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❛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘ. ᴘᴀɴ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚ ▎❛ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐈 ❜ ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘs ɪɪɪ ꒱


❝ I HEARD A RUMOR. . . ❞

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Overall, the human brain is the most complex object known in the universe— according to itself, that is. It can interpret information and embody the essence of the mind and soul. Apart from the heart, it is what determines the uniqueness of individuals. Outer appearances matter as well, of course, but the differences in core being largely come from what we can't see.

Our minds allow us to communicate with others through intelligent (or, for some, not-so-intelligent) thought. It is how we form connections with others rather than live in a world alone. For the most part, this ability is seen as just short of a miracle: two perfect strangers can meet in passing, only to form a lifelong connection if the circumstances allow. It's not always this simple, but this is the basic understanding.

Like with all things, there is the reverse side. Forming connections can lead to pain, heartbreak and betrayal. Sometimes friendships don't last as long as we'd like them to. Sometimes it would've been better if certain relationships never formed at all. As powerful and extraordinary as imagination can be, it is also susceptible to manipulation. Even the strongest-willed mind can be malleable in some way, whether it be to horror genres, white lies, flattery, the list goes on.

There are, obviously, defenses one can put in place to fight against such outside influence. Meditation is often a recommended practice for mental health. Pouring oneself into a peaceful hobby— such as art in any type of craft (but, perhaps in this instance, we will use painting as an example)— can be equally beneficial. Having a strong familial support system can also help fortify yourself against negative influences.

However, be warned: when you try to fight against these external forces, they will fight back— and twice as hard. They will try to wear away at your protective barriers with words or actions over and over again in the hopes that you will falter. But you must not. 

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Number Three and Number Eight of The Umbrella Academy hadn't always been at odds with each other. While they'd never been close, they'd been amiable and even sisterly. In the beginning, they had learned, trained and played together. This was no surprise on Number Eight's part; she had always been the friendliest and most easy-going of her siblings. Number Three could be standoffish and condescending at times but was, on the whole, compatible with her siblings as well. It was only when their powers began to develop that things went downhill very, very fast.

Now, there is something about Number Three that you must understand: in the very early days, at least, she had never meant anyone any harm. Like all of her siblings, she was selfish in some way, but hers was the most obvious. She wanted the best: the biggest cookie, the cleanest uniform, the favoritism of Number One— and she'd do anything to get it. That's where her Rumors came in.

From a young age, she convinced herself that if anyone had her power, they'd do exactly the same. Who wouldn't want the bigger half of a sandwich? Who wouldn't want to spare themselves from a group punishment? She did her best to ignore the nasty looks her siblings gave her and instead held her head up high. It wasn't her fault that she could take care of herself.

Where Eight had her art, Three had nothing. She had no hobbies except girlish things like painting her nails and reading magazines. Where Eight had connections to all of her siblings, Three only had One— and then she'd be alone if something happened to him. Where Eight spent her days reading fantasy novels and filling her head with dreams, Three did her best to live hers because anything was better than facing the reality of their hellish home.

It didn't help that her father encouraged her behavior— though not the use of her powers on him, of course. He always supported the children practicing their gifts in order to be stronger, better, faster. He didn't even mind the use of them on each other— just as long as it didn't cause team morale to decline.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

It all started after their first mission.

The team was riding the high of the adrenaline rush— even days later— when they were scheduled to do their first interview. As Number One, Luther was mostly the one who spoke but everyone got a piece to say. Diego repeated his carefully practiced lines. Allison answered each question with composed ease. Klaus' comments were amusing and (sometimes) borderline inappropriate. Five kept his replies short and to the point. Ben responded to his questions shyly.

Alexa— as she had always been— was jittery and full of energy during the interview. She could barely sit still for two seconds as she waited impatiently for her turn. If Five had been sitting next to her (as it was, they were in number order) he would have put a hand on her knee to keep it from bouncing. When it was finally, finally her turn, her golden-retriever-like enthusiasm unexpectedly charmed the interviewer. The journalist even added some extra questions for her to answer because of her candidness— perhaps a mistake in the long run.

Then, the headlines started coming out:

BLONDE OR BRUNETTE? READERS PICK THEIR FAVORITE UMBRELLA ACADEMY SISTER!

