warnings: self sacrifice, mentions of hypothetical gore, fear/panic, misunderstandings, abduction, logan getting too excited about science and explaining Nothing
-
Standing alone on the center of the barren sacrificial altar, Virgil felt as though he’d been wrung out like an old dishcloth.
The stress was still there, along with the terror and the dread and the misery, but after a while they’d faded into simple background noise. A low, ever-present hum, constantly reminding him he was going to die soon.
As though he could forget something like that.
Still. Better him than Janus, or, gods forbid, Thomas. It was the mantra that had carried him this far. He’d say it all the way to his grave.
Assuming he actually got one, that was. There probably wouldn’t be much left to bury.
The sound of distant wingbeats pulled his attention back to the world outside, the chorus of terror growing the slightest bit louder in the back of his mind. He could see the silhouette, growing larger as the dragon got closer, and twisted one of the decorative ceremonial cuffs he’d donned around his wrist nervously.
He glanced at where two of his knights waited at the entrance to the open-air cliff platform.
“You don’t have to be here,” he tried, glancing between them. “It’s dangerous, and you probably won’t want to see…,”
He trailed off, gesturing idly with a cuffed hand, because there was really no delicate way to say ‘I’m most likely about to get torn to bloody shreds.’
The two of them exchanged looks. “We’re staying, sir. The least we can do for you is see this through.”
“I trained you guys too well,” he snorted, but when he turned back to face the open sky, he felt a little less alone.
He hadn’t needed to explain much, not after he’d told them that he would be taking Janus’s place. It had earned him looks, ranging from solemn to pitying, but none dared to argue when Janus himself appeared to have conceded.
(The spell would unravel by nightfall. By then, he’d be long gone, one way or another.)
He might not be an advisor, but when he’d stepped into the role of bodyguard, he’d applied every bit of dedication in his body to the job. He knew more about the kingdom and how it worked than almost anyone else.
And if that didn’t end up being enough? He was fairly sure that being a mage would tip the scales in their favor.
Revealing that little tidbit was a last resort, since rumor had it that most dragons were attracted to magical power in any form, and in order to obtain it, the more ruthless of them would often hunt down and consume human mages.
The thought didn’t manage to perturb Virgil much. He’d felt pretty sure he was going to get bitten in half well before uncovering the truth about that particular rumor, possibly even before he got through the first sentence of his explanation, and he’d committed to the decision anyhow.
Overhead, the dragon began their descent.
An enormous winged shadow fell over him, and for a moment, the instinctual clamor in his head became deafening— YOU’LL DIE YOU’LL DIE YOU’LL DIE— but he forced the automatic tension from his legs.
He couldn’t run. Not from this.
A heavy thump, and Virgil lifted his head to see that the dragon had shifted into a massive humanoid form. Far less aerodynamic, but it was the most common form used whenever a dragon deigned to actually speak with a human. Draconic snouts weren’t ideal for speaking human tongues, after all.
The beast was hardly less intimidating this way. They had settled so they were standing on the ground far beneath the cliffside, but they were large enough that they could easily rest their arms on either side of the wide altar Virgil stood on as simply as Virgil himself would lean against a counter.
Virgil glanced up for as long as he dared, and then resisted the urge to do a double take. Was that… was that their dragon?
He hadn’t been present for the last tribute offering before the assassinations– mostly due to aforementioned identity as a mage– but the being before him didn’t look anything like the descriptions of the ancient, silver-scaled dragon that had Thomas’s ancestors had made a covenant with, back when the kingdom was little more than a well-defended duchy.
For one, their human form was relatively young-looking. For another, the scales and horns that decorated their hairline were a deep indigo.
… Well, Virgil was already on thin ice. He resolutely decided he wasn’t going to be the one to ask. They were waiting on a dragon, and there was one here, so he might as well proceed with the ceremony.
Large, slit-pupil eyes flickered over the scene set before them, a pair of thin, translucent eyelids sweeping over them in what almost looked like a bewildered blink. “This is… unusual.”
It wasn’t the enraged demand for an explanation that he’d been expecting, and Virgil struggled to remember exactly how Janus had phrased his argument, thrown off-balance. “Uh, with the damages–,” no, shit, wait–, “I mean, honorable greetings to the lord of this land,” he hurriedly corrected, bowing his head in deference. “We humbly welcome you.”
There was a pause, and Virgil bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. He’d never been the best at the whole social etiquette bit, and somehow the way he’d almost botched the entire thing in the first ten seconds was making him feel more stressed than the past half-hour of waiting for and vividly imagining his impending demise.
“I accept this welcome,” the dragon finally replied, still sounding more curious than angry. Naturally, they managed to make the greeting sound entirely professional and well-practiced. “I haven’t accepted a tribute from this kingdom yet, but I’m familiar with the general concept, and things seem… different.”
