SO. There are, I am told, now a variety of Iron Man kinkmemes out, but how about a good ol' Doomthreading? Talk, riff, fic, Iron Man One or Iron Man Two, porn or not porn, anon or not anon. Open to all.
Maria/Obadiah/Howard and an early prototype of the paralyzer. Scotch. High thread count and Howard's eyelids sticking when he can blink again, because he hasn't in a while.
Howard/Obadiah/Rhodey and vetting Tony's new BFF with enough scotch to drown a horse or three or make a 20 year old kid really, really fuzzy about the night before.
On 2: Jim doesn't remember. He assumes that he fell down at one point and really, really embarrassed himself, and plus, his neck isn't working right. He must have slept funny.
Tony won't look him in the eye for a month afterwards, and even then, not until Tony has done something really epically stupid that Jim had to rescue him from and yell at him for forty-five minutes for how could you be so stupid, how could you do that to yourself. Tony finally seems to uncurl from the ball that he has been living in for the whole fucking time and kinda goes back to his normal self. They go and watch Star Wars, and Jim Rhodes finds that he has lost his taste for Scotch.
I was thinking about this! Like, did Tony just leave old reactors in the suits? Or sub versions of Jarvis, 0.whatever skippers that at least know a little wind and boost?
"Hello! My name is James Rhodes. It's nice to meet you." "My name is Mark! I know who you are!" "You do?" "Yes! You're a decorated colonel in the United States air force! You are Tony's friend!" "I am Tony's friend, yes. Tony is in trouble right now, Mark. Do you want to help me help Tony?" "Tony is alive?" "He... Yes, he is. Why would you think he wouldn't be?" "Because you are here." The suit points to a separate corner of the garage. "You get the cars too! Not the roadster." "He's not dead. Not yet." "If you say so! I don't see any problem." The frame begins to open, titanium shrugging free like scales. "Remove your watch! You are five feet, nine inches tall!"
_______________________
"I'm not allowed to fly too high mister Rhodes. I get cold."
Even though it's against every scrap of canon, part of me wants her to be the daughter of Russian immigrants who are really spies who escaped Russia, and she's raised in Brooklyn. And Nick finds her one night in the 80's when she takes down like 3 guys double her size in some skeezy back alley in Hell's Kitchen (because Nick likes visiting home just to make sure it's still a terrible place) and of course decides that she'd make an awesome field agent.
And also he kind of wants to know what's under her tiny black dress (not that it leaves much to the imagination). And therefore knows later in life that of course Tony will go for that like a carrot on a stick.
Guys. Guys. Guys. New Fringe had Alternate!Olivia, and Olivia is basically Cecily Stane in our heads, right? Except now? She has Pepper's hair. The universe ships it, okay.
THE GREAT ARC OF THE UNIVERSE IS TOWARDS TWO BUCK CHUCK AND WALKING TO THE INDIAN RESTAURANT.
What do we have to do to to put a high-powered rifle in her hands? Because you know that she is the one who teaches Minnie about the business end of those -- Minnie can, in her sleep, come up with six improvements to make them shoot farther and faster and kill a man a mile away, but she has to reason out how to load a copkiller bullet from first principles.
He's not the actual physical Captain American, unfrozen. He's not a clone, either. He's the body of some poor schmuck and the re-created mental imprint based on early projects and filmstrips and diaries and a lot of guesswork by Topher Brink with input by Nick Fury, who knew the guy like fifty years ago.
Fury grunts in response. They’ve been watching old films all fucking night, hundreds of feet of film that’s now been taken apart at their feet, curled and faded. Archive quality back then wasn’t quite what it is now.
Topher picks up another delicate Times article from the war and waves it in front of Fury’s face, like a handkerchief.
“Not helpful. Just tell me what you remember.” Topher lets it drop before getting to his feet and shuffling off, muttering the whole time.
Fury stays sitting on one of the boxes, staring at his hands. It’s been a long time since Cap.
---
Two days later Topher has 78% of an imprint done, sort of like a house that’s totally finished save for the moldings around the doors and windows and the faucets in the kitchen and the bathroom. Maybe missing a few lighting fixtures, the tile floor in one room.
“He was like a rock,” Fury says as he walks in, and Topher nearly jumps, staring owl eyed as Fury sits down on Topher’s couch. “The tide. Predictable. With a dreamer’s eye but a realist’s brain.”
Topher thinks it’s the most cohesive thing Fury’s ever said.
“He believed in trust and passion and knowing yourself. Screw apple pie and baseball, the man wanted equality.” Fury tips his head back, staring at the ceiling and beating something out on his thigh.
“That’s not much. Lyrical though. Have you thought about writing a book?” Even as he says it, all snark intended, he’s turned back to his computer.
