Rescued!: Total crack!fic spawned by a text convo between me and dexterette
TITLE: Rescued!
AUTHOR: Quicksilvermad
SUMMARY: Movie-verse/Real Life. I’m bored. Tony Stark comes to rescue me from a life of working as a graphic designer in some sucky place here in Virginia.
GENRE: Crack!fic
RATING: R (I, in my personal life, use a lot of profanity…)
DISCLAIMER: Iron Man etc. belong to Marvel Comics et. al. I, uh, belong to myself.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don’t take it seriously. Because it’s total crack. I doubt I'll even consider posting this on the community page...
WiFi is an idiotic thing. When I first got my MacBook Pro and set up Airport, it found someone’s WiFi connection in my neighborhood and I instantly had Internet.
Now?
Dial-up city.
Son of a bitch.
It’s why I was sitting in the Chinn Park Library that morning-using their free WiFi connection to check my email and update my résumé. I was safely separated from the gaggle of irritating little children inside the “hermetically sealed” study room. Remember when libraries were supposed to be quiet? I sure as shit do. I also remember when a librarian was allowed to physically restrain a child to keep him or her from running through the place like it was a goddamn playground. There are books here. Shut up and read. I sat there, typing out a few new skills I picked up since last writing it six months ago and jerked in my seat when the PA system crackled to life.
“Would Jennifer Holton please come to the information desk? Jennifer Holton,” a woman’s voice said-sounding as though she was speaking with her mouth on top of the microphone.
I frowned, muttered a quick “what the fuck?”, and saved my file. I quickly packed up my computer and wondered if they were going to fine me or something for using their bandwidth or whatever. I mean, there is a way to track the ISP to a user…
I winced and slid my glasses back into place.
Outside the study room I was shocked to hear even more noise than usual. I mean, the place was generally quiet with the exception of a few little kids running amok but this…
This was unconscionable.
It sounded like there were fifty people all speaking at once towards the CD section. Which, coincidentally, was by the information desk.
I walked slower-my flip-flops silent against the carpet.
There was a man and a woman standing at the information desk surrounded by about five guys in suits with earpieces. She was dressed up very nicely and had her hair drawn back in a bun. I felt so unfeminine compared to her-me in my flip-flops, Victoria’s Secret PINK T-shirt (that was actually pink) and the same brand of blue-grey cutoff sweats gathered around my knees.
My face turned dark red when I recognized the man. I literally felt each blood vessel in my cheek expand and my mouth turned into the Gobi Desert.
Tony “I-am-the-goddamn-Iron-Man” Stark was standing in the Chinn Park library.
I stopped moving.
He saw me (how could you miss me in that stupid bright pink shirt?) and grinned.
Forget dark red. I think I turned purple when he did that.
“That’s her,” he said to the old lady who was still holding the mic for the PA system. Her knuckles were white.
The unbearably professional-looking woman (who I now knew to be the Pepper Potts) pulled out a Blackberry and looked down at it for a moment-then looked back up at me. “Miss Holton?” she asked.
My throat was stuck in neutral. I couldn’t talk. Instead, I just nodded once-very slowly.
Now she smiled.
I have never felt so nervous in my entire life. This topped singing in front of over a hundred people. Shit, this topped waiting for my SAT scores. Which made me really wonder why they wanted to see me, of all people. I fucking bombed on the math portion of my SATS. My English scores were high, but this was before they did away with analogies and put in that essay portion. Wait, I was in the National Honors Society, but still…
Mr. Stark (I couldn’t even begin to think of calling him “Tony” seeing as he was probably one of my biggest idols) broke off from his personal assistant’s side and came up to me-hand extended.
Automatically, I shook it and somehow remembered not to squeeze to hard.
“Nice to meet you finally, Jennifer.”
I cleared my throat and almost (almost) cradled my released hand to my chest. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir…” I had to look away. He was holding eye contact with me and I couldn’t handle it. My heart was going to leap out of my throat or something. And I had to ask it…
“Are you sure you’ve got the right ‘Jennifer Holton?’”
Forget ‘how did you find me?’ I couldn’t be the one they wanted.
“Born on Vandenberg Air Force Base on March 29, 1986? Graduated magna cum laude from Woodbridge Senior High School? Currently attaining your BFA in graphic design at the Art Institute of Washington?” Miss Potts rattled off from her Blackberry.
Shit… That’s me alright. “Okay, so you do…” I muttered.
Mr. Stark stepped to the right of me (the side that wasn’t burdened by my laptop bag) and dropped an arm around my shoulders. I don’t know if it’s possible to pass out from blushing too much, but my head sure was spinning.
“Let’s all talk outside.”
He started walking me toward the doors. Miss Potts and the five Suits followed closely and I actually started shaking.
“Hey,” Mr. Stark said as we made it outdoors, “there’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Says you,” slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He laughed.
Kill me now…
He stopped in front of the (holy shit!) Rolls Royce Phantom and opened the back door. Miss Potts got in right away, but Mr. Stark leaned against the door and crossed his arms. He looked at me again in that unnervingly serious way.
