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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

In The Streets Of London (Twisted Wonderland X Reader

Victorian Au)

Part one of a series, let me know in the comments who you think the killer is!

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Ghastly murder in the east end dreadful mutilation of a woman by the man known as the leather apron

"He killed another woman last night, father! How can you sit so idly by!"

The onyx skirt brushed up against the young girl's legs as she passed to and for across the room. Her leather gloves racked her (h/c) locks from her face, pulling them back in hopes that the thuggish feeling would simulate her frozen brain. "It a fifteen puzzle (1) even for Scotland yard!" she bellowed. "Than what in the devil's name do you think you and I could do about it, darling!" Her father turned to her, his grey eyes caging annoyance and misery. His tone was right above irritated...her father was never a delight went he became irritated. Divus Crewel, known to most of England as the finest mind in chemistry and alchemy in the 19th century. His daughter (y/n) Crewel was allegedly following in her father's footsteps in hopes of one day becoming a female fetal in chemistry herself. Of course, that's what all of England thought, the truth of the matter was rather was quite different. (y/n) harbored no interest in becoming a chemist nor an alchemist, the young lady found her interest in a more macabre filed, the field of forensic medicine to be precise. Prying secrets from the dead had become her little habit and due to Lord Crewel's rather negligent parenting, the girl had begun to study her precious cadavers full time, taking classes three times a weak in Night Raven College's medical and criminal department. For her it was exhilarating! Having to dress as a boy and sneak her way around the dreary campus was just as exciting as tea parties at the queen's palace were for "regular ladies".

"I bet he wore a Gigglemug (2) as he slashed their throats open!" (Y/n) the loud voice reverberated off the walls, it's heavy decibels hitting Divus right on his two-colored head.

"Love of my life, sunshine to my trepidation, NO ONE CARES! God dame that stupid sociopath, he's making my life miserable by occupying your grisly mind!"

(Y/N) ignored her father's outburst, her short heels clicking across the wooden floor of her father's laboratory. Her brain tried to envisage the infamous East-End to no avail, all she could picture was filth littered grey streets with a woman's corpse lying in her own ichor. Even the killer was hard to presume, there was no bloody way in hell that that monster could be human! No living being could do such heinous deeds, it must have been the devil himself! No no, such thought where for the uneducated, the people with simple minds, no she...she was a lords daughter one who was enrolled -illegally mind you- at one of the most prestigious schools in all of London--NO England! If anyone could find his monster it was going to be HER!

"I wonder if he'll--" A loud tapping came from the closed wooden door on the far end of the underground chamber. "Oh thank the all mighty himself!" Divus professed, lifting his occupied arms to the invisible sky, spilling some magenta liquid onto the table. Carelessly tossing the beacons aside, Divus rushed to the door a chip little prep in his usually professional step. Swinging the door open with as much force as a child ripping Christmas gifts.

(Y/n) remained behind, slumping tiredly in her father's chair. Her untrained eyes scanned the chemicals boredly, wishing that the half-rat (3) liquids would turn into tiny figurines, performing the event of the night of the crime. However, her bewildered thoughts where shortly heckled, by a pleasant young voice along with the ringing of her father's vexatious smoky voice. "Ah, Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud what do we own the pleasure of this unexpected visit." from the distance (y/n) heard some shuffling, abruptly jumping to her feet and straightening out her skirts. Her eyes followed the three men that trailed down the steps. Her father walking past to stand by her as Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud stood in front of her. Or in the case of Mr. Shroud, attempted to hide behind his superior officer. The grey-haired man, bowed politely, lightly taking hold of miss Crewel's hand in his leather-bound one and placing a fleet, feather-like kiss atop the back of her hand. Azul glared at Idia, the former's elbow digging sharply into the later’s side. Hesitantly Idia, folded into a clumsy half-bow before straightening back up, during the whole endeavor one could clearly hear the loud cracking over every bone in this spine. "Well..." Your father started, clearly annoyed at the murky silence. "out with it lads, what are you lot doing here?" Azul's ocean colored eyes stared as straight as an arrow into Divus's grey ones. "Professor Crewel, it may be best to send your lovely daughter out? I wouldn't want to taint her stunning innocence with this ghastly talk about gore and murder." His eyes spared a gaze at you, roaming over your figure with an amused glint. Before your father could answer you proclaimed loudly."I, my dear Ashengrotto, am not as innocent as you fancy me! I will choose to stay IF I SO DESIRE." From the side, you could practically feel your father roll his eyes. "Allow her to stay" Your father mumbled tiredly "The sudden shock of it all may knock some sense into this senseless girl." "As you wish" with that the detective became talking:

"We have reason to believe that...this Ripper or well "Leather Apron" as the news has begun to call him, is, in fact, one of the nobl--" (Y/n) gasped, her eyes widening with excitement. "REALLY! He could be living right in our neighborhood!!" A forceful smack hitting her head, it's vibrations sending waves of pain through her body. "Try and bot sound so excited darling daughter of mine. My apologies Commander, care to continue?" Azul coughed into his fist, clearly killing a laugh. "Yes, quite alright my lord. As I said we so believe the murder to be of noble heritage. As you may know, the Al-Asims are hosting a Nobleman's ball tomorrow evening I trust you have been invited." He paused in his speech looking from (y/n) to her father. Divus gave a court nod in the inspector's direction becoming him to continue. "Perfect! Well since you shall be in attendance I would greatly love for your daughter to ...how do I word this...Play bait?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT" Mr. Crewel screeched, "I shall not have my daughter mafficking (4) in the streets as a wannabe prostitute to help capture a deranged and rather vexing murderer!" Azul took a step backward, his back pressing smugly against Idia's chest. Even (y/n) sted half an inch away from her father. "Professor Crewel please relax, I simply mean that during the party (y/n) could slip out with an officer, who will be heavily armed. This may cause the ripper, who appears to have a warped sense of justice, to follow them. Once he decides to attack the officer will shoot at him and that will be the end of the Ripper's reign of terror over London." Divus rolled his eyes "marvelous plan detective...except what if the ripper chooses to not attack then? And go after my daughter once she is alone, asleep in her bed! Or outside shopping with some absent-minded servants? What then?" Azul lips knitted into a tight frown, his voice dying in this throat long before it reached his tongue. The professor did make a compelling point.

"Than we will send heavily armed guards around both you and your daughter until the ripper is caught." A dead, monotone voice cracked. For the first time since walking into the house either of the residences had heard Idia speak. His voice was so brittle and fragile that (y/n) though it would visibly shatter if any of them dared to respond. Even her father seemed too nervous to speak...an odd this for such a powerful man. It was Azul, who decided to speak first, unlike before his voice was low and decile no longer laced with that regal elegance. "Yes...as my partner just...um just...mentioned. If our plan does -by some unearthly phenomena- fail we will have guards circling you and your daughter until the ripper is caught and brought to justice."

It took the longest while before your father agreed. Of course, he placed some very strict requirements before officially "sending you to your doom" as he worded it. As the two detectives left you could hear the Shroud boy mumbling a string of "do I also have to attend?"

and "can't you catch him yourself?" as he left the house. "Peculiar man ain't her, father?" Your eyes tuned to your only parent, "yes yes, quite bizarre." His gloved fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist dragging you along up the stairs. "We have much to do if we are to prepare you for the Al-Asim ball"

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There was an unspoken tension amongst presumably every guest in the ballroom. all that swayed and danced, flaunting their pricey dresses and custom made suits, harbored a form of dark secret within their souls...no one in England was innocent but tonight, just for tonight there was one man who's guilt outshined the rest, one man how's hands where permanently panted with the blood of three innocent women.

(Y/n)'s back was pressed against the cool tiles of a stark white pillar. Her eyes darted from person to person, trying to memorize as much as possible about all of them. "Shouldn't a young noblewoman such as yourself be out there dancing?" ripples of dread and annoyance bounced inside the spoiled girl, who dared to speak to her in such a manner? She turned furiously ready to shout at whoever had just talked, only to stop short when she came face to face with the tall bored-looking butler holding a tray of drink parallel to his head. His grey eyes seemed to hold a dreaded looking, eyeing her curiously. Was this the officer who was meant to take her outside? Figuring it best to play (y/n) puffed up her chest a bit and leaned in close. "Do you have the money?" she whispered. The butler's face remained stoic, he simply sighed and muttered something to himself. "Madam if I had any money I certainly wouldn't be wasting in on the likes of you." He plucked a sparkling drink from the tray and reached to pass it to the young women. "Feather more I would highly recommend having a more subtle way of distinguishing your clients if you aren't too careful rumors may spiral and that chap...what was his name Jack the apron? May come to get you in your sleep." (Y/n)'s eyes widen as she gripped the drink 'It was him!' she thought, he was the killer! Before the girl could phantom out a reply the butler was already well on his way. She had to find someone! To tell someone quickly! She turned frantically trying to find her father or one of the detectives. "Hey, girly..." A low voice echoed from the shadows under the stairs. That must be the detective (y/n) thought to herself, she lifted her skirts and quickly marched over to the darkness hiding the owner of the voice.

Something grabbed (y/n)'s wrist, it was practically cutting off circulation. "W-who are you?" the girl struggled to form a coherent question. The man's face was mostly masked by the dimness but his emerald-like eyes shown like train's headlights. "Are you just like one of those three gals? The whores that died out on the street?" (Y/n) heartbeat began to quicken, she was wrong that butler wasn't the killer, this man was. When she looked at his eyes again they were molded into a sharp glare. All of a sudden the man let go of her wrist "Doesn't matter.." he murmured "I got other things to take care of...." His deep voice kept fading like it too was getting swept up in the darkest parts of the ballroom. "Do me a favor if anyone asks where Kingscholar is, come up with some good lie to tell them. Just make sure you don't say anything about me going outside. Aright dame?" With that the darkness seemed to swallow him whole, even his footsteps couldn't be heard as he walked away, only the absence of his suffocating aura. 'He had to be the killer' she thought to herself as she stepped back into the light of the lively ballroom.