Sometime in the next hour or two it becomes 99%. Fury looks over his shoulder and drops in the last 1%.
“Oh, and he loved that goddamn fucking shield.”
---
They pull in favors and get a doll sent in from the New York house – lantern jaw, Aryan good looks and shoulders like a fucking brick house. According to his file he was an amateur boxer wanna-be actor before hand. Now he’s never getting his body back. Topher overloads the guy’s original imprint, destroys it. Keeps the wedge at the back of his desk, but very much intends to forget about it.
The imprint is a work of art, as far as Topher is concerned. It works pretty damn well.
“Cap?” Fury’s the one to speak when the chair clicks off and back up into a sitting position. Blue eyes flutter open, and the man frowns.
“I – where am I?” His voice sounds rough, but Topher notices that he doesn’t panic. He’s too well trained for that. Look first, know second, decide to panic third. Or just don’t freak out at all.
“Alive,” Fury says simply.
Captain America sits up all the way, rubbing a hand through his hair.
“I don’t believe it,” he tells Fury.
---
Natasha introduces him to Tony.
The garage is a mess, and Steve looks around, hands in his pockets as he takes stock of the future, the way it’s played out in this one man’s house. Tony himself emerges from a pile of sheet metal, cursing and brushing his jeans off.
“Hi,” Steve says, rocking onto the balls of his feet and watches as Tony slips under tubing of some kid, held up by books and a motorcycle and – what. “Is that-“
Tony follows his eye line, looking confused.
“A particle accelerator? Yeah, no big, I’m taking it down eventually. CERN just wouldn’t let me play with theirs.” Even as he says it, Steve is crossing to where his shield, his arm, is sitting under the pipes. He pulls it out, staring in horror at how much it’s been ripped apart. “Oh yeah, that. Sorry.”
Tony doesn’t sound it, and just shrugs.
“This is like part of my arm,” Steve tells him, meaning every single word of it.
Meaning it so much that something in the very back of his head says no it’s not.
You’ve never held it before.
It’s not yours.
Steve ignores it. This is his, the way it’s always been.
DOLL!STEVE. And despite it all, despite the crisis of identity, the crisis of faith in a government that could do this, just program a hero with a loyalty kill switch and a vitamin deficiency that keeps him tied to the helicarrier between missions if he doesn't want his kidney failing, okay?
But despite it all, he kind of likes Tony, in a "he's a good kid" sort of way he can't really shake even though he knows the memories aren't real and he's a decade or two younger, but he does. The guy tries. The guy tries so damn hard to be liked, to be a hero, it doesn't hurt to give it to him every once and awhile. A "good job," or a "couldn't have done it without you." Would be pathetically easy if he didn't have room to talk.
Anyway, that's beside the point. The point is this: Memory engrams are all well and good, but the tech isn't to the point of pure organics yet. Tony, whether he knows it or not, or at least his tech, has had a hand in neurons that fire into processors and processors that fire back. There's a microscopic tangle of wire in Steve's brain that makes Steve Steve, and so when he gets with a shock of alien electricity, and Tony does this thing where he thinks being a hero is getting yourself killed. Well. Extremis. Electricity. Memory Engrams. Tony's better at tech than he is at sacrificing himself proper, okay?
Steve wakes up to himself in a coma, mouth slack and eyes shut, when he turns his --Tony's-- head on the SHIELD medical bed and stares and stares and stares.
dkfj;lkj COME JOIN US. TELL US WHAT IS ON YOUR FANDOM MIND.
(Dude. It's just regular LJ conversation, but with all inhibitions about not jumping into other people's threads removed or staying strictly on-topic or not telling people to WRITE IT WRITE IT GODDAMN WRITE IT.)
I really, seriously need post-IM1, pre-IM2 Tony/Rhodey fic with Rhodey finding out that Tony is dying. And how did Tony figure out the palladium poisoning?
I loved the movie, but it made me a bit sad because I was idly daydreaming about Iron Man/Spidey team-ups, and that's one crossover that will NEVER happen. Because a) I'm pretty sure there are still rights issues; b) Spidey's being rebooted back to high school, i.e. too young for the Avengers.
DUDE IT COULD STILL WORK: Peter Parker, Stark Industries intern! Sneaking into a sectioned off part of SI and poking around on the ceiling like a nosy dork, and then Nick Fury and Natasha rolling in a frozen chunk of ice with something people-y beneath it, calling out Stark's name because what's the use of having a once-in-a-lifetime brain on your super-boy band-team if he doesn't pick up his goddamn cell phone? And Tony rolling in with a silk bathrobe and a scotch and knocking the ice going "Aw, you know I take it on the rocks. That's sweet." And Peter directly overhead, peering straight down while Fury wipes the condensation away and oops "Holy shit, that's Captain America." Because it is! And Peter didn't use his inside-his-own-brain voice. And then, of course, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Phil Coulson (he was in the room, but being Coulson, he might as well not be.) and Nick The-F-Stands-For-Fucking Fury craning their heads up, up, up.
