[It takes Dipper ages to send this message. He's not sure how to even begin, and the guilt is weighing heavily, as he finally begins to type.]
[God, he really made a mess of things. Falco had been depending on him, and in the end, his rashness had gotten both of them killed and possibly endangered and injured who knows who else.]
Hey.
I really hope you're eventually well enough to even get this message. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how everything went down. I understand if you'd rather not speak to me. You were counting on me and I really botched things. I-
Sorry. That's all I wanted to say. Don't feel like you have to respond to this if you don't want to. I get it.
[ falco had neglected his omni for quite sometime after the incident, but not enough to miss a direct message to him. hand wondered if it was erwin trying to figure out where he’d gone, but started to fill with wide curiosity when he didn’t recognize the name.
he only recognized it after the fact, the signs, the chain of events and falco could feel his knees weaken enough that he has to sit back (stumble back, and nearly pushing a seat off its legs). ]
This is Dipper?
[ sure, he came back, but after not seeing anything by the shore himself during the time he’s hiked out there, neither anything dipper-related on the network itself, falco thought . . .
the rethought makes his insides ice over like trench’s bone biting winter and does uncomfortable flips harsh enough to drain the color from his face. he feels hot, and ill, like he’d lose the lunch he barely had the apetite to consume (luckily, he won’t— just a drop in his pressure). hence, the small delay when that happens, but he manages to pull through. by god, he has to pull through.
because he’s hearing guilt in the typed words and if anyone had to feel guilty right now— at least to falco, it wasn’t dipper by far. he’s scared out of his mind and doesn’t know the first thing on how to deal with this, but the answer to that question was half answered in his heart as is: he could run, no matter how much he wanted to. ]
Mister Paul, of course! I’ll be right there, in a minute!
[ he wasn’t at the home, with it empty, levi and erwin gone— falco hadn’t felt secure by himself. that’s to say, it was currently a great place to meet. he hasn’t had a visitor yet! ]
[ boy was he. it was a surprise, but more a pleasant one, a little shimmer of light to greet him in the ugly mist surrounding him ever since paul’s fall. falco stays with peter, and luna until a wayward return— and wouldn’t have spoken to childe so soon if it hadn’t been for his message.
it reminds him of something he hasn’t had the mind to think about. in fact, he’s afraid to. but—
eventually, he returns the call. ]
Hi Mister Childe. I’m sorry I never got back to you sooner. I’m trying my best. I ate all the snacks you gave me and thought a lot about what we talked about. How have you been?
( It comes a couple of weeks late, thanks to long days spent holed up safely inside the house after one Darth Maul Threat on Luna's life.....
Peter's been scrolling back through network posts, and there's Luna's, and there's— Falco, mentioning turning thirteen. Peter doesn't mean for it to, but the initial reaction is a little painful hiccup feeling in his chest. Thirteen, that's the age Charlie was when she died, the age she's immortalised as in his heart.
But his grief doesn't keep him stagnant, not this time. Peter wants to gift Falco something nice; thirteen's a big year...! So something will be delivered to him as February draws to an end — a pair of spiffy matte black headphones, and a note:
'Happy (Belated) Birthday, man! I'm sorry this is so late. Things have been pretty wild. I got these back in the place before here, Deerington. They came from my home world. I don't know if they have them in yours, but just in case: they're called headphones, and you can listen to music with them, block things out when you want to. They'll work with your Omni, so you can listen to any kind of music you like. If you want, I could even make you a couple of playlists.
I wanted you to have them. I never even used them, so they're technically brand new. I hope you like them. :) — Peter')
[ the time of the month that falco always tends to visit the boardwalk was this one: the usual influx of sleepers could mean familiar faces. that, and falco enjoyed offering his help where need be, then snatching something delicious at the end of the day. the best of both worlds! today, perle (his pygmy falcon omen) was riding a spring breeze off the coast in a hover, while falco himself had chosen to select a spring roll to try. he happens to be carrying an egg-thing in a sling that keeps it close to his chest; the thing in question is a togepi— and when it comes to food, he’s quite impatient, reaching and making whatever grabby movement he could with feather stubs for hands. ]
I need to try it first. [ he warns, not out of greed because he really did need to make sure this didn’t come with an adverse effect he shouldn’t be exposing confetti to. sadly, confetti is not happy with the choice and begins to squeeze out tears. just bouncing him on his knees, hush hush— nothing seems to be happening? aside from his hair strands becoming home to thin stems blooming firefly sunshines. the sudden blossoming has confetti pause to then chirp, and giggle at the change— and that’s when falco found it best to mouth feed his friend ever so gently.