That was a definite yes on the new lord thing, then.
Their statement wasn’t phrased as a question, but Virgil recognised a demand for information when he heard one. He straightened back up, only barely keeping himself from falling into a Knight’s rigid upright posture on automatic. “Yes, my lord. There were significant damages to the kingdom during the invasions, and the– the livestock and harvest that would usually be offered don’t exist now.”
“Invasions?” the dragon asked, which was frankly not the part of that statement Virgil had expected their attention to catch on. “Was your previous lord negligent in her duties?”
“N–No,” Virgil tried tentatively, unsure what the right answer was here. “The matters were between humans, and our… previous lord… wasn’t to be bothered with trifles like that.”
The dragon’s brow furrowed, and when they huffed through their nose, a small puff of smoke escaped along with the sigh. “I see,” was all they said, their deep, rumbling voice sounding almost contemplative.
“Currently, our people only barely have enough to survive,” Virgil continued after a moment, trying to stick to the script he’d tricked out of Janus. “In the hopes of– of keeping the kingdom alive, so that you’ll have many years of tribute in the future, we ask that you show mercy and accept an alternative offering this year.”
The dragon’s ears pricked in interest, head tilting slightly. “An alternative offering?”
Deep breaths, now. “Along with heirloom treasures from the royal bloodline, you are offered the– the life of one of His Highness’s closest advisors, with knowledge of all in the kingdom.”
He lifted his chin and forced himself to step forward, spreading his wrists as far as the ceremonial cuffs would allow to make it clear just who was being offered, here. Janus would have made it look elegant, graceful even. Virgil was pretty sure he was only making it look like what it was: a guy in restraints pretending he was fine with his new status as a sacrifice.
The dragon reared back a little, thankfully looking more surprised than murderous. “Does this kingdom usually offer humans as tribute?” they asked, nose scrunching up in a confounded expression
“No, definitely no,” Virgil hurried to say, already grimacing at the idea of setting a precedent. “It’s only in this specific case. Only me.”
“I understand.” The dragon hummed thoughtfully, idly tapping clawed fingers against the stone. “Are any of these heirlooms magically-charged in any way?”
The sinking feeling in Virgil’s gut abruptly got a lot deeper. “No, my lord.”
They sighed in disappointment, clearly uninterested by the offering, and Virgil’s heart nearly seized in his chest at the idea of failing now, of the dragon claiming the original tribute by force and starving their people, of them demanding to see the king punished for the offense, or any number of other nightmarish outcomes.
He took another halting step forward, the sheen of sweat along his skin leaving him chilled in the face of the afternoon breeze. He was well within reach of those huge hands now. “However,” he managed, “there is still magic available in the tribute.”
Under the dragon’s sharp gaze, he couldn’t force another syllable past his clenched teeth. Instead, he held up a single hand and summoned a small orb of flame, shifting the color of the flames to an intense blue in the hopes of showing that he was a strong mage without needing to destroy anything.
His magic stores were considerable, after years of practice keeping them hidden and in reserve. He’d spelled Janus, but that hadn’t burnt through much. Really, it had only drained him emotionally.
The dragon’s pupils expanded as they leaned in closer, inspecting the display with a much more intense version of that same curious expression that they’d worn all along. Virgil swallowed, all his worries about being bitten in half abruptly surging back to the forefront of his mind.
“Oh, wonderful!” the dragon said, and there was a sudden warm weight curling around his back. Virgil turned his head to the side just slightly, and could see those huge claws curving around his shoulders. “Source magic will work much more efficiently than the remnants I could pull from most ancient artifacts, anyhow.”
Virgil forced himself not to try and wiggle out of the grip around him, even when it began lifting him clear off the ground, the dragon’s hand rotating to create a sort of curved cradle underneath him. He knew this would happen, he reminded himself. He’d wanted this over the alternative, and he only had to hang onto his composure for a little longer. Just until he was out of eyeshot of anyone who could tell Janus or Thomas afterwards.
“I accept the kingdom’s tribute and will act as its lord from now on,” the dragon intoned formally, lifting Virgil up further and further.
His heart dropped in horrible terror for a moment, but then he was lifted even higher, until he was staring down at a pair of curved horns. The hand under him tilted, and Virgil scrambled for a grip as he found himself promptly deposited on top of the dragon’s head.
“Hold on tightly,” the dragon warned, “I’ll catch you if you fall, but from this high up, you might pass out from the sudden change in altitude. Hm, I’m not certain humans know about altitude, actually…”
Virgil suspected he might pass out with or without outside interference, but saying as much wouldn’t help him. His gamble had worked, and now he was a mage in the possession of a dragon, as good as dead. He clung onto the horn next to him as the shape under him shifted to something far more reptilian.
