one for sorrow

I seem to have been born to aid the dead. Well, huh, I am who I am. Morgan Hooper, pathologist at St Barts, and the commander of an army of cats in my spare time. No, sorry, forget about the last part, it was, uh, just a giddy thing to say. But by all means, sit yourself down and ask away. I'm always up to help someone with a case. And maybe we could, um, you know, have lunch sometimes? {Independent roleplay blog for genderbent Molly from BBC Sherlock. Will plot with any fandom. Read the info page for more details.}

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

James Moriarty Junior: Gives blowjobs in a car and doesn’t care about crashing.

[quietpathologist]

iM CRYINGS STOAHP

HEASHUS CHISTSR

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] idk i stopped keepuing track of my intake ho urs ago, iim in friends house but she made a move on me and t hats wen i fort i mite be gay??? r u home??

[TEXT] Christ. Are you conscious enough to copy her address without accidentally sending me to fucking New Mexico? I’m coming to pick you up.

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

Junior jumped when the car skidded, frowning over at Morgan. “You al—alrigh’?” He asked, running his fingers through his hair as he watched the other man a little longer. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and pecking soft kisses over the other’s shoulder and arm.

 ”If I were gay,” he said, twixt kisses. “I’d totally fuck you first.” He said, then considered his words again. “Actually, you- you could fuck me.” Of course, Junior had some sexual partners, almost all of them older than him, deeming him the ‘perfect twink’. He adored being submissive, having someone dominate him. He was so in control of every other part of his life, it felt good to let g like that.

"Hmm." He hummed, looking over to Morgan again. "Do you want me in your bed?" He teased, placing his hand on the other’s knee. A part of him, deep deep inside, knew that he was playing a hard game. He knew that there was a chance that Morgan really wasn’t gay, and he would get punched the fuck out for even trying it on with him, but in his current state Junior didn’t want to listen to reason. "I bet you do~" he breathed, leaning over again and breathing on Morgan’s neck as he ran his hand furhter up his thigh.

[quietpathologist]

Skipping beats. That's what this all was about; his heart jumping through its regular functions like a hopscotch game, his lungs halting, apparently forever, and his mind losing the grip of common sense. With all his limbs stopped dead in their track, the man tried to blink it away, desperately so, before he made one last half-hearted attempt to ration. "What.the.fuck.are.you.doing", Morgan nearly spelled, already out of air, the effort of the words chipping away from the little breath he had left. He needed the oxygen if he wasn't going to exhale anytime soon, but it wasn't the brain his blood was coursing towards. Shit. "Do-- fuck. Doyouwantmeto make a bloody accident?" That, though, sounded way more threatening when he had thought it over than it did now, and since James was a smart one, the fact that he wasn't doing anything to stop him was all the proof the boy needed. To think he wasn't one for the sex, really; bit of a bad time to take it into consideration, retrospectively speaking, he truly wasn't. The occasional spark of interest a girl (or a bloke) awoke, and the less occasional and more planned escapades necessary for the job, but besides that, no exceeding lust. Too mundane. This, however, this...- whatever this stupid kid was acting up on, this drove him mental. Breathless. Thoughtless. It was all a blank page and the only thing he knew was red to pain upon, red with the desire to slam James down and fuck his brains out and-- He caught his lower lip between his teeth, digging his canines into the flesh to prevent himself from cursing even more, or God forbid, from moaning, although at this point he should have been glad he didn't groan "pants down" to the other. "We're going to cra--ah", the word of warning he was going to give broke into a gasp when James hit a particularly sweet spot on his neck. "Jesus Christ! Hold it, hold it for a moment, kid, are you seriously trying to get both of us killed?! This thing doesn't run on autopilot." Say something to stop him, you bloody idiot, he knows the car won't drive itself. It's not the car he's getting at. "B-besides, your father, yeah, remember him? Your freaking psychopath of a father will have us both shot point-blank like some West Side Story bullshit."

