wakeupnew | bible study

Hmmm. Hellboy/Liz, first kiss.

Hellboy doesn't notice, at first, that they're on fire.

It's a little understandable, maybe, when a guy's fireproof; fire doesn't hurt so much as feel a little weird, and when he's intensely focused on something (someone) else (she's alive, she's alive, she's kissing him -- holy crap she's kissing him), he's a little busy to notice details like being wreathed in a towering column of fire. Who needs situational awareness when you've got Liz Sherman in your arms?

She's small, but as strong as he's always known she is; she has a hand on his arm and her lips are warm, and he can't get over how right this feels.

He only cracks an eye when he smells something burning. And that's when he sees the blue light; that's when he recognizes that the heat he's been feeling is more literal than he'd realized. He half-smiles against her mouth, and maybe it's a little smug. He's allowed.

Reluctantly, Hellboy breaks the kiss; less reluctantly, he presses his forehead against Liz's, leaning over her and curled around her as much as possible. "Hey," he says quietly. "Sparky. Kinda cold to burn your sheets off."

Liz's eyes snap open (blue-white rather than the familiar brown), then dart from side to side. Her fingers close around his arm, finally holding onto him instead of just letting her hand rest there -- and the flames slowly subside, disappearing into her. Her skin seems to glow for a brief second, showing through the strongest in her knuckles and joints, and then it's gone, and they're standing in a cold rock-hewn underground tunnel beneath a snowfield.

Their eyes meet. There's a flash of movement in Hellboy's peripheral vision -- Myers shifting uncomfortably and looking away, he'd bet good money -- but he doesn't turn to see.

"Hi," Liz murmurs, after what might just be the longest couple of seconds of Red's life, and he finally cracks the broadest of craggy grins.

"Hey," he rumbles. "What do you say we get outta here?"

Her mouth turns upward at the corners, slow but sure. "I say I'd like that."

Edited 2008-10-15 05:13 (UTC)

*eyes thoughtfully*

How awful do I want to be.

Jim/Ryan, at Dwight's behest.

You are mean to me.

Yes, well, at least I'm not quite as mean as the Red Sox are to all of Boston. *eyeing game* When the TV focuses on Steve-O and he is reading a book...

(WHY IS THAT GUY STILL ON THE MOUND. IT DOES NOT HAVE THE LOGICS.)

i -- i just turned the game on for the first time in two hours.

oh christ.

That was pretty much our reaction over dinner, along with the aforementioned WHY IS THAT GUY STILL ON THE MOUND. D:

GUESS.

... Um, I, um. Nick Fury's office.

MOVIE, COMICS, OR ANIMATED MOVIES?

MOVIE. EXPLAIN THAT SUCKER TO SAMUEL L JACKSON

"Wow," says Tony, looking around. "I feel like I'm in the principal's office here. Except this principal is significantly less hot and blonde than the one at prep school." He props his boots up on Nick Fury's unadorned desk and crosses his legs at the ankle. "She had the whole -- forbidding but unspeakably attractive, thing, going on."

Rhodey scowls at him, standing with his arms folded over his armored chest. "Don't do that. We're in enough trouble as it is."

"Don't do what, talk about Principal Heyermauer?"

He shoots Tony a look; one that would be significantly more imposing if it weren't delivered by a man wearing a helmetless, battered suit of black-and-gray armor that has had one shoulder cannon torn off, with the other hanging by a handful of sparking wires.

Tony lets his head roll to the side, taking in that withering look, and then he nonchalantly pops a mint -- something that Rhodey really hopes is a mint -- in his mouth. "Secret identities never stay secret. It was bound to come out eventually; it was only a matter of time." He shrugs his shoulders; absently pats at the thin trail of smoke streaming from an exposed panel of circuitry on the left side of his chest.

"'A matter of time'? You ripped my damn helmet off!"

Tony's eyebrows lower. "I'm sorry," he drawls. "The next time some two-bit bad guy contaminates the War Machine's oxygen supply, I'll just stand by and let you asphyxiate."

