#the fog deity one creeped me out so much that i had to put like a pop up video of singers over it hahahahahaah

[traineecryptid]

DMBJ Web Film: Reality Control Unit (Part 2)

Creature data as posted by the official NPSS Weibo account.

DMBJ Web Film: Reality Control Unit (Part 1) Other web films in the works Translated by @traineecryptid Google document with posts in both Part 1 and Part 2

Source

Nanpai Sanshu (+Follow) 23-10-21 Posted from Zhejiang From iPhone 13 Pro Max Where do strange creatures go? Nagas, Flying Night Ghost and subdued creatures have actually been locked up in Xie Yuchen’s secret base—The Reality Control Unit. The function of this secret unit, the people involved in this plan and other layers of mysteries await their resolution, please look forward to it.

(left) Reality Control Unit (right) Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection (bottom middle) RCU, Reality Control Unit

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 16/09/2023 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: W22202 Name: Flying Night Ghost Level: Level 3 Place of birth: Mong[redacted], Gobi Description: A type of nonhuman creature that was created by Jin-era Daoist scholars using [redacted]. It grows quickly. Initially about the size of an eyeball, it can grow to look like a human within a few hours. But it differs from humans with its many heads that have strange childlike faces and a pair of feathered wings. It moves quickly, possesses great strength and has a great ability to [redacted] making it hard to kill.  NO. W22202 Agent: Wu Xie Administrator: Li Cu Control measure: 004 Regular Observation Room Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: [redacted] Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: [C]B1130N Name: Zhu Jiu Yin Level: [redacted] Place of birth: [redacted] Description: A type of extremely large poisonous snake that was born during ancient times. It lives very deep underground and was known as “Candle Dragon” in the olden days. The fat within the Zhu Jiu Yin’s body is highly flammable and was rendered into oils to make candles for light in the Emperor Shun era. The scales of the Zhu Jiu Yin is very small but hardy, making it incredibly impervious to attacks. The Zhu Jiu Yin’s eyes are horizontal and purple in color while its Yin eye is blood red in color. Legend has it that a thousand year old Zhu Jiu Yin’s Yin eye is connected to hell, and a glance from it would cause a person to be possessed by evil spirits. After some time, the person would  become a type of creature with the head of a human but the body of a snake. [C]B113ON Agent: Qi [redacted] Administrator: Yang Hao Control measure: C010 Large Underground Vivarium Cavity Notes: Disclosure of its existence is strictly prohibited. Reality Control Unit Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 11/12/2007 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: B11505 Name: Wild Chicken’s Neck Level: Level 3 Place of birth: Tamutuo Description: Some legends say that this type of snake are “little dragons” that live along the dragon veins in the mountains and rivers. There are also other legends saying that they are snake spirits that occupy the areas above the dragon veins. They are the emperors of snakes, inciting fear in other snake species. Wild Chicken’s Necks are as thick as a person’s wrist and fiery red all over. The snake’s head is sharply triangular in shape with a chicken crest on top. They can [redacted] and would often crow like a rooster. Wild Chicken’s Necks can fly flat on the ground, their movements are swift as lighting and they are extremely poisonous to the extent that no grass would grow where they have been. They are social animals and would enact revenge in groups. NO. B11505 Agent: Zhang Qiling Administrator: Yang Hao Control measure: 012 Isolation Room Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 28/10/2023 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: W22301 Name: Fog Deity Level: Level 2 Place of birth: Wumulei Description: A deity of great fog in the Wumulei mountain region. It wears a two-winged hat guan on its head and a red robe with talisman calligraphy on its body. It is shaped like a red clothed Nuo folk religion god with a ghostly posture and a fierce appearance. It often enters the Stone Room in the Black Gold Ancient Hall and would appear and disappear along with the fog. When it appears, it would plunder and kill people and animals, leaving any area that it has been devoid of life. It [redacted] causing [redacted] and it has a strong ability to propagate, making it indestructible.  NO. W22301 Agent: Wu Xie Administrator: Yang Hao Control measure: 005 Training Room Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 19/07/2017 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: B11801 Name: Miluotuo Level: Level 1 Place of birth: Banai Description: A type of creature that was bred and kept by the Yao people in the ancient times. Its entire body is green like a piece of jade. It is sensitive towards [redacted] and its attacks are very powerful. Miluotuo moves by corroding rocks and consumes any living thing that it can catch as food. It hunts by sealing crevices and caves with its secretions, trapping the prey until they die and consuming the corpses afterwards. It is afraid of volcanic rocks and strong alkali. [redacted] NO. B11801 Agent: Wu Xie Administrator: Zhang Qiling Control measure: 111 Strong Alkali Airtight Cabin Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 02/04/2013 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: B11103 Name: Nine Headed Snake Cypress Level: Level 1 Place of birth: Lu [redacted] Description: A type of huge tree that has countless vines as thick as telephone poles wound around it. Its vines are like little green hands, being very agile. When it hunts, the vines would rear up like snakes, the ends unfurling like ghost hands and can [redacted]. They usually trap their prey to death but do not possess the ability to kill and digest the prey. Thus, it formed a symbiotic relationship with Shi[redacted] and other beetle type insects.  NO. B11103 Agent: Wu Xie Administrator: Li Cu Control measure: Number 101 Tianxin Rock Covered Layer Box Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 01/09/2007 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: B11202 Name: Sea Monkey Level: Level 2 Place of birth: [redacted] Description: A type of human creature that lives in [redacted]. They have an unquellable hostility towards other living beings, attacking viciously and harboring immense sense of revenge. They are very large in size and covered in sharp scales. Their agility and strength far outweighs those of a regular human. Fears [redacted]. Are able to think to a certain extent. NO. B11202 Agent: Wu Xie Administrator: Li Cu Control measure: 003 Regular Observation Room Reality Control Unit Notes: None Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Reality Control Unit, RCU Collected Storage date: 04/11/2022 Activity levels: [redacted] Case file number: W22101 Name: Nagas Level: Level 3 Place of birth: Mumaru Description: Nagas means “a thing that is impossible to exist.’ It is a type of large, soft-bodied creature living in [redacted]. It has many tentacles and is covered in slime all over. Nagas has many tentacles that have suckers on the undersides, allowing them to stick to or trap living beings. The ends of its tentacles are sharp and curl inwards. They will slither like snakes and are good at disguising themselves on land. Nagas primarily identifies its prey’s location by [redacted]. Nagas has a certain level of sentience.  NO. W22101 Agent: Xie Yuchen Administrator: Qi [redacted] Control measure: After Experiment S03, Nagas is able to understand commands. It will be trained to be the protector of this institution. Notes: Special permission has been approved Reality Control Unit Xie Yuchen’s extraordinary collection

Note: I've translated the text to match the source as closely as possible instead of doing it in a more localised way. Feel free to ask what certain terms mean, I will edit this post to include the explanation and add an explanation section to the gdocs for the answers.

