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delimeful · 19 days

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Defender

warnings: bickering, theoretical violence, that's basically it this one's fluffy

Part 8 of MC AU!

“And you’re sure that this will prevent the village’s valiant defender from attacking Anxiety on sight?” Roman asked, visibly concerned. “Absolutely sure that there won’t be hitting or striking or slaying of any variety?”

Logan disliked repeating himself, and this would be the third time he had done so, hence his rapidly waning patience. “Yes, Roman. I’ve been researching this exact matter for weeks, and I’m very confident that my alterations to the iron golem’s runic carvings will prevent it from targeting Anxiety. I had to perform a similar adjustment for my own person when first creating the golem, as well.”

“Alright, alright,” Roman relented, though when Logan turned away, he could see the adventurer shoot the iron golem a wary look. “I’m just a mite concerned for Tall, Dark, and Spooky, that’s all. I mean, have you seen how bony that guy is? A single punch would practically bowl him over!”

“I think you’re underestimating him,” Logan replied, absently hoping that Roman didn’t notice the way he was triple-checking the images in his reference book and the runes painstakingly carved into the iron golem’s armor. “Endermen are far more durable and far more dangerous than they look.”

A brief stretch of silence, and then he paused his work again to lift his head and elaborate: “Not that Anxiety is a danger to us.”

“Pat’s got us well-trained, huh,” Roman mused, as though he hadn’t just been fretting over the enderman in question. “I swear, one day he’ll bring the Ender Dragon home, and we’ll all just have to adapt to it just to make the guy happy.”

“Please do not speak that into existence,” Logan replied dryly, brushing away some stray metal shavings as he stepped back from the village’s golem to look over his work. “I have no doubt he would be the only one even capable of such a thing.”

Roman hummed in agreement, coming to stand by his side. They surveyed the updated runes together for a long moment.

“And this won’t prevent it from realizing that other endermen are still potential threats?” Roman asked, an eyebrow raised at the complex interwoven symbols. “That’s a pretty specific condition to set for a construct, Specs.”

“It is,” Logan allowed. “Luckily, I am an exceedingly skilled witch.”

The brag earned him a snort and an eyeroll, both gestures a far cry from the wariness that had marked the beginning of their strange enemies-turned-friends dynamic.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop pestering you,” Roman said, lifting his hands up in a gesture of faux-innocence. “But if Anxiety gets punched into next week by one of those metal tree trunks your golem calls arms, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

Logan sighed, the noise coming out far fonder than he wanted it to. “Very well. Though, I will remind you how many times you’ve gotten to exercise that particular right over the course of our friendship.”

He wasn’t in the habit of being wrong, especially because letting Roman say ‘I told you so’ to him would be galling beyond belief.

Roman grumbled wordlessly for a moment, before turning on his heel to lead the way back towards the small clearing near Patton’s house. “Regardless, I maintain the right! One of these days, your hubris will be your undoing, and on that day, my powerful intuition and sense for danger will triumph!”

The adventurer accentuated this particular claim by immediately getting his boot caught in a stray pumpkin vine, tripping, and nearly eating dirt.

“Doubtful,” Logan replied with poorly-concealed smugness, preoccupied with carefully replacing the golem’s lodestone and observing it shuffle back into awareness. He paid no mind to the indignant muttered complaints growing fainter behind him.

Once he was satisfied that nothing was amiss and all the inscribed runes were still properly lit up, he turned to follow Roman, beckoning to the golem to follow.

Now came for the nerve-wracking part: ensuring that the runic alterations would take proper effect, something that could only be done by introducing the two.

It was a relatively short walk to the clearing, and once they were close, Roman picked up his pace to sprint ahead and let Patton and Anxiety know that the first test of Logan’s handiwork was about to begin. Since the golem was relatively slow unless agitated, Logan remained behind, walking slowly at its side to keep it on course.

By the time they reached the clearing, everyone was prepared. In Anxiety’s case, perhaps even over-prepared, going by the characteristic ozone scent that cropped up whenever the enderman teleported too many times in a small space. Roman’s apprehension must have unsettled him as well— they did call him Anxiety for a reason, after all.

Concealing a sigh, Logan stepped forward into the clearing and to the side to make way for the construct trailing behind him, clearing his throat as though everyone’s gazes weren’t already locked on his approach. “Anxiety, our iron golem is right behind me. If it locks onto you and begins to move quickly, teleporting a chunk away should be far enough for it to calm down. It won’t harm any of us, as I’ve said before.”

There was an otherworldly hum of acknowledgement, and he noted that Anxiety had settled in front of Patton, rather than behind. By now, everyone had become well-adjusted to making sure to avoid eye contact with their easily-agitated friend, but usually, Anxiety still showed a clear preference for teleporting directly behind any one of them.

(Personally, Logan believed it was at least in part due to the way Roman would always shriek in startlement when Anxiety appeared behind him. Their unusual enderman was difficult to parse at times, but his penchant for mischief wasn’t particularly hard to pick up on.)

This test must have had him truly on edge. Logan turned to watch the golem lumber into the clearing, keeping his own posture forcibly relaxed as he mentally prepared to do damage control if this little experiment failed.

The iron golem drew to a stop a few steps in, its field of vision sweeping over all of them, and the moment stretched. It then made a grinding stone-on-stone rumble inquisitively, as though curious as to why all of them were so tense.

The sigh of relief was audible, even in Anxiety’s warped voice. Logan adjusted his glasses and only barely refrained from flaunting his success over Roman in the name of keeping the current peace. “Anxiety, you should be safe to approach, and I encourage you to do so. If you’re able to interact at close range with the iron golem, that should confirm that each and every one of the adjustments have set in properly.”

Anxiety warbled, teleporting back and forth a few blocks as he often did while nervous, and Patton reached out to give him a supportive pat on the arm.

“This is the one who was looking out for me before I met you,” he told Anxiety, offering an encouraging smile. “I think you two will get along well!”

Anxiety was quiet for a moment, and then walked forward on spindly legs, approaching the guardian with all due tentativeness. The iron golem tilted its head upwards to look at the enderman, making another rumble as it swung its arms back and forth absently, entirely unconcerned with what would normally be a serious enemy to it.

Anxiety ‘vrrp’-d back at the golem, circling around it in an unsteady circle, like a bee around a flower. The golem turned in a slow rotation to follow the enderman’s movement, still languid and unhurried. It painted a rather cute picture, if Logan was honest.

Patton clapped his hands together in glee, happy that they’d managed a successful interaction. Somehow, Logan was reminded of the first time he’d introduced his familiar to Patton’s pet cat. The felines’ resulting tolerance of each other had earned a similar reaction.

“There we have it,” he concluded, satisfied with a job well done. “Anxiety is no longer at any risk from the town’s guardian.”

Roman sidled up next to him, apparently content to ignore Logan’s somewhat self-satisfactory tone. “You know, if you’d told me this was what I’d be helping with a month ago, I wouldn’t have believed you for love or diamonds.”

“Yes, well, I could have said much the same at many points over my acquaintanceship with Patton,” Logan replied, watching as the iron golem slowly offered Anxiety a poppy, as though confused as to why the enderman was still persistently bobbing around it. Anxiety seemed immediately charmed by the gesture. “By now, I suspect I’m growing rather used to it.”

“At least I handled our newest friend better than our first meeting, hm?” Roman said wryly, and Logan exchanged an amused look with him. “Maybe I’m getting used to it, too.”

A few yards away, Patton was still practically jumping for joy. He turned to the two of them, beaming. “Now we can introduce Anxiety to the rest of the village!”

The look they exchanged this time was far more alarmed. “Patton, I’m not so sure that’s the best idea…”

Across the clearing, the iron golem tilted its head curiously as the enderman next to it abruptly teleported a fair few blocks away to hide behind a tree.

Huh. Seemed the latest and strangest addition to the village was shy.

#tss fanfic #sanders sides fic #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #my writing #writing #minecraft au

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delimeful · 1 month

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be unbroken or be brave again (3)

warnings: threats, fear, arguing, cliffhanger

The first obstacle to their little road trip was convincing Roman to dress appropriately for the journey.

The armor itself wasn’t all that stand-out. Patton had seen plenty of well-funded mercenaries out there who could afford an enchantment or two for their greaves. The coat of arms stamped on everything, on the other hand…

In all fairness, they had kidnapped the guy. He’d already been uncertain about, well, just about everything in the situation so far, and now he was being told that he couldn’t even wear his favorite accessories.

