had rattled the archer. His assurance had fallen, something in his head feeling alien to him, and he was wondering if it was just him and his fear of being put under another controlling spell. Either way, Clint felt far from himself. He was tired, the skin around his eyes darkening, and his senses felt dull. This would pose a problem if there came another need to fight, but so far the archer could find no way to rid himself of this mental sickness of sorts.

Clint had arrived at Steve’s apartment early that evening. He was quiet, not his usual jesting self and he was hardly interested in talking much. With background noise of the television, or Steve moving about, it was easier for Clint to doze off a few times, but once night came down and the apartment went silent, the nightmares took hold again.

They were vivid, real enough to be confused with memories. Clint felt he was losing touch with reality, especially when he woke amidst confusion and absolute terror. Details were never lost, and the physical pain seemed to follow him into the real world. Clint could feel something sharp on his wrists, some form of bond grinding and slicing his skin every time he tried to move. The smell in the air was putrid, metallic and heavy with stale blood. It was making him sick, but it was the screams that was driving him mad. Men, women, children, all being killed before his eyes by some unseen, yet violent force. Some bodies bore arrows, his arrows, and Clint felt a choked sound catch in his throat.There was more struggling, a voice rumbling in his head that he couldn’t quite make out, and he shut his eyes against it, only when he opened them again he was greeted with a sight that made his blood run cold. Joined in the growing pile of bodies was the recognizable red and blue uniform, the shield laying just out of reach. A mere foot away was another form, slender with fiery red hair, just as limp and lifeless as the other. 

Now, however, he’s regretting his decision just a sliver. Bolting out of bed, his shield is in his hand before he even hits the ground. But the noises aren’t of invasion and the retching is a little bit too stomach turning to ignore. 

The shield is set down and Steve sighs, going to dig some things out from under his own sink. 

Should have known it wasn’t going to be an easy night, not with the way Barton had been earlier. But the Captain had been hoping that at least he didn’t leave in the middle of the night. Now, he doesn’t think that’s an option and he yawns as he moves past the bathroom on light feet, getting a glass of water and a handful of mints out of his kitchen before he moves to the door. Considering it’s his own apartment, he doesn’t knock, but he does stay to the threshold and only set his offerings down quietly to still give the other distance. 

The mints are put on the rug, the water on the vanity, and a bottle of seltzer water goes beside that. A quick rub at the back of his neck, taking in the other, and Steve finally sinks down in the door frame, back to one side, a foot propped up on the other. 

“Want a warm towel?” he murmurs softly, glancing sideways at Barton. 

There’s no room to ask what’s going on, at least not yet. He’s scanned the apartment on his way to the kitchen and there’s no sign of forced entry, everything still locked down from his rounds before bed. So whatever has caused the other to shout is either internal or memory ridden, though Steve knows far more about one than the other.