#dmbj #my organisation brain is soothed #long post #some images might be creepy? #the fog deity one creeped me out so much that i had to put like a pop up video of singers over it hahahahahaah

[dannineedsfriends]

A Favour Part 2

Oof. I need some serious baby kisses next chapter to make up for this one.

Walking home, Anne was still wrapped up in Catherine's cardigan and she grapples onto Cathy's hand, to whom refuses to let go. Their shoulders brush together once more and Anne yawns softly, laying her head on her shoulder as they walk, despite it being uncomfortable. 

"Tired?" Cathy asks, squeezing their interlocked fingers. Anne nods slowly and yawns again, squeezing back just as hard. 

"A little bit. I've just been thinking about school and things and… how the only positive thing I associate with school is you."

"Anne, you don't have to act anymore.." she says, mumbling and looking to her feet. "The girl's aren't watching our every move anymore."

She shrugs. "'M being honest, love. I just have so much to prove to people and it's stressing me out, someone to pretend to be. With you, I had a completely fresh slate, almost no opinions beforehand, or expectations; it was a breath of fresh air. Never in my life have I been so utterly grateful for one person to be my friend, even if I'm a complete fuck-tart with bad hygiene." 

"You don't have bad--"

"Oh don't jinx it. You'll say that and I promise- i won't shower for at least a month." She teases, lifting off of her shoulder and stepping away to swing their arms between them. "I just look at you and I see everything I want to be, everything I want to have, all in one deity of a human beings and…-"

Anne drawls off, not quite being able to fathom the words she's trying to say, and her silence almost costs her the chance. 

"Wait.. this is your house.." she grumbles, shaking her head and taking the last of the heat before beginning to pull off the cardigan, but realising that Parr hadn't let go of her hand.

She just smiles, leading her up the steps to the front door and pushing it open, mentioning for Anne to step inside, to which she accepts gracefully, feeling the heat radiating from the doorway. Cathy pushes off her shoes and takes a deep breath, grabbing Anne's hand again and pulling her up to her bedroom. 

"What do you think you're doing, out of curiosity?" 

Before Catherine has time to answer, Anne is pushed up against the wall adjacent to the door, Cathy's lips to hers, urgent, desperate even, as her hands graze her hips, gripping them through the dungarees. 

Anne pushes her fingers into her kind-of-girlfriend's curls, kissing her back with as much passion and pulling her closer, pushing the nape of her neck in encouragement. That was when she jumped to wrap her legs around her waist, crossing her feet and still being against the wall, but now Parr's hands were exploring the pockets of her shorts, grinning against the kiss.

It wasn't long before Parr's lips left hers, moving to explore her neck and jaw. From the glances of Cathy's face, she was covered in Anne's lipstick, which only excited her more. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as they  somehow found their way onto the bed. That was when Anne pulled away from Cathy, breathing heavily as she found herself straddling her hips. 

"What the fuck just happened?" Anne asks breathlessly and Parr sits up, holding herself up on one arm, the other arm shrugging as she touches the soft curls of baby hair at the base of Anne's neck, which raises goosebumps across the girl's arms. 

"I don't know what came over me.. I never thought I'd do anything like that- ever." She raises her eyebrows and Anne can't help but grin at the sight in front of her. Cathy, the softest girl about, was beneath her, lips and chin covered in her lipstick.  

"Please do it more often." Anne grins, moving to have her lips meet Cathy's again, softly, eyes fluttering shut. All desperation for contact was lost between them, and now they simply basked in the connections, timid yet so unperturbed. 

"I'm planning on it." Cathy teases, shifting beneath Anne's weight once their kiss had broken once more. She rolls off of her lap, sensing the discomfort and sits up next to her, and her partner falls back into the bed, curls spreading across the pillow in a feathered blanket. Anne maneuvers across to the point where she's sat over Cathy's torso, looking down at her. 

"Anne? Can I ask you something? Its okay if you say no- I've just always wanted to ask." 

"Mhm?"

"Do you like girls?"

"Has there ever been a more obvious question?" She grins, eyes sparkling and she reaches and smudges the lipstick on her chin. 

--

Cathy murmurs, trying to turn over but ceasing with the pressure of arms pulling her back in place. She opens her eyes to the sleeping figure of Anne Boleyn, peaceful and comfortable, she can assume. At some point, they must have fallen asleep because the covers were pulled over them. 

She moves to rub her eyes, yawning and cringing at the fact that the sun was coming through the window, in the gap in the curtain. Never in her life had she woken up next to someone- let alone someone that she had made out with. She notices that Anne, the poor thing, is still in her dungarees, and her teeth tugs at her bottom limp. Isn't she uncomfortable? 

Her dark brown hair covers her face and Cathy reaches out to push it out of the way, hand resting against her cheek, thumb stroking the skin. Anne shifts and inhales sharply, pulling at Cathy's hip. 

Her gut doesn't tug like she thought it was, when Anne moves. If she was caught touching her, she was sure that Anne would just smile and lean into her touch. Why is this girl so… so… loving…? 

And what made her so addictive? Why did every touch of Anne's fingers leave her craving more? Why did every kiss leave her lusting to feel her lips against hers just one last time? 

Even the few kisses that she had shared with boys felt nothing like this, to her recollection. They felt meaningless and insignificant compared to the oceans of emotions thrumming through her veins when she kissed Anne… 

Anne. 

It was just Anne. A girl. Did she even like girls…? She had asked Anne and wasn't even sure herself. Anne wasn't a boy either, to her recollection. She glances down and shakes her head. Definitely not, no. 

The girl in front of her smiles in her slumber, still trying to get closer to Cathy. Instead of allowing her to creep up on her, she shuffles back and blows gently into Anne's face, watching her eyelids flutter. 

"You little dick-head! You're awake!" Catherine announces loudly, moving a bit away from her, and she observes Anne as she giggles and yawns, opening her eyes and stretching out, hand leaving Cathy's waist. 

"You caught me." Anne smiles, watching her and Cathy sits up abruptly, pushing herself off of her bed and wiping at her face, suddenly. "Cathy-? Are you alright?"

But Cathy keeps moving and she's practically forced to drag herself after her, following her to sit outside the bathroom door, knocking on it. "Are you crying?"

Theres a hiccupped sob through the door. "No. Why would I be crying?" 

"I dunno. That's why I'm asking because you're clearly upset." Anne shuts up, sighing and standing up. "Was it something I did..?" 

"If it was me- I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to do anything and..-" she tries to think about what she could've done. She didn't touch anything in her room, she stayed in bed and cuddled her, like she asked. What else does she want? 

"You- you're just..-" Cathy opens the door to the bathroom slightly, peaking out. "You're too fucking adorable and- it's not funny, Anne."

