#nor was she raised by the butler - she had a whole life before she became durge and the only reason why she became durge

[swordmaid]

honestly my backstory for yves deviates so much from the snippets of backstory u get for durge that she should just be another tav but with like, serial killer urges lmfao

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Reviews: The Lost Harp of Mirvana!

The ducks head under the sea, no accusations just friendly crustacians under the sea.. along with some sorta monster, mer hippies voiced by voice acting legends and della being unable to enjoy any of this because she’s hiding back at the sub. Take a dive under the cut. 

I’ll confess this wasn’t one I was even remotely excited about going in: I’ts not that I thought it’d be bad: the series is at it’s peak right now, I figured i’td be entertaining like last week, it just had the misforutne of being right before we finally get Daisy next week, and recent episode solicits for the two afte ronly made it worse: Fenton’s third episode (hopefully he gets two this season), that’s also hueycentric and will hopefully make gyro less dickish, and a wrestling episode because i’m a casual wrestling fan and huey having to play the heel against a norse snake god sounds fucking amazing. SO yeah “Hippie mermaids and Louie being suspcious only to oh no be proven wrong about being suspcious” as I predecited the episode would go sounded boring in comparison.  But i’m not afraid to eat crow... metaphorically, literally I don’t want to eat a crow it’d taste miserable and I don’t want to eat this crow because I love him.   

But on dreading this ep.. I was blown away. Part of it is low expectations: I had really none other than “it’ll be decent” going in, but that only carries you so far. No this episode was fantastic, adressed a problem i’d had since “Timephoon!”, if not earlier, and had some great guess casting. It was a throughly enjoyable, funny episode. Will it probably end up on my faviorites list like the premire duo might? no, but it’s still damn good. Let’s get into the why shall we Our story this week is fairly simple: The Ducks are headed under the sea to find the lost harp of mirvana, sans Launchpad because he had to go help an ex girlfirend, hang out with darkwing, it was his day off, they had enoguh characters to juggle as is, he got his head stuck in a jar again, I dunno. But refreshingly Beakly is present! Seriously this IS something I wanted since season 1: her coming along with the family more. She rarely does, which makes some small sense given she’s the housekeeper but has made less and less since they have a ghost butler and sh’es family at this point.  I get she has to earn her keep and what not, and wants to show up her ghostly rival, but come on. Thankfully they have come on and while i’m not sure if it’ll be a common thing going forward, it IS nice to have her for this one.  The story itself is nicely divded once our heroes run into the mirvanans themselves, zen mermaids, our focus ones voiced by  hyden walch and greg cripes, who you may know as starfire and beast boy from the teen titans cartoon... andtheotherone... as well as voicing Princess Bublegum and 2k12 Michealangeo respectivley. I Love these two and it was a treat to have them voice mermaid hippies.  Our party quicklky splits up into three plots that converge at the end: Louie, being naturally suspcious after nearly being sacrificed by seemingly benevlonet societies 20 something times (and Dewey having 71 according to the tally given this episode that I painstakingly counted. The boy is one braincell starved for attention) is suspcious this is a midsommar type thing and he’s in the middle of some sorta death cult as usual, while webby, a trusting soul, belivies nothing is wrong and the mer people are genuine, with Beakly backing her up despite seemingly going against her nature.  Now this plot alone seems stock for any show, but works here since it’s rooted in character; Louie sees all the angles and thus all the cliches adventurers run into. He’s been at this for at LEAST a year, he’s seen just enough to get how a certain story will probably go and being a grifter by nature, he dosen’t trust easy to begin with.  In contrast while Webby CAN be suspcious, her being naturally trusting has also been part of her character from the start.  She genuinely TRUSTS people and gives them a chance first and unless their a clear enemy of scrooges, will not turn her back on them. This is best shown with her relationship with Lena: even AFTER getting clear evidence Lena was a  spy the whole time, and even without the evidence that after a certain point it was a lie, she refused to fully belive Lena had betrayed her... and was rewarded with Lena giving her life for webby. She trusted Violet even after Violet had been hiding her intentions and had a dangerous magical artifact from her arch enemy on her, and was again rewarded this time with Lena coming back and getting another lifelong friend out of the deal in Violet. Webby has a faith in people that pays off more than not..t hough we’ve also seen that faith backfire, mostly in scrooge as scrooge is a flawed man and has serious issues, whether it’s a combination of flu and gaslighting driving him insane, or him lashing out at her at his weakest moment. Her optimisim both fuels her and has made her life better but has sometimes blindsided her to the flaws in people, especially her hero. It’s as bojack horseman put it “When you look at life through rose colored glasses, you miss all the red flags”. What keeps this intresting as the two go into an off limits danger cave to find out what’s inside, Louie to find proof he’s right and Webby to go with him to prove he’s wrong, is Beakly. After saving the two from a monster, Beakly keeps boosting webby..then privatley admits as the audience probably guessed she’s also deeply suspcious and simply dosen’t want to shatter her niece’s worldview until they have evidence. And this is where that thing I wanted comes into play: see last season during “Timephoon!” beakly is directly conrasted as a parent with Della, having raised two children and being wiser. And while she was in that moment.. Beakly isolated her grandchild, and basically kept her in a guilded cage while training her to be a weapon out of fear of loosing what little she had left. LIke with Donald’s smothering parenting, it’s understandable, but it should be adressed.. and this episode does, but thankfully dosen’t make Betina unsympathetic either: Every parent, or in my case uncle, has to lie once in a while, especially now with the Covid-19 pandemic. It’s natural. But Betina has gone overboard to try and protect Webby’s inoccence.. and it’s backfired. Not preparing her for scroog’es worse behavior lead to him outright destroying her during “Last Crash of the Sunchaser” when he temporarliy disowned her.  And here it leads to a damn powerful scene with great acting from both Toks and Kate . The trio find the harp, voiced by Rhetta aka Donna from parks and recreation, whose basically the harp from the “raiders of the lost harp” episode of the original, the first episode of said show I ever saw and a classic about a harp that would melodically say “no no no, your fibbing fibbing fibbing” when someone lied, which this harp does, if not every time. She reveals her former owner, the king of mirvana who the hippies build their society after his example, basically ducked repsonsiblity while things fell apart and spent too long underwater (the mirvanans can also walk on land) and became the monster from earlier, and the rest will share his fate if not told

The powerful part comes when Beakly tries to lie.. and the harp keeps shutting her out till she’s forced to admit the truth: you can just.. feel the pain coming from the poor woman, and webby folds into a depressed state. Naturally Louie realizes, once they get back to the rest of the family, more on that in a second, and seeing that the mermaids did NOT realize their king was a monster nor plan to feed them to him, webby was right and tells them to have hope and that the society they built IS valid even if their king was a dipstick, he rebuilds webby and after everythings wrapped up webby and beakly apologize and hug. It’s a damn good plot even if the “Louie realizes he was wrong and wasn’t right abotu them being evil” parts were predictable.. it worked due to the excellent character work, with Louie also realizing being a cynical dick is kind of obonxoious. A damn strong a plot The subplots are also rooted throughly in character while still being entertaining,especially once the a-plot gets heavy towards the end: Della in the c plot stays behind because she’s afraid of fish, only conquering it breifly at the end to help her family and punch a man in the face, but it’s nice to not only see some new bits to her as well as some neruosis of her own. She is donald’s sister: he can’t hog all of it for the two of them.  The main subplot though centers on the remaining family trying to earn their way to the harp by doing zen arts and crafts and works due to character: Donald becomes a hilaroius zen master in moments (though earlier he rebuffed a gently pat on the chest by the lady mermaid, though given she’s super pretty and he’s, for now, single and has been for a while.. jsut go for it. You’ll probably get a three way with the other one (who isn’t my type but it’s more the man bun than anything. Loose that and.. yeah i’ll be int hat mer sandwitch), but I digress, Donald finds inner peace, likely because well. he WANTS IT. He wants to be happy and calm, even if the world smacks him in the face and tells no. Granted said peace is disrupted in the most hilarous way possible simply by Huey telling him they think his barbeque is merely okay, but he deserves credit. The boys also quickly find it, Dewey making a mermaid tail with hot rod flames and huey making a woodchuck one but what makes the subplot is that scrooge..c an’t. He hates this society, he hates hippies and he LOATHES self reflection. It’s like this society was magicaly generated to piss him of and i’ts wonderful to watch.  And as a quick aside bit before we go Rhetta is awesome as the harp, not the parks cast member I woudl’ve chosen as my first round draft pick for the series but she does greatly and has great timing (especially when Louie talks about selling her) and it was nice to see a bit of my first ducktales experince come back in an intresting new way.  Overall this episode was a VERY plesant suprise, and taught me to be more open to an ep in the future even if it dosen’t look like it has a huge personal draw. It was excellent.And now before I go i’ve decided each week, especially now we have a enough, to put the episode in the ranking of each and every episode this season and placing them in comparison of one another. I might do a list ranking the first season and second seasons on their own for fun. But for now here’s season 3 so far, so you can see where the ep stacks comparitvley: 1. Quack Pack! 2. The Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks! 3. The Lost Harp of Mirvana! 4. Double O Duck in You Only Crash Twice.  I”ll see you next week for DAISY AT LAST, the return of my boys the cablleros and some suprises and pies of all sizes ashurldy. Until then, courage. 