They took to the sky, and despite the terrifying vertigo, Virgil turned and watched the kingdom grow smaller and smaller in the distance for as long as he could.
this intermission has 3 parts, taking place during different points in the WIBAR timeline. this chapter takes place before LMMR/Act 2 of WIBAR! baby time :)
shoutout to nyn for inspiring the last scene with Roman at the end!
warnings: negative assumptions, mentions of blood/hunting/injury, mild fear/nervousness, other than that it's all fluff (literally)
-
Despite the tension buzzing at the back of his skull, Virgil found that being planetside again was surprisingly… nice.
He would have preferred that it was an uninhabited area— or at least, that it wasn’t one of the only places in the universe that had aliens he really, really couldn’t afford to terrify— but he couldn’t deny that feeling the ground under his feet and the sunlight on his skin was soothing, a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.
It wasn’t the same as Earth, not really, but Patton’s home planet was close enough to familiar that he found tension seeping from his overwrought muscles despite himself.
He shook some of the dazed contentment off, flicking a glance over his shoulder and reminding himself that if any of the locals saw him, it could spell Capital-D Disaster.
His little excursion into one of the less populated natural areas near the little port town was entirely unplanned, and all the riskier for it, but they simply hadn’t had any better options.
Patton had been putting off visiting his family for longer than anyone would have liked— first with the excuse of healing from his injuries, and then with the financial strain that had come from his crewmates dedicating the bulk of their time to searching for him, rather than doing their usual delivery and transport jobs.
(The strain of providing for an entire new off-the-books crewmate, too, Virgil knew. He tried to avoid taking up too much, resource-wise, but there was only so little he could eat before his symptoms went from barely-tolerable to unmanageable.
The adrenaline crash and resulting sprains after he’d intervened in the raiders’ attack had been a painful reminder that most days, his body felt like it was barely holding together at the seams.)
Finally, they’d managed to weave together a cover story believable enough that the trip was set in motion, with the caveat that Patton would go planetside to visit, and Virgil would stay on the ship, up in orbit, firmly out of range of discovery.
Patton hated the idea of lying to his loved ones, wanted more than anything to introduce Virgil and prove he wasn’t the monster the galaxy thought he was, but even his stubborn optimism hadn’t held up under the combined forces of the other 3/4ths of the crew.
It was too dangerous for word to get out about Virgil, especially after the close call they’d already had, narrowly averted thanks to Remyy. Between Logan’s points on the historical government response to rumors of rogue humans, Roman’s assertions that bounty hunters of all kinds would begin targeting them, and Virgil’s own intense discomfort with the idea of his existence being revealed to others when he’d only just gotten free, Patton had conceded, if a bit morosely.
So, things had proceeded according to plan… right up until Patton’s clutchmates commed in, requesting that they bring the Mindscape down so that they could fill Patton’s quarters and kitchen with a variety of gifts and supplies to remind him of home after he left.
Patton hadn’t been informed. A surprise, they’d said, meant to show their love and care for their sibling in a way that would linger as long as possible.
It was a cultural custom, apparently, and Patton’s hard headed tendencies must have run in the family, because they’d refused to take no for an answer without a good reason.
Unfortunately for the reason in question, informing them that there was another crew member onboard who couldn’t be seen by anyone else would only defeat the purpose of staying off planet in the first place.
And so, after very intense sweep of the ship to hide away any trace of Virgil’s presence, he’d swept his old cloak around his shoulders, followed Logan offboard, and let himself be guided to what seemed to be an unoccupied area of the coastal jungle that surrounded the local populace.
Logan had requested he stay in the general area until he returned from corralling the busybody relatives, and then rushed back to the ship where Roman waited, looking more harried than Virgil had ever seen him.
It was an awkward, stressful situation, sure. But he still couldn’t help but marvel a little at the thick, dark fronds of the trees and the almost powdery texture of the grey-white sand beneath his feet.
He hadn’t gotten very many chances to actually appreciate the wonder of being in space, on alien planets, with how much of his stay so far had either been locked in cages aboard ships or on the run, too busy trying to survive to take in the scenery.
Running his fingers over the corkscrew-patterned bark of one of the nearby tree trunks, Virgil didn’t notice the slight rustling of a nearby brush.
—
Marren had thought the alien an intruder at first, had skidded to a halt and narrowly avoided toppling out of the underbrush right in front of them.
Behind her, Robbyn and Denel tumbled against her back with the beginnings of peeped complaints at the interruption of their game.
“Ssst!” Marren made a whistle that was more air than sound, her baby feathers ruffling up in pre-emptive upset. “Quiet, there’s a stranger!”
