emptynesters | 50 years later meme

50 years later meme

Fast forward into the future of Station 72 where your character has been a part of the Hive for however many years. Are they still themselves? Have they integrated fully with the symbiote? Are they the only ones left of their brood? Have they formed other connections in their brood's absence? Do they remember anything of their life before the station? How do they relate to the other Hosts still around, or to new ones who have come in since others have fallen? What else can you come up with?

HOW TO PLAY
STEP ONE: POST WITH YOUR CHARACTER

STEP TWO: Either set up the scene or give some info of what your character is like X years down the line.

STEP THREE: TAG OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS

STEP FOUR ?????

STEP FIVE: PROFIT

Threaded | Flat

[Options are 5 years (when Kavinsky is 22-23, or 10 years, when he is 27-28). After being in the Hive that long, Kavinsky has learned to chill out to many necessary degrees, but not nearly as much as one would like. (The Joker is still a mess and what is he, like, forty?) He's come to terms with certain issues, such as his sexuality (gay gay gay but Hive can make him open up to Certain Ladies) and not needing to be high all the time. His dreaming abilities have become more refined and focused, thus even more dangerous. He's learned to draw from other Hivemates for those dreams as well, which means they're able to directly contribute to what he crafts as long as they're willing to intertwine that closely with the K man.

The sinister aura remains, as does the inability to not yandere or stand in someone's personal space. Those who have bled into him for all this time, particularly those from Mia brood, will have a much better idea of who he is and where he comes from. They'll know all about his on and off again semi-suicidal tendencies and his background re: abuse (dad tried to kill him, mom was prone to breaking things and doing an awful lot of screaming when K didn't drug her to complacency). They'll also know that Kavinsky has definitely killed before and is able to make dream people to take the places of originals. Let's assume he hasn't needed to do this outside of missions.

Overall, if he was attached before, he's even more attached now. A constant brightly lit fixture that stalks the people he cares about and digs in with his claws.

Open to pretty much anything, including assumed relationships of all varieties.]

Edited 2017-04-27 04:00 (UTC)

Quite fully integrated, but has found her niche in terms of what that means to her.
Chiefly: sneaky, manipulative, ruthless.
Beautiful and terrible.
Pulls the strings of anyone who lets her, knowingly or unknowingly.
Mainly prefers to deal with leader types to have them move their pawns over bothering with everyone on an individual basis.
Reclusive.
Seeing her around is not actually that great.
Arrogant, condescending. But so soft and pleasant while doing it.
Bitch is still cold as ice.
Don't make her angry.

Ping me with any ideas and I will get a starter for you.

Edited 2017-04-27 04:55 (UTC)

[ Misato ages well, it turns out, helped by the symbiote. Without it, she would be decrepit, bent over herself like a toppled L, but today she stands tall still.

These days she dresses for function, slim-fitting pants, long-sleeved jackets, greying hair kept away from her face. It has been years since anyone has seen her laugh, or say a word unless necessary, years since she indulged in alcohol, but those who know her best can reach in and see that beneath all that is contentment, a rock solid foundation, a sureness that was lacking in her earlier years. Those who look close enough can almost see a smile, proud, self-satisfied, sparing, each mission they complete.

It has been decades, yes, and the fight continues, but see, she's still surviving, 50 years on, still ensuring the survival of humanity (hers, others) and the Nest. She's happy, but she doesn't see the need to convince anyone else of it. ]

Ten Years Later
Sam is still largely himself, though he intermingles frequently with his brood, and with those who've become all but brood. He still can shield himself from them, and he sometimes does, but on a day-to-day basis, it's pointless. He's reached the rank three on his symbiote ability, meaning he can transfer injuries from one person to another without involving himself, and he can use the lifeforce of two people to heal a third. Meaning he can stop someone from dying, if he has at least one other person aside from himself, and he probably has.

He's learned to use it in battle, to transfer the injuries of his Nestmates to their enemies.

He is not a leader - but he is. There are some missions where he takes point, others where he follows the lead of those he trusts, and he's always there to listen.

Twenty-Five Years Later
He is himself, he insists. The Nest is important, the connections he's built in the Nest are the most important in all of his life, but he is still himself.

He leads support groups for those adjusting to the trauma of being in the station, of being ripped from their former life and having to make a new one. He remembers this, remembers a time when he looked at war torn veterans from a podium and talked about what they choose to carry with them. You always have a choice, he says, and this was one of them. How you use what you've been given is up to you.

He loves - he loves. He is free with his affection for his brood, for those he's chosen to forge a connection with outside them.

Fifty Years Later
He forgets that his last name is Wilson, and if there are others named Sam around, he goes by Falcon. It's easier, and when he mentions that he was in the military, he sometimes gets captain falcon jokes. He enjoys those.

Sam can be trusted to greet the new Hosts with a warm, wry smile. His shields are still excellent, even better, and he keeps their unprotected chaos out of his mind and himself out of theirs. It's comforting, he knows, for them to have someone who respects their boundaries and their privacy. To have someone to teach them how to build their shields, to guide them in controlling their abilities, to reassure them that they can retain who they are. Sometimes he believes it.

