Title: We Have Fangirls

Summary: "See those masses of screaming girls, Loki? They're all your fangirls, just waiting for you to step out so they can mob you and maybe – but mostly likely – molest you. So you're essentially screwed. Ready to accept surrender?"

Warnings: Crack. Pure and simple.

Inspiration: Artemis-aka-Diana's pic on DA called Loki, Beware of Fangirls.

Author Note: *cough* ….I know I should be writing on the Life 'verse, but I have a case of writer's block in that area… And after some collaborating with my good redheaded friend, Jess, a oneshot ended up popping in my head while discussing the horrors of a mob of fangirls after we saw this picture by Artemis-aka-Diana on DeviantArt. This oneshot was written simply because of Jess and my need to get over the writer's block… Fingers crossed! :) Love you, Jess. Thanks for the idea.

Oh, and one last thing: if anything looks screwy, the blame can go to my format. It's jacking up again...

Five minutes after leaving the Helicarrier…

Tony Stark winced inside the suit as the repulsors on the boots of his Iron Man cut out in mid-air again. He really wished it'd stop doing that. At this rate he was more likely to die of a heart attack in mid-air on his way to his tower than a psychopathic God of Mischief with a magic glowstick of destiny.

Speaking of…

"Jarvis, you wouldn't happen to have any tips on how to bring down Loki without destroying my tower? Or Manhattan?"

His AI butler hesitated ever so slightly. "Well, sir, I can review past encounters with the God of Mischief for any details that might be of use."

Tony winced. "Uhh… No offense, Jarvis, but every past encounter we've had with Loki I was either late to see his little diva party or I was head-butting with Spangles and Goldilocks. I don't see how you could glean any information from that."

"Then I'm sorry to report that I cannot be of help in this situation, sir. I am not an expert on Norse gods."

The genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist bit his lip and sighed. Which turned into a totally manly squeak when he dropped like a rock for two seconds suddenly before regaining flight again. Regaining his wits, he said, "Then I want you to use every search engine known to man to dig up facts on this guy. Surely he's got some Achilles' heel…"

"Very well, sir."

"And make it fast, J. We're kinda on a time-" Suddenly Tony broke off as a thought hit him. Expert…

And the idea what simply so mischievous that he outright grinned.

"Jarvis, do me a favor and open my Twitter account. I need you to write a tweet for me…"

Well, Tony thought as he subtly slipped on the identification bracelets, at least he hasn't shot me. Yet.

The infamous God of Mischief stood not twenty feet from him, watching him with smug, curious green eyes. The genius thought that it was a little too early for him to be celebrating just yet, but he didn't say anything. He was in the middle of threatening (not stalling), after all.

Loki's grip on his staff tightened. "I have an army."

"We have fangirls," Tony shot right back at him.

Oh, the look Loki sent him was priceless. The inventor had to fight to keep the smirk off his face. If only he could tell Jarvis to snap a picture. Actually, he was probably already recording the whole thing…

Smug look gone, Loki leaned forward just a bit as if he hadn't heard it right. "…Fangirls." That was a statement.

Stark nodded, moving from behind the bar. "Yep. Fangirls."

Thor's little psychopathic brother continued to stare at him like he was the one with the head of a bag of cats, as Bruce had so kindly put it. He took a few steps towards Tony with an incredulous look on his face. "Fangirls?"

Tony nodded again, taking a sip of his scotch calmly. On the inside he was cackling like a five-year-old at the god's expression. He elaborated further with his poker face. "Ya know, obsessive female fans? Usually of an actor, comic books, movies, all that jazz? Write kinky fanfiction? Tend to get restraining orders against themselves sometimes for molesting or stalking their favorite celebrity? Trust me, I know what it's like." He didn't exactly have to fake the shudder that he displayed for Loki, unfortunately.

Loki just stared at him blankly for a few seconds before his face split into a shit-eating grin. "Stark, I have nothing to fear of these 'fangirls', let alone if they are females."

Tony shook his head as if he was hearing none of it and pointed at him with the hand holding the scotch glass. "You see, that's where you're wrong." He paused before walking past the God of Mischief to the window. "Come here."

Loki eyed him warily, still clenching the glowstick of destiny (Tony just realized now how wrong that sounded), before he marched over to stand next to Stark by the window.

The inventor pointed down towards the street. "See that?"

The god looked, and saw nothing except for puny mortals in the streets. "I see nothing but weak humans."

Tony clucked his tongue. "Look closer, Reindeer Games."

Loki ignored the name and did as the human said. Again he failed to notice what was so special, but then he noticed something.

A large majority of the puny mortals in the street were females ranging from all ages. And they were accumulating, too. In just the few seconds he been watching, the crowd of females at the base of the tower had quadrupled. It looked like a few of them had signs, which read things like 'Loki's Number One Fan/Bride' and 'Loki, will you marry me?'. The others were chanting and wearing… Were those t-shirts? With his picture on them, no less?

Loki's grip on his scepter tightened, but he didn't tear his gaze from the sight below him. "What trickery is this, Stark?"

Tony refused to snicker. He refused to break down his cool exterior. Instead he smirked. "It isn't trickery, Loki. It's called good old Female Obsession."

A tense silence set between them as they continued to watch. The crowd had turned into what looked like a Justin Bieber concert. In the small time they had spoken, two all-out screaming brawls had broken out and it looked like several girls at the front were attempting to break down the front doors of Stark tower with… Were those crowbars?

Tony looked back to Loki, feeling quite smug. After all, who didn't find crazed fangirls disturbing? Pointing down, he said, "See those masses of screaming girls, Loki? They're all your fangirls, just waiting for you to step out so they can mob you and maybe – but mostly likely – molest you. So you're essentially screwed. Ready to accept surrender?"

