• science of destruction •

INDIE JAMES MORIARTY MATURE THEMES • 21+ • SPORADIC ACTIVITY FORMERLY: FLIGHT-OF-THE-THIEVING-MAGPIE SIDEBLOG FOLLOWING FROM: VOLATILIST EST. 2012

[moriartease]

@fxckingmoran cont. from [this meme thing]

Sebastian’s nose wrinkles, his gaze turning back to the man bleeding out on his bedroom floor. He’s lying there, spluttering and looking up at them with wide eyes. Any attempts to say something are silenced by the sniper. “Jesus christ, shut the fuck up.” A bullet between the eyes to finish the job. Better to put the poor bastard out of his misery. Attention returns to Jim. “Technically, yes - It is my mess. But I’d like to point out that he was planning on stabbing me first. I’m just quicker. He’s that bloke that Scotland Yard have been looking for.” He throws his gun onto the bed. “It’s just my luck that the first shag I’ve had in months turns out to be a sex crazed killer.” He drops to his haunches, patting the man on the cheek. “Poor fucker met his match in me.” Eyes look up at Jim. “Why won’t you help me move him? He’s lanky, I don’t know if he’ll fit in the back of my car.”

Jim looks on dispassionately as the poor sod gurgles and fails to draw another lungful of crucial, life-giving oxygen, eyes already starting to fade by the time Sebastian puts a bullet in him. Something left unsaid has him prickling uncomfortably, whether it be the mention of their currently possessing the body of somebody the Yarders have been sniffing after, or the revelation that Moran has been sticking it in him recently. 

“And why would I want to do that?” he wonders, deliberately difficult simply for the sake of spite. Jim’s brimming with it, and he doesn’t necessarily always know why. This time, he can chalk it up to the sorry state of his carpet, and the impending decision he will have to make regarding whether he ought to pay to have it cleaned or simply purchase something new for this space. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

He runs both hands down over the front of silk pajamas, then, shooting Sebastian an incredulous look. Is he expected to ruin good silk, too?

[fxckingmoran-a-deactivated20250]

~ @moriartease​ ~ 'i gotta say, i’m a pretty big fan.' (moriartease)

       Sebastian’s crouched in the dirt, cigarette hanging from his lips and an expression of mistrust etched onto his features. He doesn’t speak for a moment, choosing instead to exhale smoke in the direction of the sharply dressed man hovering over him. He’s not sure what this is but he certainly doesn’t trust it. No-one knows him, on the streets of London. He keeps to himself, camps out in the most deserted alley that he can possibly find. Being homeless isn’t something that he’s particularly enjoying but at least it’s keeping him out of the eyes of his father. He craves the anonymity. Here on the streets he barely exists. He’s just ‘Seb’. No-one knows his name or anything about his dishonorable discharge. Most that meet him now just know him as the angry drunk who’d fight anyone who looks sideways at him. So the fact that this man is acting like he knows him - It’s putting him on edge.

      “Oh really?” Eyes look up, finally meeting the gaze of the man standing there. “Don’t know what you could possibly be a fan of. There’s not much to me.” 

[moriartease]

    Familiar with your stats. It puts Sebastian on edge. How does he know that? Few knew his full name, let alone the fact that he was a colonel. Police officer? Doubtful. Doesn’t hold himself like one. Someone hired by his father? As if Augustus Moran would give enough of a shit to actually pay someone to look for his son. Moments like this make him wish he had a gun. He can hold his own with his fists but a weapon just adds an extra level of intimidation and safety.

      “Who the fuck are you?” Hands push himself up off the ground, cigarette dropping from his lips and landing in a puddle. “There aren’t many people around here that’d know I was a colonel.” Telling people about his military experience would mean he’d have to tell them that he was kicked out and he doesn’t particularly relish the thought of that conversation. How would he even explain it? There’s no way to dress up the fact that he was bored and has anger issues. “I’d get to the point fairly quickly, mate - I’m not known for having too much patience.”

   “Oh, I’m quite aware of that, as well,” he says, sounding almost chipper about it; sounding almost as if this were an advantage of sorts, or at least one of Moran’s finer selling points. Jim’s practically vibrating with excitement beneath his expensive threads, attuned to the tension in the air between them and the promise of tightly controlled violence just barely preventing this animal of a man from lashing out and taking his head off. 

   His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, a part of him taking an absurd, perverse pleasure in knowing that it is only curiosity that stands between them, preventing attack. 

   “Mm, how’s this for a point?” Jim shifts his umbrella a little as the rain comes down just a little harder, snug in the warm and cozy folds of his coat. “A little birdie tells me you may be on the prowl for a new full-time gig. A career change, even. Let me buy you a drink, and we can have a little chat, hm?”

