#I want all my spoons to be curled in the cutlery drawer and my bank account to double-check itself in disbelief when I enter summer 2025 🫡

[lunasilvis]

Vehemently manifesting an abundant and happy, deeply nourished onto the soul's level fall '24 - spring '25

[hellstate--rp-blog]

↪ b a s i c s ;

N A M E: Blair Sebastian Lafleur-Blackwood A G E: 29 P L A C E   O F   O R I G I N: Calabasas, California G R O U P: Saddle Ridge Elementary O C C U P A T I O N: Trader F C: Aaron Tveit

❝ We party in my living room ‘cause father is gone and he left me this empire that runs on its own, so all I got to do is whatever the fuck I want. All we ever do is whatever the fuck we want. ❞

↪ p e r s o n a l i t y ;

P O S I T I V E   T R A I T S: eloquent ; insouciant N E G A T I V E   T R A I T S: hedonistic ; disrespectful

↪ b i o g r a p h y ;

L I F E   B E F O R E   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

Born with a silver spoon isn’t the right descriptor. A Blackwood child was born with the whole damn cutlery drawer. Firstborn and the only son of a business mogul and a fashion model, both his parents were the textbook definition of WASPs. They passed their lavish tastes and high expectations onto their heir. Blair grew up riding horses in Jackson Hole, took private tennis lesson at the courts of Wimbledon, and skied in the Tetons. He lost his first tooth and learned how to swim in Capri while staying at the Blackwood’s family home there.

By the time he was thirteen, his younger sister Ivy was born, and his parent’s marriage was dead. The couple officially stayed in the same house and didn’t divorce though. The waves it could cause in the elite circles was too much (public image was everything) but each started seeing their own lovers.

Everyday was a bid to see how much excess and waste one family could produce. Every member contributed in their own way.

James, Blair’s father, hosted near weekly parties. They featured never-ending parades of lingerie models that he paid off with morning after pills and rolls of twenties, his Fortune 500 exec buddies that did lines with him at startling speeds, and political allies he plied with exclusive vintages of alcohol, all set against the backdrop of his veritable castle in Florida.

Adalicia, his wife, retreated for weeks at a time to her childhood home in France- sometimes bringing Ivy (her real life doll to try and style as she pleased) with her, sometimes not- but not really caring either way. Then she would emerge like a rare butterfly at whatever fashion show or ball that pled for her attendance, check in on her children and pat herself on the back for being a ‘good’ parent all while stringing along lovers not much older than her son.

Meanwhile, Ivy didn’t actively try to participate in the extravagance but she just did, simply by existing, and became an idol for young girls in her own way.

Yet Blair’s was the one that caught the public’s eye, starting at age 16. Blair was nightly attending parties where he took drugs off of model’s chests. Parties where thousands of bottles of champagne were consumed, dumped into pools, or used to anoint gold watches and flashy sports cars. Parties where money was burned in bonfires without batting an eye. These parties were to escape the fact he was pitied by his father for not being like him and loathed by his mother for being too much like his father, to forget the pressures of the illustrious and sordid Blackwood name resting solely on his shoulders.

His escapades made him only more appealing to the media, exposing him to further attention that pushed him deeper into his drug habits. OxyContin, MDMA, Xanax, Valium, Ambien, and eventually — heroin. There were loud headlines of underage binges and teenage sex parties that pushed his parents further away as they turned a blind eye to him. Eventually the negative attention, and the heavy weight of an entire private world entrusted to him, tipped Blair over the edge.

He ran away from his responsibilities when he was 18, dropping off the map except for withdrawals from his bank account that his parents filled to keep him off their minds. Blair sometimes stopped in residences that his parents owned but more often lived in a series of hotels and flophouses. He had overdosed shortly after his mother’s birthday, and his family didn’t even hear of it.

Yet the overdose on the day after his father’s birthday was different. Blair was rushed to St. David’s Hospital from a flophouse in Austin, and his heart stopped on the emergency room floor for an endless three minutes. This began an even more endless year long cycle of detox, rehab and relapses.

It finally ended when he went back to the ‘children’s home’ of the Blackwood properties in Calabasas, California. There he saw Ivy, back with their mother for the summer before Adalicia left. Ivy was about to start her fifth grade year in California. She had not seeing Blair for five years, and could barely remember him.

Ivy thought he was another one of Adalicia’s model boyfriends until he called her by her childhood nickname. The reunion certainly wasn’t tearful, and Blair realized how much the drugs had affected his life if his own sister couldn’t remember him and treated him with the caution afforded to strangers.

Blair committed himself to cleaning up his act, settling down in Calabasas to finally be the older brother Ivy deserved- taking care of her more than his parents ever did for either of them. Ivy made up for the lost time quickly, as she was always affectionate, and they were happy as they could have possibly been for being Blackwoods. Blair even got his three year clean coin, carrying it around in his pocket to remind him of how far he had come.

L I F E   D U R I N G   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

The night had been like any other, Blair had fallen asleep reading a book and was awoken by Ivy’s frantic shakings. She switched on the t.v. and they watched, shocked as L.A. imploded on itself just down the hills from them. At first they thought a wildfire from the hills had come down and was consuming the city at first.

But the scared reporters were talking about people dying and not really dying, becoming cannibals after they were burned out by a fever. By the time the siblings had gotten over their initial shock and went to secure the house, the home’s staff had all but fled save their closest friend who was a bodyguard hired for Ivy when she was seven.