[charismastaticarchive]

hubert hc

“fearing great heights, bow down at the waist. servitude suits you. defy your fate only by bloodying the path so carefully paved and tread before you. if the goddess will not love you, if your father will not love you, if your mother cannot be reached or touched or felt, then love the anti-christ, and put her on a pedestal no man, especially you, cannot reach.”

people forget.

the holy kingdom of faerghus was once a part of the andrestian empire, and the andrestian empire was once the place considered ‘holy.’ it was blessed by seiros herself---seiros’s blood, her very crest, ran through each royal’s veins starting from wilhem himself, its first emperor. seiros loved the empire as she loved her husband and her children. the andrestian empire was loved by sothis herself, and they were her faithful children. 

that was a thousand years ago. wars have rocked fodlan since. the empire has lost ground and power, and propserity. even the religion which once lavished itself upon them has divided itself away---the andrestians, who once wrote the rules to which every devout person lived, is now relegated to being called ‘the western church.’ their traditions and rules deemed old or wrong or un-righteous or warped by time by the kingdom, always vetoed by the archbishop at the center of a new world.

but a vestra does not forget anything---least of all their storied traditions.

house vestra, at first glance, would not seem to be an important house. and in many ways it is not. it does not conrol the military, the economy, religious affairs, or any sort of public ruling. house vestra is viewed by many to be little more than a glorified house of servants---little more than butlers or secretaries in charge of servants, public and private meetings. their official duty is titled ‘household affairs.’

but only the master of the house can control what goes on in it. and the vestras run a tight, meticulous ship.

the vestras know every contact every emperor has ever come in contact with. the vestras know every known poison, every known common courtesy and tradition and proper forms of ettiquette in dagda, brigid, duscur, the kingdom AND the alliance (pity it is, that the kingdom and the alliance would be different, but their children learn anyway, before they learn to tie their boots or read). hubert is fluent in sixteen dialects of a total of eleven langauges and speaks them with perfect pronunciation. hubert memorized every known assassination in the history of fodlan (and how to prevent it from happening in the future) before he turned six.

but the power of house vestra does not come from their many talents. it comes from their Superior breeding and Superior Child Rearing and impressive arsenal of information dating back a thousand years (that they, again, never forget) meaning they are the perfect family, the only family, that can control every aspect of the royal family’s life. 

and they do so. with vigor.

how the emperor stands and sits and how he chews his food and wears his crown and how he waves, who he talks to (if he talks to anyone at all, some emperors are far too stupid, not that a von vestra would ever say such out loud), how he talks to them. the vestras control strategy, the vestras control the emperor’s goals, and they control these goals before the emperor even makes their own, so in tune are they with their lords, who they worship as holy beings---pharoahs more than emperors, rulers with divine holy right living in their veins, a power that must be tended to with tradition, with order, with meticulous guidance and knowledge no one but a von vestra could ever hope to possess all at once.

hubert, an only child, had impossible expectations on his shoulders.

hubert’s father was a devout man. his mother was a quiet woman, who never talked. his father liked it that way. when hubert would try to get affection from his mother, her hands would go limp, and his father would glare. hubert was raised on the bottle by nurses---an oddity for the time period, but one the vestra’s saw necessary. they needed their child to be tough---to be solitary. they did not want to spoil him. he was too important a servant to the cause.

hubert was born four years after the empire’s firstborn son. this already put him at a disadvantage. he would have to catch up. hubert’s father had meticulously planned to have a child every time the emperor and patricia did---but unfortunately all hubert’s siblings had died in childbirth or worse. a disappointment to be sure, but one that could be rectified with the proper discipline instilled in hubert. they would try to have more children over the years---to match the emperor and patricia. but hubert’s mother would die from birthing complications when he was only four.

thankfully, a vestra never forgets. so hubert can still remember his mother’s limp hands, her pale face, muscles not even strong enough to pull her mouth into a frown. she was not beautiful, nor ugly. but she looked like hubert, weak-limbed with hard, dangerous eyes, even though she never spoke in the little time he had with her in between study sessions and time spent with him.

‘him’ is tybalt. edelgard’s oldest brother, the boy everyone assumed would one day become emperor, if luck permitted and he produced his crest.

tybalt was an older boy, (four years older, remember?) with auburn hair, and a smile that could melt gold into embers, a particular talent with horses. hubert was told to worship him. but instead he loved him like apollo loved the sun. when hubert’s father beat him, he pictured a glorious future, dragging the sun behind him on a chariot, racing through the clouds. when his tutors spoke of sin and hell and the wife hubert would one day have to take in order to continue his household---hubert pictured heaven instead, side by side, serving his first, most secret love.

but tybalt did not produce a crest, not at eight, and not at nine, not at ten, or eleven, or twelve.

but edelgard did. just a minor crest of course---but that was enough to make her a viable heir, where tybalt was not. 

she was five. and where hubert could have resented being pulled away from his crush---he was falling deeper and deeper into depression as his future, and his father’s religious fixations---became more real and terrifying to him. edelgard was five years old, three years younger than hubert. and while hubert loved tybalt---and always would, because a vestra does not forget---spending time with edelgard did something that time with tybalt did not. it made him ignore his whole terrible life.

tybalt was a kind boy, a prince among princes, but edelgard was boisterous and rambunctious, an adorable bouncy little girl who was both bratty and a self-assured know-it-all in the adorable way only girls can be. with tybalt, hubert had begun picturing his father’s hell every time he saw him. no more clouds. only dirt&disease, bone-rotting flesh and eternal damnation.

but edelgard never forced him to see the clouds in the first place. she was high maintenance. to a fault. she was silly, and ridiculous, and sharp as a tack. she did not make him picture heaven or the sun---though she had grand beliefs about the future of the empire, goals far beyond what tybalt ever held.

instead she brought him down to her world, as only a child can. for the first time, with edelgard, hubert knew family, and he knew requited, platonic love, as edelgard made no secret of her affections with hugs and cheek kisses that hubert did not care that he would be punished for later. edelgard made him feel like a person, instead of an object or a servant.

and all that would change, for the worse, by hubert’s own hand. but hubert would never forget how special that little girl was.

edelgard and tybalt both left one night no more than three years later. his father had something to do with it, hubert knew.

and as hubert attacked every branch member of his house---his own father, who attempted to kill him in turn for disobeying him, as he stood his ground running outside the house to try to find edelgard (somehow tybalt started to fall by the wayside. surely the angel could protect himself. surely only the child needed him.). only to be attacked for three days straight. he did not eat, or sleep, he let himself soil himself if it meant another yard off the grounds of the von vestra estate to find her. but eventually he was taken down. and tortured. he did not beg for the goddess’s forgiveness as he was told to. he knew she would not listen. (she never had before. a vestra remembers.)

in his father’s dungeons, in which he realized some lessons he had learned from his house were not really just in case of emergencies... he stopped fearing the goddess. he stopped fearing hell. he began to crave it---a sadomasochism working its way into his heart.

he would attend lessons, repeat the motions, learn, and learn, and learn, paying special attention now, with spite bit into his tongue. but he would not be whole again until he saw edelgard and she explained everything, until the hate in his heart had a name and his vengeance worthy opponents.

he would follow the path he was given, the path he had always wanted, to be by the emperor’s side. he would make her dreams come true---and make everyone, even the goddess herself pay with blood. sothis forgot her children---turned her backs on the empire. but hubert remembers everything, and he’s here to burn it all to the ground.

despite his vitriol and his passion. hubert is ruled by fear, like a snaked coiled in a corner. he does not feel he can stand on his own two feet. he relies on edelgard for purpose, for clarity. he is most comfortable when treated as a servant of her will, as a mere extension of edelgard and nothing more. he no longer wants to be human. despite his fascination/aesthetic of the dark and occult, hubert still remembers those clouds, that chariot, flying through the air, being in love and holding that love tight to his chest. he wishes sometimes, to be a pegasus rider. but such roles are reserved for women. he’s better suited for groveling at their feet---not in prayer for the goddess, but digging himself deeper into the dirt & blood, to protect his emperor from things a child should not see.