Rhodey rolls his eyes. "Oh, that's right, 'cause I should be thanking you; the all-knowing Tony Stark, making the right decisions for the whole world."

Wonder of all wonders: that seems to have actually hit home. Tony puts his boots on the floor and gets up out of the chair with a whine of overtaxed servomotors. "Would you rather I had let you die, Rhodey?" His eyes go harder; his voice takes on that flinty edge that it never had before Afghanistan, unexpectedly crisp. "You were down. What the hell did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to help me keep this quiet." Rhodey isn't backing down. He's taller than Tony and they look ridiculous, he thinks, two grown men playing soldier; facing off; old enough and beat up enough that they should know better than this. "I've got family back east; I can't buy them homes with better security than the White House or have armored guards follow them everywhere they go." Like you do for Pepper goes unspoken, implied. "And if Fury tells the Air Force that I'm the guy who's been helping you on your vigilante missions, I'm going to get slapped with a dishonorable discharge so fast neither of us is gonna see it coming. So I expected you to figure something out."

"Good God," says Tony, his mouth still set. "This is like all those times when somebody told me I was impossible, isn't it?"

"You are impossible," Rhodey says, and maybe he’s a little wild-eyed. "I am angry. Learn the difference."

Edited 2008-10-15 07:44 (UTC)

"You're crazy," Tony tells him, "and you've still got a little something right -- here." He reaches up with his left hand -- the one that lost a gauntlet during the fight -- and touches the short trail of dried blood just below Rhodey's right eye.

Jim Rhodes knows Tony Stark well enough by now to recognize that look in his eyes; the one when he has to tell him no. This qualifies. "Oh, don't you dare--" he says, and then he doesn't say anything at all, because Tony has caught his face between a bare hand and a cold gauntlet and is kissing him, hard.

Rhodey hisses through his teeth, thanks to both surprise (though he shouldn't be surprised; not anymore, not with Tony) and pain. His face is pretty beat up, and Tony's not gentle. For a second, it's instinct; he doesn't think about it. Tony's tongue is in his mouth, he's kissing him hard enough to bruise, so Jim furiously gives back as good as he's getting.

It takes a second to register just how strongly Tony tastes of whiskey, but when it does, it hits in the same instant that Rhodey remembers that they’re in the one office in all of SHIELD guaranteed to have more cameras and listening devices per square foot than anything short of the NSA. He shoves Tony backward, who catches himself against the desk; Rhodey stares at him, the old burn of recent whiskey still on his tongue. Tony stares back defiantly, eyes dark in a pale face, his hair wild and matted from Iron Man's helmet.

" 'Scuse me, gentlemen," says Nick Fury from the door. "I can always come back at a more convenient time."

Edited 2008-10-15 07:50 (UTC)

Tony and Rhodey, on Tony's plane, with the stewardesses watching.

"No," says Rhodey. More distinctly: "No."

"C'mon," says Tony Stark, irrepressible and well on the way to drunk, in the way where 'on the way' means 'has been for two hours.' "Sugar pie. Honey bunch."

Stephanie and Suzette, they're giggling; Rhodey's got one stewardess in his lap and another pressed against his left shoulder, and Tony fucking Stark warm against his right shoulder, leaning in closer than any man's got a right to do.

"Don't do that--"

"You know that I love you," Tony tells him, and nobody should be able to drunkenly recite Temptations lyrics with a straight face like that, but that's Tony all over.

"I'm serious, man, I'm serious, I'll--"

"I can't help myself. It's -- it's you and nobody else."