Unlike any other game, her playmates immediately went silent, eyes growing round and nervous. They all knew better than to catch the attention of a maybe-dangerous
Especially now. One of the older kids had told horror stories about smugglers when the grown-ups weren’t listening, insisting that straying fledglings would get all their feathers shredded off and fed to the horrible monsters at the bottom of the Spacesea, where starlight and ships alike couldn’t reach.
They’d gotten in big trouble for the tall tales, but the story had already been taken up by the waves and couldn’t be squashed, especially with the fearful but dedicated belief of younger fledglings.
“Is it a monster?” Denel asked, already looking more fluff than form.
Marren… couldn’t really tell.
They were huge, even bigger than the Draellex spacefarer who had come to do a presentation for her class last season, but most of their features were also obscured by the long, deep grey cloak that they were swathed in.
“They’ve got hands,” she reported instead, because the stranger was touching various plants and rocks with nubby, strangely smooth fingers. “No claws, though.”
“Maybe a trader ship came early?” Robbyn offered thoughtfully. Their downy soft pink feathers were the least fluffed up between the three of them, their gaze focused on the alien with an intense curiosity.
“We woulda seen it, right?” Marren replied dubiously, before going quiet for a moment as the hooded head of the stranger turned and paused as though listening.
She didn’t continue until they turned back to their slow inspection of the wildlife, letting out a tiny peep-peep-peep of relief. “The only ship that came down is Uptel Patton’s, and he’s only got two playmates.”
She’d only met one of her Uptel’s friends in person, and only when she was a baby baby, way before her first molt, so she barely remembered it, but there were plenty of pictures in her Elder Uptel Farrun’s home. Patton’s parents were always happy to talk about their spacefarer son, and Marren always got a fun trinket from her Uptel when he visited.
Well. Almost always.
He’d seemed very distracted when she’d seen him this morning, enough that he’d barely noticed her amongst the many relatives that had swarmed to greet him after his longer than usual absence.
Something bad had happened to him, Marren had been told, which had made his parents’ home feel all sad-grief-loss whenever she visited, but he was all better now.
She wasn’t so sure. Everyone around him had felt like relief-joy-kinship at the sight of him, sure, but her Uptel had never flinched away from preening before.
“Maybe he got a new one?” Denel asked, still half-hidden behind Robbyn but not quite as frightened.
Marren made a considering chirp, and then began shuffling under the wiry branches as quietly as possible, seeking out a closer bush.
“Where are you going?” both of her playmates asked in very different tones.
“Gonna look closer,” she replied, and then froze as the answer carried farther than she meant it to.
The stranger turned sharper this time, and searched the clearing with tiny back-and-forth movements of their head.
“Patton?” they called after a moment, and Marren almost startled back in shock: the alien had spoken Uptel Patton’s actual name, not the Common version, and sounded uncannily close to an actual Ampen.
If it weren’t for how impossibly big the stranger was, she might have thought it was a simple prank, a couple of older kids stacked on top of each other under a form-disguising cloak.
Her gaze trailed down and finally focused on the familiar glow coming from the shadowed neckline of the cloak. She would know that glow anywhere!
“They’ve gotta special charm!” she crowed, and pushed past the branches to dart out into the open, intent on inspecting her Uptel’s newest friend.
Patton’s friend stumbled back hard with a sharp inhale, and Marren abruptly remembered that it wasn’t polite to startle people, especially strangers, and slowed to a stop. She angled her head up to try and peer into the shadows of the hood, squinting her eyes almost closed in as innocent and friendly a look as possible.
“I’m Marren,” she introduced herself, using the little bit of Common that her Uptel had taught her. “The stars greet you and so do I!”
That kind of greeting was more for actually being up in space with all the stars, but she figured it was the thought that counted.
Patton’s friend muttered something in an unfamiliar language, their tone soft, and then lowered themself to a seated position, much slower than they’d moved before. “My name is Virgil. It’s… nice to sea you?”
Marren let out a peal of chirping laughter, nearly knocking herself off balance with the force of her amusement.
That was definitely one of Uptel Patton’s friends, alright. He was the only bondrelative she had who put silly word jokes in his greetings like that.
“Can I sea you?” she shot back brightly, and when that didn’t seem to make it through, she pretended to move an invisible hood down from her own head.
Friend Virgil went all stiff for a moment, before speaking again. “I don’t think… uh, that’s not a good idea. I’m… I’m shy.”
Marren was distracted for a moment by puzzling through the words; it was an odd combination of Common and Ampen words, some of them a little smushed together until they almost seemed like a new word entirely.
Once the meaning behind the answer registered, though, she made a long, protesting whistle. “I’m not gonna be mean to you! Denel’s shy, too, you guys can get along!”
“Denel?” Friend Virgil echoed, again pronouncing the name eerily accurately, and Marren heard a little peep of alarm from behind her.
