writing for days

Birthday presents John has given Sherlock:

- his old textbooks from medical school for Sherlock to go through and annotate with all the errors as well as new advances in science since the early 2000s
- a framed portrait of some scientist guy that John to this day can’t really remember the entire reason of what he’s famous for but one night Sherlock had given a sleepy and loving monologue on the importance of his findings about soil or seaweed or something and john did some late night googling and found it for a steal online
- a month’s supply of gingernuts
- a small box of eyelashes
- flowers

Birthday presents Sherlock has given John:

- an identical replacement of every piece of John’s clothing he’d ruined over the years, incidentally John thought he still had all these pieces of clothing and this was a surprise to both of them
- a homemade dinner of The Thing With Peas that turned out pretty good, actually
- the teartracks left over on John’s cheeks the next morning after belly laughing so hard snot dripped from his nose during a midnight walk through London for which tour-guide Sherlock sustained a barely passable impression of each and every Bond
- a handwritten letter, tucked for eternity in a published copy of John’s blog
- flowers

azulmay  asked:

Hi! Hope you keep having nice days! Maybe something with Tony being taking care by (any relationship, or just by his team /friends pepper/rhodey),not necessarily sick? Maybe he needs rest have a mild injury or simply they want to pamper him

thank you! i hope this is kind of what you were looking for

Tony’s been on the other side of this equation several times, but this is the first time he’s ever been the recipient of the attention of The Mother-Hengers.

Natasha delivers him a green smoothie—his recipe, with a small smile. Then she curls up in the chair next to the medical bed and settles in to watch him without watching him.

“You got enough blankets?” Clint calls up from the floor below and Tony rolls his eyes.

“This bed warms for god’s sake. Yes, I have enough blankets.”

Clint climbs the stairs three at a time, hands stretched out to hold on to both railings. “Blankets aren’t always for cold, smartass.”

Tony opens his mouth and then closes it again, because that’s a fair point. “Touche.”

Over by the table in the corner where the mangled pieces of the Iron Man suit that they’d pried Tony out of have been laid out, Thor is hunched over, examining each piece.

“Thor, buddy, what are you doing?” Tony asks.

“This is not my strength, I know that,” Thor replies, “but I would know what caused this incident that I would not contribute to it happening again.”

A stray bolt of lightning from Mjölnir had been a contributing factor in the crash, but Tony doesn’t really want to tell Thor that. He makes the worst anguished faces.

“I saw what happened,” Steve says, reappearing from wherever he’d vanished off to. He looks exhausted, his face pink and blotchy, the way it gets after he thinks he’s done something really wrong. “The harpy had clawed a gouge in the side of the armor early on in the fight. Just before the—” Steve pauses, seeming to lose his voice for a moment. He clears his throat. “Just before the crash, I told Tony to try coming up from under her. I told you to zap her. She was low, I figured a one-two would do it, but—” Steve’s throat works again and Tony wants to shake him. “The lightning went straight for Tony instead. The gouge—the gouge compromised the suit’s shielding.”

“Come on,” Tony complains. “This is not your fault. Either of you. I’m not even that badly hurt! A couple bruised ribs and a gnarly burn on my hip—it could have been way worse.”

“Or it could have been way better,” Steve counters and Tony wants to smack him a little. How is he supposed to argue with that?

“I’m literally okay to go now, I’m just being held hostage by a bunch of mother hens,” Tony says, exasperated.

“Humor us,” Bruce says, clutching a steaming cup of tea so close to his face it’s fogging up his glasses. “You didn’t see the way it looked when you crashed.”

Tony can imagine it was pretty spectacular, though. He’d caused a small crater in Central Park.

He tries to imagine it from the other side of things and has to swallow, hard.

“Well, who’s going to get up here and cuddle with me?” he demands.

He’s surprised when they all turn to look at Steve instead of clamoring to join him all at once.

Steve blushes, but he smiles, almost shyly at Tony. “Scoot.”

You shine brighter, and burn
warmer than this red sun of mine.

This world is not yet ready for you.
You are of another solar system.
A part of a separate galaxy;
a glimpse into a new universe.

You are too far ahead.
Too far out of reach.

—  “Blue stars” remnant-thoughts
archiveofourown.org
I Met You In the Dark, You Lit Me Up
By Organization for Transformative Works

And, maybe he also didn’t want to tell him because he saw how Isak looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars and he was scared that if he did tell him, Isak would just look at him like everybody else did, with pity.

