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[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

[possessum]

I'll be right there ok?

( With that, Peter quickly turns off his own Omni and grabs a couple of things — checking in on Luna, who's taking a nap.... he jots down a quick note for her to explain where he's going before making his way right to the beach. It will probably be the last time that month he communicates with her as Peter.

But it's Peter who's needed, now. And it's very much Peter who's wandering the iced-over shoreline in search of the boy he's never even met in person before, expression tight and worried and fearful. It takes him... a few moments that feel disconcertingly too long, to remember what Falco looks like. Like searching through books written in a language he just barely can't decipher. But eventually he remembers the boy from that first video message: youthful-faced, sweet, talking about the girl he loved.

When Peter finds him, he calls his name, stepping more quickly that way. )

Falco—

( Peter in person is about what one would expect: a six foot tall young man who carries himself much smaller than that, like he's trying to hide away, body language withdrawn and almost apologetic by default. Draped in his long arms is a dark green blanket that looks rather normal on the surface, and is anything but. )

—Hey. I'm here. I— Aren't you cold all the way out here? ( Brows knit, fretful, Peter studies the younger boy. He doesn't understand yet what Falco was implying through all of it: that he died, and washed back up here. He doesn't know. He's never seen death in this place before. )

[grice]

Ok

[ peter was— very tall, and falco was actually very small in comparison. he’s barely grown to five feet, yet, so sitting down by the black sand where it wasn’t so wet to rest on made the young man seem even larger to him. larger, but not frightening. despite his lack of a confident stride, he was still the kind young man falco had seen on the omni. ]

Thank you . . . Mister Peter. [ was he cold? mildly, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t just endure. it wasn’t being cruel to him— if anything, the cold that did nip at his skin past his cloak and leathers was distracting, helpful even. not only that— ] I’m a little hotter than most people.

[ it’s titan physiology. he’s a degree or two higher than the average human, but nothing that seemed dangerously feverish. he didn’t look feverish anyway, just . . . down. deeply. he almost even forgets to stand, and does so rapidly when he realizes he still had his knees to his chest and his head craning too high. ]

—You’re really tall.

[ it’s what he could bring himself to say without feeling the excruciatingly dire need to hug his middle. he’s not sure if he could do that. ]

[possessum]

( A little hotter than most people? It could mean... a lot of things. Peter well knows that by now in this place, where people come from all over, and have bodies that run all kinds of different ways.

But despite the reassurance, he's studying the younger boy's face carefully, looking for signs of— what, exactly? He doesn't know what he's looking for, barely knows what he's doing. He came here to help Falco, but... what can he possibly offer to help him? He doesn't know, and there's a sudden weird hitch in his throat that feels almost like panic, before the other boy abruptly stands up and Peter's struck by how... small he is. Stood face to face, body still so young — like Charlie, he thinks. Charlie, who was always like a little bird with her soft sounds and small bones.

Peter swallows, and where most people would probably take that comment with some gentle amusement, he just looks kind of like he wants to cry (.....to be fair, this is often how Peter looks). Bottom lip tugged under his teeth for a moment, he gently reaches one hand up — the other still holding onto that blanket — and his fingers find the younger boy's shoulder. It's almost too-gentle, like he's nervous to touch him, fingertips barely resting against the material of Falco's clothing. More ghost than person. )

Are you sure? ( Not to the tall comment, but going back to the.... cold one. Peter doesn't know how to carry a conversation )

I brought this. It's— Luna gave it to me. She made it. It's magical... warm. ( The blanket's the work of a witch and an everlasting heat source, perpetually toasty. It was a birthday present for him only a month ago.

Peter offers it with his other hand, the concern for Falco painfully clear in his face. He doesn't know what he can do to help (besides listen to more of what exactly happened to the poor boy, and try to find out... where to go from that?), but maybe he can start here. )

[grice]

[ falco’s blood hasn’t changed (yet), it’s still pale— and to see the older boy stumble and features strain so subtly in that way when holding back fresh tears, it was hard not to notice when falco was looking right at him. he’s not only a perceptive boy, but empathetic, now only doubled by his blood type to the point that he absorbs the emotion and can feel his own nose begin to sting as his eyes watered for him. giving him this blanket, luna’s blanket, no less. ]

Thank you . . .