Antennae twitching with frustration, she turned and gave the bushes her best irritated stare, fluffing up indignantly. “They’re Patton’s friend! They’ve gotta be nice to me, I’m his favorite telit! Stop acting so new-hatched!”
“You’re his only little cousin,” Robbyn was speaking to her as they hopped into view, but their wide eyes were locked on Friend Virgil like they’d just found a shiny new stone. “Can they talk?”
“Kinda,” Marren chirped back, since it seemed like Friend Virgil knew more of the spacefarer tongue than their native one. “I know enough space words to translate! Probably.”
“You’re going to hurt your throat,” Robbyn cautioned in their best know-it-all voice. Marren was saved from having to answer by the thud of Denel tripping his own way out of the bush.
With his underlayer all fluffed out like that, it was no wonder that he accidentally rolled a few feather-lengths along the ground, squawking in high-pitched, babyish alarm as he tumbled.
Friend Virgil leaned forward so quickly that even Marren peeped in surprise, but all they did was set a humongous cupped hand next to Denel to keep him from toppling any further. Denel pulled all his limbs in with a panicked squeak as he bumped into the helping hand, and turned his head to peer up at Friend Virgil nervously.
“Safe and sound,” Friend Virgil crooned, in the sort of lullaby sing-song tone that was usually used to soothe hatchlings. “Okay, good, okay?”
It took Denel a stunned moment to respond, but when he chirped affirmative, the waver in his whistle had faded to almost nothing. He slowly uncurled, and even reached out for balance as he got back upright, looking absolutely awestruck.
He was way more aether-sensitive than most fledglings, Marren recalled, which meant that Friend Virgil must have been radiating some deeply trustworthy energy. As always, she had been totally right! Of course Patton’s friend was nice!
Marren wasted no time in spinning back around and darting up to Friend Virgil’s legs, giving them her best pleading expression.
“See? We can all be friends, you’re big-nice and nobody will be mean to you! Please please please?”
—
Virgil was not good with kids.
Specifically, he wasn’t good at saying no to kids.
Back home, they’d always picked up on it the moment they saw him, like sharks catching the scent of blood in the water, except the sharks were twelve year olds and the blood was Virgil’s inability to tell them not to draw on him in sharpie.
He’d finally found something that humans and aliens had in common, it seemed, because Marren– the apparent leader of the little group– had immediately figured out exactly how to use the Ampen version of puppy dog eyes against him. It was like nature had designed them as adorable feathery pom-pom creatures as a tactic designed to target him, specifically.
He hadn’t stood a chance.
As such, he found himself seated in the middle of the small clearing, his hood lowered and face exposed for anyone to see, being used as an actual, literal human jungle gym by a bunch of chirping alien fuzzballs.
The playtime racket must have been attracting more, because it felt like every time he looked up, three or four entirely new bundles of fluff had appeared, racing around his feet or climbing up the side of his cloak, chattering between themselves in strings of tweets and whistles.
The namecall they used for him wasn’t quite accurate, sounding more like ‘frrr-kul’ with a rolling trill followed by a chirp that only occasionally resembled the latter half of his name. They seemed to have a much harder time than Patton making the non-bird sort of syllables, which made sense, seeing as they were itty bitty babies.
“Frrrr-kul!” one of them called gleefully, summoning him over to the other side of the clearing for the newest round of whatever it was they were playing.
Virgil wasn’t ashamed to admit that something in his chest squeezed a bit as another fledgling turned dizzying little loop-de-loops in front of him, presumably leading him over to the new spot. For once, the heart palpitations he was experiencing around strange aliens were almost entirely cuteness-induced.
Almost, because there was still a solid chunk of his brain panicking viciously about how tiny and soft and fragile they all were, hence him moving at the pace of a seasick slug.
Marren had put forward a half-hearted complaint about how slow he was moving, to no avail. As it turned out, the only thing more compelling to him than a kid’s heartfelt request was the fear of accidentally hurting one of them.
It had taken him at least fifteen minutes just to stop flinching every time one of them fell or flung themself off of his knee or shoulder or— for one very stealthy candidate— his head, only to tumble lightly back to the ground unharmed, the impact entirely cushioned by their fluff.
He’d caught the first five or six on sheer instinct, which had only prompted even more to partake in the fun new ‘game’, until he gave up and accepted his fate as a living launch pad. Thankfully for his stress levels and long-term heart health, they had moved onto another game quickly enough.
He was slightly less thankful that every game so far had included him being scampered over, without exception, but he should have figured as much just from being friends with Patton, honestly.
