Tag: mormor

orpheusdescends:

I can’t wait for you to fuck me up

in a minute, minute

in a fucking minute

jimmy and sebastian choking the absolute shit out of each other

aw c’mon sebby baby are you not having any fun?

spoilsport

i haven’t felt this pleased with art-makin’ in a long long time

iamthecakefairy:

ibeggedformercytwice:

curlyboff:

nixiesaurus:

cocokat:

Very boring up here. 

No crimes in Heaven, apparently.

SH

—-

Met an angel called Castiel.

Was looking for a human body.

SH

—-

Have I told you about the Winchesters?

SH

—-

I miss you and your complaining horribly

SH

—-

Met Einstein! Was appalled at how little I knew about space.

SH

—-

John, your mother and father say ‘hello’.

SH

—-

I wish I could talk to you

SH

—-

God won’t let me visit Hell. 

But I’m bored. There are bound to be murders there!

SH

—-

If you end up here anytime soon I may have to kill you

SH

—-

Still missing you horribly

SH

—-

Was told you got married. “Mary Morstran”.

A woman even I might admire. Good Job.

SH

—-

People keep finding me here. Say that I solved the crimes surrounding their deaths.

Keep thanking me.

Somewhat annoying.

SH

—-

Really, John? You named your son “Sherlock”?

Someone is getting too sentimental.

I’m touched.

SH

—-

Met Mycroft. I’m not surprised he’s here a bit early.

Still as annoying as ever.

I miss when you used to punch him for me.

SH

—-

You’ve become so good at writing.

I miss you.

SH

—-

There are so many things I should have said.

Down There.

SH

—-

Sorry

SH

—-

I miss you

SH

—-

I love you.

SH

—-

Won’t you hurry up?

SH

—-

Don’t come too quickly, though.

SH

—-

Met with Mummy.

She cried. I don’t understand it.

SH

—-

I love you

SH

—-

Being an old man doesn’t suit you. 

You’re done fighting, John.

Come home.

SH

—-

Stubborn to the last, my John.

SH

—-

I love you anyway.

SH

—-

“Welcome home.”

Could you imagine one for MorMor, though?

You won’t believe this.  Down here, there’s a statue dedicated to me! -JMx

—-

It’s not very boring, here, I have to say. -JMx

—-

They’re letting me torture people, Seb!  It’s like a vacation resort! -JMx

—-

There’s a soldier down here, says he served in Kabul with you. -JMx

—-

Scratch that.  Says you killed him in Kabul.  Oops. Now I get the dishonourable discharge thing. -JMx

—-

The man in charge says he likes my Westwood. -JMx

—-

You really should stop drinking and smoking.  I think it’s ruining your organs.  Then again, that means you get here sooner.  That being said, keep up the good work! -JMx

—-

Actually, scratch that last one.  I forgot how good you looked in a sunset’s glow. -JMx

—-

Oh.  It’s terminal.  It’s only been a few years, Seb.  I told you to cut that shit out. -JMx

—-

I always knew you could handle pain.  I never knew that was only because I was there whenever it happened. -JMx

—-

I’m sorry you’re alone. I promise it’ll be over soon.  It spreads quicker than you could ever imagine. -JMx

—-

Just close your eyes. -JMx

—-

“Stupid, simple tiger.  You never did listen to me.”

NO

NO

NO

I WAS FREAKING NOT READY FOR FEELS. WHY DOESN’T SOMEONE JUST MAKE A MYSTRADE ONE AND KILL ME ALREADY.

Oh no. Why did you say it Curly? WHY? Now I feel obligated to kill you. 

That came out wrong. Sort of. 