[fxckingmoran-a-deactivated20250]

~ @moriartease​ || Semi plotted starter || Prison AU ~

       Well, fuck. Getting caught wasn’t part of the plan. It had started like it always does with Sebastian - With blind rage and alcohol. He’d stabbed a man outside the bar for insulting his tattoos. Then gone home and put a bullet through his father’s neck. How had it escalated to that? He doesn’t have a fucking clue. Yet there he stands, waiting to be processed into Belmarsh prison after being found guilty of first and second degree murder. “Lanky fucker, aren’t you?” The processing guard is looking at him with a smarmy grin that’s begging to be knocked off. Fucking handcuffs preventing Sebastian from doing anything. “Really? D’you think? I was under the impression that I’m quite short. Piss off you fat prick.” Probably not his best idea to annoy the guards but it’s not like things can get much worse for him. 

       An hour later he’s being thrown into the cell, jeers of “good luck newbie, you’ll need it with him” being shouted up from below. Eyes turn to the man lying there, lips twitching ever so slightly. “I assume you’re the ‘him’ that they’re talking about?” He moves over, placing the possessions he was allowed to keep on the bottom bunk. “I’m Sebastian. Nice to meet you.”

[moriartease]

   “One would hope.” 

   It’s a soft voice, a slight Irish lilt that lends itself rather well to unnecessary sardonicism. The him in question is dark haired and dark eyed, body stretched out along the top bunk like a lazy cat and twisted in a manner that most might assume uncomfortable, an ankle tossed over the other raised knee. He even slow-blinks in an almost feline-like gesture, watching carefully as if his new cell mate were a mouse that has just crawled unawares from a hole in the wall. 

   Nice to meet you. Jim squints. 

   “Sebastian,” he echoes, letting his tongue linger on each syllable for longer than necessary. “Aren’t you fancy. Moran,” he corrects, and it’s a mystery as to how he might already know the name of his new cellmate when they are only just now meeting for the first time. A precursor to what is coming, perhaps, and certainly a testament to the truth the other inmates had been speaking. “That’s who you are, in here.” 

[fxckingmoran-a-deactivated20250]

~ @moriartease​ ~ ‘i gotta say, i’m a pretty big fan.’ (moriartease)

       Sebastian’s crouched in the dirt, cigarette hanging from his lips and an expression of mistrust etched onto his features. He doesn’t speak for a moment, choosing instead to exhale smoke in the direction of the sharply dressed man hovering over him. He’s not sure what this is but he certainly doesn’t trust it. No-one knows him, on the streets of London. He keeps to himself, camps out in the most deserted alley that he can possibly find. Being homeless isn’t something that he’s particularly enjoying but at least it’s keeping him out of the eyes of his father. He craves the anonymity. Here on the streets he barely exists. He’s just ‘Seb’. No-one knows his name or anything about his dishonorable discharge. Most that meet him now just know him as the angry drunk who’d fight anyone who looks sideways at him. So the fact that this man is acting like he knows him - It’s putting him on edge.

      “Oh really?” Eyes look up, finally meeting the gaze of the man standing there. “Don’t know what you could possibly be a fan of. There’s not much to me.” 

[moriartease]

“Hm. D’you really think so?” Jim’s not crazy about the way their close proximity is getting the stench of smoke all over his newly acquired Dolce, but the ends, as they say, justify the means. Sacrifices are always worth the trouble if there’s a big prize to be won, even if he’s the person to make one, on occasion. 

A hand drifts out from beneath the shelter of the umbrella he carries, to feel for the faint patter of a new drizzle. It’ll start coming down soon, and while Jim hadn’t quite planned it that way, the rain does bring with it the benefit of serving a little drama. 

“I’m familiar with your stats. The whole lot of you out there shooting each other all the live long day, might as well put out serial killer collector cards.” Jim takes a step closer, the toe of his shoe sneaking precariously into the other man’s personal space. “It’s all a little messy, for my taste. Colonel, was it?”

He knows perfectly well that it was.

[wicked-felina]

Well, I have a new favourite poet.

[moriartease]

Consider: Jim sitting at the breakfast table every morning, frowning at Wordle on his phone. 

