#epiitaphs

[gunmetalgrey]

It’s a real shame @epiitaphs isn’t here bc we used to take the piss out of how bad Sebastian is at naming things but Alex is here with a dog called SOMETHING and a cat called ALEX.

[gunmetalgrey]

@epiitaphs

If Willa doesn’t come back, that’s fine, ‘cause I don’t need love. It’s like a superpower. And if she comes back and doesn’t love me, that’s okay, too, ‘cause I don’t need it.

SUCCESSION 4.02 - “Rehearsal”

[theasteriae-arc]

KATE & SEBASTIAN. 

continued from (x) with @epiitaphs

“No. We did not have a long conversation; he caught me at a bad time.” The children had both been in bed and, instead of working, writing, she and Richard had been enjoying a rare evening to themselves. When the phone rang, Kate snatched it up quickly so he would not see the name that had flashed up on its screen, and taken the call out onto the balcony, claiming it was Phyllida, one of the senior partners at the firm, probably ringing about a case, and that she wouldn’t be out long. Five minutes, love, I promise. Pause till I get back.

James did not call often. In fact, she could not remember the last time she had heard from him, so she felt sure this was going to be bad news—and she was right, there’d been a weight like a rock in her stomach when they said their goodbyes, and yet, in spite of this, and in spite of just how much she loved her husband, it had made her smile to hear his voice again.

“I’m sure we’ll talk again soon, but contrary to what you seem to think, this isn’t a witch hunt, I’m not trying to catch you out. Probably, that’s just your guilty conscience speaking.” She smiled at Sebastian then, the look pointed and totally lacking in warmth. “I am glad you- enjoy one another, so pleased you’re having fun, but as I think I have already made clear, I do not want my daughter being caught up in these stories about the two of yous. And from where I’m sitting, it seems as if yous go out of your way to court scandal. Which is fine. You should play your games—and really, enjoy his attention while it lasts, Mr. Moran—but I’m afraid, while you do, my answer isn’t going to change; no, you may not meet Alexandra. And I will tell James the same thing when I get home, if you don’t want to.”

[pcsitivibee]

positivity for epiitaphs : Shout out to @epiitaphs for being an amazing partner! Writing with them is always fun and the fact that they can pick up after months of silence is just Top Tier quality. I adore them now and forever.

[gunmetalarchived]

🗣️

this is not incorrect quotes this is actual dialogue fight me.

[gunmetalgrey]

@epiitaphs

SUCCESSION 3.09 “All The Bells Say”

[theasteriae-a]

JAMES & SEBASTIAN. 

continued from (x) with @epiitaphs​

James’s expression was closed as Sebastian lingered in the bathroom doorway. He nodded him on his way, reassuring him again that he wouldn’t be long, but then, as he was bundling the dirty bed linen into the laundry basket and changing the covers, a secret smile broke across his lips. Sebastian really had done very well, even better than he’d predicted. A pleasant surprise. The professor tucked the corners of the sheet beneath the mattress, smoothed down the duvet and the pillows, and stepped back. That was better. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he reached for his dressing gown, hanging up on the back of the bedroom door, and still knotting it ’round his waist, made his way through to the bathroom. Sebastian had earned a further reward. 

The bathroom was full of steam, the mirror already fogging up while Sebastian continued to fiddle with the taps. The bath was only about half full, so James put a hand on Seb’s hip and leaned in to kiss the fading bruise on his neck. “In.” He spoke softly, even gently, but there was no mistaking the command in his voice. James sat down on the edge of the tub and took a cloth from the basket on the counter, unfolding it fussily in his lap. Slowly, he bent down to soak it in the warm, frothing water, rolling his sleeves up above his elbows so they did not get wet, and without a word, began to wash the back of Sebastian’s neck and shoulders, the last remaining area of tension. Under the guise of getting him clean, he worked patiently at the knots in his muscles and was pleased to see Seb’s shoulders drop a little every few minutes. “Good,” he said again, and gave him another kiss. 