"It's a -- it's a thing, a what do you call it -- dishonorable discharge, thing." This is the point of the evening -- morning -- whatever exactly it is, depending on what time zone they're flying over, when Rhodey thinks that fending off Tony and his dumb ass ideas would be a lot easier if he hadn't been talked into that sake. "Shit. I'm serious, I--"

"Unless you've been hiding something fairly earth-shattering from me for the last, oh, 20 years, you're not going to be discharged. Not," Tony gestures with his glass of whiskey, "that there'd be anything wrong with that. Come on. Pucker up, scaredy lips; what the lady wants--" The redheaded stewardess draped over Tony giggles, high-pitched enough that it starts a dull throb behind Rhodey's left eye. "--The lady gets."

"Don't do it," Rhodey warns, but Suzette is a weight behind him and Stephanie is sprawled across him and he can't lean away the way he's trying. "Don't you do th--"

Tony kisses him.

Rhodey thinks, dimly, that there’s going to be a problem if one of the stewardesses has a cameraphone.

When Tony pulls back and grins at him, opens his mouth to make some smartass comment, Rhodey – dead calm – upends his bottle of sake over his head. “Oops,” he says, leaning back in his seat, and he wraps an arm more securely around Suzette’s slim shoulders.

Edited 2008-10-15 04:10 (UTC)

EE HEE HEE. AWESOME.

I just want to see what you do with this:

Pepper/Rhodey, Pepper's office

"And I don't," says Pepper, "I don't know what do to about all these meetings." She sets down a heavy stack of folders on her desk; they settle with a loud whump. Rhodey starts, sharp and involuntary, at the sudden noise; Pepper -- a whirl of motion -- doesn't seem to notice.

"Do you know, I got a call from--" She flips open the top folder. "--From Mr. Suzuki, from Iwamura Technologies, yesterday? He wanted to know," she slams another orderly pile of folders down on the first, "why Mr. Stark hadn't shown up for their appointment."

"Pepper," says Rhodey, tiredly.

"I didn't know there was anyone left in the world who didn't know what happened." One more stack of folders and Rhodey wonders, through the haze that comes after 18 hours spent traveling and 46 consecutive hours without sleep, where the hell they're all coming from. "I'd ask if they don't have national news media in Japan, but I know they do, because I had to dry-clean a business suit for a reporter from the Fuji News Network two weeks ago."

"Pepper."

"It was almost worse than the calls from people wanting news or to 'express their sympathies.' " Pepper smacks a hand down on the stack of folders; finally stops moving. Her voice finally picks up the faintest of tremors. "I had to tell him that Tony got kidnapped by terrorists in Afghanistan, maybe killed--"

"Pepper," says Rhodey, and she stops; wraps an arm around herself and tucks a wave of red hair behind her ear in a motion that looks more instinctive than calculated. For a woman who makes a career out of calm and professionalism, Pepper isn't looking especially strong in either at the moment, her loose hair a mess, the curve of her throat vulnerable. He tells her, "We're going to find him."

When she looks at him, her eyes are red-rimmed; she blinks rapidly, nods a couple of times while biting her lip. "Hey," he says, and he takes a step in, and then he's got an armful of personal assistant. For a second, he thinks she's going to kiss him. In the end, her lips brush his cheek and she hides her face in his shoulder.

"Sorry," Pepper's saying into his neck, shaky, and her hands are probably making a wrinkled mess out of the back of his dress uniform jacket, "I'm sorry, Rhodey, I just--"

"S'okay," he murmurs, arm across the back of her shoulders, looking at the opposite wall. "I'm gonna find him."

Edited 2008-10-15 04:06 (UTC)

... That is amazing. *beamy* Thank you.

...Awwwwwwwwww.

Cid/Shera. Their first meeting after Meteorfall.

WAS ANY GODDAMN TEA INVOLVED?

I hate being predictable. (The preceding sentence is not only predictable, but a dirty lie.)

I want sap. You know who.

First reunion after the (presumed) victory at Archangel.

Feel free to use more than 250 words. I know I'd need to.

SAP!
Ana

Terry says that you need to write a fan fiction about how Rhodey is being changed out. "Wait, wait, something's different -- Did you get a tan?"

...

Iron Man; Happy/Pepper; scheduling conflict.