[quietpathologist]

// I lost like 3 followers and no one replied to my M!A starter so I guess I'll finish my normal replies and then succumb to darkness

[quietpathologist]

M!A: Silver Day

Morgan had been staying in the middle of the darkened alley near Saint Barts for what turned to be almost five hours now. He was well past the point of fainting-fit shock or scientific interest, he was even past the initial fright; all that was left was a mortifying feeling, bitter and ready to pinch at his senses. And the cold. It was cold enough for him to... break. How appropriate. The pathologist breathed in for what felt like the thousandth time in that minute, then exhaled it into something that sounded terrifyingly alike to a sob. No, no. He wasn't going to cry just now; dignity and conservation aside, who knew what biological abilities his tears had? Best he just... stood there. For an indefinite amount of time. He would go home, but Toby-- Another half inhale half whimper sliced through the air. How the hell could this even happen? Moreover, how the hell could this stop happening before he loses his mind? From behind, Morgan heard the creak of a shoe against the pavement, and he closed his eyes tight enough to hurt. "This is a really, really bad time", he murmured shakily.

[mindpalaceheir]

Please, please tag your spoilers. I let it slide at The Sign of Three (aaaand of course it ruined the whole thing for me) because I didn’t want to come off as bitchy, but now I’ve gathered the courage to post this. Sorry, but I can’t stay off tumblr for 30 hours or more, aka the time it will take until I can watch the episode. Please write a fucking s3 in your tag or ‘finale’ or ‘spoiler’ or whatever you want; besides, who in their right mind would liveblog an episode while it’s on livestream???? Why would you take your eyes off the fucking screen, that I’ll never understand. The end.

[xsherlockxholmes]

"Exactly" she spoke lightly. Then again she really did mean that. Even though the danger was never mindless, she had calculated everything ahead. And she was never in any real danger, well not most of the times. Sometimes there were things she missed, she could admit that, although when she did it was begrudgingly. And thrashing people, well only when they were stupid enough to play against her. She walked down the stairs two at a time, putting on her scarf and her gloves along the way before she was out of the door and onto the streets, hailing a cab. 

[quietpathologist]

The pathologist tried to mouth a valid form of protest, but eventually he just concluded with a "Let's hit it, then", and hoped Sherlock won't see through his poor attempt at using slang. Morgan got first into the cab, with the obligatory slamming of the head against the car's roof, so he was the one to instruct the driver of their directions. Few minutes later (that particular route never took long, thank God) he was the one to pay him, too. "After you", he motioned to the detective.

[quietpathologist]

M!A: Silver [ take care with your Sherlock ]

Anything you touch for 24 hours will break into pieces.

[[Let me love you forever for that comment, anon, and of course, for the M!A. <3 Sorry I'm putting it in practice only now, but I wanted to write a few more drafts before I pause them until tomorrow evening (it is now 6:30 PM) so that they won't be affected. M!A starter coming, guys!

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] idk i stopped keepuing track of my intake ho urs ago, iim in friends house but she made a move on me and t hats wen i fort i mite be gay??? r u home??

[TEXT] Christ. Are you conscious enough to copy her address without accidentally sending me to fucking New Mexico? I’m coming to pick you up.

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

"I, uh— what?" James asked, running his fingers through his hair with a confused frown as he walked towards the car, getting in the passengers side. James got drunk often, he had drilled it into his brain to not tell anybody about his drug deal, he ran his hands over his face and closed his eyes with a groan.

       He knew he had texted Morgan that he thought he was gay, gay for him, but he didn’t care to mention it. Right now he was more focused on the pain that was rocking through his sobering body. He lifted his shirt off , looking down at the new cuts that covered his chest. “… She did tell me that climbin’ that tree wouldn’t be a good—,” he hiccuped, “idea.” He finished, running his finger over the deepest wound, wincing. The cuts joined a gallery of old bruises and cuts, most of them resulted from his life as a drug dealer, when trying to make deals with bigger drug dealers when he was about sixteen. They didn’t take him seriously, and when they found out he had made the clearest meth they beat him up and stole his product— since that repeatedly happened with different dealers,  James decided to work himself up from the bottom; which had proven him well.