This process was repeated till all of Sebastian’s top half was clean. James wet the cloth, washed him off, paying a maddening amount of attention to even the smallest areas, and kissed his soapy skin when he was done. To wash from the tops of his arms to the tips of his fingers, he had to kneel down on the tiles, reversing the normal order of things, but he knew, after the last week, Sebastian needed this. Needed more from him. He reached Seb’s wrist, washed the back of his hand, his palm, and every finger individually, and kissed the place where his veins forked under the skin. “Now the other.” He started with his fingers this time and worked his way back up to a standing position. “And up. I’ll need you in the shower to do the rest.”

[redledger]

for @epiitaphs

Left on the kitchen counter next to an expensive bottle of red wine and the keys to her fancy bike from Tony:

James,

Maybe, in some perfect miracle, you will get to read this. Somehow the last five years without you have been far heavier that the decades I lived alone. It was easier to forget about you than spend every moment wondering if there was a way to get you back. I know I’m not alone, I haven’t been alone for a long time now but you have no idea how empty the world can feel when your family is ripped from under you.

If you are reading this, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry to leave you without a goodbye. After everything though, I might have managed to do something good with my life. Also, please avoid space if you can? Not recommending a trip with the raccoon anytime soon. 

Take care of yourself, but more importantly take care of Steve. It was a long five years without you down here, and I’m not sure I’ve seen him smile right since you left.

Do me a favour? There’s a small blonde Russian girl somewhere out in the Midwest who’s going to need a friend. She probably doesn’t understand yet the weight that can come with grief like ours, and that revenge will only make it worse. Help her to find a better life than the one we had, she’s earned a break from the pain and suffering. Maybe this could finally be the end of it all.

Be mean to Clint, he’ll miss being teased.

I love you, James. More than anything. More than the stupid cat. I told you once that any decent memories I had were merely lies… now I think that’s not accurate. Those times with you, they were real. It was real to me, to have someone to make it bearable. Thank you, for all of it. 

Natalia.

[diabolicaltendencies]

@epiitaphs​ sent:  [ groom ] sender tries to make receiver look more presentable (seb+jim /reversed/)

A few weeks into their little trysts and it’s still an ego trip to talk a politician so concerned about scandal into a mid-afternoon meetup at a fancy hotel. Even if Jim Moriarty is the last person on Earth in need of an ego boost, he’ll take it. Sprawled out on the king-sized bed, Jim can feel the pleasant ache of their antics sink in. It’s nice. Each twitch of muscle and tenderness of bruised skin ground him in his body. He stretches out like a lazy cat, tapping away on his phone, flipping between important emails and social media as Sebastian tries to put himself back together in the bathroom.

An amused grin spreads across Jim’s lips when Seb emerges, “Oh dear. You’re not going back to work like that, are you?” 

He shifts up to kneel on the edge of the mattress, luxury sheets falling away, revealing a mural of tattoos interspersed with red scratches and marks left in Sebastian’s wake. The sheet pools around Jim’s waist. He knows his angles and knows how to play them up for the perfect pose, turning a disheveled mess into something controlled and tempting.

“Come here.” He purrs, reaching out to tug Sebastian closer by his waistband. Jim takes his time. He buttons up the last few buttons of Seb’s shirt, laying the collar perfectly to hide any signs of indecency, before setting about tying the tie with expert skill. It’s almost a sort of hypnotism, the beginnings of a ritual. Jim’s hand moves to Sebastian’s chin. “There. That’s better.” His touch slides across Seb’s shoulder, down his arm, smoothing out his shirt at the perfect, calculated pace to solidify the gravitational pull between them.

“You sure you don’t want to stay~?” Jim asks sweetly, even as his arched brow and smirk test Sebastian’s priorities.