Tiredly (y/n) wondered to the dessert table, her brain occupied, questions married questions, and gave birth to theories. Which one was it? The butler, lord Kingscholar? Neither may be, although that would just mean that you were only on edge rightfully, although you wished to keep your cool exterior. At the dessert table, every single surgery treat seemed to glisten. Their frosting's danced in the bright light of the thousands upon thousands of candles. (Y/n)'s mouth watered as she reached for a particular red tart in the corner of the desk. As she outstretched her hand it came to gently stroke up against another's hand. Her eyes darted upwards coming into contact with a smiling young man with clover colored hair. "My apologies my lady" He announced as he dipped into a bow. Automatically (y/n) gathered her skirts before curtsying herself. "Would you like the first piece" he offered, (y/n) nodded as the man cut a perfect slice and swiftly offered the plate to her before cutting one for himself. "I do adore cherry tarts" he spoke, "My family owns a bakery on the border of the upper west and east end. I personally stayed late last night just to finish this tart." (y/n) eyes began to shimmer as she placed the tart on the table. "So you must have heard the girl who was killed there!" she proclaimed. The man's eyes went wide, nervous beads of sweat dripped down his scalp. "Why miss, I don't know what your...implying." His once upbeat voice dropped an octave, his bright eyes seemed to get darker. For a second (y/n) contemplated what to do, was he acting so bizarrely because he had witnessed the murder? Or had he committed the murder? Before the young lady could ask him anything further a pair of boys, one short with a nest of blond unkempt hair and the other quite tall and muscular with snowy white hair came dashing towards them. "Have either of you seen leo- err, um" the blond one started

"The younger lord Kingscholar?" the white-haired boy started.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I...I saw him head to the dance floor with a young lady..." Her tone fluctuated, her face compressed into an emotionless look, prying to any who would listen that her lie would not be called out. The two boys exchanged a worried glance, their eyes as wide as plates. "He's probably with Ferona's wife again" the blond one spoke, nervous giggles leaping from his mouth. The taller boy quickly bowed, before running towards the host of dancers, his companion soon following his lead. When (y/n) turned back ready to speak with the grass haired young man, she noticed that he was nowhere in sight. Vanished like the magicians in the traveling circus.

For the third time that night, (y/n) could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The treat of a killer loomed at every corner of this mansion, every man here seemed to -in some way- resemble the faceless killer. And worst of all her "personal guard" was nowhere in sight! Not to mention her father was most likely off with some nobleman's wife or daughter doing lord knows what. Tears of frustration threatened to spill from her eyes. Everything was going wrong, she was no inspector, she could barely keep her composure during such a time of ease.

"Miss Crewel" A tiny bird-like voice, shook the girl from her misery. Turning her head she saw a young boy no older than 10. His blue hair and golden eyes were carbon copies of inspector Shrouds. "Where is my bother?" it took a moment for (y/n) to comprehend the question. "If you are talking about Mr. Shroud than I do not know...did he even attend tonight" the question came out more haughty than she had hoped, the last thing she wanted was to appear as a rude wrench to such a young child. "Well..." the boy's voice trailed off "He was supposed to meet you. You are the bait, aren't you? He was the officer entrusted with playing the role of your client." The young boy's eyes dropped his cheery pure nature slowly morphed into one as similar to his brothers, gloomy and dead.

"He hasn't been himself lately, the matter has only gotten worst when Scotland yard began investigating the killer....he's so tense about the matter, almost as if the case was perso--"

"THERE'S BEEN A MURDER! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE QUICK!" From the front of the ballroom two boys, one with red hair and the other with ebony hair stood. There faces where distraught sweat flew down their cheeks. For a fraction of a second silence flew over the crowd....only to veer into screams of terror and the ramped running of both lords and ladies. During the midst of the anarchy, you searched the entire chamber...there was no sign of Idia, nor Lord Kingscholar, nor the green-haired boy, nor the rude butler....all those you had suspected where gone...

Following the crowd, you and Ortho ran outside into the gardens. Sure enough, laying in a pool of her own blood with a torn stomach and guts pulled out, was a young lady no older than you where and right around her bleeding kneck a parchment note was pinned.....

Who do you guys think the killer is?

Tag list

@ghostiebabey @delusional-obsessions @succubus-lair @themarchinghare @permanentlyexhaustedowl @twst-diana @yuoritsu @pumpkiethepie @ladyy-grimm @xwildskullx

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rippaers · 5 years

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𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

repost, don’t reblog !

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME. stefan antonio salvatore MEANING. a crown. garland. wreath. NICKNAME. stef, steffy ( he hates that ) , ripper ( klaus only ) , mr. broody, the good brother, hero hair GENDER. cis male. HEIGHT. 5′10. AGE. 17 / 171 ZODIAC. scorpio. SPOKEN LANGUAGES. english, french, italian & spanish

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR. light brown. EYE COLOR. emerald / forest green. SKIN TONE. fair. BODY TYPE. fit, slim, athletic. ACCENT. american. VOICE. deep, serious tones, low and calm. DOMINANT HAND. right. POSTURE. straight. SCARS. he has a scar in the 100 verse from s2. TATTOOS. just the rose on his arm. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). eyes. hair. dimples ( when he does smile )

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. mystic falls, virgina. HOMETOWN. mystic falls, virgina. BIRTH WEIGHT. 8 lbs. BIRTH HEIGHT. MANNER OF BIRTH. natural. FIRST WORDS. “mama.” SIBLINGS. one. PARENTS. giuseppe & lillian salvatore. PARENT INVOLVEMENT. they were both involved until his mother was put in a prision world when he was ten years old. ( he thought she was dead ) and he killed his father after feeding on him to transition into becoming a vampire.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. unemployed. CURRENT RESIDENCE. mystic falls unless it’s a different verse. CLOSE FRIENDS. lexi branson, caroline forbes, elena gilbert, & bonnie bennett. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. verse dependent. FINANCIAL STATUS. he’s pretty wealthy. DRIVER’S LICENSE. yes. CRIMINAL RECORD. he doesn’t have a record. VICES. self-loathing, guilt, bloodlust, unhappy, stubbornness

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. biisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch. LIBIDO. average. TURN ON’S. intelligent, good sense of humor, affectionate, can be playful, compassionate, driven TURN OFF’S. ignorance, sloppy, too serious ( ironic i know ), can’t hold a conversation LOVE LANGUAGE. everything? lol RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. unconditional love, passionate, protective

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. devil in me by halsey, control by halsey, or spirits by the strumbellas and animal by the cab for ripper stefan. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. reading, writing, driving alone or walking in the woods. MENTAL ILLNESSES. ptsd & depression PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. none. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. both. PHOBIAS. losing loved ones & fire SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. depends on the day tbh. most of the time he knows he looks good but he won’t flaunt it, unless it’s a really good hair day VULNERABILITIES. blood, emotional attachment, elena in general lmao

stolen from: @tcmbwitch :p tagging: @sheoptimist , @promisestm, @fatestold, , @icarusinvited , @imthelcstprincess , @floatmenow , @adorablecas , @nancy--wheeler , @hybredtm , @prlman , @crackmyhcart ( enzo ) , @graveiary , @selfishsoulstm ( klaus ) , @infinitexechoes ( elena or bonnie ) , @starkwithsarcasm & anyone else who wants to !

#╰ 𝐬𝐬. my lungs are clouded with self hatred. and oh my god‚ I can’t breathe › study.#dash games tbt.#tw: depression mention #tw: ptsd mention

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quickchangeartist · 7 years

Note

2, 21, 25, 29, 38, 45!

Oh shit, that’s a lot. Okay, strap yourself in, here we go:

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them?

To Moraelyn, being Vimeri is as much a title as it is an identity, and the one title he still really clings to albeit often in secret, due to the currently autoheretical nature of continued Vivec worship.

He retains the title of Kinsman of House Indoril, though it is unknown whether Moraelyn was severed from the House or struck from their records upon his prison-exile, or even whether House Indoril itself still stands in light of the troubles in the East.

His youth's work in the Temple brought him up to the rank of Disciple, and most of the way past it; he would have officially progressed to Diviner, had the Temple remained stable. He is still very bitter about that, partially claiming the unrest following the Nerevarine's arrival as the necessity driving his entry into the Ordinator's ranks, which of course necessitated his leaving the Vimeri order he served.

His short-lived career as an Ordinator did not progress particularly far, it being a rather short time between his enlistment (with the Order of the Watch, as any raw recruit must serve their dues guarding the citizenry and upholding the law before they might be granted stations amongst the other orders) and his exile.

Currently, he would like to think he doesn't really have any titles left, either because the structures that granted them to him are presumed to be destroyed, or because of his own distancing neglect. Some of those old names don't come off quite so easily as that, though.

Like Listener.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?Moraelyn's temper might charitably be described as 'mercurial'. He reserves his patience primarily for animals and small children, but in honesty, he is very quick to anger, whether or not he chooses to make it known (note: most often, though, he most definitely will).

His responses in verbal arguments are inverse to his rage, however, which can make it easy to misread how dire his mood might be. If he's shouting his outrage and potentially throwing something, the chances are good that he's only venting, and isn't actually particularly furious. It's actually kind of a compliment, in a way, that he feels comfortable enough around the person to vent his feelings around them. However, if he speaks calmly and seems only a little peeved, or even completely unaffected, there is an excellent chance that someone is going to die. It's honestly rather chilling.

25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves?Moraelyn has a very dry, black sense of humour much of the time, which isn't always appreciated or, really, appropriate (I think he's funny, anyway). When he's not being his truly-awful self in the echo chamber of his own thoughts, he can really be quite playful in the right mood. Sometimes he flirts for fun (or profit), and he absolutely adores hearing new jokes and (especially) bawdy shanties, having collected up a great number of filthy stories and songs over the years. There's no quicker way to make him warm to you than by making him laugh.

He has a great fondness for irony and absurdism, as well as something of an immature streak on occasion. You wouldn't think Moraelyn would be the type to appreciate a good dick joke, but you'd be wrong. He likes to joke that dick jokes are his birthright as a Vimer.

One of his favourite entertainments is to read very, very, very bad romance novels. Think 'Fanfiction Theatre'. Just the absolute worst garbage he can find; he loves them dearly, especially the trashy bodice-rippers usually written by unworldly Bretons featuring a lot of embarrassingly-descriptive terms for genitals and a misguided-at-best understanding of foreign cultures. His current favourite series of novellas stars a Dunmer named Char Ravenheart, with eyes described as "glowering orbs of cherry jam". He likes to read them aloud to himself, every spelling mistake faithfully recited as written.

29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? This depends mostly on how he feels about them, and whether he feels any particular kinship towards them. He'd never tease anyone over their phobias nor pry too openly into their origin, his rigid reverence for manners won't allow it, but you can be absolutely certain that he'll remember that little detail.

If he likes the person at all, he will keep their fears in mind forever, subtly removing trigger objects or keeping them from scenarios that would harm them; he would almost go out of his way to avoid the person noticing him doing it, so that the person does not think he pities them, which is more Moraelyn projecting onto others than anything. He may also take on the secrecy of the phobia himself, by which I mean making certain that no one else can learn it and use it against the person in question.