"You're-" she bites back a giggle. "You're crying because I'm cute?"

"Yes." She admits woefully, now shameful as she allows the door to swing open. Anne wraps her arms around Cathy's neck, leaning to kiss the corner of her lips. 

"It's okay - I get that a lot." She says, lips still against her face. Despite herself, Cathy grins at the cheek of her, closing her eyes as the last tear skims her cheek. Anne brushes it away. "Now come back to bed - I need to cuddle my Cathy." 

--

It became a regularity for Anne to show up on a Saturday morning when Cathy was enjoying her coffee. Sometimes they sat quietly and did homework, others they chatted and drank way too much than they should've, just because they  wanted an excuse to keep talking, sometimes they even held hands over the table, when they were sure people weren't watching. 

That was what made the moment that much more special, Catherine mused, fingers drumming against her mug as she checks the clock once more, straining her neck to see out of the window. Where was she? She sighs impatiently, running a hand through her hair and checking her phone for a message that she knew she hadn't got. Her phone wasn't on silent, and she knew that there were no messages coming through, but why did she check? 

Because she was addicted to Anne. Her Anne. She looks to her coffee mug, now empty. Sighing, she stands up, picking up a small bag and putting it on her back. This was the first time in a while that she had been stood up. But- then again, what was she thinking? It wasn't a date. It wasn't a tradition for Anne to show up. It was simply a nice thing that was now no longer happening. 

Cathy leaves the coffee shop disappointed. Shouldn't she be happy? After all, her quiet morning to herself was restored, and maybe she did enjoy it, she decides. Yeah. She did. She's completely fine without Anne. Instead of heading straight home, to prove that she's doing just fine, she detours through the park, taking in the ending cycle of the trees and the cold air. 

It had barely been a month since the whole Anne shenanigans started, leaving Cathy completely out of ideas for Christmas. It was in a week, near abouts, and school was over, leaving her with nothing to do for two whole weeks. She hugs herself tightly, watching the fog emit from her mouth and shaking her head at herself for being foolish. 

She was too busy watching the trees to notice that Anne was standing right in front of her, holding hands with a man, to whom she had never seen before. Her Anne leans into the figure, her profile grinning contentedly, looking to at him and leaning into his lips. She lets go of his hand and wraps her arms around his neck, her back to Parr. 

 Cathy audibly gasps and widens her eyes and turns on her heel, her stomach dropping to rattle at her feet as she walked, swallowing hard.

 There's footsteps behind her, and then theres a hand twisting her around, and she catches the face of Anne, grabbing onto her, her lipstick  smudged like it was the night of the party, but it's not her responsibility to fix it, not anymore. She shrugs her off and turning to walk away, blinking the tears out of her eyes and wiping at her face. She raises her shoulders to her ears, shaking her head again and again, ignoring the shouts that were coming from behind her.

"Cathy- Cathy, please!" Anne yells, jogging to keep up with her. 

"Don't call me that!" Cathy snaps, turning around to look her in the face, swiping at her face. "Don't call me that.." she repeats, voice breaking and cracking as she stares Anne right in the face.  She just shakes her head, eyes locking with Anne's. 

"Go back to whoever the fuck that was. He's waiting for you." She spits, turning again and sprinting home. 

An image flashes in her mind of her own hand clutched in Anne's. Her Anne's. Or- his Anne's, perhaps would be more fitting. 

Anne didn't need her anymore, she decides. Everything Anne did was fake, obviously. If she meant any of it, why would she spend her time holding hands with someone else…? She meant nothing to Anne. The stolen kisses and the sweet whispers. Nothing. All the times Anne had held her close to her chest and told her that she was beautiful. 

Wrong.  Wrong. Wrong. It was all wrong! Catherine Parr is alone. She has been, is and always will be alone because, as proven, there will always be someone better. There will always be more. The grass is always greener on the other side, as they say. Why would such an angel as Anne be tied devilishly to a binding entity such as Parr? Because I'm worthless, she thinks. I'm worthless. 

#six fanfiction #six musical #sixthemusical #fanfiction #it could be parrlyn idk man #parrlyn if you squint #parrlyn #parrelyn #anne x catherine #anne boleyn x catherine parr #catherine parr x anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne boleyn #boleyn x parr #parr x boleyn #my lesbian babies #my writing #oops my thumb slipped

[nuclear-reactions]

i’m on an angst binge and i’ve had this scenario in my head for days!! how would the companions from fallout 4 react to sole suddenly leaving without a trace, only leaving behing a letter or a holotape with an apology about them not saying goodbye in person?

(Dogmeat and Strong can’t work nor understand holotapes so they’re excluded)

“If I got thenerve together to go through with this, you’re wondering where I am.I would have given  you a proper goodbye, God knows you deserve that,at the very least. But I knew, if I stayed, if I brought myself tomeet you and say to your face ‘I’m leaving’… I know I wouldn’t havebeen able to. Don’t try to follow me. You can’t follow me throughthis. I’m sorry. This is goodbye.”

MacCready- He’dalways been expecting something. A knife in the back, getting leftbehind when one of the bullet maelstroms they endured proved too muchfor Sole, their friendship too tenuous and unimportant for them tosuffer for him. They surprised him every time they helped pick himout of the dirt after a fight. It had always been too good. He knewit was. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped, foolishand idiotic as that was. Hoped he had found someone to trust, someonedeserving of it. Someone he could give his all to, knowing they hadhis back. And here he was again; alone. He’s angry, understandably.He kicks chairs and curses after he finds the holotape. He wants tothrow it against a wall so hard it shatters, smash it under his heel,with an anger he hasn’t felt in so long he almost isn’t sure what todo with it. But he hesitates when it’s in his hand. If they didn’tcome back, this would be the last time he hears their voice. He’storn between the white hot anger that bobs in his throat and theinexplicable need to keep something of theirs close. The need winsout in the end. He tucks the holotape away in his rucksack and goeson, alone, as he’s always been.

Preston- In theback of his mind, he should have known things couldn’t stay the waythey were. It was dangerous to put so much weight on one person’sshoulders. He had thought if the burden was ever too heavy, theycould share it with him. He had prayed to God or whatever benevolentdeity that was gracious enough to let him wake up in the morningsalive, whatever force brought them together, he had hoped… this wasa person like him. Better than him. Kind enough to want to tilt theworld back on its axis and strong enough to see it through. Succeedwhere he failed. But that had always been the fatal flaw of PrestonGarvey. He hoped. Worst of all, even as he surveys Sole’s room, emptyand cold as the day they wandered back to Sanctuary, he still hashope. Hope that one day he’ll see their shadow on the horizon again.He leaves the holotape where it lays and walks out into the streets,shaking off the foggy daze in his head. There’s work to do. Too manypeople depend on him for him to linger too long on the dense pit inhis stomach.