[libdemdisaster]

@epiitaphs [CONTINUED]  send 😡 for an angry text from my muse 

[to - ak (ignore)]: next time maybe don’t look so fucking smug with a camera around and you won’t have to hear from me  [to - ak (ignore)]: would it have killed you to wait five more hours? [to - ak (ignore)]: of course it would, you’re allergic to any sort of decency. you specifically, because i fucking know you’re the architect here.

[text: s. moran] Didn’t know there was press around, did I? What am I, fucking psychic?  [text: s. moran] Also quick reminder that you don’t get to tell me what to do [text: s. moran] Can’t handle the pressure, don’t go into politics [text: s. moran] I did my job, which is to make Fergus look good. Couldn’t care less about your lot.

[consultingsister-aa]

five times kissed (seb and cee but alt politics for spice)

THIS MEME for: @epiitaphs verse: alt poltical 

I.

It had started on their very first lecture with Professor Campbell. Celia has answered his question with ease, she knew all the dates, all the facts, all the names. She was just getting ready to bask in the glory of already identifying herself as best in the class when a voice, a male voice, two rows back started.

“Actually, wasn’t it Nicholson, not Nicholas?”

It was a ridiculous, unimportant fact. There was no need for him to even point it out; it didn’t change any fo the facts of the case. As Celia turned to shoot daggers at the boy, he smiled at her. Not a friendly, apologetic smile but a gloating, lazy grin. She hated Sebastian Moran.

Over the term, they continued in this fashion. Every time Celia or Seb raised a hand to answer a question, the other would sit up, lean closer, wait for someone to slip up. If there was nothing to be corrected, they offered a rebuttal. “While I see where Miss Holmes is coming from…” matched “I can understand where Moran would get that idea, however…”. It was a careful and considered game of intellectual tennis and no one was enjoying it quite as much as each other.

Six weeks in, Campbell would pause after every comment made by either and look to the other. On their final day in class before the Christmas break, after Celia had offered an almost perfect argument for the case, Campbell looked to Seb. As did Cee. Seb simple raised his hand and offered a shrug. “I think she’s right.”

Celia was furious.

They had never spoken outside of class before, other than to offer snide remarks as they waited outside the lecture hall. She found out where his room was from a friend and, upon finding it, knocked gently. And then harder. And then, harder still, banging her fist against the door. She could hear him shouting I’m coming, I’m coming from inside but continued to hammer, until he yanked the door open. As he took her in, that stupid arrogant smile returned.

“What did you mean when you said, I think she’s right? What did you mean by that?”

Seb gave a disbelieving laugh. “That you were… correct? Do you want to have a fight over that?”

“No, but you fight me on everything else. So why not today?”

“I thought you were right today.”

Celia gave a furious little huff and stormed away from his door, only to storm right back to him. “You know what I think? I think-- I think you’re an arsehole, with no manners.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you’re a spoiled brat who’d never heard the word no, in her life.”

Cee steps closer to him, teeth bared in a snarl. In fact, she’s so close she needs to tilt her head to talk to him. There are only a couple inches in their heights, but with their chests nearly touching, it matters. “I am cleverer than you. I will do better than you. I will bury you.”

His smile doesn’t drop as she hoped, in fact, he arches an eyebrow. “Is that a promise, Holmes?”

An actual growl escapes her before she throws her arms around his neck and smashes her lips against his. He reciprocates, despite himself maybe and before long, he’s letting her pushing him back into his room, slamming the door behind her. A whole semester of foreplay had been leading to that moment and they did not disappoint.

II.

Celia loved being married. Although she had not taken her husband’s name, there was something in the way her lecturers said Ms. instead of Miss that set her apart from her fellow students; especially the girls. It was that drawn-out zzz sound that did it. She was a head above the rest of them; one step closer towards the finish line. When her friends said boyfriend, she might have laughed at them, how immature. How childish. They wouldn’t know until they knew.

