read cavalry and ch13 and it has thrown me into such a state ???! like absolutely annoyed my bf (who hasn't interacted with anything sherlock related a day in his life) with the knowledge going "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND- JIM'S A *CUNT*, THAT SLY BASTARDDDD" and ended up frantically opening my laptop to start doing that coding project of analyzing tvd and fif, I am ecstatic ?!! full on in a frenzy, gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, screaming
Beautiful, thank you for sharing, loving the mental images, absolutely deranged (affectionate)
Also if you ever do manage to get results from that comparison I'm dying to hear them.
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hello ridi, I am here for your book ask š also: happy half year, I suppose š»
my favorite book thus far has been all quiet on the western front! knew it'd be the most magnificent little read, since one of my friends read it way back in high school, and finally found the time to commit to reading it this year! it made me fall in love with reading all over again on a whole new level, the devastating yet beautiful imagery- ouch, my heart </3
as for the author question - James Baldwin !! I've read Giovanni's Room back in May, and while I adored the premise and the writing I needed time to adjust to its style.. however, I recently started reading if beale street could talk and that one absolutely got me hooked !!
books I am looking forward to reading: ouh... so many !! finishing if beale street could talk, most definitely.. also: finishing Greek lessons.. starting Frankenstein, Babel & Much Ado About Nothing <33 very excited for them all :))
oh and my friend got me the MOST BEAUTIFUL book about Irish myths and folktales, so I am pretty excited for that one as well <3333
hi lovely!! yippee!! lots of my favourites mentioned hehe im sooo glad you enjoyed all quiet on the western front it was my absolute favourite new read last year!! and james baldwin of course, particularly rec another country if you havenāt read it yet!! i did frankenstein at a level too and it was fabā¦happy reading!!
[written for @mormorproposalā 's prompt request]
It takes every ounce of Sebastian's self control to keep his pace measured as he beelines through the crowded streets of the City. It's a long walk from the hospital; by the time he reaches the parking garage, there simply isn't any left.Ā
He turns the corner off the pavement and breaks into a sprint, tightly controlled facade crumbling until he's bolting through the carpark at full speed, dignity be damned.Ā
The hollow click of dress shoes rings through the structure as Sebastian descends, down and down again, trying to identify which floor Jim is parked on. A swell of frantic rage is washing over Sebastian. He has to be here, waiting for him. He fucking has to.Ā
Why? Because you need him?Ā
Because Jim has ever, in his life, done anything he didn't want to?
Sebastian's throat seizes. He should have asked for a floor number. Should've replied to the text at all, but he'd been so fucking tired.Ā
Concrete and empty cars blur past, interspersed by spotlight bursts of sickly yellow light in a repeating pattern. Simple and uncaring as computer code, there's a ramp and a curve and a long stretching corridor, and a ramp and a curve and a corridor, and another, and another.Ā
It feels like a hallway dream, like a sick fucking nightmare. Running until his legs start to falter but not getting anywhere, heart pounding in his ears.
Sebastian hates the trend of his thoughts, hates the growing doubt in the back of his mind, but Jim's always been unpredictable, and these days Sebastian barely knows him at all. The last half-year would've been enough to shake the faith of a saint, and Jim isn't appearing, no matter how close he gets to the end of the line.Ā
With no Jim there's no future. No meaning, again, and Sebastian can't go back to his old life, not after he's had this.Ā
There's nothing he can do to close the space between them or the rotten festering wound the flat has become.Ā
No time left to fix things, to break first, to embarrass himself with it if that's what it fucking takes, okay, he'll degrade himself that far, to at least claw back whatever violent, fucked up, dysfunctional slice of happiness they had before Holmes, before Jim's big mad fucking brain started to gnaw itself into a pulp.Ā
Today is the day it ends. It's supposed to be over.
It's supposed to be over, now.
Sebastian stumbles. He's down to the sub-basement. There aren't any levels left. He turns the final corner, and Jim-- Jim isn't there.
But the car is. Sebastian stops dead, staring. The windows are tinted dark as sin, impossible to see through.Ā
It's only a few short feet to the sleek automobile. Sebastian walks across them on numb legs and reaches for the rear door, because Jim never sits shotgun, never drives.
Jim doesn't even look up from his phone.
"Come on, then."
Sebastian feels simultaneously a hundred years old and only five, learning about God for the first time. He gets in, hands trembling. He doesn't say anything. He can't trust his voice.
[written for @mormorproposalā 's prompt request]
Healing around Jim is a difficult undertaking.
It isnāt sadism, the way he likes to pull Sebastianās wounds apart. That would imply sexual gratification, and Sebastian has gotten him off enough times to know this fascination is something different.