[mindfulwrath]

Silver, Part X

Where oh where could that Henry be?

Words: 4,165 Warnings: Body horror

Part I Part IX

Utterson clambered up over the railing as Hyde fled and saw Mr. Guest crumpling to the ground. Utterson dropped down beside him. There was blood, so much blood. Guest was gasping and white with shock. Utterson ripped off his coat and balled it up, pressed it to the gushing wound in Guest's shoulder.

"Help!" he cried at the top of his voice. "Poole! Jekyll! Help!"

There were two other wounds, low on Guest's left side. Utterson cursed and pressed his knee against them. He kept hollering until the door opened and Poole darted out.

"Bring him inside, quickly, quickly!" he said, already helping Utterson to drag him in. "I'll fetch Dr. Jekyll!"

He scampered off again. Utterson kept as much pressure on Guest's wounds as he could, his jaw locked, lips pinched.

"I should never have brought you into this," Utterson said, the words thick with horror. "God, I should never have brought you into this."

"I'm all right," Guest said, strained and choked. "I'm—I'm all right, it isn't serious—"

A maid came barreling through in her nightclothes, wearing a man's coat. She sprinted out the door and away. Pool ran into the room after her.

"He isn't in, I've sent her for Lanyon," he explained, breathless. "What should I do?"

"Where is the light best?"

"The parlor, sir."

"Then let's take him there."

"I can walk," Guest said feebly. "It looks worse than it is."

"Hush," said Utterson. He brought one of Guest's hands around to press on the wounds in his side. "Keep pressure here. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Poole, help me move him."

Together, the three of them limped to the parlor. Poole moved the carpet and Guest was laid on the floor, wincing and gasping. All the lamps were lit, and soon after, Lanyon hurried in, doctor's bag in hand.

"Heavens," he said, darting to Guest's side. "Get his shirt open, I need to see the wounds. What happened?"

"Hyde," said Utterson, swatting Guest's fumbling hands away and undoing the buttons for him. First the coat, then the waistcoat, then the shirt. His undershirt was clinging to him, wet with blood. Lanyon whipped out a pair of scissors and sliced it open. It peeled away slowly, revealing wounds so dark with blood they were nearly black.

"I grabbed him, sir," Guest admitted, while the two worked. "I didn't know he had a knife. Twice in the side, sir, and then once in the shoulder after I dropped him. I think he meant to kill me, but his aim was poor."

"And thank God," said Utterson.

"Poole, I need clean water and cloths!" Lanyon called. Poole rushed off, and Lanyon delved back into his bag. "Where's Henry?"

"Not in," said Utterson.

"Clearly, but where is he? If Hyde's been spurred to violence, he may not stop at just one."

Utterson's whole being tightened. "Am I needed here?"

"No, I can make do with Poole. Go and find him."

With a decisive nod, Utterson got to his feet. "I am sorry, Guest."

"I volunteered, sir," Guest said, smiling weakly.

Utterson pursed his lips, and then he was off, Guest's blood soaking through his clothes. There was no time to change—he'd hurry through the streets with his own blood drenching him if it meant rescuing Jekyll from a similar fate. Fortunately, both the night and Utterson's clothes were dark, so he didn't draw too many stares.

It took him a little over fifteen minutes to reach the Society. When he did, he made a beeline for Jekyll's laboratory, ignoring the gasping and shocked expressions of the lodgers as he steamed through. The door was open, and Utterson barged in without knocking.

One policemen and one lodger—Doddle, Utterson recalled—were loitering about in the room. Both of them leapt to attention as Utterson entered.

"Where's Dr. Jekyll?" he demanded, scowling at the two of them.

"What's it to you, sir?" the policemen countered.

"He may be in grave danger," he said.

"No kiddin'!" said the policeman. "By the look of you, at least! Comin' chargin' in here, covered in blood."

"What?" said Utterson. "No, it isn't mine."

"Then by God, whose is it?" the policeman exclaimed.

"Oh," said Utterson. His face became very hot. "It . . . belongs to my clerk. He was stabbed, you see. I feared his attacker might come after Dr. Jekyll."

"When? Where?" he demanded.

"At Dr. Jekyll's residence, not three blocks from here," said Utterson. "You'll find my clerk there, and Dr. Robert Lanyon attending to him. Dr. Jekyll was not at home, which is why I came here. But he isn't here, either, and I fear the worst."

"You don't think he's been killed, do you?" Doddle twittered, his face pinched with distress.

Utterson looked around the laboratory—the open window, the cluttered but intact state of the chemicals, the paperwork laid out neatly upon the desk.

"Not yet," said Utterson. He turned to the policeman. "He may have been kidnapped. Hyde is the man you're looking for, Mr. Edward Hyde."

"The same one what set all the fires?"

"Yes," said Utterson, with a twinge of guilt.

The policeman saluted. "I'll run tell the constable at once, sir! If he's anywhere to be found, we shall find him posthaste!"

"Good man," said Utterson. The policeman hurried out. Doddle edged up to Utterson's elbow, wringing his hands.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"Did you hear any commotion?" Utterson asked. "Any . . . struggle?"

"No, not at all," said Doddle. "Mr. Tweedy mentioned that he thought Mr. Hyde had been here, but there was no commotion. Which is unusual! For Mr. Hyde."

"Hm," said Utterson. "When was this?"

"Perhaps half ten?" Doddle guessed. Utterson checked his pocket watch. It was just past midnight.

"Hm," Utterson said again, snapping the watch shut. He crossed to the window and looked out. There was a short drop onto a gable, certainly climbable, but impossible to carry a body down. There were scuff marks on the windowsill, as from shoes.

"Do you really think he's been kidnapped?" Doddle asked.

Utterson frowned. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill.

"I don't know," he said. He turned and made for the door. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Doddle. I must get back to my clerk. And—perhaps a change of clothes."

"Of course," said Doddle.

Utterson left, chewing his cheeks. Of one thing he was certain: wherever he was, whatever had happened, Jekyll was in a great deal of trouble.

Lanyon's morning was spent in a haze of unease. Utterson had returned the night before to inform him of Jekyll's disappearance—no sign of a struggle, he'd said, but it had likely all occurred before the incident on Jekyll's doorstep. The police were out in full force searching for Jekyll, or Hyde, and it was only a matter of time until one or both of them was found.

Lanyon had then helped him take Mr. Guest home. The clerk's wounds were not life-threatening, once stitched and bandaged, but he had lost a considerable amount of blood, and was having trouble walking on his own. After that, Lanyon had gone home, washed up and changed clothes. He had laid down in bed, but sleep had eluded him.

He could not help but feel that this whole bloody mess was, in large part, his fault.

The sun had come up, and he'd gotten dressed and come downstairs as though it was a perfectly normal morning. He attempted breakfast, although his appetite was poor. He retired to the sitting room, aware that he needed to make some sort of plan but completely at a loss for what to actually do. Mr. Hopwood brought him the morning paper and post, and Lanyon thanked him cursorily.

"Do you know if there's been any developments from the police?" Lanyon asked him. "Have they found Dr. Jekyll, or at least Mr. Hyde?"

"Not so far as I know, sir," said Hopwood. "I did glance at the paper, sir, but all it's mentioned is that Dr. Jekyll was kidnapped."

Lanyon sighed. "Thank you, Hopwood. That will be all."

Hopwood nodded to him and took his leave. Lanyon perused the paper, but there was nothing of interest—Jekyll's kidnapping (highly sensationalized) occupied the front page, and the rest was drivel. They were still on about the fire, of course, but nobody had anything new to say. It was briefly mentioned that the Blackfog Bazaar had gone, although they still took far too many words to say so. Lanyon laid the paper aside and turned to the post, which was equally dull.

About halfway through it, he found a folded sheet of paper with no envelope, smudged with grime and unaddressed. Frowning, he flipped it open.

He was astonished to see Jekyll's handwriting inside, and his astonishment only grew as he read what it had written.

  My dearest Robert,

I cannot say that I am safe, nor that I am well. I know that's what you want to hear, but it simply isn't true. With your help, God willing, I shall be both by the end of tonight, but I must have your help to do it. I ask only that you trust me, and follow my instructions. My life and my sanity both depend on you. Despite everything, Robert, I trust you with both. All I ask is a little faith.

Please go to my laboratory at the Society and retrieve the fourth drawer from the top (3rd from the bottom) from the cabinet marked "No. 6." Bring it back to your home exactly as it is, with all of its contents. Do not disturb anything. Also bring a glass flask, ten centiliters at least. Tonight, a friend of mine will retrieve these from you. You will know him—please, Robert, if you ever wish to see me alive and well again, give him the drawer and let him go away unfettered. You will not want to, but you must. It is life and death, Robert, and it is the only way you can save me.