[flight-of-the-thieving-magpie]

“Some chase women, some chase opium dragons, some chase pots of gold. Dammit, some chase postage stamps or currant buns. I chase these edge-of-life-and-death moments - when an animal or man tries to kill me, and I kill them instead. It’s the surge inside - in the water, behind the eyes, in the loins. That’s what Basher Moran’s about. All the rest is fancy trimming. Nice enough to have, but not real. I’d protested when the Prof diagnosed my ‘addiction to fear’ on our first meeting, but had come to see he’d known me better than I knew myself in those innocent days.” – Sebastian Moran in Kim Newman’s The Hound of the D’Urbervilles

[dapper-isms]

Dapper-isms

[charlesoberonn]

The difference between Physics, Astrophysics and Astronomy

Physics: The study of natural phenomona on a fundamental scale (unlike Chemistry or Biology which deal with higher scales). From tiny sub-particles to the birth of the universe.

Astrophysics: The study of the physics of large objects. Planets, Stars, Black Holes, Galaxies, the universe itself even.

Astronomy: The study of celestial objects as they’re viewed from Earth. The phases of the moon, the passing of comets, solar eclipses, Venus transits, etc.

[moriartease]

bokketo​ :

     It is a standard upscale sort of place, but there’s part of him that’s the tiniest bit disappointed that there isn’t the drama of some sort of remote control door that works at Jim’s bidding. It would befit him, the colonel thinks. Still, he’s learning the other man’s quirks even now. He’s not late, in fact exactly on time, and yet the way that his boss looks at the watch seems to imply that he should have shown up earlier.

     Should have read his mind, Sebastian thinks with some amusement, though he wouldn’t betray such a thing on his face. Typical.

     “Excitement isn’t in my nature, Boss,” he says blandly, but follows the man inside, curious as to why he’s been called over. He’s a hired gun, sure, but there are plenty of other responsibilities he fulfills from time to time depending on the other man’s demands… or whims. It’s also not in his nature to complain, though he may grouse about things that are unnecessarily messy.

     “If it’s not a hit you want, what can I do for you?” Regardless of the answer, or even whether he believes it to be something within his power to do, he will find a way to accomplish it. After all, that’s the best reward, getting to see something done and put into the ground. And if it’s dangerous? Even better.

   There is something manic about him, though this is not outside the realm of normalcy, and something that Sebastian has by now learned to navigate and no doubt anticipate with his own contingency plans in place. To see him this way can mean only one thing: it has been some time since he had been sufficiently engaged, and having far too much time to himself, has set his mind upon something unholy, likely dangerous, and probably nigh on impossible.

   At least this time it isn’t wasps. 

   “You can dig up your passport,” he says. “It’s time we’ve taken a holiday.” It’s time, also, for the sniper to look deep into his nature and find the aforementioned excitement, for it will come in handy for the absolutely mad errand ahead. Best case scenario, they actually succeed. Worst case, at least they’ve left London for several weeks, if not months. 

   There’s a white board in the room he’s chosen to hole up in, cluttered with a laptop, several phones and their chargers, mugs scattered here and there, some empty, many filled with long-cold tea or coffee in varying amounts. He jabs a finger at the white board, directing Sebastian’s attention. Jim’s writing is not neat by any means, and this time it is barely legible, but the words are large and there in a combination of blue and black dry erase marker.

1. The Green Eye of the Yellow God     2. The Black Pearl of the Borgias     3. The Falcon of the Knights of St John     4. The Jewels of the Madonna of Naples     5. The Jewel of Seven Stars     6. The Eye of Balor

[un1tamed1fox]

[moriartease]

bokketo ​:

     Whatever John was expecting, this isn’t it. Jim from IT isn’t supposed to give off a menacing aura that makes John feel like he’s being hunted. And he doesn’t in the least. Perhaps it was someone else watching? Or maybe nobody at all? He may not be at war any longer, but his mind is, sometimes. It’s the reason for his limp, for his nightmares, for the way he stares at his medical tools for a while in the morning before taking his first patient. Even now, his scalpel stays tucked away in a box of its own, as if that will somehow prevent him from remembering the extent of the bloodshed he saw, his own leg bleeding from a gunshot wound. There’s a protective flare within himself, the instinct for self-preservation despite the danger he throws himself into at Sherlock’s side so frequently.

     “Right, Jim, hello,” John says, his smile just barely eased from tight to friendly. If it was someone else watching, being distracted by one person will make him an even easier target. (Oh, if only he knew.)

     He extends a hand for the other man to shake. “I remember you, don’t worry. Molly said you’re pretty new to St. Bart’s, right? Are you enjoying it there?”

   Jim looks pleased as can be to be shaking hands with the close friend and confidante of one Sherlock Holmes, a fact that he’s sure John is well aware of if the long-lasting effects of his acquaintanceship with the detective have already planted them like stubborn little seeds into the rich soil of his psyche. He is quite pleased to hear that darling Molly had passed along this little tidbit; it’s only gone and made things much easier for him. 

   Improv is easy. Yes, and. 

