Fic Rec: Jim from IT
Title: Recruiting
Author: JIM_IN_WESTWOOD
Pairing: Jim/Sebastian
Length: 6,000
Rating: R
Warnings: Author listed: Jim's bad language, James Joyce.
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Six years ago, Jim Moriarty was looking for applicants for head minion. Sebastian Moran was happy to apply.
Reccer's comments: I had a hard time picking with of the brilliant Westwood Living series to rec, they are all so good, but in the end I decided to start with the first one, because well, it's the beginning. Anyway, the fic is from Jim's POV, which is twisted in the best possible ways, and details how his Sebastian started working for him in the first place. And, yes, their relationship is messed up and terrible and involves lots of ouchies, but it's also tender and affectionate and makes your heart happy. They just... work. So, yeah. Click on the link and then sit back and prepare to start rooting for the bad guy.
Snippet: I remember he was wearing one of the tightest shirts I’d ever seen on a supposedly straight man. That’s my first clear recollection of Sebastian Moran. Oh, wait, Colonel Sebastian Moran, as was made very clear to me when he was introduced. He was introduced in the sort of way one would snootily comment on one’s cologne when asked.
“Colonel Sebastian Moran, though I’m not sure if he’s allowed to really use that rank anymore.” The man snorted as he laughed, which is a trait I find particularly disgusting. I’m always nervous that the snort will turn into some sort of explosive nose thing, and if I’m standing right there…Well, these suits don’t just dry clean themselves!
This was six years ago, and I think I was wearing new shoes that I hadn’t intended to destroy in a dirty warehouse, but some criminal leaders seem to think that we all have to still meet up in places like sewers and back alleys as though we can’t rent hotel rooms. Should we all have heavy evil moustaches? Evil cackles that we practice facing mirrors? (Though, as a note, just because you don’t need to cultivate an evil laugh doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make sure you don’t have an annoying laugh that sounds like a goose honking, a girl sneezing, or a car engine backfiring. Oh, and don’t snort, either. Free tip.) So it smelled like shit, and I was about a half second from ordering one of my men down into the muck so I could stand on him and not risk the cuffs of my trousers.
Author: JIM_IN_WESTWOOD
Pairing: Jim/Sebastian
Length: 6,000
Rating: R
Warnings: Author listed: Jim's bad language, James Joyce.
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Six years ago, Jim Moriarty was looking for applicants for head minion. Sebastian Moran was happy to apply.
Reccer's comments: I had a hard time picking with of the brilliant Westwood Living series to rec, they are all so good, but in the end I decided to start with the first one, because well, it's the beginning. Anyway, the fic is from Jim's POV, which is twisted in the best possible ways, and details how his Sebastian started working for him in the first place. And, yes, their relationship is messed up and terrible and involves lots of ouchies, but it's also tender and affectionate and makes your heart happy. They just... work. So, yeah. Click on the link and then sit back and prepare to start rooting for the bad guy.
Snippet: I remember he was wearing one of the tightest shirts I’d ever seen on a supposedly straight man. That’s my first clear recollection of Sebastian Moran. Oh, wait, Colonel Sebastian Moran, as was made very clear to me when he was introduced. He was introduced in the sort of way one would snootily comment on one’s cologne when asked.
“Colonel Sebastian Moran, though I’m not sure if he’s allowed to really use that rank anymore.” The man snorted as he laughed, which is a trait I find particularly disgusting. I’m always nervous that the snort will turn into some sort of explosive nose thing, and if I’m standing right there…Well, these suits don’t just dry clean themselves!
This was six years ago, and I think I was wearing new shoes that I hadn’t intended to destroy in a dirty warehouse, but some criminal leaders seem to think that we all have to still meet up in places like sewers and back alleys as though we can’t rent hotel rooms. Should we all have heavy evil moustaches? Evil cackles that we practice facing mirrors? (Though, as a note, just because you don’t need to cultivate an evil laugh doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make sure you don’t have an annoying laugh that sounds like a goose honking, a girl sneezing, or a car engine backfiring. Oh, and don’t snort, either. Free tip.) So it smelled like shit, and I was about a half second from ordering one of my men down into the muck so I could stand on him and not risk the cuffs of my trousers.