I remain, ever faithfully yours,

—Henry Jekyll

  Lanyon stared at the note, then raised his head and looked around the room in confusion, as though he expected to see Jekyll hiding in a corner somewhere.

"Hopwood!" he called.

The butler eased back into the room. "Yes, sir?" he said.

Lanyon waved the note at him dazedly. "Did this come in with the rest of the post?"

"I assume it must have, sir," said Hopwood. "I didn't remark upon it especially."

"I see," said Lanyon. He turned his eyes back to the note. "Thank you, Hopwood."

"Yes, sir," said Hopwood, and sidled back out again.

Lanyon studied the note for a few minutes. He got up and rifled through his old letters until he found one from Jekyll. He came back to his seat, studying them side by side.

"It's either Henry, or it's a very good fake," he said under his breath.

He chewed his cheeks. He checked the time. It was a quarter to ten. He made up his mind.

Lanyon got to his feet and tucked the note into his pocket. He retrieved his hat and coat, gloves and scarf. Briefly, he considered bringing Utterson along—but Utterson had brought nothing but trouble since he'd gotten involved, and he might manage to talk Lanyon around to another cockamamy plan that would, somehow, make everything even worse.

Alone, he set out for the Society, the secret of Jekyll's survival burning in his chest like a coal.

There had never been a longer day in the history of mankind.

Lanyon spent it pacing, thinking, second-guessing and worrying. The note seemed coherent enough—was it possible that Jekyll was not in as dire danger as he seemed? But he had stated directly that his life depended upon this meeting, so clearly there was danger, and dire at that. But what sort of kidnapper would allow such a note to be sent out, would shove it in the mail slot with the rest? Was it possible that Jekyll had not been kidnapped, and that some other fate had befallen him? The caller, the "friend," was doubtless to be Hyde—there could be no other—but why would a kidnapper announce his visitation, open himself to possible arrest with so much forewarning? What sort of a ransom was a drawer full of chemicals and a flask? Was it possible Hyde and Jekyll were working together, not as enemies but truly as friends, and if so, what on earth were they trying to do?

Lanyon knew he should have gotten the police involved—they were already swarming all over London looking for Hyde—but he could not bring himself to do it. Mostly it was because Jekyll had so sincerely begged him not to in his note, but it was also because there was some part of him, some ceramic, scientific core, that more than anything else wanted an explanation.

Very little was accomplished that day. He hardly had the attention span to eat, much less do any work. He tried a bit of wine to soothe his nerves, but found it only made him more anxious. As the sun set, he sent Hopwood and the other servants away, told them to remain in their quarters until the morning.

"Might I inquire as to why, sir?" Hopwood asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"No, Hopwood, you may not," said Lanyon. "But keep an ear out for trouble, would you?"

"Yes, sir," Hopwood said.

Eight o'clock came and went, then nine, then ten. Lanyon forced himself to stop looking out the windows, to sit down and wait. He occupied himself by tending to the fire in the grate. He checked the drawer from Jekyll's lab—some phials of chemicals, some salts, a bottle or two, all labeled with neat one- or two-word descriptions. The clock chimed eleven. Lanyon had a glass of wine because he couldn't think of anything better to do. The fire was not driving back the chill enough, no matter how he stoked it.

At ten minutes to midnight, there was a knock on the door.

Lanyon barely stifled a yelp, then got to his feet and composed himself. He went to the door and peered out through the sidelight. There was a man on the stoop, short and slender, bundled up against the cold. He had a hunted, agitated look to him, constantly fidgeting and looking over his shoulder. Lanyon opened the door.

"Mr—" he began, but the man shoved past him before he could get the next word out.

"Shut the door, would you?" Hyde snapped. His face was gaunt and pale. "Have you got it? Did you bring it?"

Lanyon shut the door. He suddenly, desperately wished he'd brought the fire poker with him. Hyde was vibrating where he stood, wild with tension.

"Yes," Lanyon said carefully. "But—"

Hyde was already off towards the sitting room like he knew the place. Lanyon hurried after him, put off.

"Now listen here," he said. "I'll not have you barging in here like you own the place, you little cretin. Before you get anything, you're going to tell me what you've done with Dr. Jekyll."

"Hah!" said Hyde. He'd found the drawer and was plucking things up out of it feverishly.

Lanyon grabbed him by the wrist and Hyde wrenched away, snarling. Lanyon leapt back with his fists raised. For a moment, the two stared at each other. Lanyon was sure Hyde was going to attack him, break out of all bounds and club him to the earth. He considered what a stupid idea it had been to send the servants away.

"You, sir, are a very wanted man," Lanyon warned. "I could have the police down here in an instant to drag you away. The only reason I have not done so is because Jekyll asked me not to. So before you get anything, you will tell me where he is, and what has happened to him, and why you of all people are here representing him!"

"The hell I will," Hyde retorted. Lanyon recoiled from the violence in his tone. He wondered if the knife was still on his person. He swallowed and settled himself.

"What are the chemicals for?" he said.

"For your precious Dr. Jekyll," Hyde said, his lip curling. "May I get on with it, or are you going to spend the whole night being a stubborn ass?"

"I—beg your pardon," Lanyon sputtered, but Hyde had already gone back to the drawer, single-minded. Lanyon did not try to stop him this time, wary of meeting a worse fate that Mr. Guest.

Hyde mixed some sort of potion from the contents of the drawer—it had the fizzing strangeness of Jekyll's alchemy, the dramatic and theatrical color changes. As the fizzing abated and the color settled, Hyde seemed to settle with it. Some of the violence eased from his posture, some of the hatred from his face. He put a thumb over the top of the flask and looked back to Lanyon.

"You've done your part," Hyde said. "If you let me leave, you'll have your Jekyll back by morning, and neither you nor he nor anyone else will ever hear from me again."

Lanyon drew himself up and clenched his fists.

"No, sir," he said. "You are going to take me directly to Dr. Jekyll, and then you or he or both of you or at least one of you is going to explain what the devil has been going on!"

"All right," Hyde said, his lip curling. "Just remember you asked for it."

And he raised the potion to his lips and gulped it down in one swallow. Upon the instant, he snarled in pain, clutching at his gut and folding as though he had been struck. The flask fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.

"Oh, God," Lanyon remarked, wondering if the man had just killed himself. Perhaps he was trying to make a point, or maybe he'd just gotten the dosage wrong.

Hyde dropped to his knees, heaving with agony. Brilliant green ichor spilled from his lips, from his eyes and nose. His skin began to swarm with blisters.

"Oh, God!" Lanyon cried, and then, "Oh God!" again as Hyde's form twisted and swelled, boiling with tumors. Lanyon staggered back, clamping a hand over his mouth to hold back a scream. Glowing green ichor splattered on the floor. The thing, the creature, gasped and moaned. The roiling flesh subsided. Auburn curls shone in the lamplight. Clothes stretched too tight over a taller frame. A slender, comely hand wiped the green ichor from the mouth. The face lifted, amber eyes locked with Lanyon's, still weeping their glowing tears. Lanyon looked on in abject horror, too stunned for words, for thought.

"Hello, Robert," Jekyll said, breathless and hoarse. He forced a sheepish smile. "I suppose you'll be wanting that explanation now."

After Jekyll had finished, the two of them sat in silence for some time. Lanyon could find no words to say, not condemnation nor comfort. It was all simply too much. Despite the fact that he'd seen it with his own eyes, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. It seemed a fantasy, or a nightmare, and some part of him still hoped he might wake up.

"So you understand," Jekyll said, "why I was so adamant that Hyde not be blamed. Why last night was such a—a travesty. I was terrified, Robert. I was . . . betrayed."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. He felt as though he had been sitting there for centuries, decaying. Perhaps he would never move again.

"The other man," Jekyll said, with a slow dread in his voice. "With Utterson. Is he dead?"

Lanyon's jaw creaked open, rust flaking from the joints.

"Guest," he said. "It was his clerk, Mr. Guest. He survived. Barely."

Jekyll shut his eyes and turned his face away. For a time he did not speak. Lanyon wondered if Jekyll was as consumed by horror, by disbelief as he was. He still could not accept that it was Jekyll who had so violently lashed out against Guest. He could not bring himself to reconcile that vicious stranger with his dearest friend.

"It was never meant to go on this long," Jekyll said, pained. "Or to get this bad."

Lanyon did not reply. Jekyll sighed. Lanyon made the mistake of looking up at him, and the expression of utter despair on his face shattered every ounce of indecision Lanyon had held.

"I just wanted a night off," Jekyll said helplessly.

Lanyon took a deep breath to settle himself.

"Well," he said. "One thing's clear. This must stop at once."