The God of Mischief looked back up, scoffing. "Are you implying that I'm afraid of a few mortal girls, Man of Iron? They are nothing compared to my power."

The genius just stared back unimpressed. "Really? Then you wouldn't mind volunteering and stepping out there for crowd control?"

Loki's bright green eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

Tony gave a small bow. "My point proven. Now, the other Avengers are just minutes away, Loki. You can either surrender quietly and we can save you from doom by fangirls, or you can fight us and deal with an angry, obsessed, PMSing crowd of girls. Your choice."

There was a few seconds where he actually thought Loki was considering his choices – but then a sinister smile spread across the trickster's lips and Tony's stomach dropped.

Still smiling, the god raised his scepter. "How can your friends fight me, Stark, if they're too busy fighting you?"

And then he proceeded to tap Tonys' chest with the scepter.

Tink.

Both of them stared at the glowing blue staff, then at each other, and back again. Again, Loki raised the staff and tapped Tony on the arc reactor.

Tink.

The God of Mischief frowned. "This usually works."

Tony felt his heart hammering wildly in his chest but kept his cool and shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know. Performance issues, they happen-"

He suddenly choked as Loki gripped his throat, squeezing off oxygen. The god threw him to the floor hard, expression showing his anger. Tony scrambled backwards, saying, "Anytime now, Jarvis-"

And that was when Loki picked him up by the throat again, and proceeded to through him out the window.

The suit had barely covered his body when he reached the ground. Thankfully, it was quick enough for him to stop just in time to avoid squishing a few fangirls to the sidewalk. Said fangirls all stopped in their screaming, cat fights, and attempts to break into Stark Tower long enough to clear a spot on the sidewalk for him to drop down among wide-eyed girls ranging from their early teens to late fifties.

Face plate flipping up, he turned in a circle to give them all his best heart-winning smile. "Thanks, ladies, for responding to my tweet. Really. That was very nice. In fact, I think I can guarantee each of you time with Loki in the near future. It's the least I can do if we survive this thing. But if I were you I'd all go home now because it's about to get…"

He trailed off as he noticed something. They were all getting closer.

And then Tony noticed something else, something that he should've seen earlier:

They weren't just wearing Loki t-shirts. They had on shirts with Steve on them, and Barton, Bruce, and Thor...

Oh. And himself.

(But there weren't any with Natasha on them; he'd have to rub that in her face later.)

Tony would've felt flattered if half of them weren't twitching and the other half didn't look predatory.

Sensing how tense the air was getting, he flipped his faceplate down and held his hands up. Oh, crap. "Now, ladies-"

With screams that could've terrified the Hulk himself the girls surged forward, hands outstretched. At the same time Tony hurriedly activated his repulsors with the thought, 'Holy shit that really is scary', and soared up just as the space he'd been standing in was overrun by a moving mass of girls.

A week after Loki's attack…

Tony stretched as he walked into the lounge from his shower (or the other one that the Hulk hadn't, you know, beat Loki's face in the floor) and winced as several aches from the battle the week before made themselves known. Bruce was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed in the standard meditation position.

Stopping half-way to the fridge, Tony paused. Then, as quietly as he could, he snuck across the wood-paneled floor to the couch and prepared to scream, "BOO!" in Bruce's ear and potentially cause a Hulking-out.

"I can hear you, Tony."

The inventor's shoulders slumped. "Damn."

Bruce smiled a little, eyes still closed.

Since the battle with Loki, Stark Tower had unofficially become Avenger Tower. Partly because Tony felt a certain responsibility in keeping the team together after they'd just gotten aside they're differences and assembled, and partly because there was a giant 'A' left from his name on the front of the tower. (Okay, so that was a small part of why.)

Steve and Bruce had pretty much moved in permanently (he couldn't kick them out in the cold! Not when he had a perfectly good tower that was more or less half-destroyed). Clint and Natasha hadn't spent the night so far, but that was because SHIELD had been keeping them busy in the aftermath of the battle. Thor had stayed for two nights and two days before he took Loki back to Asgard, and in those two days he had gladly helped clean up the destruction and begin repairs. The whole past week had been full of cleaning and rebuilding and repairs and media and general insanity.

Tony opened his cabinet of alcohol, choosing a half empty bottle of scotch. Captain Spangles had gone to bed already so he (hopefully) could drink his first drink that week in peace.

Bruce unfolded his legs, eyeing the glass of scotch Tony poured for himself. "Isn't it a little bit late to be drinking? We've got that press conference to go to tomorrow, remember?"

The billionaire snorted as he made his way to the smooth, un-shattered window to stare out at the lights of the city at night. "It is never too late for some booze, doc."

Before the doctor could reply they heard the not-so-subtle footsteps of the one and only Steve Rogers. He apparently had been in bed already, looking more than a little irritated in his gray sweats and white t-shirt. He held a small, dinosaur age phone up to his ear. (Tony restrained from commenting on how he was surprised that the Captain had even figured out how to answer the phone.)

Immediately the Captain's blue eyes found Tony with a disapproving look. Said inventor glanced at the scotch in his hand before hiding it behind his back. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

Steve held the phone away from his mouth, frowning. "Tony, why is Clint calling me telling me he just got jumped by a group of teenage girls on in his way into the tower?"

^_^ Poor Clint.

Sorry, I do third person crappily… Again, so sorry…

This should stay a one-shot unless I get sudden inspiration to add on to it...but otherwise it's staying like this.

(Watch, now that I said that, someone's going to throw a plot bunny at me. Just watch.)