If he holds a grudge, however, that knowledge can become a tool, and how he'll use it is unpredictable. There are certain lines he refuses to cross, but there are many he would.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?He admires talent, even in scenarios where that talent directly threatens him personally; he's been known to praise the dogged pursuit of determined and well-skilled trackers, for example, while actively being their quarry. He can appreciate a skill well-honed through disciplined practice. His greatest admiration, though, is reserved for those who always keep their word, along with a genuine and thoughtful sense of fairness; mostly, he cannot quite fathom how such people can exist, seeing himself as their antithesis (whether or not he is correct in that), and so he cannot help but admire those who refuse to turn hard and bitter in the face of the world's hardships.

He often wishes he had more (read: any) skill with carpentry, a very practical requirement for someone so often having to make their own shelter and repairs. More than this, though, far more, he wishes for the talent of perfect recall. He's heard stories of people with the gift of eidetic memory, and he would give just about anything to have such a gift himself. The degradation of his memory wounds him more deeply than he admits.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves? Moraelyn's a strange one. There's a certain feeling people get when they're speaking to him, as if the sound of his voice makes them just a smidge more suggestible, a little more likely to agree with him. Like there's bugmusk on his breath, almost. Maybe he seems a little more attractive than you expected him to be, just a little. If you're both in a good mood while you're speaking to him, you might think him a charming, clever mer you'd love to talk with a little longer. It's only natural; after all, doesn't he sound so fascinating, don't you want to hear more?

But if you're really looking (and you have a high enough Intelligence and Willpower), there's something off. In the silence between the honey of his words, you might catch it. There's something that tastes almost-but-not-quite of glamour to how the light plays off his skin, something a little more youthful and smooth to his face than his years should allow. Beneath the almost-omnipresent light haze from the wine on his breath, there's something furtive and tense just behind his eyes, and something hungry in the stillness of his stare. With enough quiet, enough time without his words to distract you from them, you might notice the shadows under his eyes.

As to how he sees himself: his mental state dictates his self-image almost completely. When he is stable, he believes himself beautiful, strong, clever, powerful; he remembers his pride, and the skill with which he has kept himself alive all these years. When he is not, which is more and more often in these years, he believes himself a ruin, a disgraced shadow of who he was meant to be, most often a monster and a grievous disappointment to the faded glories of his station and the memories of his family, the perverted shade of old promise. His guilt and self-loathing kill any hope of really, truly believing in his better self.

Neither view is entirely wrong, but only one can win out.

#askmemes #moraelyn #thank you!#house-redoran

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the-haven-of-fiction · 7 years

Text

The Prize, Ch. 8

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London. Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama (Written as an experiment in the heaving bosom/bodice ripper vein)

Rating: T (non-explicit sexuality/mild violence in later chapters)

Author’s Notes: Friendly reminder that I am not a “W”riter, I always feel like I can’t describe what I see, and your imagination needs to be on High right now. Only half beta’d, all mistakes are mine. I promised I would post it before I went to bed and I’m exhausted, should probably go back and edit when I have fresh eyes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

“Tom!” she exclaimed upon seeing him enter the library, “Come see what Fred- uh, Mr.Kingston has brought me!”

His Christian name.

She had just caught herself using his Christian name.

And she was cradling an armful of new books.

That were from him.

Tom wanted to march over to her and tear them from her hands, throw them into the fire, wipe every trace of memory about that man from her mind.

She was smiling, eyes dancing with excitement as they always did at receiving such gifts.

The intimate way she referenced him, the present of the books, and the embrace…

They could only mean one thing.

It was too late.

“You can’t marry him.”

The smile disappeared at his words, words that were uttered as a command, words that sounded harsh and imperious. Words that he knew were wrong, but that he couldn’t stop.

“You can’t marry him,” he repeated with a nod and took another step towards her.

He was horrified when she matched his step with a backwards one of her own and she drew the books to her chest, as if she read his mind and knew his intent and was trying to protect them.

And herself.

Her eyes were now flaring in alarm. She was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

“What?” asked in a tone rife with true confusion.

He said it a third time, hands clenched, the image of Mr.Kingston’s arms around her burned into his vision, the reality of his temporary physical limitations in reference to his slinged arm making him feel still more helpless.

No!

Not my Madeleine!

“I can’t?” she said as her brows furrowed.

He shook his head in affirmation of her question.

“I can’t allow it.”

The expression on her face was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Incredulity, indignation at his assertion; and rightly so, for it was the first time he had spoken to her in this manner.

“You can’t allow it?” she asked, stunned.

Their exchange at the ball rang through his memory.

“He is not the man who is worthy of you.”

All reason disappeared from his mind. The fear from the last couple of days was suddenly overtaking him again. Fear when he couldn’t rouse her after the accident, fear that she was injured or worse, this new fear that she would truly be lost to him forever.

“You have known him for such a short time. You do not know what you are doing. You are not in full possession of the facts.”

This was going all wrong. Terribly wrong.

He had imagined this scene so many times, for so many months now. He had imagined a lovely, mild evening exactly like this one. He had imagined them together in this house, where she was mistress and nothing would disturb them. In the perfect scenario, the best and most hoped for, he had imagined confessing his affection with the ardent wooing of a lover. He had imagined her flushed with surprise and pleasure at the sweetness of his address, not repulsion and anger at the arrogance of his accusations.

Do something! Say something! Tell her the truth!

“Madeleine, I –“

“The facts, Thomas,” she interrupted, spitting out his name as if it were the bitterest pill in her mouth, “are these. Firstly, this is my home and I will not be spoken to in such a manner, not by you or by anyone. Secondly, I am fully capable of making my own decisions without your approval. Lastly, the conceit you are revealing in this unprecedented display, as though you hold by natural right or my personal consent the power to dictate my choice of husband, is astonishing. How dare you, sir.”

Her voice was shaking by this time.

He was paralyzed.

“Mr.Kingston is a good and honorable man, one who has never spoken to me with anything less than respect and the highest form of gentlemanlike decorum, with anything remotely resembling how you have just now spoken to me.”

He wanted to shake himself from this sudden nightmare. He wanted to turn back the hands of the clock for these last few minutes and start afresh without stubborn masculine pride and stupidity.

“Not even my brother would do as you have done.”

She spoke now with a dreadful sadness, all anger had abated as swiftly as it had sprung.

Madeleine. no.

My darling Maddy, no.

No, this isn’t how it should be.

Please, let me explain.

But she closed her eyes and turned away from him, not seeing that he found the will to move and was reaching for her, silently pleading for her forbearance and forgiveness.

“You have insulted me, you have insulted the affectionate acquaintance between us in the most offensive manner. Please leave.”

Oh, no.

No, don’t send me away.

“I can not bear to be in the presence of someone who has carelessly trod upon a friendship of so many years.”

Friendship. That is all this was. That is all it will ever be now.

“If you have any part of the gentleman remaining in you from that time, please do as I wish and leave.”

You are a blundering fool and you have destroyed your chance. Don’t cause her further pain.

He forced himself to obey, to leave her in a state of bewilderment and self-reproach.

How had this happened.

How had he let this happen.

In mere minutes he had laid waste to every noble intention and hope for a future with her.

How could he possibly repair what he had destroyed in those minutes.

With only a few words spoken in pride, fear, and jealousy.

Words that should have been spoken in love, honesty, and respect.

He exited the library, bumping into the doorframe in his haste, sending pain shooting up his arm into his shoulder. He strode down the hall and into her other favorite room on the first level.

It was dark and he stumbled to the tall mullioned windows and pulled back the drapes to let in the first rays of moonlight. They fell on her mother’s harp and the pianoforte where he had sat with Madeleine and she had taught him to play. He had taken to it quite naturally, surpassing her own skill in a very short amount of time.

He lifted his good hand to the keys. They caressed the smooth ivory for a moment while he attempted to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Playing always soothed him. He composed his own music when was alone. She was the only one who knew among his family.

And now…

Now she would never know that it was all for her.

He would never be able to tell her that every note bore her name.

The tune that his fingers began was one she had not heard.

It had only been heard by another.

By the one he thought could replace her.

He had not played it since that night.

That terrible night when she had turned away from him, as Madeleine had done, and quietly asked him to leave. As Madeleine had done.

He did not think he would play it again.

But it came unbidden, rushing through his mind and out of his hand in a flood, so different from all of the others.

And those words came unbidden, the words before she had turned away, when she stood next to him as the final chords faded away.

“This is not for me, is it?”

She had been so sad when she spoke, as Madeleine had.

It had been obvious to her. It had been obvious that the progression of notes was teeming with love that was unsure, with desire that was unmet. It could not be for her.

He grit his teeth in frustration at his injury, wishing he could put both hands to the instrument and release, by that action, his heart from this tempest.

When he looked up minutes later, she was there, observing him from the threshold, as he had observed her dancing in the library that morning.

Madeleine.

My Madeleine.

There were tears in her eyes, as there had been in Lucie’s.

For Lucie’s tears, he had felt guilt. He had felt shame.

Madeleine’s tears were infinitely worse.

He had wanted to soothe Lucie’s tears so that his own errors and feelings of disquiet would be soothed. With Madeleine, he wanted to soothe her tears because he had caused them and because…

Because he loved her.

He rose slowly from the bench, waiting to see if he was going to be granted a reprieve. Although truthfully, it would not matter what she said; he only wanted her voice, her eyes, her attention on him. He was the young child who craves the notice of the one he loves, who would submit to any criticism, any correction, anything. If only he could be in her presence.

“There’s no need to leave your place there, I simply wanted to tell you that I am quite tired and I have asked Mrs.Copplan to send a tray to my room with some supper. She will provide you with whatever you require for the evening.”

The coldness and detachment in her voice struck him keenly. Before he could speak, she murmured her goodnight and he stood and listened to her light footfall until he could hear it no more.

A lonely, miserable evening was before him. The dining room was quiet during his solitary meal. He missed their lively chatter across the table, he missed her enjoyment of the first supper when she returned home. Although he was not engaged in conversation, the cacophony inside his mind raged. Normally he would have gone out for a ride, but her objection to the activity that morning at the inn kept him on solid ground. He opted for a stroll out to the gardens again.

By the time he reentered the house, he had a plan. He knew her. He knew her gentle and forgiving nature. He knew her to be gracious, to be understanding. He would simply have to trust in all that he knew of her, in all that he had learned and come to love about her over the years.

He was about to climb the stairs and retire for the night when it crossed his mind that some reading might also help to calm him. Surprise filled him as he made his way down the hall and saw light coming from the room. Perhaps…

His hope was realized when he slowly pushed open the door and saw her curled up in one of the large chairs by the fireplace, a shawl adding another layer to her nightgown and robe. There was a book in her hand, but it was resting on her lap and she was staring off into space.