His latest role seemed to be a very ill patient, as one of Marren’s friends walked around—and on— him carefully, calling out chirped instructions and sending the rest of the participants scrambling into the nearby brush. Within a few moments, they’d return with leaves, twigs, and other forest detritus, which would then be painstakingly applied to the top of his hand, or his chin, or wherever else the ‘doctor’ gestured to. Half the time, the makeshift bandages would flutter off the moment Virgil shifted even a little, prompting chitters of delight as the kids hurried to re-apply them.
Still better than any healthcare he’d gotten on Earth, honestly.
Seeing as his current job was to lay in place morosely like that guy from the Operation board game, he eventually closed his eyes and let himself relax a little, trying to hide an irrepressible closed-lip smile.
A few rounds later, he heard a chorus of what sounded like Patton’s favorite greeting chirp, but in a range of much higher pitches. He cracked his eyes open, expecting another gaggle of fledglings had showed up, and instead found that Logan was standing at the edge of the clearing, arms all dropped limply to his sides in shock.
Virgil went tense, only managing to repress his flinch because a good portion of his brain was still dedicated to monitoring where all the babies were around him, and currently at least ten were clinging onto his person. “Okay, listen. This was not my idea.”
Logan carefully tucked his hands behind his back in what Virgil first mistook for a polite gesture, only to emerge with what was unmistakably the portable camera he used whenever he was collecting video data for later.
“...Really?”
Whirr-click. Logan didn’t even bother looking apologetic as he began recording Virgil’s pint-sized tormentors. “If Patton didn’t get a memento of this, he would never forgive me, facetiously speaking.”
Rolling his eyes, Virgil slowly shifted up to his elbows, a startling amount of leaves fluttering down from his hair. A tentative hand feeling around in his hair revealed a fluffy stowaway, who peeped in displeasure as Virgil carefully disentangled them.
Talk about having a bird’s nest for hair. That was probably a sign that he needed a trim, but for now he could only laugh to himself, using two fingers to try and soothe the ruffled feathers of the fledgling that had apparently seen his head as prime real estate.
“You’re… very good with them,” Logan commented, shuffling closer with uncharacteristic tentativeness. “Is it normal to take on a parental role for children that aren’t under your care on Earth?”
Virgil snorted, and then leaned forward a little to help keep one of the more tenacious fledglings clinging to him from losing their grip. “It depends on the person, but honestly? A lot of humans are total suckers for anything cute making baby sounds, human or not. Sometimes to the point that the keener wildlife will take advantage of it and lead us to babies that are injured or out of reach because they know that odds are, a human will help.”
“Truly? Non-domesticated species, as well?” Logan replied, visibly distracted from his slow approach by the implications. “Cooperative dynamics between sapient species and local fauna are present on many planets, but for almost all studied Deathworlds, such a thing is unheard of. The risk is higher in harsher environments, where a much more competitive nature is required for survival.”
“Yeah, for real. I used to work as an assistant… uh. An assistant animal-healer, and people were always bringing in abandoned babies they’d found. Sometimes they were actually in need of help, but sometimes they definitely weren’t,” Virgil huffed a little at the memories, holding still as a fledgling took a running leap to jump from one of his knees to the other. “It was well-intentioned, though. Lots of people hate to see a baby left alone and jump to conclusions, since you’d never do that with a human infant.”
Logan’s hands twitched, and Virgil carefully shrugged one shoulder, giving him permission to record the information.
“Just make sure you don’t write stuff about babies or kids down where anyone could get to it,” he cautioned, chewing on the edge of his lip. “I trust you, but I don’t trust, y’know… the rest of space. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Correct,” Logan confirmed, having heard that exact catchphrase from Virgil probably about twelve times a week. “Am I alright to approach?”
“What?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course, just be careful. I mean, you’re definitely safer for them to be around than me.”
There was a relieved angle to Logan’s ears as he stepped forward, nimbly avoiding a few of the fledglings chasing each other back and forth like feathered tumbleweeds. “I disagree. They seem quite safe in your hands,” he said. “I have no doubt that Patton would be ecstatic to know that you’ve managed to make some friends amongst his kin despite our need for secrecy.”
Right. His cover had been blown five minutes in by the Ampen equivalent of a bunch of grade-schoolers. Crap.
“Let your mind remain at ease,” Logan added, either correctly reading the panic on his face or just guessing from the not-inconsiderable experience he had with Virgil. “With Ampens this young, I’m certain that your positive impression as a playmate will be the bulk of what they mention to their families. I’ve already heard a few of them refer to you as ‘Patton’s shy friend,’ so I imagine most will come up with the rest of the answer on their own assumptions.”
"'Patton's shy friend'?" Virgil felt his ears redden as his face heated up, and there was a chorus of delighted whistle-squeals from the nearest fledglings.
“You change colors just like Uptel Patton!” Marren shouted excitedly, and, well.
There were at least four different species of alien he knew of that shifted colors in all sorts of ways, from a gradual chameleon shift to the rapid flush of an octopus. This was one trait that wasn’t likely to make anyone think ‘Human’.