And this wasn’t all in her head either. Despite themselves, despite their education and personal ambition, the girls around Cee felt it too. Celia knew things they wouldn’t know for years; the secrets of a wife. Even though some of the girl’s condemned marriage as a modern form of slavery they too fell into the trappings of 1950. Everything had changed and nothing had. When Celia lay out her hand on the table, catching her ring in the light, they sighed enviously as Celia had hoped. What did it matter about her masters in law, when she had a man. Personally, she’d rather have the degree but she knew, as she moved forward in life, it would be her ability to find, capture and keep a man that everyone would be really impressed by.

It was for this reason that they gathered with her outside the lecture hall, where she had agreed to meet Seb on that Friday night. They wanted to be witnesses to it, as if being in close proximity to a married couple brought them closer towards marital bliss themselves. Cee didn’t say very much. She played it off as unbothered coolness but in reality, she was distracted by the conversion by her own excitement. It wasn’t exactly Seb she was excited for, but just to be seen with him again. To become the weekly gossip; what did Cecelia do with her husband this weekend? They all wanted to know what these strange married creatures do.

“Oh, is that him now?” A friend piped up, trying to cough over her excited squeal. Cee might have laughed at her; as if you don’t know. She looks up and lazily closes her book.

“Yeah. Alright, see you on Monday.”

“Are you not coming to Sunday study night then?”

“Oh, I forgot. I’ll see what Seb is doing. I actually might need to go into the city with him for a dinner with his boss, or something.” She rolls her eyes to make it look like she can’t be bothered with it. It’s not even true, there was a dinner the week and no partners were invited but it gave Celia a prick of pleasure to imagine them all discussing it at the Sunday study night.

She doesn’t run into his arms, instead closing the gap between them with a slow, casual walk and an easy smile. They were close enough that Seb could call out to the other girls and wave. It was nice of him to throw them a bone, Cee thought.

When she did greet him, it was with a hand on the back of his neck so she could pull him down for a long, deep kiss. In fact, knowing the girl’s eyes were on them, she stayed longer than normal.

“What was that for?” Seb asked, pulling back from her.

“Nothing. Just happy to see you. How was your train?”

III.

It wasn’t fair to say that Cee and Seb weren’t affectionate. Sure, they didn’t hold hands unless they needed to and loving embraces tends to either come before or after sex but they had their moments. People noticed the way, if Seb was setting, Celia would stand behind him and squeeze his shoulders. Or, if something thrilling, shocking or wonderfil happened, they would immediatly look towards one another, if to check in, or delight in it. And while they slept on the same side of the bed due to the fact Seb refused to get buy a double bed for the four years they slept together in university, they still did it. They had to count for something. There was cards or flowers or weekly dates but that didn’t mean there wasn’t love. Cee loved Seb more than anyone in the world and she was quiet confident he felt the same way.

Which is what made Katherine’s death all the harder. A casm had opened up between them and she saw no real way to get over it. The evening they had returned home to an empty nursery, Celia had feverishly Googles how she was supposed to feel; how to deal with the loss of a child; the staged of grief. Her own feelings didn’t align with any of them.

What she really felt was annoyance. The plan that they had agreed to had fallen apart. All that work for nothing. And there was now a black stain on her history. A bump on the road. They would have to tell people, for the next couple weeks, everyone would skirt around her like she was a wounded animal they didn’t know what to do with. How did you comfort Cecelia Holmes when she had no interest in being comforted? How to comfort Sebastian Moran, then?

She stood in the baby pink bedroom, gripping onto the cot rail, willing herself to feel the loss. The sweet little baby; that looked like every other bbay she had ever seen. So a future lost; one likely filled with trauma and resentment, with her as a mother. She banged her palm against the wood and swore. It was only then she realised Seb was behind her. Her movement was guilty, spinning around and holding her hands begind her back as if she had something to hide.