Ordinarily he would have attempted to leave without her noticing him, not wanting to cause her any embarrassment about her state of attire. But after last night, when she had so boldly appeared before him in a similar state at the inn, and with the current storm between them, he decided it was not something to be given much thought.

He cleared his throat and her gaze met his.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she stated flatly, although her voice had a slight quavering. “I never can sleep when someone is…when I have…”

He saw again that she was on the verge of tears and this time he was determined.

In a few short steps he was in front of her, knees hitting the carpet. Her eyes widened at his movements and he took the book from her lap, closing it and setting it on the table beside the chair. His hand covered her own. He picked up each one in turn, pressing them to his cheeks, needing to feel her soft skin against his.

“Madeleine. My sweetest Maddy, please, do not cry. I am a fool and I am not deserving of your tears. Will you give me a few minutes? Will you grant me that? Let me explain.”

She was still from his first words to his last, her breathing steady throughout his speech. She listened with patience, looking at him as if she would give him all the time he wanted. She listened as he began at the beginning, listened as he gripped her hand, clinging to it like a lifeline to a drowning sailor.

He told her of the slow progression of his feelings, of his fears of harming the familial ties between them, of his endeavor to let her go and his trip to France, of his jealousy of Mr.Kingston, of his conversation with Elton. The clock on the mantle passed from one hour to the next. Still she sat and listened.

“Can you forgive me? My behavior was abominable and I promise, I will never act in such a manner again.”

She nodded, somewhat overwhelmed and not quite able to speak. He bowed his head as a penitent receiving absolution and shut his eyes in relief.

A weight lifted from him, but a wave of shyness rolled in and the final entreaty he had planned to give remained unspoken. He had shared with her everything that there was to share, laid himself open and honest before her, confessed his love. All that was needed was to inquire if there was any chance that she could return the depth of his affection. And be his prize.

He looked up at her, opened his mouth to ask that most vital questions, but she brought her fingers up to his lips and shook her head.

“I have heard enough.”

Oh, God, no. It’s too late.

He moved to stand, to flee like an embarrassed child.

Her next words froze him to the ground.

“And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to kiss me.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fan fiction #the prize #the prize chapter eight

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digestionmachineunderbelly · 5 years

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TEXT By Julien Zerbone

Joo Choon Lin The Black Paraphernalia

Do objects lie, asks Joo Choon Lin, or are they the victims of our lies, of our ulterior motives, of the evil which lives in us? There is this book which I have brought with me, Black Museum, written by Jonathan Goodman and Bill Waddell, which refers to the museum of the same name, created in the late 19th century by an inspector working at Scotland Yard, who had collected a large number of objects at crime scenes, with the purpose of teaching new recruits how to detect and prevent crimes. More than 500 souvenirs are kept in it, hidden from the public eye, ranging from letters attributed to Jack the Ripper to fake banknotes made by Charles Black, one of the most famous forgers in modern history, by way of a bottle of ketchup, which was present at the Great Train Robbery. These objects are the involuntary accomplices to the infamy of their users, and at times their creations. In this museum, they are doomed to eternal damnation, without one day being able to wash away the guilt which weighs over them. But are they bad by nature? In the manner of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story The Purloined Letter, our relation to the world is established under the seal of suspicion, like detectives, we look for the early warning signs of an imminent tragedy. So the kitchen knife and the kitchen glove become fetishes, the avatars of the murderer, of persons wishing to protect their anonymity, in a world where everything ends up being like a murder, where suspicion is ever present.

Fetishes Our conception of fetishism stems from the contrast, peculiar to the humanist ideology, between the “human person” and the “thing”, which prompted Marx to consider that fetishism consists in—wrongly—perceiving social relations in the form of relations between objects, in “marketing” human relations, implying that there are relations which are purely human and not mediatized. In so doing—like Michael Fried when, in his famous essay, he talks about the objecthood of Anthony Caro’s sculpture--, we confuse the formal, “immediate”, phenomenological property of the fetish object and the status, the aura which is conferred upon it within the social structure. Where fetish is concerned there is just faitiche,9 to use Bruno Latour’s fortuitous expression, Joo Choon Lin tosses at me, the fact that currency makes it possible to have access to objects in the market does not have to do with its own properties, just as the fear inspired by the kitchen knife is only indirectly the fact of its physical characteristics, but rather of a set of socio-symbolic relations in which they are caught, and which gives them the ambiguous capacity of speaking for us, of acting for us, of making puppets of us: thus the murderer who, caught in the act, lets go of his weapon as if he was previously possessed, and thus the masks that we wear during carnivals.

Intestinology I want to build a monument, a retable, an altar to the glory of the objects of this world, to everything we have, through our conduct and by way of our creations made “objects”. The cow is first of all considered for the milk and the meat that it provides, wheat has no reason for being other than providing the matter necessary for flour: the whole world, Joo Choon Lin explains, has been reconfigured, reality is now modelled in accordance with man’s needs, the objects and beings which surround him are judged and identified on the basis of their usefulness, discarded, abandoned, erased from our memories when they are no longer useable. Intestinology will be the name of this new approach, this cult, this discipline. Like an intestine, we will have to learn how to digest anew the world, testing it in our very flesh, trying to separate the wheat from the chaff. The intestine is thought of as dirty and impure, and yet the porousness of its membrane enables it to separate nutriments from toxic substances, and find in the world what is not only useful to us, but vital. Similarly, depending on the fate earmarked for it, the kitchen knife can become an instrument of death or a tool for life. This is not the case for this organ which may, on the face of it, be good or bad, it is the very organ of experimentation. The diamond will be its symbol, its paradoxical emblem: its whiteness, its transparency, and its hardness make it a paragon of purity and wealth, the object of all our desires; and yet is it not made of the same matter as coal, which, on the contrary, incarnates impurity, dirtiness, the suffering of miners, and the death which people inhale? We, humans, are endlessly separating good from evil, we are forever blaming the world which surrounds us for what resides in us. Intestinology, on the contrary, establishes fluid continuities, highlights forms of solidarity and continuity, precisely where we set up boundaries and differences of natures.

#Julien Zerbone #Joo Choon Lin #The Black Paraphernalia #Intestinology #FRAC

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sunset-wishes-upon-hill · 7 years

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The Liars and The Soothsayer chapter 5 (Part 2)

Most patients that went and out through the doors were prostitutes. It wasn’t quite difficult to distinguish them. They all wore some sort of trademark that denoted their status as the ‘women of the night’. It could be the way they dressed that hinted more skin than it was socially appropriate, or the obvious thick make up than other women, or sometimes you didn’t know. It seemed her daily life as a doctor consisted of killing unborn children more than treating the patients. It was why she snapped, Yuri remembered, watching them throwing away something that was forcibly denied from her was something that would unravel anyone.

Yuri shifted in her seat, her legs resting on the seat and her arms crossed upon the top rail and supporting her chin. Her eyes gazed toward the constructing Tower Bridge. The scenery was a nostalgic one as she remembered walking across them with her friends as they chattered about their school works, friends and problems while sipping their milkshakes. Many things, she realised, took for granted. But it was too late to regret now.

She fell asleep. She didn’t realise until her head slipped down the chair and bumped into the next rail. There was few patients waiting but they seemed to be seen by the other doctors.

“Angelina?” She knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again, this time a bit harder and louder. Her chest tightened as ominous feeling rushed through her.

It can’t be. Yuri opened the door only to find her chair empty. She rushed out of the hospital, asking the passing by nurses and doctors if they saw Angelina in the last few hours. They seemed to not notice her absent. She didn’t blame them. They were busy attending to their patients. She froze. Wait a minute… Yuri turned around and headed back to her office. There must be some clue about the next victim. Her victims were her patients. That was her MO.

She quietly slipped and locked the doors. Heading to her table, she pulled out the cabinet and the files in it. They were always females. Yuri separated the files into two categories: males and females. They had abortions. She deducted them from the female category but there were still more than a handful of them and too little time to visit all of them. Limit it to last week to today, she was left with two. She checked the dates and the name ‘Mariah Gales’ caught her attention. She underwent abortion today. Yuri took down her address and ran out, ignoring the puzzled stares from the bystanders.

She must have looked like a crazy woman in the street, soaking wet from the rain, asking every woman she saw if they knew and saw Mariah Gales. Finally, a breakthrough came when a young prostitute pointed to the dingy flat in the corner of the street. Yuri wished she wore trousers. She missed her simple t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. She skidded to a halt as she saw the two tall figures standing in front of the flat. Something glistened in the moonlight and she knew it was a knife.

“STOP!”

One smaller and feminine-looking figure went rigid in its track. Her eyes met the woman’s almost crimson coloured eyes.

“Yuri…how…?”

“I-I know who you are.” She revealed, her eyes never leaving the real threat of the duo. Her butler, “Grell, the Death God.”

The said butler, Grell, swirled to face her completely with a tilted head.

“Oh…” His wide, joker-like grin revealed his inhumanely sharp teeth. It sent shiver down her spine, “I’ve been caught…I thought my acting was good.” He pulled out his ribbon that held his hair into a neat ponytail, took off his round glasses, wiped away the fake lashes and put on his rectangular spectacle.

All the while, Angelina was wordless in the background, studying the tension between them. Then brattle, screeching sound that deepened into a throaty grind pierced through the rainy night and Yuri gasped in soundless scream as she saw the chainsaw grinning toward her. Her eyes clenched shut for the ripping pain that was about to come. Few moments have passed and the sound of chainsaw revving up seemed to become louder as if trying to saw through a solid wall. Her eyes met the dark cloak of a tall man, his dark hair dampened with rain.

“..Seb..astian?”

“Had I not followed you, you would have been dead.” He told her in his usual bored, monotone as he effortlessly pushed the weapon and its handler back to a reasonable, safe distance, “The Death God’s scythe is really a troublesome thing..” He sighed.

“It is a shame, Madame Red…from the very beginning your name was in the list of suspects. However, your alibi was really quite perfect.”

“How horrible, Ciel.” She scoffed as her role of diligent, caring doctor and a kind, philanthropic noble crumbled, “You would suspect one of your own.”