   “You can just, uh— take me home.” He slurred, letting his head fall back on the back of the passengers seat, closing his eyes and groaning for no real reason other than to groan. “And we don’t have to, uh— to remember those texts tomorrow, alright?” He said, turnning his head to face Morgan but not opening his eyes to look at him. He knew that being gay in this line of work wasn’t any kind of good.

[quietpathologist]

He almost drove head on into a playground when he saw the boy's wounds. The car screeched along the suburban pavement, sand entering the crescents of the tries, the smell of burnt rubber almost tangible. Bad fucking move. Consequentially, that wouldn't have helped in the slightest; very much the counterpart.  Morgan gritted his teeth (don't lose it because you knew he was one to march with the doomed), breathed in through flared nostrils (don't talk about it because he'll burn this city down only to prove you he's not weak) and tilted his head to the left (don't take your eyes off the road because then you'll crash in the flesh too, not only in the mind). "Jesus Christ, James", Morgan spoke with a whisper. Yeah, that seemed to be the phrase of the day. But then the other mentioned the text, so he could do but clear his throat almost instantly, like a toddler caught eating glue. "Taking you home my ass--" He froze before the end of the sentence. Oh, balls. The criminal began to think he really did have a narrow repertory of curse words; and from all of those, 'ass' was the first to pass his lips. Another ring of coughs to drown the silence, then continued. "I'm not leaving you like this. You're coming to my place, but-", Morgan paused with two fingers lifted in the air, "for all that's good in this world, if you throw up in my car, I will gut you."

[thatotherwatson]

+6

[thatotherwatson]

James grinned. “I can tell why John likes you, considering that.” This guy really was refreshing. Easy on the eyes, that was for sure, and endearing too. He bit his lip as he heard the offer the other gave. “If you’re sure you want to…” A pause, barely a heartbeat long. “Well, there’s a coffee shop around the corner from here…”

[quietpathologist]

Morgan looked down to hide the dumb smile that danced on his face. You're not a bloody high schooler. "I..-", he chewed the words twice to make sure he won't say something along the lines of 'look there's a banana peel!', then continued, "I would quite love that, yes. Gotta practice my coffee holding skills, and repay the debt." 

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

                                                                                { IT'S IN D.N.A. }

                                                  { and he just takes my                                                            breath away }

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] idk i stopped keepuing track of my intake ho urs ago, iim in friends house but she made a move on me and t hats wen i fort i mite be gay??? r u home??

[TEXT] Christ. Are you conscious enough to copy her address without accidentally sending me to fucking New Mexico? I’m coming to pick you up.

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

James made an attempt of a reply as he was walking out of his friends house, but gave up after sending ‘ssdiakakkj’. He stood outside, running his fingers through his short hair. He was swaying and his knuckles were bleeding, that was properly because of the fight he gotten into earlier, but he had only just noticed it.

[quietpathologist]

Morgan fumes, jet black eyes casting forest fires above the frame of his sunglasses, an unlit cigar hung loosely between the corners of his lips-- and this fucking kid, this infuriating, reckless, stupid prick-- and his hands are shaking on the stirring wheel only at the thought of it. That sodding text message. (And the jolt it shot throughout his body, like a bullet, but clearer, and he's not about to go there, not about to admit it when he's on a shitting rescue mission, of all times) 

