Not Gonna Take Me @finlcyxwalsh - Tumblr Blog

FINLEY WALSH is a mutant with the ability of SPATIAL MANIPULATION. they’ve been in new york for SIX YEARS where they spend most of their time as AN ARCHIVIST. when i think of them, i think of YELLOWING PAGES, RAIN AGAINST AN OLD WINDOW, OVEREXPOSED POLAROIDS. they are affiliated with NO ONE (neutral).

#c23intro #car accident tw #death tw #alcohol tw #/all the warnings are listed up the background as well :)

jordxporter·:·

Jordan chuckles at the joke, giving Finley a warm smile as he opens his arms for a hug. “Yes, you have,” he starts while giving her costume a swift glance. “And you picked an awesome costume too!” Scooby Doo was one of his favorite cartoons growing up, with many fond memories of afternoons spent watching and trying to follow along with the mystery to the best of his younger self’s ability. He offers, “If you want, the grand prize can be coffee or lunch sometime soon? On me this time?”

She accepts the offered hug with a smile before giving a vague gesture to her costume, a certain level of pride in how well she had gotten it together. “Thank you! Jo’s the Fred to my Daphne tonight, though I think I lost him somewhere in the crowd.” Taking a moment to pretend to think it over, she nods. “You know, this seems like a very fair trade to me. You’ve got a deal.” She glances back over at the crowd before her gaze returns to Jordan. “have you been here long?”

#{ t. jordan p. }#{ jordan : winning the game }

preholocene·:·

“you really think so? i just got him at goodwill… i wasn’t sure he would hold up, but i think he’s doing okay.” more importantly, so are they—the real person they weren’t so sure would hold up. “the wig…. ugh, it was last minute. they never have good ones in the stores, you know? i thought it looked close enough.” cracking a smile, he adds, “you look really good, though. i bet you didn’t even need to buy a wig.”

“He looks like he’s doing great, honestly. He’ll make a nice little reminder of a fun night, too.” Also somehow a metaphor for life— their lives, rather. Beaten, battered, on their last leg, but still going strong. It was just a matter of waiting for threads to unravel. But, tonight was supposed to be fun so fun she’d have. “Well, I can promise you it looks better than if we had tried to dye your hair blonde,” She says with a laugh at the thought of how poorly that could have gone. With a flick of her red hair, she shrugs. “It comes in handy for some things. I can’t complain.”

#{ t. joseph k. }#{ joseph : what's new scooby-doo? }

It takes Finley a minute to recognize the young woman clad in leather. Not surprising seeing as it covered the similar red hair, and near every feature except her face. When Finley finally does clock her, she gives a friendly smile and wave. “Hey, Irma Vep. I dig it, you won’t see that one too much this year.”

@hollandbright

#{ t. holland b. }#{ holland : this is halloween }

“Oh, shit,” Finley curses under her breath, jumping back a step when she realizes she’s stepped on someone else’s foot, and not the concrete warehouse floor. “I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz, especially in heels. It’s just so much more crowded in here than I thought it would be.”

@mi-burke

#{ ft. mi b. }#{ mi : familiar faces }

“You know, I feel like the stuffed scooby is really bringing out ensemble together.” Finley gives the little stuffed dog a humorous pat on the head before glancing up at the wig on Joey’s head. “Now, the wig... that one was a choice.”

@preholocene

#{ t. joseph k. }#{ joseph : what's new scooby-doo? }

“Hey, after all these years, I’ve finally found Waldo,” Finley jokes, giving Jordan a once over. Ironically, he was kind of easy to pick out of the sea of people, dressed in all sorts of random costumes. Or, maybe Finley was looking for him just a little bit. But, hey, Jordan was good company. Better to find him than run into Matteo or River and deal with that awkward interaction. “It’s oddly satisfying, even if there’s no grand prize.”

@jordxporter

#{ t. jordan p. }#{ jordan : winning the game }

FINLEY WALSH is dressed as DAPHNE BLAKE at the MONSTER MASH. She’s there in tandem with Joseph Knots, who’s dressed as Fred. She’s there to try and avoid too many dramatics, and try and move past everything that has been weighing her down since Summer, and maybe have some fun for once.

#{ vibes }#event: monster mash #template in source

ascrowesfly·:

Phew. He’d essentially asked her to lay it all out on the table, and that’s exactly what Finley does. Instead of taking a full seat in the living room, Levi settles perched on one of the couch arms, listening to everything Finley has to say with rapt, maybe even slightly too intense attention. This isn’t really something he’s gotten to discuss with too many others, either, or if it was, no one with morals like Finley has.