“Do another color!” A small harmony of encouraging peeps and eager gazes.
“Uh…,” Virgil cast a helpless look of his own Logan’s way. “I mean, I can probably do purple if I hold my breath for long enough?”
“Alright,” Logan cut in urgently,“I think it’s time that Virgil get back to the ship, actually, you’ll have to play with him again the next time we come to visit. Yes, yes, everyone off now…”
–
Miraculously, they’d managed to get through the entire impromptu visit without either of Patton’s flockmates seeing any errant belongings, broken cabinets, or any other indications of the highly illegal and infamous Deathworlder they definitely had onboard.
Roman let out an exhausted snort, trying not to shift impatiently as he stood by the boarding platform and waited for Logan to return with Virgil. If Patton was there, he would have given him a disappointed look for being so blatantly untrusting, but he wasn’t, and it had been a long day, so Roman could be on edge if he wanted to, okay?!
Thankfully, Logan chose that moment to step out from the shade of the forested area, exchanging an assessing look with Roman before deeming the path clear and beckoning Virgil to follow him on board.
The Human padded after Logan, footsteps eerily quiet as always, and… huh. He looked a lot less stressed than he’d seemed when they’d all but shoved him off the ship a few hours ago. Roman tried not to feel immensely suspicious about it, but he glanced down to check his hands for blood anyhow.
He was mostly sure that the Human didn’t actually have any murderous designs, especially not on anyone from Patton’s hometown, but they’d set him loose in a random forest with little to no guidance. Roman couldn’t rule out the idea that Virgil had entertained himself by hunting down some of the local fauna or something.
There was nothing, though, and so he forced his eyes away and checked in briefly with Logan instead. See? He could be cordial when he wanted to! He was a beacon of toleration, okay?
The claim fell a little flat even in his own mind, but he was promptly distracted by the tiniest hint of a whistle. He straightened up, alarm shooting through him as he swiveled his head this way and that, searching for any surprise witnesses.
His gaze fell on the Human as Virgil passed him to board the ship, and Roman stiffened at the sight of three fluffy bundles perched in the swoop of the Human’s hood. “Stop right there!”
Virgil went still, shoulders hunching upward like a bristle and eyes bizarrely wide, and Roman let his tail scrape from side to side for a moment as he glowered, only growing more certain of his guilt.
“I knew it, those are fledglings! Let them go this instant,” he started, planning to end with a suitable threat to ensure the safety of the smallest and most vulnerable of Patton’s kin, only for the Human to somehow go even more stiff and frozen.
“Oh my god, where?” He hunched over slightly, eyes flickering down to scan over his front and arms. “Are they okay?”
Roman pulled up short, admittedly disoriented at the show of clear and abrupt concern. One of the fledglings cheeped in dismay, and Virgil’s head tilted, following the sound.
“Guys, that’s not safe,” he groaned, and then repeated it in Ampen tongue. “Not safe. Not good, not safe, okay?”
His hand twitched up like he was going to reach for them, but then he hesitated for a moment, before slowly turning around so that his hood faced Roman. “Can you help them out? I know they’ve got all the feathers and stuff to keep them safe, but I still don’t want… I don’t want to jostle the hood and knock them out or something.”
“I… yes,” Roman said, feeling like he’d just been hit by a paralyzer shot. He reached out and scooped the fledglings out of their makeshift nest, watching as Virgil’s shoulders grew more and more taut. The Human didn’t trust him, but he held still anyways. “You’ve got, ah. Leaves and twigs. In your head pocket.”
“I bet I do,” he muttered, before taking a few slightly too-fast steps away once he’d checked that his fuzzy passengers had been evacuated. With soft, cautious movements, he patted down the rest of himself, including his other pockets and even the folds of his overcloak. “I think I’m good.”
“That was very dangerous,” Roman scolded, looking down at the trio with disapproval.
Virgil shuffled slightly, looking at him more directly than he usually did. After a moment, he spoke. “They’re fine, right? It’s not their fault, they just think it’s a game.They’re… they’re only babies.”
This was what worry looked like on a Human, Roman realized with a jolt, and managed to choke down his initial offense at the very idea that he would hurt them. He’d assumed the same at first glance, hadn’t he? Virgil had never seen him with kits before, and didn't know very much about him. Roman hadn’t exactly been sharing information or encouraging any bonding, and it wasn’t like the Mindscape had provided very many opportunities for interacting with younglings thus far.
Stars, he hoped there hadn’t been any kids on the smuggler ship. The very idea made him sick.
“Of course they’re fine,” he replied a bit shortly, cradling them a little closer. “Kits will be kits. They didn’t mean any harm, like you said.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s good,” Virgil said, some of that odd tension falling away. He looked back down at the kids. “Uh. Bye, little guys. Stay safe.”