He growls at the skyline beyond the windshield of the Cayenne, tightens his grip like that could order his mind steady as well, and curses in one breath. Slams the gas pedal down with a force that could burn through the road. Morgan should have seen it coming, really. He's raving at his own slip of ration; James was, after all, his father's son. And he's not supposed to-- to fucking-- not supposed to see that, sense that. Yet, when he pulls into a cornered driveway, however, and notices how the other's swaying like a white flag, his rage is all but forgotten. The boy looks nothing like Jim now. He's weaker, Morgan knows. And he's also stronger. And he's alive, fucked up, but still alive inside, although only god can tell how. The older man lowers the driver's window and shouts at James to enter the fucking car before that and that. He doesn't want to be seen, bloody natural; and how could the kid be so unprofessional, putting this many things at risk? What if the cops jumped him? In a state like this, he would have even squeaked even that one time he jerked off in third grade, let alone a high end drug operation. But then Morgan spots the blood and he, with his orderly mind and his flawless logic, wants nothing more but to sink teeth in the flesh of whoever did that to the boy. Talk about professional. "So, got yourself an early spring break fun, eh?", when he speaks, he's careful to keep his tone away from the animalistic turn that it could take, keep it neutral, muffled in the slightest by the cigar's end. Truth be told, he's careful to keep his everything away from the animalistic turn that it could take.

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] idk i stopped keepuing track of my intake ho urs ago, iim in friends house but she made a move on me and t hats wen i fort i mite be gay??? r u home??

[TEXT] Christ. Are you conscious enough to copy her address without accidentally sending me to fucking New Mexico? I’m coming to pick you up.

[moriartyjunior-deactivated20140]

[SMS] ill her her 2 typeit

[SMS] 144 bella road

[SMS] the house with the sexi man outside ( me ) lol im jkin

[quietpathologist]

[TEXT] Bloody hell, James. We're all very eager to see the end of you playing troublemaker, you know? That would be grand.

[TEXT] I'm on my way; try not to commit a felony in the series of minutes to pass before I get there, alright, kid?

[quietpathologist]

//walter's face when skylar suggests going to the police is both my spirit animal and my sexuality okay

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] idk i stopped keepuing track of my intake ho urs ago, iim in friends house but she made a move on me and t hats wen i fort i mite be gay??? r u home??

[TEXT] Christ. Are you conscious enough to copy her address without accidentally sending me to fucking New Mexico? I'm coming to pick you up.

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] no u dnt understand i think im gay 4 u,like i wanna sukc ur dick

[TEXT] ...Oh. Oh. Wh- I??? Wait. James, how drunk are you exactly? And where are you, pray tell? I rang your doorbell couple of hours ago.

[quietpathologist]

[SMS] I t hink i'm gay??? /????? {IDK HELLO I CANT FIND OUR THR EAD SO HAVE DRUNK!JUNIOR}

[TEXT] Well, we both know from who that one came. What gives, kid?

[quietpathologist]

Color-Themed M!As

Blood Red: For 10 hours, you have an intense need to see blood, your own, or others, just as long as you see that crimson liquid!

Red: For 48 hours, your muse is a demon, with red eyes and a twisted mind. Pitchfork not required.

Orange: Ooh~, for 5 days, you are insane! With intense nightmares, and the feeling of someone watching you, you must survive the insanity.

Yellow: For 3 days, you can't bare to be in the shadows. You must always have light on you, it can be the sun, or anything that gives off light.

Lime Green: Uuugh.... For 24 hours, your muse is sick. Full-blown, stomach hurting, head ache, dry throat, exhausted sick.

Green: The powers of plants are in your hands! For 72 hours, you can control plants at your every will.

Sky Blue: There's no storm cloud above your head! For 24 hours, you feel like you can do anything, and be optimistic, anything good can happen!

Dark Blue: Even if life's going great for you, you suddenly feel depressed, like a storm cloud is above your head. For 24 hours, you are depressed.

Black: Oh no! The world's gone dark! Your vision has been impaired for 48 hours, so no seeing for you!

Grey: The world is just a mix of black, white, and greys. For 24 hours, you'll be colorblind.

White: For 48 hours, your muse is an angel, with feather, snow white wings. Halo not required.

Gold: Anything you touch for 12 hours will turn to pure gold! Be careful of who and what you touch!

Silver: Anything you touch for 12 hours will break into pieces. Be careful of what you touch!

Pink: Someone's in a flirty mood~. For 48 hours, you do nothing but flirt and try to get into someone's pants.