Once he opened up to Isak, his fuck ups would be palpable. And like, he knew that it was only fair to Isak to give something back, but he was too fucking scared. Besides Isak had to handle enough stress with his family, and him, and school. He didn’t want to burden him with even more fuck ups.

Wednesday night

- John makes a list of things to get at Tesco
- they leave together, intending to get said things but on the way Sherlock gets distracted by a mysterious receipt barely peeking out the pocket of John’s coat
- what’s this
- nothing for you to be concerned about
- Sherlock gets a bit tetchy in Tesco when the attendant refuses to give him the stale krispy kreme doughnut she was about to bin
- John buys extra peaches
- I hate peaches John
- no you don’t
- they walk with two carrier bags in each hand back to the flat
- Sherlock opens a bottle of wine
- John hums as he folds laundry
- Sherlock suggests John tell him what that receipt was for that was barely peeking out the pocket of John’s coat
- John suggests Sherlock look between the charcoal-coloured and ink-coloured bundles in the sock index
- why
- why not
- it’ll be five years tomorrow
- felt like a day
- they drink wine and eat peaches and decide to go out for dinner instead

anonymous asked:

I'm glad your day was good! You totally deserve it. Can you maybe write something about Tony moving to MIT? I've just moved cities and it's really, really lonely knowing literally no one ):

thank you! OMG ME TOOOOO. new location buddies *high five*

It’s not like Boston is even that far from New York.

Charlie could have Tony home in like three hours and if Tony made a fuss, Dad might even send Jarvis. That would take six, but being with Jarvis is like being home anyway so not really.

The point is, he’s barely away from home. He was further in boarding school.

So he’s alone, what else is new?

It doesn’t matter that everyone else is older than him, and bigger than him, or even that some of them are smarter than him. It doesn’t matter that he has an enormous apartment that makes him feel like he has to run to the window to check occasionally that nuclear winter didn’t come late and leave him the last man on earth. He definitely doesn’t play his cassettes at max volume just to get rid of the aching silence.

It’s fine. He’s a Stark Man.

So what if he’s only fifteen.

He’s got a couple bottles of good booze he took from his dad’s liquor cabinet—that’ll make him all kinds of friends.

A skinny guy with dark skin, suspicious eyes, and a razor-sharp flattop eyeballs him when he flops down into the desk beside him.

Tony eyeballs him back.

He waits for the inevitable, “What are you, twelve?” or, “Guess you can get anywhere with the name Stark,” but what he gets instead is, “Star Wars or Star Trek?”

Tony’s too confused to do anything but blurt out the truth. “Star Trek.”

Fortunately, that seems to be the right answer. The guy’s eyes light up and he leans forward. “You watching The Animated Series?”

Tony puts a hand to his chest, widens his eyes. “Am I breathing?”

I miss it. The old days. The good days. And I know years later I will say the same thing. I’ll look back and these days are the good days. Today is a good day and I have to live it. Instead of missing it.
—  ck.writes (on Instagram)

anonymous asked:

Steve/Tony, "I choose you?"

Tony spins around on his stool, and raises an eyebrow at Steve. “You choose me?” he echoes, parroting Steve’s questioning tone.

Steve flushes. “I mean— I do,” he says, trying to inject confidence into his voice, even though his knees are shaky and he’s not sure they’re going to hold him. “I choose you.”

Tony continues to stare and Steve tries to surreptitiously wipe his sweating palms on the—it’s a skirt. The outfit Thor’s…people…had given him includes a skirt and he feels vulnerable without anything else…down there. Then Thor said he needed to select a partner and it’s just, it’s all getting to be a bit much.

So he’d gone to the one person who makes him feel settled and at home and Tony is still staring at him.

It’s like the night Peggy shot at him all over. He’s done something wrong, but what?

Steve drops his eyes, feels his heart sink. “Of course you don’t have to,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” He breaks off, spinning on his heel and hurrying out the door.

God, what the hell had he been thinking? He should have just asked Natasha. Just because Hogun is—

Steve!”

A hand on his arm pulls him up short and Steve whips around again, nearly taking Tony’s eye out with the strips of leather finished with metal hanging from his shoulders.

“Jesus,” Tony gasps, but it’s because he’s trying to catch his breath, not because Steve almost blinded him. “Would you hold your horses? I’ll go with you, all right? Of course I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve repeats and can’t keep the wretchedness out of his voice. He hates himself a little for it.

“Okay, but what if I want to?” Tony demands, jaw working mulishly.

“But you don’t.”