Danse- People cameand went in Danse’s life, too many for him to even remember most oftheir faces. Even some of the faces of soldiers he’s buried blur atthe edges. He’s no stranger to loss. Yet the striking sense of losshe feels when those words crackle from the radio, that’s somethinghe’s not prepared for. He has to play it several times for themessage to really sink in, and each play leaves him angrier than thelast, his brows furrowing, chest tightening. It didn’t make sense.They had faced down monsters together, the military might of theBrotherhood, they saved his life several times over, and now they hadleft without so much as a proper goodbye. Or a reason. What could bethe reason? What could be so important or dangerous that he couldn’tfollow them? The thought they might be in danger, alone, makes hishead spin. He never got to really thank them for all they did. Henever repaid them. What if now he never got the chance? No, hedecides, climbing into his armor. He wasn’t going to spend his dayswondering, hoping to see them some day long from now, dreading theywere rotting somewhere far from him. Whatever they thought they werewalking into, or walking away from, they were not going without him.

Curie- She’sconfused, hurt, as much as she knows she has no right to be. Curiehad always planned on going off on her own someday. Or at least, shehad thought that at first. She had always wanted to see the world,learn what she could, and when she left the Vault, she had alwaysintended to do that alone. In all her visions of her own future, Solewas never in them. After they met, the change was subtle, enough shedidn’t notice it. With their departure, she realizes she had seenthem together in all those lofty dreams she had once dreamed alone.She feels a heat behind her eyes too late, fat tears streaking downher synthetic face before she has a chance to stop them. “Why nottake me? Huh? Why can I not follow?” She shakes her head, blobs oftears slipping loose from her jaw to plop softly to the tabletop.“This is unfair. You are being unfair!” She would have let themcome with her, whatever dangers she might have faced. She couldn’thelp thinking they thought her weak, or worse, she had somehow grownfonder of them than they had her. Both prospects filled her withequal parts anger and grief. She shoves the holotape as harshly awayfrom her as if it had burned her, turning on her heel to march awayfrom the offending farewell. She had never thought herself quitecapable of hate. Now, she hated the person she cared most for, nomatter how dearly she wished not to.

Piper- The firsttime she listens to the holotape left behind, she’s too stunned tothink much of anything. Sole’s voice pours through her brain like asieve. Nothing quite sticks enough for her to make sense of it. Thesecond time, she argues with just about everything it says, aloud.“-if I stayed, if I brought myself to meet you and say to your face‘I’m leaving’-” “Oh, what you would think twice? Why on Earthwould that be a good idea, huh? Thinking twice about something, no,that just wouldn’t do!” “-n’t try to follow me. You can’t followme thr-” “No, you know what’s the best idea, to creep out in themiddle of the night like a- like a-a vampire or something! A selfish,stupid, blood sucking-” “I’m sorry. This is goodbye.” Herbreath catches in her throat, mid disapproving finger wag at the tapeplayer. A long stretch of silence follows the click of the tapecoming to an end for the second time. “No.” She swipes up thetape, stuffing it in her rucksack, along with an armful of suppliesoff the counter. “No, no, no. You don’t get to do that, Blue. Youdon’t get to ghost off mysteriously into the fog without so much asan explanation. You better hope I don’t find you because you will bethat! A ghost I mean!” Too flustered to properly berate the emptyair she imagined Sole would have occupied had they not been an ass,she shoves everything she can fit into her bag. The door rattles onits hinges when she slams it shut. This is why you can’t disappear onan investigative journalist- they find out the truth in the end, andlittle stands in their way.

Cait- She hardlygets through the message. Before Sole is finished saying goodbye,Cait’s fist collides with the player, caving in the speakers. Garbledstatic and the distorted remnants of what Sole was trying to saylinger until she brings down her knuckles on it once more, smashingit over and over and over again, until the crumbling shell of theholotape player and its contents are all that remains. Pieces shredher skin, blood mingling with frayed wires and scattered shards ofplastic. She shouldn’t have been so angry. One more let down washardly a surprise, nor was disappointment new to her life. Hot tearsstill struggle past the lump in her throat, and she feels so stupidfor crying over someone who doesn’t deserve her tears. If they did,they wouldn’t have left some pussy message and ran away like acoward. She buries her face in her bruised hands, cursing, hatingSole and the trembling in her limbs and herself for letting them getso close. What had she expected? This was always going to be theoutcome. She had been a fool to think otherwise. When the ragesubsides, she regrets letting it get the better of her. The tape shedestroyed might have had a clue where Sole had gone. She tellsherself she would want to know so she could find them and beat theirface in like they deserve. Really, she just wants to know where theyare. There’s nowhere she wouldn’t have followed, no matter what theysaid.

Deacon- He canhardly blame them. It’s practically a page out of his handbook.Vanish in the night, leave behind cryptic message, never be seenagain. Hell, it wasn’t just one of his plays, it was his retirementplan. But then, he was a spy, a habitual liar, and wholly unattached.Sole was another story. Deacon leans against the table, tapping hisfingers against the holotape left behind. He understood the need forsecrecy. Sometimes you just need to disappear. Understanding doesn’tmake it sting any less. They were honest with each other. As honestas one could really be. There was something comforting about havingsomeone else hold onto some of his secrets for him, and stick closeenough he always knew where they were. To know they were out in thewild somewhere, he feels suddenly exposed, like when he felt his wigssloughing off to an angle on a job. Not like Sole would go blabbingto everyone the deeply personal things he had shared with them, butstill. “We tell each other shit, y'know?” he says aloud, as ifthe holotape would respond. “You coulda told me anything.” Healmost takes the tape with him when he goes. Almost allows himself anattachment. He buries it instead, truly leaving no trace of Solebehind.

Nick- There was amoment, a few long moments, even after he files the holotape away andcontinues his work in Diamond City, that he thinks about going afterthem. Missing persons werepractically his specialty at this point. Finding people, especiallyones that didn’t really want to be found, made up a good percentageof the cases that came across his desk. Sole was different. He knewthem too well, respected them too much, to go against their wishes.They had gotten close since their first meeting in that Overseer’soffice, when they came to his rescue. They became one of the fewpeople he trusted without second thought. That was the only reason hedidn’t go after them. If they had vanished without proper goodbyes,they had a damn good reason, that he was sure of. Every now and then,glancing over to the empty chair they so often occupied in hisoffice, a seed of doubt unfurled somewhere in his chest. You betterhave a good reason, he thinks. And you better not stay gone. Despitethe finality of their goodbyes, he expects to see them every time thedoor of Valentine’s Detective Agency swings open, and they occupy histhoughts in the moments of quiet between cases.

X6-88- His ordershad been to follow them, do as they say, within the bounds of his ownprogramming. The news of their disappearance displeases hissuperior’s in the Institute, but X6 finds he doesn’t much care fortheir reactions. More than anything, he’s struck by how much heappears to miss them. The two of them had become familiar with oneanother, in a fashion that came dangerously close to fondness. Heknew better than to reveal this to anyone. He’d be sent off forbehavioral recalibrations if he ever expressed how empty the hallsfelt without them walking shoulder to shoulder with him. How quiet itfelt without them making idle conversation. It was almostoverwhelming at times, how the quiet pressed in, how asphyxiating theemptiness felt. Weeks later, when he’s assigned the task of trackingthem down, he’s glad. The way his pulse leaps at the prospect ofseeing them again should concern him like it would concern Father andthe others, but he doesn’t give it much thought. He has to hide theslight tilt at the corners of his lips when he accepts the mission tofind Sole, whatever the cost. 

 Hancock- Theirvoice is filled with such sadness, it weighs heavy on his heart longafter he turns the holotape off and pockets it. Something was wrong.It had to have been, if they couldn’t share it with him. They hadtaken on everything the Commonwealth threw at them as a team. Neveronce had something been so bad they felt the need to protect Hancockfrom it. Whether that was a rampaging Deathclaw or the revelation hisonly brother had been replaced by a synth. As hurt as he is to beleft behind, he’s more concerned than anything. He pulls every stringhe can get his hands on, calls in every favor, until there isn’t aneye in Boston that doesn’t belong to him. Every wisp of smoke that somuch as resembles Sole’s figure is relayed back to him. The search ismostly fruitless, and he suspects it’ll remain that way. Sole is aperson who can get lost if they really want. He keeps it upregardless, for both of them. If he lives his life never knowing whatbecame of them, it would eat at him for the rest of his very longlife. If they end up in bad straights, they would be grateful for hisefforts, no matter how badly they wanted to disappear. Either way,he’s not letting them go sight unseen.

Codsworth- Thegears click in his head, spinning uselessly as he tries to make senseof what he’s hearing. If he had olfactory senses, he might havesmelled the coppery tang in the air of his circuits burning hot inhis chassis. He was a machine, made to serve the express purpose oflooking after a family. Without that family, he had no purpose. Hehad suffered it once before, been without them for centuries. To seethem again filled him with- there was no way to put it, really.Filled him with things he couldn’t begin to understand or quantify.They had made him think he might get to live out his purpose again.What would he do without them?  He replays the tape several times,until eventually he simply puts it on loop and lets it run while hefloats about the town, aimless. He never ventures far from home, andthe sound of Sole’s voice is never quiet for long. Just a few secondsbetween plays, while the tape rewinds. He answers to no one, andafter a few months, no one in the settlement tries to coax anythingout of him. He’s left to float the streets, the quiet hum of hisengines and Sole’s voice the only sound the bot makes.

#companion reactions #x6-88 #Piper Wright #preston garvey #Robert Joseph MacCready #maccready #paladin danse #cait #codsworth #nick valentine #curie #deacon #long post #fallout #fallout 4 #sorry for the yet again months long wait lmao

[mentalmimosa]

half-formed, half-finished

Prompts: Library, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, and Fluff. Prompts from this generator.

His phone rings three times while he’s in the stacks; twice more once he settles down at a table. Well, it doesn’t ring; more like, does a vibrating mambo in his pocket because hey, Tony’s a lot of things, but he’s not an asshole about libraries. They’re friendlier than Google, less prone to algorithmic interference. And there’s coffee, though not always of the wholly drinkable kind.

The work he does, the writing, it benefits from some occasional tunneling, some locking out of the rest of the world so he can concentrate fully on just this one thing. He’s got an office at home, obviously, a carefully cozy room with a fireplace and a nice wall full of books, a big desk and unlimited fresh-roasted goodness down the hall in the kitchen whenever he needs a break.

But home also has Steve and Steve is very disruptive to Tony’s thought process, whether he’s actively trying to be or not. Just knowing that he’s stretched out in the den grading papers or in the kitchen talking himself through making dinner or upstairs in bed, half asleep and half hard, waiting for Tony to finish the chapter or the sentence or find that one perfect word, is enough to smash Tony’s concentration to pieces. Self-control has never been his forte, period, and knowing Steve is nearby, is lonely, is being super supportive by staying out of his way just makes it a 1000 times less likely that Tony will buckle down and just get it done.

So: the library.

So: his cell phone on silent.

So: a full eight Steve-free hours focused solely, productively, on his work.

Except: his cell won’t stop vibrating. Hell. He should’ve put the damn thing on mute.

He tugs it out of his jacket to do just that and notices that it’s Steve who’s been calling, Steve who he’s missed--what the fuck--seven calls from in the hour and there’s no freaking way that’s good. None. And there are five messages. Five?! Christ. Steve hates voicemail, will go old man yells at cloud about it when he really gets going, fusses about how it jump started the steady creep of humanity away from face-to-face contact and now there’s email and texting and why doesn’t anybody these days want to just sit down and talk and if he’s left five of the things, five, made himself a robo-slave to technology then something must be real the fuck wrong.

Tony’s heart kicks into flight mode, a couple steps from panic, and he shoots up from his chair, scurries over to the window to catch a better signal, except---there’s nothing there. Nothing discernible, anyway, in any of the damn messages: just the sound of Steve breathing weird, too hard and too loud, and a rustle of fabric, like the phone’s caught in a clothes dryer. Except in the last one, at the very end, there’s one word, neon through fog: “Tony.”

There’s so much pain wrapped up in it, so much hurt, that his knees buckle, that he has to grab unsteady at the window sill, try to catch himself on the wall.

There are thousand questions in his head, a dozen truly terrible scenarios, and counting--a heart attack? A kidnapping? A car crash; oh god--and he’s two steps from jamming the line open and fucking calling 911 when he smells it: fierce and sharp and wonderful and not something that belongs here, not something that should be anywhere outside of their house, their bedroom, their great white nest of a bed, and before his brain can catch all the way up, his back’s biting the wall, there are two hands on him, and he has a big, squirming armful of Steve.

“Tony,” Steve says, a live echo of the recording, “Tony, god. Tony.”

He’s clutching at Tony, squeezing him, pressing him hard against the wall behind the stacks; two steps around any of them and somebody would see. And Tony would be objecting, in the strongest possible terms, honest, if Steve didn’t smell the way he does, desperate, like a full rush of springtime, like cupcakes on acid and the best kind of burnt sugar, like he’s in the first blush of his heat.

So it isn’t Tony’s fault, not really, that his first instinct is to catch Steve’s face in his hands and kiss the hell out of him, drag that sweet, eager tongue into his mouth and tangle it greedy with his own.

The sound that Steve makes is so not library-appropriate. But what the fuck about this scenario is?