The trio barricaded the house, staying there through the the death throes of Los Angeles. They had enough food and were secure enough to last through the winter, so they hunkered down and waited out for what they hoped would be help from the United States government.

They realized what was needed to kill the stumbling corpses and concluded that all of them needed to be trained in order to defend themselves against this new threat. That winter was devoted to training themselves to aim for the brainstem. New Year’s passed and no help came, and Blair figured out nothing was going to be the same.

Eventually the trio realized they couldn’t stay near the wasteland of Los Angeles anymore. They left Calabasas and traveled, trying to find a safer place to stay. They settled in Placerville, a small town outside of Sacramento. It was springtime when they left their second home, after deciding that despite how he treated them, they should find James Blackwood. Blair, however, was weary of finding his father and the most reluctant to leave.

L I F E   A F T E R   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

Blair felt like his reluctance was proved correct when they reached Albuquerque. There they were attacked by a group of raiders and Blair was taken. He was able to keep his mind off the hell of being their captive for the first week by worrying about his sister and their companion — but once they didn’t turn up tied and blindfolded next to him, he had no escape for his mind to retreat into.

He thought for a while that they were waiting until they grew too hungry to keep him alive. It never happened — as they were a ring of kidnappers, holding hostages for ransoms of food and supplies — but the torture they put him through lasted for nearly nine months until they reached Cheyenne.

They stopped in the rail yard of the town, and the first thing Blair saw in nine months, aside from the inside of a windowless room, was the clock tower of the train depot — a stark visual against the grey sky that made him want to close his eyes from how vast the sky seemed.

This was the first time he saw some of the faces of those who had kept him for so long, the first time he didn’t have to tell who was who by differences in size of hands and fists. And then they made him kneel and forced his left arm down onto a freezing cold track, a boot shoved into his back to stop his struggling. In a life changing instant, his arm was cut off at the elbow.

His body didn’t give him any mercy, didn’t take away his awareness of his body and how much it hurt. He was awake through through the the laughter at his pained screams. Awake to hear the message spoken in his ear while he stared at the dead arm, the curl of his separated fingers lying in the dirt. ‘When you find one of those cute camps around here, tell them we’re coming for them.’ He was awake through them pulling him upright and facing him toward the hospital of the city.

Blair never quite made it to the hospital, but instead was intercepted by the people who lived in a theatre. He told them the message, of the promise of violence, but they saved him anyways. Blair learned how to stand with what felt like half of him missing. He coped by filling that missing space with pain relievers. Once he was strong enough to walk alone, he stole a bottle of pills to last him until he could find more, and went to find his sister and their guard. His hope was that they hadn’t died or thought him dead and long gone.

His hope was thankfully fulfilled. He found them again in Mobile, Alabama and hid the last of his pills in his sock, ashamed to fall back on something he thought he had overcome while his three year coin burned a hole in his pocket. They hugged him like he had done no wrong, like he wasn’t high when he kissed Ivy’s forehead and cried on them in relief of not being alone anymore. They said there was nothing for him to be sorry for and he popped another pill that night even if his arm had stopped aching so bad on the other side of Dallas.

He knew he was failing them, but they were so close to his father’s home in Florida that he kept the fact he had well and truly relapsed secret, because he didn’t want to hold them back anymore. They made it, and found James Blackwood as Blair thought he would be — a ruler of his own personal kingdom, a compound on an island. James refused to acknowledge them.

He didn’t see Blair as his heir anymore, whether because he could see the drugs pushing his old son’s dead corpse along to fit over the new body or the missing arm that marred the perfection he had constructed. He didn’t even notice Ivy because she was taller than his hip now. He called the person who kept them safe across the width of a country their ‘attack dog’ like they kept them on a leash.

James let them stay a night and his parting gift to his heir, instead of a fortune or an empire, was a baggie of pills pressed into Blair’s hand in a darkened entryway of the main bungalow while his sister and their guard were outside preparing the boat they had come in on. Blair started crushing his pills, the time release being too long for his mind to be thinking and wished he had a needle.

His sister noticed it first, she saw his shaking hand when they walked. She was the one who stood outside the bathroom door of a suburban house in Wichita, talking him down from behind the barrier of a locked door, where he begged her too not tell or take the drugs away from him.

Instead she told. It was there in that suburban house, with the help of a nurse who agreed to guide Blair through his withdrawal in exchange for the pills he had, that he went through the most painful detox since the first one. Blair almost died, the second time in his life, from fever on a bed that wasn’t his own — but he made it through.

Blair struggled, counted each hour he didn’t have a high rushing through his bloodstream as a victory. He pressed his three year coin into his palm until it made half moon imprints, until it cut, whenever he felt the need to escape the world and his body and his memories but it worked. He stayed clean.

They had planned to go to Washington, and while Blair wanted to avoid Cheyenne, he knew they had to go through it. They didn’t want to approach the city by the main highway, so they took the 80, but had to stop for the night in a house.

The next day they walked outside only to run into a patrol from the nearby Saddle Ridge Elementary School. Blair was surprised, he would have thought the system of camps would have collapsed long before, if not from the raiders who kept him captive, then by some other force.

But, as someone from the camp told him, the old camps had. The Atlas, where he had recovered for a short while, was gone — burned to the ground. The hospital his captors had directed him towards had collapsed shortly before they had come into town.

There was a new system, and Saddle Ridge was part of it. They needed some extra hands and minds to help and extended a place to stay at the camp to the trio. After some short deliberation, they decided that Cheyenne would be their new home.