Tony puffs up indignantly. “Okay, one, don’t presume to tell me what I do or don’t do, all right, Rogers? And B, the only reason I didn’t want to is because I thought you were just doing it because they’re twisting your arm.”

Steve stares at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to do this, but, Tony, there’s nobody in the universe I’d rather be stuck doing it with than you.”

“Stuck, huh?” Tony says and Steve blushes furiously.

“That’s not— I mean—”

Tony’s eyes glint mischievously and he nudges Steve with an elbow. “You are wound up, aren’t you? Relax, I know what you meant.”

Relief washes through Steve in a great wave and he reaches out to clasp Tony’s hand. “So you’ll go with me? As my partner?”

The way Tony smiles at him, squeezing his hand, makes his stomach swoop. “Yeah, Steve. I’ll go with you. Now help me into this get-up Thor left me.”

archiveofourown.org
Brighter than the sun - Chapter 1 - symphorine (Idiote) - Haikyuu!! [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Wordcount: 8k (ch1/2)

Rating: T

Others: ushioi, post breakup, feelings and pining, side iwadai, eventual happy ending (but god do they make it hard)

Summary: The deep voice is familiar, and the broad, almost towering figure even more. Oikawa’s eyes land on Ushijima’s face before he can stop himself, and he almost forgets how to breathe. Ushijima has barely changed – he’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even more than in Oikawa’s memories.

Then time catches up with him.

-

Oikawa and Ushijima have to work together again after a bad break up six months ago. It’s complicated.

-

for @candy-harlot

For @peppermintiess, part of my giveaway. I hope you like!

Recommended Listening: Left Behind (Together) - Gustavo Santaolalla


He reminds himself that he doesn’t need it. He presses a hand to his temple, sets down the parchment he had in the other. The words swim on the page, unrecognizable to him. He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need the song, the sweetness and relief that it brings. He can still hear it in his veins, the hum of its voice. It beats at the edges of his skull, a malicious drum, a rhythm of pain and promise. A promise that if he’d only take the lyrium, it could all go away.

He flattens the parchment against the desk, smooths the edges. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He knows what will happen when he stands. Sure enough, he slaps a hand down on the desk to keep himself standing, as the world turns in his mind. Cullen stumbles to the ladder, forces himself to climb. He sheds clothes as he goes, finally collapsing into the bed. Chest on the bed, one foot out, face in the pillow. The moon shines overhead, casts gentle light.

He closes his eyes as he feels the breeze of the night air. So many times the workers have come by, insisting on fixing his roof. Time and time again, he’s sent them away, telling them there were more important things for them to do. In truth, he doesn’t want it fixed. They don’t know how calming the sound of empty air is. How the night air prickles across his back, changes his attention from the pain to the cold. How he loves looking into the stars, finding peace among them.

He drifts to sleep without realizing, waking to a hand on his cheek. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, not just yet. Not when her thumb drifts across his cheekbones, tucks a curl of his hair back in its nest. She traces the line of his nose, fingers over his lips, down his jaw. The drum still marches in his skull. The pain still seeps in his bones. When he opens his eyes, sees her face, it lessens. It’s always quieter when she’s near, the lyrium song giving way to a hum all her own.

“You worried me. You missed the meeting. You never miss meetings,” Amara says quietly. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and he can see that she’s collected all his discarded clothing, placed them neatly. He moves to rise, but a single hand on his chest stops him. “How can I help?” Her brows stitch together, looks at him with such care. He leans back, lips quirking out a smile.

“Just you being here helps.” She huffs out disbelief, but he can see the pleased way her cheeks flower pink.

“Well that’s not very specific. Should I fetch a healer?” She moves to rise, but his hand in hers stops her instantly.

“No,” he says, “please. Just stay.” She looks at him, and for a moment, he thinks she will go to find a healer anyway. Then she nods, moving to lie beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Today has been a highly emotional day for Darcy. 

She had started the day on a high point of making Coulson laugh not once but count ‘em, twice!  From then it had only improved hearing remarkable good news from the requisitions department about money to put toward rebuilding a fountain Clint had unintentionally blow up during the last battle in New York. Tony had of course put toward money for general fixing up but that money was mostly reserved for emergency responders, hospitals and general instructor. The scraps of that fund were left for the other casualties of freedom to fight over. Darcy had spent many a lunch break on that fountain. 

As if those victories hadn’t been enough, she had been looking remarkably cool on the SHIELD shooting range when Clint decided to drop in and visit her. She had just shot two bullets centimeters apart when hands had touched her elbows.