"You're probably right," Jekyll said, pushing a hand back through his hair. "I've got a few tests that ought to be run, on either side of the transformation, then—"

"No, Henry, it has to stop right now," Lanyon interrupted. "Right here, tonight. We'll take this—this thing you've made, destroy all the chemicals, then . . . return to your laboratory and destroy the notes, and then to Hyde's—to your other location and destroy the copies as well."

Jekyll looked up sharply. "We absolutely will not," he snapped.

"You can't mean to keep on with this!" Lanyon said, horrified.

"I can, and I do," said Henry. "It's gotten out of hand, yes, of course. It's gone horribly wrong, but it can be fixed. Hyde is a loss, of course, a total loss, but he can be replaced, or altered sufficiently that it won't matter. I've made some mistake, that's all, some error in the methodology, and once I've found it, I'll put it right. It was never perfect. It went through a great deal of trial and error, it can stand to go through more. Once the exhibition is through with, and everything's financially settled, I can work on it properly. I can fix this."

"No, Henry, you can't!" Lanyon cried. "This is—this is mad!"

Jekyll paled, his hand clenching on the arm of his chair.

"So," he said. "The truth at last. If that's your opinion of the Society, you may feel free to cut ties at any time."

"It's not about the Society, for God's sake! I know what goes on at the Society, I know the people there and I've seen the things they do, and I don't give a damn! This is mad, Henry! What you are doing is mad!"

"This is my work, Robert," he said, his voice taut with emotion, his eyes red with unshed tears. "This is my life. I am not going to throw it away because you couldn't keep your nose out of it!"

"It's got nothing to do with me!"

"It's got everything to do with you! I wouldn't be in this mess if you and Utterson hadn't decided to play Fairy Godmother behind my back. I had everything under control—"

"You had nothing under control!" Lanyon interrupted. "Hyde was a disaster waiting to happen and you damn well know it! For God's sake, Henry, you nearly killed a man!"

"And it never would have come to that if you hadn't meddled!" Jekyll snarled. "I won't be bullied into abandoning my life's work because of one mistake!"

"You passed one mistake years ago!" Lanyon retorted. "You are at one hundred mistakes, one thousand! I recognize that look on your face, I remember that look, and I am begging you, please, let this go. You know I'm only trying to keep you safe. Please, for the love of God, just this once, let me. Don't go back into those woods. Don't go back into that darkness."

Jekyll went cold and still, trembling with some inner violence.

"If you can't take it," he said quietly, "then you are free to walk away, and I shall never bother you again."

He got to his feet, towering and grim, the gleam of fervor in his eyes, flame on his breath and thunder in his voice.

"But you will not take it from me," he declared.

Lanyon stared up at him, and for the first time saw him as he truly was.

"You really are mad," he murmured, even as his heart crumbled in his chest.

Jekyll held out his hands. Lanyon watched him for a moment more, then dropped his gaze, and got to his feet, and placed the drawer from the lab in Jekyll's outstretched hands.

"Goodbye, Lanyon," Jekyll said.

"Goodbye, Henry," said Lanyon.

Jekyll walked away. The door closed behind him. Silence descended upon the house, upon Lanyon.

Slowly, he sank back into his chair. Slowly, he put his face in his hands. Slowly, he folded over and rested his knuckles on his knees.

He did not sleep that night, nor for many nights after.

[lumenwolf-blog]

A Tear-stained Letter

Tear soaked eyes settled upon a parchment before her, blank, much like her mind at the moment. Lumen felt guilt on a whole different level than most people due to the plagues that rested within her mind. She had no idea how to begin the letter, or finish it without seeming like she was trying to seek some sort of pity. In this case she was not, only understanding. Though, at the same time, the anxiety that crept within her mind lashed at her, reminding her she didn't deserve forgiveness or understanding for her quiet outburst at the Madam. That nagging voice continued to berate her, telling her to give up, that the letter wasn't even worth anyone's time reading if she did write it.

More tears sprang from her eyes then, dripping down onto the paper and clouding her vision slightly, just as she dipped her quill into the black ink that sat near her. She had always liked the Madam, and found her company pleasant and intriguing when met with it. And although her mind told her that she, herself, did not deserve the Madam's time or day after the incident, if ever.. The madam deserved and explanation and apology, so she began to write.

"Dear Madam Gampre, I am probably the last person at the moment you would expect to hear from. Though under the loving council of my beloved it was decided that I should write you a letter in apology, as I felt terrible for how I looked at you during the auction, especially after you left. I am terrible truly, at face to face meetings with anyone, and I was under a great deal of stress and anxiety during the auction. Such is easy for me to write down on paper, you see, though not so well handled in the public eye, nor face to face with anyone. And I simply could not face you in a meeting Sir Longclaw wishes for us to have with you, without writing you this letter first. My nerves simply will not allow it.

I suppose I should start by explaining a few things about how I have become who I am, how everything about all of it defines me. Beyond these words, Madam, are harsh and cold truths that I have accepted, though am still learning to live with daily; even after years passed. I do hope you keep them with strict confidentiality between us and that no other ever hears these truths pass through your lips, nor see this paper in which they are writ.

It began before I even drew my first breath of air outside of my mother's womb. My father made a very terrible deal, with a very terrible man that bound me to him for the rest of his life, and/or mine. He did such to keep the power and wealth of our family within Gilneas, and as I grew up I found myself stalked and abused, both mentally and physically. I shan’t go into too much detail *a teardrop smears the words slightly*, for the pain of the memories are already too hard to bear, and... bare to anyone. 

This man chased me in deep pursuit, made his unwanted advances for the whole of my life, even when I was but a child. I had met Sir Longclaw you see back in our home of Gilneas before the fall. I knew that even as a young girl of ten, that he would be the one. I know. It sounds terribly girlish and silly, but for five years we saw each other thereafter in secret. When the wall fell we were separated, and my world fell into more darkness than it had been before.

I had no choice but to run from the man I was promised to, under the whims of his curse and that of the Worgen curse, which he used to the fullest extent to break me down and hopefully force me to give in. I did not. I continued to run and paid many a dear price for such. My sanity was near lost by the time I had found love again and became pregnant with my first daughter, only to lose her father to some wild death - and eventually lose my Emily for many months after shortly after she was born. This man, this warlock, had taken her. The trauma of these events left me even more susceptible to the warlock's curse and power over me. I had no where to turn, and I grew very ill. I never stopped *teardrop* thinking of Sir Longclaw, not once during all of it. I knew if he survived the fall of Gilneas and we could find each other again, he would be able to see to the end of Jaytham Harrows, the man who hunted, used, and abused me every chance he got, only to try and make me his own. Thadwyl loved me that much, and I never forgot that.

Luck kept with us, in its sick sense of duty, to have us meet on very unusual circumstances. We were assigned to the same demonic threat that had plauged near Northshire Abbey when the Legion once again reared its ugly head at Azeroth. He came to me in his bestial form, and I had no recognition of him. With his undeath clouding his mind, he knew not of me any longer *teardrop*. The mission was long, and extended further into an attack just below Felsoul Hold in Aszuna. We grew close and beyond all things plausible, the sicknesses I bear within my mind, and his undeath.. we fell in love again.

It wasn't until some months, if not a year later, he found a drawing I had kept, done by a local Gilnean artist of him and myself when we were younger. It stirred his memory, and I told him the story of the hazel eyed boy that I had *teardrop* loved what felt like a lifetime ago. That hazel eyed boy as you know, was him. From that point on, I chose to surely never let him slip through my fingers again. 

Sir Longclaw and I have seen many trials together, and faced a great deal of scrutiny for our relationship. He was the one who found my dear Emily at the orphanage and brought her home to me. He loved and is still loving me through growing with-child by the very man that stalked me from birth until his death. 

Even though it was through vile trickery and sickening violation that the child was bore, you can imagine how much it must have hurt Thadwyl. He cannot give me children of his own, and it truly breaks my heart that he has to live with that fact. I would not trade my daughters for anything in this world, but I know the burden of how the one soon to be born, came to be, weighs upon Sir Longclaw's mind daily. We have been cold and cruel to each other many times, but in the end we have always loved each other through it.

For the longest time, Sir Longclaw was my only friend. And still to this day he is the only one that can comprehend what happens within my mind when it does. He is the only one that can soothe the nightmares that replay before my waking, and sleeping eyes. I live mostly in isolation aside from him, and on the days  my duties are required for Lady Ludlow and that of the Kirin Tor. Even though he believes himself to be absolute darkness, he is the light I need to simply raise my head off the pillow in the morning. I love him so dearly, Madam, and I merely felt threatened.