Patton would have had a little bit more sympathy if the accessories in question weren’t all emblazoned with the decorative sigil of Faerin, a kingdom that had personally victimized his best friend, as well as frequently seeming to make trouble whenever and wherever it pleased.

Plus, the other thing was—

“If you walk into town with that on, we’re all gonna get jumped,” Virgil said bluntly, waggling the blade of Roman’s dagger at the coat of arms brightly emblazoned on multiple pieces of the knight’s armor. “Seriously, ditch it.”

Roman huffed, holding a scandalized hand up to his chest as though Virgil had told him to strip down to his trousers and jump into a briar patch. “We will not get attacked! Faerin isn’t currently at war with any of the nearby territories.”

“Wow, real gracious of them,” Virgil replied flatly, and Patton jumped in to prevent the tensions from rising any further.

“Roman, kiddo, it’s not really about the war,” he explained, holding his hands up peaceably. “It’s more about all the taxes. People really don’t like the kingdom’s policies, so as soon as you get clear of the enforced territories, well. Folks out here tend to atax first, ask questions second when it comes to Faerin.”

Virgil snorted, leaning back against the wall and twirling the blade in his hand smoothly. He had flatly refused to give the dagger back to Roman even when Patton asked him in private, which was how he knew this little venture was really putting his friend on edge.

It wasn’t fair of him to ask Virgil to do this, not really, but he couldn’t help but ask anyhow. To meet another survivor of one of the worst days of his life and find that they’d developed a hatred of the very one who’d saved him that day… it was too sad to bear, so Patton was going to fix it! Or, he was going to try really hard to, at least.

The fixing process would have gone much smoother if the pair of them would stop jumping like startled cats every time one or the other did anything, but Patton had no say in that. Virgil was twitchy by nature, and Roman had proven rather reactive himself.

“These could have perfectly useful applications as well, you know!” Roman huffed, running his fingers over the embroidered underlayer he’d been about to put on. “Imagine if we run into a fellow Faerin knight out there? My kingdom’s symbol could grant us an ally, as simply as that, giving us more protection from malignant forces!”

Patton resisted the urge to grimace at the very idea.

Less restrained, Virgil reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, and then huffed out a disbelieving exhale, sheathing the dagger. “Okay, sure, let’s imagine that. After you get done exchanging obnoxiously overdramatic greetings with this imaginary knight who somehow survived out there without getting robbed, what then? What do you think your fellow knight will have to say when you let it slip that I’m a dragonwitch, infamously the number one enemy of your kingdom?”

Roman immediately descended into sputtering, his shoulders hunching at Virgil’s sharp critiques. “We— Obviously I would inform them of the specifics of the situation, and let them know that despite what it may look like, there’s no reason to worry and nothing to fear, for I have everything well in hand!”

At the words, Virgil went still for a moment, a sudden edge of danger seeping into his rigid posture. Pushing off the wall, he stalked closer to where Roman stood, gaze flinty and mouth slanted. For every step closer he got, Roman’s shoulders bunched up further with tension, his hand dropping to his hip as though to draw a blade that was no longer sheathed there.

Patton thought about getting involved, and then decided that he couldn’t step in every time the two of them started bickering. He had to let them do some olive branching of their own! Virgil wasn’t the best gardener, but anyone could wield a spade if they tried hard enough! It would probably be fine.

… Emphasis on probably.

For his part, Virgil leaned forward slowly until he was practically looming over Roman, and let his leathery wings slowly rise like the mantle of a bird of prey, the early morning light reflecting off his scales like oil gleaming in a lantern’s glow. He tilted his head with a menacing, narrow-eyed smile, sharp teeth on full display. “Do you have everything well in hand, Princey?”

Roman swallowed, lifting his chin to meet Virgil’s gaze head-on. “As far as anyone needs to know, yes.”

Despite his bravado, his hands were clenched into shaking fists at his sides. Virgil’s malicious smile eased into something harder to read, and he rolled his eyes before backing off.

“Just get rid of the sigils. We don’t need the trouble.”

Roman’s brow furrowed for a moment, his expression hard to read, but this time, he didn’t protest.

—

The second obstacle to their road trip was convincing Roman to actually get on the road.

Or, rather, on the dragon.

“There is absolutely no way I am literally placing my life in the claws of a dragon,” Roman stated plainly, expression dour. He was trying to look aloof, but the effect was ruined by the way his gaze kept roaming back to rest on the large footprints Virgil had left in the dirt when they’d first arrived back home, unconscious knight in hand.

“That’s probably the smartest thing he’s said all day,” Virgil added unhelpfully, picking dirt out from beneath aforementioned claws with his pilfered blade. “Give the guy a prize.”

“Virgil,” Patton said, exasperated, before turning to Roman. “There’s no need to worry, Virgil is a very safe flier. Plus, you’ve already done this once before, remember?”

“You know, I actually don’t recall! How strange,” Roman retorted, re-adjusting his pauldron in short, jerky motions. “It’s almost as though someone clubbed me over the head with a big rock or something. Imagine that!”

Patton’s cheeks went a little hot, and he cleared his throat pointedly. “Well, I was there, and he was very careful to make sure neither of us got hurt! To be honest, I was pretty darn nervous being that high up, too. Really, heights like that aren’t always fall they’re cracked up to be!”

“Don’t add pun-based insult to my injury, I beseech you,” Roman replied, grimacing. “And I’m not afraid of heights themselves, I’m afraid of being dropped from them!”

Virgil snorted, finally sticking the sheathed dagger in his boot and ambling away from them. “If you want to avoid assassination attempts, maybe stop giving out free ideas, Princey. Not that it matters. If I was going to kill you, I’d do it human-shaped. More fun that way.”

Ignoring Patton’s exasperated look and Roman’s squawk of offense alike, Virgil walked over to the middle of the clearing, taking care to circle around the daffodils Patton had planted as he went. He stopped once he had a wide stretch of space between him and any potential obstacles, glancing back over briefly with his lips pressed tightly together.

Patton gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, mostly to encourage and support him, and a little bit to remind him that no matter what happened with Roman, Patton would always be there at his best friend’s side.

Virgil offered him a slight upturn of the lips, more grimace than smile, but he seemed a bit more relaxed when he closed his eyes and turned away from them, hand lifting to press against the little purple stone set between his collarbones.

“Wait, he’s not actually going to—,” Roman started, only to be cut off by Patton flapping his hands at him in a shushing gesture, eyes still locked on his friend.

Virgil rolled his shoulders, drew his wings close around himself, and then began to stretch the leathery appendages out, wider and wider. There was a thick crackling noise, like bones snapping or lightning running through an old tree, and with a twist, Virgil shifted into his largest form.

It only took a few moments, the air around him warping strangely, and then, there he stood, tail brushing the ground as he shook himself like a very, very oversized dog after a bath. The dust stirred around them from the intensity of it.

Roman had yelped and skipped back a fair few steps, but Patton didn’t bother even shuffling out of the way. Sure enough, none of those huge claws even got close enough to think about grazing him.

He knew his friend, and so he knew that Virgil was a worrier like no other. Frankly, Virgil’s pinky finger probably held more caution in it than a grown man or three had in their whole bodies. His human pinky, not the dragon one, to boot.

Patton was probably the safest he’d ever been, standing in the shadow of Virgil’s wings. He sure felt that way, at least.

“Hey, kiddo!”

Virgil perked up at the call, shuffling around a bit to lower his big scaly head into closer range. He was rumbling low in his chest, not necessarily loudly, but still definitely big enough that Patton could feel the noise in his bones.

He reached out and embraced the surprisingly soft snout as Virgil nudged it lightly against him, huffing lightly and waiting patiently for Patton to get his fill of impromptu dragon cuddles.

Patton smiled to himself. This was a far better sight to see than the nervous, flinching way that Virgil had acted that first time he’d shifted, when he kept sneaking glances at Patton like he was waiting for him to realize what he was and run screaming for the hills.

When he finally pulled back and turned to grab their bags, he found Roman standing only a few meters away, looking more strung out than a ball of yarn rolled down a hill. His hand was once again hovering near his side as though seeking a weapon to draw, a nervous tell.

“Is he still… He’s kept his mind?” Roman asked, eyes flickering down to Patton for the briefest moment before returning to the intense stare he was directing at Virgil.