"Uh. Hey guys!" The SI badge all interns get was actually, thanks to gravity, dangling from his neck this hole time, so he turns it around towards them so they can see, "I'm totally supposed to be here. I think. Uh. I was looking for the bathroom? Or the soda machine? Do you have those here? It's my first day."
Tony does the friendly little finger wave, Natasha aims a wrist dart at his face, Coulson blinks and Fury head-desks on the ice-block holding Captain America's yet-to-be-reanimated corpse.
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Date: 2010-05-23 05:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-05-23 05:22 pm (UTC)later I promise I will come up with something remotely not ridiculous.
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Date: 2010-05-23 09:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-23 05:47 pm (UTC)Maria/Obadiah/Howard and an early prototype of the paralyzer. Scotch. High thread count and Howard's eyelids sticking when he can blink again, because he hasn't in a while.
Howard/Obadiah/Rhodey and vetting Tony's new BFF with enough scotch to drown a horse or three or make a 20 year old kid really, really fuzzy about the night before.
What have you done to me.
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Date: 2010-05-23 06:09 pm (UTC)Tony won't look him in the eye for a month afterwards, and even then, not until Tony has done something really epically stupid that Jim had to rescue him from and yell at him for forty-five minutes for how could you be so stupid, how could you do that to yourself. Tony finally seems to uncurl from the ball that he has been living in for the whole fucking time and kinda goes back to his normal self. They go and watch Star Wars, and Jim Rhodes finds that he has lost his taste for Scotch.
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Date: 2010-05-23 06:00 pm (UTC)Some sort of interaction between Justin Hammer and Obadiah. A threat.
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Date: 2010-05-23 09:52 pm (UTC)Amy would be such a fangirl!
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Date: 2010-05-23 06:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-24 07:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-24 07:24 am (UTC)"My name is Mark! I know who you are!"
"You do?"
"Yes! You're a decorated colonel in the United States air force! You are Tony's friend!"
"I am Tony's friend, yes. Tony is in trouble right now, Mark. Do you want to help me help Tony?"
"Tony is alive?"
"He... Yes, he is. Why would you think he wouldn't be?"
"Because you are here."
The suit points to a separate corner of the garage. "You get the cars too! Not the roadster."
"He's not dead. Not yet."
"If you say so! I don't see any problem." The frame begins to open, titanium shrugging free like scales. "Remove your watch! You are five feet, nine inches tall!"
_______________________
"I'm not allowed to fly too high mister Rhodes. I get cold."(no subject)
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Date: 2010-05-23 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-05-23 07:27 pm (UTC)And also he kind of wants to know what's under her tiny black dress (not that it leaves much to the imagination). And therefore knows later in life that of course Tony will go for that like a carrot on a stick.
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Date: 2010-05-23 06:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-23 06:56 pm (UTC)What do we have to do to to put a high-powered rifle in her hands? Because you know that she is the one who teaches Minnie about the business end of those -- Minnie can, in her sleep, come up with six improvements to make them shoot farther and faster and kill a man a mile away, but she has to reason out how to load a copkiller bullet from first principles.
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Date: 2010-05-23 07:16 pm (UTC)He's not the actual physical Captain American, unfrozen. He's not a clone, either. He's the body of some poor schmuck and the re-created mental imprint based on early projects and filmstrips and diaries and a lot of guesswork by Topher Brink with input by Nick Fury, who knew the guy like fifty years ago.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-23 07:47 pm (UTC)Fury grunts in response. They’ve been watching old films all fucking night, hundreds of feet of film that’s now been taken apart at their feet, curled and faded. Archive quality back then wasn’t quite what it is now.
Topher picks up another delicate Times article from the war and waves it in front of Fury’s face, like a handkerchief.
“Not helpful. Just tell me what you remember.” Topher lets it drop before getting to his feet and shuffling off, muttering the whole time.
Fury stays sitting on one of the boxes, staring at his hands. It’s been a long time since Cap.
---
Two days later Topher has 78% of an imprint done, sort of like a house that’s totally finished save for the moldings around the doors and windows and the faucets in the kitchen and the bathroom. Maybe missing a few lighting fixtures, the tile floor in one room.
“He was like a rock,” Fury says as he walks in, and Topher nearly jumps, staring owl eyed as Fury sits down on Topher’s couch. “The tide. Predictable. With a dreamer’s eye but a realist’s brain.”