“I was just thinking of packing some things away.” She cleared her throat, motioned around the room. “I’ll ask someone if there is somehwere we could send it. Thinking of others in our time of grief, it’s a good look.” She could hear herself plotting and regretted it but it was all she wad capable of. Celia let go of the cot and moved to hold him, her arms around his shoulders, her mouth at his ear. “We’ll get through this. I think it was meant to be this way; just the two of us.” She almost said she preferred it this way but that felt too harsh; too soon. “If you need to talk to someone, perhaps you should? Better to deal with it now then have it drag out.”

When she pulled back, she held onto his face, more tired than she had seen it in a long time and she knew she was getting it all wrong. Cee, who always knew what to say, had nothing. So she kissed him instead and tried, probably failing, to put more into it than she could manage. The key phrase however was, I’m sorry. Sorry she’s not a good wife, sorry their child died and she’s talking about press opportunities, sorry he got his hopes up, sorry nothing will come of this.

IV.

“--THE PRESS ASSOCIATION IS REPORTING MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AND UNCONFIRMED FATALITIES JUST OUTSIDE THE HOUSE OF COMMONS--”

“Sydney, turn that up, turn that up!”

The TV’s picture, perched on top of a filing cabinet only offered shaky phone camera footage of the street Celia knew well. In fact, with one of the sudden movements upward, she was sure she could see Seb’s office window. The clipped tones of the BBC new anchor filled the room.

“--IS UNDERSTOOD THAT THE LONE MAN DROVE INTO A CROWD OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE PALACE OF WESTMINSTER AND THEN CONTINUED ON FOOT, WHERE HE BEGAN STABBING--”

“Call my husband, call him now, his mobile.”

Celia is already pulling on her jacket, eyes glued to the TV but listening out for the rings. By the third ring, she’s heading to the door. Usually, no rings meant he was in a meeting; the phone was on don’t disturb and she’d have to call back another two times for it to even go through; something she hadn’t ever had to do yet. If he was talking with someone, briefly, he would hang up after one ring. Past three rings, with no pick up? She didn’t remember the last time.

“Cee, you shouldn’t go into--” Syd stood up behind her desk but Cee held up a hand.

“Text me if there are any updates worth knowing. Call him again, keep calling him.”

There was no point trying to get a taxi, if there really was a terrorist attack happening in the middle of the city, it would be gridlock and the police wouldn’t be letting anyone in any way. So she would walk the twenty minutes to Seb’s office; she could cut it down to fourteen minutes if she kept up her brisk walk, ocassiaonlly, if panic set in, a restrained run.

Police tape, camera crews, ambulances and armed police officers surrounded most parliamentary buildings. The end of street was cordoned off but from her vantage point, she could see at least three sheets covering bodies. It was ridiculous to imagine Seb under one of them but it’s exactly where her mind went. She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself but she’d had a nagging feeling all day that something terrible was gong to happen, not just this, in London, but to her personally. She stares, unseeing at one of the sheets before a voice drifts across to her, one of the offers. “--Moran is going to--”

“What did you say?” She barks at him and a man seems to used to follow commands to argue with her, although she seems to have also scared him. “What did you say about Moran?”

Sheepishly, he draws closer. “Only that Mr Moran was directing his staff to--”

“To where?” Of course, of course, he’s alive. “Where is he?”

“I think they were going to Lady Chapel,” and then, as an afterthought, “ma’am.”

Celia didn’t hang around any longer that she needed to. She didn’t know why she ran this time, heels hitting the pavement with an ungodly amount of noise. If Seb was well enough to be directing people somewhere, there was no real need to worry. But something had shaken her when she had heard the news. It was the first time she had really considered what it might be like if Seb did die. They had been partners, in one way or another, for nearly fifteen years and all her future plans and hopes were pinned upon him.

She rounded the corner and stopped to catch her breath, smooth out her coat, look less worried. When she looked up, she saw him immediately; standing by the church’s doors, talking seriously with a police chief. He only glanced in her direction and had to do a double-take.

“What are you doing here?” Seb asked, moving over to her.

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Annoyingly, she’s still breathless.

“Bit of an emergency. Did you run?”