I should have worn my vest. You were always nagging at me to do so. – GL

—-

It’s okay to cry, you know? Nobody would think less of you. – GL

—-

You’d like it up here, Mycroft. They run in properly. – GL

—-

A is worried about you. She isn’t the only one. – GL

—-

You need to get some decent coffee sent up here or something. For some reason even they can’t get it right. – GL

—-

You’re spending too much time at the office. You’ll kill yourself doing that. – GL

—-

I’m serious, Mycroft. You may be a Holmes but you’re a human first. – GL

—-

I finally found your brother today. He’s doing well. Don’t worry. I’ll look after him for you. Just like before. – GL

—-

You’ll give yourself a heart attack this way. – GL

—-

And you said grieving was a concept you didn’t understand. It’s been too long now though. Move on. I was only a bloody Yarder. – GL

—-

Please come and control your brother. He’s becoming too insufferable, even for me, and annoying Gabriel. Is that even possible? – GL

—-

I see you talked to Sally. Thank you. – GL

—-

I warned you. Didn’t I? A heart attack? You’re not ready yet. England still needs you down there. I think the Prime Minister nearly had a heart attack himself when he found out about you. It was amusing. Young thing looked so scared. – GL

—-

You’re back at work already? I could kill you. I can’t but I could. You’re meant to be resting, Mycroft. – GL

—-

Jesus. You really don’t care any more, do you? It’s not so great up here. Just please stop working so bloody hard. – GL

—-

You know working doesn’t heal the pain, right? – GL

—-

Oh now you’ve gone and bloody done it. I may be dead but I can still see you in that blasted hospital. – GL

—-

England doesn’t need you any more. I do. You can rest now, Mycroft.  – GL

—-

“I always said you’d work yourself to death.”

Well, we’ve got the set, now.  God, the first version hurt enough when this went around before, but now there’s a mormor version?  Oh, my heart… 

inklou:

ahh thank you ppl for you kind responses regarding my fever LOL it went down 1.0 F after I chugged some advil…I’M MAKING PROGRESS HUFF

Anyways I thought I posted this but apparently I didn’t. Another Moriarty/CParks!Seb speedy commission for ClockworkCheshire! She also requested Seb has some sort of eye scars going on there. Aw yeahh

This is about as fluffy as mormor gets.  I find I am completely okay with this. ^_^ (Lovely art…)

**gifs used with kind permission from driverdarlingdriver ^_^

Blood Bath
(a ridiculous mormor ficlet)

Sebastian had an occasional tendency of falling asleep in the bath.  It wasn’t a consistent trend, only happening after some of the longer, more arduous jobs, but regardless of his condition, he would not deviate from his acquired habit.  Even exhaustion was not enough to induce him to pass over his long soak for a much safer shower in those instances.  The first time he was caught – startled awake chin deep and slowly sinking in luke-warm water – Jim chastised him (‘Really, Seb, if you’re going to get yourself killed, at least do it on the job; drowning in the flat is such a waste.’) but the behavior didn’t change.  Sebastian asserted that a long hot soak was what he needed after jobs like that; a hot shower just didn’t do the same job for aching muscles and the occasional bone-deep chill. 

Jim hadn’t said another word about it, and he could tell Sebastian thought the matter dismissed as irrelevant, though he had simply chosen a different tack.  Orders were made, and during the next overnight trip out of the city (Wicklow this time; nothing grand, but someone who was meant to be dead in London the week before had apparently not gotten the hint – or perhaps had gotten it too soon) Jim went about testing the effects of his chosen plan.

After a bit of searching, he had found a pigment that would stain water an appropriately horrifying shade of red without staining the occupant.  While Sebastian was away, he ran four separate tests to verify the right quantity of pigment to use for the most appropriate water levels, then made sure to thoroughly rinse out the tub again.  Sebastian suspected nothing when he returned. 

The plan then went into a holding pattern; waiting for the right time to present itself.  It was another month before Sebastian had that sort of job again, and another three before he was caught asleep while bathing.  This time, Jim did not wake him, merely entered the room on quiet feet and carefully added red liquid to the bath.  It dissipated slowly, but effectively, and a careful swish of his hand through the cooling water hastened the process without ever alerting his slumbering companion.  Once his task was finished, Jim smirked, satisfied with his work, and removed himself just as quietly as he had come, to read within hearing distance.

The wait was not long – ten minutes and half a chapter in, he had results.