who is to say he’s keeping still, though? falco walks right across the boardwalk with his head up (and occasionally making sure that confetti can handle what he’s chewing)— he double takes when he sees a flash of tall blond, that could be anyone. but, those eyes, the nose, and who was with him—
there’s a boy there, in the middle of the coming and going newcomers who has planted himself in the middle enough that he needs to evade.
because he’s staring right at levi ackerman and erwin smith. ]
[ having Erwin back feels like a miracle on its own. truthfully, if no one else he's ever known ever washes up on that beach, he'll be okay. still, with something so seemingly impossible bringing them back together, there's reason to believe it won't necessarily stop with the two of them. who knows who else might show up?
it's just that he knows an outrageous amount of dead people. having the chance to see Erwin again, it feels like pretty much anything could happen.
but neither of them spot any faces they recognize. he overhears that this whole thing is like a cycle that happens on a regular basis, so while they do appear to be alone now, things could be different a month from now.
he's just about to relay this sentiment to Erwin when he hears a familiar voice.
familiar is really the best he can do at this point. his mind is still a little bit hazy; it took him a full day followed by a harrowing nightmare to fully remember Erwin, and he's not even sure if he remembers everything about himself. when he turns and sees Falco, it clicks.
...kind of. his eyes widen, half mild shock and half "oh sweet fucking lord there's an actual child stuck in this place". ]
What the hell are y—
[ stupid question. does anyone know what they're doing here? no, more importantly, Falco doesn't look like he just wandered in half-braindead off the beach. he has some sort of... egg... little egg guy, for one, and he just doesn't look like he's seeing all this shit for the first time.
or that's his guess, anyway. he's not the smart one. ]
You've already been here for awhile, haven't you?
[ he has no idea how that's even possible, but he's also standing next to a dead person. clearly the rules have changed. ]
I will not be available for a few days, no more than a week. I will let you know later when we can meet again, but in the meantime I expect you to keep up with your studies. To keep you busy: detail various emergency scenarios and write what you would do to save your patient. Up to five will do, but I will consider one or two to be pure laziness.
I'll have it done, Mister Nehan. [ doing more than five sounds safe— and diligent. may two or three a day? falco is actually grateful for this, and not because he won't be seeing nehan! this means he's going to be busy, and considering the month's start? the busier, the more his mind is occupied, the less prickly he'll feel. ] Is everything okay?
[ he doesn't want to ask directly to be nosy, but he doesn't want to completely wright it off, either. ]
[ falco should've known better than to look, and watch. the air surrounding this memory had piqued the interest of something else, not him; and that is why he still holds his omni in his his hands and watches the little girl behind these eyes— whose voice sounded like peter. whose eyes were peter's, in the car's rearview mirror. falco's gut feels colder and colder, and his quiet terror escalates. the choking sound is infuriating and driving a car at the speed it escalates to is terrifying. like it could go wrong, any moment, that could get worse.
and there is nothing worse than the thing on the road that causes peter to react and makes the wheels shriek. falco flinches at the ugly sound that cracks through the wind blowing through the passenger's open window. he comes to a horrible conclusion when all he could hear and see was breathing, shock and teary vision through the screen.
the silence drinks it like water on a hot summer day. it wraps and twists itself around the boy's upset stomach and makes it works, makes the tears in his own eyes come hot. a door has been opened— and it seeps out, just a touch, feeling empowered while falco felt despair. he felt fear. he almost felt like every feeling, wailing or otherwise deathly quiet was too palpable. ]
peter ?
[ he couldn't handle it, no matter how many bodies he's seen on the battlefield. ]
[it's a few days later, and anna feels terrible. in many different ways. falco, she'd be loath to admit, was not the first person she responded to. it had taken her a moment to actually... well, to remember what had happened. she guessed that that was just what happened when someone died; she'd never really done it before, after all.]
Jesus Christ, Falco, I'm so sorry. You don't have to reply if you don't want to. I'll understand. But fuck. I didn't mean to. I wasn't in control.
