#SO YES HELLFIRE DESERVES THE TROPHY

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Butterflies 🦋✨

Summary; Jason spends more time ignoring you and flirting with other girls than actually being your boyfriend.

Eddie knows he would cherish you like a princess, and as you two grow closer he has no qualms about stepping on Jason's toes to show you that.

Warnings; Fluff, minimal angst, 18+ MDNI

Likes, reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

I don't give anybody permission to copy, reuse or repost my work.

❤️

For a few weeks now you had been meeting Eddie at his spot in the woods. The first time it happened is because Jason had asked you to get some weed for, giving you the money but refusing to go to Eddie himself.

"You think I would go around talking to that freak?" this made you roll your eyes, yes Jason was your boyfriend but you couldn't stand how judgemental he could be of people who showed even slightly different interests than him.

The two of you had been dating for four months and you were becoming increasingly aware very fast that he wasn't your prince charming... Kiss a few frogs, find a prince so the saying goes.

Maybe that would happen one day you had told yourself.

Eddie is waiting for you, a wide grin spreads across his features and you bound up to him happily, he holds out flowers for you, freshly picked and you beam.

Honestly, you can't remember the last time he bought you flowers. Eddie was always bringing you pretty flowers he found.

"Hi, sorry I'm late, cheer practice ran over, these are beautiful thank you Eddie" he waves of your apology.

"It's fine Princess. Don't worry about it and I was glad to do it, see that pretty smile" you settle down, hiding how pleased that made you and begin to discuss your day.

Eddie tells you about his plans for Hellfire, you tell him about Cheer practice and he's always so guienely interested like you are about Hellfire.

Maybe one day he can show you how to play you suggested last week and he seemed delighted at that.

The thing was you could talk to Eddie about anything and vice versa, he never judged, always listened and never belittled you in any way, you loved being with him.

He made you feel safe, listened to and gave you butterflies every time he smiled at you. Those fucking dimples.

It's just you wish you didn't have to hide your friendship so much.

"It's nice being here with you Eddie, I can understand why you wouldn't want to hang out with your friends though. They don't even know I exist right? Well, I mean they do obviously but not that we hang out" you murmur.

He softens.

"Hey, you think I'm ashamed of you or something? Are you kidding me? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, uncle Wayne, Hellfire and you. I could never be ashamed of you princess"

"I could never be ashamed of you either" you assure him and take his hand in yours.

He swallows "Yeah, we all know what this town thinks of me" you scowl.

"They don't know anything. They don't know how amazing you are Eddie" his breath hitches, your heart skips several beats as he squeezes your hand.

"I know this might be out of line sweetheart, you can tell me if it is but shit, you deserve way better than that butthead Jason"

He's leaning close to you and smiles somewhat shyly.

"I kinda like having something that's mine sweetheart, that is just mine, he hurriedly speaks up, you know us being friends and all"

Oh boy...

I am yours. That's what's you want to say and you mean it because deep down, you aren't happy with Jason at all. He doesn't make you happy but Eddie does.

"You should be with someone who treats you like a princess. Not who treats you like you're dispensable because you're not. You're totally metal sweetheart"

His sweet compliments make you feel all fuzzy and happy. Eddie always made you happy.

Jason treated you either like garbage or some trophy girlfriend and you deserved better than that.

You know what you have to do...Break up with Jason. It's been a long time coming and it would happen whether you were falling for Eddie or not.

It was time.

❤️

Eddie can't stop staring at you, he knows he's in love with you. Big time, and it's exhilarating, terrifying and fucking amazing, he never thought he would fall in love.

Honestly, hookups at dive bars or at metal concerts were as far as he got.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" Gareth asks him and he smiles as he sees you laugh with Chrissy, Chrissy who upon seeing him stare at you whispers in your ear with a beaming smile on her face and you turn to meet his gaze, looking down shyly as you head outside.

Butterflies, he felt butterflies when you looked his way or smiled at him like that.

He's on his way to Hellfire, you to Cheer practice and he wishes he could speak to you for a little bit but it will have to wait for later.

"Are my eyes deceiving me freak or are you making eyes at my girl?" Jason walks up with the rest of his douchebag squad.

"Your girl? You're full of shit Carver, like you don't fuck around on her when she isn't around, she deserves better than you" Jason pales but catches himself quickly beginning to laugh.

"Like who? You? Don't make me laugh Munson, you're way out of her league and you know it. She doesn't even know you exist"

Jeff and Gareth tug at his arms as he moves closer to Jason.

"Yeah? You don't know anything asshole, I'd treat her like a queen" Jason's smirk disappears.

"What are you in love with her or something?" Eddie doesn't back down from his stare.

"You are aren't you?" Jason sneers and Eddie's fist tightens, he would like nothing more than to punch Jason in his stupid mouth.

"Let me be clear. I haven't gave a fuck about stepping on your toes to show her how she should be treated" Jason backs off, he knows that Eddie isn't fucking around.

"She'd never go for you loser" Jason spits out but one of the basketball players pull him away.

"Come on man, he's a lying asshole"

"Eddie come on dude" he hears Dustin call out to him and he heads to Hellfire still fuming but determined to follow up on what he said to Jason.

❤️❤️✨❤️

Jason gapes as you repeat what you said.

"You want to break up with me? Are you fucking kidding me? I made you, you selfish bitch" Oh please you roll your eyes.

"You made me? Get over yourself. I'm a person not some object. For four months you've gradually treated me more and more like shit and I'm sick of it"

Disbelief colours Jason's features.

"First that freak Munson being in love with you and now this shit. Unbelievable"

It's like time stands still, you barely hear what Jason has to say something along the lines of "no I'm dumping you for Casey Stevens", you couldn't care less.

"Are you even listening to me? I'm dumping you!" he snaps and you nod as you make your way over to where Hellfire is playing barely paying attention to what Jason is yelling at you.

There's cheers as you get to the drama room so that must mean that the campaign has went down well, just like you assured Eddie it would.

He's deep in his DM mode so you wait patiently, watching him enraptured.

Dustin spots you and gestures to Eddie who pauses his eyes lighting up.

"It's okay, finish up and I'll wait here" he winks at you and it sends little shivers of delight all over your body, watching him in his element, doing differing voices as he concludes tonights campaign is so sexy.

He's so sexy and kind, beautiful inside and out and you are anxious to know if what Jason said was true.

When he is finished you head over to him, focus solely on him and not the curious stares you're getting.

"Hey Princess"

"Hi, Jason told me something. We were breaking up at the time so I don't know if he was just messing around, I hope he wasn't"

Eddie tilts his head and there's a knowing look on his gaze.

"What did he say?" well, here goes nothing.

"He told me you're in love with me. Is that true?" he cups your cheek and you lean into his touch.

"Would have preferred to tell you myself sweetheart but yeah, I'm in love with you, hopelessly in love. I'd never hurt you or cheat on you like that dickhead did"

Within seconds you're kissing him and he's kissing you back, you grin.

"I love you too" Eddie briefly lifts you off your feet as he kisses you happily.

"Uh? What the fuck is going on?" Gareth asks and you and Eddie look at each other with identical grins.

"Better sit down dude, this is a long story"

❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson imagine

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

THIS ISNT HISTORICAL ACCURATE BUT IDC IT DOESNT MATTER THAT THAT MUCH BUT EDDIE WITH A SPORTY READER LIKE VOLLEYBALL AND SOCCER AND HER APPROACHING THE HELLFIRE CLUB WEARING HER SPORTS JACKET AND THE HELLFIRE CLUB BEING CONFUSED WHEN THEY KISS AND HE CALLS HER PRINCESS CAUSE LIKE EDDIE HATES SPORTS PLAYERS?? - 🧚🏾‍♀️💋

It’s okay we can go modern!eddie

And I changed this up a bit so don’t hate 😢

Omg yes her cute uniform and she’s walking out of practice or a big game and Eddie is there to pick her up or he sat and watched the game and he’s like “hi baby. You did so well tonight.” And gives her a big hug and she’s squealing over being all sweaty and he’s like

“I don’t even care. You deserve a big hug. You kicked ass tonight.” And she shows him her trophy bc maybe it was state or something and he’s so happy and grabs it from her like “I’m so proud of my girl. You did so well”

And all her other popular sporty friends are so confused and keep staring

And she’s like “bye Katie!!! Good game!” And Eddie is instantly pulling her back into him and kissing her like “shut up talking to them.”

And they would all gossip about it the rest of the season

Omg and I could see her and another girl getting into a big fight about it

Omg wait so you want to hear abt the fight thoooo

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | 5/13

Word count: 4.7k

Living with Moriarty is not for the faint of heart. He's a strange man - and you often find yourself becoming victim to moments of intrigue. There's something intrinsically dark within him, but you're currently inclined to believe that it was created out of a need for fun, for entertainment, and not out of hardship.

It was a frenzied moment in which you agreed to join him.

Truthfully, you had no idea what being a part of his game entailed. You had only seen bits and pieces on the news.

Moriarty had taken you to what was apparently a grandiose mansion. It was terribly grand - much larger, more airy and ornate than your house had been. Everything within it seems so fine, opulent, even.

It's never cold, which you're thankful for.

Moriarty leads you through a series of hallways, and down some winding, twisting stairway, and to his study. He seems fond of the finer things in life, decking out the mansion with what you assume are expensive pieces. You see a few men milling around, all dressed in suits. You think about calling out for them, getting their attention, but you quickly realise that these are men who follow Moriarty's orders.

He's got all of these people, these dark-looking, brawny bodyguards who do his bidding. They're just more puppets, and he's the one tugging on their strings. You have to wonder if they have a role in the plan, too. If they are pieces in the game - and if you're to become like them.

The worst part is probably that you don't know how - you have no idea how he's controlling them. Or why, for that matter. Really, you have so, so many questions, all revolving around Moriarty. Who he is, what he wants, why he wants it and how he plans to achieve it are all absolute mysteries.

His study is airy, with this large desk and leather chair behind it. There's bookshelves - none of them hold any books, though. Rather, they contain what, at first glance, you think are odd knick-knacks. There's all manner of things - shoes, a lipstick case, purses, wallets. They look rather out of place, considering the fancy, high-end decor of the rest of the house.

They're just random, every-day objects, but they're displayed in pride of place in his study.

Moriarty seems to catch your confused look at them, and he grins proudly. "Trophies." He says, by way of explanation.

"Oh?" You swallow, suddenly unable to tear your eyes from them.

You don't really need to be told the rest - they're trophies from people. Presumably, victims of his.

"Oh, come on." He scoffs, playfully. He stalks closer to you, closing the door to the study behind him. You still feel rather on edge, but some of that feralty and desperation has subsided.

You want to be free, no matter what. That's always going to remain the same. But for now, acceptance is best. Moriarty has all of this, all of those men on strings, and he's determined to play a game with Sherlock Holmes. All you have to do is play along until he gets bored and you can be cut loose. Hopefully, at least. That is the work of a whole host of assumptions.

Nothing is assured here.

Moriarty approaches you, looming over you. Almost tenderly, he places his hands on your shoulders, encouraging you to stumble backwards and perch on his desk. He's so close, and you have to suppress a shiver. Your legs hit the desk and you shimmy yourself up so you can sit on the very edge of the desk. You're torn between fixating on Moriarty and his dark eyes, or the rows of trophies.

His hands drop from your shoulders to your hands. He inspects them almost clinically, turning your slightly shaking hands over. It feels strangely thrilling to be touched like this - intimately, carefully. Like you're precious.

And yet, it contrasts with every scrap of information you've come to know about him. His fingers glide over yours - his skin is warm, and he feels rather human like this. Not vulnerable, no, but human. Flesh and bone.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, sounding rather stunned at the damage you've managed to do to your knuckles from punching the door. "That's rather self-destructive, Cinderella. Doesn't seem like you."

"Oh, really?" You ask.

"Oh, no." Moriarty says. "You're not self-destructive. You like to hurt others instead."

You recoil slightly and his hands drop from yours. "They deserved it."

He nods, looking amused. "Well, yes, they did. That much is obvious. But you enjoyed it, and that's what matters." Moriarty walks over to the other side of his desk, opening a drawer and emerging with some bandages and packet of anti-septic wipes, before he approaches you again. He rips the little package open with his teeth and shakes it until the white cloth falls into his hands.

Moriarty discards the packet, letting it rest on his desk. "If you were going to take a trophy, what would it have been?" He asks, taking your left hand first, and swiping the wipe over it.

You let out a tiny hiss - it stings. The cuts had been small, but that doesn't make it burn any less. The white anti-septic wipe comes away from your knuckles spotted with streaks of blood. "Their heads." You admit, clenching your jaw as he does the same to your other hand.

"Oooh, nice." He says, grinning. "But not that practical. They could always rot. Human decomposition isn't my favourite cell."

The anti-septic wipe makes contact with the deepest wound across your right knuckles and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from letting out any pained noises. There is absolutely no desire within you to seem weak in front of somebody like him.

"Fucking taxidermy them, then." You retort, though your voice comes out somewhat strangled and pained.

His dark eyes dart up to meet yours. "Now that's lovely, Cinderella."

Despite his macabre line of work, Moriarty doesn't tend to meet people who are truly interesting very often. Even criminals can fall victim to being dull, and frequently they do. But you - you are lovely. He knows every single thing that has happened to you, and yet he's still intrigued by everything about you.

A silence befalls you as he begins to bandage your knuckles, expertly winding the gauze over your hands. It sits atop the wounds, cradling them in thin white strips. You don't allow yourself to relax - but it does feel somewhat comforting to be taken care of like this. Verona and her hellish daughters hadn't been the type to wrap your wounds or offer you support.

You hate the way he's so gentle. It makes you think, for just a moment, that under any other circumstances you would have welcomed and celebrated a touch so soft. In any other context, perhaps you could allow yourself to indulge in this - in him. But you can't, not when your life is veiled by a cloud of uncertainty that he is solely responsible for.

"So what now?" You ask, slightly more subdued now that your throbbing knuckles have been addressed. There's a deep curiosity within you now - perhaps this is an opportunity to obtain some answers for your many, many questions.

"Now we have a plan to fulfill." He sounds rather bored now, as he watches you. "There's so much that you don't know, and yet you've put your faith in me."

"I wouldn't say it was faith that compelled me to join your game."

He chuckles, sounding rather gleeful as he reminds you,"Our game, Cinderella. You're on my side now, and sweetheart, this isn't the side of the angels."

"No, I was never under the impression that it was." You retort.

"But then again, you seem to like a little hellfire, don't you?" Moriarty croons excitedly.

"Planning on telling me anything now that I've agreed?"

Moriarty raises an eyebrow. "Well, I wouldn't want to risk you getting bored. But, I'll let you on some things. After all, who would you tell?"

You wince at that, unwillingly reminded that freedom has come hand in hand with loneliness. Whilst half of London may have been aware of you - may have seen that years-old picture of you on TV or heard about you in the news, there is nobody, not a single soul that knows you in any way that matters.

And even now, when there's people milling about the mansion, you know that they'll never know you either. You don't think that any of them had even bothered to spare you a second glance.

In fact, Moriarty is the only person you have had a proper conversation with in days.

"I'm Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal, and you're Y/N L/N, my Cinderella. And weeee, are going to destroy Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, that seems simple enough." You say, sarcastically.

He clicks his tongue, chiding you. "Noooo, not simple, Cinderella. Simple would be boring - and this, this is going to be exciting. It's what everything was leading up to, until you got in the way."

"I got in the way?"

"Oh, yes. Took up all of Sherlock's attention. Very naughty of you. But now, you're on my side, and we're a force united." He sounds rather inspired, enthralled by the prospect of it all. His dark eyes are blown wide as he looks down at you. You've noticed that Moriarty has a tendency to become almost reverent whenever he talks about either the two of you together, or your crimes.

Like he's in awe. Of you - and of the two of you together.

In some way, you had chosen him. As a pathway to freedom only.

"And so, the plan is..." You prompt him.

"Pfft, so impatient, aren't we, Cinderella?" Moriarty scoffs. "The plan, of course, is to get Sherlock to answer the question on everybody's mind."

"Which is?"

He rolls his dark eyes, before gazing down at you. "Well, isn't it obvious, Cinderella? Staying alive, of course."

You frown, your mind running over everything you have learnt about the two of them - Sherlock's a detective on your case, and Moriarty is now your abductor who wants you to become his partner in crime against the aforementioned detective. "You... want him to die?"

"I've always wanted him to die. He's in the way - all the time. I just want to have fun with it first." Moriarty shrugs nonchalantly. In all fairness, murder does seem to be trivial to him - though he does keep trophies, which suggests that on some occasions, it has been more than just something on his to do list. It tells you that sometimes, when he kills, it means something to him.

It was entirely plausible that something belonging to Sherlock Holmes could end up on that bookshelf, too.

"You said that I was in your way." You say, rather absently. "Do you intend for me to die, too?"

"You're not the one I'm asking the question to. For now, you're just my teammate in the game. You could get your freedom at the end." He says.

And there it is - the hope that you've been waiting to appear. The prospect that if you play along you could be free. Your heart leaps, and you lurch forward, almost tumbling off the desk.

"Ooh, you liked that, didn't you?" Moriarty teases, pouting at you mockingly.

"Well, let's play then." You say, with a renewed kind of vigour. You feel the beginnings of a plan beginning to form.

The last plan that you had concocted resulted in three women dead at your hands and a building going up in flames. This one had the potential to be more bloody. Moriarty would probably even encourage it.

There you are, feeling just as much a hostage here as you had when you were in your basement, in Moriarty's study. He grins down at you, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, his forefinger under your chin and the pad of his thumb resting on your bottom lip.

It's so terribly soft, so gentle.

"That's the spirit."

---

And thus began a begrudging routine. This was an unsteady partnership, and Moriarty took great joy in reminding you of that, at first.

You were to be confined to the mansion, watched by a platoon of his men, until such a point when you were to be useful. Most of your time was simply to be spent with Moriarty, preparing aspects of the game - often at times researching macabre, morbid things that you didn't understand.

There would be no opportunity for escape. Your room was heavily guarded, there were no windows for you to break, and even if there were, you still had no idea where you were.

For the first few days, you had struggled to find your footing here. This was an entirely new situation, and you were just trying your hardest to survive, to get by. You were very much a prisoner, and yet, you weren't treated the way you had been back at home.

Verona would scream at you, perhaps even strike you if she was particularly enraged, whilst Aubrey and Alora would rush about the house, creating as much a mess as they were able, and then leave you to clean it up.

Moriarty was... not so bad.

That statement, in and of itself, made you wince. He was a murderer, that much you gathered, and from what you could deduce, also the head of a major criminal organisation. It was almost impressive, really.

He could plan so throughly that he almost reminded you of yourself, which was another thought that you absolutely detested. Moriarty had shared just fragments of his plan for Sherlock Holmes with you, and yet each piece was extremely detailed with each and every possible outcome being considered.

Moriarty had the ability to be frighteningly logical. And yet, it was really creativity and spontaneity that ruled him. Those were the things he found most appealing - the outcomes that he had never considered were the ones he found the most alluring.

A typical day for you normally began when you would wake up in that grandiose room. It was superior to your hotel room - it didn't smell of any chemicals, and you felt almost at peace there. From there, you would get dressed, be given breakfast and then make your way downstairs, accompanied by a gaggle of armed guards.

They weren't so friendly. Most of them refused to even speak to you, and the ones that did were curt at best. It was rather isolating, to be surrounded by so many people and yet constantly ignored.

Then, you would enter Moriarty's study. It was quickly becoming one of the places in the mansion you were most familiar with. There, the two of you would discuss tiny details of a larger plan. You couldn't really discern what anything was going to be used for, but he seemed to like bouncing ideas off you.

There was a lot that you had learnt about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Theirs was a friendship, whilst your relationship with Moriarty was a difficult hostage and her seemingly bipolar abductor.

Today, as you entered, you found that he was already on the phone to somebody, and he looked enraged.

As always, he was dressed impeccably, sat at his desk, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other clenched into a fist, resting on the wood, almost threateningly.

"I've already told you how to do it." He hisses, his voice low and venomous. He's scowling like you've never seen him do before, his lips curled into a sneer, and there's pure rage in his dark eyes.

You look awkwardly between him and your entourage, hovering in the doorway and observing him. Thus far, you haven't seen him interact with too many people, just yourself and a handful of henchmen. Even then, he seems to hold you in higher regard than he does them, so you've become somewhat assured that you're not going to become one of his little minions, running around and doing his bidding at a moment's notice.

"I can do things to you that you can't even imagine." He says, his jaw clenched. "I can have you torn to pieces and mailed back to your family in chunks. Maybe they'll get an eye first. Or a finger. I want you to remember that the next time you dare to forget what I want."

Moriarty's voice is so low, full of vitriol and as your eyes dart to his shelves of trophies from his kills, you know that he means every single word of it. The consulting criminal is simply beyond any body else's influence. You've come to understand that's how he operates. Everybody does as he says or they die in pain, begging for their lives to end.

You can't help but be transfixed by him when he's like this. In the very short time you've known him, you haven't seen Moriarty mad like this. He's jovial, mocking and excitable. It's been a while since he's even threatened you.

Anger is one of the emotions that are most familiar to you. It has shaped and forged you in ways that love never quite had the opportunity to.

You don't know Moriarty nearly well enough to determine whether it has been instrumental to his becoming, too. But you can guess that it has been. Nobody gets this far in such a bloody, vicious field - being a career criminal - without being subject to anger. You weren't naive enough to think that it drove him all the time, but it probably contributed.

In an instant, he's torn the phone away from his ear and ended the call. His dark gaze lands on you, and the fury in his eyes seems to lessen fragmentally.

"I'm guessing that didn't go to plan, then." You remark, sauntering away from the doorway to actually enter his study and approach him at his desk.

"It's not a part of our plan," He dismisses it easily, the tension in his shoulders beginning to lessen, and his fingers unfurling from where they had been clenched into a tight fist. "You know, they're still looking everywhere for you, Cinderella. Sherlock's driving himself mad trying to figure out which hotel you're staying in."

"Do you think he would have found me by now?" You ask.

Moriarty looks at you, studying you like you're some kind of puzzle that he can't figure out. "Sherlock would have found you yesterday at eleven am. He and John have already been in the hotel room that you stayed in."

Suddenly, it feels like your heart has dropped to your stomach. Yesterday at eleven am you had been researching the intricacies of mercury and lead poisoning - an effort that you were still collaborating on with Moriarty, though you had no idea what he intended to do with the information.

If not for him, you would have been in cuffs by now, awaiting trial, Sherlock's passing interest in you long gone, and you're left to rot in some cold little cell.

"Really?" Your voice comes out a whisper - vulnerable, raw, pitiful. You hate it more than anything.

"I'm not lying, Cinderella." He says with a minute shrug of his shoulders. "Do you think you'd know if I was?"

You feel all too much like you're drowning to even answer his question. There haven't been many points in your life during which you've felt this confused. The funerals and the wedding, probably - those were the days when you'd truly felt the loss of your parents the most, and the insidious arrival of a new one.

There's no way for you to really discern how this feels. It's like there's been a phenomenal, almost earth-shattering realisation on your part, and you're amazed that the world has kept turning. This feels like neither a loss, nor a gain. Perhaps, then, it was an exchange. Some part of yourself had been lost, cast aside the moment you discovered that by now, you would have lost any freedom at all, and exchanged for something that wasn't yours at all.

It felt like a part of you was now Moriarty. You were living as a slightly free woman on his time. There were limits to your freedom, but it was a warm mansion that was the polar opposite of that cold, rancid-smelling basement, and not a ten-by-ten cell.

"I don't - it'd be over by now?" You sound devastated.

"It would." Moriarty confirms, watching you closely, carefully.

The words are tumbling from your mouth before you can even comprehend them yourself. "Then, thank you. I don't, fuck, I don't like being locked up here, but thank you."

Your sincerity shocks even you, and Moriarty looks almost taken aback, his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes widening.

"Cinderella, why don't you let me tell you about why mercury is a better poison than lead." He says, all falsely cheery. This time, you can see straight through him. There's not pure excitement in his eyes, burning like a wildfire. Rather, there's a shred of concern.

You don't know whether that's a good thing or not. All you know, is that some tiny, forsaken part of you is grateful to him.

"Did you know that lead poisoning is the most common environmental illness in children in California? I didn't." He says, off-handedly. Listening to his lilting voice is an effective distraction for your internal distress. "It can be attributed to paint. And that's boring - not to mention it would take the credit away from us."

You're willing to lean into any distraction he has to offer. You really, really do not want to think about the cell you would be in by now.

"And so mercury is better because...?"

"It's more deliberate," Moriarty stresses. "That at least will be recognised as our work. It's rare, and hard to treat. It can take up to eighteen years for the body to get rid of half a dose."

You nod easily. "And are you ever going to tell me who it's intended for?"

"You'll get to know that soon enough. I'm trying to build anticipation here." He sighs dramatically, reclining slightly in his chair. "I will, however, tell you that we're going to do something you'll like. It's very your style."

"How so?" You frown. "Arson, or...?" You trail off, unsure.

Moriarty grins wildly. "Oh, arson. What a lovely crime. Soooo fun, right? Unfortunately, no. What we're planning for is a recreation of a fairytale, with a different ending."

Immediately, your eyes widen. You're thrown back to the days of obsessively demanding your mother read Cinderella to you each and every night. She had even bought you a whole host of books, all different variations of the same familiar tale. You had loved each and every one of them uniquely, memorising all of their twists and turns, every letter, every dot of every 'i' and every cross of every 't'.

"Which one?" You ask. Really, he had thrown you off there. It hadn't been what you were expecting. But then again, Moriarty prided himself on subverting expectations and being changeable - a wild card.

"Guess, won't you?" He says, amusedly. He's smiling happily, like you're not discussing deadly poisons and off-handedly referencing your murders of your step-family.

Poison. You ponder over it for a moment, running a hand through your hair distractedly. "Snow White? Are we poisoning an apple?"

You freeze. It's so, so incredibly strange that you acknowledged it - that you said 'we' rather than 'he'. It's odd, terribly so, to realise that you've subconsciously accepted your place in this.

"Mmmh, no." Moriarty shakes his head. "Nice idea, though. Shame. We can use it another time. Guess again, Cinderella."

"I don't like it when you call me that."

He huffs. "Guess." He demands.

"Sleeping beauty? With the spindle?"

"No - but keep going. You've got some good ideas."

"Uh, Peter Pan?" You suggest, wincing. Rather quickly, you're running out of ideas.

Moriarty narrows his eyes at you. "There's no poison in Peter Pan."

"Yes there is," You retort hotly. "Captain Hook tries to poison Peter Pan, but Tinkerbell drinks it instead."

He scoffs at you, levelling you with an unimpressed, bored kind of look. "It's rather pathetic that you know that, don't you think?"

"No, no I really don't think so." You say, and you don't even know why you're getting quite so defensive, like he's touched a nerve just by challenging you on this.

"Any more guesses left, Cinderella?"

"The Riddle?" You guess, rather aimlessly.

Moriarty just looks rather confused. "Are you... making them up now? If you can't guess you can just concede."

"It's one of the Brothers Grimm ones. It's about a witch who poisons twelve people - but since you didn't even recognise the title I'm inclined to believe that's not it." You sigh, and you realise that you're rather...relaxed.

"It's Hansel and Gretel." Moriarty reveals, grinning. "Poison the sweets - "

"But Hansel and Gretel were kids," You frown. "You're not talking about doing something to kids are you? Oh god, you're not going to make somebody eat the kids?"

Moriarty looks mildly stunned. "Yet another brilliant idea. Oh, Cinderella. You're so good at this. Though, I do suppose you have experience with subverting fairy tales. We could make parents eat their own children - doesn't that sound fun? How long do you think they could hold out for if they were starving and their kid's bodies were their only source of food?"

Suddenly, you feel a little lightheaded. "No, no, that's not what - just tell me we're not doing anything with kids."

"Well why not?" He sounds affronted, like you've done something to offend him.

"They're innocent." You practically plead, clasping a hand over your mouth. This doesn't feel comforting at all - this is begging for somebody else's life and hoping he will take notice, that he will be compelled to spare them.

Moriarty raises an eyebrow at you, looking rather skeptical. "Were Aubrey and Alora innocent when they teased you mercilessly and encouraged their mother to hit you?"

You flounder for a response, your mouth opening and closing repeatedly, but you just can't seem to get any words out. "Kids are - kids are innocent." Is the retort that eventually tumbles from your lips, but you sound unconvinced, even to your own ears, and you just know that Moriarty knows that he's rattled you, that he's uncovered a nerve and he can now press on it for his own entertainment.

"Innocence is a big lie," Moriarty's voice raises incrementally, and you think that this may be the closest he's come to yelling at you. He sounds annoyed, like he's chastising a child - or rather, like he's disappointed in you and is irritated that he is being faced with the reality that you are not like him in every way.

"They haven't done anything, they shouldn't die." Your protest seems rather weak.

Still, he begrudgingly concedes. "I'll find the worst, meanest kids out there, and I'll just get them sick - they won't die, but they'll feel like they want to. How about that?" He suggests, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

"Why even listen to me in the first place? Why not just kill them anyway?"

"Beeeeecause, you're my partner in crime. You're a step above the rest of the people here, Cinderella. So, since I'm such a giving person, I'll let the kids live. For you."

For the second time that day, you find yourself thanking him.

You don't think to question why he's doing something you'd like. Jim knows the reason, though. It's because there's only one other person who knows your brilliant mind the way he does, the other man who is obsessed with finding you - Sherlock Holmes. It's with an almost burning, fevered desperation that he wants Sherlock to know that you belong to him.

This is a dedication - a brand of possession, if one were to be simple about it.

#Jim Moriarty #jim moriarty x reader #bbc sherlock #moriarty is alive #x reader

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Tattoo au from @everythingabouthatship because why not. We're gonna go with the tattoo being of something meaningful to your soulmate, which resides in the spot where your soulmate will first make direct contact with you.

I'm back on my vermish bullshit everyone :)

So, Vera growing up with a tattoo over her fingertips when, if she holds her fingers together, forms an image of a wolf. It's super faint, almost transparent.

Hamish has a very very very faint tattoo of a blue rose on his cheekbone. He thinks it's blue, anyway. Not like he'd be able to tell with how faint the tattoo is.

We know I don't particularly like Hamish's parents so are any of you really surprised when I say that his mother's fussy about the placement of the tattoo and teaches Hamish to cover it up??? Because it 'marrs the pretty face of her trophy son' and it'll probably be talked about more than her if anyone were to see it.

So Hamish gets into this habit and he just cannot break it (explaining how the Knights never see it and ask him wtf that's all about)

Hamish also stops paying it any attention, because he's only ever looking at it to cover it up. Why does he even do it anymore? He doesn't know. He just does it. Honestly, he thinks, it'd be easier to quit drinking than to stop himself from covering it up.

"I have a potion to finish." "Good for you." "I need werewolf blood!" "Not it."

It's funny, she thinks as she makes the potion, all her life she's wondered about what the tattoo could mean and now here she was, surrounded by a pack of werewolves. Enemies to the Order. Ha. Cruel trick, fate, cruel indeed.

Vera is alone down in the basement, working on the Nephelim's Tears. Lilith and Randall are gearing up to Tear Shit Up. Hamish is .... concerned to have the actual leader of the Belgrave chapter of the Order, their enemies, down in the basement with all the stuff about werewolves.

So, like any cautious person, he ventures down to the basement to spy on her see how she's faring.

"I'm not going to break anything, Mr Duke." "I didn't say anything." "Didn't gave to. Written all over your face."

Hamish folds his arms and peers into the cauldron. "Is that -- is it supposed to bubble like that?" "Shit."

"Is there something you need or do you just plan on hindering me?" Vera still hasn't looked up at Hamish since he entered.

"Curiosity killed the cat." "But satisfaction brought it back .... I suppose you may stay, provided you remind out of my way."

Suits Hamish fine. Seeing as he's not leaving, Vera decides to look up and acknowledge her audience. "You're hurt."

"What? No, I'm not. And even if I was, Tundra would have fixed it by now."

"Not if Kepler used the enchanted blade on you." Vera pretends like she knows who -- or what -- Tundra is. "Here, let me."

"The potion--" "needs to simmer for five minutes. I can spare some time to close a small cut."

Vera's eyes are closed as she whispers words he doesn't recognise. Her fingers barely touch his face before it's done and she's holding her hand up to the air in front of him. Hamish thinks the burning on his cheekbone is because of the spell. Vera knows it's not the spell. She's done the spell before, several times. She knows what it is. What else could it be.

Hamish stares at Vera who stands frozen in front of him. Surely the spell is complete?

"Magus." His soft voice is a thunderous sound in the silence. Vera opens her eyes and stares at him. "The potion."

The potion! Vera busies herself with the Nephelim's Tears and forgets about the burning on her fingertips as she had cast the spell.

After powdering the Knights, she catches herself staring at her hand often. Did they even stand a chance? It's a raging war between the Knights and the Order. Would anything between them had survived? She looks at Jack and Alyssa and wonders how Alyssa lives with herself and what she's done to Jack.

She realises that if Alyssa broke away from the Order for Jack, she would be neither surprised nor bitter. After all, Alyssa and Jack had actually built something for themselves whereas Vera, who had but a moment of time with Hamish, considered abandoning everyhting to run away with him.

So when the Knights do get their memory back, Vera isn't at all surprised to find Jack lying to her to cover Alyssa's ass. He's lucky Vera likes him.

Of course, Vera now has to content with the fact that Hamish knows everyhting, but she wonders if he's really her soulmate. After all, he has no tattoo.

It's like a week and a half after the whole tall glass thing when Hamish forgets to cover up the tattoo. Years and years and years of doing it every single day and Oh, Vera's on the mind, everything mundane matters naught.

Vera practically starts hyperventilating when she sees it and locks herself in the reliquary because she's not sure how to Deal With Emotions.

"Magus? Is everything all right?" "I'm fine!"

Vera stands up against the doors, hand held out infront of her. She fucking knew it. Why was she surprised? She knew that's what had happened.

She knew it and she still went through with stealing everything from them -- themselves included.

Guilt -- more so than before -- creeps in and nags at the corner of her every thought.

Everytime Vera thinks about what she'd done to the Knights and spends hours trying to justify it and explain to even herself that it was a necessary precaution, Hamish's tattoo warms up. Depending on how consumed Vera is by the guilt on any given day, Hamish's face could go from a gentle warmth to blazing hellfire.

He never connects it to Vera because they get in the same room and the guilt in Vera's mind is quickly overshadowed by, and she won't admit it, but it's love. And in the same room, she's calm and relaxed and at peace -- just because he's in the same room as her.

Does she ever tell him? No. Why? Because I am just Like That™

Ayyyeeeeeeeeee the Foley/Salvador attack guys. Them tattoos be on fire because they're so worried about each other. Hamish knows that Praxis won't go after the rest of the Knights, not when there are so many people around to stand witness and Vera is sure Praxis won't find the temple -- but each other? Oh, yeah. They're scared shitless for each other because they both know they were on their way to meet each other i.e. they were alone. They were perfect targets.

Even Tundra is a little afraid for Vera. Tundra's champion's feelings for the witch are just That Strong. Okay maybe not fear, but Tundra would definitely fight for Vera just as Tundra would for any of the Knights. Not to mention, Vera's the Grand Magus, someone the Knights are supposed to keep in line.

Hamish throwing Angus out of the reliquary? I stan protective boyfriend. Vera's tattoo is heating up, but she's ignoring it. Because denial is just so much more comfortable a state to be in.

"We're not staying." "Yes, we are." "No, you're not."

Vera clenches her hand into a fist to try ignoring the burning in her fingertips because Hamish is so. fucking. worried.

Alone in the reliquary, Vera can almost feel it weighing down on her. Everything. The weight of the Order, being Grand Magus, the Knights' safety, Praxis, Alyssa and on top of it all -- Hamish.

"I don't deserve you." "Vera, you deserve so much more than what you have."

Vera's fidgety, repeatedly wiping her hands on her clothes, tucking and untucking her hair, twisting a ring or two, tugging at a bracelet, adjusting an earring, pacing, gaze on the floor the entire time.

Vera finally looks up at Hamish when he grabs her by the elbows and stops her in the middle of the reliquary.

"Why do you hide it?" "Hide. . . I always have."

Vera brushes away a few specks of dirt -- Hamish must've taken a tumble chasing Midnight. Of course, Tundra's fixed any scrapes and cuts he might have acquired, but the dirt is still there. It's faint and it looks as thought it were drawn in fading marker several hours ago, but it's there. The blue rose.

Hamish watches her dust her fingers off.

"What is that?" "This? Oh, it's. . ."

oh

Hamish swears to himself that he will protect Vera just as fiercely as he will Jack, Lilith and Gabrielle. They're his family, his pack, his fellow Knights, his blood and his every thought.

And Vera? Why, Vera's his heart and soul.

Well, doll, what do we think of that? I do believe the creative juices are flowing again skkdjsks I am. A distaster shipper.

See the others :)

#the hermetic order of the blue rose #the order #netflix #the knights of the blue rose #the knights of saint christopher #knights of the blue rose #knights of saint christopher #vera x hamish #hamish x vera #hamish duke #vera stone #vermish

[isroselalondebisexual]

What do you think Rose Egbert would be like? :0 And Dave Harley, John Lalonde, and Jade Strider

Rose Egbert, raised in a supportive, loving home environment, would probably still be fighty and punchy because I don’t think there’s a single parent in existence that could ever change that about her, but she’s also very likely going to be more inclined to wait until being PROMPTED before she lets loose her floods of salt and snark. So like, a pretty regular girl on first impressions, definitely deeply entrenched in her Hot Topic mall goth phase, wears chokers from Spencers and whatnot, but pretty friendly at face value and in all the advanced literature courses, has been in every psychology class the public education system offers. On the debate team. And so you’re like, cool, she’s on debate, that should be fun, she’s pretty well composed as a person I bet she has some good thoughts. And then you attend one of the debate matches. And you see a side of Rose Egbert you never knew existed and holy hot DAMN you’re not sure if you’re terrified or in love with her. Possibly both. Probably both. She’s quick witted alright, devastatingly intelligent and in this to WIN. Dad Egbert has all of her debate trophies (medals? I wasn’t in debate idk how these things work) displayed as proudly as he displayed his clown statues in the canon timeline. Her role as a Seer of Breath is to best free the timeline and her friendgroup from the clutches of the Literally-A-Demon Lord of Time, who seeks to enslave them, their timeline, and the universe to his whims, to become his playthings. Her role is to forsee the best route, not in terms of luck, but as a specific, pointed fuck you to Doc Scratch, Lord English, and everything associated with them. That part in canon where Rose is talking to Doc and he’s like “do you even still have that emotion?” or whatever and she’s like “Why, yes, it seems it’s all been mysteriously relocated to my middle finger. The dark magics are at it again.” Like that but times a thousand she is SMART she has FORESIGHT and she is going to FREE THEIR TIMELINE, BITCH.

Dave Harley grew up alone on an island with a magic dog and some weird chess folk, so first of all he doesn’t know what a gender is so jot that down, second of all what do you mean boys don’t like boys? Obviously boys like boys, he likes boys, u r foolish, u silly human culture you. So uh, you know how Dave is like, this huge massive attention whore in canon and he starts out “I’m so cool are you noticing me being cool and not caring over here”? Yeah no, immediately bypasses that, this boy wants ATTENTION so TALK TO HIM DAMMIT. His only real guide for physical touch has been a dog and some people who are not human so Personal Space Whomst? Dave is here, he is in your personal space, you are paying attention to him bitches. His collection of weird dead shit is even weirder, given that it is a Harley tradition to taxidermy weird shit and also he lives out on an island now. Probably takes the PRETTIEST photos of like, the island views and stuff, which he naturally posts online and gets a lot of likes and reblogs for which, good, give him that sweet sweet validation. His selfies are everywhere. Go like them. His role as the Knight of Space would be a pretty important one, he’s upholding the balance of the universe and breeding the new one and stuff, which basically just means he’s the weird frog dad now. You see all those frogs? Those are his babies. He loves them. Smorch. Dave ew don’t kiss frogs that’s gross. Dave does not care, Dave is gonna smooch those frogs bc he loves them and all their mutant little paradox offspring. Dave the frog whisperer. Whenever Karkat’s getting screechy he just like. Takes one out of his sylladex or his hood or pocket or SOMEWHERE and sets it delicately down in front of Karkat when he’s not looking and Karkat proceeds to screech and flip out and Dave laughs at him. This Dave is likely a lot more carefree, but doesn’t have a good grasp of concepts like “responsibility” or “giving people space.” A good and goofy kid, with some nice tasty abandonment issues probably thrown into the mix there somewhere. He doesn’t wanna be alone again.