He doesn't ever use we, not with them, but with his shields nonexistent for those closest to him, he might as well. He no longer remembers what is him and what is them, and it doesn't matter. He is them, they are him, and their differences are only like acknowledging that a television show is absolute garbage and loving it anyway.

Those who have been with him since he first arrived at the station - he is more the man he was when he's with them. Maybe because they hold pieces of him the same as he holds pieces of them, because he clung to what he loves about them and refused to let it go.

Choose your own!
Or come at me if you've got an idea! I'm up for anything.

25 YEARS LATER

[ She doesn't like anything half so much anymore as being - to her mind the only real thing she can grasp of Pandora anymore - utterly free in a wash of violence. Of the freedom in not having to care about beginning, middle or end. Of there being no consequence, of fighting to the death and winning. She gets scars, they jut up her face, over one eye, a wrap on one of her legs with its full body of blue markings. She doesn't hate them, she doesn't find them ugly, oh, no, she loves them. They are hers, she fought for them. All her own. To claim this wretched tortured skin to being something other than soft and pretty.

Because what's better than that, is under a touch of her fingers, finally has all that power to be like the others. To not have to jump a foot at the littlest touch. She doesn't have to emulate desperately Lilth, Maya or Steele, she is one of them. She is a siren, she is part of the hive. She is whole. When she's got a gun in one hand and - the electricity in the other. The strength that should have always been hers and she can let it go on behalf of the hive in a slither of blood and madness and loss of control. She's light like angel's in stories should be - a purposeful terror to direct use. Where the hive sends her, she goes gleefully, madly, in a loss of anything else from years of training, of what she doesn't know, yanked in from the collective memories of the hive. Taking down their enemies on this planet or that star system. Driving her knee into someone's jaw, jamming a gun into someone's mouth and pulling the trigger and the blood soaks her, whether it's red or blue or that one that was purple. Happy laughing, blood-soaked freedom.

When this fight is over or that one, she makes her way back to the hive. Gently wiping at the blood on her cheek. She's as ever - live wire bright. Sparking, sparkling. No good to touch right now, mess and likely to burn someone for doing so where she's welling down her own abilities to something like calm but - even so, her mind is so full and sated. Sunk deep into a high that fills up the empty space of awful left over addiction she is years later, still driven by. She smiles at company, tooth and brilliant. ]

( It's all cleaned up now, we shouldn't have a problem with extraction. )

[ Rather, she'd gone in and made a mess, but - no one was breathing now. No one was getting in the way, and she never made much of a difference. ]

50 YEARS LATER

[ Over the course of years, she loses the loss of both her eyes. One fight too many, one mission that asked too much. Losses fingers and toes, doesn't mind. But it means she can no longer go out into the field, so to speak, and in that way it suits her just the same. It's different to Jack keeping her. She did this to herself and she still loves her broken, scarred, marked body. She loves it more than when she was untouchable. Because she's lived now. Warm and covered in that proof.

But she settles some many years older into a hub that's in the depths of the hives electronic systems, verses their mental connections. Happy to be a gateway between the two, to let anyone into herself that wants it. Settles back, half suspended. Never quite on the ground, the white beating wings that keep her afloat, never dim. There is no darkness around her. There never will be again. Anyone that comes to her chambers, so to speak, is greeting the same. She looks without seeing with her blind eyes and wide mind. Touching against their cheek, their lip, new or young, always eager to draw someone into her. Her thumb against jaw and where she's so very little, being that foot off the ground as her wings beat and let her hover just brings her up face to face with most. ]

( You have come to see us, do you have an enquiry? )

[ Ask, and she will happily pour forth a wealth of knowledge. Because she is always happy, unrelenting so. Her great unhappiness had long been cured by the hive, and she gives off that as much as there is the sense of business, she never sleeps, she is always just a little - scattered between here and some far off, there. ]

Petre balances back and forth between the full connection with the hive. By now he's had explosive experiences with compromising his individuality, and lashed out every time. He has a strong sense of I'm the only me, but it often gets muted when he relaxes and his symbiote reaches out to all the others.

It's like dozing off just long enough to suddenly wake up, realizing you missed the alarm.

He's just as ruthless as before. Impulsive, violent, arrogant, possessive. Less dumb about it, which doesn't mean he's always smart enough to know when he's being manipulated. Petre bullies the newcomers left and right, suffocates the hosts he considers his own. Superiority complex is strong in this one. He also thinks he has loved, but all he does is make sure they don't love anyone but him.

His shape-shifting has more control than ever, and with it he's gained other enhancements. (See: his skin being an unbreakable shield, etc.) Sometimes he takes physical characteristics of other hosts, along with the bleeding of their minds.

Petre's roles in missions is to infiltrate and destroy the building blocks from the inside. He always wants to eat someone and take their place, especially if they're important within the society. All the more shit he can get away with.

I don't have any specific scenarios in mind, but you can give me a starter or prompts (written, pictured, etc.) My life is a wild ride right now, so I beg thee for patience with my slowness.

Threaded | Flat

Joseph Kavinsky // 5-10 YL

Ilde Vilmaine

no subject

Sam Wilson | 10-50 years later

angel | ota

petre dodrescu - 5+ YL