🦅 🦅 🦅

[grice]

Who: falco grice, others, and you!
What: a catch all for the month including a player plot, general prompts and event prompts in the comments, all open!
When: december; date will be in the header if any!
Where: waves hands at too many places

Content Warnings: possession, violence, gore, self harm, child death, war imagery, child soldiers, racial oppression, genocide, forced experimentation, torture, mutilation, gun violence (against children)


see below for open prompts of all kinds! if you have any questions or would like to plot something specific, hmu at liberos!

Comments

december 7th — POSSESSION, THE POSSESSIONING

[grice]

[ there had been an ugly sound from the distance of glaze district’s nearby cemetery, a startling crack like thunder and the call most would pin on a poor beast out there— a shriek, like scratched metal, plows right through the dim lit fog and may even be the source of more shouts. the earth quakes as the jaw titan takes its nimble yet erratic steps, or perhaps the sky is the source of an echoing clap grazing too low toward the ground.

whether on the ground with gangling wyvern limbs or gliding under the height of the thick pythumerian clouds, what should have been quite the magnificent bird is a shell of feathers that are terribly ratty and puffed, purplish-black in hue from tip to the sickly skin below it. its eyes are right in the open sockets of the mask of bone that roughly resembles a saw-toothed beak, bulging with aberrant indigo veins and a veil of lavender blocking out the whites to give a glaze to the remaining membranes.

underneath the flesh of this giant, that twitched and wobbled like something dead come to life from time to time, was falco— who couldn’t hear, but could see right through the eyes of the creature oozing a metallic purple rot from its jaws. he was conscious, terrified that his vessel had been hijacked, and could do so very little to keep it from crawling, stumbling or flying.

with each cry from the avian beast came a disgusting goop from the sockets of his mask, pooling beneath the eyes and streaming less like water and more like mucus. he was crying at what he saw, and the overriding fear of being so trapped and used (then there was guilt, helplessness, remorse—) caused a nasty feedback effect. it fed the silence, and gave it more fuel to hunt its host’s greatest fear than not.

perhaps you have come here because you heard the shriek of a suffering beast— or maybe it was the scream of a human being hunted. ]

( ooc; this is a player plot! while a final group has already been formed to put falco down, others are welcomed to tag in for a fight if you wish to wrangle a giant bird for a little while! )

let's goooooo

[monoceroscaeli]

[It's not hard to pick up the sounds of terrified screams as the first few people start to run out of the Gaze district and into other ones. He'd been out doing a bit of errands, but that's all forgotten now. The rumble of the earth alerted him to something far more insidious, shaking the ground beneath his feet. This...can't be good, and he moves swiftly in the direction of screaming people.

His rule is not to rush headfirst into a fight without knowing what you were getting into. But he may not be provided that luxury today.

What awaits him, and the others who would unknowingly be assisting him today, is a monster unlike anything he's seen from the Abyss or beyond. The purplish black hue of the monster almost gave him the impression that it might be from the Abyss, but he's been there. He's seen nothing like this before.]

monster gang: assemble

[enblightened]

[Honestly, Bigby himself had been attempting to just swiftly go in, get some belongings, then hurry back out to the forest, but everyone's day: interrupted by Giant Bird Beast. He's startled when he looks and sees it in the sky, genuinely confused at first.

He murmurs to himself:] No, no -- far too big for the Shrieker. What then...?

[Regardless, he's doing the same as another: pushing past people trying to get away in order to approach the thing terrorizing them.]

december 8th and forward — TASTE THE POST-DEATH H/C

[grice]

[ falco had escaped death’s clutch so many times— even when he was sure there’s be no return, he would somehow make a u-turn and wake up breathing. deer country had been a completely separate experience, because he did die this time. he saw the light go abruptly dark and the aggressive chill of trench’s winter feeling warm, then the ice cold water of the ocean swaying neatly through his squid tendrils and then washing up on shore.

he didn’t go “home” right away, didn’t feel like he should. perhaps it was mildly unlike him, but falco simply felt . . . drained. too null and deprived of his usual faith, especially when a look in the mirror as he inspected his newly formed human frame hadn’t changed— he was still branded, still sickly with the silence’s mark hollowing deeper into his essence, his blood. a permanent carrier.

all of that, including the harm caused, had been for nothing.