Patton reminded himself that in Roman’s eyes, the only reason a dragonwitch would take this form would be to wreak havoc, and managed to keep himself from frowning too overtly at the knight.

“Virgil is Virgil, no matter which form he’s in,” he replied, forcing some pep into his step as he scooped up the first of their bags. “He’s just a little more… caught up in his instincts, when he’s in this form.”

That was how Virgil had explained all the happy rumbling and gentle nudges the first time, at least. Patton had made the merciful decision not to tease him about the purring.

“Oh, so murder is still on the table, then,” Roman muttered, finally breaking the stare-off to avert his gaze as Patton sent him a pointed look. “Joking! Just a joke, much like the one our reptilian associate made mere moments ago!”

“Mhmm,” Patton hummed dubiously as he turned back to Virgil. “Well, Mister Jokester, it’s time to get moving! We wouldn’t want the daylight hours to drag-on without us!”

Apparently feeling more confident now that he was the size of a house, Virgil yawned loudly— the sight of which made Roman go a bit grey— and then settled into a resting position to allow Patton to clamber up onto his back.

It only took a handful of minutes for Patton to successfully haul up and tie down their bags, with Virgil’s ears carefully flicking back to listen to his humming as he made sure everything was tightly secured to the spikes along his dragonic friend’s spine.

It took more than twice that time for Roman to stop staring dumbfoundedly at Virgil and actually begin to approach.

Of course, the moment he got within a few meters range, Virgil’s large slitted pupil flicked over to watch the knight, making him freeze mid-step like a deer before a mountain lion.

Patton resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he slid down to stand at Virgil’s side. At this rate, they wouldn’t even get off the ground until noon.

“That’s Roman, remember?” he reminded Virgil, reaching up to pat his shoulder in the hopes of helping him refocus on the task at hand. “You looked after him while he was sick, and now he’s traveling with us for a bit.”

Virgil blinked, his gaze still following Roman’s every move, with far less irritation than Patton would have expected. His pupils had even rounded out slightly, making him look far more friendly in Patton’s opinion.

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure Roman.

“C’mon!” Patton gestured for Roman to approach, and Roman shook his head vehemently, as though Patton was insane for even asking.

As though prompted by the exchange, Virgil rumbled and shuffled around a bit in place, his paws creeping forward and head dipping lower in a pose that Patton didn’t recognize until he noticed the dragon’s tail swishing back and forth behind him.

Roman picked up on what was about to happen much quicker, going by the way he went pale and immediately attempted to scramble away.

“Virgil, wait—,” Patton attempted, and then sighed as his friend lunged forward like a cat pouncing, eliciting a terrified shriek from the knight they were supposed to be befriending.

Well. At least none of the bags had been jarred loose by the motion.

The screaming was a little concerning, but Patton was sure that Virgil wasn’t going to murder the guy or anything, so he didn’t bother rushing as he circled around to see what was going on.

What was going on was that Virgil had neatly pinned Roman down with one clawed paw, and was now snuffling at him intently.

Huh. That was a lot less aggressive posturing than Patton had expected, honestly. The more he watched, the more it looked like Virgil was checking Roman over the same way he had inspected Patton for injuries earlier, all gentle nudges and enquiring chuffs.

Not that one would have guessed listening to them. Roman yowled like he was being murdered for at least a solid half a minute after it became clear that there was no mauling going on. Patton pursed his lips, trying not to look too amused at the knight’s expense.

“He’s just checking on you,” he took the opportunity to say once Roman’s shouts had wound down to bewildered, rapid breathing. “He did the same to me, remember?”

Roman shot him a panicked, disbelieving glance from under his impromptu dragon-paw prison. “Yours was far less intensive than— than this!”

Patton shrugged. “Maybe he was just more worried because you were so sick for a while there?”

It made sense, when he thought about it. Virgil had always been a real mother hen whenever Patton so much as got the sniffles, and that was with a much smaller fraction of a dragon’s instinctual possessive worry. Patton had always endured his best friend’s neuroses about illness with as much patience as he could manage, but Roman hadn’t been willing to let Virgil do so much as a checkup once he’d woken up properly. Virgil’s pride wouldn’t let him insist on looking after the slayer after he was conscious enough to be kind of a jerk again, but not knowing the condition of someone he’d been responsible for had to be driving his friend crazy.

“Worried wasn’t really the impression I was getting from Virgil,” Roman gasped out, the tension in his frame slowly leaking away the longer he remained unharmed.

“Really?” Patton asked, a little surprised despite knowing his friend wasn’t exactly the open type. “Well, there’s your first lesson: Virgil’s always worried.”

The dragon in question glanced over at Patton a little sourly, and whuffled at Roman one last time before withdrawing, apparently entirely unapologetic for nearly scaring the soul out of their guest.

Roman lay on the ground for a moment longer, looking a little like he’d been struck by a runaway carriage. He sat up and patted himself down as though checking that he was still all in one piece.

He was, of course. Virgil sent him a slanted, disdainful look for thinking otherwise.

“Are you ready to give this a proper try, now?” Patton asked with an encouraging grin, reaching out to offer him a hand up.

Roman cleared his throat extensively, looking a little red around the ears, but ultimately accepted the help without much protest. He took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

This time, when he turned to survey Virgil’s draconic form, it was with more wary determination than outright fear.

“Very well,” he said, stepping forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

The third obstacle to their road trip was finding a place to stop for the night.

Not, as one might assume, because of a lack of safe or viable options on the ground below. No, it was convincing his companions to land at all that was proving to be the issue.

As it turned out, Roman’s fear of the flight had lasted for about as long as it took for Virgil to do his first midair spin, at which point he’d whooped with astounded delight so loudly that even folks on the next continent over had probably heard him.

“Gods above, you’re fast!” he’d gasped, clinging to Virgil’s leg as the land flashed by distantly below them. “There’s no way you could do that from higher up, though.”

It seemed Virgil was easier to goad than ever in this form, because he’d immediately taken a sharp incline, earning him yelps from his passengers. Between the two of them, the bulk of their flight was spent doing gravity-defying tricks and thrilling dives to just barely skim the mountains below.

Patton was glad they’d found something in common at last. He would have preferred they bond over a hobby that wasn’t so terribly dangerous and liable to make him so dizzy he upchucked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers!

He really was begging to reach land soon, though. Best friend or no, there was only so much strain a guy’s poor heart could take.

Plus, he’d plotted out their course with a little detour, and if they kept racing on like this, they might overshoot it completely. They were traveling all this way, it would be a downright shame if they couldn’t at least stop by and say hello to one of Virgil’s other buddies!

—

The fourth obstacle in their road trip was that Patton had forgotten just what kinds of acquaintances a Dragonwitch might have.

Or more importantly— what these acquaintances might think of the company Virgil was currently keeping.

This particular obstacle arrived at their camp that night in the form of an arm suddenly wrapping around Patton’s neck from behind, tugging him into a barely bearable chokehold as Virgil bolted to his feet and growled out a vicious warning.

Across from him, Roman was in a similar situation, but with a wicked-looking serrated blade pressed right up against his jugular, and a pair of unearthly yellow eyes visible over his shoulder.

“My, my,” a smooth voice broke the silence, making Virgil twitch. “I wonder what business a Faerin knight and his tagalongs have in my stretch of the woods?”

Uh oh. It looked like maybe their little detour would take longer than he’d expected…

#buobba #sanders sides fic #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #be unbroken or be brave again #my writing #writing #if i am missing tags. sory.

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delimeful · 2 months

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Inspired by this post by @alex-just-vibing. PaliRev values the contribution of all people to the liberation of Palestine, and we encourage you to share this around your schools or with others to give accessible options for us all to show solidarity for the Palestinian people.

[image id: an image with a white background, bordered on the bottom left and top right with green, corner illustrations, an olive garden branch drawing on the bottom right, and a drawing of a boy sitting down with a backpack leaning on him, looking downwards sadly on the top right. there is a low opacity palestinian flag behind black text reading "HOW DO I SUPPORT PALESTINIAN RESISTANCE IF I CAN'T DONATE?" below this is a list in smaller black text, bulleted with light green arrows. the list reads:

"- Wear shirts, pins, keffiyehs, anything outwardly pro Palestine.

Email your Representatives, Congress, White House. Tell the people in charge you want a ceasefire.

Talk to your local library about holding an educational night about the genocide and/or Palestinian culture.

Make schoolwork about Palestine! Writing about news? Focus on Palestine. Making questions for a test? Use Palestine as an example.

Find social media accounts for your representatives and schools, and make a fuss. Comment and @ them!

Show up to local actions (i.e. protests), join and organization, and follow Palestinian journalists! (next line) - Motaz Azaiza, Plestia Alaqad, Hind Khoudary, Bisan Owda -

Educate yourself on anti-Palestine talking points (Palestine toolkit) and how to refute them in a calm manner.

Speak up! It's scary, but don't let other people's bigotry go unchecked. You'll find that other people agree, and speak up from your example.

Don't engage with people unwilling to learn. Your goal is to educate people who are and make those comfortable with genocide feel UNCOMFORTABLE."

below this in light grey text reads "@PALIREV.WEB". /end id.]

#palestine #resources #queue

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delimeful · 2 months

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#palestine #boycott #resources #i encourage everyone to check out the graphic with the brands to boycott as well!#every individual can make a difference and those acts add up #this is a genocide and we must stand against it #and i hope you all will help me spread the word and keep the people of palestine in our minds and hearts during this time #it's a small thing but i will be waiting to post non-palestine stuff until after the strike #queue

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delimeful · 2 months

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a still-glowing ember (3)

warnings: panic, guilt, injury mention, mentions of assumed character death (mistaken), arguing, lmk if i missed any

Virgil had spent nearly half the night attempting to coax the sprite’s spark back into something resembling a healthy state, feeling his stress levels spike unbearably with every pained twitch his unconscious patient had made. Working to heal someone that small, even with the assistance of magic, was no simple feat. It had been hours of exacting, meticulous work that had left him exhausted.

So, naturally, mere moments after Virgil finally called the job done, crawled into bed, and managed to fall asleep, the little idiot woke up and started shrieking loud enough to wake the dead.

Virgil had left the sprite on an extra pillow next to him, one of his hands cupped over the tiny figure to monitor any sudden changes in temperature, which basically meant that he’d gotten an unwanted earful at close range.

For someone who’d barely been able to string two words together before, the sprite certainly had a set of lungs on him. Stars almighty, that was loud.

“Will you cut that out?” he groaned with his face still half-mushed into his pillow, only earning himself an alarmed, shrill whistle-chirp and frantic scrabbling under his hand in response. Ugh. Sprites.

Did the guy not remember Virgil literally going to embarrassing lengths to save his life a handful of hours ago, or something?

Well. Actually, thinking back, he was pretty sure the sprite had been more-or-less unconscious at that point, only latching onto Virgil’s proffered magic after much nudging and coaxing of that terrifyingly unresponsive form. Maybe he actually didn’t recall any of that.

In that case, he had a little more sympathy. Not enough to keep him from pushing up onto his elbows and sending the noisy creature a nasty glare, but enough that he didn’t jump directly to mostly-facetious threats on the sprite’s life. See? Forget what everyone who’d ever met him had said, he was a master of restraint and compassion.

“Seriously, pipe down. I’m trying to sleep over here.” Okay, so not that much compassion.

The sprite’s wings were aggressively fluffed up behind him, meaning they hadn’t turned into frostbitten hunks of flesh and fallen off in the night, which was good. Virgil knew elemental beings were far more resistant to physical damage than most mortal types were, but feeling someone so iced-over always brought around that old panic anyhow.

Mostly assured that the sprite wasn’t going to keel over the moment he wasn’t in contact with him, Virgil retracted his hand entirely, leaving the sprite sprawled out on the pillow, breathing hard as his bedraggled feathers puffed up further. Virgil shifted into his fluffier form, as though his fur coat would chase away even the memory of the chill, and curled up more firmly, wrapping his tail around his paws. If he could just get a few more minutes of rest…

“I’ve been abducted,” the sprite said to himself, the words starting as a near whisper and slowly growing to a near wail. “I was nearly frozen, hunted for sport, and now I’ve been kidnapped away for my transgressions!”

Uggghh. He shifted back, mostly for ease of speech, and rolled his eyes when the sprite tried to scramble back and mostly just tripped over himself.

“I didn’t kidnap you,” he grumbled, turning his head to stare with one half-lidded eye. “I basically saved your life, actually, so maybe you should be a little more gracious.”

“Gracious?!” the sprite echoed in a shriek that was far too high-pitched for Virgil’s sleep deprivation-fried brain. “I’m fairly certain you threatened to end my life, not preserve it!”

Now, that much was probably true. Even if he hadn’t meant it, he certainly might have said something along those lines. He tended to get a little snappish when he was irritated, and also when it was cold out, and also when people bothered him in his own damn territory.

In short, the sprite had been dealt an extremely unlucky hand last night, in regards to Virgil specifically. And… intentional or not, he had almost gotten the tiny idiot killed.

He still remembered how his spiteful satisfaction at scaring the living daylights out of a rude intruder had slowly begun to shift into a creeping feeling of dread as the sprite utterly failed to do anything resembling normal flying, let alone escaping. The moment his fingers had wrapped around that ice-cold frame, the apprehension had abruptly firmed into the certainty that something was terribly wrong.

No creature of fire should ever feel so still and icy, especially not a lively, quick-burning sprite.

Virgil’s ears pressed flat against his skull, his guilt swamping him again. He supposed he probably at least owed the guy an explanation. Uuuuggghhhh.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told the sprite, tucking his hands under himself in an act of goodwill. “I know we got off on the wrong foot—,”

“The wrong foot?! An upside-down centipede has less wrong feet than our meeting!” the sprite screeched, continuing to be far more verbose when he wasn’t in the middle of freezing to death. Funny how that worked.

“Okay, fine,” Virgil cut in. “I heavily implied that I was going to murder you, but in my defense, I had no idea you were actually in a prime state to be murdered at the time, and also I’d been having a really bad night.”

The sprite stared at him like he was insane, and Virgil felt his shoulders rise to hunch up around his ears. This was why he didn’t talk to people.

“You had a bad night?!” the sprite asked in a near-shout, his tone incredulous.

The indignant question was accompanied by a twitch of movement, like the sprite had attempted to throw his arms up in an exasperated gesture only to find one limb restrained. He looked down at the sling around his injured arm, blinking in bewilderment.

“Okay, that one wasn’t my fault,” Virgil protested preemptively. “You were already like that when I— hey, hey! Don’t jostle it, jeez!”

He reached forward despite himself, gently batting the sprite’s hand away from the sling. Naturally, he earned himself a buffeting slap from one of those tiny wings for his good deed, but going by the horrified stare the sprite sent his own appendage, Virgil was fairly sure the motion had been entirely instinctual.

“Seriously, don’t mess with that,” he instructed, slowly withdrawing once it became clear that the sprite had gone stock-still with fear. “It took me ages to put together a sling that tiny, let alone tie it. Just leave it be.”

The sprite’s face pinched with uncertainty. “You made this? Why?”

There it was, the exact question he’d been trying to avoid. Great, just great.

He shrugged, faux-casual. “Maybe I just didn’t want some random pesky sprite dropping dead in my stretch of woods. Bad for the decor or whatever.”

The sprite narrowed his eyes at him, clearly not buying it.

“Look,” Virgil said, trying to head off the accusations of nefarious plots that he could practically see on the tip of the sprite’s tongue, “I clearly could have murdered you, and I didn’t, so can we just agree to not ask any more questions and part ways as unfriendly strangers?”

“What did you mean, you were having a bad night?” the sprite asked, apparently deciding to completely ignore Virgil’s very reasonable suggestion.

“I mean, I was having a bad night,” Virgil repeated with the slightest growl to the words. “I got robbed by annoying pixies twice, and now I’m going to have to go repair those boundary markers and make sure that nothing snuck in while they were down, which means I’ll have to waste a whole day just scouring the forest when I have winter supplies to be storing—,”

“Twice?” the sprite echoed, face pinching even further into a confused frown. “I only stole one boundary marker— and under severe duress, with all intention of returning the pilfered power once I had recovered at home!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, ignoring the tacked-on excuses. “Yeah, but you were the second sprite to do that. Like, my bad for thinking both times were you, but in my defense, the other sprite looked pretty damn similar—,”

“There was another sprite?” the sprite interrupted again, and this time he didn’t even seem to notice Virgil’s annoyed growl, his entire body gone tense with a sudden sharp focus. “You’re sure?”

Virgil frowned, a foreboding feeling creeping up on him. “Yeah, especially with what you just said. In hindsight, there were signs that the two of you were different. You were tripping over your words, while the first guy nearly woke the whole forest with all the maniacal shrieking laughter.”

“Remus,” the sprite whispered with wide eyes, his hands fisting in the loose fabric of the pillow. “Did you see which way he went?”

For the first time, he was leaning toward Virgil, practically hanging on his every word as he sought the answer.

“I dunno, north-ish?” Virgil replied, ears flicking back in slight bewilderment. “I wasn’t exactly close enough to catch him. What, do you know the guy or— woah! What are you doing?”

The sprite had pushed himself to his feet in one determined motion, and now pinwheeled, trying to keep his balance atop the soft surface of the pillow. His wings were lifting sluggishly into position, like he actually thought the ragged limbs would carry him anywhere in his current state.

Virgil hovered a hand nearby, prepared to catch the idiot when he want toppling down, but the sprite ducked away.

“I’m going to go find my brother,” the sprite spat, looking as though he’d like nothing better than for Virgil to try and stop him. “He’s out there, alone!”

The sense of foreboding doubled. The odds of a fire sprite, even one ballsy enough to steal three territory markers, surviving a winter storm all through the night were extremely low.

“If you go out there in this state, the only thing you’ll accomplish is crashing and dislocating your other shoulder,” he warned, trying to soften the bite in his voice as much as possible. “The forest is huge. There’s no way you’ll find him, wherever he is.”

Whatever condition he’s in, Virgil didn’t add, because even he had some tact.

“I don’t care,” the sprite said, chin lifted stubbornly as he started taking wobbly steps down the side of the pillow, heading for the edge of the bed. “He’s my brother. I’m not going to just abandon him!”

Virgil groaned. There was virtually no way the other sprite was alive, but there was no point telling his guest that, not when the tremble to his chin showed that he was already well aware, and determined to see this through anyhow.

…At the very least, anyone who’d lost family deserved the closure of finding their body.

The sprite reached the edge of the bed and surveyed the drop, lifting his shaking wings into position to catch the den’s still air the best they could.

With a sigh, Virgil reached out and wrapped his hand around the sprite before he could jump, lifting him up into the air despite his furious protests.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and the non-sequitur was enough to grab the sprite’s attention for at least a moment.

“It’s Roman,” he snapped, and the way his wings were smacking at Virgil’s hand in protest were entirely purposeful, this time. “Now, let me go—!”

“Okay, Roman, look. You’re going to get yourself killed if you go alone,” Virgil informed him. “And seeing as I just spent a ridiculous amount of time preventing your untimely demise, I’ll be really irritated if you kick the bucket now.”

Roman’s face screwed up with clear anger, but before he could start shouting, Virgil set him down solidly on his shoulder, making sure that he was well balanced before releasing him.

“So,” he continued, swinging his legs around to stand himself, “if you promise not to yell directly in my ear, I guess I can keep all that hard work from going to waste by going with you.”

He could practically hear the way Roman’s brain ground to a halt, struggling to shift gears. “You’re going to help me?”

Virgil shrugged his unoccupied shoulder, heading for his den’s entryway. “Might as well. It’s not like it’ll be too difficult to track down the scent, if he smells anywhere near as strong as you.”

Roman laughed, a short, surprised bark. “He— Trust me, he’s much worse.”

“Ugh, great,” Virgil replied with a wrinkle of his nose, and tried not to think about what they’d do whenever they did find whatever was left of Roman’s brother.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #asge #a still glowing ember #my writing #writing

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delimeful · 2 months

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AHA A FELLOW LABELER OF DUMBASSERY.

I am very pleased to find another creature that is the same of kin as I.

(I also label shit stoopidly and then come back to it and have no idea what it means half the time)

*shaking your hand* i literally spent like thirty minutes trying to find a document a while back and it was labeled "uh oh fucky wucky" like hello? past lime i'm going to hit you with a hammer

#asks #lime.txt #infinite-hearts-333 #queue

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delimeful · 2 months

Note

hi, since you posted the new chapter of Just A Little Rush, I went and reread from before, and I could've sworn that we'd seen the thief (who I now know is Janus) break in from either Patton’s or Remus's perspective, but now I can't find that bit. Did I imagine it?

umm i'm not sure! i haven't edited any of the earlier posted chapters for jalr at all, but i do know i've planned to use the thief plotline for a bit... maybe i answered an ask or mentioned it or something? if it's not present in the first two chapters currently, it was probably never there.

#asks #nonbinary-octopus #jalr #queue

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delimeful · 2 months

Text

just a little rush (3)

warnings: g/t, captivity, self sacrifice, injury/gore mention, fear

Janus still hadn’t been entirely sure what exactly he was looking for when he began picking the lock to the office of one of the richest men in town.

Logan hadn’t been very helpful in that regard, only able to echo the vague descriptions he himself had been given over the phone: small, delicate, and feathered.

“Oh goody, that’s only about every passerine in existence,” Janus had snarked at the time, but a lack of specifics wasn’t going to stop them from getting the unfortunate animals out by any means necessary.

They had to be a social breed, too, going by the sounds of things, which bumped the urgency up a little further. Improper conditions and careless owners were bad enough, but for most domesticated birds, if one of a bonded pair died, the other was almost sure to follow.

That wasn’t even getting into the more exotic species. Janus was still hanging on to the slim hope that they wouldn’t be anything too wild, and thus much easier to rehome and rehabilitate without breaking any laws.

Well. Any more laws.

The door’s lock finally twisted under his lock picks, and Janus swung the door open smoothly, appreciating the silent glide of well-maintained, squeak-free hinges. Ah, rich people.

He made sure to close the door quickly behind himself, both for appearances and noise concealment. There was a good chance that whatever birds these two were, they would kick up a fuss at the entrance of a stranger, especially considering the fact that ‘frequent disturbances’ from the animals was the alleged reason Logan’s veterinary clinic had been contacted in the first place.

All living creatures made noise and had needs; even a preschooler could grasp that much. The fact that this grown man had been asking about the costs of invasive and debilitating surgical procedures before considering any alternatives or even telling them anything about the situation was sickening, and more than enough for Janus to agree to a heist riskier than their usual fare.

The room remained shockingly quiet as he crept forward, enough so that he began to wonder if their information wasn’t accurate after all, or if the birds had been very recently moved. Janus could only hope that nothing unspeakable had been done to them in the few days since the call.

Then, finally— a sound. The barest ruffle of feathers against each other, small in a way that meant they likely were dealing with something passerine-sized, which made things easier in a lot of ways.

Janus turned towards the sound, scouring the shadows of the unlit room with narrowed eyes until he found the silhouette of a birdcage. Finally.

He slipped a few trinkets off the shelves as he approached, despite knowing it would earn him Logan’s disapproval. The more they took, the longer they’d be pursued, after all. Still, he couldn’t resist.

The cage was still extremely quiet as he got closer, though he thought he could almost make out tiny, rapid breathing. He carefully checked the angle of the nearby window before pulling a small portable lantern from his belt and flicking its bulb on.

“Let’s see what we’re working with this time,” he mused lowly to himself, and lifted the lantern up to illuminate the inside of the enclosure.

The first thing he noticed was that calling it an enclosure was an insult to properly maintained terrariums everywhere. He’d seen children’s goldfish bowls with better enrichment in them than the nearly barren space within the birdcage. No perches, no chewable toys, no well-sheltered places to hide away…

No places to hide at all, really, which meant that he spotted the bundle of feathers fluffed up on the cage floor in the very next second.

The shape of it was odd, a pair of mantled wings displayed from the back, with odd shadows and disheveled feathers making it difficult to tell where the wings ended and the bird’s body began. They were trembling with strain, so he at least knew that the little creature was still alive.

“Hey there, little guy,” he crooned, setting the lantern next to the cage on the high display table and inspecting the thin wire door. “Give me just a moment, and we’ll get you somewhere much more comfortable, alright?”

For such a simple birdcage. there were a shocking number of locks worked into the latch and surrounding bars of the door. Janus felt a little impressed despite himself, poking at each extra layer of security curiously. “A bit of an escape artist, are you? Quiet or not, I’m sure you’ll be quite a handful.”

The sound of a very small, shuddering inhale split the air, and Janus’s hands went still.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze back to the bundle of feathers, which had grown even pricklier.

He’d heard parrots, ravens, and cockatoos alike imitate human voices, sometimes uncannily well, but he’d never heard them imitate a sob before. Was he imagining things?