Maybe to avoid the embarrassing question, maybe because she was so relieved to see him standing, she threw her arms around him and kissed him, with slightly more passion than normal. She couldn’t say for sure, but she thought Seb kissed her back with a matched ferocity and held her a little tight than normal too. Maybe he was glad to see her too.

[avaticancameo]

for @epiitaphs​

The Northerner was taken aback, honestly. He had very much been expecting a tiny, aggressive, tattooed girl and not the well dressed man in a decent attempt at business causal he had been greeted with. Elliot pulled a chair back with a smirk. This was payback for something. Maybe dropping Alex into meeting his mum with very little warning, maybe it was the girl who lived across from their halls he had winked at last week. Either way, it was good she was enjoying her petty tricks.

    “ Right. Y’know she let me think I was meeting her here. Although I bet that wounds about right to you.”

Best to get it out of the way now. Set out a charm offensive and hope it would work. Elliot smiled, setting down in the seat across from Seb with two bottled beers. He pushed one across the table as a peace offering. He had ordered her favourite, after all.

    “ I’m guessing... Severin?”

[gunmetalgrey-trashpile]

for @epiitaphs​

He sniffed, softly. No doubt it made Sebastian uncomfortable. They had talked, about almost anything else except the important thing. The person missing in every room. She might not have been loud, but she was bloody forgettable. Jasper Moran had no hope of filling the gap she left behind in her wake. By the time he had awoken, she was already gone.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve, hiding his face and the worst of his brewing black eye. The couple of stitches in his eyebrow was embarrassing enough, although the rakes of scrapes still scarred much of his body from the couple of years before. He wanted to ask his brother not to call home, not to let anyone else know how badly the night had gone. But instead he could only focus on one thing.

    “ It should have been me.”

[theasteriae-arc]

RAM & JOHN. 

STARTER CALL / @epiitaphs

The air is thick with the sweet smells of summer, freshly cut grass ( which makes Ram’s eyes and nose stream, especially when someone picks clumps of it up and throws them his fucking face, John ), and the herbal smoke coming off his rolled-up cigarette. This has made him mellow enough that, when a wasp buzzes too close to his ear, something that would usually make Ram flap, he just raises a lazy, ringed hand to slap it away and tells it to, “Piss off.”

His voice is raspy round the edges. The world looks rosy through his round, pink-tinted spectacles. An empty two-litre bottle of cider, the cheapest stuff they could find, lies in between them, because sometimes the simplest pleasures are the best ones. And besides, it was the one with the highest alcohol percentage on the shelf. Ram’s head feels light and wonderfully fuzzy after consuming more than his fair share of it.

He stretches his arms out wide, stares up at the sky through spidery lashes. It’s a hazy blue, cloudless, but crisscrossed with airplane trails. He puffs thoughtfully on the joint as he looks at them, then holds it out for John to try. “Tell me,” he says, in the same, dreamy voice. “Do you ever think about what it must feel like to fly?”

[corruptaxpoliticus-arch]

% (seb)

meme.  //   Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.  //  ft. @gunmetalgrey

[ text → Sebastian ] Why are you so okay with me being friends with your sister? [ text → Sebastian ] She’s a good person, by the way. [ text → Sebastian ] Even if she says otherwise.

[locktive]

          he’s curled up on one end of one of the plushier couches, one of ja-moriarty’s books in his hands when he hears rustling in the kitchen and eyes rise to notice a very... sweaty sebastian.

          unconsciously, the book lowers.     ‘     taking a break already? you weren’t even back there for very long.     ’     he’s vaguely curious about what his workout routine is- he’s sure some combination of... not lifting, seemed the more boxing type. definitely cardio and a very protein based diet; the last of course, wasn’t entirely on his hands, he seemed to just be grateful with whatever jim happened to buy for him.

          the book is closed and he moves to set it on the coffee table- having decided to move onto the next stimulant.

@epiitaphs