I suppose none of that is truly important to you, but I wished to convey what I felt and why I felt it when I heard the remark that was made towards my beloved, and his laughter that followed suit. Despite it all, Madam, I have never felt good enough for anything, especially him. Especially with the guilt that lays upon me for what I have put him through, and how I do not deserve his patience, loyalty, *teardrop* and love. I am not well in my mind, and it completely irrationalized every word you spoke to him, and his response into entirely something that was meaningless and harmless. I am so very sorry if I have caused you any ill feelings, Madam. And I hope that you can find it within your heart to forgive me for making you feel that way, and will indeed meet with myself and Sir Longclaw so I can extend this apology to you in person. As you see, all of this was my fault, and not yours.. nor the fault of my beloved. I lashed out at the both of you, and it was terrible of me.

With Sincerity and Regrets, Lumen Bridgeton"

Dainty and shaking hands folded the letter then, second guessing everything she wrote down, though she still slipped it into an envelope. Her mind was racing now, as was her heart. Without giving herself much time to talk herself out of it, she sped down her hallway, down the stairs in which she handed the letter off to her butler, Mr. Bishop, giving clear instructions to make haste to the mail courier so the letter could be delivered.

Once he departed the waiting game for a response began, and she knew she would not sleep well, if any at all until the Madam Gampre had responded and she held such within her own hands. The instability of her mind was showing greatly today, so much so, that even she herself realized it. Thus, it was made worse with further guilt for Thadwyl having to deal with it when he arrived home that evening.

-----------

@susan-gampre

@longclawofgilneas @ludlowvineyards for mentions

[ofsurviiving]

— ✧ ADRIA ARJONA ??  no, that’s just SIENNA LOREN THOMPKINS !! she’s the TWENTY EIGHT year old daughter of ALFRED PENNYWORTH & LESLIE THOMPKINS, and a member of CAMPUS SECURITY at paragon, bartender at JOHNNY’S BAR and aspiring PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. i hear she’s INGENIOUS & LIONHEARTED, but tends to be HEADSTRONG & DETACHED. her file says that her power is ENHANCED CONDITION. her stats page is HERE. her pinterest board is HERE.

      the sun will RISE               and WE will try again

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of death throughout, funerals, miscarriage, infant death & postpartum depression

sienna loren thompkins was born in pretoria, south africa, twenty eight years ago to dr leslie maurin thompkins, a ( at the time ) disgraced nurse, and alfred pennyworth - much beloved butler and valet to bruce wayne. she was the first of two children that would grow up without any knowledge of their father, with a brother, dante carmel thompkins coming along two years later. 

she was conceived on accident, by chance, at the end of her mother’s most recent fling with alfred - when she fled from gotham to africa following stephanie brown’s supposed death, which she had orchestrated. her brother was conceived in a hotel room in the city when alfred came to visit, his anger fading by the month. they were raised together solely by their mother in a village a few hundred miles west of the city, the three of them sometimes traveling abroad together when it called for it, but never spending too much time away - and never spending any time AT ALL, in america. 

her earliest memories are of helping people. lee did the best that she could with what she had, working from a tiny and outdated medical practice, helping the many who came from their village and beyond - and while little sia was forever at her side, little dante was forever at sia’s. spending her free time in the practice with her mom and being homeschooled for the entire first decade of her life, sia learned from the very best - and she saw her life as a sort of blessing. she didn’t dwell on the things she didn’t have, like money or status or a father. she, like lee, made the most of what she DID have, and she came to view her mother as a sort of hero. after all - not many people were so willing to help the misfortunate. she and her brother were INSEPARABLE, back then. they were surrounded by other children, but there was a bond between siblings that proved stronger than all else, and while they had their issues, the typical sibling to and fro, sia was dante’s most loyal protector, and dante was her closest confidant. while sometimes their mother’s attention would wander, they knew that they would always have each other.

she was thirteen years old and dante eleven, when lee received word that she could finally return to gotham city. the news came from alfred himself, who traveled all the way to the village just to let her know - and imagine his surprise, when little sienna thompkins was who welcomed him first. lee had never told him about her - nor dante. it wasn’t out of spite, or anything negative - alfred’s whole life had been dedicated to bruce, and his focus was one track minded, and lee had never wanted to talk away from that by telling him he had children growing up half the world away. she didn’t try to lie - she didn’t say sia and dante were anyone elses, or that they weren’t even hers. she told him, that evening, and told sia and dante too - and a week later, all four of them boarded a plane back to gotham city. lee began the process of finding herself an apartment in her hometown and a small building out of which she could operate a medical practice, to boot. sienna and dante were entrusted to her father. it was equal parts wanting them to have somewhere to live while things were up in the air for lee, and wanting them to finally get to know alfred pennyworth.

they had gotten along incredibly well, for the week they had known each other in africa. sienna had showed him all her photographs and accomplishments, and he had told her as much as he felt appropriate for a thirteen year old to know about his life. dante had insisted he play football with him, and alfred had insisted on telling him stories he said were for boys ears, only. but speaking with one another and learning each others personalities and habits and things was entirely different to being thrown in the deep end and living with one another - and it didn’t really help that the wayne family was quite as large. sienna would barely speak a word to anyone who wasn’t her brother or alfred. she was as intimidated by them all simply as people, as she was scared that they would think her strange or foreign, and be far from welcoming, as he’d promised.

months went by, and sia remained ever fearful of the people she was now surrounded by - and when her mother finally opened up her new practice, she thought that meant she could return to her comfort zone and go back to living with her full time. ALAS, lee was more swamped in gotham city than she had ever been in africa. gotham was huge and troubled. nothing like she, or the kids for that matter, had grown accustomed to. she worked sixteen hour days, only catching some sleep above the practice before returning once again - and she wished it could have been different, sia could tell as much from her expression when she sat her down to break the news, but she NEEDED to keep doing good. she couldn’t cut her work in half. gotham needed her. sia did, too, but she had alfred now - and lee thought it would be incredibly good for her to continue living with him, and continue down the road of accepting him as her father.

now, things were different. sia had remained at a distance to those around her because in a way, she had imagined that she would someday soon get to go HOME. now, wayne manner was her home - and things weren’t going to change any time soon, so she knew she had to get used to it. she opened up. she HAD to - and boy, is she both happy and sad that she did.

at fifteen, following a rollarcoaster of a few years, sienna became batgirl alongside fabian todd’s robin. it was a PRETTY BIG thing - and it drove a VERY big wedge between her and her mother and her brother, to boot, though their relationship had started suffering right around the time that lee had taken sia back to gotham. alfred was difficult to get around, but sia, born and raised to take care of people, made a very convincing ( if not just downright impossible to dissuade ) argument - he accepted it because he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. dante just... never quite wrapped his head around it. he could never quite reconcile the idea of his DEDICATED older sister putting her life on the line for a city he was learning didn’t care for anyone, and this was the beginning of the wedge between them. lee, on the other hand, forever against bruce’s inclincation to put kids on the street in masks, HATED the idea of her only daughter joining the roster. their contact ended the day sienna told her, but she didn’t stop being batgirl. in fact - even now - being batgirl was the only thing that sia ever really felt that she had done RIGHT. 

fabian was, at this point, the BEST friend that sia had - and in a way, the person who she put in place of dante. working alongside them to clean up gotham felt good, it felt right, and she would be lying if she said that the adrenaline rush wasn’t ANOTHER huge appeal. coming from a background of doing good wherever she could, helping to do good in gotham came naturally - though she was, as a teen who was only now coming into herself confidence wise, a little reckless. they were without a doubt the HAPPIEST days of her life, even WITH the cracks that began to form at home - and certainly the ones where she felt as if she was doing the most good.

and then, fabian died. it was sudden, and it was the first of a series of heartbreaks that sia would face. she had never LOST anyone before - at least, not someone who she cared for - and the day they died, she really did lose a small part of herself that even after their return, never came back. sia couldn’t face the funeral. she couldn’t carry on as batgirl, either - not without her robin. it was a sad, sad situation, and it’s never fully been remedied.

sia threw herself into her studies as way of dealing with giving up the batgirl mantle, and that, as they say, was that. it’s maybe the perfect time to say that gotham academy - the school alfred had enrolled them in and the school she hadn’t much cared for, until then - was never anything more than a distraction for her, but still, she graduated, and she did it with a weighted 4.9 gpa. she was smart. she wasn’t ever behind, despite being a vigilante for a lot of her time there and despite missing out on a great many years of formal and conventional education. she took everything that was ever thrown at her in her stride, and she managed to do it making friends along the way, too. she graduated, moved out of wayne manor, and got three jobs right off the bat in downtown gotham - selling books in a local bookstore for half the week, waitressing in a local diner every evening, and serving drinks in a hip nightclub every weekend night. she was saving her money. she was getting somewhere, on her own. and she was working on getting to HAPPY - something that had, for a time, seemed beyond her.

