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Entry tags:
Avengers - Fine Print
Title: Fine Print
Genre: Crack, Slight Het (Clint/Natasha)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,300 words
Synopsis: Always read the fine print. Or the one where Natasha is a Disney Princess.
Author's Notes: Written for the "cursed" square at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo. I had been planning some angst-ridden thing, but went for crack instead. Please accept my apologies in advance.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I have any affiliation with any company listed, and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
It was, Natasha mused, fortuitous that she had learned to always read the small print. She had carefully scoured her first contract with SHIELD, and later her contract with the Avengers Initiative. It was there that she found something that did not quite sit right in her precise mind, and something that warranted further investigation.
At the very bottom, where it acknowledged that the Avengers though separate were still intricately tied to SHIELD at this time, it listed SHIELD as "a division of Marvel, LLC." With a bit of digging, and possibly a bit of assistance from a certain Tony Stark, it was discovered that this "Marvel" was tied to yet another company. This company appeared to be the "Disney Corporation," which appeared to be named after a patriarchal dynasty with legal documentation that spanned generations, yet appeared to somehow also have acquisitional ties that went back centuries in multiple countries across multiple continents.
She looked for a common theme, but found little save for a specific pictogram stamped upon anything the dynasty claimed as its own. It was Barton that slapped down intel from several centuries past regarding a hostile takeover of a small company that had hostile takeovers of its own, with the leader of said company ending up tossed into a literal fire while the profiteers gobbled up anything of worth before her eventual demise. Said intel had been disseminated down as a warning through the years, eventually presenting itself as folklore of all things.
With that in mind, she began to dig further.
What she found was less than comforting, at least from a female standpoint. Though men were often awarded luxury and what were deemed "kingdoms," women were either to serve or to present themselves as Princesses, Queens, or Sorceresses of various repute, with each and every one of them suffering from the effects of what the reports blithely called "magic" and often times out and out "curses."
These curses varied from being granted everything, but for only a day before some punishment was reinstated to the cursed being hunted down by those who thought they served as a challenge to their rule. There were multiple tales of poisoned sleep and forced cohabitation with horrible monsters that were themselves cursed for some past wrong.
It took her a while, but she eventually worked her way through the multi-layered hierarchy to find one terrified drafter of contracts known by the title of "scribe" to tell her what was in store for her should she sign.
She would be allowed to fight the grand battles, a privilege awarded to few females, but yes, she was to have a curse placed upon her as well. Someone higher than his pay grade had thought it humorous that, given her moniker, she be given the "Curse of the Black Widow." A bit of pushing, a bit of pulling, and more than a fair share of intimidation later, and she was able to coerce the scribe into an extremely minor change of phrase that even he claimed would likely go unnoticed by the team of litigators, especially as the final draft had already been approved and rarely did anyone question a contract once it reached that state lest there be obvious cross-outs or alterations signed off on by multiple parties.
She returned to the Tower and awaited her updated paperwork, which she readily signed with a flourish. This action confused her teammates greatly.
"You just allowed a corporation with ties going back centuries to some seriously screwed up stuff to 'curse' you," Tony reiterated for a second time. It was as if he had thought she had not heard him the first.
"Yes," she nodded, sealing the package with the paperwork and handing it to the courier. She felt she was being magnanimous to neither mention the courier's pantaloons nor the fact that every single one of her male teammates had signed without reading the finest of print. She had, however, stopped Jane earlier. Seeing how Thor was already a prince and her ties to him may construe her designation as a princess, she suggested a reworking of several pieces of language in that particular contract, with Thor and Mjolnir as witness to the final text.
Clint tugged a copy of Natasha's contract free with little resistance, and frowned. "A 'Black Widow Curse,' Nat? Really?" There was a pause, and then that frown turned to a pout. "But that means that we, I mean you, can never, er, yeah, again without your partner of choice ending up dead."
"I'm an assassin, they usually do," she said dryly.
"That's not what I meant..." he grumbled.
She took the paperwork, as it was actual paper and an almost parchment-like consistency at that, back and rolled it neatly into the little case they had provided for just such a thing. "You never read the fine print do you, Barton?" she sighed.
"I read!" he insisted. "I read and it says that, along with all the other terms and service and crap like that, that your curse of choice will be that Black Widow thing which means no sleepy-sleepy or your partner of choice ends up deader than a doornail."