“FUCK!” She jumped and completely on accident, but totally on purpose if anyone asked, loosed another round into the dummy’s forehead. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a girl with a gun!” She scolded putting the gun on safety and removing her headset. 

Clint smiled. “Nice shot Anne!” He motioned to the target. “You’ll be bagging them in no time” Darcy flushed with his praise. Training with a weapon a slight deadly than her taser had been a trip and had taken lots of late night practice and testing of Coulson’s patients.

“I’d disagree but I hear desk jockey gets dangerous at ye ole SHIELD” She shrugged thankful that she’d worn cute jeans today. Clint chuckled softly. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all, you just do your best to keep up and I’ll try not to look too good next to you newbie” She channeled her stern boss for that deadpan and Clint barked out a laugh. 

“So gracious Miss Oakley.” 

She had spent almost the rest of the afternoon with Clint. First at the range and then the Spy had somehow persuaded her to come to the SHIELD gym and had spotted her for a decent work out. It was more than Darcy would had done by herself but her desire to spend time with Clint had overridden her desire to stay lazy.  

After her shower Darcy’s day took a turn for the worse. She was headed to her locker to stuff her sweaty cloths back into the rarely used locker. She was almost to the door out when she heard the sounds of something hitting the lockers. Curiosity would always be her downfall, and so she crept around the corner ninja like as she could. Before her pressed against the lockers was one Phil Coulson pinned via his mouth by Agent Clint Barton. Darcy blinked once and ran faster than she thought possible away from the scene that would never leave her memory. 

******

Darcy congratulated herself on this hiding spot. Not many voluntarily went nears Stark Towers labs, much less Tony’s personal lab. It was locked to anyone not Tony approved and so Darcy hopped He was paranoid enough to not let SHIELD personal have access while he was away. As soon as the door opened she had made her way to the liquor cabinet Tony kept on had for Drunk Science.  She had barely made it threw her first pity bourbon when the lights overhead flickered on and Tony burst threw the doors. 

“Stop right there Thief!” He snatched the glass out of her hand and glared sipping dramatically. Darcy sighed. Tony arched a brow. “What’s the story Stacked? No one steals from me and gets away without a confession.” He seated himself on a stool beside her and looked expectantly. Well it had been a good hiding spot save Tony himself.

“I just..” She looked at her hands and her eyes watered. “ I guess I’m just being selfish. I’ve always wanted Clint, since New Mexico. and I like being the one to make Coulson laugh… I mean I want them to be happy but” She was quite for a moment as her tears fell.

 “I want to make them happy” She said softly. Tony hummed and finished off her glass. 

“Well, they’re both Spysassins. Sneaky as fuck right?” Tony begins. Darcy snorted and nodded. “What if, IF they wanted you to see them? Boom! Thoughts” he crossed his arms setting the glass down and looking smug. 

“So I would shop hitting on Clint because he’s making mad love to my boss?” She said in distress. Tony looked a little ill.

“Eww no. Because you’re hot Lewis. You’re hot. They’re hot. They just wanted to see what’d you’d do.” He shrugs reaching to refill the glass. 

“You think they’re Bisexual?” Darcy felt a ray of hope in her chest. Somehow Tony’s logic was seeming reasonable. Must have been a stronger drink than she thought. 

“I’m no authority on Dudes who like Dicks but I can see the appeals of two over one” He shrugged. Darcy snorted.

“You mean Rhodey really does just like your company?” Tony choked and blushed. Darcy laughed at the hero’s reddening face. Tony finally caught his breath a smirked. 

“That was dirty, Short stuff” He tossed his arm around Darcy’s shoulder and pulled her head to his chest, mostly she was nestled in his armpit. “You make me proud Kiddo.”

“Thanks Dad” She grinned and disentangled herself from the billionaire headed to the door. Tony had frozen and was watching Darcy with eyes wide. The grin faded from her face. Both brunettes eyes narrowed simultaneously. 

“Don’t even think about it!” She began.

“MY LONG LOST PROGENY!!!”

“AHHH! Why do I even hang out with you!!” The door slams after her.

Tony loves it when he’s right and he’d give more than 12 percent in a bet that the two men would be cuddled up to sweet brunette in a few hours time. He narrowed his eyes. Exactly how right was he today?

“Jarvis I need a favor…”

Crambo

Noun

[kram-boh] 

1. a game in which one person or side must find a rhyme to a word or a line of verse given by another.