she was in love, too. quin was her first SERIOUS love, before she ever even knew about it. they had met at gotham academy, but it wasn’t until after the relationship he had been embroiled in had come to an end that they got involved on and off, continuing that way for a while until she got pregnant. of course, she was scared - UNBELIEVABLY SO - but she wanted the baby ( it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say she wanted something to dedicate her life to, again ), and she would have given it the most amazing of lives if she hadn’t miscarried. that was the second of her major heartbreaks. sia was DEVASTATED, and without quin…- god, she wouldn’t have survived. but they got through it, they got more serious, they put an official label on themselves, and the tragedy of their loss brought them together.

and it also brought her back to her mother. in the days following her miscarriage, before she and quin had really become each others crutch, she visited her mother and began confiding in her once again. it was difficult. it would always be. but they were back in contact, and they kept in touch - even if they both found it difficult to be in the same room as one another.

it was also around then that she lost contact with her brother, once and for all. they had only ever seemed to grow MORE distant - and dante had taken a path that sia had not, while attending gotham academy. she regained one family member only to lose the other, and it would soon prove to be yet another cause for heartbreak.

she followed quin to paragon, choosing to apply and work on a law degree. she said it was what she wanted, and in a way, it was - but being a lawyer would never match being batgirl. she was always unsatisfied. it wasn’t until she’d achieved her bachelors and realized that she could go on and become a COP that sia felt like she was getting a little bit closer to the dream she had once lived.

and then her brother DIED - her brother, dante, was murdered. murdered by a FRIEND. filmed and put online. sia was not in gotham, at the time, but when the call came through in the earliest hours of the morning, she rushed to the hospital. she’d never thought she would LOSE him. even if they were fractured, she had always thought they would realign, someday.

it broke her, all over again. losing her little brother - the boy she SHOULD have been there for, that in a way, she felt she could have protected. perhaps she couldn’t have done anything at all, but sia begged to disagree, and she was never quite the same again. a week after the funeral, she returned to paragon. she didn’t speak of what had happened, and nobody pushed. it just wasn’t their place, and it never seemed the time.

and then, she fell pregnant again. this time, they didn’t tell anyone until they were out of the danger zone. she didn’t get attached until she saw the three little heartbeats on the monitor at the hospital three weeks in a row. she didn’t call them anything other than beans one two and three until she was five months in. but once she’d opened her heart to them, trusted they they would survive… sia loved the babies more than she had ever loved anything, before, and they gave her something that at that point in life, she NEEDED. i said that quin was her first serious love - but they were her second, most important, and YES - finally, she had reached a version of happiness, once more. she had her fiance. she had three strong babies on the way. she was going to take a break and then return to work on being a cop, someday, and she was going to do GOOD in the world in the kind of way that sh wished that she could again -

then the attack happened. quin died. he died saving her, and their unborn babies, and it was all for nought in the end anyway because she was INJURED, badly - at the hospital her nearest and dearest were informed that she would require an emergency c-section if the babies were to survive. lillian and quinten james lived, brought into the world hours after quin had exited it - but complications had arose, and injuries she had sustained had not only left sia in a touch and go position, but had resulted in them losing IRIS. in under a few hours she had lost the love of her life and one of their babies. these were the heartbreaks that sia didn’t think she would survive.

a part of her wished that she had parted from this world, instead of living through the trauma. sienna required a massive blood transfusion following her surgeries, and alfred himself was the donor - but when she awoke, she wished he hadn’t been so quick to volunteer. she survived. two of their babies survived. but she had lost quin, and lost their daughter, and she lost herself, too.

she was already a non-presence in the twins life when quin came back to life. they called it postpartum depression - she couldn’t stand being too involved with them, wasn’t connecting with them, on any sort of level. she had pushed everyone including her babies away, leaving them to be raised by everyone around her while her mother tried to break through the fog that had come down over her - and then quin came back.

and she was scared.

over the short time that quin had been gone, she had made some truly questionable decisions. she had hurt people who she felt had hurt him. she had abandoned their kids when they needed her most. she had been far from a stand up mother and far from a pillar of strength, consumed by her own aching sadness and need for petty revenge - and now he was back, but he was different, and he wasn’t HER QUIN, and he was alive but he had still been MURDERED, and -

it was a lot. too much. she didn’t know how to react to him, and she didn’t feel as if she had ever been present in their lives to affect the twins if she left, and… though she was ashamed to say, she RAN.. it was far from her proudest moment.

and now she’s back. slightly better adjusted, still seeking revenge for… she doesn’t even know what, anymore. she’s trying to realign who she was with who she’s become, and distance has certainly given her perspective. the only people who matter to her ( REALLY matter ) are lillian and quinten james. they’re HER WORLD. she wants to do right by them - and she intends to, too.

SECTION TWO OF THREE: FACTS

dante carmel thompkins was not the golden boy, but he was sia’s LITTLE BROTHER - and his loss will never not weigh her shoulders down. when they were children, they were as thick as thieves. anywhere that sia went, he followed, clinging to her sleeve, and anywhere that dante went, sia followed, eagle eyes keeping an eye on him - first because lee urged her to, and then because it had become second nature. when they moved into wayne manor, they were all each other had aside from alfred, and for those first few months, their bond had never been STRONGER. but in the aftermath of them, when lee told them they would be permanently staying where they were...sia adjusted, and DANTE did not. he never felt at home, there, not the way she learnt to. he adored the people, don’t get me wrong - but he hated the vastness of the home they now shared with them all, and hated the change. the fractures began then and were chalked down to teenage hormones, but when they were both enrolled into gotham academy... it became obvious that it was FAR more. one went one way, the other went another. sia was a golden girl. she was BATGIRL ( and then ex ). she was head cheerleader. she was INTELLIGENT and beautiful, and she never struggled to find a group of friends. dante was the opposite. for a time, he seemed to be alone - and no matter how much she urged him to join her, or sit with her, he WOULDN’T. he thought it would be weird. he didn’t want to be laughed at. and somewhere along the way, he found where he BELONGED without his older sister’s help. to fit in he had started to become a staple part of the party scene - and then he met winona falcone, the rest becoming history. alfred and lee were not pleased by his choice in friend, and sia did not think she could judge, considering that around the same time he met winnie, she had started to date quinten isley quinzel. but regardless of anyone elses opinion, dante CARED for winnie. he enjoyed her company, and he was loyal to the last. they were best friends, for better, for worse. closest confidants. easy supporters. his partying became more HARDCORE, but at least he had winnie to share it with - especially since, as he descended, he lost more and more of the people he had called friends and family. he barely thought about sia, after a certain point, coming to think of winnie as a sort of sister - and it was unfortunate... no, downright TRAGIC, what happened to him. he was drunk, perhaps high, and certainly not thinking about what he was saying. no one could have known it was going to end up the way it did. not him. not WINNIE. certainly not sia, who never thought that she would outlive her younger brother - and worse never once believed she would lose him before the opportunity came knocking to solve their vast issues.

she’s been living her for fourteen years, almost, but sia STILL has a fairly strong south african accent. she was born and spent all her formative years there, so it makes sense.

sia’s good at heart. she always was. she has a good heart, and when it’s working right, a strong moral compass. she’s always wanted to save the world and the people in it ( call her lee’s daughter ), and all she’s ever done has been to meet those goals - but she has this rage within her that doesn’t lineup with who she’s always been, and that scares her - the need for revenge, even though quin’s alive again, consumes her, and sometimes she wonders if she really should have come back at all. the time she’s spent away has been spent at the sides of people who can help her be who she used to be, training, learning, watching - trying to relearn control she once had, though its hard to tell if she really has any, anymore.

sia has dropped the dream of being a cop. she doesn’t know whether that classic idea of justice that she always believed in before is what she believes in now - and while she’s pursuing the biblical sort of justice, she doesn’t think it’s ok to continue trying to be a law enforcement official. she does love the idea of private investigating, though, and feels it would allow her to be closer to who she was once as batgirl while also following her heart, now, and… who knows! it’s something she rly wants, anyway

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

FRIENDS !!! sia’s always been friendly, and i want her to have some friends that she maybe made at gotham academy, or also maybe made at paragon. i’m also open to ones she made while she was still traveling with her mom, because i feel as if she would have run into a lot of different people while she was.

EXES LMAO !! quin was her first serious love but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had people before him, who put her on the path to actual love. good exes, bad exes… who cares i just lov an ex!!