“As long as there is a possibility, I don’t care whether that person is a blood relative or a friend. In the list of suspects, any ‘human’ could not have done it. The same goes for you, of course. But, if the co-criminal was ‘not a human’ then that is a different matter. To be able to access the victims’ room without anyone noticing or to disappear from the party for a few minutes is something people would not notice. The ones able to be ‘Jack the Ripper’ would be the both of you. Aside from the victims being prostitutes and left with no ovaries, they wer all your patients at the Central Hospital you work at. All of them underwent a ‘certain surgery’ and,” He held out a list of paper containing names all crossed out except for the one on top, “The order in which the victims died correspond exactly to the patient on your operation list.”

A bitter smiled appeared on her crimson lip, “How unfortunate…to stand here today against each other…if you haven’t discovered this, we should have still been playing chess together. However,” She clenched her hand into fist, “I’M NOT GOING TO GO EASY ON YOU ANYMORE!!”

Ciel’s eyes tightened as Grell came striking down toward him with his chainsaw. Sebastian quickly blocked the attack by sandwiching its bars between his palms.

“Death Gods should quietly capture the souls that are about to depart from this world. butlers are supposed to follow their master like a shadow. To violate these two principles like you have, makes me want to throw up.”

Grell pouted, as if he was genuninely hurt by his cold, scathing words, “Hey, I really tried my best as a butler to serve my master! I even worked without my makeup or dressing up!”

“How shocking. And you still call yourself a butler?”

Grell smirked, “Even if I’m like this, I’m still the butler of Death!”

“Enough wasting time.” Ciel interrupted as he shook off his medical eye patch, “In the name of Her Majesty and my own wretched name, I command you. Capture them!”

“Yes my Lord.” Sebastian shook of his coat before throwing it toward her, “Please look after young master.”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Angelina slowly backing up around the corner as the greatest enemies of their kinds were distracted with their own fights. Yuri dumped the coat on Ciel as she ran toward the path in which she disappeared into.

“Hey!” Ciel called after, joining the chase.

She yelped, narrowly missing the knife that shot out from a blindside of the wall edge.

“Angelina, please!”

“You shouldn’t have come here, Yuri!” She screamed as Yuri avoided the knife once again. She stumbled back into Ciel, causing him to fall onto the floor.

“You don’t want to do this!” Yuri dived toward Angelina’s abdomen, knocking out the knife out of her hands. Angelina scrambled toward the knife and Yuri clutched onto her ankle, pulling it toward her and away from the fallen knife.

“Please, Angelina! Don’t put him through this again! PLEASE!” Angelina managed a kick to her arm and the moment of pain was enough time to grab her knife. Angelina stood up as she aimed the knife down toward her nephew, “IF YOU HAD NOT BEN BORN, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE BEST!”

“Young master!”

“NO!”

Suddenly, as if overwhelmed with great shame and guilt and sorrow, the sword slipped away from Angelina’s hands and buried her face with a guttural sobs that came out more like a cry of an animal in immense pain.

“STOP IT, SEBASTIAN!” The demon’s deadly claws halted only a mere inch away from Angelina’s skull, “Don’t kill her!”

Sebastian heaved heavily, pressuring the bleeding wounds as his tattered uniform revealed the extent of his grave injuries even for a demon.

“Madame Red!!” Grell called and her shoulders noticeably stiffened, “Kill that little brat already! If you don’t kill that little brat, it’ll be your turn to be killed! And you have a death god helping you too!”

She flinched and whirled around, her arms protectively caging them both, “But this child is…”

Yuri felt undeniably compel to grab Ciel and Angelina by the waists and pull them down to the floor with her as Grell’s chainsaw stabbed the wall that would have been Madame Red’s chest if she hadn’t pull down her with them.

“Sebastian!” Ciel shouted as Grell attempted his attack again and they were vulnerably trapped in between the psychotic Death God and the wall. Sebastian grabbed the Death God by the ruff of his shirt and threw him over to the other side of the wall.

“Don’t hesitate! Hurry up and finish him!”

Heaving herself up, she checked the unconscious Angelina for any fatal wounds. Fortunately, the scythe had missed her only by an inch and the weapon has only managed to sever the ends of their hairs and the black and red strands were scattered like feathers. Clenching her trembling fingers into a fist, she turned to Ciel, “A-are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Ciel dismissed in nonchalant manner. His eyes scanned her up and down, “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m ok.” She lied.

A polished black oxford came into her view, her eyes travelling up the trousers cladded long legs up to his suited chest until she met his glass rimmed eyes. Yuri quickly got up pulling Ciel along with her as she acknowledged the Death God in front of her.

“You’re…William?” She had forgotten his last name and knew him more by his first hence the awkward familiarity.

“Are you all injured?” He asked as his sharp eyes detachedly scanned the three in front of him.

She shook her head as Ciel narrowed his eyes and stepped forward protectively in passive aggressive manner.

“Who are you?” He demanded, “Don’t tell me you’re like him.”

Before he could answer Ciel’s question, the red haired Death God crashed onto the stone ground with a violent crack, just few feet away from them, bloodied and utterly defeated, his impact creating notable sized crater around and beneath him. A normal human being would and could not have survived such fall but the fallen man groaned and stirred in great pain. Yuri felt sick and had to swallow the acidic lump back down. She looked away.

Sebastian was without mercy, wielding Grell’s own weapon as he swung back to deliver a fatal blow to Grell’s skull, William’s own scythe that was pruner, rather dull in colour. She thought the monotonous shade of his weapon suited his serious disposition. Sebastian looked displeased by the untimely interruption as he eyed William with those cold, calculating gaze. Walking past her and Ciel, one of his shoes came to rest on Grell’s head, drilling it further into the ground with his supernatural strength.

William sighed, exasperated by the commotion his subordinate was making. This only meant more paperwork and pressure from the higher-ups on his seeming incompetence on disciplinary. Retracting his weapon to his side, he introduced himself in a civil manner, “I am William T. Spears of the Dispatch Management Division of the Death Gods. I am here to pick up this Death God.” William nodded toward the man under his foot.

Opening a book in his other hand, he read out the number of offences committed, “Dispatch member Grell Sutcliff, you have broken the rules. Firstly, you have killed people whose names are not listed on the Death List, and also, you used your scythe without permission and even modified it without following proper procedures.” With one last stomp to Grell’s head, he dragged him away with a pull of his red hair, “Please return to the main branch to submit your reflection letter and report.”

“Hey! Wait a moment!!” He managed out even with his bloodied face and battered lips, “I was almost killed just now!! You are so cold and unfeeling––“

“Shut up.” He intoned, using his hair as a momentum to throw him over his shoulder and onto the ground. The nonchalance in his violence and the indifference in which Ciel and Sebastian regarded the scene greatly disturbed her.

William turned, bowed before handing a small rectangular plastic card onto Sebastian’s palms, “Oh, this is my name card. This thing has caused you a lot of trouble this time round.” Then he seemed to mutter something under his breath with a distasteful look on his face and for a moment the temperature seemed to drop as Sebastian’s expression darkened. As William turned his back on Sebastian to leave with Grell, with a flick of his arm too quick for anyone to see, Grell’s chainsaw chattered toward William. Much to her surprise and shock, the chainsaw stopped in mid-air and vibrated violently between his index and third fingers.

They exchanged stares and she thought the airs around them slowly evaporated until there was no breathable molecule.

“..You left this behind.” Sebastian kindly said with a cordial smile.

“Thank you. In that case, I shall take my leave.” William and Grell disappeared within the darkness of the alley.

Sebastian sighed before turning his attention to his master, “My apologies, I allowed the other one to escape.”

“Forget it.” He muttered as he stared at unconscious Angelina, safe and unharmed, “It’s not important anymore.”

“You two must be cold. Let us quickly make our way back to the city’s mansion. I will prepare some hot milk.”

Ciel took a swaying step and Sebastian reached out as support but he put his hand up to stop him.

“I can stand by myself. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I remembered specifically telling you lying to me won’t be tolerated.” His sharp tone of his voice sent a chill down her spine.

Yuri gulped, unable to look at him in the eye. Despite her being taller than him physically, she has never felt so small, “..I-I know…but I just couldn’t–I didn’t want to be the one telling you Madame Red was responsible for…them.”

“How much do you know about me? Us? This world?” She couldn’t see his face, having turned his back on her as he stared out the window of his study. His hands, tightly curled into balls, were beginning to turn unhealthy white in colour.

“Um..”

“Tell me!” He banged his fist against the window and for a moment, she was scared that it would shatter under the force. There was a desperation and…fear in his voice, as if she was withholding her knowledge of a dark secret he harboured.

“I don’t know much! You’ve got to believe me, I-I only knew about your aunt being responsible for the murders. Just that, a-a-and that something about the Undertaker being untrustworthy..”

“Undertaker?” His head slightly turned but she still couldn’t make out his expressions.

“I just know you shouldn’t trust him too much.” She said, “I remember he was doing something…some sort of experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“With the bodies I mean. I think.” She narrowed her eyes as she desperately tried to catch flashes of information in her mind.

“Bodies?” He paused, “Is that all?”

Yuri wished she paid attention to her friend’s then-insignificant blabbering, or had some sort of drama world miracle where the main character would remember vital information in the time of desperate needs. But as the life would have it, her mind remained blank despite the extensive internal search.

“No…but if I remember it…”

“You’re useless.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed sharply and her lips pursed tightly and her tempers flared. A breathy laughter left her mouth.

“Am I your puppet? Your chess piece? Without me, your aunt would have died; I saved her. If I hadn’t, you’d have been walking the aisle of your aunt’s funeral!”

He turned around, his face set in stone, “You’re right. You’re my chess piece. You weren’t foolishly mistaken I offered you my home in an altruistic gesture, were you? I thought you were well aware our relationship is solely based on business. I asked you to do your part, which is helping me! Not Madame Red, not anyone! You simply failed to do your part sufficiently. Do you have anything else to say?”

“Yeah I have something to say.” Yuri retorted, fully knowing the question was rhetorical and he expected her quiet and docile, “Who do you think you are to judge someone like that?! Useful or useless, is that what people are to you? You, who ––out of pure luck–– were born with a golden spoon in his mouth and lived life so easily up to now, don’t have the right.”

The paper underneath his fingers crumpled, trembling as his eyes widened with rage. “Are you done talking? How dare you…”

She returned the glare with all the anger she could muster, displaying a kind of resiliency that resembled the movement of small waves of water as they echoed across the surface of a calm sea, “Not everyone acts like you just because they get hurt. What’s the point of having all that money and title? What’s the use in being covered in expensive custom designed clothes from head to toe? You as a person need to be high class!” She took a step forward, her chest puffed up with confidence, “And I’m much older than you –– watch how you talk to your elders! I’m so embarrassed I can’t even lift my head up every time you open that mouth in front of others! It’s disgusting, you two-faced, materialistic, self-absorbed brat.”