Topher thinks it’s the most cohesive thing Fury’s ever said.
“He believed in trust and passion and knowing yourself. Screw apple pie and baseball, the man wanted equality.” Fury tips his head back, staring at the ceiling and beating something out on his thigh.
“That’s not much. Lyrical though. Have you thought about writing a book?” Even as he says it, all snark intended, he’s turned back to his computer.
Sometime in the next hour or two it becomes 99%. Fury looks over his shoulder and drops in the last 1%.
“Oh, and he loved that goddamn fucking shield.”
---
They pull in favors and get a doll sent in from the New York house – lantern jaw, Aryan good looks and shoulders like a fucking brick house. According to his file he was an amateur boxer wanna-be actor before hand. Now he’s never getting his body back. Topher overloads the guy’s original imprint, destroys it. Keeps the wedge at the back of his desk, but very much intends to forget about it.
The imprint is a work of art, as far as Topher is concerned. It works pretty damn well.
“Cap?” Fury’s the one to speak when the chair clicks off and back up into a sitting position. Blue eyes flutter open, and the man frowns.
“I – where am I?” His voice sounds rough, but Topher notices that he doesn’t panic. He’s too well trained for that. Look first, know second, decide to panic third. Or just don’t freak out at all.
“Alive,” Fury says simply.
Captain America sits up all the way, rubbing a hand through his hair.
“I don’t believe it,” he tells Fury.
---
Natasha introduces him to Tony.
The garage is a mess, and Steve looks around, hands in his pockets as he takes stock of the future, the way it’s played out in this one man’s house. Tony himself emerges from a pile of sheet metal, cursing and brushing his jeans off.
“Hi,” Steve says, rocking onto the balls of his feet and watches as Tony slips under tubing of some kid, held up by books and a motorcycle and – what. “Is that-“
Tony follows his eye line, looking confused.
“A particle accelerator? Yeah, no big, I’m taking it down eventually. CERN just wouldn’t let me play with theirs.” Even as he says it, Steve is crossing to where his shield, his arm, is sitting under the pipes. He pulls it out, staring in horror at how much it’s been ripped apart. “Oh yeah, that. Sorry.”
Tony doesn’t sound it, and just shrugs.
“This is like part of my arm,” Steve tells him, meaning every single word of it.
Meaning it so much that something in the very back of his head says no it’s not.
You’ve never held it before.
It’s not yours.
Steve ignores it. This is his, the way it’s always been.
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Date: 2010-05-23 07:50 pm (UTC)But despite it all, he kind of likes Tony, in a "he's a good kid" sort of way he can't really shake even though he knows the memories aren't real and he's a decade or two younger, but he does. The guy tries. The guy tries so damn hard to be liked, to be a hero, it doesn't hurt to give it to him every once and awhile. A "good job," or a "couldn't have done it without you." Would be pathetically easy if he didn't have room to talk.
Anyway, that's beside the point. The point is this: Memory engrams are all well and good, but the tech isn't to the point of pure organics yet. Tony, whether he knows it or not, or at least his tech, has had a hand in neurons that fire into processors and processors that fire back. There's a microscopic tangle of wire in Steve's brain that makes Steve Steve, and so when he gets with a shock of alien electricity, and Tony does this thing where he thinks being a hero is getting yourself killed. Well. Extremis. Electricity. Memory Engrams. Tony's better at tech than he is at sacrificing himself proper, okay?
Steve wakes up to himself in a coma, mouth slack and eyes shut, when he turns his --Tony's-- head on the SHIELD medical bed and stares and stares and stares.
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Date: 2010-05-23 07:41 pm (UTC)what's a doomthread I don't wanna do this wrong D:(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-23 07:45 pm (UTC)(Dude. It's just regular LJ conversation, but with all inhibitions about not jumping into other people's threads removed or staying strictly on-topic or not telling people to WRITE IT WRITE IT GODDAMN WRITE IT.)
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Date: 2010-05-23 09:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-23 10:07 pm (UTC)SOB. BUT THEY ARE SO AWESOME TOGETHER.
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Date: 2010-05-23 11:58 pm (UTC)"Uh. Hey guys!" The SI badge all interns get was actually, thanks to gravity, dangling from his neck this hole time, so he turns it around towards them so they can see, "I'm totally supposed to be here. I think. Uh. I was looking for the bathroom? Or the soda machine? Do you have those here? It's my first day."
Tony does the friendly little finger wave, Natasha aims a wrist dart at his face, Coulson blinks and Fury head-desks on the ice-block holding Captain America's yet-to-be-reanimated corpse.
Everyone wins!
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Date: 2010-05-24 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-26 02:44 pm (UTC)