ROOMMATE !! i don’t think that sia could realistically afford a place to live on her own, even working the two/threeish jobs she’s working - i’d lov for her to have someone she lives with, so hmu for that roommate connect

this isnt my best idea but could someone out there pls just . give her a pep talk abt being a mom. she loves her kids and would straight up die for them but there’s no way in hell she considers herself a good mother, or even the kind of mother they should have in their lives right now

[redrobin-detective]

Business as Usual

Ok! So I did a little thing based off @timdrakeothy's AU (that I've been calling the Reverse Batman AU) where Bruce is included in the AU and is a smol bb dealing with all these crazy vigilantes. Also tagging @audreycritter for her brilliant contributions to the AU and me borrowing her idea of Jason's origin (which I'll find after posting and link here). Anyway, tiny Bruce trying to boss around ""his"" team is very entertaining for me.

“You’ve probably wondered why I’ve gathered you all here today,” 12 year old Bruce Wayne announces in that resolute, self-assured way that only a child can be. The team of tired vigilantes exchanged amused glances before going back to patching each other up after a rough patrol. They didn’t mean to end up in the boy billionaire’s orbit but one by one, they’d been drawn in first by Damian’s one man war against crime and stayed because of Bruce’s stubborn resolve to save the world. He financed all of their equipment and Batal had been using the cave system beneath Wayne Manor as his base of operations for the past five years since he’d left the League of Assassins and become Bruce’s “bodyguard”. If the kid wanted to think he was in charge, no one was going to stop him. Besides, it was pretty cute.

“Yeah Boss, we have been wondering.” Jason responded sarcastically but the fondness in his tone was evident. He hadn’t expected to be unofficially taken in by a rich kid he’d been trying to rob nor become a partner to the legendary Batal but he was happy here with these crazy nutjobs. Bruce either didn’t notice or ignored Jay’s flippant tone for he pulled himself up onto one of the operating tables so that he could look each of his team in the eye. Those tables were supposed to be for emergency surgery but they mostly ended up being high chairs for their fearless leader.

“With Alfred visiting family in England for the week, it’s up to me to maintain order around here. And I’m worried about how this team is being run. Your hearts are all in the right place but I’m afraid there are some things I can’t let continue.” Bruce says with all the seriousness of a reluctant businessman about to fire someone. Damian most certainly does not look amused as he crosses his arms and stares down at the boy he saved almost five years before.

“And that would be?” He asks as Brown leans around his muscular arm to beam down at Bruce, probably because she deems his pout to be another ‘Kodak moment’ as she puts it.

“Dick,” Bruce begins causing the 14 year old, who was in the middle of end of night stretches, to freeze. “I saw on the cameras you were on your own for exactly 39 minutes tonight and it was almost an hour last week. You’re just starting out; you can’t be without back-up out there. If you can’t follow these instructions, I’m going to have to bench you.”

“Come on B,” Dick moans, “I’m trained enough; I can do things on my own for five minutes without Batal breathing down my neck.” Damian sniffed, turning his attention onto his latest partner.

“He’s right, you’re still young and you still need constant supervision out there. If you’re not with me or someone else at all times, you’re not out at all.” Dami said sternly while Dick just deflated, there was no arguing with Batal Almafquda when he was like this. “Good observation Bruce, please continue.”

“Barbara Gordon is still running around as Batgirl,” Bruce continues pulling out a small notepad and observing his notes. “She’s getting better at learning to avoid your patrol routes but I want to put a stop to her activities before she gets hurt. We can’t encourage her behavior, no matter how cute Dick thinks she is.” Dick sputters in the background but Bruce continues on unperturbed, turning to Jason.

“I’m concerned you’re not taking this seriously Jason,” Jay rolls his eyes as the focus turns to him.

“I’ve been doing this for almost 3 years and I’m 18 so you can’t boss me around kiddo.” He says with a flippant shrug, “I don’t even live here anymore so you can’t hold that over me like ya used to.”

“No but I was here when the Joker kidnapped and tortured you for nearly a week because you hadn’t listened to our warnings about how dangerous he was.” Bruce said with too dark eyes while Jason’s face became blank at the mentioned of his abuse. “I’ve lost enough family and I don’t want to lose any more.” This of course brought all eyes over to Tim, who was glaring at the floor with a stern expression and his fists clenched in stress.

“And what did I do Bruce?” He rasps out, trying to get the visions of the sword going through his heart during what should have been a normal patrol out of his head. He recalls the sharp acidic sting of the Pit when Ra’s brought him back to use against Batal. He thinks of his short, terrible tenure at the League of assassin before Damian finally was able to reach through Ra’s brainwashing and allow him to escape. He thinks of his once steel grey-blue eyes that have become stained green, a permanent sign of his failure as a hero. “What other ways did I screw up?”

“You did not eat the fruit roll-up I put in your utility belt,” Bruce replies seriously and the absurdity of the sentence snaps Tim out of his painful reverie. “You haven’t been eating well enough lately; you’ve been working too hard. I told you to eat more fruits and vegetables but you wouldn’t eat the potato chips I gave you and I found the uneaten fruit roll-up still in your belt.” Bruce paused to wag his finger, “this is your last warning Tim or else I’ll make you stay home and let Alfred feed you.” Tim feels a weak laughter bubbling up in his chest not just at Bruce’s naïve earnestness on what counts as a healthy diet but the nonjudgmental care in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Yeah Tim,” Stephanie teases from beside Damian, “eat your fruit roll-up or you’re off the team.”

“Stephanie you need to put more effort into your schoolwork, your English grade dropped to a B- this last quarter.” Bruce adds with a disappointed raise of his eyebrow that is entirely inappropriate on a child who still has babyfat in his cheeks.

“I do plenty of studying! My teacher is a shrew and out to get me and why the heck are you looking at my grades you little gremlin?” Stephanie complained, putting her hands on her hips.

“I do it because I care Stephanie and I want you to get a good education so you can get a nice, well-paying job. So bring your grades up or you and Tim will be studying and eating fruit roll-ups together.” Stephanie grumbles while Tim sticks his tongue out at the girl, his earlier melancholy gone in the face of a chance to make fun of one of his best friends.  

“Cassie, you’re doing great as always,” Bruce says with a smile and a nod while Cass smiles back with that special smile she saves only for Bruce. “And lastly, Damian.”

“Yes?” The Arabic man asks, staring down at his employer in name but his child in every way else.

“You’re approaching the 60 hours without sleep which you know results in confusion, lack of concentration as well tremors and slowed reaction times. Alfred usually can get you to see reason but since he’s not here I’m forced to take drastic measures.” Bruce said seriously, letting his words sink in before he held out his arms to be held. “It’s nearly 3am, much later than Alfred lets me stay up. I was placed in your care during his absence so unless you want to deal with his anger, you’d better put me to bed. And I can tell you that I won’t go easily unless you go with me and ensure I sleep the whole night by staying with me.”

Damian stares down in incredulity at the child before him. Was he being guilted and blackmailed into sleeping? But then he notices Bruce’s pale face and dark circles under his eyes and he remembers that the boy hasn’t slept much since Alfred’s been away. Distance from the butler always made his nightmares that much more potent. This tactic was probably to help him sleep as well as Damian; the older man sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He had a good bit of work still left to do but he was feeling tired and he couldn’t just leave Bruce alone with his demons, threats or no threats.

“Drake, Brown, go over the files we took from Cobblepot’s computers tonight and see if anything sticks out. Cain, please get me that report on Zsasz’s underground fighting ring and then we’ll move in on that. Todd, you’re still on the Falcone murders get me that research but also finish your schoolwork, you’ve got class tomorrow. Dick and Bruce are going to bed.” Damian announced addressing his team as he stooped down to pick up their little leader. At 12, Bruce was getting to be too big to carry but there were some exceptions when the orphan needed a little extra care. He settles the warm, weight against his chest and sighs. “I’ll be going up too. Good patrol but Bruce is right, we are going to be making some changes around here. We can’t allow for any error in our operation, I will not lose any more people.” That said, Damian turned around and stalked up the stairs to Wayne Manor with Dick skipping after him.

“You know you can probably just put him in bed and he won’t notice, you don’t need to sleep with him.” Dick whispered as they passed through the grandfather clock. Bruce was already half asleep in his arms and would likely be completely asleep by the time Damian settled him down.

“We both know he would notice,” Damian responded back, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with giving the children some attention.” He said reaching out to ruffle Dick’s hair. “Now bed or I’ll make you join us. You have school tomorrow as well.” Bruce sighed sleepily into his shoulder as Dick ran up to the second floor and Damian took a moment to stroke the boy’s head. He was such a good-hearted child, so full of hope and a determination to see that no one else should suffer his tragedies. Damian would do everything in his power to make sure that Bruce was given the love he deserved, he deserved better than this life no matter what he claimed. His real talent was not just his brilliance but his ability to attract people due to his earnestness and keep them together as a family. Given the opportunity, Bruce Wayne could change the world. But not tonight.

“Let’s get some rest little one, you’ve earned it.”