“I’ve seen your artwork and your logo design and I want to hire you.”
It felt like someone just punched me in the chest. And that has happened to me before, so… “Hire me? There’s got to be hundreds of illustrators out there who are much more talented than me-especially in California. Why hire me?”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said.
I couldn’t help it. I’m five foot one max in flip-flops and I’ve been taking digs about my height since I was in second grade. I glared. I fucking glared up at Tony Stark. After a moment he seemed to get what he just said and started to suppress a grin.
“Still,” I began. I wanted to change the subject as fast as possible. I had a class tomorrow that I really wasn’t looking forward to going to and I needed to prepare for it… But work for Tony Stark?
“What would I be doing?” I asked.
He started ticking things off on his fingers. Stuff like new logos for the tech he came up with, a possible redesign of the Stark Industries logo, designing a mural for a wall in his house…
Some of it sounded like it wasn’t something he really wanted, but from the smile I saw out of the corner of my eye I knew it was Miss Potts’ idea.
When Mr. Stark finished with the list, he gave me this look… He tipped that goatee covered chin down a bit, raised his eyebrows, and squinted slightly-as if a certain answer I gave him might physically hurt him or something.
I opened my mouth, closed it again, then did that embarrassing thing where I chewed on my lower lip. I needed a cigarette… Time to think. I needed to graduate first. But if Tony Stark comes up to you out of the blue and offers you a freaking job, wouldn’t you take it?
I would.
I stuck my hand out. “You’ve just hired yourself an illustrator, Mr. Stark.”
He shook my hand. Goddamn, he has big hands…
“Please,” he said and ushered me into the back of the Phantom next to Miss Potts, “call me Tony,” he corrected.
I carefully put my bag on the floor of the car and had this flash of something I was missing. “Shit, my car! My-”
Miss Potts smiled at me. “It’s taken care of.”
I then realized I’d just said “shit” in front of these people. I popped a hand over my mouth and turned that same color of purple I was earlier-just when I was getting it under control…
“Really, don’t worry about it,” said Mr. Stark-Tony. Tony… There is no way I’m going to be able to call him that. He’s too… Important. “With the salary I’m giving you?”
The driver started out of the parking lot and headed west toward Dulles Airport.
Jesus… I’m Tony Stark’s personal illustrator.
I immediately got the urge to whip out my sketchbook and start drawing these two beautiful human beings on either side of me. Halfway down the parkway and a good three quarters of the way into a live sketch of the Man Himself, I realized I was still wearing my Bluetooth earpiece.
I need to call my mom!
And that’s the end of that nonsense…
AUTHOR: Quicksilvermad
SUMMARY: Movie-verse/Real Life. I’m bored. Tony Stark comes to rescue me from a life of working as a graphic designer in some sucky place here in Virginia.
GENRE: Crack!fic
RATING: R (I, in my personal life, use a lot of profanity…)
DISCLAIMER: Iron Man etc. belong to Marvel Comics et. al. I, uh, belong to myself.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don’t take it seriously. Because it’s total crack. I doubt I'll even consider posting this on the community page...
WiFi is an idiotic thing. When I first got my MacBook Pro and set up Airport, it found someone’s WiFi connection in my neighborhood and I instantly had Internet.
Now?
Dial-up city.
Son of a bitch.
It’s why I was sitting in the Chinn Park Library that morning-using their free WiFi connection to check my email and update my résumé. I was safely separated from the gaggle of irritating little children inside the “hermetically sealed” study room. Remember when libraries were supposed to be quiet? I sure as shit do. I also remember when a librarian was allowed to physically restrain a child to keep him or her from running through the place like it was a goddamn playground. There are books here. Shut up and read. I sat there, typing out a few new skills I picked up since last writing it six months ago and jerked in my seat when the PA system crackled to life.
“Would Jennifer Holton please come to the information desk? Jennifer Holton,” a woman’s voice said-sounding as though she was speaking with her mouth on top of the microphone.
I frowned, muttered a quick “what the fuck?”, and saved my file. I quickly packed up my computer and wondered if they were going to fine me or something for using their bandwidth or whatever. I mean, there is a way to track the ISP to a user…
I winced and slid my glasses back into place.
Outside the study room I was shocked to hear even more noise than usual. I mean, the place was generally quiet with the exception of a few little kids running amok but this…
This was unconscionable.
It sounded like there were fifty people all speaking at once towards the CD section. Which, coincidentally, was by the information desk.
I walked slower-my flip-flops silent against the carpet.
There was a man and a woman standing at the information desk surrounded by about five guys in suits with earpieces. She was dressed up very nicely and had her hair drawn back in a bun. I felt so unfeminine compared to her-me in my flip-flops, Victoria’s Secret PINK T-shirt (that was actually pink) and the same brand of blue-grey cutoff sweats gathered around my knees.
My face turned dark red when I recognized the man. I literally felt each blood vessel in my cheek expand and my mouth turned into the Gobi Desert.
Tony “I-am-the-goddamn-Iron-Man” Stark was standing in the Chinn Park library.