Jim likes running his fingertips over Sebastianās sloppy homemade stitches, gentle as a farce, nails catching on the knots and pulling as he trails across Sebastianās skin. Heāll climb into Sebastianās lap like itās his right, because it is, regardless of whether Sebastian wants him there, pressing close enough to mix their breath together. Heās long since learned that forcibly removing Jim will only lead to bigger fucking problems later.Ā
So he sits still and patient as Jim digs his thumbs into the hook of his bruised jaw and licks his mouth open. Jim tastes like spearmint and coffee, and itās just a means to an end, but Sebastian kisses back, of course he does, biting open the perpetual split in Jimās lip because he wants to and because heās started to accept even the tiniest bit of turnabout as fair play.Ā
Jim hums in something like contentment and starts prodding Sebastianās loose teeth with his tongue until they bleed.
---
To say Sebastian is good at his job is unnecessary and inaccurate. He doesnāt need his ego stroked and he isnāt good; heās the best money can buy. Thatās why heās the one at Moriartyās side, at his back, his beck and call, his bedside carpet, bruising his knees.Ā
All the skill in the world wouldnāt make occasional injuries avoidable, though. Nothing to be done but smile and get on with it.Ā
Sometimes itās only a concrete abrasion. Sometimes itās all ten fingernails torn off, because Sebastian got gold stars in RTI and heāll be fucked to hell and back before he yields to anyone, to anyoneā well, you know. Else.Ā
The first time happened in Jimās flat, before they lived together, Sebastian sprawled in the guest bathtub, all bloodstained briefs and an open gash from a wild knife swing splitting his outer thigh. Heād propped the first aid kit on the toilet seat for easy access, grinning at the message scrawled in sharpie on the inner lid, YOU FUCKED UP, and it probably wouldāve been funny even without the blood loss helping things along.Ā
He hears Jim creeping down the hall on socked feet, senses his presence in the doorway, lets Jim think he didnāt, because that brand of lie is the only sort he ever manages to pull off these days.Ā
Jim stares and Sebastian rubs betadine generously over the wound, goosebumps rising, part unease and part Pavlovian reaction, and Jim doesnāt say anything, doesnāt move or mutter or twitch. The stillness is so fucking unsettling that Seb looks up, drawls, āHey, baby, like what youāā and chokes on his words, because Jim is looking at him with nothing less than fascination.
He hates himself a bit over how it punches the breath out of him. Only a bit, because it can conceivably be dismissed as something physical. Jimās focused gaze, his undivided interest, feels overwhelming. He has no idea why itās being directed at him here, now. He wets his lips. Makes an aborted movement to swab his leg again. āāwhat you see?āĀ
They look at each other. Or, Sebastian looks at Jim, lifeblood oozing down the drain, and Jim looks at his leg.Ā
Sebastian shifts and winces. It hurts, sends pulses of electricity racing up his nerves with every movement, but heās had worse.
Jim pads over. He still isnāt talking and itās bugging the hell out of Sebastian, because he may not understand Jim, probably wonāt ever come close, but heās good at interpreting the manās moods even if itās impossible to predict them. Silence usually means big fucking danger, but he isnāt reading that right now. Jimās eyes arenāt mad. Theyāre a flawless mirror black in the low light.
He perches on the porcelain and leans over. His gaze is still hovering below Sebastianās belt and if there wasnāt so much blood missing from his body, itād probably stir something on principal. āDoes it hurt?ā he asks, droll, and Sebastian scoffs, blood loss and the comedown of adrenaline making him feel lightheaded. āD'you mean the knife wound?ā
Jim reaches down. Sebastian lets him, though itās weird, the gentle brush of fingers over his skin. Jim isnāt careful, not in this way, not with bodies and especially not with Sebastianās body. He canāt say the light pressure is doing anything for him, but itās Jim so he just sits back and watches, a little woozy.
The fingers trail down, nails carving rivers through the sick yellow-brown antiseptic. They stop a few millimeters from the edge of the cut. Sebastian lets out a slow, measured breath that heād apparently been holding, gaze steady.Ā
āYeah. It does,ā he says softly.Ā
Jim leans closer, hair falling into his eyes at this angle. He appears more scientist than madman right now, utterly absorbed in his task, in Sebastian, even if itās just part of him, and isnāt that nice?Ā
Why are you looking at me like that, he wants to ask, canāt, knows how his voice would sound coming out even if he made it a challenge.