She shook her head and allowed herself a smile. "No," she disagreed. When neither he nor Tony seemed to understand, she figured she'd be nice and explain. She blamed the fact that some of the language involved the sizing and structure for proper wardrobe for certain events, and she truly believed she looked damned good in a ball gown - you could hide so many weapons in those things.
Anyway, she decided to use small words so that neither got lost in the details and said, "The contract and the curse in question contain references to a 'widow' only. The definition of a widow involves a woman who has lost her husband by death, and has not remarried. Nowhere in said definition does it say said woman cannot sleep with others, nor does it prohibit sexual activity. The curse, such as it is, simply means that I cannot marry or my spouse of choice will meet an untimely end."
She watched as realization slowly dawned across Clint's features. "So, we can...?"
"As much as we like," she agreed. "Just don't go down on one knee with a pretty little ring unless you're feeling suicidal."
"Cool!" he said, obviously relieved. Tony, on the other hand, made a face as though he had just witnessed a mental image he would rather erase.
"And possibly useful in future missions should all other options be eliminated," she mused, which earned her a glare.
She was going to make another comment, possibly lewd in nature as Barton never called her on those and actually usually appreciated them, but her phone beeped to tell her she had a new message. She tapped her parchment case on the table and stood to take her leave, impressed at the speed in which the paperwork was processed. Then again, if this so-called magic was in use, perhaps that explained the expediency.
Clint checked his phone and Stark did the same with his, but both frowned when they saw nothing waiting for them. "Where are you going?" Clint asked, clearly disappointed.
"There are a few other tiny details to be worked out per my contract," she explained as she pulled on her jacket. The case obligingly shrunk to fit into its pocket and that was definitely something she wanted to look into for other items, preferably of weapons in nature and preferably in the near future. She backed towards the door, watching as both her teammates looked ready to come with her if need be. As much to see their expressions as to ease their minds, she explained, "Apparently I need to go pick out a tiara; I'll be back later."
With that, she left, her final image one that she would enjoy for years to come. As the doors closed behind her and a gilded SUV pulled up to take her to her appointment, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this whole princess lark wouldn't be that bad after all.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Crack, Slight Het (Clint/Natasha)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,300 words
Synopsis: Always read the fine print. Or the one where Natasha is a Disney Princess.
Author's Notes: Written for the "cursed" square at
hc_bingo. I had been planning some angst-ridden thing, but went for crack instead. Please accept my apologies in advance.Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I have any affiliation with any company listed, and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
It was, Natasha mused, fortuitous that she had learned to always read the small print. She had carefully scoured her first contract with SHIELD, and later her contract with the Avengers Initiative. It was there that she found something that did not quite sit right in her precise mind, and something that warranted further investigation.
At the very bottom, where it acknowledged that the Avengers though separate were still intricately tied to SHIELD at this time, it listed SHIELD as "a division of Marvel, LLC." With a bit of digging, and possibly a bit of assistance from a certain Tony Stark, it was discovered that this "Marvel" was tied to yet another company. This company appeared to be the "Disney Corporation," which appeared to be named after a patriarchal dynasty with legal documentation that spanned generations, yet appeared to somehow also have acquisitional ties that went back centuries in multiple countries across multiple continents.
She looked for a common theme, but found little save for a specific pictogram stamped upon anything the dynasty claimed as its own. It was Barton that slapped down intel from several centuries past regarding a hostile takeover of a small company that had hostile takeovers of its own, with the leader of said company ending up tossed into a literal fire while the profiteers gobbled up anything of worth before her eventual demise. Said intel had been disseminated down as a warning through the years, eventually presenting itself as folklore of all things.
With that in mind, she began to dig further.
What she found was less than comforting, at least from a female standpoint. Though men were often awarded luxury and what were deemed "kingdoms," women were either to serve or to present themselves as Princesses, Queens, or Sorceresses of various repute, with each and every one of them suffering from the effects of what the reports blithely called "magic" and often times out and out "curses."
These curses varied from being granted everything, but for only a day before some punishment was reinstated to the cursed being hunted down by those who thought they served as a challenge to their rule. There were multiple tales of poisoned sleep and forced cohabitation with horrible monsters that were themselves cursed for some past wrong.
