#themanwiththekey

[sniperwithasmoke]

if you don’t openly discuss murder with your husband, are you even really married?

[sniperwithasmoke]

EVERYTHING’S GONE TO SHIT --- it’s been a week and a half since the assassination and he’s stuck. He’s been on the run practically since he’d pulled the trigger, his burner phone had died four days ago, and he’s fucking furious. All he needs to do is get across the fucking water! But instead, he’s holed up, just north of Belgium with no way to contact O’Conner for an extraction. --------- That is, not until he scrounges up enough money for a payphone. Well, steals it. Fucking reduced to nicking pocket change. Unbelievable.        Fingers hesitate over the numbers as he second guesses the last three of Bill’s number, only punching them in when he realises he’s taking too long. A slew of curses are muttered under breath when it goes directly to voicemail -- but he leaves a quick message and hangs up with more force than he’d intended. Basher checks the change in his hand, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the pair of blokes headed his way. They don’t pay him any mind so he turns back to the payphone, raggedly raking a hand through his hair before feeding the remaining change into the machine.         Jim’s number is easy --- he only hopes he’ll answer. Irritable and impatient, he taps the box as the line rings,   ❝ C’mon, c’mon, ❞   and rings and,   ❝ -- motherfuck -- ❞   finally connects,   ❝ Jim? ❞

@theman-withthekey.

[sniperwithasmoke]

@theman-withthekey :

cont.

His arms cross, brow quirked with his doubt. FUN? He’d scoff if he weren’t concerned with what might happen if he did. Besides, it was rough enough trying to suppress the shudder that wanted to climb its way up his spine with the look he was getting.   ❝ So, what then? ❞   Moriarty didn’t seem the bloke that would let a fellow just... waltz outta there with his head, if he were to genuinely refuse.   ❝ You want me, ❞   it’s definitive. He wouldn’t still be talking if that weren’t the case,   ❝ --- what’s that mean for me? ❞

[sniperwithasmoke]

//Because I know how much you love him.

i do love him. and tbf bash does too.

[sniperwithasmoke]

You know, since you're basically decrepit at this point.

Happy belated ;) 

You are... a right cunt, y’ know that? That said --------- we have anythin’ I’ve a need to go undercover for?

[sniperwithasmoke]

@theman-withthekey said:

Fuck you’re old.

Didn’t ask for th’ colour commentary, ta, love. You’re no spring chicken yourself.

[sniperwithasmoke]

“What happens after we die?” ((Jim. No.))

he feels like he should be high for the question jim shoots at him as he sits hunched over his own laptop, mapping out an upcoming job. the words just barely register as sound, eyes still trained on google earth, as sebastian half-turns towards him to indicate he’s listening — and then he processes the statement, gaze snapping up and over with furrowed brow. ( he’s definitely not prepared to field existential bullshit, not today, but the concern sitting in his chest requires the shift in focus ).       shouldn’t you know – the jab sits on his tongue, begging to drip out. sour. acidic. poisonous.   ❝ ehm, ❞   but he can’t. because they’re good, now, and he’s actually pausing to consider his words before letting them spew forth. progress, innit.  ❝ figure that depends on what y’ believe? met a lady after i was half dead from that tiger, kept tryin’ t’ sell me on my shit karma. kept blatherin’ on about how i was gonna be shit on in me next life. ❞   bash leans back, fingers tracing scars on his chest through his shirt. he blinks. shrugs. offers jim a small, crooked smile.  ❝ me, though? ‘f i reincarnate, i reckon it’s better than the alternative. ❞

[sniperwithasmoke]

Kiss me, I’m Irish.

HIS FACE IS FLUSHED and the alcohol is keeping him comfortably warm. Sebastian slings an arm over Jim’s shoulder, chuckling to suppress the stupid, drunken reply he’d come up with. He stoops, following through with the request, uncharacteristically soft in the gesture.