I stopped moving.
He saw me (how could you miss me in that stupid bright pink shirt?) and grinned.
Forget dark red. I think I turned purple when he did that.
“That’s her,” he said to the old lady who was still holding the mic for the PA system. Her knuckles were white.
The unbearably professional-looking woman (who I now knew to be the Pepper Potts) pulled out a Blackberry and looked down at it for a moment-then looked back up at me. “Miss Holton?” she asked.
My throat was stuck in neutral. I couldn’t talk. Instead, I just nodded once-very slowly.
Now she smiled.
I have never felt so nervous in my entire life. This topped singing in front of over a hundred people. Shit, this topped waiting for my SAT scores. Which made me really wonder why they wanted to see me, of all people. I fucking bombed on the math portion of my SATS. My English scores were high, but this was before they did away with analogies and put in that essay portion. Wait, I was in the National Honors Society, but still…
Mr. Stark (I couldn’t even begin to think of calling him “Tony” seeing as he was probably one of my biggest idols) broke off from his personal assistant’s side and came up to me-hand extended.
Automatically, I shook it and somehow remembered not to squeeze to hard.
“Nice to meet you finally, Jennifer.”
I cleared my throat and almost (almost) cradled my released hand to my chest. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir…” I had to look away. He was holding eye contact with me and I couldn’t handle it. My heart was going to leap out of my throat or something. And I had to ask it…
“Are you sure you’ve got the right ‘Jennifer Holton?’”
Forget ‘how did you find me?’ I couldn’t be the one they wanted.
“Born on Vandenberg Air Force Base on March 29, 1986? Graduated magna cum laude from Woodbridge Senior High School? Currently attaining your BFA in graphic design at the Art Institute of Washington?” Miss Potts rattled off from her Blackberry.
Shit… That’s me alright. “Okay, so you do…” I muttered.
Mr. Stark stepped to the right of me (the side that wasn’t burdened by my laptop bag) and dropped an arm around my shoulders. I don’t know if it’s possible to pass out from blushing too much, but my head sure was spinning.
“Let’s all talk outside.”
He started walking me toward the doors. Miss Potts and the five Suits followed closely and I actually started shaking.
“Hey,” Mr. Stark said as we made it outdoors, “there’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Says you,” slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He laughed.
Kill me now…
He stopped in front of the (holy shit!) Rolls Royce Phantom and opened the back door. Miss Potts got in right away, but Mr. Stark leaned against the door and crossed his arms. He looked at me again in that unnervingly serious way.
“I’ve seen your artwork and your logo design and I want to hire you.”
It felt like someone just punched me in the chest. And that has happened to me before, so… “Hire me? There’s got to be hundreds of illustrators out there who are much more talented than me-especially in California. Why hire me?”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said.
I couldn’t help it. I’m five foot one max in flip-flops and I’ve been taking digs about my height since I was in second grade. I glared. I fucking glared up at Tony Stark. After a moment he seemed to get what he just said and started to suppress a grin.
“Still,” I began. I wanted to change the subject as fast as possible. I had a class tomorrow that I really wasn’t looking forward to going to and I needed to prepare for it… But work for Tony Stark?
“What would I be doing?” I asked.
He started ticking things off on his fingers. Stuff like new logos for the tech he came up with, a possible redesign of the Stark Industries logo, designing a mural for a wall in his house…
Some of it sounded like it wasn’t something he really wanted, but from the smile I saw out of the corner of my eye I knew it was Miss Potts’ idea.
When Mr. Stark finished with the list, he gave me this look… He tipped that goatee covered chin down a bit, raised his eyebrows, and squinted slightly-as if a certain answer I gave him might physically hurt him or something.
I opened my mouth, closed it again, then did that embarrassing thing where I chewed on my lower lip. I needed a cigarette… Time to think. I needed to graduate first. But if Tony Stark comes up to you out of the blue and offers you a freaking job, wouldn’t you take it?
I would.
I stuck my hand out. “You’ve just hired yourself an illustrator, Mr. Stark.”
He shook my hand. Goddamn, he has big hands…
“Please,” he said and ushered me into the back of the Phantom next to Miss Potts, “call me Tony,” he corrected.
I carefully put my bag on the floor of the car and had this flash of something I was missing. “Shit, my car! My-”
Miss Potts smiled at me. “It’s taken care of.”
I then realized I’d just said “shit” in front of these people. I popped a hand over my mouth and turned that same color of purple I was earlier-just when I was getting it under control…
“Really, don’t worry about it,” said Mr. Stark-Tony. Tony… There is no way I’m going to be able to call him that. He’s too… Important. “With the salary I’m giving you?”
The driver started out of the parking lot and headed west toward Dulles Airport.
Jesus… I’m Tony Stark’s personal illustrator.
I immediately got the urge to whip out my sketchbook and start drawing these two beautiful human beings on either side of me. Halfway down the parkway and a good three quarters of the way into a live sketch of the Man Himself, I realized I was still wearing my Bluetooth earpiece.
I need to call my mom!
And that’s the end of that nonsense…