he had always maintained an impossible and unruly amount of hope for the upbringing he had and the reality he had come from, but jumping to other cases and worlds hadn’t shown him much light apart from the friends he’s made. it was dreary and as dull as the cloudy days that hung over trench every single day. what falco was feeling right now was despondency, a lack of response or a slowness to respond. he can be found either:

in the welcome tents by the boardwalk:

eating little, too thin, too pale, head low, seeking the warmth of company but shying away from any direct contact, conversation or the like, some of the hosts would comment; the boy keeps his distance and may often be found sleeping slouched, in chairs covered in furs that slipped down to his boots. sometimes, he eventually would sink himself to the floor. much to anyone’s opinion, it was alright and perfectly capable of putting him to sleep.

when he wasn’t sleeping, falco would stroll about the ocean shoreline, kicking at ice fragments and digging the toes of his boots into black sand to watch the indents he’d left behind. from aimless trekking, he’d eventually shift into an interested walk, then a faster jog to meet the wooden frames washed up on shore. to his shock, they were pictures— christmas gifts he’d only ever gotten in south sister.

it’s there that falco sinks right to his knees, crosses his legs, and cries quietly at the sepia faces looking back at him. it’s the little fire he needed to keep his core from going frigid. they were pained, but overall good tears. it meant that he was still alive.

a network sighting:

eventually, he’d move himself. falco’s heart and exceptional empathy hadn’t been lost, but crudely bruised over time. he’d probably just have to make room for the hurt rather than hope to see it gone, so he needs to put himself to use— do something helpful. he’d watch the entrance of the lumenarium from time to time with a glimmer of longing in his eyes before giving the idea up. on the network, one may even see a remote question made under his username: ]

un: falcogrice
people with infected blood can’t be blood ministers can they?

at the stables:

falco was eventually led to the stables by his omen (a spicy pygmy falcon that would no longer like to see his head so down, thank you), where those interested in a steed would see the boy put to work: sweeping floors, mucking stalls, grooming and feeding the animals—

and perhaps he can be found warming up to one for some harmless play, sputtering a muffled little snort when one of the older mares would take his cloths or fabrics and wave them about. he’d wave them back to see the horse’s lips wiggle to pry them gently out of his hands, oh this was cute as it was fun— but when he hears the wood creak or a draft come in, the boy jumps. both because of fright as well as reacting to the possibility of it looking like he was being a bum on the job.

he’ll snap his fabrics back and shove them into his back pockets with an erect spine— no, he was sweeping. he was definitely sweeping. he was now sweeping, with a piece of fabric hastily and messily popping out of his back pocket enough that the horse is extending her neck to try and reach.

really, he’s not doing anything suspicious. of course not. ]

welcome tents

[eudaimonikos]

[It's early enough in the month still that Michael's not fallen too deep into the hunt. Sure, he's pranked a couple of warmbloods and vilebloods - but that was all in good fun, right? No harm done! Mostly, he just feels restless lately. Got a lot of energy to burn. That's why he's been spending this much time out on the beach, or in the water; it's something to do, and keeping busy feels good.

He sees Falco from the water first. A rather large squid briefly bobs to the surface and blinks one big blue eye at the boy. He's a little close to where Michael left his suit, safely folded behind one of the rocks...but not too close. And he seems upset. So...the squid submerges again, vanishing into the dark ocean.

It's a few more minutes before Michael comes strolling down the beach. He's completely dry, and doesn't look at all cold. In fact, he's practically radiating heat.]

Hey. Everything okay? [Michael obviously not he's crying on the ground]

[grice]

[ a quiet gasp brushes right pst falco’s lips when he inhales and looks up, paying little heed to the water when it sloshed absently the way ocean water does, only soon to be met by a man who hardy made a sound in the sand. with the back of one hand, falco is sure to rub just beneath his nose and sniff, hard enough to make sure his voice is clear to speak, while the others hold the three wooden picture frames together and inclined to his lap. ]

Yes, sir. [ nasally, still, but making sure he’s firm with addressing the man astutely— as he should with his elders. ] I just . . . Found my things.

[ it wasn’t even from home, but it was his— admin had given them to him, and just when he had gone through something so closely related to south sister? it almost felt like some little sign.

after a moment and once the boy is able to raise his glance up to michael, he gestures upward with the frames. ]

They’re pictures.

boardwalk

[13thcommander]

[It has been a rough month.]

[Erwin doesn't know what Falco was thinking, but he saw the end results. It had been... even for someone as used to blood and gore as Erwin, it had been bad. Deeply, deeply unpleasant. Unsettling. Horrific.]