WOULD YOU RATHER: A) BE SAVED BY THE GUARDIAN ANGEL OR B) GO ON A SHOPPING SPREE WITH THE RUMOR?

HOT OR NOT? WHICH UMBRELLA ACADEMY PAIRING IS THE CUTEST?

PROTECTOR VS. RUMOR: ONLY FRIENDS FOR THE FAME?

And finally, the one that affected Allison the most:

TEEN QUEENS: WHO'S DESTINED FOR HOLLYWOOD?
The Guardian Angel and The Rumor share their dreams for the future. Do their plans match their personalities?

Based off of reader polls, they determined that Alexa was the one meant for stardom and fame— a dream that had always been Allison's.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Number Three couldn't take her eyes off the damning words. It's decided: we'll be seeing the Guardian Angel on the big screen within the next decade!

The ink blurred in front of her as her eyes stung with tears. She refused to let them fall; some dumb article wasn't enough to make her break down like this. Who cared what the public thought? Who cared if they always chose Alexa over her? Who cared if they thought that the two blondes— Alexa and Luther— looked best together?

The page crumpled in Allison's hands under the force of her angry fist. She'd show them! There was no way her sister— her stupid, sweet, flighty sister— could ever handle the gossip and cruelty of Hollywood. What did the public know of her feelings for Luther (or possibly vice versa)? It was only because they gave off the same energy and looked similar.

It wouldn't take a genius to identify what she was feeling: envy.

In a family of six other super-powered siblings, it was always a scramble for attention. It was rarely given and any morsel that was left out was pounced upon as if they were vultures fighting over roadkill. Even scarcer was praise— which the magazine articles so freely gave to the eighth Hargreeves. All Allison wanted was to be recognized for her ability. She wanted someone to see that her Rumors were good, that they were something to be admired rather than feared. (But even she was slowly growing familiar to the unpleasant truth.)

Soon enough, anger began to replace the hurt. As Allison would say in the future: "you don't want to see me upset."

With the paper balled up in her fist, she stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Blood thrummed in her ears as her body filled with white-hot anger. She was sick and tired of her sister (no, her competition) always coming out on top. It was her turn to win— to be first— to be on the pedestal.

(Unfortunately, Allison has never taken into account the other side: that Alexa hated being held above her sister and would have happily given all the praise to her, free of conditions.)

She reached the blonde's room in record time and opened the door without knocking. It banged loudly against the wall as she let it swing out of her grasp, causing the other girl to startle and drop her paintbrush. Even Allison didn't recognize her own voice as she sneered her sister's name: "Number Eight!"

Alexa looked down at where her paintbrush left a red stain on the wood and groaned. "If that dries dad's gonna kill me."

Through her haze of anger, the brunette barely took in her sister's messy, paint-stained appearance; her hands were covered in colors of red, yellow and blue. The smock that she wore over her Academy uniform was even worse with old paint that was dry and crusted against the plastic covering. Discarded paper from trashed ideas littered the floor, almost covering the entire carpet. Her bed was rumpled and messy, her school books— which had been piled haphazardly on her desk— slid out of their precarious position and onto the floor with the force of the door's slam.

In all honesty, Allison didn't know how her sister got away with her unkemptness. The very thought that she could get away with it only made her more furious.

"I heard a rumor that you cleaned up your room," she began. The words barely relieved the pressure that built up in her mind— raw and hot and red.

"I heard a rumor that you wished you looked like me!"

"I heard a rumor that you will never go near Luther again!"

"I heard a rumor that you think Five hates you!"

"I heard a rumor. . . I heard a rumor. . . I heard a rumor. . ."

Eventually, she exhausted herself and her voice. She fell silent, expecting the blonde girl to be in tears as she believed all the cruel things the brunette forced her to. A part of this was true: Alexa was in tears— but not for the reason that Allison hoped (er, thought.)

She was still standing in that stupid, stupid smock, staring at the other girl with glassy blue eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she took a shaky breath. "Allie. . . why would you say those things?"

Allison stared at her in shock. There was no way that Alexa could know she was Rumored until after her words wore off (and sometimes they never did.) Why on earth had they not seemed to work?