Already this reminds Levi of the talk he had with Samson, not long after he’d been sprung from Rikers, thanks in no small part to the woman in front of him now — and the other spies. Both of these reminders leave a bitter taste at the back of his throat, something he endeavors to wash away with a drink and almost succeeds.

“You wanna know how I sleep at night, I’m guessing,” Levi asks with a small, borderline sardonic smile. He glances down at the glass in his hands, his gloved hands, and considers. “The first time I killed someone wasn’t of my own free will, either. It was an accident. A crowded subway.” Levi presses his lips into a thin line, then barely shakes his head. “I didn’t sleep for a few days. Couldn’t really be convinced it wasn’t my fault. I know it’s not the same,” he adds, finally glancing up to Finley again. “You were forced to do what you did. And that matters. But the most important thing you can do is… remind yourself you didn’t choose to do it.”

Levi pauses for a moment, then can’t help but add: “Plus, Masten was an absolute fuckin’ tool. What you did to him, he would’ve done to hundreds, thousands of our kind in much shittier, more underhanded ways. For what it’s worth,” he finishes with a casual shrug, watching her over his glass as he takes another sip. He says so partially to lighten the mood, but it isn’t as though Levi thinks he’s wrong to say so.

~

Shrinking a bit at the question, Finley just shrugs. Because, yes, that is what she wants to know because she’s not sleeping at night. But, that phrase also makes her sound like she’s accusing him of something, and it’s not like she doesn’t know that he’s killed more than a few people. He almost killed her after all. She wasn’t blind, she knew what Levi did, and how easily he seemed to be able to do it.

It’s funny, it’s the same advice that Joseph had given her. God, she could never tell either of them they had given the same advice. It would send them into a question of morality on two very different ends of the spectrum. “It’s a lot easier said than done,” She mutters. “It wasn’t my choice. But, it felt so entirely like me when it happened that... not blaming myself feels impossible.”

She can’t help but huff out a small laugh, because he’s not entirely wrong. Masten was targeting mutants, despite his own son being a one. And, while she didn’t agree that anyone necessarily deserved death, she supposes it’s a consolation prize that his law about disclosing mutant status was less likely to continue on at the same trajectory as before. “I don’t know that I feel bad for him as much as I do for his kid. He didn’t ask for Masten to be his father, and he was still his father.” It didn’t escape Finley that bother her and Levi knew the struggle of not having a father around. She can’t speak for Levi, but she knows she would never wish the loss of a parent on anyone.

“I don’t like being able to hurt people the way I can,” She blurts, taking another long sip of the drink while she allows that statement to hang out in the air for a moment too long. “I can really mess people up, and it’s horrifying to know that. I mean, it just feels like... like I might be capable of being the monster the rest of the world seems determined to label us as.”

#{ t. levi c. }#{ levi : how the killer copes }#death tw #listen it was only a matter of time

laurelborialis:

“Ohh, sure! The famous crime syndicate of Battleboro, Vermont.” Laurel repeats with an enthusiastic nod, playing into the bit. “I’ve for sure heard of them! I mean– who hasn’t?” Laurel scoffs, doing her best not to crack up laughing. “They’re very.. big? In the crime syndicate world.” Finally, Laurel does break down and releases the pent up laugh. “Big is probably the wrong word, huh?” Clearly, all that she’d retained from her mystery novel phase was a certain sense of curiosity and a penchant for getting herself into sticky situations.

A hand comes up to cover her mouth, still spread wide in a grin, as Finley admits to the far more realistic ramifications of being, what Laurel would have called, the coolest kid in school.

“Well,” She coughes out between giggles. “I think that being compared to Nancy Drew– and for clearly such a great reason! Is a great thing. And knowing how to pick a lock?” Laurel’s hand waves out in front of her in a dismissive motion, though her expression remains impressed. “I think that only makes you cooler.”

“But the statute of limitations or whatever has to be up by now right? Did you ever actually get to read anything fun? Well– not fun,” She corrects quickly. “but.. you know what I mean.”

~

Laurel plays into her little fantasy, and it makes Finley smile, even laugh a bit. A real one, too, not the forced ones that she’s been giving everyone lately. It’s nice to just crack jokes with someone, and not think or talk about anything else for a little bit. The conversation will make its way back there, it almost always does, but Finley’s grateful for the brief reprieve. “Oh, yeah, you know in a town with nearly 12,000 people, I’d say big is very subjective.”