[ falco had been without his omni for days moving into july’s first week. he hadn’t been home since washing up back onto shore, finding himself too large and possibly too dangerous to walk around districts as populated (and agitated) as crenshaw, much less fly there. he’d send perle eventually to fetch confetti, who would bring him the food he could as well as the omni that had been sitting at his nightstand since the sixth, the eighth, and the eleventh. anna doesn’t receive a prompt message in turn, and not because the boy doesn’t wish to see it or talk. if anything to soothe her conscience, her message was left unread and unseen.
until it wasn’t, of course. on the thirteenth, two types of messages come through. the first, the worst attempt. what was he even thinking would happen? the pointed end of a single talon takes up the entire keyboard space and sends: ]
kdhsjd:phdms
[ the second attempt was voice to text with perle’s aid. that wasn’t the best idea either, because that wasn’t exactly the option he was aiming for: ]
RRRRGRRRRGRRRGRRR EEEEEEKKKKKKSH
[ the pygmy falcon omen with have to translate signing for him until he figured out the thoughts-to-text option. finally, coherence: ]
( Peter's Omen has remained a very lowkey presence for all of this time. He hasn't come out much, remaining inside his Sleeper unless the circumstances are dire. And when he is out, he doesn't speak.
But things are... changing, within Peter. Within Paimon too, and the snake is connected to them both. When Susurrus begins to undergo some changes as well, he's quietly reaching out — to other Omens. Some are random spirit-threads he follows until he finds who's at the other end, but some are intentionally sought-out. And there's one in particular he's familiar with, even if he's never spoken to her himself.
The snake's mental voice is a quiet hiss: shy and soft, like Peter. But there's also an alien intensity reminiscent of Paimon, something curious. )
[ reach out, and perle will always answer to her name. reliable, gentle and welcoming as her sleeper was, when she presses her thoughts back to the tether, she knows. it is like trying to nest her little body in those wild curls (coils?), and feels the same way when falco would embrace peter. ]
I am always. And for you, a little more. Hello, not-so-stranger.
[ no matter how many times he goes about his day normally, sees jun, talks to people he enjoys and cherishes— when he puts his head against his pillow at night, it's the first thing he thinks about.
how he bit three people in halves and probably cut up an amount he can't put a number to. ]
( While Peter isn't one to... Do Holiday Things, there is technically a part of him that reaches out. Not because the ancient demon king of Hell has much interest in holiday celebrations, but Paimon has learned that it's a time when many people Gift Things, and connection with others is of a special importance to his spirit. The energy is right for it, and so, towards the end of the month, he bestows little gifts to people.
Left on Falco's doorstep, wrapped carefully in thin cloth, is a little doll in the likeness of a chicken, meticulously hand-crafted with an assortment of random bits and bobbles collected over time.
Set next to the doll, like a calling card, is a leaf — bearing Paimon's sigil delicately burned into it like filigree. )
By now, due to his habit of surprising friends who are feeling sad with pastries, Midoriya has gotten good at meticulously sourcing a nice bakery. He gifts Falco a box of pastries and, reminded of how Falco helped him in March, a leatherbound notebook perfect for long nature walks.
Falco receives a custom made wooden box with an illustration of a falcon diving painted on its lid. Inside is a cornucopia of little treats from a hot chocolate kit to bags of brightly colored marshmallows, and snuggled among the crinkling wrappers are a pair of thick new mittens embroidered green at the cuffs. Confetti isn’t forgotten either - an inflatable beach ball (carefully salvaged from debris on the strange shores) lies at the bottom of the box, big enough for boy and beast to toss back and forth.
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Mid-Decemberish | Text | UN: alcaid
[God, he really made a mess of things. Falco had been depending on him, and in the end, his rashness had gotten both of them killed and possibly endangered and injured who knows who else.]
Hey.
I really hope you're eventually well enough to even get this message. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how everything went down. I understand if you'd rather not speak to me. You were counting on me and I really botched things. I-
Sorry. That's all I wanted to say. Don't feel like you have to respond to this if you don't want to. I get it.
anthony adams rubbing his hands
he only recognized it after the fact, the signs, the chain of events and falco could feel his knees weaken enough that he has to sit back (stumble back, and nearly pushing a seat off its legs). ]
This is Dipper?
