This is a commission I received from the absolutely fantastical ASTRO (Nogutsnoglory) so be sure to stop by and praise her for her amazing talents.
So, in the roleplay that Rockyrants and I share, there’s a sentimentality that flutters between the heart of Jim Moriarty and the book Peter Pan. Sebastian, with his sweet tooth, devours gummy bears (incredibly practical for a sniper’s snack) and reads to Jim in an effort to at least attempt to mellow the criminal out, not really understanding why the book is so special.
Well, here’s a little minific about the backstory behind the picture. Hope it isn’t too shitty. Wrote it rather late at night.
The boy in the academy robes darted through the hallways of the school. He had ran to the library to escape, after the boys had their way, because the library was his palace. His escape, his kingdom. Yes, James Moriarty was the little boy-king of the library, knowing every little nook and crevice of the building, memorizing the Dewey Decimal system, and found himself settled between two very small rows in the very back corner of the library, by the 800’s.
Knees drawn to his chest, the boy sobbed with cheeks against the knobs, choked gurgles of saliva sputtering from his throat. Shame. He felt shame because he couldn’t fight them off. The poor child wasn’t big enough, or strong enough, to keep prying hands away and he shuddered with every breath, sure that if he died in this library, no one would ever find him. James Moriarty wasn’t important. He was lost and alone and never before, in the history of the world, had such an intelligent young man felt so small and fragile.
Rubbing eyes roughly, the gaze caught a dull, hunter green book with gold lettering that sat on the shelf, dusty and untouched, and the young lad wondered how he’d missed seeing it before. It was if the worn spine was calling to him, and he made a weak attempt at sucking the snot away from draining from his nose as he reached trembling hands to the book. Opening it, Jim’s doe eyes scanned the worn yellow parchment.
“Peter Pan, by JM. Barrie,” it began. Even as he flipped through the pages with his swollen eye and split lip, the brown-eyed boy could still hear the laughs of the boys in the gym, taunting screeches echoing in his mind. The way they resonated in the eardrums of young, black-haired teen hurt almost as bad as the ache he felt in his lower back. Even at a private school (yes, the very same one that his father had insisted on him attending) there was no escaping the evils of the world, and he made a promise to himself that the boys who broke him in the just an hour earlier would pay, starting with that little fuck Carl Powers.
Fingers, soaked with snot and wet with tears, rubbed down the illustrations of Peter Pan flying away from Hook with a laugh and a taunt, tongue outstretched and thumbs in ears with a playful waggle.
'…That's how you do it,' he told himself, 'You play with them. You play games. You laugh in their face… You outsmart them.'
And for the first time in his relatively miserable youth, the thin black eyebrows of James Moriarty perked with curiosity, and eyes stared with menacing intensity at the book, as if it had just revealed the secret of life to him.
The boy checked the book out, and when he left school the following week for setting the Chemistry lab on fire (Copper Sulfate powder makes the most glorious green shade when lit on fire), it was never returned.
And now, in his early thirties (which he constantly pulled off for late twenties with no suspicions), James Moriarty sat next to Sebastian Moran. And the sniper, with eyes the same flickering green as flaming Copper Sulfate, scanned the book in hand, and idly tossed a gummy bear from the bag of sweets by his side, into his mouth, before he read to Jim.
The gritty voice of the Colonel read to his Criminal in an attempt to sound comforting, which only made his voice drop octaves and sound filthier, harsher, as the words slipped out, "Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly, all he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never afterwards be the same boy."
Jim, as his eyes shut and a snarl swept across curled lips, broke Sebastian’s reading with an interruption, his Irish drawl slurred sleepily, "No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest."