Role Play Days

If this could be mass reblogged I would SERIOUSLY APPRECIATE IT.

LET ME TEACH YOU ABOUT DIABETES, ROLE PLAYERS. AND WORLD IN GENERAL.

there is not ONE type of Diabetes. There is two. Type 1 Diabetes, and Type 2 Diabetes.

Allowing myself the one inappropriate fangirl moment I am allowed ever so often ifyouposednakedthoughdiessss.

They were so close that he could feel her breath against his cheeks as she spoke, tone attempting to remain calm (and only just managing). “Ah, ah.” he said with a smirk. “I think you’ll find that I never promised anything. You should learn to listen to me.” She was beginning to become more noticeably distressed. It was a toss-up on whether this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it was great - she was supposed to be in distress, that was the point of the whole kidnapping thing. On the other hand, though, he would prefer that they stayed incognito for a little while longer. At the very least until most of the other guests were drunk enough to not notice that his ‘date’ wasn’t fully enjoying herself.

And then things took a definite turn. She… was threatening him? His eyes narrowed, and the annoying little grin disappeared at breakneck speed. Any pretense at warmth flickered and died, like a candle abruptly blown out in a cold gust of wind. “Really?” he hissed. “I would like to see you try, my dear. You forget that even though we’re here, there is not one person in this room that would step in and save you, say, if I got bored. So, do me a favour and lay off the tough act. It doesn’t suit you for one - and I don’t want to leave just yet. We only just got here!”

"And there you are. Who you really are." The youngest Moriarty said, eyes which had lined with tears boring into his. None of them would fall, she understood the importance of not drawing a scene. He was correct, after all - none would save her, and it would only look embarrassing, as if he had dumped her on the dance floor or some other ridiculous bullshit. "I don't care about your feelings, Mr Valere. Because you can smile and make sick jokes all you like, but that doesn't change the fact that you're just as nasty as James really is, deep down. You're aspiring to be him, the only difference between the two of you being that he really does care about me, but you would throw me aside and murder me once you get what you want. You don't care about me at all."

She looked away for a moment, partially at the shock of her bitter outburst, and also to make sure that nobody was paying attention. It didn't seem like anyone was. "So if you don't mind, once we've danced long enough that it doesn't seem odd if we split, maybe you should go and socialise and I can look pretty and get drunk with everyone else. It's not as if it matters what state I'm in, seeing as I'm essentially surrounded by your fancy dress army, anyway. I can at least try to enjoy myself despite you."

This is an old family picture.

My family does not support my being in the LGBTQIA community. They actually are opposed to it. They tell me every day that its disgusting and that it’s sinful and I’ll go to hell for liking women. I moved out when I was seventeen, and in January I moved back in with them because I couldn’t handle everything that was going on. Every day one of my five siblings tells me to go back to Minnesota. My little brother Charlie (the black baby in the picture) is now 8 and he constantly physically attacks me and tells me that I’m not his sister and to leave. My other siblings make it very obvious and clear that they don’t want me here and my parents tell me constantly that they’re gonna kick me out soon. I’ve been saving every penny for a bus ticket to Oregon to stay with my best friend and today I found this picture in my sisters’ room ON DISPLAY. Not hidden. On display. They cut my face out of the picture.

And that… That was just the last straw. I don’t care if anyone reblogs this or whatever, I don’t wanna get popular, I just want people to know that this is not what a family looks like. This is not something people should have to go through.

He forced a warm laugh at Hayley’s hissed question, as though she had muttered some hilarious joke. “Now, darling.” he replied. “I’m sure I already told you this?” An eyebrow raise, like he was talking to a child again. He looked around, before holding his hand out and beckoning to her. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

“Did you ever consider that perhaps you’re part of my big master plan?” he continued. “That you’re the reason we’ve gone on this little outing? Because… well, think about it. One can’t become the leader of a group without them knowing exactly who you are; exactly what you’re capable of doing.” He leaned in closer, lowering his tone ever so slightly. “And well, I could definitely kidnap you and keep you hidden away and blahblahblah - but nobody here would know about it.” He gestured around the room to the people, idly chatting and laughing away to themselves. He plastered a grin on his features.

“And when Big Brother rides in on his white horse to rescue his little Princess, it would be another little quiet fight. Nothing that people would be talking about - because they wouldn’t know, right?” he rolled his eyes. “Buuuut, if I were to make the inevitable fight a bit more public… I suppose you could call it networking. Or maybe I just like the drama.” Valere shrugged. “But, if Mr Moriarty decides to show up tonight, I’ll be ready. I have more friends here than he does, by any stretch.”

Their fingers intertwined, she couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. They were very close, too close for comfort, and she didn't like it. The young woman had no idea where to look - embarrassed and unhappy by the idea of making eye contact or with this whole affair in general, but unable to just look past him or around herself. She sneakily admired some of the outfits that had been put together for the evening, mentally noting dos and don'ts (maybe it'd make a fun, bitchy vlog or blog for later?), but Nicholas began speaking again, and her brown gaze shifted back.

Closer. Their faces were mere inches apart. Her eyes fell briefly to their shoes and back again, wishing she could pull herself away from him properly. His grip was too much for that, her movement likely anticipated. "I knew I was part of your master plan for James. I'm not stupid, and I do have a good memory." Hayley returned, keeping her tone just as quiet, so that those slow dancing around them wouldn't overhear easily, "But this is exactly the opposite of what I want - they'll all remember me if that happens! You told me I wouldn't be noticed. If he does ride in on his white horse and save me, I doubt anyone will even survive to touch me again, but..." She paused, partially out of disgust for such an outcome, and also because the following possibility really didn't bear thinking about, "If he fails. I'm left with you. Are you going to protect me from their attention, or should I just shoot myself and go with him? I'm not sure I'd even want to deal with you sweeping in and out of my life periodically anyway!" Her tone was steeled, but evidently, the hostage was distressed. If she were to have her own master plan, this was the definition of it going tits up.

Now, this was where he could really feel at home. These people were his sort of people. Murderers, tricksters, liars and thieves. Every single one of them focused on maximising their own personal benefits and not much else. He couldn’t trust any of them as far as he could throw them, but mostly they knew not to mess with the up-and-coming Scotsman who had so easily slithered in to the upper circles of their twisted hierarchy. At least around here he could command a modicum of respect.

There were quite a few faces that Moriarty would recognise, should he choose to make an appearance. 

Valere exited the car with his usual grace and a smug kind of smirk. It was only amplified when he saw the expression upon his companion for the evening’s face. She looked as though this was perhaps the last place on Earth she wanted to be. He elected to ignore it, though he would very much have enjoyed making a spectacle of her discomfort. Instead, the ornate golden mask was placed on his face, bright against the deep chocolate colour of his eyes. He smiled across at her with an expression that may have been pleasant in any other setting. 

“Well, we have to be polite, don’t we?” he replied to her question, beginning to walk closer to the main building with a pace that oozed confidence. “You’re just a friend of mine to anyone that asks, Miss Brook. The thing with people like these is that they tend not to ask too many questions.” A shrug, as if to say ‘what can you do?’.  ”Don’t worry, they’ll be perfectly pleasant. We’re a highbrow bunch.”

"I don't want people connecting me to you after this." She informed him quietly, thanking the man for the champagne and taking a cautious sip. She had tasted nicer, but it was by no means the cheap stuff. Nicholas had never told the young woman what was to become of her once this was over: a project suggested long-term, but the last time they had met, he had decided she was worth damaging. Maybe the world would be better off in his view without either Moriarty, and the idea made her nervous. "I want to be able to live my life without any of this. They better not remember my name."

Hayley walked up the steps with him, forcing an air of politeness onto her features as they entered the house, lit up by Victorian-style lamps attached to the walls and chandeliers on the ceilings, nodding and smiling as the occasional guest waved, smiled, greeted or complimented them. There were no candles on the tables, probably best where alcohol and perhaps arsonists could be involved, but everyone was indeed amicable. Some couples and friends were already dancing, but others had food as a priority. This bothered the eighteen year old - she didn't want to dance, but wasn't sure she could stomach anything.

He returned the mocking glance with one of his own, eyebrow raised. "Are you trying to protect me now? One would almost think you want me to stick around." He replied, with exaggerated surprise. He was interested by her comment about the car, though - was that really what Moriarty had said? It was a funny thought - of course the Napoleon of Crime would be fiercely protective of every aspect of his sibling's life.

"It's not exactly selfish to not want your brother dead." he said evenly, turning his head to look straight through the windscreen. "If I have anything to do with it, he won't be doing what he does for much longer. And if he walks away, fine. But something tells me he won't, so... Well, I can't make any promises. We'll just see, shall we?"

Whether Jim lived or died, the underworld in all of its havoc had been revealed to her. Somebody would always be there to consult and cause all these terrible things - and if she had to choose, she would rather it was big brother.

The car soon came to a close on the outskirts, again, this time in front of what would suit a rural area better. The venue of choice could easily have been a country house set anywhere else, with a well-tended garden all around the manor. Classical music drifted out from the front doors and the balconies where people in cocktail dresses peered out at the various arrivals, holding glasses of champagne, wine and mixers as they chattered amongst themselves. All were the criminal classes, or those who benefited from mingling with them at such dos. Benefactors, investors.

The car door opened, and Hayley waited for Valere to step out before herself, but she climbed out on her own, rejecting any hand or arm he might have offered her. The door shut, and after a few moments was steered away to be parked.

For a brief moment, a flicker of something that might resemble fear made an unwelcome appearance on the man's face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, swiftly covered up with a small shake of the head.  "But it won't happen, so there's no point wondering what if." he replied cockily. "And besides, wouldn't that be a good thing for you? No more of these little trips out. You could just get back to being Hayley Brook, the vlogger, albeit Hayley Brook with the murderous Crime Lord brother." 

She looked uncomfortable, like she was really getting to grips with what had happened. "You look more worried about me than I do." He said with a short laugh. Ironic, really. Through his front, he appeared completely at ease. He needed to; he was in charge of this situation. But now that it had been mentioned verbally, the little voice in the back of his head was a little louder, a bit more insistent that he didn't back himself into a corner, here. After all, she had been a part of this world for less than a week and she was already aware of just how severe the consequences would be if he was caught. Her claim was probably not as exaggerated as it appeared to be. There would quite literally be nothing left. No proof that he had ever existed at all.

He was not a coward, but that was enough to make anybody think twice.

Hayley continued on and Valere grinned, fully regaining his persona and casting the grisly thoughts to the side. “Ah, but I never claimed to be the Prince in all this – that was all your idea. But you’re right. You can’t stop him. Nobody can. The only person who can get anywhere near… is me.” He replied simply. “Unconventional doesn’t really cover it.” He added with a chuckle.

"Neither of them are my prince." She replied matter-of-factly. Sherlock Holmes, maybe. His intelligence, his handsome face and mystery - he made the perfect prince for many girls. But Jim would take him down with a tank if she liked him, and Hayley wasn't sure that her heart felt for the detective that way. "And they're nobody's henchmen. They're just my friends who came to my rescue, but Jim already had it handled. Like he will later."

I have to create my own business for a project. REBLOG IF YOU WOULD BUY ICE CREAM FROM A COMPANY CALLED:

Superhero Sundaes

It would be an ice cream shop that is all science fiction themed. Marvel, DC, Doctor Who, Star Trek, Star Wars, LOTR, JUST TO NAME A FEW!  Every flavor would have a fun name: Example: Spiderman’s Strawberry

The Doctor’s Double Chocolate Brownie

It took a while for his brain to actually pick up that she had referred to him by first name. "Maybe I am. But it always gets a reaction out of you, so.." A shrug. She was holding it all in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was actually bothering her. Not rising to it - like a mother ignoring a child that is acting out. Everybody knows that the child only steps it up in response to being ignored - anything to get attention - and Valere was more resilient than most three-year-olds.

"You're welcome, Hayley." he said breezily. "But who is the prince in this tale, then? Certainly not your brother. No, no." He pulled a sarcastic, disapproving expression onto his face. "Not only would that be a bit weird, but if anything, he's even more of a villain than I am." And in most ways, this was a true statement. Jim Moriarty was truly a master of his trade and Valere couldn't help but admire the way he handled his position. He was clever - dangerously so. But he knew he was good, and there was both the reason he needed to step aside, and the means to make him do it.

"Do you tend to just not think about it? Jim, I mean. Or has it just not properly hit you yet that he actually kills people on a regular basis? It's not even just murder, he kidnaps, steals, threatens... if you flicked through a newspaper, he's probably behind 99% of the negative articles in some way or another." He continued, regarding the obvious quality of the dress material as he did so. "I wonder how many people died to pay for that dress?"

There was a short pause, as he frowned and sank into a exaggerated thinking pose.

"If I think about it, what am I supposed to do? There isn't anything I can do about it. He won't stop, and I can't stop him, and the police can't. And if you do, you'll murder him or something, and he'll only fight his way back to the position he has now if he lives." She reasoned. The discomfort was clear - Hayley was aware that he was one of few to understand her predicament, but they weren't friends, and whilst he could make the perfect confidante, he was the enemy and they were not close by any means.