Star Wars; Wes/Hobbie; 'This would be so weird if we were sober.'

Star Wars; Karrde/Mara; 'Do that again and they'll never find the body.'

Pepper sees Happy for the first time in three months while standing in the second floor breakroom.

She is just about to give up on her 90 cents, folders tucked under her arm and coffee in hand, when she sees the reflection loom behind her in the vending machine glass. She half-turns, startled, and Happy Hogan says, "You've got to put a little muscle into it."

He steps up, regards the vending machine for a serious moment, as if sizing up a competitor in the boxing ring, and then he reaches out and gives the machine a rattle.

"Oh, you don't--" says Pepper, and then a bag falls free and she closes her mouth. Happy bends down, fishes the bag of no-salt pretzels out of the machine, and hands it to her. She takes it; tries not to loudly crinkle the bag. "Thank you. Happy."

He nods to her, implacable as ever; still in that familiar simple dark suit. "You're welcome, Miss Potts."

"So," she says, and she's really trying for that bright tone, "how have you been?" She shifts her weight with a light click of heels. "You're -- driving for Obadiah now, right?"

"I've been all right," he says. "Working for Mr. Stane's not so bad."

Pepper doesn't know what to say to Happy that isn't, The last time I saw you, I cried the entire time you were driving me home and you walked me up the stairs to my apartment and it was completely embarrassing and very kind -- thank you.

Thankfully, Happy says something before she can start on that mess. "You call that lunch?" he asks, indicating the coffee and bag of pretzels.

Pepper half-smiles, sudden and self-deprecating. "I know; it's terrible. I was just going to eat quickly while I reviewed some files," a slight tip of the stack of folders in her arm, "for Mr. Stane."

"That's not lunch," Happy says, a little scolding, and Pepper has to smile just a touch more. "C'mon." He tips his head toward the door.

She almost laughs. "Where are we going?"

"To get some real use out of your lunch break."

Her smile falters. "Oh -- thank you, Happy, but I really do need to look over these contracts, and--"

"Call it an unscheduled appointment," he says, more outwardly kind than she's used to (he's always kind, just in his own quiet way), and Pepper feels her heart clench at the familiar, once-favorite phrase of Tony Stark. "My treat."

"Okay," she finds herself saying, and she smiles tightly. "Why not?"

* * *

Pepper sits on a men's suit jacket spread across the hood of the Bentley, heels tucked against the front bumper. There's a foil-wrapped burrito dripping all over her hands and the air is dry; she can already feel the beginnings of a light sunburn across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. The dull, muffled roar of highway traffic comes from around the bend.

She's smiling hard, coming down from a laugh.

"You know," she says, taking a sideways look at her companion, "when you said you were kidnapping me, I didn't think we'd be going this far outside the city."

"I never said I was kidnapping you," Happy says placidly, perched beside her. His jacket is gone, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, his tie loosened. Most of his burrito has been eaten. "That was your idea."

("If you're kidnapping me," she said, when he opened the back door for her, "I might as well ride in the front," and Happy looked at her for a minute and then opened the passenger door. Pepper folded herself into the front seat with as much grace as she could muster, and she told him, "And you might as well call me Pepper."

She almost thought she caught a flash of a smile in the side view mirror as Happy shut the door.)

"Well, I don't know how else to explain to Obadiah where I've been." For the first time in what seems like years, Pepper feels almost as light as her voice sounds.

He gives this some thought, resting his forearms on his knees. "Tell him what I'm gonna tell him."

"What's that?"

"That we went to lunch and got stuck on Rosemont getting back."

Pepper tosses him a doubtful look and shakes her head. "I'm a really awful liar, Happy."

"You won't be lying."

She stops; really looks at him. "--You found a traffic jam on Rosemont?"

He nods once, glances at her. "Radio says it won't let up for at least another hour."

"God," she says, swallowing a startled laugh. "You think of everything, don't you?"

Happy gives a soft whuff of breath, amused. “Try to.”