She hated nothing more than waiting to hear his reply which would probably be her body six feet under and a nameless tombstone. She might even be lucky if she had a tombstone. Probably not. Her feet carried her to her room and she pulled out her bags from the bottom of the bed and was about to head back out when the door stopped half way. Yuri glanced back at the room, her breathing still rough from unleashing her diatribe just few minutes ago.

She dumped the luxurious furniture on the pawnbrokers table, “I want a nice deal.”

The old man, Tobias, adjusted his glasses as he picked up a small gold hand mirror, examining it under the dim light.

“These ar’ quite expensive item y’got there.” He suspiciously said then gave her his firm glare, “I don’ buy any stolen goods.”

“It’s not stolen,” She lied, “I ran away from home.” Quick thinking, “They tryna sell me off to this old guy that I have to pretend to love and be physically attracted to. He taught me that regardless of age or height, anybody can be a life hating sociopath, y’know.”

The man frowned, regarding her dubiously, “Socio-whut?”

Maybe she got carried away too much. Waving her hand dismissively, she said, “Never mind, I just need to be far away from that house.”

He perused through the priceless trinkets, his eyes scanning her clothes in a blasé manner as if trying to search for lies in her story. Thankfully, her attire happened to be one of the expensive ones from her room’s closet because Mey-Rin’s dresses were all in the washing. It was plainer and lesser ostentatious ones in both design and colour, but from a quick superficial glance, she looked from a well-off family.

“I’ll give ya a good deal.” He said as he took them back into door behind the counter, “But I’ll warn ya, ya won’t last long with this if this is all you have. Ya better go back home and just do as ya parents tell ya and live a comfy life, unless ya wanna work like those girls out there.”

Yuri looked out the window to realise he meant the prostitutes, eyeing their potential customers among the walking passersby with a flirty smiles. She simply smiled, shrugging his concerns as she inwardly thought that it was still a work and they were just trying to get by with what they can. They had more independence and freedom than those people laughing and eating caviar with their champagne up in their little castle anyway.

“I’m more of a live fast, die hard type of girl.” She said, earning another quirked look from the owner.

He slid a five pound note to her. Yuri frowned, unable to separate modern world currency and the era she was in. The five pound in her world would have probably brought her a meal deal or some snacks. She didn’t know how far five pound would go in this world.

“That’s all I can afford, girl. These items are far too expensive for me to buy at its right price. Ya’d have a much better luck in ‘em auction.” He shook his head when he noticed her frowning, mistaking her confusion and flustering for ungratefulness.

“No, it’s fine. I was thinking about something.” She took the note, “Thanks.”

He eyed her bags, “Interesting bags ya got there.”

“Thanks. It’s a gift from mum.” She gave him a final smile before walking out.

Deeply inhaling as she stared onto the grim side of the London, flocked with destitute and crime; now what was she going to do? A tear silently trickled down her cheek. No use in crying, she thought. She headed down the road, toward the dock.

Yuri had propped herself on one of many wooden storage box scattered among the dock as she watched many faces passing by. Unwarping one of the sweet, the maker’s name read ‘Funtom’ and immediately felt her appetite drop. She clenched her eyes, cursing the fact she chose, out of all sweets available in the shop that she chose his company’s product. For a second, she contemplated in throwing away the chocolate before taking a bite out. In the end, her hunger had won.

“..Well, it’s delicious…” She muttered, “But 2 shillings for this? What a rip off! If McDonald exists here, it’d be less expensive than this piece of diabetes!” She ripped the bar with her teeth, imagining the chocolate was the brat’s head.

Her eyes wondered back to the oncoming ships. Many of them were fishermen, some passersby, others were travellers that had recently returned and others were departing. She was content musing herself with novelty of 19th century scenery when she heard an odd cry, clearly in distress, a distance away. A woman, bare except for few flimsy course materials for decency, and chained in rows, trembled on the ground as a rather large man stood, imposing with a whip in his hand. It took a moment for her to realise she was seeing slavery first hand. Her jaw dropped, flabbergasted, as she stared, wide eyed, and found herself darting off to the direction with the chocolate in hand.

“WHAT YOU DOING?!” She yelled.

The whole world seems to still in shock, their heads turned toward the outburst.

“What are you doing?!” Yuri repeated, standing in front of the quivering children, women and men.

The man, caught off guard, quickly recovered and pushed her away, “None of your business, wretch!”

“Wretch?!” Yuri glowered as the man raised his whip holding hand once again, “Stop unless you want this wretch to cut your hands off!”

The man faltered.

“Who are you to treat her like that, you dumb shit of fat fucking donkey with a face of a blobfish!” She growled.

The man stuttered at the vulgarity of her insults, “Watch your mouth, bitch! They’re slaves and they’re my property.”

“No matter how blind you’ve become with greed, you should at least have some moral! Do you think people are things to be bought and sold?! How can you sleep at night?!! If I were your mum, I’d be fucking ashamed to even lift my face! Your existence is as significant as a pigeon shit in Trafalgar Square!”

The man’s face was becoming more red as if he were suffocating and about to pass out at the climbing blood pressure. Then his arm pulled back, the whip building its momentum and Yuri acted fast. Her leg swung up to kick him in his family jewel. Immediately, his face scrunched up in pain, knees locked in and stumbled back. It was clear, his subordinates and others were content watching in the back as the scene unfold than intervene. It meant good and bad––that meant she won’t be outnumbered but on the other hand, she was on her own to get out of this messy situation and the blobfish didn’t look like he was going to walk away with a tail between his legs without a good fight.

The man groaned in pain, clutching the area as he used his free hand to point at her, “What you useless dunce standing around for! Grab her!”

They seemed to snap out of the stupor as the two men hooked her arms with theirs, sandwiching her in the middle. She desperately wiggled in their grab, bringing her legs up to her chest in effort to bring them down with the gravity but her weight was more than light for two grown men to support and she just remained there, awkwardly dangled.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” A loud voice intervened.

Our heads all turned to the source; two Indian men, dressed in their decorative traditional garbs. One looked to be her age with long, dark wavy hair worn loose to his shorter; part held up by gold clip, the other was much more taller and although, young, were much mature looking with short, stark pale hair.

“Unhand her!” The shorter man ordered.

“Get outta here, brat! None of your business!” The slave master held up his whip as a warning before turning his attention to her.

“You will pay for this.” He growled, “And I’ll make sure ya forever regret this day.”

“Did it hurt? Fucking sue me.” She spat.

Before the man could land a slap, in the blink of an eye, the taller man appeared behind him, grabbed his wrist and twisted it back painfully. He yelped out, calling for help and other workers darted toward him. In swift, lethal movements, the fifteen men, including the ones holding her hostage, were all lying, some motionless and some groaning, around the taller Indian man. She couldn’t identify what style of fighting it was other than he seemed to target, what some she recollected as pressure points and limiting gravitating from his centre point. Having fallen along with them when they had relinquished their support, she looked up to the tall man as he approached and helped her stand up.

“Are you alright?” He asked, kindness radiating from his voice and expression.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“What had happened?” The teenager asked, “Why were you fighting?”

“Because he was about to hit her!” She explained while pointing to the chained people instead, “Then had the audacity to think he has a right to do that like they are some..things!”

The young boy blinked, then quiet. “Agni.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Yuri’s eyes widened like a deer caught in a headlight, backing away from the boy, Prince?

“Free them.”

“Yes, my prince.” The taller man, now known as Agni, retrieved the key from the slave master’s pocket and began to unlock the chains.

“Hey! They are mine! I brought them!”

The young prince took out a few notes and trinkets and dropped them in front of him. Our eyes widened a little more.

“This should be more than enough.”

The man quickly gathered up the money and gems into his arms, and stood up, glaring at her.

“Fuck off.” Yuri bared her teeth.

The slaver master reacted as if to hit but then the young prince cleared his throat and the man shrugged as he walked away, ignoring his subordinates.

“Thanks for your help.” She said.

“No problem.” The teenage prince nodded, “I’m Soma Asman Gandal, but you can simply call me Lord Soma or prince.”

“Yeah, and I’m princess Yuri Park of Alderaan(!)”

He frowned, “I never heard of such place.”

“Look, ‘prince’, thank you for saving me and all but just what kind of idiot do you think I am? Prince? What are you a prince of? Prince of Bengal?” Yuri giggled, finding the whole situation ridiculous, “Look, I don’t have time for role play; I just need to find a way to get these people home.”

“But I am a prince of Bengal…” Soma muttered.

“Lady Park, this person is the 26th child to the King of the princely state of Bengal, prince Soma Asman Gnadal.” Agni pressed sincerely.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. Kneeling down to the woman, wondering if she could speak English she asked, “Are you ok?”

The woman, rightfully weary and scared, flinched away from her touch. She mumbled something quiet under her breath that she couldn’t quite hear. Everyone didn’t speak up. Either they were too scared or they were taught not to speak.

“Hey, blopfish!”

“What?!” The man, much to her surprise, answered with irritation.

“What the fuck did you do to them?!”

“I did nothing, bitch!”

“You obviously did something! Don’t you dare give me that ‘they were born mute’ crap!”

“You are a one loony bitch!”

“I’ll shoot you and say you fell in the sea!”

The man tensed up, hugging the money and trinket in his arms like a father finding his lost child.

“Where did you take them from?”

“We didn’t take them –– they came on their own! To make money.”

“Don’t give me that crap, not even a Trump supporter would believe that–– where are they from?!”

“…Barbados.”

Yuri turned to Soma, who had shuffled away during her little scuffle with the master, “Uh, I hope you can help them return home.”

“O-oh…of course but I’m looking for someone at the moment and––.”

“Awesome. Let’s plan what we need to do.”

It turned out sending back free slaves back home weren’t as simple and straightforward as they hoped. She was reluctant to believe the blopfish’s words and there was no guarantee they would actually return home and not be snatched away by another slave master in the duration. She was happy she managed to get one man to confirm they were from Barbados and it was left to them to find a way to get them home before the night fall. The winter nights were the most dangerous killer to the poor and the unfortunate.

Soma seemed restless the whole time as if he had somewhere to be while Agni was distressed at the sight of it.

“We can simply pay for someone to sail them back home, yes?” Soma suggested.

“Yeah, but it’s expensive.”

“I have the money.”

Although they did look rich, she was still suspicious about them being a prince and a servant.

“You said you’re looking for someone right?” Yuri asked.

They nodded.

“I’ll help you find her if you help me with this. I’ll owe you.”

That’s all that was needed for Soma to immediately have the ship ready to sail back to Barbados. Apparently the guy was very rich. And powerful. The helmsman were given half of the full payment and were promised the remaining half when they came back and presented an evidence.

