Monthly Archives: April 2013

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

Spring sunlight poured into the big windows in the penthouse. She lolled in a chair positioned precisely in the longest splash of light, damp hair draped over the back of the canvas to catch the warmth. She’d been reading, but the hand holding the ereader drooped, and she gazed dozily at the ceiling, smiling faintly.

Idly she asked, “Tony, do I bring light into your life?”

“Nope, not at all,” Tony answered easily, tone light enough to make it obvious that he was just poking fun.  He peered over the edge of his tablet at her, one eyebrow arched.  “Of course you do.”  He slid down further into a more comfortable slump on the couch.  “What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just letting my mind wander. Trying to figure out if there’s some kind of meaning behind Sunshine, why you call me that.” She giggled. “‘Of course,’ he says, like it’s obvious.”

“A poet I am not, Sunshine,” he replied wryly, and looked back to his tablet.  “Some nicknames don’t need decoder rings.”

“Poetry is my job,” she told him. “And curiosity. I am insatiably curious. And I want to know where it came from.”

ooc;

So, um, sorry for my ragged postings in the next month, because my wedding is the day after Iron Man 3 premieres in the US, so … yeah. I’m a little distracted.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

Spring sunlight poured into the big windows in the penthouse. She lolled in a chair positioned precisely in the longest splash of light, damp hair draped over the back of the canvas to catch the warmth. She’d been reading, but the hand holding the ereader drooped, and she gazed dozily at the ceiling, smiling faintly.

Idly she asked, “Tony, do I bring light into your life?”

“Nope, not at all,” Tony answered easily, tone light enough to make it obvious that he was just poking fun.  He peered over the edge of his tablet at her, one eyebrow arched.  “Of course you do.”  He slid down further into a more comfortable slump on the couch.  “What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just letting my mind wander. Trying to figure out if there’s some kind of meaning behind Sunshine, why you call me that.” She giggled. “‘Of course,’ he says, like it’s obvious.”

Valentine’s Evening || iamthefirechild

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

Summer grinned. “I’m curious what ‘excitable’ means. And I’m curious how obedient you’re feeling right now.” She climbed back onto the bed, stretching herself out along the length of his body. Delicately, she traced the scars and marks on his torso, fingertips slipping ever downward, occasionally bending to kiss or lick a particular point.

“When am I ever feeling particularly obedient?” Tony asked, arching one eyebrow.  He fell back the short distance to the bed, flat on his back again as he settled his hands on her hips, his fingers skating up her sides as she moved lower.  He offered her a cheeky grin and jerked his hips up once.  “See?  Excitable!”

She laid a hand on his fly, pressing a little and sitting up again. It pulled her from his grip. Slowly, she licked at her lips, sliding her left hand under the fabric of her dress at the throat. “So you don’t want to watch any more?” Summer asked, slipping the sleeve down and baring her shoulder.

M!A: Scars [Open RP]

holmesatyourservice:

iamthefirechild:

holmesatyourservice:

iamthefirechild:

Her American drawl came through thicker now in her embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, sir.” She blinked, eyes going vague for a moment, before focussing on him again. The keen intelligence there caught at her attention, but she pushed it away. “Come.” Without giving him a chance to react, she took his arm and tugged him into the crowd, which parted smoothly before them and closed as silently behind.

To her, it was a simple forbidding, a swift urge to move away just for a moment, but she’d no doubt it seemed far different to the man she was towing along. However, if he could tend to his pain himself, as he asserted, best he did it quickly, and if not, best not to have him incapacitated in the street. With no further impediment, they were able to reach Baker Street with ease, and she paused at the head of the street, turning to look up into his dark eyes again.

Sherlock didn’t know what was more surprising at this moment. The fact she had taken away his pain for the time being, the fact she seemed to be American which wasn’t all too rare, but surprising none-the-less, or the fact that she knew her way around the streets of London like any other Londoner. Perhaps it was all three contributing to his surprise. That had to be it.

“… For someone who’s not from this country, you do know your way around here. Come here often, perhaps?” He almost didn’t even wait for her answer as he headed towards 221B. Last thing he needed was to have the pain come searing back and leave him trapped on the sidewalk again. “I do appreciate the help, but I would prefer to handle this on my own. Though, how you knew about the pain I was going through still amazes me.”

Summer shrugged loosely, as if it should be obvious. “I’m an empath. It’s what I do.” She followed him closely. “I really think I had better come with you. I’m not sure I can hold the painblock at much of a distance, and with the amount of pain you were in, a sudden return would incapacitate you.”

She thought that might come to an argument; he had a considerable amount of willpower. And given the location, she was starting to suspect who he might be. The question then remained: should she seek his help?

“An empath?” he repeated her own words, searching his mental dictionary for a definition to that word. He’d heard it, but hadn’t taken interest in anything like that. Sure, search the actions and face of another and you could read them like an open book. Right, that’s what being an empath was. Right, right.

The detective listened to her, just nodding his head in response. No, really, he didn’t want her tagging along, but she made a compelling argument. While he knew he could handle the pain once he was home, it might hurt him more to have the pain come crashing back all at once. And just the thought sent a shiver down his spine. 

“… Agreed. I would like to get home and not be a crumpled mess on the sidewalk, or worse, in the middle of the road. I wouldn’t enjoy being seen lying there. The one and only Sherlock Holmes, lying in the middle of the street by some bloody great amounts of pain. Imagine the headlines of the papers.”

“So you /are/ Mr Holmes. I wondered, at the address.” She hid a smile. “It would be quite a change from your more usual exploits. And with the good doctor, I assume, occupied? Well, I shall simply have to stand in for him, then.” She paused, as a thought occurred. “Unless you would wish for Dr Watson to be sent for?” Good gods, how far down this street was the damned house anyway?