He mimicked a farewell trill with uncanny accuracy, and the fledglings all echoed it with varying levels of mournfulness. Virgil waved as he edged his way up the ship’s ramp backwards, like he thought the kids would ambush him the moment he took his eyes off of them.
Seeing as these three had somehow snuck past a Human’s senses, Roman almost couldn’t blame him.
“When I next see Patton, I’m going to tell him to have a serious talk with you all about being too adventurous, you hear me? Crewmates are not for climbing,” Roman lectured as he carried them back to the main path. He paused to think about how hypocritical that lesson would be coming from Patton, who took any excuse to perch on Virgil. “Oh, for stars’ sake.”
Well, whatever. This was just a one-off. What were the odds they would ever be bringing the Human back here, anyhow?
ATL: Anomalous Threat Level. A scale of 1-6 determining how dangerous an anomaly is to individuals, infrastructure, or society, with 1 being the least dangerous, and 6 being the most.
Or,
Childhood in six parts.
Pairing: platonic Patton + his brother, hint of pre-LMP at the end
Word count: 2058
Warnings: bullying, institutional prejudice
Notes: final chapter of the prequel-to-the-prequel in my ping verse!
for @lighthouseinagardenofstars over on my patreon!
warnings: dissociation episode, references to previous chapter’s events, manipulation/gaslighting, antagonists disregarding personal boundaries, psychological manipulation, touch starvation, medical issues, i throw some funny little ocs in there because sanders sides only has like 8 characters
-
By the time they brought Virgil back, Roman had thoroughly burned himself out, leaving behind only crumbling charcoal husks of his previous fury and despair.
Virgil wasn’t conscious to comment on the emptiness that surely had to be visible in his posture. In fact, the Human didn’t so much as twitch when they dragged him back into the room and set him limply in his cell, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only thing distinguishing him from a corpse.
Wisps of worry and frustration formed at the edge of Roman’s mind, but he didn’t reach for them, instead choosing to remain centered in his distant, dazed headspace. It was fine that his scales had gone flat and defenseless. It was fine that he couldn’t seem to feel his limbs.
He didn’t want to feel, not the cold cell floor beneath him or the concern for his fellow captive or the huge, overwhelming sea of grief that lurked at the edge of his consciousness, waiting to pull him back under.
warnings: unreliable narrator, physical & mental abuse, violence, dissociation, panic, remus-typical body horror, PTSD, painfully high number of dad jokes
-
Everything was not fine.
Patton shook his head, trying to focus on the meat he was browning. That wasn’t true, not really. Here, everything was wonderful.
That was the problem.
One day turned to two, turned to a week, turned to two weeks. And Patton was still here.
In all that time, they hadn’t made a single mention of kicking him out, not even Umbra. They’d settled into a routine, displacing their usual lives to live in what had to be a secondary safehouse, and Patton had somehow been folded into that routine without any of them thinking twice.
Patton wasn’t entirely sure what he expected after the impromptu therapy session didn’t turn up any results.
A relocation to somewhere secure, somewhere they could keep an eye on him, maybe. Disappointment at his utter failure to recall anything, certainly.
He didn’t blame them. Whatever was locked away in his mind was their best lead on their enemies, and he had just proved himself unwilling to use the key even after all the effort they’d gone to.
warnings: intrusive thoughts, somewhat graphic mentions of hypothetical gore, injury, burns, mentions of nsfw, remus pov and all it entails
-
Remus stared down at the supervillain still attached to his side like a limpet, wondering absently if this was the part where he slid a knife between Remus’s ribs and revealed that it was all a ruse.
Kai is a gremlin, Remy is an enabler, and Logan’s blood pressure is going through the roof.
Pairing: focus is the big platonic pile of everyone
Word count: 2663
Warnings: discussion of various intestinal parasites and diseases
Notes: so those of you in the laoft server are familiar with the dirt discourse of October sixth, well after an ill advised (affectionate) ko-fi goal i have immortalized said discourse in fic lol. thank you to everyone who donated and especially @phantomofthesanderssides, beloved dirt eater
and thank you to @trivia-goddess for beta-reading!
Pairing: remus/OC, platonic creativitwins and intruality
Word count: 4149
Warnings: severe depression, non-sexual nudity, past abusive romantic relationships, Remus says something pretty nasty to Roman in a panic but he didn’t mean it and apologizes.
Notes: chapter 2 of a remus-centric fic in my laoft verse!
thank you to @phantomofthesanderssides for beta-reading!
a refresher on Io’s pronouns
This morning, lu went to the park.
I went with la.
And lu brought ly frisbee.
At least I think it was lys.
By the end of the day, lu started throwing the frisbee to laself.