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

Like with most things, they first brought the discovery to Pogo. While Alexa could barely look her sister in the eye, the chimpanzee listened to the girls with concern. To Allison's relief, he didn't scold her for the abuse of her powers but just questioned them for more information. Then, Reginald got involved.

In a special training session, he brought One, Three and Eight to the practice room. They stood in front of him in their workout uniforms as they all watched him attentively. To bring their leader up to speed, he summarized the events: "at approximately half-past eight on the eleventh of April, Number Three used her powers on Number Eight for the first time. However, Number Eight was able to resist Three's influence, which is my hypothesis. We will be conducting a series of exercises to determine if this is the case or if Number Three's powers have ceased to exist."

At that, all of the anger that Allison had been feeling towards her sister turned to ice. What would she do if she lost her powers? If she became terribly, horribly normal? (Like her other ordinary, forgotten sister.)

"Number Three, rumor Number One."

While she would usually be reluctant to force Luther to do anything, the fear that was currently swirling in her stomach overrode her hesitancy. "I heard a rumor that you did ten jumping jacks."

To her immense relief, Luther's eyes turned that familiar, soulless white. He followed her command obediently.

"Now use the same order on Number Eight," Reginald directed her.

Allison turned to face the blonde, who was looking at her with apprehension. The brunette ignored her expression and did as she was told. "I heard a rumor that you did ten jumping jacks."

Nothing.

"Number Eight?" their father prompted the girl sharply.

The blonde shook her head. "It's like she never even spoke."

"Use more power, Number Three."

"I heard a rumor that you did ten jumping jacks."

"Again."

"I heard a rumor that you did ten jumping jacks."

Still, Alexa didn't feel the slightest inclination to move. Reginald watched them with detached interest before he scratched out notes in his journal. "Interesting. What do you feel when Number Three Rumors you, Eight?"

"Nothing at first," the girl answered immediately. "When she used more of her power it was like someone was nudging my mind but her words just slipped around it."

Allison smirked. "Smooth brain."

The blonde flushed.

"Try a different command, Three. Use the same technique as we did just now— increase your power each time."

So, they did. With each wish, Luther completed the actions while Alexa remained resistant. It went on like this for some time until Reginald went over to where their weapons were stored. He opened the cabinet and took out one of Diego's practice knives before he returned to the trio. He held the blade out to the blonde, who took it hesitantly. With an impassive face, he announced: "Number Three, tell Number Eight to stab herself with the knife."

"What? No!" This protest came from Luther, who was looking between the girls with wide eyes. "Dad, what if Alli— Three's words work?"

"Silence, Number One," Reginald demanded in a positively bored tone. "If you'll remember, Number Eight can't be injured."

Luther still appeared like he wanted to object to this turn of events but he fell silent, obedient to his father's will. Alexa sent him a grateful smile for his attempt at standing up for her. That interaction alone was enough to convince Allison of saying the words. In an even voice, she stated: "I heard a rumor that you stabbed yourself in the heart with the knife."

With the combination of the full use of her power and the added location, the blonde gave her a look full of hurt, but Allison didn't care. Finally, some of that rage subsided, even if the command hadn't actually been completed.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

After their training session, Luther went to go take a shower while Alexa hung back to speak with her sister. The blonde resisted the urge to reach out and grab the other girl's wrist. Instead, she called after her: "Allison?" When the brunette paused— though she didn't bother to face her sibling— the blonde continued: "can. . . can we talk?"

"Isn't that what we're doing right now?"

"I— can you at least look at me?"

That was the last thing that Allison wanted to do, but she turned around anyway and crossed her arms against her chest. "What?"

"I can. . . I can act as if your Rumors worked. If-if that would make you feel better," the eighth Hargreeves offered quietly.

The suggestion made the anger return in a surge of white-hot fury. She gave her supposed-sister a look of such loathing that it made the blonde shrink in response. The fact Alexa thought her powers were so weak— when the blonde's were so much more useless— made her hands curl into tight fists. Her nails dug harshly into her palms as she replied callously: "that would have the exact opposite effect, but do whatever you want. I don't care enough about you to tell you what to do. Just stay out of my way from now on."

Allison walked away without another word or backwards glance— a clear sign of dismissal and demonstration of Alexa's place below her.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