[And then there's the fact that Falco was actually dead, apparently. No rebirth from his titan, no being saved by his healing ability. Just... gone.]

[Erwin would be lying if he said he hadn't spent a few days isolated and depressed about it.]

[But then he'd asked around, and found out that death isn't permanent here. Sleepers who die come back, which means Falco will come back. More questions, more searching later, and Erwin finds himself lingering around the welcome tents, waiting for the boy to reappear.]

[Erwin hears Falco before he sees him. He knows the sound of someone sobbing their heart out; he's made that sound a few times himself. But this is a young voice, a child's, and he rushes towards it.]

Falco!

[grice]

[ at first, he had felt the framed pictures to be some sort of blessing, and at the tip of a pin it felt as if it were irony. falco’s emotions fluctuate from positive to negative, unlike him again, though this time he’s fully aware and feels a tinge of fear when he hears a voice calling for him— what if it’s too deep in him? what if it’s just part of him now, just as much as ymir’s curse and terminal illness? the quick steps in the sand are closer, fast— ]

Mister Erwin—! [ he knew who it was, and wants his embrace, but, ] W-wait—

[ he’s too frightened to allow it, clasping the frames close to his chest and steadying his breathing. oh, here it came— the guilt. he’s been so far away from their little hut recently that he must’ve worried erwin sick, but then again barely bothered to let him know, he just—

he was just so numb over some things and was only now beginning to feel the gravity of his silence. ]

I’m sorry—

[ it’s what he can squeak out before he’s holding his breath and going beat red trying to suck in his tears. ]

a network sighting (which will inevitably lead to an in-person checkup 👀)

[possessum]

( The month is one long cold dream. It stretches on and on, and more often than not, Peter doesn't know what time it is, what day it is. There's a cocktail mix at work in him: the town's effects — he's a Darkblood, a hunter — Corruption, and Peter's own melancholy sinking in deeper and deeper. This month was always hard for him. Now December represents even more loss, grief, hurt, and he's becoming numb to everything again.

It's inevitable that he'd be losing himself.

The Corruption slowly draws more and more of the demon out, that thing that was always fated to consume him. Peter stops being "Peter" and he's starting to have to work to remember the name at all. But there are still things that catch him there, that speak to Peter and not the other's name.

Like a message on the network from a name that makes him pause and check again. It stirs up memories even if they're thick and glossy and feel far away. A young boy.... dealing with something strange and scary, asking for help. Frightened, upset. A spark of wide-eyed youth underneath all of that — so human. He called him "Mister Peter" like he was someone safe and capable. Peter, who's progressively less and less human right now, taps a response in the quiet solitude of his room. He dredges up his own name from the depths of himself, with some work. )

un: P.G.
Falco?
It's Peter
I don't know much about blood ministers but

( But.... but. Has he been able to find any help with his... condition? He must not have found a solution yet, to be asking about infected blood. But has there been anything...? )

Have you been able to get any help? With it

[grice]

[ peter deserves more of a healthy shine to his greeting, but falco hadn’t the energy to as to so much crack a decent smile. his message is met with a stern stare that grows increasingly saddened— what was this, that he was feeling bubbling up behind his ribs and falling like deadweight? was it the after effects of the silence too deep in him to be removed? was it a strange sensation of letting a respected elder down? ]

Hi Mister Peter

[ perhaps it was both, and perhaps it was one more thing: this guilt he couldn’t unbind himself from. ]

I tried

[ if he were successful, he would’ve added more. ]

boardwalk

[droptheious]

[Varian has been spending a lot of time out on the ice. His coldblood means that he isn't affected by the freezing temperatures, and he has half a chance of getting new folks out of the ice. Which is...what he assumes Falco is, when he comes across him crying.

Thankfully, this early in the month, this corruption is only a grey tinge to his skin, but he still hesitates to come too close. ]

Uh...h-hey. Are you okay? [He shoots a glance at the pictures on the shore- faces he doesn't recognise, but he can make a good guess mean something to the boy. Good job, detective Varian. ] Are...are you new? Do you need help?

[grice]

[ thanks to mister michael earlier, these pictures and their frames are brand new and free of salt water and ice. falco can have a better look at them now, crystal clear glass protecting the photo of a man holding a girl right around his age. ]

I got them, [ he looks up to offer the older boy an acknowledging glance— complete with a bright red nose and pink-tipped ears to go along with the shimmer in his eyes. ] thanks.

