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[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Moriarty is getting tired of Seb’s antics in the latest chapter of THE DRUNK & THE DADDY ISSUES

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian, at that point, was seething. He hated whatever pseudointellectual game Jim was playing, trying to play Sebastian out to be some kind of idiot. "God, will you stop trying to take this fucking smart guy angle? Making me look like a jackass for being pissed about something you brought up to make me angry in the first place?" He scoffed, stepping away. "No, I don't really care what you meant. Should I? It was fucking rude," he snapped, blowing smoke in Jim's face.

"Fine, you don't fucking owe me, just forget the fact that I have a broken rib because of you, cause you're too good for a return and exchange system, huh?" He said with a quieter tone this time, getting fed up with whatever kind of shit Jim was trying to pull. "The only thing I feel bad about is the fact that I've been trying to befriend someone who doesn't even give a shit about me, he just doesn't want me to be a cunt," he mumbled, yanking his shoulder away from Jim's grasp. "You don't have to make up for shit, drop it."

Sebastian sighed, a bit frustrated that Jim's words had gotten to him, but even more frustrated that one of the first times he tried to make a friend, his past came up into it again. "Does my relationship with my parents even matter? Would a pompous cunt try this hard to be your friend?" He scoffed, stomping out his cigarette.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian looked down at his hands, guessing it was probably obvious he was a musician. "Observant, huh? It's a pretty obvious detail, I think some people are just too preoccupied to notice. Plus, I think people try to avoid looking at me sometimes," he chuckled. It was then Sebastian realized Jim acknowledged his sentiment, which made him blush a bit. His blush was soon replaced with a confused expression, trying to keep up with what Jim was talking about.

Sebastian followed when yanked, looking down at the city which was, to Jim's benefit, a dirty place to live. Dirty money, dirty people, dirty morals. Hearing his full name, however, made his blood boil. It boiled so hot his hand raised, but stopped short of landing a blow. A silence fell, his cheeks bright red and knuckles white. "Fuck you, Moriarty," he spat after a moment. "I don't give a shit if you know my last name or my title, you don't know jack shit about me," he said with a raised voice, stepping closer to tower over the boy. "Don't pull some little observation stunt like you're so impressive and give me that stupid fucking smile you kiss ass," he yelled. "Yeah, my parents have money. Did anyone tell you they didn't fucking want me? Did your little party trick pick up on the fact that CPS had to take me away?" Sebastian was practically inches away at that point, heat radiating off of his puffed out chest. "I took a fucking beating for you and all you have to say to me is 'lifes unfair, eat shit and die'? And here I was thinking I liked you..." Sebastian scoffed.

He took a step away, taking a cigarette and lighting it, deciding to keep the pack, figuring Jim at least owed him. "I don't know what the hell goes through your head, but that's probably why you don't have that many friends. If you kept your nose where it belonged, instead of making everyone feel like shit about their lives just cause you have it bad, maybe you wouldn't get beat up so often."

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian hummed, supposing this boy did have the right to privacy when it came to his own drawings. He couldn't help but wonder what was in that sketchbook that was so private. Maybe he was into some weird shit, Sebastian wondered. "Hm? Oh, I play the piano and the guitar," he answered with a bit of a proud nod. It had taken him forever to learn.

Sebastian looked out at the city when prompted, taking in the twinkling lights and Jim's low, quiet voice. In his peripheral vision, he was watching the boy closely for any mannerisms or body language. When it came to interests piqued, Jim was it, he thought. This boy had piqued every sense of his and wouldn't get out of his head. "You," he answered after a while. "Id remember you."

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian could hardly keep up with the pace at which this boy's brain seemed to move. One moment they were at the park, the next he was being led to an abandoned house. "yeah, I swear," he shrugged, looking down at the smaller boy as he led him to a terrace. He was a bit taken aback, not by the scenery, but by the wistful nature of this kid. He was a bit more cognitively poetic than he led on, but Sebastian, for the most part, could see through it.

"What do you draw? Just stars?" He asked, taking a perched seat next to the boy so he could light a cigarette. He enjoyed the cold night air, it definitely beat the mildew of his dorm. "I could never draw that well, pictures don't make sense. I'm better with music," he hummed, making conversation while he had his new friend here.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian was a bit relieved when Jim seemed to brush off the whole encounter, preferring when things seemed to just disappear. He rose an eyebrow at the younger boy, whom he noticed hadn't stopped looking at Sebastian. "You have business at 1 in the morning? What do you do, sell drugs," he laughed, teasing him a bit.