Steve ruts against him, mindless, happiness pouring off of him in waves now, now that Tony’s touching him, now that Steve has his alpha right where he wants.

The toppiest damn omega, Steve is, the most insistent, the most ready to give Tony direction/marching orders and the beauty of it is he’s like that even when he’s not crazed out on hormones, when his body takes over and leaves no room for his big, beautiful rational mind. He’s bossy as hell as a man, not just as an omega, and Tony thanks his deity of choice regularly for helping them find each other, for steering them to the same godawful faculty holiday party where they were the only ones who didn’t show up already drunk. They’d sat out on the Dean’s porch in the cold and shared a cigar, a half bottle of the Dean’s better scotch, and Steve had walked him home, arm tucked through his, ostensibly just to stay warm. A kiss on Tony’s front step, then two, and twenty minutes later, Steve was sinking onto his cock, blinking down at him with those wide, shining blue eyes. “Come on, Tony,” he’d said, leaning down in the darkness, his knees biting hard into Tony’s sides. “Give it to me good.”

Five years and two cities later and Steve could still make him blotto, could cloud his head faster with a smile than any double-aged scotch ever could. Never mind in the blitz of his heat--an unexpected heat, an unplanned one, which wasn’t unheard of; it’d happened a couple of times before. But it’d never been so bad or so fast that Steve had come looking for him, had tracked him down in public stinking like this of sex. God. Quiet or not quiet, there was no way the whole floor--maybe the whole goddamn building--didn’t know what was happening here, what was gonna happen if Tony couldn’t drag Steve elsewhere and fast.

But Steve smelled so fucking good and he was wet already, god was he; damp everywhere, sweating, and painfully hard. He whimpered when Tony touched him, stroked a hand over the tense curve of his ass, and his scent grew even brighter, like the sun shoving up to midday.

“Did you run all the way here?” Tony murmurs.

A nod. “Couldn’t bring myself to get in a cab. And the train”--Steve shivers--“too many people. Too close. I might’ve...I don’t know what.”

“Might’ve rubbed up against somebody you shouldn’t?”

“Maybe.”

A roil in Tony’s gut. It’s just talk, his head knows it, but his body downright doesn’t care. “Might’ve let somebody else have you? Is that it?” He nuzzles Steve’s neck, lets him feel the catch of Tony’s teeth. “Were you so desperate for an alpha you were afraid you couldn’t wait?”

Steve claws at his back, his hips moving desperate now. “I didn’t want to, I would never, but you weren’t there and I was so--I wasn’t sure if I could wait until...”

There are other people nearby; Tony can smell their shock, their amusement: no alphas but a few bemused betas and, oh, another turned-on omega. Fine. Whatever. Fine. He has his own right here, Steve, and Steve’s ready for him, Steve needs him, and he doesn’t need a heat to remind him how much he needs Steve.

“Turn around,” he says, the words coming out with a bite. “Do it now.”

In a moment, Steve’s hands are on the wall beside the window and his jeans are at his knees and his scent is a fist made of flowers, a wall of gorgeous, aching smell that Tony is drowning in, that Tony is dying to taste, but the instinct to take is too strong, the instinct to shove in, to fuck, and then Steve turns his head, pins Tony with those beautiful, blue-sky eyes, full of love punching it out with desire, and whispers, whispers: “Please.”

There’s no more whispering after that, there can’t be, not in the heart of a hurricane of skin and slick and sweat. The wall gives way to the floor and they’re tangled together, making a mess of the cold concrete, of each other’s bodies, of the still de rigueur library quiet and calm. And in the end, when Steve is spent and Tony’s tied up inside him, their faces pressed together, their breath steadier now, in stereo, a different sort of stillness settles over them, over the long stacks of books, over the now-empty tables and cold cups of coffee, open tomes and half-formed, half-finished thoughts.

“What are you working on, anyway?” Steve asks.

"Hmmm?"

That earns him a poke in the ribs. "This paper that you're so hell-bent on finishing. What's it about?"

“Baby,” Tony says, dreamy, tucking his nose against the warmth of Steve’s neck, “I have no fucking clue.”

#stony #a/b/o dynamics #library sex #fluff and smut

[kivrinengle]

One for Sorrow

one for sorrow

Sorrow is too small a word for it - for the tragedy that devours his family in one terrible night, leaving only Percival, the last sad remnant of what had once been a family. Tragedy, they call it, in hushed whispers: so sad, what happened to those poor people. Sorrow is an insult, a thing too small to stand in the face of murder and destruction and the end of the world.

But sorrow is a beast with teeth of iron, and they rip at his mind and his soul until there is little left of humanity or even sanity. It screams in his head, echoes of all that he has lost - family, home, safety, future - until all that is left is Percy, last sad remnant of what had once been a person. Sometimes, he is not even certain that much remains.

two for mirth

It strikes him, as he is dragged away from his target by armed guards, that this is probably exactly how his family would have expected his attempt at revenge to go. There had always been a fond, gentle mockery of his tendency to mess things up because he was so deeply buried in his studies or his work. He had been known to walk into walls or fall into ingenious practical jokes set by his younger siblings. Mother would have shaken her head, hiding a smile, and Father would have taken him aside for a quick speech on the need to keep a clear focus on the things that were in front of him. They wouldn’t have been surprised by his latest failure.

It is simply typical of him, he muses, strangely absent from himself as he is unceremoniously hauled toward a building that can only be a prison. And that is a startling reassurance, and one that he had not even looked for - that something of who he was Before has survived.

He laughs at that - a bitter, broken thing, creaking with disuse. He has not laughed in months - years - decades? - not since the end of his world. There is nothing amusing in any of it. There might be nothing amusing left in all of Exandria. But Percy laughs, and thinks it is possible that he might still exist.

three for a death

He has seen so much death that sometimes he is not sure he will ever get the smell of it out of his nostrils. He has been up close and personal with death several times since the first time it came calling, and he imagines he is now immune to it. The deaths of sailors at sea had never broken through the fog that surrounded him - not the almost-friend who fell overboard in a storm, nor the cook, dying slowly of infection from a bad burn. Even the sudden, sharp loss of a tiny cabin boy who ought never to have been aloft passed over him like mist before the bow of a ship, and he breathed through it and felt nothing. Death had come too close, and bore him no terrors, now.

Or so he thinks.

But there is a cat in the dank prison into which he is thrown, and somehow, Percy becomes almost fond of the battered old thing. It creeps through the bars of his cell to attend to the vermin, and sometimes he wakes from fitful slumber to find it curled up against him, the one spot of warmth against the chill of stone and iron chains. He hardly remembers warmth or softness. The rumble of the cat’s purr does something inside his chest, and Percy finds himself saving bits from his horrid rations to try and tempt the cat back, to ensure one more moment of warmth and connection.