[ do you want to make those tears roll? because you’re close, peter. you’re awfully close to a cause. falco’s nimble fingers reach for the cloth, hang onto the fabric (and it is warm, like a furnace), before he cracks his mouth open and croaks, softly; the same way peter moves in a way that doesn’t want to harm falco, falco speaks in a manner that doesn’t want to startle him. ]

Do you . . . Want to share it?

[possessum]

( Peter may not have the Paleblood propensity towards a boost of empathy, but he's a naturally empathetic person, too — naturally, and then increased over time and as a result of his environment. All it really takes to bring Peter to tears these days is to witness someone else looking, or sounding, upset.

....Which is to say, it's a wonder that between them, no one's started actually crying yet.

But he manages to slightly hold it together, stave the surprised little jolt of emotion at the smallness of the boy, the tenderness of him, and swallows hard at the way Falco's looking up at him now. Something soft and fragile shared between them: some caution with each other — or perhaps for each other. Then comes the offer, and Peter's heart squeezes all over again.

Oh. The older boy's eyelids flutter softly, and then— there's a little smile. He still looks close to tears, but that might just be... the nature of this whole afternoon... )

I'd like that.

( Just as gently as he'd touched Falco's shoulder, Peter's fingertips leave it, and he's looking around for a moment before glancing to the sand below. All of it should be in Falco's pocket, he decides; his comfort is what matters, right down to where he wants to physically be. )

Do you wanna sit again? With me?

( This time, not sitting alone. )

[grice]

[ a nod was all that was needed. and, since there was no need for sadness to this, falco exchanges his own smile before needing to dry the corners of his eyes. to begin fixing themselves properly wasn’t much labor, either— the black sand beneath them was cold, thus some ways stiff, but with the blanket it’d be much like sitting by a fire in a chilly winter camp. falco sat and waited for the other young man to do the same, drawing his knees to his chest and gingerly winding in the enchanted fabric over his shoulders and around his back, leading to peter’s where he’d share the space side by side. ]

That’s better than before. [ he’d admit that. but perhaps the most important of all— ] Thank you, for coming.

[possessum]

( Peter slowly moves to join him, long limbs folding inwards to a crossed position, reaching to help coax the blanket over his own shoulders. There they sit, side by side, toasty and warm — the cloth really is amazing. Luna's powers never cease to strike him with wonder.

After a moment of gazing out into the dark ocean not far in front of them, Peter turns his head back to face Falco. )

I'm sorry for what happened. ( He still doesn't exactly know everything, the details will inevitably reveal, but— he starts somewhere, first. And it's a scary place to start; Peter doesn't want to ask. He sounds sorry when he does. )

Someone tried to.... exorcise it. What happened?

[grice]

[ the shore’s wind brushed the short bangs of his hair back, but it hadn’t wiped the away the growing frown pulling his lips down. falco nods, for he too was sorry, but what his drying lips prepare to speak was a theory of feeling— he simply felt it the more he considered. ]

I think it knew . . . It would go wrong.

[ that’s possibly the first time he’s expelled that thought into voice. a frightening one, because his panic had gotten the best of him. ]

I started feeling . . . Like it would happen. Bad thoughts. Bad feelings— things, that aren’t mine. [ falco didn’t hold grudges, didn’t get easily irritable, didn’t see the spindly hands on the other side of a reflection trying to bang its way out. ] A few seconds where I can’t hear anything, that— that happens before an episode. [ to think he was tricked and manipulated, again, was bad enough, but falco’s remorse comes in not being able to see through it. ] I panicked, and, made him panic.

[ his pauses come from trying to hold his short hitches from turning into sobs, but the shimmering veil over his eyes doesn’t lie. he’s glad for the blanket, glad for the weight next to him, because when he hugs his legs tighter, he already feels embraced. ]

I let it—

[possessum]

( There's still so little Peter really knows about Falco's situation. By now, he's encountered several people with similar experiences to his own, but with so many differences, too. It's... such a vast spectrum, possession (a word he still struggles with saying out loud, with accepting as a part of his own identity).

But even though there are some technical differences in the way Falco's beast and his own operate, Peter can relate, empathise, understand. His brow furrows, and his frown deepens, and he listens with all of his focus. Watches the younger boy try to hold himself together.