[ a better look at falco would show that he was more equipped than a new sleeper would be: about two layers of fabric for the cold, and underneath the flaps of his outer cloak shell is a knife, a small firearm, and the neck of a rifle at his feet in the sand. ]

I was just— [ he shrugs, to find the answer, and ends up sniffing hard, ] walking around . . . And found these.

stables 👀

[unsheathedfromreality]

[Animals and undead didn't usually get along, which is reason enough for Illarion to avoid anywhere they're being kept--but the local shivering horses didn't seem any more bothered by him than they were by every other danger around, and, well.

He had a question he'd needed answered by someone familiar with horseflesh. That necessitated a visit to the stables.

The shrike's leaving by way of the stalls, answer in-hand, when the sound of someone startling attracts his attention. An--odd expression--flits across his face, almost a smile, almost hungry, to hear someone alarmed by his presence (December's a difficult month for Darkbloods, doubly so for a Locust Knight); then it's gone, replaced by a look of thoughtful focus. There's something he recognizes in the ((shape)) of the young stableboy over there, and it's enough to get him to amble over and lean slant-hipped against the wall near where Falco's working. (or "working")

He looks for all the world like he's watching the horse's determined attempts to get the cloth, except his eyes aren't focused on her.]

Ah. You were the child in the bird-beast. [Who had a name, surely, though he seems to have misplaced it; his memories of the fight are laced through with the oppressive emotion the Silence had broadcast, distorting recollection of anything but those.

It's uncomfortable. It also has a strange appeal when he feels so little with any clarity. But that's not really the task at-hand, so--]

How are you faring?

👀 👀

[grice]

[ falco hadn’t looked up immediately, focusing on the work he should be doing, else he wanted to get kicked out. he’s a child deprived of his time as a child, but he still knew how important responsibility was when he took it. so, he’s there, sweeping and doing his damned best to ignore the mare, for the time being. the voice sounding hadn’t piqued any recognition until he mentioned bird-beast and being in it. falco does a double take and widens his eyes to the whites when he recognizes him. he had been deaf from start to end possession, so any names (or voices) are obscure if didn’t already know them. he hadn’t been blind during, though; only when childe had taken out the titan’s eyes, but close to the end— he saw them all, illarion included. ]

—You were there. [ there, he remembered seeing him, remembered a blur that came his way, and that falco had flung him far into the roof of a building. he can feel his palms beginning to sweat on their hold against the broom’s handle, a shine along his temple as his heartbeat rose. ] I’m— fine, [ for someone who had been quite dead and bathing in his own paleblood, he was reborn and permanently haunted, for the more supernaturally inclined. the silence is quiet, now, dormant— but anyone with spiritual, energetic sensitivity would notice that something was not quite right with falco anymore, and the source was that parasitic thing making its home in his neck and deeper into his blood. ] You’ve . . . Recovered?

At the stables

[laminae]

[It isn't unusual to see Fern in Willful Machine. Since he and Usagi started creating things - weapons, clothes, accessories - for people to buy, he's in and out of there often, selling what the two of them have crafted and buying materials for more. Plus, in his downtime he likes to check out the blacksmiths and see what weapons are being made.

So here's in that part of the city today, hanging around near the stables like a good Hunter to help keep an eye on the horses. It isn't his favourite area thanks to the whole 'horses like to eat grass' thing so he mostly tries to keep his distance from them, though he momentarily forgets that when he sees a very familiar face sweeping out a stall.

Falco. The kid he had spoken to before, the kid Dipper had tried to help with an exorcism that went terribly wrong, the kid whose body they had pulled out of that horrible bird monster. The memory of that scene flashes in front of his eyes, and before he can stop himself he's stepping into Falco's space and yanking him into a hug that lifts the kid off his feet.]

Dude! You're back!

[grice]

[ falco gasps right out of his skin, almost, the horses having taken calm interest in the visiting boy rather than any sort of alarm. it took a second of registering that he was getting pulled out of nowhere (alarm!!!) and then the next to realize that the overwhelming smell of plantlife was— ]

Fern—!

[ oh— oh, a hug, how many of these has he had, and how many people has he had the honor of sharing one with? if the surprise hadn’t been an indicator, falco’s pool of embraces was inherently tiny. the broom in his hand is let go of when he finally decides he could, and should return it, caught with shock earlier but soon realizing how it affects him painfully as much as positively. it filled a cracked void in him with comfort he yearned for, and before he could even bring himself to say anything— he’s hugging back, hard, disappearing into the older boy with how small he was and letting his shoulders shudder.

it was one of the sweetest things that could’ve happened. ]

I-I am—!