Yuri took the man, who seemed to be the speaker for all his fellows, and gave him instructions. Handing him a blank piece of paper, she told him to draw a star if they arrived at their home country or numbers aligned with the alphabets naming the country they’ve arrived. The man nodded, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said, “I hope you get home safely.”

Then he handed her something, “She wanted me to give this to you.”

It was a simple handmade wooden and raisin bead bracelet with carved with various animals like grasshopper, birds and mongoose.

“It’s for good luck.”

“Thank you.” Yuri said before handing her own belonging, a spare chocolate she brought earlier on.

She watched as they began to board, this time as free men. The woman glanced back and Yuri waved goodbye. She could only pray that they arrive home safe and sound. She hoped she could find her way home quickly too.

“Her name is Nina.” He handed her a poorly drawn portrait of what it seemed to be a woman. They were currently in an inn for the night. After paying five shilling for her room and stay, she was left with a little over four pounds.

“Well, you’re not gonna find Nina with this piece of paper, that’s for sure.” Shaking head, she flapped the paper in her hand, “You’re supposed to be the prince and you can’t even afford a decent painter?”

“Hey! I believe Nina’s beautiful features are well presented in this portrait!” He asserted with a prideful puff of his chest, “Even my teachers applauded my painting skills!”

She took a bite of her chip and looked at him absurdly, “Were they blind?”

“Hey! You still don’t believe I’m a prince do you?!” Soma pouted.

“A prince who can’t afford a decent painter? I rather believe climate changes aren’t real!”

“What is a climate change?” Agni frowned, puzzled.

“Something that is apparently now a subject of controversy of whether it exist or not. Don’t worry, not many people gets it either.” Yuri commented, “Anyway, so why are you looking for her?”

“She was one of my maids and she was forcibly taken away to England! I came to retrieve her.”

“Ok…so she’s like your girlfriend? The Bollywood version of Romeo and Juliet kind of thing?”

“Your way of speech is so…”

“21st century?” She finished it for him.

“What?”

“I’m saying is she your lover?”

Soma and Agni gasped at the implication and Agni stepped in. “He had known her ever since he was a young child and she were his nanny. To him, she is a family. A lost family, which is why he had come to find her.”

“Family, huh…” Her voice wavered, the portrait blurring into the image of her family photo hung up in their home living room. Yuri cleared her throat and studied the portrait again. “Um, I know a guy, he’s an arsehole but I’m sure he’ll help you if you’re a ‘prince’.”

“Wonderful!” Soma sighed in relief, “Thank you, Yuri.”

“Princess Alderaan.” She corrected.

“Are you really a princess?”

“No.” She laughed.

The two men looked at each other before they laughed along. The small pub inside the inn glowed warmly in the candle lit light and freckles of snow began to fall outside in the dark winter night. Yuri was momentarily captivated at the sight out of the window. The winter has arrived.

#the liars and soothsayer story #kuroshitsuji story #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #fanfiction #black butler fanfiction #black butler story #the liars and soothsayer

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whitewolfofwinterfell · 8 years

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In a previous ask you listed Stefan as one of your favorite characters and I wonder what makes him one of your favorite characters? What makes your drawn to him and root for him? A lot of people say his character is boring, but I disagree, though I've only seen the first 3 seasons so I might not have right to an opinion as I haven't watched the later seasons.... but I love Stefan and I absolutely adore Paul and I think he's very good at portraying his character and the different sides of him etc

Of course you have the right to have an opinion. Even if you’d only watched one episode, you still have the right to have an opinion. I’m more than happy to share with you why I love Stefan, but a little pre-warning there will be spoilers from seasons 3-8 and also my response will be pretty hefty, which I’m sure you’ll be expecting if you’ve read any of my other responses to asks haha.

When I think about what makes Stefan one of my favourite characters there are so many reasons that I couldn’t just choose one. But a good place to start would be to say, the simplest reason is that I’m just connected to him and once you develop that connection with a character it’s hard to break it.

Other than that, the reason I love Stefan is because he’s just such a complex character. He’s actually so complex, that the writers themselves haven’t seemed to know what to do with him a points throughout the course of the show. Paul’s abilities as an actor are fantastic and the fact that he is able to so perfectly portray Stefan and the Ripper and make them feel like two separate people that are also interlinked is amazing. Honestly, I only have to see a gif and I instantly know whether Stefan has his humanity or not based on Paul’s expressions, eyes and body language. It’s really incredible how he manages to do that. And I don’t want to reveal any spoilers, but in season 5 Paul demonstrates his acting abilities even further.

It frustrates me to no end that people brand Stefan as being boring. It’s such a narrow-minded and stereotypical view of his character. I understand where it comes from since in seasons 1 and 2, he was that typical good guy, always doing the right thing. As Matt said, Stefan’s “that guy”, as in the guy that’s so perfect that everyone hates him. But I don’t understand how anyone that actually watched the show (past season 3 in particular) can have that opinion of him. The truth of the matter is that Stefan in season 1 was only half of himself, if that. He was still so caught up in the baggage of his past, so consumed with staying “clean” and managing his blood lust, of not giving into his dark urges as a vampire, that it forced him to strip himself back completely. He spoke softer, he carried himself in a particular way, he forced smiles, he tried his hardest to be an ordinary 17 year old, but in reality he was anything but. Regardless of how you look at it, a lot of the time in season 1, Stefan wasn’t himself. We got to see more of a glimpse of the other side to him towards the end, when he struggled with his blood lust after Elena gave him her blood to save him in 1x18. This is where we really saw that Stefan wasn’t “that guy” and that he was just like everybody else - he had his issues, he lost control and he wasn’t perfect. The thing that struck me the most during those episodes when Stefan was struggling with his blood lust, was that he was torn between that part of him that really just wanted to let go and drain the blood from everyone in sight and the part of him that was desperately clinging to the person he wanted to be and was deep down inside. The fact that he told Elena at the end of 1x19 how much he was struggling really highlighted that. Stefan really opened the flood gates in 1x20 when we finally learned the story of how he and Damon came to be vampires and he explained to Elena how he truly felt; the crippling guilt he carries all the time and the pain that goes along with it that was so intense that it actually made him not want to live anymore. That’s the point where we started to get a glimpse of the experiences that had led Stefan to where he was and formed the person he was. We saw that he’d done terrible things in his past and he was a monster, but the fact that he felt genuine remorse and pain for that proved he was more than that and as Elena said, he made a choice to be good and reject the person the blood made him. How can you not root for someone like that? Someone that is not naturally good, but nonetheless fights their damn hardest to be the best they can be?

What I also love about Stefan is that, as you mentioned, there are so many different sides to him. Obviously the first thing that comes to mind when I say that is Stefan and the Ripper, but it’s not limited to just that. I think perhaps a more accurate way to describe him is to say that he’s very multi-layered, rather than saying he has different sides to him. With each episode that passed I caught a glimpse of a trait of his that I’d never seen before or I learned more about his past. There’s always something new to learn about Stefan and even 8 seasons on, there still is. Whilst in the earliest episodes he came across as rather boring and lacking in personality or substance, with the appearance of Lexi in 1x08 we were opened up to a completely different side to him. Suddenly he was a really fun guy with good taste in music (Bon Jovi, duh!), that, in Lexi’s words, jumped naked into the Trevi fountain and got drunk on the torch of the statue of Liberty. We got to see him relax, loosen up and show his lighter side and we discovered that him being uptight is just because he’s not fully comfortable around people he doesn’t know too well. Is that a crime? In fact, I’d argue most people suffer from the same problem and struggle to be themselves around new people. Personally, this made Stefan very relatable and that’s one of the first steps in me connecting to a character. Stefan is also deeply sensitive, he really feels things and is affected by the pain of other people. He can’t help but get emotionally invested and involved in other people’s problems and it’s the reason why he’s always stepping in to save people and help them in anyway he can. His journal has always been his way of being able to channel those emotions and express his inner turmoil at carrying the weight of not just his own feelings, but those of the people around him and yet again, all of this is something I personally relate to, because I’m exactly the same.

I know that along with being branded as boring, Stefan has also earned the title of “good guy”, which is kind of directly tied to being boring. That guy that’s always the hero, always doing the right thing and is just and fair is generally boring because people want the anti-hero, the villain that they can root for to earn their redemption. The thing is, calling Stefan the good guy is as narrow minded as calling him boring, because he is certainly not the good guy. He has maimed, tortured, killed and feasted upon countless of innocent people all for his own amusement and I believe there’s a deep part of Stefan that is truly evil. The proof we have of that is how drastically different Stefan is whenever he is without his humanity. With characters such as Damon and even Caroline, let’s be honest, there was barely any difference when they didn’t have there humanity and with Damon in particular, I actually couldn’t tell you at what points during the series he had his humanity and the points that he didn’t. However, when it comes to Stefan, boy, you know it. Without his humanity, he is utterly ruthless, there is no limit on what he’ll do, nothing that’s too far or too much, he just does whatever the hell he wants. His eyes, his mannerisms, his behaviour, his actions, the things he says, everything about him is different when he doesn’t have his humanity. Watching Stefan in season 3 was the first time I really took notice of him and was like, “Whoa, this guy!” Seeing that dramatic turn in his character was intriguing and honestly made me fall in love with Stefan in a completely new way. But what was fascinating about Stefan in season 3 is that no matter how far he fell into that black hole of darkness, he never stopped clinging to that humanity, deep inside himself and that is who Stefan truly is. That’s his heart and soul. The darkness in him is essentially created solely from his vampirism. That’s what’s so strange about him, too, is that I actually genuinely don’t perceive his darker side to be a part of his true self. I think that if you dig right into the center of Stefan and get to his soul, he is truly good and pure. All of his issues come from being a vampire. Think about it. As a human Stefan was pretty happy - he was the apple of his father’s eye, his mother doted on him (before she “died”), he had a good relationship with his big brother, he lived a wealthy lifestyle and when we saw flashbacks of Stefan as a human he always struck me as being pretty contented. The start of Stefan’s issues were when he accidentally killed his dad and took those first few drops of blood. From there it spiralled and once he’d made Damon turn and Damon completely turned against him, the dark side of Stefan was born. I personally have always believed that the Ripper was created because of Stefan’s issues with Damon. He lost his mother, killed his father, was responsible for Katherine’s “death” and Damon was the only person he had left in the world. All that kept him going was the thought of spending eternity with his brother and once he realised that he’d messed up and Damon hated him, it broke him. The only way he knew to deal with that pain and loneliness and devastation was to turn it off and lose himself in the blood. And those impulses have never left him, it’s become almost a learned behaviour for him now. He feels pain and his immediate reaction is to feed to numb the pain. It’s his coping mechanism. But I’d argue that unlike a lot of Stefan stans, that Stefan doesn’t have an addictive personality. If he was human or had always been human I don’t believe he would be an addict. His need for blood was created from being a vampire and the events that led to it and the consequences too.