There were different colored feathers mixed in, he realized, looking closer. Almost as though one bird had crowded in and attempted to completely cover the other with its wings.

And there was still something about that tangled silhouette that was wrong, for a bird…

More hurriedly now, he twisted the locking mechanisms open one after the other, and finally swung the cage door open. The gap was wide enough for a bird with a wingspan that size to dart through if they were quick about it, but it didn’t seem to be enough to tempt the little guy into moving.

In fact, the only sign that his presence had been noted at all were the progressively more and more ruffled feathers of the wings before him. The birds didn’t seem particularly reactive to a clear intrusion, which was honestly a bit worrying.

Making sure his gloves were concealing every bit of skin— it wouldn’t do to leave even a shred of evidence behind, after all— Janus slid an arm inside the cage and reached for the bird.

With a guttural hiss, the wings flared wider, and the very-much-not-a-bird twisted around to screech at him, lunging forward.

Only years of experience kept Janus from yanking his arm back out the door roughly with a plethora of swears, and even with that experience, he couldn’t stop his automatic jolt and the subsequent rushing of blood in his ears. The sudden flush of adrenaline made him feel a bit faint.

Or maybe he felt a bit faint because the creature before him was absolutely, positively, most certainly not a bird.

Illuminated shallowly by the lantern’s sickly greenish glow, a miniature person stood like an undersized angel, wings spread out in the air behind them in implied threat.

“Get any closer and I’ll scoop your eyes out with a rusty spoon!” the tiny being called out in a nasally tone, adding a very blatant threat to match the implied one. A threat Janus suspected was a complete bluff, seeing as they didn’t seem to even have a way to reach his eyes at the moment, let alone a spoon to execute the promised attack with.

Still, that was no reason to frighten the creature any further. He’d read far too much about small animals and the risks that shock from improper human handling could cause, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally make anyone keel over. If he could offer such courtesy to birds, he would certainly offer it to the impossibly small person standing rigidly before him.

(He felt a bit like descending into shock, himself, but he was far too professional to succumb in the middle of a high-stakes operation such as this one. No matter how tempting it was.)

He eased back a step, slowly withdrawing his hand until it could rest more casually on the doorway of the cage. “Well, there’s no need for that. I’ve found I rather like my eyes where they are.”

“Great!” The winged person bared tiny teeth at him, not relaxing an inch even as Janus did what he could to keep from looming. “Leave us the fuck alone, and I won’t tear ‘em out and stuff them up your—!”

There was a nervous keen from behind the winged person, and they cut off mid-vulgarity to shift to the side slightly, angling their wings to keep covering whatever was behind them.

Or, if Janus was correct, whoever was behind them. ‘Leave us alone,’ they’d said.

“Is your friend alright?” he asked, earning himself both a glare and the sort of high-pitched warning whistle he normally heard just before a bird started biting hard enough to draw blood. “Please. If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I’d have done so by now?”

The winged person scoffed, teeth still bared in a snarl that curled up at the edges, almost resembling a manic grin. “I don’t pretend to know when humans next want to hurt us or why,” they replied, words sharp as razor wire. “If you’re really feeling all kind-hearted and generous, howsabout leaving that door open and ditching this place without any living, breathing prizes? We’ll take care of the rest.”

Their tone was scornful, disbelieving that Janus could be here to do anything except take advantage of them, and looking at their current situation, he couldn’t even begin to blame them. Living in a featureless cage would have been detrimental enough for an actual bird. For a person? It was dehumanizing, isolating, tantamount to torture.

He had his suspicions, however, about the condition of the other one in there with them. They would be easy enough to confirm or deny by simply reaching in and moving the vicious one aside, but that sort of maneuver wouldn’t get him anywhere in terms of earning their trust.

Instead, he withdrew his hand completely, leaving a blank square of empty space in the doorway, ripe for escaping through. “Of course. If that’s all you need, I’m happy to oblige.”

Upping the stakes on this little gamble, Janus moved to the nearby window and shifted the window sash up along its frame, allowing cool air to billow into the room. Luckily, it seemed this one didn’t have a screen on the outside, so their theoretical way out was entirely unimpeded— so long as they were both in fit condition to fly.

The silence in the room stretched, thick with tension, and then a different voice piped up, just as small and considerably less harsh.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, could you also cut through the restraint?” the new voice asked, polite and friendly enough that Janus almost missed the tremulous note to it. “Two heads may be better than one, but four wings tend to get tangled up!”

“Patton—!” the first person hissed, only to fall quiet when Janus crossed the room to return to the cage.

They were still trying to conceal the existence of the other winged person, but it was mostly unsuccessful now that ‘Patton’ wasn’t cooperating.

Janus could make out the two different forms, now, and the thin, durable cord that connected the cuffs on their ankles. One cuff per person, chaining the two of them together.

He was surprised that they’d chosen to reveal the vulnerability— surely in such desperate times, they could manage to coordinate well enough to get away?— but obviously didn’t begrudge them the request.

Except the moment he shifted forward with a pair of wirecutters in hand, the first one puffed up even more aggressively, blocking the way.

“Nope, actually, that’s not happening,” they spat, faux-glib.

“Remus,” Patton protested, only to get lightly buffeted by a wing before they could complete the rest of their complaint.

‘Remus’ shrugged, an attempt at casual when they still looked ready to start mauling him at any moment. “Sorry, Sunshine! It turns out that where you go, I go! That includes abductions by random, well-dressed thieves, so sad, what can you do!”

“You can get out,” Patton retorted. “I’ll be fine, okay, so just let the human cut—,”

“SO SAD, NOTHING TO BE DONE,” Remus repeated over them loudly, before twisting to face Janus fully and finally letting their wings draw back in slightly from their overextended posture. The relaxation looked forced, a lesser of two evils. “Whatever you want us for, looks like you got a two-for-one deal, Jack and the Beanstalker! Better act fast before time runs out!”

Janus blinked, shifting his gaze between the two of them contemplatively, and then decided that whatever misconceptions they were inventing for him would take far too long to unravel at the moment.

Though his wings were tucked too tightly against their back to tell exactly how, Patton was clearly injured in some way, unable to fly, and Remus was equally clearly unwilling to abandon them. Just like actual songbirds, they would be in serious danger from wild animals if left grounded, so even if the injury wasn't debilitating, he couldn’t simply release them and be on his way. They needed help, which was exactly what Janus had come to offer.

And truth be told, he was still deeply curious about these two. Might as well kill two birds with one— hm. Better not to use that particular metaphor for this situation, now that he thought about it.

“If you insist,” he said, and reached for the collapsible bird transport container at his side before pausing. They weren’t actual birds, but he didn’t exactly have the luxury of a less humiliating method of travel on hand.

He was also running out of time. As unfortunate as it was, this would have to do. There would be plenty of time for explanations later.

”Excuse my reach,” he muttered out of habit as he leaned against the cage and held his hand out.

The two had automatically flinched back from a human hand in a way that made him feel ill and furious in equal measures, so he carefully reached forward and scooped the closer of the two into his gloved grasp the way he would have with an actual bird, gentle but firm.

It was Remus, and their body twitched in a way that made Janus suspect they were barely resisting the urge to inflict bodily harm on him, but they managed to limit themself to a narrow-eyed glare and an unhappy churr from deep in their chest.

He’d worried about the restraint connecting the two— he could only fit one arm through the cage door at a time, so he couldn’t exactly grab both of them— but the issue was neatly resolved by Patton immediately clambering onto his hand after Remus, reaching out and clinging to their friend’s arm like they feared they’d be torn away from each other at any minute.

Making sure to move slowly and not unbalance them, Janus withdrew his arm and two passengers from the cage, lowering them down to the display table where the carrying case waited. The two went tense in his grasp, but he made no move other than to relax his fingers into a flat surface, releasing the majority of his grip.

“I would offer to hold you all the way out, but I’m afraid I’ll need my hands free,” he said after a still moment, and this was enough to prompt them into motion.

Patton tugged at Remus’s shoulder, whispering rapidly at them about things Janus pretended not to hear, but the effort went nowhere. Remus marched into the transport case with only the ruffled feathers on their back giving away any sense of unease, and despite the agonized glance they sent toward the open window, Patton was only a half-step behind them. They huddled down in the far corner of the case, digging their fingers into the mesh like they expected it to be a harsh ride.

Discomfited, Janus zipped the entry up only most of the way and left the zippers unlocked. For someone who had been breaking through all those locks on the cage, the barrier was less than nothing, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

He knew why: Whatever attachment was keeping the two of them trapped in place now was far less tangible than any physical lock, and far more binding. Janus may not have been the one to create the trap, but he was utilizing it now, whether he liked it or not.

"Alright. I'm moving now." With careful hands, he lifted the case into the crook of one arm and strapped the lantern back onto his belt, turning towards their exit and wanting nothing more than to leave this stagnant room behind.

Hopefully, once he proved his intentions weren’t malicious, they would let him and Logan help. Hopefully, they would be able to fix whatever that monster had done.

For now, he would at least do what he knew he could, and get them far, far away from that miserable cage.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts patton #ts remus #ts janus #jalr #just a little rush #my writing #writing

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delimeful · 2 months

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me: wow i wonder why i can never find anything in my files

my files:

#this is my own fault and yet.#*as i title another doc incomprehensibly* i will never learn my lesson i will never change #can you tell i've been going through my google drive?#why are there 3 different organizational systems used in these screenshots? well you see. i forgor #lime.txt #queue

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delimeful · 2 months

Text

let my mind reset (6)

warnings: angst, brainwashing, torture, psychological conditioning, references to injury/gore/death, harmful surgical implants, they are really going through it now, lmk if i missed any

Where the hours had passed slowly before, now they seemed to slip by all too fast. Every spare moment Roman had was spent in anxious anticipation of the next session and all that came with it.

He had never seen something like the haze used on a person before. Crav’n were invulnerable to it, and he’d only ever witnessed his aunt use it briefly on one of the local fauna once, a harmless and finicky tree-dwelling species about the size of his hand.

(Roman remembered the way Marta had compelled the little creature to pace back and forth, from place to place, wearing its will away until there wasn’t any hesitation between order and action. Then, she’d sent it walking into the nearby pond.

He remembered the way its survival instinct had set in late, the way it began to thrash, and still Marta didn’t call it back. He remembered feeling relieved when his mother stepped in and put a stop to the demonstration, scooping the poor beast from its fate with disapproval etched firmly in the set of her shoulders.

He didn’t remember if the creature had lived through the withdrawal, afterwards.)

Virgil was far from a simple animal, though, and despite Roman’s half-formed nightmares, he didn’t mindlessly succumb to the influence of the drug the first time it was forced on him, nor the second or the third.

In fact, every time the other Humans entered his cell with that unsettling green canister, he seemed just as panicked as Roman, if not more, putting up as much of a fight as he could with a battered body and a wrung out mind. No matter how they tutted or scolded, the other Humans still couldn’t get the mask on him until Roux had him forcibly subdued, which was a tiny victory in itself.

That didn’t stop the drug from taking its toll each and every time.

As horrible as it sounded, the worst part was that the effects weren't painful or malicious in nature. At least that would have been easier to fight against; a logical, instinctive response to being hurt.

No, it was far more insidious than that. The haze dulled pain. First, the physical: it eased away the stiffness of sore muscles and the burning of shocked nerves, leaving only a pleasant numbness behind. Then, the mental: it stalled the production of stressful chemical compounds, replacing them with whatever was needed to trick the victim’s mind into believing they were happy, relaxed, pliable.

Roman had never seen Virgil so unwound, so carefree, and he hated how unnatural the behavior seemed on the Human. It was a miserable experience, finally seeing him without the hunted slant to his posture, and feeling sickened by the sight.

What was worse was watching it wear off.

As though a switch had been thrown in reverse, Virgil would be plagued by a creeping, unrelenting sense of panic and dread, pacing around his cell frantically until a sudden hypersensitivity to touch left him crumpled in one spot, breathing harsh and pained.

Time after time, he was shown exactly how painful withdrawal from even a few doses was, until he was left bracing for it well before the next session had even begun.

“The last guys who had me would have killed for something like this,” Virgil said, nearly panting as he laid out on his back. He had his fingers pressed against his neck, feeling his pulse. His heart was racing so hard that Roman could see the veins pulsing eerily under the skin. A heavy spike of adrenaline, unprompted by anything tangible. “Bet she has at least a few people stashed away just to drain for easy cash.”

He spoke more, like this. Out of turn, about topics that were morbid and pessimistic, as though the thoughts were tumbling free of his mind without his permission. Roman never let his negative reactions to the more grim topics go beyond his ears flickering back; it wasn’t like he had the room or right to judge. They didn’t have very many reasons to be optimistic. Besides, he’d realized early on that the more worked up Roman got, the worse Virgil got in turn.

He still didn’t know the exact details of how Dren harvesting worked, and he was fairly sure he was better off for it. The very idea of setting an entire person aside for something like that was reprehensible, and therefore entirely possible for Marta.

“She said she… she gets rid of Humans that don’t break,” he replied after a moment, the words tumbling freely from him for once. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to turn a profit from it.”

He’d been trying to match the distant, dry tone Virgil had used, but he must have missed the mark, because the Human stiffened, and drew his hand back from Roman’s grasp to press it harshly against his eyes.

Belatedly, Roman realized what he’d just implied. Virgil was one of those Humans trying not to break, was at this very moment barely clinging to his composure, and he’d just been informed he was stuck between two horrific fates worse than death. “I didn’t mean—,”

“‘S alright,” Virgil interrupted, voice rough with exhaustion. “It’s not like I didn’t know. It makes me feel a little better, honestly.”

Roman stared at him, bewildered and still slightly aghast at his own stupidity, and Virgil shifted a few fingers to peer back with one eye.

“At least some Humans didn’t fall for it, y’know? At least some of them got out in their own way,” he continued, a thin thread of hopelessness tangled up in the words. “I was starting to wonder if the rest of space was right. If we were all just destined to be monsters with the right motivation.”

Roman should have been more alarmed at the implication that Virgil felt close to succumbing, that he was nearer than he’d ever wanted to be to a Human on the brink of falling under someone else’s blatantly malignant control, but all he could feel was a painful sympathy.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, and then, more firmly— “Humans aren’t monsters.”

Virgil’s eye widened slightly, gaze intent in a way that would have made Roman bristle in the past.

“They’re just people. They can do good or bad, just like anyone else. And sure, these guys are— they’re not doing good.” A pause, and Roman forced himself to meet Virgil’s stare. “But you have. You saved Patton, and you tried to save me, and you’re— you’re not a monster. You’re a good friend.”

Virgil buried his face back in his elbow and was quiet for a long moment.

“…You’re not so bad yourself.”

—

Roman hadn’t expected Marta to show up in person, not with how much she had delegated to her brainwashed underlings thus far, but arrive she did.

“Don’t fret, ghiva’al,” she crooned to him, passing by his cell with the lightest clink of her claws dragged against the bars. “I’m here to meet your little pet, not you.”

“Don’t—,” call me that, call him that, he wanted to snarl, but his throat closed up so sharply that it sounded a little like he’d choked.

Marta made her stilted croaking laugh, sparing him a glance that might have been pitying if it had bothered to reach her cold, empty eyes. “You always did struggle with words when emotional, didn’t you? Not nearly as well spoken as your mother. What a shame to see that hasn’t changed.”

There was a sharp clacking as an aggressive shudder ran through Roman’s scales, but he still couldn’t find his voice. Not even when Marta moved on to grip the bars of Virgil’s cell, her attention shifting to the Human where he stood warily in the center of the cage.

Roman had learned more than he’d ever thought he would about Human body language over the past few weeks. He knew from the slight sway to Virgil’s every shift that the Human was drained, likely barely keeping his feet.

Still, he was upright to face Marta, his height advantage allowing him to look down at her, and that was better than being crumpled on the ground at her feet. Little victories were all they had now, and they clung to each and every one.

Roux wasn’t there, Roman realized with a jolt, and the knowledge was enough to drag his mind into overdrive, a sudden double-edged hope springing to life in his chest.

Virgil must have already realized, because the way he held himself shifted into something taut and coiled, like he was preparing to lunge forward at the first opportunity, weak or not.

“Back of the cell,” Marta commanded, voice turned brisk and blunt in a way it hadn’t been with Roman. Like she was speaking to a beast instead of a person.

Virgil didn’t move, barely deigned to acknowledge the words beyond a brief flicker of his pupils upwards.

Marta waited, letting the silence stretch for a brief moment, and then clicked her teeth together in a mild reprimand. “The hard way, then.”