[ muffled in the front of fern, though, and through very easily dropped tears. ]

boardwalk!

[monoceroscaeli]

[From time to time, Childe will take a stroll down by the beach and the boardwalk to see if anything had turned up there of interest. He makes it his business to know, ever the nosy Harbinger, but today there was little to see. So, that means it's time to check the welcome tents in case something could be found there, or in case someone is to be found there. He speaks with some of the volunteers, and the only thing that catches his attention is the boy they mention who has been asleep on the floor for some time already today.

Childe peels back the flap of one such tent, surprised to see who he finds. It was that boy, the one from the monstrosity that...

Stepping inside, he takes a seat next to Falco, gently shaking him awake. Once he opens his eyes, he'll see the bright smiling face of a young man in his twenties, bandaged still across his arms, head and chest- though not all from their battle alone. It's been a rough month for him.]

Hey, [he'll say, once Falco wakes,] good to see you back with us again.

[grice]

[ falco had his first few nights of sleep after his resurgence as a squid quiet and dreamless, perfect for the fatigue his body felt from death, and yet, never really felt rested even when he slept a whole ten to twelve hours without interruption. this time had been the only time he dreamed, vaguely— of following perle to a fire at the edge of trenchwood, of a mare, of the smell of grass and being hugged . . . until he was stirred by the gentle sway given by childe.

he didn’t remember a speck of detail, but he knew he dreamed, and still smelled greenery, too— it took about three tries for falco to successfully open his eyes from the weight put upon them, coming to with more consciousness. the forth try, of his gaze narrowing and turning over his shoulder goes wider when the strike of colored hair jogs a memory that makes his gut drop.

he pulls in a breath, holds it in, and only begins to slowly breathe out as he gathered scattered thoughts and chose a few words to start with. ]

H . . . Hello. [ he’s being chary with his response to deter an overreaction— especially when childe was being rather considerate with him. he can feel his lips getting dry, but flits his tongue quickly across the bottom to remedy the sensation. ] You . . . Helped Mister Bigby— with a sword.

[ the distance between them would have been the only thing to smudge a clear image of the man, like the one he was seeing now, but it wasn’t too off— a bird’s eyes were sharp when it came to distance, and his titan was no different than a very large, partially humanoid bird. ]

december event — WINTER MOURNING

[grice]

( ooc; below is a list with little summaries of a few memories— please feel free to comment on this tl and choose one by name, then I’ll write up a personalized starter for you! this is so that no person goes through the same memory the same way! if anyone would like a wildcard, just hmu about it! thank you! 😘 )

🪶 ᴡᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅ-ᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʟʟɪᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴄᴇs: cw: war imagery, child soldiers, violence, exposure of corpses/gore, oppression, racism, cannibalism

falco is put on digging duty with his brother and gets blown out of a trench by a land missile; he suffers head trauma from the blow and characters, wounded at your discretion, must seek cover from enemy fire and survive with him. alternatively, characters will follow falco earlier and later in the war, including the start of it (falco was eight at the time), running into gunfire to protect a comrade, titan attack on fort slava and tending to wounded enemies.

🪶 ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴋʀᴜ̈ɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍʙᴜsʜ ᴏɴ ʟɪʙᴇʀɪᴏ: cw: war imagery, violence, mentions of suicide, manipulation of a minor, death

falco is manipulated by eren jaeger into leading reiner braun to a basement. eren attacks liberio and falco, saved be reiner, enters the battle field as your very own meat shield.

🪶 ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀsʜɪᴘ: cw: violence against minors, gun violence, child soldiers, death

falco follows gabi into an enemy airship and saves her multiple times from gunfire; characters will experience this in gabi’s pov most of the time and will have to survive getting beaten, bound and nearly thrown off the ship.

🪶 ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴇ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ: cw: violence against minors, mention of death, racism, knife violence

falco and gabi try to speak to niccolo in private in the basement of a marleyan restaurant, but the conversation goes south when gabi unknowingly and happily confesses to murder of niccolo’s girlfriend. to protect gabi, falco pushes her out of the way of a blow and gets hits in the head at full force with a wine bottle. characters must fight off niccolo and return falco to safety from a hostage situation.