As perhaps suggested by the way Peter had so cautiously placed a hand upon Falco's shoulder just moments ago, physical touch is... hard for him. And perhaps especially in this situation, unsure what's okay, what's not, torn between some need to give him distance and give him comfort all the same.

But what dominates everything is the feeling of that small body quivering next to his own, the way Falco wraps his arms around his legs like a child. Peter's been there — god he's been there, and still goes there sometimes, and it's those words, 'I let it'... that have him moving. He turns to face the younger boy, leans in closer, and reaches to place one palm on his knee. It's a more intentional comfort, a squeeze given, a closeness. )

It's not your fault. What happened, whatever it did— taking over you, or hurting people, or— whatever all it did.

You didn't let it. It did that to you.

It's not your fault. ( Repeated softly, his own eyes freshly glossed. )

[grice]

[ it hits differently when someone can feel the weight of words on their own skin, a separate experience but one all the same. falco hadn’t realized at first, if he wanted to hear something like this— maybe deep down, anyone would. looking for judgement was a part of guilt stricken minds. to hear the worst but beg for middle ground where no one could hear them.

falco was just a child; he wanted to put this all out there before he imploded, before this ugly pit ate him up so deep that he couldn’t get out of it alone. perhaps, you can never really do anything alone, which is way, despite his eyes widening to a standstill, his tears still silently roll down the curve of his cheeks, first one, and then the other.

what does he say— to gestures and someone, like this? there aren’t words he can follow up with now, no objection, and partially, it was frightening to stay quiet; would it be bad, if he simply took that for his own peace of mind? if that what he’d prefer to hear than to be told he was correct?

peter’s efforts are not disregarded. it would be so much worse, so much worse when words were real. the hand on his knee, the full turn that blankets his front and gives him all the attention that he had to hear and choose to listen. ]

Can I—?

[ falco’s arms are hovering; he wants to hug him. his legs, his torso— anything. ]

cw: nondescriptive mention of child death

[possessum]

( Maybe there's something hypocritical to him, the way Peter can immediately look at someone else facing this and know it's not your fault, but can never fully think of it that way for himself. But how can he...? His own demon is a punishment, at least in every sense of how he considers it. He'd done something horrible, the worst thing imaginable, and that's why even on those nights in which it's especially bad (the nights the demon causes fever sweats and rippling spasms, and so much pain), Peter never really thinks he deserves any differently. He doesn't fight it; he lets it happen.

It's what he deserves.

But not this boy. No matter what it had done, who it had hurt, what damages; no matter if he'd tried some sort of exorcism that ultimately went wrong, it isn't Falco's fault. He's only a little thing, an innocent, and the horror of the fact that this boy is having to deal with something like this continues to bloom in Peter like something organic and alive, flourishing more now that he's with Falco in person and seeing that upset as clear as day. The tears that slip down the boy's cheeks and fall — Peter's mouth is opening, his heart squeezing so tightly that it hurts.

Then the question, the way arms lift up towards him almost like a little doll. Peter hesitates for only a moment — like he's unsure it's really okay for him to hold something so precious and sad. He remembers the last time he ever held his sister, flush to his chest; she'd been killed minutes after. He'd killed her.

Slow and afraid and longing, Peter lifts his hands and then slips his arms around small shoulders, and the boy is slowly pulled up into him, to his chest. There's a shaky exhale released in a puff against Falco's hair, and with it, Peter squeezes him harder. Now that he's been given permission to hang on, he doesn't want to let go, staring wide-eyed over the younger's shoulder as he holds him so securely that he's not sure where he ends and Falco begins. There's a helpless feeling and weirdly, simultaneously, a resolve that Peter's not quite used to.