And when he wakes one bitter morning to find the old cat curled up in his lap, cold and still, Percy realizes that Death is not through with him. He pets the tiny, stiff corpse with absent fingers, and lets the tears spill down his cheeks. He wouldn’t mind if death came for him now, but for the revenge he had promised himself on his family’s murderers. He is not afraid of it.

He still weeps.

four for a birth

Percy had been almost present at the births of all of his younger siblings. He had waited a few rooms away, keeping pace with his father’s anxious pacing, and had gone away and made pompous notes in his pompous diary about the event after the fact. The only birth he did not remember was his own - which was as it should be, of course. No-one ought to remember their own birth.

He prayed, in the end, in that prison cell - for something, anything, to give him guidance, to show him a way forward. Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III had never held with deities, or faith in anything other than what he could see and touch. The shattered fragment that remains of him is no longer certain of anything, and addresses a prayer to parties unknown.

Something happens.

His new life rushes in on him before he is prepared for it, all violence and blood and noise and chaos. He seems to find himself yanked from the familiar surroundings of his cell with hardly more than a word (though that seems unlikely, when he thinks back on it later. His new companions never do anything without talking it over to the point of absurdity.) A huge, terrifying someone claps him hard on the back, knocking him to his knees as his legs tremble from hunger and disuse, and someone else pulls him back up and urges him forward, wrapping a warm cloak around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” one of the newcomers says soothingly. “It’s all much worse than it seems. You’ll be regretting meeting us in no time.”

And Percy is dragged forward into a new life, a new family, in the strangest sort of rebirth that he could imagine. He hates to imagine which of the deities might be responsible.

five for silver

“Yes, you’ve explained about the weapon,” one of the dark-haired twins tells him patiently, some time after they’ve escaped his prison. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He’s better now, truly he is, but he still loses time, or finds himself in places without knowing how he got there. It’s not his biggest problem. “We get it. It’s very important, and we shouldn’t touch. But you’re not answering the question.”

The other one pops up, and Percy spends some time wondering if this is, perhaps, his mind playing tricks on him. That happens sometimes, too. Are there really two of them? “Yes, darling,” this one says, more wariness than warmth in the tone. “We’re not asking anything difficult - just your name.”

They have no idea how difficult that is. His name was something, once - almost something of importance. Now, it is the only thing of value he has left. He is likely the only person remaining in the world who even knows it. He’d gone by something on the ship - not his real name, he knows - but he cannot remember what it had been. It hadn’t mattered.

His hand slips to the weapon at his side, finger tracing over the names engraved in five of the six barrels. Names have power, he knows; he doesn’t trust any of these people.

A tiny figure is by his side when he blinks his way back from thought, and the face of the little gnome is serious. She doesn’t try to touch him. He appreciates that.

“You don’t need to give us anything,” she murmurs, the words almost lost in the chatter of the group. “Not if it matters to you. But we kind of need something to call you.”

“I could name ‘im,” the goliath puts in cheerfully. “I’m really good at names.” The gnome gives Percy a wide-eyed look that tells him he doesn’t want to take the goliath up on this offer.

Percy stands up, not without effort, and wanders across the campsite. They all give him space, watching him warily; they do not know what they have brought into their midst. He makes his way slowly to the nearby stream, lowering himself to his knees at it’s edge. He feels like an old man these days, battered by a weary life. As he leans over the water, still and clear here in a tiny pool that has collected by one bank, he doesn’t know the face that looks back at him.

His hair is a singular shock of silver, standing up at odd angles, looking nothing like the boy who had stared at him from his mirror back at Whitestone so many years before. He hadn’t seen his reflection much since; had gotten good at shaving without benefit of a mirror aboard ship, like the other sailors. The pale, silvery ghost who looked up at him from the water looked right, though. This was what the last survivor of Whitestone ought to look like.

But he didn’t look like Percival.

“Just-” he muttered, shaking his head when he realized several of the group were standing around staring at him again. He’d probably lost time again, off in his own head while his hands shook and his body stayed frozen. “Just call me Percy.”

six for gold

Vex is a light, golden and glorious. She is the first one he trusts - as much as he trusts anyone, now. She is brutally honest from the start, and he thinks that he loves her for that; he wonders if he even remembers what that word once meant.

“So,” she says, coming up beside him as he stares into the flames of their little campfire late that first night. He’s said that he would take the midnight watch, but he doesn’t blame her for sitting up with him. He wouldn’t trust any of them to watch his back, either; he will lie awake all night, and likely for some time to come. “Percy.”

“Yes? Hello?” he tries awkwardly after a moment passes, and nothing more is said.

“This is a bit awkward,” she says, stretching out the words in an unnatural sing-song. “And nobody else wants to bring it up, because they’re all cowards, so I sort of have to.”

“You want me to leave,” he says flatly. That makes sense, after all. He nods, already thinking of what he needs to bring when he leaves in the morning.

“No! No, no, no,” she says quickly, flapping her hands at him. “Well, Vax does, but only because he’s a suspicious bastard. I’m just…not sure that we’re the best fit for you, perhaps?” Her voice trails away, gone high and vague, and Percy frowns at her.

“How do you mean?”

She sighs, dragging her hands down her face. “Well, it’s just…” She stops, and starts again. “You seem a bit … sickly. Which is fine, don’t get me wrong! But we’re a band of mercenaries who aren’t always good at actually getting paid, you understand. And as soon as we do get a bit of gold, I barely get my hands on it before everyone’s rushing off to spend it!” Vex is so comically over-annoyed by this that Percy wishes he remembered how to smile like a person. “Anyway,” she says, breathing long and deep. “I’m only saying that we’re all going to feel really bad if you up and die on us because we couldn’t afford to look after you, so maybe you want us to take you to a village and set you up somewhere that you can rest peacefully?”

He watches her for a long moment, trying to figure out her angle, the threat she poses, the danger lurking in the shadows - and then he gives up. He is tired, and she is so honest right now that it almost hurts. He reaches into the bag at his side and pulls out his leather money bag, tossing it to her without breaking eye contact. She catches it on reflex, gasping as she glances inside it.

“I didn’t mean you needed to pay us!” Vex shoves it back at him, some strange mixture of offended and already grieving the loss. “We may be mercenaries, but we’re a bit above beating up dying prisoners for their gold, thank you!”

“I’m not dying,” he protests mildly. He gathers up the bag and holds it out to her, pleased that his hands aren’t shaking now. “I have gold. I don’t need it, I don’t want it, and I don’t know how to look after it. That was-” he breaks off. That was Vesper’s job, from the moment she turned twelve and had insisted on Father letting her take over from the bookkeeper who had been skimming money from the family accounts. “I want you to have it,” he says again after a moment. “I’ll tell you when I need some of it for my work, and you can do what you like with the rest.”

