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i genuinely think jim likes the band ghost and i’m not even talking out of my ass about this one

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jim walking up to you at a club: hey me and my girlfriend katya @soloveya saw you from over there and we absolutely fucking hated your vibe, you have a ten second head start before we start hunting you for sport

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it’s jim’s birthday today go crazy ahhhhh

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🔪 :-/

 SEND ME THE KNIFE EMOJI TO STAB JIM!

OF COURSE , IT WOULD BE HIM. JIM HAD ALWAYS WANTED IT to be him. the scene is something jim thought about often since sherlock holmes had appeared on his radar like a guiding light through a dangerous fog. THOUGHT ABOUT is the wrong word , because jim has never felt that sense of DREAD & apprehension commonly found in other people when they think about how they’re going to die. it’s a fantasy he’s indulged more times than he can count on his fingers. and because it has to be just right , every time is different. a variable is changed to accommodate what he needs from that final moment     (   ONE   FINAL   ACT   )               no matter how minuscule it may be , IT MATTERS TO HIM.  

THE NOISE THAT COMES FROM THE BACK OF HIS THROAT is involuntary. surprised & very human of him even though he’s yet to register the pain. only the pressure. for a man so consumed by the scene of his death , in the moment where he even greatly anticipates it , he’s betrayed by the body that confines the enigma of himself. his eyes , a little wider than they had been before , don’t leave sherlock’s until they absolutely have to. until he can’t stand the idea of NOT KNOWING what the sight looks like. something

SOMETHING OTHER THAN JIM’S FREE WILL tilts his chin down to look at where sherlock keeps the knife buried inside him , just between the ribs with every intention of being FATAL. another noise , not as loud as the one that preceded it , hisses through his clenched teeth. like a laugh. a gleeful laugh of relief , distorted by the shock in his body once he sees the blood.

IT’S LIKE SOME ANIMALISTIC INSTINCT TO SURVIVE clicks in the back of his mind and tells him to fall back and retreat , but jim's not looking to survive. the jarring feeling is a slow but intense vibration that runs through his muscles , especially where the edge of the knife scrapes mercilessly against his ribs & deep into the tissue of jim’s body , which is not of sherlock’s doing             it’s jim. he can’t stop laughing. that intense , internal pressure returns to it’s former glory inside his chest , and he resists the urge to cough as his own blood starts to fill his lungs and travel up his throat. this must be what it’s like to drown , he thinks , and it instills in him a new certainty that CARL POWERS had gotten what he deserved.

A FEATHERING BLACKNESS , VOID OF SUBSTANCE , starts to wrap around his vision. like he’s closing his eyes. jim , even through the almost electrifying physicality to his death , knows that he’s not , so he understands that he must be getting close. his eyes flicker back up to sherlock like he’s running against a clock. his own clock. his mouth spreads apart in one of the most humbled smiles he’s ever worn in his life , bloodstained teeth of enormous gratitude exposed. he talks over the distant sound of CHURCH BELLS. 

❛      THANK YOU. BLESS YOU.      ❜           @undoer

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jim does this shit

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jim has a K embroidered in red on the back pocket of some of his trousers

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the joker, laughing as he gets the shit beat out of him: you have NOTHING to threaten me with

jim: this mf spittin

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Andrew Scott, Script To Screen

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volchiy​:

❝  oh, i’m sure of that.  ❞  now, she amends, though it doesn’t leave the trap of her mind, still spiraling suction between her ears that nags incessantly, replaying her victim’s come - on with rapidly climbing pitch. after a moment, it fades, and she glances up at him as she crouches down, elbows balanced on her knees. she was an irritant, and now she’s gone, and katya won’t apologize for the fact.

❝  not really your type, is she … poor thing. shall i call the cleaners or would you rather i handle my own mess?  ❞ 

     “ but if i were to start swinging boning knifes in the middle of your business transactions , “   that thought is left unfinished as he comes to stand beside her crouched figure.   fingers in her hair ,   gently soothing the crown of her scalp under manicured nails ,   trying to draw the thoughts out of her skull like blood from a stone. 

     her resentment is palpable and there’s no question from where it brews ,   that some of it is justly his for mistaking indifference towards the poor thing as discouragement. 

     “ i’ll call the cleaners. “   he says ,   a hum of accountability in the back of his throat.

    he uses the purchase he finds there in her hair to tenderly tilt her head even further back than what it takes for her to meet his eye.   “ it’s occurred to me that maybe , “   the chill inside the crystal ghosts the back of his fingers as he runs them against her cheek ,   down the bone of her jaw.  “ maybe we should have a discussion.  about the terms of this relationship. “

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death meaning absolutely nothing to jim but also being the highest elevation of the self that there is .. what can I say he simply is not like other girls

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fakedsciences​:

“What about you? What do you think?” 

She plays playful too well.

     “ it’s a bit silly ,   isn’t it?   feeling bad about the things we have to do. “