He won't fight for himself —he can't, his guilt won't let him, and he hangs onto that guilty conscience almost lovingly: a small ghost with blonde hair that he lets himself be haunted by— but he'll fight for someone he wants to protect. )

It's gonna be okay. I'm going to help you with this— I promise.

cw: my death (also mention of racial persecution)

[grice]

[ falco inhales, holds his breath and hardly lets it escape as peter adjusts his actions to an answer that speaks for itself. he’s never done this, asked to be hugged like an actual child that he may sometimes forget he is. peter’s shaky exhale makes the boy’s quaking more violent, but it’s clear by the silence and gentle jerks from his chest that he’s still trying hard not to make any sound that appears inhumane or suffering. the way his tears now pour, the way he simply disappears under such slender and inviting arms gives way for the reason why the gesture has caused hiccuping, a wet nose and face nestled at the start of the elder boy’s shoulder: he is receiving comfort beyond what he’s imagine capable of someone from the outside of his circle of loved ones, when he’s from a world where strangers spit on him in the street for having been born.

he cries more because he’s happy to have met peter, and to be with him now— in the cold, on the beach, under an enchanted, warming blanket, with little fingers squeezing fabric and applying pressure to the strongest hugs he could return. he’s only ever hugged his brother the same way. ]

Thank you— [ it’s all a hush, wet as he snorted enough inward to clear his airways, to speak coherently despite the tiny pulls his chest made for air. ] W-we’ll help, each other—

[ anything that peter would need, any help, any safety, protection, baked goods, falco has already imprinted his terrible sacrificial streak upon him. at this point, for better or worse— he’d do anything for peter graham. because peter graham was doing far more than everything falco had wished for in a person outside of the gates surrounding his home. ]

[possessum]

ooc — Finally getting to these delicious backtags, MY APOLOGIES for the slow No worries at all if you prefer to wrap here / handwave Falco telling Peter things, or continue it out, I'm here for anything!!

( Truly, Peter has so little experience with hugging anyone this way. What he'd always known, and grown how to get used to, was a detachment. (His mother, flinching away from being too close to her son, trying to pretend like there was nothing wrong about that fact. His father, who would at least touch Peter, but only ever with one-armed hugs, an affection that was clinical.)

Even Charlie wasn't an affectionate sort — his little sister, always separated from everyone by some unseen veil. She never really reached out to him for hugs, never really seemed to crave them. Except for that final night, when Peter had been reminded of just how small and young she was. Standing in the doorframe, come to find her brother, afraid. Small arms wrapped around his neck as he'd carried her.

It's Luna who's really been teaching him how to be close to someone this way. Luna, who knows what's so wrong in him and reaches for him anyway, with no reservations, no fright. It's how Peter hugs the younger boy now, not closing himself off at all from him. He know what it is, to need to be held like that. )

We will— ( He affirms, voice breaking a little at the ends, crumbling inwards. The fact that this crying child, even now, is offering to help him, too... Peter moves a shaky hand up into the back of Falco's hair, gently. The way Luna holds him sometimes, with fingertips gently rubbing soothingly against the scalp, petting gestures. )

Do you want to tell me? Everything that— that happened? How it happened? ( He doesn't have to, he doesn't have to say anything more at all. But if he does... Peter will listen. )

[grice]

( ooc; no worries friend! i think we can wrap the rest off with a handwaved convo because it’s a lot of baggage, if that’s okay! 💛 )

[ everything that happened—? falco sniffs into the crook of peter’s shoulder and refuses to let go of him for just a few moments more, small hands clinging to the fabric of clothes and a warming blanket. it’s when he feels the safest that he’d give everything for, peter would not be different. when he moves to inch himself away, the boy still remains close, within a distance of touch. his hands no longer squeeze the elder boy’s back or neck, but he does seek to lean on him, with his knees propped up into a short bend, to facilitate. ]

. . . Since the beginning?

[ falco pauses, and soon his hesitation dissipates; it’s a story with many pages. he’ll tell peter about the island he once woke up on— South Sister— surrounded by a worldwide mass of the thing within him. how he got infected (which led to a short explanation of what it meant to be eldian, and what abilities he’d inherited), a demonstration to help scout the island with a leadering adult caused a sudden onset of bodily possession, and from there— the mark of a double, back to back S remains on the back of his neck, a brand that hissed toward everyone: we’re here.

whether it’s a mistake or not, falco even writes the thing’s name in the sand and has peter promise not to say it out loud: the silence. it does not speak to him. it’s quiet, for the time being. but it’s always watching, and becoming influenced is just a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

he’s attacked people, even before such an episode that’s happened here; he knows what this fear is like, if peter shares it. they could share a lot, here, the most they’ve ever. ]