The view isn’t anything spectacular as far as southern California rest stops go; some cliffs, some sand, a couple porta-potties, a minivan with Oregon plates parked some 50 feet away. A mother is herding children, pulling a boy with each hand, toward the bathrooms, and Pepper momentarily watches their progress, half-smiling.

"Of course, you could always just tell Mr. Stane you had a scheduling conflict," Happy says, and when Pepper smiles, he does, too, a little careful (like he always is with Pepper) but as genuine as it comes (like he always has been with Pepper).

It’s actually a really handsome smile, she thinks. It just takes a lot to get it out of him.

There's burrito juice on Pepper's hands when she impulsively leans over and kisses his cheek, but it’s okay; she can live with this.

Edited 2008-10-16 08:54 (UTC)

Is this still open? >.> If not, is totally fine!

But if it is, I am making good on my threat to make you write more River-fic. Uhhhhh... Uh. River and Cass Cain! (I have no idea if Cass is even into girls, but whatever, it's fic.) Or, if you don't feel you can write Cass, I will be meaner and go for River and Alex Goncharova just to see what you come up with. :D

It is TOTALLY still open! I really don't know Cass in the slightest, so I'm not sure how much I could do with that, but as for the other suggestion -- you are mean. *giggling*

She's Batgirl! The current one, not Babs Gordon. She reads body language fluently but doesn't talk. But, uh, that does not necessarily help you write her at all. (Although Ana would babble at you at length about her, I'm sure, what with him playing her at Milliways. Co-playing with Weaves, but.)

So: yes. Yes I am. :D

Oh, I know who she is! I just don't know her beyond reading her threads here and there in Milliways, and I would therefore totally suck at writing her.

Fair enough! I wasn't sure which from your wording.

Also: hello, icon. *cracking up*

ISN'T IT INCREDIBLE? I discovered that issue at around four this morning and shrieked til kingdom come. And people wonder why I ship them. Do you know how much time Tony spent around Rhodey in the eighties in only skimpy black bikini briefs and lots of chest hair? A LOT, APPARENTLY.

AS YOU DO.

If you're, um. Totally straight. And 100% platonic buddies.

Yes.

I have so many shippy icons now. I love four A.M. treks through comics with Photoshop! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

*cackles*

*kind of a lot*

4 a.m. is the best time for Photoshop!

CLEARLY

Oh my God, I really do have a never ending supply of shippy and/or fucking weird Tony and Rhodey icons.

......You really, really do.

I think the ones that are BOTH SHIPPY AND FUCKING WEIRD are the scariest.

That icon: CASE IN POINT.

Context ... makes it slightly less terrifying? But I am going to use it ALL THE TIME. *GLEEFACE*

Who's mean now, missy?

(Dare I even ask about the context?)

What! It brings -- joy and happiness to the world?

(That's a thin layer of fake skin, covering Tony's top secret full body suit thingie that's keeping his nervous system afloat. It has just crashed, so Rhodey carried him bride-over-threshold style down to the workshop, put him on the table, and is in the process of getting all that crap off him to get him into the Iron Man armor, which is the only thing that can keep him alive now.)

Responses:

1) Oh Marvel.

2) Ahahahahahahahaha!

3) IT IS STILL FREAKY-LOOKING, OKAY.

4) What, does his thin layer of fake skin include a thin layer of fake black underwear?

5) OH, MARVEL.

1) EXACTLY

2) EXACTLY

3) BUT AT LEAST IT'S NOT REAL SKIN?

4) YES, YES IT DOES

5) EXACTLY

OH, MARVEL.

Never change, Marvel. Um, except in all the ways I frequently want you to. Go ahead and change all that. And I'm delighted you have a higher art budget and better printing capability these days. BUT KEEP THE STRAIGHTFACED INSANITY.

bible study

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prequel to "effective communication" (1/2)

prequel to "effective communication" (2/2)

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live with this; happy/pepper (1/2)

live with this; happy/pepper (2/2)

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