“You know, it turns out that High Schoolers in the 80s aren’t nearly as impressed by lock picking and breaking and entering skills as people think? But, my stories did make me fairly cool.” Mostly in the way of people wanting updates on their favorite stories weekly. But, it wasn’t like they truly cared for much more than that. Though, Finley didn’t exactly make an impressive effort to befriend these people, either.

It’s her turn to laugh, before nodding. “Some interesting stuff. It’s been so long since I read any of them, but I remember a few. Like, this woman, her husband cheated on her, so she put all his stuff out on the front lawn, and sold it. And, anything she didn’t sell, she donated. That was a wild ride to read about.”

#{ t. laurel b. }#{ laurel : little drops of sunshine }

hollandbright·:

She hated how she made it seem like she was on her own when she wasn’t on her own. No, she had help from her parents. She only just now stopped talking to her family. But she was on her own now because they would hurt her if they found out the truth, she was sure about that. “I don’t know that easier is what I’d say, but that’s okay.” That’s okay. She doesn’t feel like it. “I don’t think that I’m faking it very well. I look like I’m falling apart all the time.” And that was the truth. Accepting fate seemed well… that was easier said than done. Giving in to her fear seemed easier than being brave. Holland wasn’t there yet. “Is it normal to be scared?” she shrugged. “Why are you scared of yourself? Can you hurt people?” At least her mutation didn’t always mean she could hurt someone. Just depended that the mutant that she was around. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Well, it might not mean much coming from a perfect stranger, but I think you’re handling yourself pretty well. I wouldn’t say you look like you’re falling apart.” Finley knew that that looked like. She had been there more times than she cared to admit. And, maybe it was just the fact that she would always be harder than herself than the rest of the world, but this girl seemed to be taking life in stride. “I’d say so. I’ve met quite a few people who are scared. Of themselves, of the world— it’s not uncommon.” The question catches her slightly off guard, and she knows that she wants to be honest, but she’s aware of just how bad it makes her sound, too. “I... can. But, I don’t if I can help it. I’m pretty well in control of those parts of myself... but, it can be scary to know what you’re capable of. That, on top of years of being told people who could do anything were monsters didn’t make for the best combination.”

#{ t. holland b. }#{ holland : mutant history 101 }

cordelialevy·:

“Yeah, I’d heard about that. I’m sorry you’ve been through so much.” Finley’s young, and she’s already gone through more trauma than most people experience in their whole lives. “Okay, well, I think I can help with those things. Have you tried any breathing exercises to help you through the panic attacks? I know that sounds like the most unhelpful suggestion, but if you find the right technique, it really does help,” she says, trying to reassure Finley. “And these nightmares you’re having — would it be okay if you told me more about those?”

“Oh, you know, it’s a drop in the bucket for my eventual tell all memoir that makes everyone sad,” She jokes, though there’s an undercurrent of truth there. The torture, the kidnapping— that was on pillar in the trauma Finley found herself housed in. “Somewhat. I do that one where you count five things you can see, so on and so forth. It usually helps better than breathing for me.” Finley knows this is part of the deal of therapy, talking through trauma, but it doesn’t make it all that much easier. “It’s usually just being back in that building they took me to. Sometimes, it’s like flashbacks to what they did to me, and like I’m reliving it again. Other times, it’s somehow worse. Disembodied voices, I can’t see what’s coming or where. It just... depends on the day.”

#{ t. cordelia l. }#{ cordelia : how does that make you feel? }

yaren-avci·:

Boring is exactly what Ren thinks of libraries, if she’s being totally honest, which she never is. Sure, useful, but they’re not exactly an adrenaline rush. What’s not boring is Finley’s mutation — she wouldn’t have guessed someone so unassuming would be so powerful, and Ren lets out a low whistle. “No kidding? That’s crazy strong, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with that kind of ability before. Bet you could give an Omega a run for their money, even.” A grin. “Although I guess like anything powerful, it’s kind of a double edged sword.”

She says this last part neutrally, if a little melancholy. The woman’s subdued nature suggests she doesn’t want to boast about her power, which suggests she can’t always control it. Yaren isn’t a woman of much sympathy, but she can at least relate to being so strong you can’t trust yourself unless you keep yourself on a very short least.

She lets out a chuckle with little mirth to spare, and shrugs. “I don’t think I’d ever want to try, but yeah. I guess I could, technically.” That is, if she had a handle on it. That was the biggest difference between her and the Omegas. They all seemed to grasp their powers in a way Finley just could never manage to. At least, not yet. “It’s funny, they were not wrong when they said that thing about great power coming with great responsibility.”