   “Very much, yes. Keeps me busy, you know, and me, just starting out. Only just moved to London this summer. Never been, if you can believe it.” He lets go of the doctor’s hand, as if his poor social graces and lack of ability to properly recognize so simple a cue had only just occurred to him, and he is mildly embarrassed by it. 

   “Still get lost, sometimes,” he simpers a little, laying it on a bit thick. Silly little me, he thinks, lost in so big and scary a city. How ever will I get on? “Supposed you get used to it.” 

[morivrty-blog]

“Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister.” “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.”

[moriartease]

polymusepotion ​:

     Sebastian studies the man, his hand tilted to the side. He has absolutely no intentions of sharing his full plans. He doesn’t know this man and trust doesn’t come easy. He’s learned the hard way that giving the right information to the wrong people is a good way to get himself punished. And so, after a painfully long moment of silence after the inquiry, Sebastian shrugs non-committaly. 

     “I plan on squandering the family fortune on whores and whisky, of course.” It’s not true. Not in the slightest. He doesn’t care. It’s his subtle way of telling this stranger that his future plans are absolutely none of this man’s business. He turns back to his tools, not caring if the man stays or goes, and begins to clean and sharpen blades. 

     “I plan to work,” he says finally, and if that isn’t the vaguest form of honesty he can provide. Sebastian glances over his shoulder. “Until you tell me what you want, that’s all you need to know. I plan to work. I’m skilled in a lot of areas, and I plan on putting those skills to use.”

   There it is. The man could have uttered no finer words than the ones he had chosen right here, right now. The expression James wears is downright serene as he holds his ground, refusing to leave the tent until he gets what he had come for, even if, when he had chosen to come poke the bear, he had not necessarily known exactly what it was he’d desired most. 

   “Work for me,” he suggests, as though it were obvious. As if there could be no other reason for his presence here. Things do have a way of working themselves out, in the end, one way or another. 

   “Work for me, build upon your family fortune, and put your skills to good use.” He grins, then, dark eyes glittering in what dim light they do manage to catch beneath this shelter of canvas. “The whores and whisky,” he says loftily, “Are complimentary.” 

[tani82]

ジムちゃん描くのに疲れて息抜きにジムちゃん描いた

[moriartease]

polymusepotion​ :

     “Besides my dashing good looks?” Sebastian quips in response for reasons to keep him around. “My quick wit? The way I smell. Hell, even watching me work out. People like to see rippling muscles don’t they? Galloping muscles? I think I read that in a book once. Galloping abs.” He’s being insufferable and he knows it. There’s something about all of this, though, that makes him want to laugh. Not sardonically, but genuinely laugh. He’s feeling ridiculous. 

     “I’m full of those, you know. Those ideas that are not the worst you’ve ever heard.” Sebastian also rolls onto his back, face to the blue-ish (it is London, after all) sky, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It might be the first time that he’s felt… light since losing his arm. He’s tired still, of course, still on a strain of pain medications that, while they’re not narcotics, they also don’t quite extinguish the pain, which means that fighting that pain is wearing on every last bit of his energy levels. 

     “So,” he says, soaking in the sunlight without opening his eyes. The ridiculous spurt of energy has passed and, while there’s still a hint of a smile on his lips, it’s far calmer now. “Tea and food? Or more shooting?” Sebastian flexes the robotic hand. Open and close. Open and close. There are no gears whirring. No sounds at all. Sounds on something like this could get him killed during a job. 

     Open and close. 

     Open and close.

   Jim rolls his eyes, but it isn’t worth it to say that he’s never seen a muscle gallop in his life; not Sebastian’s, either, though he would be a liar if he tried to claim that he didn’t enjoy watching the man be put through his physical paces. A body like that doesn’t come easily, and despite the casual air of disdain he can wear as easily as a pair of expensive sun glasses, he is in fact not immune to the sight of it. 

   “Food,” he grunts, content to lie here like a sleepy cat basking in a ray of errant sunshine, though the afternoon sky is most certainly not what might pass for ‘sunny’ on a good day. It’s enough to make him squint, and he feels warm, the longer they remain. He’ll count it. 

   “I want to eat out.” This is, of course, an extra chore on Sebastian’s behalf. Prancing about in public is only ever safe when Jim’s adopted another persona or donned a disguise, but it’s never stopped him from living his life as boldly as he pleases. “And by tomorrow, our new toy ought to have arrived.” 

   Of course, he’s already placed the order. Sebastian can be grateful if he likes, but the acquisition of such a tool is just as much to satiate his own curiosity as it is to help his sniper adjust to life with a new limb. 

[serpentemarinha]