"I know everything he does. You don't need to remind me - which you know, you're just being a jerk. We both know that. We've both just agreed not to talk about it. Not even you. You know if he gets his hands on you..." She cut herself off, letting the atmosphere hang for a few moments. Hayley was concerned for him, and it surprised herself even how much. She was thinking about it, imagining Jim and Sebastian lovingly torturing Nicholas Valere, in the name of Princess Brook and the land of London that he had tried to claim for himself. "There'll be nothing left of you."

So many people had died for her. He was so fiercely protective, so scarily protective. And he loved it. That same awkwardness was kicking back in again, and she just didn't know what to do. She loved her brother so much, but... All this.

Nicholas Valere winced overdramatically at the price of the outfit. Who has that sort of money to just throw away? That wasn't even the only item in those shopping bags. If each purchase cost around the same then... well, that was a hell of a lot of disposable income. It satisfied him greatly to know that one day soon it would all be his. When Moriarty finally came tumbling down, he would be there.

"You know, you could probably have bought something useful with the money you two used on that dress." he remarked, filling the otherwise silent lift with noise. "Like, I don't know. A car, maybe?" A small shrug, before they were on the move again, back in the direction of the vehicle they had only exited an hour beforehand. "A weapon?"

He climbed back into his usual seat with a smirk. "That would have shown us." he continued, though thus far she hadn't uttered a word in reply. That was fine by him. He was more than accustomed to carrying a conversation by himself if he had to - most of his victims stopped talking back pretty early on. "To be fair, though, I can't see you attacking anybody. That's Big Brother's job, right?"

"You're getting very repetative, Nicholas." She mocked as she took a seat on the opposite side of the seats, out of arm's reach. It was true that he was, but it was also a stab at the first-name basis he had tried out and failed with earlier. As if reinforcing the woman's point, she shook her head at him.

Valere scoffed at her retort, though he was fighting back a laugh as she turned on her heel and slammed the door to the bedroom behind her. She really was something, wasn't she? Eighteen years of age and casually taking a kidnapping in her stride. Even being so bold as to backchat the guy who was doing the hostage-taking - and getting away with it, too. Why was he letting her get away with it? He wondered to himself as he took a walk through to his own bedroom. Thinking down the growing list of criminal encounters he had had, he was struggling to recall a situation where he hadn't blown up in somebodies face by this point.

He did that. He had a sense of humour but it could disappear in an instant, leaving only a cold, metallic violence behind.

But not with Hayley. Interesting. He set about readying himself, opting to take a quick, five-minute shower to wash off some of the phantom blood of the earlier showdown. He hadn't actually been involved but he may as well have been. From there, it was over to the wardrobe, where he selected a white shirt, red tie and black Ted Baker waistcoat and trousers set. Not quite Westwood, but not cheap, either. He wasn’t overly fussed about his appearance – not to the extent of Moriarty, anyway – but he did understand the need to look good in order to command any modicum of respect. As he dressed, he half styled his hair in his trademark messy-yet-formal way. Black dress shoes next.

His gaze finally fell on the golden mask sitting on the desk; a last minute purchase. Because where are you supposed to get masquerade masks from when you’re going to a spur-of-the-moment party? He threw a jacket over his shoulder and held the mask with the other, crossing back through into the main living area and nodding at the thugs who had stuck around, patiently waiting. Not that they had a choice, but still. And then they waited.

“Tick tock, darling.” Valere called through to the bedroom, with amusement in his tone. “There’s a fine line between being fashionably late and being late late.” He crossed over as he spoke, knocking on the door and entering after a short pause. She was sat on the bed, perched pensively like a dove, fully dressed – and looking lovely, too. Not that he was going to tell her that just yet; she was still his hostage at the end of the day. He nodded in approval. “I’m not sure I want to know the price of that dress.” He said conversationally, leaning in the doorframe.

"It's over a thousand." The girl said, hoping the price tag might wound his ego. Was the dress alone over the cost of his entire suit? She hoped so. Men generally had a complex over things like this, especially men like him. "Yeah, I'm ready to go."

She stood, one hand wrapping delicately round the handles of her bag, and followed him out through the apartment. One of the goons handed off a mask to her: a gold to compliment Valere's, with a butterfly shape to it. It was plain to make sure it didn't clash with anything she could possibly wear, but was pretty nonetheless.

It seems that many people, even in the Sherlock fandom do not actually like Sherlock.