[ sure, he came back, but after not seeing anything by the shore himself during the time he’s hiked out there, neither anything dipper-related on the network itself, falco thought . . .
the rethought makes his insides ice over like trench’s bone biting winter and does uncomfortable flips harsh enough to drain the color from his face. he feels hot, and ill, like he’d lose the lunch he barely had the apetite to consume (luckily, he won’t— just a drop in his pressure). hence, the small delay when that happens, but he manages to pull through. by god, he has to pull through.
because he’s hearing guilt in the typed words and if anyone had to feel guilty right now— at least to falco, it wasn’t dipper by far. he’s scared out of his mind and doesn’t know the first thing on how to deal with this, but the answer to that question was half answered in his heart as is: he could run, no matter how much he wanted to. ]
Can I see you, please? Would you allow that?
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back from vacation...
welcome back! 😘
ty ty
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Christmas Delivery
Attached is a card with elegant writing:]
Merry Christmas, Falco!
I hope you stay warm and safe!
Love,
Snow White
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text; un: younghuman
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Mister Paul, of course! I’ll be right there, in a minute!
[ he wasn’t at the home, with it empty, levi and erwin gone— falco hadn’t felt secure by himself. that’s to say, it was currently a great place to meet. he hasn’t had a visitor yet! ]
Do you like coffee?
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text; | Forward dated to March, on whatever day works best ic'ly for us lol
[He asks, not knowing that Falco had been more than busy prior to Childe sending this message.]
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it reminds him of something he hasn’t had the mind to think about. in fact, he’s afraid to. but—
eventually, he returns the call. ]
Hi
MisterChilde.I’m sorry I never got back to you sooner.
I’m trying my best. I ate all the snacks you gave me and thought a lot about what we talked about.
How have you been?
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cw self harm
do you wanna thread the fight out or just handwave it until something important needs to happen
we can start it up and fast forward in a bit, yes! 🙌
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a delivery!
Peter's been scrolling back through network posts, and there's Luna's, and there's— Falco, mentioning turning thirteen. Peter doesn't mean for it to, but the initial reaction is a little painful hiccup feeling in his chest. Thirteen, that's the age Charlie was when she died, the age she's immortalised as in his heart.
But his grief doesn't keep him stagnant, not this time. Peter wants to gift Falco something nice; thirteen's a big year...! So something will be delivered to him as February draws to an end — a pair of spiffy matte black headphones, and a note:
'Happy (Belated) Birthday, man!
I'm sorry this is so late. Things have been pretty wild.
I got these back in the place before here, Deerington. They came from my home world. I don't know if they have them in yours, but just in case: they're called headphones, and you can listen to music with them, block things out when you want to. They'll work with your Omni, so you can listen to any kind of music you like. If you want, I could even make you a couple of playlists.
I wanted you to have them. I never even used them, so they're technically brand new. I hope you like them. :)
— Peter' )
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beginning of may (cw: slight plant body horror, but i didn’t make it very horror-y)
I need to try it first. [ he warns, not out of greed because he really did need to make sure this didn’t come with an adverse effect he shouldn’t be exposing confetti to. sadly, confetti is not happy with the choice and begins to squeeze out tears. just bouncing him on his knees, hush hush— nothing seems to be happening? aside from his hair strands becoming home to thin stems blooming firefly sunshines. the sudden blossoming has confetti pause to then chirp, and giggle at the change— and that’s when falco found it best to mouth feed his friend ever so gently.
who is to say he’s keeping still, though? falco walks right across the boardwalk with his head up (and occasionally making sure that confetti can handle what he’s chewing)— he double takes when he sees a flash of tall blond, that could be anyone. but, those eyes, the nose, and who was with him—
there’s a boy there, in the middle of the coming and going newcomers who has planted himself in the middle enough that he needs to evade.
because he’s staring right at levi ackerman and erwin smith. ]
Mister—?
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it's just that he knows an outrageous amount of dead people. having the chance to see Erwin again, it feels like pretty much anything could happen.
but neither of them spot any faces they recognize. he overhears that this whole thing is like a cycle that happens on a regular basis, so while they do appear to be alone now, things could be different a month from now.
he's just about to relay this sentiment to Erwin when he hears a familiar voice.
familiar is really the best he can do at this point. his mind is still a little bit hazy; it took him a full day followed by a harrowing nightmare to fully remember Erwin, and he's not even sure if he remembers everything about himself. when he turns and sees Falco, it clicks.