It took her a while, but she eventually worked her way through the multi-layered hierarchy to find one terrified drafter of contracts known by the title of "scribe" to tell her what was in store for her should she sign.
She would be allowed to fight the grand battles, a privilege awarded to few females, but yes, she was to have a curse placed upon her as well. Someone higher than his pay grade had thought it humorous that, given her moniker, she be given the "Curse of the Black Widow." A bit of pushing, a bit of pulling, and more than a fair share of intimidation later, and she was able to coerce the scribe into an extremely minor change of phrase that even he claimed would likely go unnoticed by the team of litigators, especially as the final draft had already been approved and rarely did anyone question a contract once it reached that state lest there be obvious cross-outs or alterations signed off on by multiple parties.
She returned to the Tower and awaited her updated paperwork, which she readily signed with a flourish. This action confused her teammates greatly.
"You just allowed a corporation with ties going back centuries to some seriously screwed up stuff to 'curse' you," Tony reiterated for a second time. It was as if he had thought she had not heard him the first.
"Yes," she nodded, sealing the package with the paperwork and handing it to the courier. She felt she was being magnanimous to neither mention the courier's pantaloons nor the fact that every single one of her male teammates had signed without reading the finest of print. She had, however, stopped Jane earlier. Seeing how Thor was already a prince and her ties to him may construe her designation as a princess, she suggested a reworking of several pieces of language in that particular contract, with Thor and Mjolnir as witness to the final text.
Clint tugged a copy of Natasha's contract free with little resistance, and frowned. "A 'Black Widow Curse,' Nat? Really?" There was a pause, and then that frown turned to a pout. "But that means that we, I mean you, can never, er, yeah, again without your partner of choice ending up dead."
"I'm an assassin, they usually do," she said dryly.
"That's not what I meant..." he grumbled.
She took the paperwork, as it was actual paper and an almost parchment-like consistency at that, back and rolled it neatly into the little case they had provided for just such a thing. "You never read the fine print do you, Barton?" she sighed.
"I read!" he insisted. "I read and it says that, along with all the other terms and service and crap like that, that your curse of choice will be that Black Widow thing which means no sleepy-sleepy or your partner of choice ends up deader than a doornail."
She shook her head and allowed herself a smile. "No," she disagreed. When neither he nor Tony seemed to understand, she figured she'd be nice and explain. She blamed the fact that some of the language involved the sizing and structure for proper wardrobe for certain events, and she truly believed she looked damned good in a ball gown - you could hide so many weapons in those things.
Anyway, she decided to use small words so that neither got lost in the details and said, "The contract and the curse in question contain references to a 'widow' only. The definition of a widow involves a woman who has lost her husband by death, and has not remarried. Nowhere in said definition does it say said woman cannot sleep with others, nor does it prohibit sexual activity. The curse, such as it is, simply means that I cannot marry or my spouse of choice will meet an untimely end."
She watched as realization slowly dawned across Clint's features. "So, we can...?"
"As much as we like," she agreed. "Just don't go down on one knee with a pretty little ring unless you're feeling suicidal."
"Cool!" he said, obviously relieved. Tony, on the other hand, made a face as though he had just witnessed a mental image he would rather erase.
"And possibly useful in future missions should all other options be eliminated," she mused, which earned her a glare.
She was going to make another comment, possibly lewd in nature as Barton never called her on those and actually usually appreciated them, but her phone beeped to tell her she had a new message. She tapped her parchment case on the table and stood to take her leave, impressed at the speed in which the paperwork was processed. Then again, if this so-called magic was in use, perhaps that explained the expediency.
Clint checked his phone and Stark did the same with his, but both frowned when they saw nothing waiting for them. "Where are you going?" Clint asked, clearly disappointed.
"There are a few other tiny details to be worked out per my contract," she explained as she pulled on her jacket. The case obligingly shrunk to fit into its pocket and that was definitely something she wanted to look into for other items, preferably of weapons in nature and preferably in the near future. She backed towards the door, watching as both her teammates looked ready to come with her if need be. As much to see their expressions as to ease their minds, she explained, "Apparently I need to go pick out a tiara; I'll be back later."
With that, she left, her final image one that she would enjoy for years to come. As the doors closed behind her and a gilded SUV pulled up to take her to her appointment, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this whole princess lark wouldn't be that bad after all.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
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