He'd hoped throughout their conversation that he wasn't being too brash or uncouth, as he found he often could be. All he wanted was to have Jim around, an actual friend for once. Everyone else was dull, boring, or a jackass, and Jim seemed as interesting as he was pleasant.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian was a bit relieved when Jim seemed to brush off the whole encounter, preferring when things seemed to just disappear. He rose an eyebrow at the younger boy, whom he noticed hadn't stopped looking at Sebastian. "You have business at 1 in the morning? What do you do, sell drugs," he laughed, teasing him a bit.

He'd hoped throughout their conversation that he wasn't being too brash or uncouth, as he found he often could be. All he wanted was to have Jim around, an actual friend for once. Everyone else was dull, boring, or a jackass, and Jim seemed as interesting as he was pleasant.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian was in the middle of petting a stray cat and puffing on a cigarette when he heard a familiar voice, looking up to meet the equally familiar face. The sharp, shadowed features of Jim's face caught Sebastian's eye more closely this time, being almost entranced by the fact that this boy looked almost like a painting. "If by posh you mean cockroach breeding grounds, yes," he chuckled, offering Jim a cigarette and a seat next to him, almost like an olive branch.

"I really wanted to talk to you again, so I figured you'd be here," he began, clearing his throat a bit. "I uh, know that I pissed you off and everything, but you don't owe me anything for fighting those guys," he stated, staring up at the clear night sky to avoid eye contact. "I just.. wanna be your friend. You seem cool."

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Before Sebastian could make a rebuttal, some kind of other flippant flirtation towards the boy, he was already out the door. He watched the boy run, grateful he at least got to keep the cigarettes. "You're welcome," he sighed, laying back on the floor with a slump. He eventually did get up with a groan and hiss of pain, and made his way back to his dormitory. The boring cinder block room was supposed to hold two students, but Sebastian's roommate changed boarding and they didn't refill the spot.

In the boy's absence, Sebastian found himself a bit lonely as he patched himself up, smoking in his bathroom and struggling to find the range of motion to help himself. Sebastian. Couldn't handle his own thoughts that night, so in an attempt to mend his destruction, he texted some friends to see if anyone knew who this dark haired boy was. After some so ial research, Sebastian found out people had seen him at a certain park near where he lived, so he decided to visit in hopes he'll see the boy that night

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian gave up on using the muscles in his back and laid on the floor, panting as he puffed on his cigarette as if it was a respirator. "My arm is fine," he waved, the aforementioned arm stung him a bit, but he was mostly sure it wasn't broken. "You think I'm hot?" He laughed, looking over at the boy. "You better, I just saved your ass. And what's this 'tiger' business, what's that mean?" He asked as he raised a busted eyebrow. Considering they'd just met half an hour ago, he was unused to the new nickname this boy already had for him

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian's knees shook, having a raging headache and a pounding heart. His hands trembled as he stood, feeling like his bones were made of peanut brittle. "Aw, I don't? I thought I looked pretty hot," he sputtered, feeling his saliva mix with the blood pooling in his mouth. He let Jim touch the handkerchief to his mouth, soon replacing the cloth with the cigarette he allowed Jim to light. He saw the people who gathered to watch start to disperse, taking that opportunity to drop back down to his knees in exhaustion.

"I'm fine, it's alright," he waved, soon looking up at Jim with bright blue eyes and a bloody grin. "I did it cause if this happened to you, you'd be dead," he shrugged. "I'm bigger, I can take it.. no fair for them to pick on the little guy," he laughed. Taking his cig from his lip, he exhaled the smoke through his nose and extended a bloody, possibly broken hand. "Sebastian Moran, pleasure."

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian laughed at the boys behind him, their reddening faces amusing him. He shrugged when Jim spoke. "I know I don't owe you anything, that's why I'm doing it," he winked, his natural charismatic nature peeking out now that he was regaining some confidence over these boys.

As class was nearing its end, Sebastian looked over at the mumbling boy. "Hell no, I'm not hiding. I'd rather take the beating than run from something I started," he said coolly. "You go hide, stay somewhere safe. I'll see you around," he grinned as the school bell rang. As the class ended, Sebastian all but shoved Jim out of the classroom, making sure the attention was on himself. "Come get it fags," he taunted, making a show to the other students of the other boys anger. He did his best to lead them outside as shoves and punches started to fly, losing track of everything at that point other than throwing fists.

As the fight escalated, Sebastian was getting his ass handed to him, but he did okay all things considered. When the dust settled and the boys had had enough, Sebastian stumbled to his feet and kicked dirt after the boys. "Call me, let's get dinner sometime," he yelled with bloody teeth, clutching his side where he was sure a bruise was forming.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the boy next to him. Jesus, was it really that bad? The hitting was enough but he wasn't sure what those other boys were capable of. "Hey, don't worry about it, people say bad things about me anyway," he whispered as he glanced behind, watching the onslaught of papers. He chuckled a bit when the black haired boy tossed one back. "Y'know, they beat you up cause it's easy, and the tall one is gay," he mumbled, just barely loud enough for them to hear. "Total fairy, I think he has a crush on you," he smirked as he peeked back at the group of boys who then turned their attention to Sebastian.