...kind of. his eyes widen, half mild shock and half "oh sweet fucking lord there's an actual child stuck in this place". ]
What the hell are y—
[ stupid question. does anyone know what they're doing here? no, more importantly, Falco doesn't look like he just wandered in half-braindead off the beach. he has some sort of... egg... little egg guy, for one, and he just doesn't look like he's seeing all this shit for the first time.
or that's his guess, anyway. he's not the smart one. ]
You've already been here for awhile, haven't you?
[ he has no idea how that's even possible, but he's also standing next to a dead person. clearly the rules have changed. ]
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text | un: karma
To keep you busy: detail various emergency scenarios and write what you would do to save your patient. Up to five will do, but I will consider one or two to be pure laziness.
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I'll have it done, Mister Nehan. [ doing more than five sounds safe— and diligent. may two or three a day? falco is actually grateful for this, and not because he won't be seeing nehan! this means he's going to be busy, and considering the month's start? the busier, the more his mind is occupied, the less prickly he'll feel. ] Is everything okay?
[ he doesn't want to ask directly to be nosy, but he doesn't want to completely wright it off, either. ]
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accidental video | un: graham crackers
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and there is nothing worse than the thing on the road that causes peter to react and makes the wheels shriek. falco flinches at the ugly sound that cracks through the wind blowing through the passenger's open window. he comes to a horrible conclusion when all he could hear and see was breathing, shock and teary vision through the screen.
the silence drinks it like water on a hot summer day. it wraps and twists itself around the boy's upset stomach and makes it works, makes the tears in his own eyes come hot. a door has been opened— and it seeps out, just a touch, feeling empowered while falco felt despair. he felt fear. he almost felt like every feeling, wailing or otherwise deathly quiet was too palpable. ]
peter ?
[ he couldn't handle it, no matter how many bodies he's seen on the battlefield. ]
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7/11
Jesus Christ, Falco, I'm so sorry.
You don't have to reply if you don't want to. I'll understand.
But fuck. I didn't mean to. I wasn't in control.
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until it wasn’t, of course. on the thirteenth, two types of messages come through. the first, the worst attempt. what was he even thinking would happen? the pointed end of a single talon takes up the entire keyboard space and sends: ]
kdhsjd:phdms
[ the second attempt was voice to text with perle’s aid. that wasn’t the best idea either, because that wasn’t exactly the option he was aiming for: ]
RRRRGRRRRGRRRGRRR
EEEEEEKKKKKKSH
[ the pygmy falcon omen with have to translate signing for him until he figured out the thoughts-to-text option. finally, coherence: ]
I know Miss Anna .
Why not respond to you?
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Omen Speak!
But things are... changing, within Peter. Within Paimon too, and the snake is connected to them both. When Susurrus begins to undergo some changes as well, he's quietly reaching out — to other Omens. Some are random spirit-threads he follows until he finds who's at the other end, but some are intentionally sought-out. And there's one in particular he's familiar with, even if he's never spoken to her himself.
The snake's mental voice is a quiet hiss: shy and soft, like Peter. But there's also an alien intensity reminiscent of Paimon, something curious. )
Perle? Are you there?
HE'S JUST A FRIEND
I am always. And for you, a little more. Hello, not-so-stranger.
a scaly noodle and a puffball, ultimate PALS
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October 2 | Pretend I'm not late
[Ignore the fact that he's in pain himself. He has to try.]
October 3
[He thinks? He's not sure. But it means Falco's alive. That leaves...]
October 5
October 7
EVERYDAY I WAKE UP—
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text un: vi
u want revenge or no?
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I think I did enough.
[ no matter how many times he goes about his day normally, sees jun, talks to people he enjoys and cherishes— when he puts his head against his pillow at night, it's the first thing he thinks about.
how he bit three people in halves and probably cut up an amount he can't put a number to. ]
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cw: brief description of gore
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text | un: sds
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week of the 25th
"I'm always here for you, Falco.
Love, Sharon Da Silva." ]
delivery — late December
Left on Falco's doorstep, wrapped carefully in thin cloth, is a little doll in the likeness of a chicken, meticulously hand-crafted with an assortment of random bits and bobbles collected over time.
Set next to the doll, like a calling card, is a leaf — bearing Paimon's sigil delicately burned into it like filigree. )
Christmas gift delivery
Midwinter Gift
text | un: sds
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Yes I am [ you can hear his anxiousness from here! ]
Did you find something, Sharon?
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text | un: sds
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I've been doing okay. I just don't think I can handle garlic anymore.
[ at least salt is always an option! ]
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