2. inferior rhyme.

Origin:
Crambo, earlier crambe, comes from the Latin phrase crambē repetīta “cabbage reheated, re-served,” a phrase in Juvenal’s “Seventh Satire” (“Reheated cabbage kills teachers”) referring to unimaginative writing. The Latin crambē is a borrowing from Greek krámbē, a kind of cabbage. Crambo, the rhyming game, entered English in the mid-17th century; crambe, inferior rhyme, in the early 17th.

“The portraits on the sordid walls were very like the crambo in the minds of ordinary men–very like the motley pictures of the FAMOUS hung up in your parlour, O my Public!”
- Edward Bulwer-Lytton, My Novel; or, Varieties in English Life, 1853

30 Day Writing Challenge Day 18: Inside

Yuri bit his lip, looking across the rink at where Otabek was practicing his exhibition skate for this season. He was wearing an Under Armour shirt that hugged him so nicely, making his biceps and pecs look absolutely delightful.

“I want him inside me,” Yuri whispered to himself.

Keep reading

A night out with the team is just what the doctor ordered and, Danny has to give Steve credit, he picked an amazing place for them all to relax. The bar is crowded but not to the point where it’s claustrophobic instead, it feels cozy, the low light casting a warm glow over the crowd. The drinks, even the non-alcoholic ones, are good and to top it all off it’s an open mic night with some pretty good talent taking the stage.

By the second round, the whole team is more relaxed than they have been all year and it feels good to finally just have a quiet night to themselves again. They’ve all gone through so much lately, the plane crash just the cherry on top, and finally things are settling down and they can get back to normal.

He’s basking in his happines, listening to Chin tell everybody a joke when Steve whispers to him that he’ll be right back. He mutters an okay, missing Steve’s warmth when he removes his arm from around his shoulders and watches as he heads to the bathroom.

He focuses back on the conversation at the table until he hears the announcer say, “Alright everybody, our next performer is Steve. It’s his first open mic night so let’s give him a warm welcome.” He turns to the stage because there’s no what that it’s his Steve who’s going to sing but sure enough, there he is, walking into the spotlight with his guitar in his hand.

“Hello,” Steve greets the crowd, looking nervous as he squints into the bring lights shining on him, “I’d like to dedicate this song to someone very important to me. We’ve known each other for a long time and have gone through so much together that I think it’s about time that I tell them how I feel.” The crowd falls silent as Steve starts to play, strumming a few chords before starting to sing.

I met you in the dark, you lit me up. You made me feel as though I was enough.

He hears Kono gasp behind him but his eyes are riveted on Steve, watching as he plays each note confidently. His voice is low but surprisingly good as he sings, and the rough quality only makes the song sound more heartfelt.

He wonders who the song is meant to be for. He doubts it would be Catherine or Lynn, why sing to someone who’s not in the room, but the only other people it could be are at the table with him. He looks over to see Chin and Kono giving him expectant looks and… oh. He turns back to the stage to see Steve staring right at him as he sings the chorus.

I knew I loved you then, but you’d never know. 'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go

Steve gives him a soft smile before looking back down at his guitar and…

Oh. Finally.

Steve gets more confident as he sings the rest of the song and Danny listens, enthralled as he realizes that it’s not just a love song but a promise. Steve finishes the last refrain and leaves the stage as the crowd starts clapping but he’s rooted to his seat, still processing what this all means for them.

“What are you waiting for man?” Lou says, pushing on his shoulder to get his attention, “Get out there, tell your boy how you feel.”

He nods and jumps to his feet, walking on shaky legs through the bar to where he saw Steve headed. He finds him in a little back room, packing up his guitar with his back turned to the door.

“Quite the performance,” he says and Steve jumps and turns, he can see a bit of a blush high on his cheeks but it’s overpowered by Steve’s pleased smile.

“I meant every word,” Steve finally says, looking him in the eye and effectively putting the ball in his court. It would be so easy to just let it go, make a joke and keep on ignoring what’s between them like they have for six years now. Except, Steve put himself out on a line tonight, he still remembers the story of the ill-fated talent show, and it’s only fair that Danny does the same.

It only takes three steps to cross the room to get to Steve and when Danny reaches up, he leans down easily, meeting him halfway in a kiss that’s sloppy, and uncoordinated, and oh so perfect. He pulls away first, but Steve keeps him close with an arm wrapped around his waist.

“And I mean this, I am never letting you go,” he promises and pulls Steve back down into another kiss.


Song: Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur. Listen here.