"if you've got a little crush, why don't you just tell him? I mean, everyone can tell, why do you think nobody hangs out with you morons?" he taunted. Sebastian knew he could take them in a fight easier than the littler boy could, even if he got his ass beat. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the need to protect this one.

As the blond finished his portion of the paper, having read Jim's, he brought it up front to hand in their conjoined papers. On his way back, he kicked the desk of the large boy behind him, shifting the desk and rattling it a bit with a laugh. He knew he was provoking them, but he kinda wanted to see what would happen. Plus, it wasn't fair that the black haired boy took all the hits.

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

During his usual path back from the courtyard, Sebastian found himself stuck in his head. He was used to this dissociation, a world inside his head where he could overthink and spiral in peace. It wasn't until a grating voice and the curdling sound of a fist to flesh snapped him to reality. He had caught in the corner of his eye a fight between a large boy and a much smaller boy, one he didn't recognize. How have I never seen him before..? Before the blond and his upper body strength could step in, the situation was intervened by a teacher as the boy ran away, consequently shoving Sebastian a bit in his hurry.

The blond thought nothing of it, the regular violence of troubled children, until he peeked beside him at the desk which housed the little black haired boy and his black eye, realizing then that he and this boy were to be partners for an essay. This boy was rather quiet, his nose shoved in a notebook. As the class took a silence to begin group work, he turned to this peculiar boy.

"Hey, I'm Sebastian. Guess we have to write this thing together?"

Jim lights a cigarette and blows the smoke into the cold air of the winter, air that penetrates your lungs, thin and carrying the smells of the fast food close to the school. Fuck. When's the last time Jim ate? He's not a big fan of the process, because it conditions people to live, but sometimes he just feels, well, hungry. The other shitfaces at the orphanage won't leave him alone, and he doesn't want to get beaten up again or caught trying to kill them in their sleep... so he doesn't fight them anymore, or bother with them in any way. But at least he can still manage to have his small corner of the world where he can smoke stolen cigs, the idiots in his class surely wouldn't notice. Jim inhales again. And exhales. He always wonders how happiness must feel like inside those little brains. How it feels to have someone give a fuck about what happens to you, if you're alive or dead, or if you're not at all. The bell for the next period to begin rings, Jim looks at the cig, it was only burned up to the half, shame to waste it, but if they find it on him he's going to get punished, again. Jim extinguishes the cig and throws it on the bushes. Climbing the wall leading back to the schoolyard he rips off the hem of his shirt and scratches his hand, if he could stop the bleeding no one would ask any questions and everything would be great. He's going to be late if he doesn't run for class, Jim runs past the football jackasses and hopes they won't bother him again, not when the day is this shitty already. "Hey fag! D'your momma and da leave you cos of that?" Some laughing and fake moans follow that, and Jim tries to walk by faster but then a piece of shit cuts through his way. "Aw were you going? We ain't done yet." He punches Jim and raises his arms as if victorious. Why the hell did they have to prove how manly they were by using Jim as a punching bag. Jim gets on his feet before he's punched again, but then a teacher notices the idiot and he runs off. He turns around to see which teacher is it, in hopes he won't get 'disciplining' again. He runs away and shoves a blond bloke out of the way. They said something to Jim but he didn't have any time to listen he was already late. Jim arrived at class a split second before the teacher got in. She began talking about some paired up shit group work. Fuck, Jim hated that. "Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran." The same blond that Jim had shoved out of the way earlier sits next to him. Jim doesn't say anything or even look at him and continues working on his notebook.

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

hi, this is my last ditch effort post because i am trying to make enough money to pay our rent this saturday on the 1st. my paycheck this week only covers 1 saturday meaning that i will probably be around $100 and i don't start full time until this coming monday. 2 weeks from then will be when i get a full time paycheck, meaning that i don't really get enough to support us until then. i was let go from my job earlier this month after giving 4 weeks notice, i was leaning on those paychecks to get me to until i started full time on my new job and they just told me not to come back in so i had basically no income this month. i know my bad drawings and advertising aren't really worth much but i can do anything online in return for help! my daughter starts daycare on the 3rd as well and i just need to be able to make it till then. everything will go toward rent and food for us until then! please please message me on here if i can offer you anything in return. i will reblog this with examples of bad art and stuff. i appreciate you guys so much and i hope you have a wonderful rest of your week! our cashapp and venmo are unclefather

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

In 2 weeks you'll feel it

In 4 weeks you'll see it

In 8 weeks you'll hear it

[hematolagnia-and-a-moran]

Jim: Relationships should be 50/50. Seb cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.