John Lalonde very likely has a very bad grasp of what consequences are. If he breaks shit, they can just buy a new one, if he pranks someone a little too mean or says something that goes a little too far, his mom is easy to forgive him. My dear sweet ADHD child probably didn’t do too good in school and did a lot of class clowning tomfoolery but Mom Lalonde didn’t discipline him for it at home so threats of “I will call your mother if you don’t settle down” didn’t have much of an effect on him. He’s a good kid! Friendly and loving and affectionate, but if he fucks up he doesn’t take responsibility for it and pulls the “it was just a joke!” card way too frequently and doesn’t know how to actually apologize or fix his mistakes. But even though he’s very outwardly childish, he’s also surprisingly mature for his age, by way of like, opinions and stuff? Like he’ll say stuff and it’ll seem totally left field for him cause John you’re like, the funny dude of our group, but he’s also the one who knows how to disinfect wounds and the RIDICULOUS importance of making sure your older sibling knows who their DD is when they’re off drinking with their friends and while he doesn’t have an emotional reaction to traumatic events right off the bat (like in canon) he does do a VERY good job of responding pragmatically to them, and that’s kind of a result of yeah, his mom’s his buddy, and yeah, she lets him get away with anything, but no, John doesn’t really get the chance to be a kid ALL the time, and in part he acts out like this because he’s frustrated that he CAN’T fully be a kid, so he’s overcompensating. His role as the Heir of Light would be as somebody who embodies luck and intellect, which he doesn’t really feel like he can do. He’s not smart, right? He’s never done well in school. But he has really high emotional intelligence, and he’s got street smarts no 13 year old has any business having, and he eventually comes to realize that he is lucky. He’s very lucky. He’s got good friends who love him and who he loves, a strong team who can conquer the world, the universe, even a demon with the strength of a green sun, and when John comes to appreciate consequences and ramifications of their actions, he would be better able to understand how to use his powers to become the luckiest little shit in the universe, and could look death in the face with confidence because he understands, now, he’s realized some things, some the easy way and some lessons were painfully hard, but he’s confident in what he’s doing and he’s got his friends at his back.

Jade Strider, I hate to say it, but I think she would end up a very meek individual. Very, very hypervigilant, aware of everyone’s mood around her and this HUGE people pleaser, because as far as she’s concerned “not actively pleased” might as well be utterly synonymous to “actively displeased.” Life is uncertain to her, she’s very diligent about reading the moods of others and making them happy. Everyone loves her and think she’s just absolutely the best, she’s always ready to listen, always eager to cheer her friends up when they’re feeling down, doesn’t say jack SHIT about herself. If people ask she straight up lies. She does NOT talk about her own problems, even worse than in canon. She is happy go lucky and pleasant to be around, see? She’s doing great. Don’t worry about her! Oh do you need to talk about something? She’s got hair-trigger reflexes and does NOT react well to sudden loud noises or jumpscares. She’s very forgiving, because it’s only natural that sometimes her friends will hurt her feelings, right? That’s what love looks like. Some things just can’t be prevented, so why bother. Lotta learned helplessness kinda shit going down. Very reactive to positive feedback and physical affection (as long as she sees it coming) but has no idea how to go about asking for it. She’s very popular at her school for being pretty and cool and badass and friendly all tied up into one but her friendships are very shallow with her school friends, because if she cannot open up about herself, what room is there for emotional intimacy? As a Witch of Time, her main thing that needs to happen is she needs to get fed up. She needs to get pissed off. She doesn’t deserve this shit! She’s thirteen! She doesn’t deserve a parent who didn’t love her, she doesn’t deserve to have the weight of the timeline on her shoulders, she doesn’t deserve to see her own corpse over and over and fucking OVER again! This isn’t fair, this isn’t right, she doesn’t FUCKING want this, fuck her Bro fuck the Game fuck keeping quiet she’s a KID and she’s HURTING and she will be fucking UPSET about it! And then she’s gotta let John, and Rose, and Dave hold her and tell her she’s right, she’s so right, she is absolutely entitled to her anger, she’s allowed to feel angry about this, she’s gonna be okay though, they’re there, they love her and they’re not gonna let anyone hurt her ever again, she’s allowed to feel hellfire down deep to her bones but then, most importantly, she needs to let her friends help her, she needs to trust them, and learn how trusting works, learn what love looks like and how all her little broken pieces fit back together. And no, she’s never gonna fully recover from that. She knows she’s gonna be a compulsive liar down to her dying day and she’s never going to be able to trust openly like some people do, but she’s got people who love her and who she loves dearly, and she’s going to be okay, and every day it gets a little easier. Some days are bad, yeah, some days she’s angry over stuff she thought she got over years ago, but at the end of the Game, after all has been ripped asunder and they’ve moved into their new lives on Earth C, she is allowed to recover and to rest and sure it’s not always easy, but she’s always trying, and things are better now.

#Rose Lalonde #John Egbert #Dave Strider #Jade Harley #Rose Egbert #Dave Harley #John Lalonde #Jade Strider #answers #Homestuck #John #Jade #Dave #kidswap #Homestuck meta #analysis #Homestuck analysis