Shrugging, she deflates back into her seat a bit. “At least it doesn’t just screw everything up when I sneeze, that would suck.” She knew of a few stories of mutants who’s powers had gone haywire on a rogue sneeze during a common cold. If she somehow ripped a hole in space and time by coughing, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be comfortable enough to leave the house again.

#{ t. yaren a. }#{ yaren : library chatter }

jordxporter·:

Jordan can’t help but grin as the conversation continues and he carefully leads the way to join the line of customers. He has plenty of memories where tourists asked his parents to help them take a photo or to lend them a hand with directions. Then once he was older, he started holding the cameras and jumping in to help them navigate their way around NYC. And art has always been a favorite hobby of his, tied with music for his preferred way to unwind or spend a few restful moments. “Art is absolutely worth a try,” he says, tone now warm with encouragement. “There are plenty of mediums, something for everyone. But it is also totally cool if neither end up being someone’s cup of tea. There are so many hobbies out there, just waiting for another person to give it a try.”

Even though he has been complimented plenty times in the past for his art skills, Jordan is still pleasantly surprised when people say that they would love to see his work. He nods as he answers, “Yeah, I’d be happy to share some. There are some papers back at the Institute that I’ve doodled on.” He reaches into his jacket to remove a pen then chuckles, “And it has practically become a tradition for me to draw a little something on those sleeves that go around to-go cups of coffee or other hot drinks. Same thing goes for napkins.”

~

“Well, if you ever want to show me the tourist side of NYC, I’d be interested in that, too. I didn’t ever really do that stuff when I moved to the city, so it might be fun to see it from that perspective for once.” She really didn’t know that it was everything that it was cracked up to be for people who lived outside the city, but at the same time, she was never endingly curious about that kind of thing. And, it was all about perspective. If she was doing such a city adventure with someone who seemed to have a grasp and enjoyment in it, maybe she would too. “I don’t even know if I’d know where to start, but I guess that’s the whole point in some regard, right? Blank canvas and all that?”

She smiles as he fishes out a pen from his clothes and nods. “Well, I might get to see the artist in you in action, then. That’s pretty special, too. You must have a million of those lying around everywhere by now, then.”

#{ t. jordan p. }#{ jordan : the gratitude tour }

cyra-de-leon:

A hand lifts to cover her mouth as she laughs at Finley’s story. She tries to stop it in the moment– really, truly does– but it can’t be helped. The story brings to mind an eerily similar instance from her own childhood, when she was first learning her limits too. “You don’t make anything sound bad, my dear. My first time creating my own small vortex– well, tornado, really– I sent one of those big plastic balls that toddlers use in their little leagues through my father’s office window.” She recalls, speaking through a flurry of persistent giggles. “And ruined my mother’s drapes. I got in so much trouble!” She’d known very well that she wasn’t supposed to be practicing her powers inside of the house. Control and finding appropriate places to actually train had been the next lessons for her too.

Cyra’s not sure if Finley’s version of survival instincts is the same her’s– for her friend’s sake, she hopes not. Hers was more to do with surviving her grandparent’s harsh training regimen; of getting through it without loosing part of herself along the way. An experience she would not be bringing to her own class with her. But she doesn’t ask, not yet anyway. Finley’s been through enough as it is. On the off chance that they share a traumatic version of survival instincts, Cyra simply files the information away inside her mind.

Then it’s her turn to wave off the other’s kindness. “Oh, I don’t know how great an addition I’ll make– but, you can count us as friends.” A soft, sweet smile, and Cyra adds: “All of us. My daughters and my husband. You’ll probably see them every so often, they’re all terribly excited for this new chapter.”

“Well, I’m relieved to know balls and broken windows aren’t an isolated experience.” Also getting in trouble with her mutation, but she didn’t want to talk about her family. That would lead her down the path of explaining that she had no Mother and an estranged Father who despised her existence. It would only put a damper on this conversation, and Finley needed to not talk about what chewed away at her every day she existed for a little bit. She needed to pretend to be normal and happy for at least a little while.

Lucky for her, it seems Cyra sees it the same way as she refrains from asking for clarification on what exactly Finley had needed to survive in the past. She was an open book for her friends, it wasn’t like she’d lie. But, it didn’t mean that Finley wanted to discuss it, either. Even with Cyra now declaring them friends. She knew, now especially, friendship wasn’t that easy anyway.