Another reason I love Stefan, which is actually one of the simpler ones: have you seen how he treats Elena? How he treats Caroline? How he treats Bonnie? How he treats everyone? (x) (x) Stefan is a gentleman. He’s sweet, he’s kind and he’s sincere. From the second he came onto the show in season 1 he had an overbearing desire to protect everyone. Even though it was Damon that turned Vicki, Stefan took full responsibility for her and dedicated himself to trying to help her deal with the transition, he supported Caroline through her transition and without him she really wouldn’t have made it, he forgave Katherine for the trauma she put him through for 160 years and gave her peace in her final moments, he teamed up with Rebekah and promised to help her find the cure despite her being his enemy, he saved Damon multiple times despite the fact Damon had made his life a living hell, he stepped aside from the love of his life to let his brother be happy, he forgave his mother for abandoning him and pretending to be dead for over a century. The list could continue, but the point is Stefan is a forgiving, compassionate person that constantly shows how much of a decent and strong person he is through the selflessness and mercy he shows, even to his enemies. These are the traits that make a person strong and Stefan has all of them.

Every time I look at him, I just can’t help but wish the best for him, because he deserves it so much. I’ve seen him sacrifice so much and he’s never really got the rewards or benefits and he’s never begrudged that or even complained. He keeps trying to move forward and I also love that despite the fact that he comes across as a rather brooding and depressive character, he is actually so filled with hope. No matter what happens to him, he never gives up, he simply looks at what’s happened and finds a way to deal with it. And I hate making comparisons, but I feel it’s relevant to make this point. Unlike Damon, Stefan actually rarely (if ever) flies off the handle when he’s upset or angry (unless he has no humanity). I mean, Elena dumped him and slept with Damon within 24 hours, then they both lied to him about being together and do you know what he did? He threw a chessboard across the room. In season 5 when he was dealing with PTSD after being locked in a safe and drowning over and over for months and was still struggling to deal with his break-up with Elena, he kept it all inside and dealt with it by letting Caroline and Katherine help him. He didn’t blame anyone else or result to violent or reckless behaviour, he pushed through and attempted to deal with it in a healthy way without being a burden on anyone else. And that is who Stefan is. He never asks for anything, he never wants pity or sympathy or credit, he just does what he has to, what he’s supposed to and that’s it.

I could really go on all day about why I love Stefan, but the best way to summarise it is that he’s just a loveable character to me in every single way. He has so much to offer and despite the writers failing on knowing what to do with such a fantastic character, their poor writing still can’t take away from the complexity of his character and I really praise Paul for managing to convey that, even as the seasons have progressed.

From the beginning the story was narrated as being Stefan’s story and he was the one that drew me in. He’s the vampire I was intrigued to know, his history was the one I watched for and his relationships and development were what I wanted to see and that has never really changed. Stefan is the heart and soul of the show (along with Elena) and it wouldn’t be the same without him. And whilst I have the chance, I want to argue the point, that although Damon has the reputation for being the funny brother, Stefan is actually very funny (x) (x). Damon might have his snappy one liners, but Stefan’s snarky comments and sass is so much more subtle, and in my opinion, funnier. Just thought I’d throw that out there as a final point haha.

#answered #my meta #tvd meta

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mysterolineheart444world · 8 years

Text

The Servant of Cade |Meta on Stefan Salvatore in 808-809| PART 2|

PART 1

Quick A/N: The one thing i both love and hate about Stefan and Steroline is the way they are written. Nothing is clearly spelt out, you need to look deeper to see what the writers are saying. While its certainly beautiful and unique in a sense, it can also get pretty tiring when one has deciphered dialogue and song and the way stefan’s eyebrows twitch for many seasons, not to mention fought off hate and criticism from those who lack the patience and the ability to see Stefan and Steroline for what they truly are.

And i do sometimes wish things were clear as day. I’ll hold out till the june wedding for that.

Back to Stefan and his fall from grace.

TRANSFORMATION FROM CAROLINES! STEFAN TO SERVANT OF CADE:

STAGE 3 - CONFLICT RESOLUTION

“WE cant seem to go anywhere without the past following us” Stefan to Damon, as he stares intently at Caroline.

This line is very telling in that, even though he has not mentioned Caroline or reacted to her in any way (yet), she is still very much a part of his psyche. And in the tussle between him and Caroline’s Stefan residing within him, she is a key player.

It is also curious that he makes sure not to talk about Caroline when he seems to be able to recite his past with Elena without so much as battling an eye-lid. While a certain fandom would take it as his affection for Elena showing, its more to do with the fact that Elena has absolutely no affect on him, whereas thoughts about Caroline might be a gateway for his humanity to resurface.

So, he berates Damon about how he’s still holding on to Elena and how that is coming in the way of their work. The last thing the Servant of Cade needs is a travel companion who is teetering on the edge of his humanity switch.

What he isn’t saying is that he doesnt want Damon to breathe life into Caroline’s Stefan, by showing him that love can indeed win. Damon needs to not be the brother Carolines!Stefan loves. Carolines!Stefan is suffocating and Damon needs to let him die.

What he is also keeping from Damon is how his engagement to Caroline and his promise to get back to her is still lingering in his subconscious. Another source for Carolines!Stefan to feed off of. Its evident from his repeated jabs and attempt to get her to call off the engagement that this is something that he thinks is paramount to his survival as the Servant of Cade.

She needs to call it off. Him calling it off wouldn’t matter. What he needs is HER to back off, to give up on him. He needs to ensure that he won’t turn around one day and see her standing there, ready to flip his switch back on - Something his inner Carolines!Stefan knows as well as he does. As long he has hope that his girl will come looking for him, he will find a way to stay alive, and the servant of Cade needs him GONE.

Stefan to Damon: “Maybe a trip back to Mystic Falls is what we need ….you know why you’re so distracted Damon? its because that woman is still in your head. And we are going to burn her to the ground”

Only, along with Elena’s hold on Damon, he intends to burn down his former self’s relationship with Caroline as well.

Damon

He first deals with Damon when he gets to Mystic Falls, and in order to do so, teams up with Sybil. He breaks the necklace, tries to guilt him with his past - specifically him being a terrible brother and putting his desires over Stefan’s needs. He lets Sybil manipulate him with all the terrible things he’s done that cannot be undone.

Basically he throws everything but the kitchen sink at the guy because there is no way he can keep this Damon - he causes too much conflict within himself.

When he’s certain that Damon is not going to get rid of Elena, he gives up on the idea of having Damon as his travel buddy. Under no circumstance is he going to allow that kind of conflict to invade his subconscious. But the good thing here is - out of sight, out of mind. Damon can go back to the brother Carolines!Stefan loves, but its not going to affect him because he’s never going to see the guy again.

He walks away, conflict resolved. Albeit not in the manner that he had hoped. But he was going to take the win.

He grabs the striker on his way out of the room. Sybil proved useless. Caroline can have it. Her Stefan dies today. She can have this one thing . . a consolation prize, if you will.

Caroline

He leaves the toughest part of his trip for last. He’s not stupid, he knows he needs to tread carefully or shes going to reach within him and pull her Stefan out from the depths.

He knows if he pushes her too hard, she’ll see the desperation in him and push back. He needs to be smart about this. So he taunts her, pushes her just the right amount. He gets to the point where she offers to partner with him through the 1 year he has to serve cade.

C.O.N.F.L.I.C.T.

Ideally this is when the switch is flipped back on. When presented with conflict, the emotional part of the vampire fights to gain control and with the right kind of external stimuli, defeats the no humanity version that was in control.

If this was Benzo, now would be when Bonnie breaks through his styrofoam walls, thereby prompting him to break out into shakespearean song and dance just as his humanity floods back in. But we are not Benzo. We are better than true love. (and don’t you forget it !)

This is not just a no humanity situation we are dealing with here. The alter ego in control is way more powerful at the moment. Stefan is not only without humanity, but is a full fledged ripper with no guilt and one who is on the precipice of embracing this dark path for good. All he needs to do is tie up some loose ends.

He already has Damon squared away and Carolines!Stefan is too weak to fight back. He’s been drowning for weeks now.

So he throws her offer in her face. Declares that he was born to do this work.

He eventually gets what he wanted - she calls off the engagement. She says something about happiness… he shouldn’t be bothered by it… happiness.. fun.. doesnt matter.. he has no humanity.. he got what he wanted. He doesnt dwell on it for long. Carolines!Stefan is dead the moment she walks away as far as he’s concerned. And she does.

What remains is the ring she threw at him. The last remaining token of their love. But its no longer a token of their love for him, now its a token of his triumph. He tosses it in the air and sighs. He’s won. So he keeps it. Much like how no humanity wrote down the names of his victims in a wall in the 1920s. He senses no conflict in keeping the ring as a souvenir. No conflict is what he was aiming at. And no conflict means that Carolines!Stefan is dead. The servant of Cade is all that remains.

Hello Pride, Stefan’s old friend !!

SILVER-LINNING The flaw that caused Stefan to fall, is a flaw that the ripper, no humanity stefan and now his latest avatar - The servant of Cade possess. Blinded by his pride, he told himself the lack of conflict in keeping the ring was the result of him snuffing out whatever remained of Carolines!Stefan. He does not consider the possibility that the reason there was no conflict was because Caroline’s Stefan wanted him to keep the ring, And while the Servant of Cade may look at it as a token of his victory, this same object is what Carolines!Stefan will latch onto.

And just as how no humanity Stefan didnt see his fall back in 808, the servant of cade will not be prepared to break the fall. And fall he will, and this time when presented with conflict, Carolines!Stefan will defeat him because he has the engagement ring he gave caroline to hold on to.

The words of the song that played in the Steroline scene is very much in line with this theory.

Our love is six feet under I can’t help but wonder If our grave was watered by the rain Would roses bloom? Could roses bloom Again?

It speaks of a love that seems to be dead, but in reality is only waiting to be ‘watered by the rain’. When the circumstances are right, Carolines!Stefan will fight back and regain control.. . and roses will bloom again.

Until then.. i think its going to get worse before it gets better. So hold on tight !

#stefan salvatore #stefan salvatore meta #steroline #steroline meta #tvds8 #caroline forbes #damon salvatore #defan

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