She watches him for a long time, but he knows she will take the offer, if only from the way her fingers keep twitching toward the bag. “Fine,” she says in the end, taking the bag from him gently, now. “But if I get to decide what to do with it, the first thing we’re doing is buying you some clothes that aren’t rags. Also, food. Lots of it.” She frowns at his skinny wrists, and the bag disappears somewhere about her person.

Percy stares back at the fire, and thinks he can remember how to smile if he gives it a bit of thought. He is lighter without the weight of the gold.

seven for a secret never to be told

Honest people didn’t keep secrets, Mother had told him time and again. The de Rolos had an obligation to be honest with their people, or they stood to do nothing but damage to those who relied on them. Percival had been a bit of a secretive child, though, and kept his more dangerous tinkering experiments to himself, though not without a rush of guilt when Mother looked at him knowingly.

But someone had been keeping a secret, he has decided over time. Something about Whitestone, some secret he had never been privy to, had been the downfall of his entire house. He isn’t certain whether he wishes he had known the secret or not. If he’d known, he would have blurted it out under Ripley’s cunning hands; but, then, if he’d known anything of value, there would at least have been a purpose to torturing him. As it is, he bears the scars of someone else’s secrets. He doesn’t even bother pretending he hasn’t got secrets of his own, now.

Trust grows slowly between Percy and the other members of their little band, but somehow he blinks, and it has been nearly half a year, and he has seven other people whom he trusts with his life, and who trust him with theirs. He is never going to take that responsibility lightly.

He makes himself a mental list of all of the secrets that might pose a threat to them, ranking and ordering them, and tries to work out whether he can divest himself of any of them. The difficulty is, though, that for all their prowess at magic and fighting, Percy is sometimes shocked to realize just how foolhearty and juvenile their group can be. They call themselves Vox Machina now, but the SHITS had been more honest.

How can he let them know about the Briarwoods, when Grog and Scanlan are as likely to be using their heads as battering rams to see whose cracks first as they are to be thinking? How can he share the dangerous truth of his own full identity, while he watches Keyleth and Pike get so drunk they can’t stand up, howling all their secrets to the sky in great laughing gusts of careless joy?

How can he tell anyone the secret that truly scares him - the dark monster that haunts his dreams - when Vax and Vex change moods on a dime, weaving through unpredictable extremes of emotion faster than he can keep up?

Percy burns his mental list, consigning it all to his own memory, and vows to keep his secrets.

(Two weeks later, they will encounter a haughty government employee who seeks to stand between them and the information they need, and Percy will burst out with his whole name, every aristocratic syllable of it tinged with scornful disdain that accomplishes his goals. He won’t even remember that he meant to keep it from them forever. After all, they’ll never get it right.)

eight for a wish

Cassandra had used to wish on stars. Percy remembers this sometimes, on night watches when the stars are very bright, though the skies lack the crisp, cold clarity of Whitestone nights. She had used to bully him into standing witness for her wishes, insisting on the proper form of the thing. He cannot remember any of those little-girl wishes now - just the solemn intensity of her, staring up with the determination to make the universe itself bend to her will.

Percy does not make wishes. He has learned, so well, that he is not a person who should be allowed to want things. His choices throw that up to him at every turn, his failures showing in stark relief what happens when Percy de Rolo wants things beyond his reach. He cannot protect his family, cannot kill Anna Ripley, cannot seek vengeance on those who destroyed his life. These are not things he can want - not without dark and terrible consequences.

But he cannot help but make one wish, a small, pitiful thing in the unending gloom of the Underdark, when it seems they will never find their way out again. He thinks of Cassandra, under the clear skies, and closes his eyes, and wishes to see the stars again.

Surely that is a small enough thing for him to wish.

nine for a kiss

It isn’t until both of the twins have kissed him that Percy actually pays any attention.

Vax’s jubilant embrace in the Underdark had been nothing more than wild delight at the prospect of escape, and had been mostly lost in the chaos of that flight.

When Vex kisses him, too, his brain sits up and pays attention.

Thinking is hard, sometimes. Keeping track of time, especially in the foggy bits before he met Vox Machina, is often beyond Percy. He is very certain, though, that it has been years since he made any sort of direct physical contact with another being. Certainly, people had attacked and beaten him, or dragged him around; there had been fleeting touches of healing magic or brushes in the middle of combat. He’d been hit by just about every sort of weapon imaginable.

But Vax and Vex have both kissed him, and Percy has to sit down and think about that. And Keyleth has leaned over his shoulders, and Grog has slapped him on the back until he fell over, and, and, and…

He has to put his face in his hands and breathe deeply for a while. Somehow, while he wasn’t looking, Percy has become a part of this strange, broken little family - welcomed, integrated, loved. Somehow, his defences fell so low that he hadn’t even noticed he was past the boundaries of propriety and familiarity.

Vax cuffs him fondly on the head as he passes, ruffling Percy’s hair. “Don’t think too hard, there,” he says with a smirk that Percy can just hear. “I don’t want to be responsible for cleaning up when that brain of yours explodes.”

And Percy reaches a hand up to touch where Vax had pressed his hand, awed almost past the point of thought.

He is one of them. He is someone whom they like, and trust, and rely on. They laugh and cry and eat and sleep and fight together - as though Percy is a real person, as though he is something more than human wreckage, than mere flotsam from the wreck of his life. He has anchors, now. Connections.

Family.

ten for a bird you must not miss

And there he is, standing in front of Silas Briarwood, gun burning in his shaking hands. He doesn’t dare blink, or breathe, or think too hard. There is Silas, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, and his hateful wife not ten paces away. They haven’t aged a day, even as Percy has gone white-haired and taken scar upon scar, wiping away the image of the boy they had once met.

There is Silas in his gunsights, turning to look at him with a look of sheer contempt. Had he looked at Father that way, before murdering him? Had Lady Briarwood worn such a cool expression as his little siblings fell, victims of secrets they had never known? The fuzzy darkness tugs at the back of Percy’s head, temptingly. He could fall into it, escaping this confrontation he was in no way ready for. Something was growling in the back of his mind, a feeling darker and more powerful than he was ready to handle.

But there was a shape at Silas’ feet - a dark pile of rags, hardly moving, and Vax had called them for help, and it wasn’t hard to put facts together. And if Vax was down, and the rest of them were converging on this courtyard together, Percy knew with cold certainty that his chances of losing another family tonight were too high to bear. They were not unarmed children now: but there was Vax, down and still, and Silas looming over him like oncoming death, and Percy swallowed and breathed deep to scream out his hatred to the sky

And he took a breath and steadied his aim

And pushed aside all thoughts of Death, coming to visit him again, and breathed again, until he only had room for one thought:

You must not miss.

And Percy took his shot.

#critical role #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #critical role fic #kivrin writes #yeah no I'm totally ok why do you ask? #new fandom oh god I'm scared