Jim heard a gasp, a sudden, brief sloshing of water, and then utter stillness.  The brilliant thing about Sebastian was, he doesn’t panic – Jim was very nearly convinced he would take a mortal wound with little more than a disgusted curse and finish what needed be done – the silence from the other room only solidified that belief, and a slow, approving grin curled his lips.

A minute later – long enough for a semi-thorough full body check – a low growl sounded through the door, and a yelled, “Goddamnit, Jim, give me a heart-attack, why don’t you?!” rumbled through the flat.  Jim simply smirked in response, sauntering past the bathroom door and replied in a darkly teasing voice just above normal speech, “I warned you sleeping in the bath might kill you, Sebastian; never said you’d drown…”

The habit wasn’t completely broken, from then, but Sebastian did start taking more showers.

dramatis-echo:

“Still looking for a job?” That smooth, Irish lilt.

“…As a matter of fact I am.” That low, British answer.

Together again. Together at last.

– – –

Post-Reichenbach || Jim is back in London after three years; has a bit of a limp after sustaining a serious injury during his travels. Contacts Sebastian to regroup, after discovering Sherlock Holmes is also still alive.

#lots of requests for fass-moran & scott-arty

Non-AskBox Fic: BBC Sherlock – JM/SM

aenonnymoose:

For: Lady-Karasu

He doesn’t believe in gods, demons, anything but the world around him that he can twist and use to his purposes. He believes in what he can do with his mind, with his hands; everything of superstition and myth can be someone else’s hang-up, he doesn’t need any of that nonsense. Some might say he’s mad, twisted, wrong somehow, but they don’t say it to his face. Lately they don’t even whisper it behind his back, and the heady rush of the knowledge that he is feared and hated, but obeyed, does. not. get. old.

He doesn’t believe in the things other people do, but he has found it strangely satisfying to be believed in. To see the light of eager compliance, of willing obedience in the eyes of a killer. Eyes that are flat and cold when turned on everyone else. It’s of particular satisfaction to him that despite all his random little tests, his relentless pushing, his studied cruelties, the world-hardened killer, the insanely-patient shikari has given allegiance to him. Willingly.

So, it’s with a pristine conscience that he accepts the unexpected worship that is the startlingly gentle touch of large hands on his bared body. Hands that have killed countless times, that could snap his neck without more than a soft grunt of effort from their owner, and which will release him the instant he wishes. But he doesn’t wish it. He takes the offering of that strong, scarred body that he can caress or mark as he pleases, drinks of a hard-lipped mouth that softens only for him. He’s found that the sounds of moans and sighs, of his name whimpered imploringly or choked out unintentionally, all are like music to his ears – as cliché as that may be.

Deep in the night, when he wakes from dreams of endless nothingness filling him up and erasing him rather than the horrors others profess to fear in their dreams, he whispers into the tanned and scarred skin that’s always so warm when he’s so cold. No one but his own and only believer hears the words, will ever hear them. If he ever loses faith, ever stops believing, best to kill himself than to run; no mercy will be shown. Better still, he says, just kill them both, because that’s the kindest end he can think of on nights like these.

Always, no matter what’s happened, no matter if he bears fresh scars from fingernails and teeth, or wine-dark marks from lips and tongue… always, his sole acolyte, his killer, his never-tamed but obedient tiger, will enfold him in strong arms and whisper in his rough-edged voice, “Never, Jim. Never. I’m yours till you end me.” Each time, the nothingness inside is pushed back, the burden of being is eased, and he can sleep peacefully again; the worshipped genius instead of the abandoned madman.

END

~MF-Anon

(This just won’t work in an AskBox, so breaking tradition a bit and posting here first.)

aklsfjdalksjdf!!!  MORMOR FIC FOR ME! o/ There are no words for how much I adore this, THANK YOU ANON!  No, seriously, this deserves caps – so much love for this.  SO MUCH!  *hugs it tightly, then backs away slowly because those boys are dangerous*  ^_^  Excuse me while I glee!flail…