He stays silent. Jim slides his index finger down the length of the incision, both sides of the split flesh pressed tight together by the angle heās sitting at, and it doesnāt hurt, but the nerves there are hyper-sensitive enough that the tiny ridges of Jimās fingerprint feel like sandpaper. Like a rough handjob too soon after orgasm.Ā
Jim lifts his leg, gentle, still fucking gentle, some sort of game Sebastian canāt figure out right now. He looks strange around the edges, and a momentās thought reveals this has something to do with the set of his eyes, not the way the room is tilting around them both.Ā
He sucks in a breath, suddenly reminded of that saying about the soft parts and man with the knives. (Something about exposing them at every opportunity, right?)
āLending a helping hand, then? You wouldnāt happen to be A-positive, would you?ā he asks, smiles, twitchy, at his own joke. Jim blinks at him, slow and smiling.Ā
Jim presses down hard on either side of it.
Everything goes white. Sebastian screams. His hands are wrapped around Jimās wrists before he can blink, tight enough to grind delicate bones under his fingers, thigh throbbing along with his heartbeat. āWhat in the fuck,ā he bites out when he can breathe again, shifting his weight off the leg. Jim had dropped it. His heel hit the tub hard but itās nothing, nothing compared to the agony in his leg. His goddamn ears are ringing.
The smile doesnāt leave Jimās face, but it does take on a significantly more threatening tinge. āDonāt be weak, darling,ā he says through gritted teeth, ābuck up now, donāt be boring,ā and tugs his hands away pointedly.
He doesnāt get far. To both of their surprise, Sebastian doesnāt let go.
He looks down at his leg, confirms that it is in fact fucking bleeding again, but it doesnāt look significantly worse, and by the time he looks back, the interest is fading fast from Jimās face, replaced by annoyance and something like disappointment.Ā
No, Sebastian thinks, reeling, because he does not disappoint Jim, and then, am I really going to let him poke me like a science experiment just to keep his interest?
ā
Sebastian lets it happen. Jim is interested. After, he crawls into the tub on top of Sebastian and proves it, and Seb even comes before he passes out.Ā Ā
The benefits donāt stop there; he wakes up in the bathroom with crusted blood covering his lower body and cum on his chest, but thereās a slipshod bandage strapped tight to his thigh, and a folded towel under his head, which is about enough to be getting on with.
And the bruises on Jimās wrists go all pretty, purple and black. When Sebastian gets hurt, he looks intimidating. When Jim gets hurt, he looks like a fucking abuse victim. Seb likes the stares they get in public whenever Jimās sleeves ride up, when he decides they should go clubbing for the night and dons something short-sleeved and clinging.
The way people glare at him, as if James fucking Moriarty is his victim. Itās hilarious.
The bruises stick around for weeks.
ā
The second time, Jim creeps up from behind and wraps his arms around Sebastianās torso, cracked and broken ribs groaning at the constricting pressure of his arms, and he does seem to actually be listening, ear to his back and fingers twitching with every little movement Seb makes.Ā
The thing is, he could resist this in the right headspace, if he was actually expecting it. Instead his knees nearly give out and he cries out like a dying animal, sharp pain shooting through his chest cavity. Every breath feels like fucking agony. He barely resists the urge to spin around and slam Jimās body into the wall until he lets go.
The smaller man sighs, a rare, almost happy noise, and Sebastian tries his best not to breathe. Jim must go up on his toes, because a tender, lingering kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck where heās most sensitive.
His knees do buckle, then.
Jim keeps him there.
ā
Sebastian knows Jim doesnāt do this with other people.Ā
Trying to decipher his motives is useless, but Sebastian canāt help the little voice that whispers, that means it has to be because itās you.
ā
There isnāt always sex, and it isnāt always an event. Sometimes itās as simple as sucking Sebās tongue into his mouth after he accidentally bites it.Ā
But nothing about Jim is predictable, and the downshot of this is that eventually, whenever he chooses to ignore whatever traumaās befallen Sebastianās body instead of making it worse, it feels like a punishment.
After all. Itās nice, feeling like Jim thinks he's fascinating, for a little while.
hello hello, this is so silly, however, I felt like telling, sooo uhm yeah here we go !! I'm recently on a total wolfstar hype, especially regarding your fics (love your works and your wording ?? It's so !!! Utterly exquisite), so when acquaintances of my grandparents started talking about an aloof gay pharmacist that smoked and produced smoke rings, then hastily waved them away when caught, I immediately had to think of your and only felt good while moving Remus (that fic shattered me, thank you very much indeed)
yep that's all I wanted to say, thanks for writing such lovely pieces and I hope you're having a great day !! okay byee
hi!! thank you so much!! aofwgm is a fave of mine aha i am glad you enjoyed it!! the pharmacist sounds swag also xx thank you 4 such a sweet ask!! : ^ )
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