🪶 ᴡᴀʀ ғᴏʀ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪs (ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴɪɴɢ): cw: “death” of a minor, cannibalism, violence

falco is reunited with his brother as war breaks out in shinganshina and both go to a fallen comrade for help. help can’t be given and falco is forcibly transformed into a pure titan. characters will have to either run and fight him for a while or sacrifice themselves to get eaten by falco to end the memory.

🪶 ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪᴀɴᴛ?: cw: gun violence against a minor, torture

an upcycle crau memory; falco is confronted by an android looking for its earlier model that was meant to be terminated, and falco refuses to tell. there are also two other instances of violence by the same android; if one memory is taken, i’ll go to the next!

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴏᴇs sɪʟᴇɴᴛ: cw: robot gore, death, violence, possession

an upcycle crau memory; falco finds a murdered friend and this triggers his first possession episode by the silence. characters will be attacked and run the risk of spiritual infection in this memory (but not outside it).

ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ɪsʟᴀɴᴅ: cw: torture, forced experimentation/amputation, mutilation, mind control

a wsh crau memory; falco is kidnapped with a handful of others, kept in cages and plucked one by one for gruesome medical alterations. characters can choose whether they’d like to be part of the kidnapped (you can choose an alteration/mutilation for your character to experience, in this case) or a rescuer, who will eventually fight possessed dolls to get out of the underground shelter. if you’d like a better feel for this event, you can see the write-up here!

ᴡᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅ-ᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʟʟɪᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴄᴇs

[terriblepurpose]

.

cw for war imagery, violence & child soldiers

[grice]

[ when reality seems to settle, the odor of this place is the first to shoot the senses awake. it smells of soot, dirt and gunpowder; it smells of horrid living conditions, iron, of humidity and poor hygiene. most are here out of necessity, not purpose. before the visiting sleeper can register that they have the metal handle of a shovel in their hands and a rifle slung across their shoulders, the high whistle of a bird emits from above the group’s head. the whistle becomes a growing, rapidly approaching shriek that scatters some men— and blows the rest away in the blink of an eye.

dirt erupts and throws plenty off their feet and so does the sound of this place: rapid gunfire, explosives, the mute ringing in your ears of a bomb shell that had just thrown your entire squad away. getting up to your feet would clear some of the smoky vision: you’re in a trench, or what could’ve been a trench, in the process of being dug right to the front lines. men have had their limbs blown apart, gore splatters the battlefield from the halved torsos of comrades still holding their shovels. it almost seems as if there are no survivors to aid at this point and the best course to take would be to run to cover, before the enemy reloads their arsenal.

there is movement out there, at last: a small thing, a young boy barely in his teens, but dawning the same muddy uniform as you are now. he barely moves, but his mouth parts, mumbling hallucinations as he speaks to the hawk circling above their chaotic world in search of scraps, and reaches for it, wishing deathly that it were him. ]

Hey . . . You’ve got wings, so— Fly away . . .

ᴡᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅ-ᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʟʟɪᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴄᴇs

[creidim]

Hey! I'd be down with going for the ᴡᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅ-ᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʟʟɪᴇᴅ ғᴏʀᴄᴇs prompt! Maybe we do something with Luna just trying to shield him with magic/comfort him while they're hiding out from enemy fire through the memory until it's over because there in room for soft in all the horror okay U-U

Living Island

[feudalladyshandmaid]

Living Island

[imaglyphwitch]

[grice]

[ falco was only now waking up from the knock out that was inhaled anesthetic, still signaled by a faint smell of pepper. the floor was nothing but cold concrete to lay on and the bars of his cage gave him just enough space to stay in a curl— it’s locked, all of them, before anyone actually wants to try anything. there’re no lights. only the flickering of an old lamp hidden away in a nearby office, where the click of metal instruments or even dragging could be heard from time to time.

you have no abilities, here. just a dreading sensation of fatigue that you’ve been here for quite a while, but then again . . . it’s pretty hard to tell time all the way down in living island, isn’t it? perhaps all the other hostages should be waking up, too— but many are different. something has changed in them, whether a body part or organ had been removed, or something else had been added. falco, for the time being, only felt his back itch and complain of soreness. both his shoulder blades are bleeding under his untidy school clothes, botches of red staining the fabric once it gets through its padded bandaging. ]

My head . . . [ he moans, but rapidly begins attempting to gain consciousness and look around to check on his fellow captives. for a moment, he thinks he may be hallucinating on the spicy aftersmell in the air when he sees neither rapunzel or bruce by his cage. it’s someone else. someone . . . ] Luz—?