“I can think of a few people who will definitely benefit from having your kindness around here if nothing else.” Herself included. “But, I appreciate that. I look forward to meeting all of them at some point.”

#{ t. cyra d. }#{ cyra : out in the open }

ascrowesfly·:

“I mean…” Levi trails off, shrugging casually, trying to think of a way to say this that didn’t sound insulting to one or both of them, because that’s not how he means it. “It’s not that you’re obvious,” he starts, busying himself with pulling two glasses from the cupboard ( new glasses, a set that actually matches ), a couple glass bottles of Coke from the fridge, and a bottle of whiskey ( decent whiskey, a few shelves above bottom ). “I just didn’t think you ‘n I were to the point of casual social calls yet, is all,” Levi continues as he pours them drinks, both mixed reasonably strong. “Which is okay.” Regardless of what he’s saying, the scene feels oddly domestic as he puts the bottles away, then turns to offer Finley one of the glasses with a muted smile. “Just means I assume that if you’re droppin’ by, it’s ‘cause something’s on your mind. And people like us,” — that is to say, mutants — “When we have somethin’ on our minds, it’s usually worth drinking about.”

Well, she figures he’s not wrong. They’re still learning the boundaries of this new, precarious friendship, and casual drop ins aren’t exactly the foundations of a ticking time bomb of a friendship. But, the problem with Finley’s morally upright composure is that it tends to breed morally upright friends. So, when the things weighing on her are morally dubious if she puts it lightly, then it feels like a burden too big to place on the shoulders of any of her friends at the institute. Taking the glass in her hands, she nods. “Guilty, I guess.” A poor choice of words based on the topic of conversation she’s about to steer onto, but maybe Levi will find some morbid humor in it. “Masten’s son goes to the institute. I killed his Dad, I’m sure you know. It was one of the ones that control minds that made me do it, it wasn’t of my own free will. But, I had to watch him die at my hands, and now I have to see his kid in the halls almost every day.” She lays out, words tumbling from her mouth at a mile a minute. “And, my other friends, they’re not going to understand what it’s like to kill someone. You do.” She pauses for a brief moment. “No offense.” There’s another beat. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for, here. I just... desperately have needed to talk about it, and I’ve been too scared to talk to anyone else.”

#{ t. levi c. }#{ levi : how the killer copes }#death tw

jordxporter·:

“Thank you. I do my best.” Which is exactly what Jordan has been doing ever since. Trying his best, doing what he can to be a reliable source of support for the ones he loves. “Like I said, some days might be rougher than others. Which is totally okay! Healing can be a weird process, for lack of better phrasing. Time definitely has a way of helping with it, so does remembering that there is nothing wrong with taking a step or two back. It doesn’t matter how long the journey takes, just that one gets to point b safe and sound.”

Jordan gives Finley a grateful smile when she pulls the door open for him and he steps inside, casting a glance up at the menu as he continues listening. “Yeah, that has been keeping me busy,” Jordan admits with a slightly sheepish look. Plus, the things that he usually did for himself all elicited conflicting emotions nowadays since music and so many other things had a way of reminding him about lost loved ones. “This might sound lame, but I kind of like playing tourist. Even though I’ve lived here my whole life, I am constantly looking for roads less traveled by and just seeing where they lead me. And art is another hobby of mine. Mostly doodling on random pieces of paper, but sometimes I’ll sit down to do a proper sketch.”

~

Jordan is impressively profound in a way that leaves Finley almost jealous. She’s never been so good with her emotions that she can just say and feel those same things without having to really work for it, and it seems as if the comfort and advice comes as almost second nature to Jordan. Of course, he’s an Omega, a staple for the community, and a support system for students on campus. Of course he’s level headed. But after everything that had happened on the first, Finley still finds it impressive.

“No, I love that,” Finley insists, smiling at the thought of how much fun it could really be to run around like that, seeing the city through the eyes of tourists who wore matching t-shirts so they wouldn’t lose family members in a crowd, and take silly pictures that hogged half a sidewalk in Time Square. When Finley had first moved to the city, she had been attempting to lay low, and had never gotten the chance to see the city that way. The thought of doing it so belatedly when she had already been there so long was almost tantalizing. “I should try that sometime.” Art, too. She imagines they’re probably good. Jordan seems to be good at almost everything. “I’d love to see them sometime if you’d ever want to share them.”

#{ t. jordan p. }#{ jordan : the gratitude tour }

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