#bxmbastic

Send me a character and i’ll tell you my favorite rp blog for them

PRAISE THIS IS THE ONE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR.

Okay so for anyone who doesn't know me or Jim. We're both married as fuck to bxmbastic ic and ooc respectively. Flay/Taylor is amazing and wonderful and like. I lay on her all the time she's great and when we each watch movies we discuss them like today we had an in depth discussion over whether or not Jim would hire a hitman from a movie Flay watched. Very important conversations I love having that distract me from the shit that always comes with Christmas. She also once narrated the entirety of The Amazing Spider Man 2 for me because I needed to watch it and she screen shared it all with me in HD but the sound wasn't working so she played storyteller while I watched the screen. And just the fact that she's willing to do that for a potato like me?? amazing.

OKAY NOW THAT I'VE RANTED ABOUT FLAY LET'S TALK ABOUT HER JIM.

So I call her Jim Jams because our muses are married and live in the same house so if we called them both Jim it would get fuckin confusing as hell. they 'adopted'(coughkidnappedcough) prince george and are raising him and somehow they're really fuckin good parents??? And Jim and Jams relationship is weirdly really healthy which is hella strange for Jim because people with BPD have issues trusting enough for healthy relationships but yeahhh. Anyway so that's really amazing.

But just outside of that, her Jim is beautifully written, like, most days I'm fairly certain when Flay's writing Jim it's just Jim Moriarty at a keyboard like 'fuck everyone and everything I am the boss'. and just. I worship their Jim and even though we're really close friends some days I still wonder why they ever noticed me and like our first interaction was these two Jim's being fuckin assholes to each other and then suddenly OOPS we're a thing bc no one is more perfect for me than me.

      There hadn’t been a situation so far from              expectation in all his years of hard ( and              sometimes less hard) labour that he was            willing to remember. There was no wasting              time on the dying, even when demanded             so undeniably; Why must you even haunt            the passing corpses with words they cannot                                          resist?    Jim requested the impossible. Sebastian would end up failing.         Sebastian failed. How’s that for a last, conscious thought?                                                         You’re a failure after all.                                   ONE LAST ANSWER:

                         ’I’ll try, sir.’

Newspapers were spread out across the table, each with similar headlines and pictures of a family in tears. Simply looking at them had a chuckle bubbling up in the criminal's throat.

One Year Old Today- Still Missing.                           The Hunt for Prince George

Sliding the newspapers and tabloids into a pile, Jim picked up the young boy who was wandering aimlessly about the kitchen, making good use of his newfound ability to walk. "Look, little one, you made every newspaper on England on your birthday, that's just how important you are." A fond smile lingered on his lips as he pressed a kissed to feathery locks of blond hair.

              "Now how would you like to open your presents?"

From the bubbly noises and soft 'yah' that had been appropriated as 'Yes' for the young boy, Jim figured that now was as good a time as any. Setting up a camera so he'd be able to replay it, Jim set the presents on the floor, sitting down with George in his lap and unwrapping them one by one,

At his age, the boy was far more intrigued with the wrapping paper than the gifts of clothing, but the toys caught his interest, and his enthusiasm had that fond smile widening into something genuine.

Sunday had come upon the criminal too fast. He usually didn't keep track of the date, days had no meaning for him anyway. His work was constant, he took no Sabbath, and there was little else by which he kept any schedule. 

              But he'd marked today off on his calendar with certainty.

Of course, he'd intended for it to be marginally different. He'd planned dinner, just himself, James, and George, and then a journey out to the country to watch the stars. He'd checked the weather in advance, and every day leading up to it. Looking outside, he saw that the reports had in fact been true, it was a clear day in usually-dreary England today, the perfect sort of day for stargazing.

                           Too bad he'd be changing his plans.

Perhaps he would take George out to the yard to watch the stars. They would be dimmer and fewer due to London's inherent light pollution, but they would be there nonetheless. And Jim couldn't really justify seeing stars without the one person he knew cared about them as much as he did.

Soft crying interrupted his thoughts and an indulgent smile touched his face. He stepped over to the crib, picking George up and nestling him against his shoulder, "Good morning, little one. You're up early, is it because you know what day it is? Today's Father's Day, so I'll be spending the whole day with you. No work for me today, just time with my favourite little man, hmm? How does that sound?"

            It was easier to keep up a facade with such a willing audience.

"Come on, little one, let's have you sign Father's card. He's not here today, he's still away on vacation, but someday he'll be back and I'm sure he'll expect a card. It's best we have one ready." 

Carrying George out into the sitting room, he took the infant's hand and pressed it into the ink pad next to the card. Pressing the hand again onto the cardstock of the inside, he left a distinct handprint right beside Jim's sloping signature.

                   "There, now the card's from both of us and it will mean twice as much."

Ignoring the darkness swirling at the back of his head, Jim closed the card and slipped it into the envelope, sealing it with wax and addressing it in sprawling calligraphy.

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Pain in his jaw, pain in his mouth, pain in the muscles of his cheek.

                  But above all, pain in his black hole of a heart.

Old instincts kicked in to keep him on his feet where he would have gone sprawling across the floor. He poised on the balls of his feet for a moment before dropping into a relaxed stance. 

         This wouldn't become a fight. Not on his watch.