Despite her apparent annoyance, the words held a sort of anticipatory delight, and Roman felt the thick tar of dread slide under his scales as he watched her slide a small, triangular remote from a pouch at her side.

When she pressed the button in the center of it, she was looking at Roman.

It was Virgil who went rigid and fell.

Despite knowing it would undercut every lie he’d tried to sell about how little he cared, despite the fact that he was playing right into her claws, Roman couldn’t help but rush to the bars separating them, a shout of horror catching in his chest.

The Human hit the ground hard but stayed chillingly frozen, with every muscle locked into hard lines. He didn’t make a sound until Marta shifted her thumb away from the button, the motion somehow allowing him to finally go limp like a puppet with strings cut.

“Virgil!” Roman managed, though the sound of it was nearly lost in the sudden loudness of the Human’s gasping breaths. He hadn’t been breathing before, Roman realized with a terrified shock.

Whatever Marta was doing, it hadn’t countered Virgil’s natural stubbornness, and he climbed back to his feet with less staggering than Roman would have expected.

His gaze caught on the tremor to Virgil’s hands, the shuddering of his pulse, and he understood. Adrenaline.

The fight or flight instinct, Virgil had called it while talking with Patton. Roman had seen him choose to fight once, at their very first meeting, but even that couldn’t compare to the speed and ferocity of the way the Human lunged now.

Marta didn’t flinch back when he made loud, skull-rattling contact with the bars, but she didn’t blink, either, keeping her eyes firmly locked on Virgil as she pressed the button once more.

Instead of letting him drop, however, she reached out and seized him by the face, claws digging in on either cheek and holding tightly.

Virgil couldn’t so much as flinch away from the pain, and Roman slammed his arm against the door of his own cell with force, furious at his own helplessness.

Marta released the trigger again, and this time, every gasping inhale Virgil took was dosed with her haze. He tried to jerk back, but it was far faster acting straight from the source, and he had barely a moment before his expression dropped to something hollow and smooth, his desperate strength wavering and then extinguishing like a flame with nothing left to burn.

“Down,” Marta commanded, releasing her grip, and Virgil stood in place for a few long heartbeats before his legs collapsed underneath him.

She waved a hand absently down at him, still scattering her haze thick in the air. “There you go. It feels so much better when you listen, doesn’t it?”

Virgil twitched, a ripple of discontent crossing his face, but didn’t respond. He was shaking relentlessly now, his entire body trembling in a way that had Roman deeply concerned.

“You’re safe with me,” Marta lied, reaching down to glide the palm of her hand over the side of Virgil’s face. “You’re only safe with me. Everyone else wants to hurt you, but I’ll make the pain go away. Always do as I say, okay?”

Virgil didn’t move away, even as her rough skin caught on the wounds her claws had left only moments ago. His breathing grew wispier, slower, until he appeared almost calm, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Let’s try this again,” Marta straightened, and when her hand left Virgil’s cheek, he strained after it for a handful of seconds. “Back of the cell.”

Virgil climbed back to his feet, and Roman closed his eyes as the Human quietly began shuffling across his stretch of cell. He felt all of six winters old again, watching his aunt lead something fuzzy and helpless back and forth, closer and closer to the water’s edge.

“Good. Now, heel.” More shuffling, wordless as a corpse.

How long did he have before Virgil took his own plunge?

—

It took longer than before for Virgil to regain coherence, afterwards.

Roman knew the moment he’d come back to himself, because the soft grip around his hand had instantly vanished, yanked away so sharply that he’d barely registered the movement before Virgil was up on his feet and backing away.

“Virgil,” he tried, and the Human shook his head, the motion harsh, his hands lifting up to grip roughly at his hair in a distressed motion Roman had only ever caught glimpses of back on the ship.

He’d continued to retreat until he hit the furthest corner of the cell, where he slid down and curled in on himself, utterly unreceptive to any of Roman’s stilted calls. Roman caught his expression crumpling into a miserable grimace before he buried his face in his knees and hid that away too.

The silence stretched.

If there were some right words to say here, Roman couldn’t find them. Even if he did, he undoubtedly wouldn’t be able to say them. The helplessness sheared against his scales like rough sand, but how could he allow himself to wallow in it when he at least still had his mind, his existence still unarguably his own?

Freshly taunted by the knowledge that he didn’t have even that much, Virgil remained still and taut and quiet in the furthest reaches of his cell for what felt like a very long time.

When he did finally stir, Roman was appalled to see the faint streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the sweat and grime.

Patton had described Human weeping as arrhythmic vocalizations, much like Ampens, but with a physical manifestation as well. Roman hadn’t known that Humans could cry silently, like a pup gone still and quiet in the face of danger, with only the barest hitching of breath to indicate distress.

The expression on Virgil now was creased into firm lines, but it didn’t seem agonized or crumbling at the edges. Rather, as he climbed to his face, he seemed to hold the same bitter resolution Roman had seen in him a few times before: during the tail end of their first meeting, and after the fight with the raiders, both times when he’d thought he was about to be left alone again.

“Roman,” he started, and then worked his jaw tersely, once, twice. Rather than continue, he held out a hand, palm-up in silent offering.

Things had changed a lot over the course of their captivity, Roman reflected as he reached out and set his own hand in the Human’s grasp with barely a shred of hesitation. It felt like second nature by now, to reach out and cling on whenever his stomach was roiling with stress.

Virgil watched him for a moment longer, and then wrapped his fingers around Roman’s hand and drew closer, slowly pulling his arm up until he had positioned Roman’s claws just above the skin of his neck.

“This,” Virgil said, each word resolute, “is the best place to sever if you want to kill a Human quickly.”

The words took a dull, ringing moment to sink in, but once they did, Roman jerked back sharply. “Virgil, what—?”

For the first time, Virgil held on, keeping his hand pinned in place with ease even as he had to grip the bars with his other hand to remain upright. Roman could see the way the Human’s pulse fluttered under the skin, a heartbeat racing visibly exactly where Virgil had indicated.

“It’s important. You need to know,” Virgil insisted, and lifted their joined hands higher, to his temple. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Gashes up here are valuable because the blood runs down and drips into their eyes, which will work pretty well as a distraction—,”

“Stop it!” Roman demanded, yanking harder as his panic increased. “I’m not going to— stop talking like that! I don’t need to know how to hurt you!”

At the start of their voyage, Roman would have done just about anything for information like this, anything to feel safe on his own ship again. So why was he learning it only now, when each word and accompanying gesture made him feel ill and rotted down to the tip of his tail?

“It’s not— Roman, it’s not about me,” Virgil said, frustration seeping into his voice. He let Roman drag his hand away from his face, but still didn’t let go. “It’s about them.”

Roman wasn’t sure he believed that. “I don’t need to kill anyone. They’re brainwashed, this is Marta’s fault! I know the truth, now.”

Virgil shook his head, ghosted the fingers of his free hand over his implant scar with a distant, sickened expression. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want guilt to be the reason— Look. If it’s them or you, I want it to be you. I want you to make sure it’s you.”

And what if it's me or you? Roman thought, but the words lodged firmly in his chest until he could barely breathe around them.

“They all made their choice,” Virgil continued once it became clear that Roman wouldn’t respond. “They’ve kept making that choice, every time. You have to want to survive, too, okay?”

Mutely, Roman nodded, trying to ignore the creeping sense of horror. He pulled Virgil’s hand back towards himself, fumbled for speech for a long moment before finding the words and hoping they didn’t feel like a betrayal when spoken aloud.

“The underbelly,” he started, and Virgil’s expression— shut down. Every hint of body language went flat like stone, and just as unyielding.

“No.” The word was final, a sentence all its own, and Roman scowled mulishly.

“But—!”

“Roman.” Virgil lifted his other arm over so that he was clasping Roman’s hand between both of his own. “You’re the only one left, right? You told me that.”

The thought was still a wound-like pang in his chest, even after all this time. “Yes,” he admitted. “But, even still—,”

“No way. I don’t want to hear it, man. There’s nobody I would be willing to use it on, anyhow.” Virgil kept his gaze locked firmly on a point past Roman’s shoulder, but his shoulders were set, his voice steadfast.

There was no point arguing. Not now, when the both of them were one wrong move from collapse.

“Okay,” Roman finally said, and forced himself not to protest when Virgil reclaimed the position of lecturer. It was a struggle not to wince away with each gory anecdote, a full guide on the quickest ways to make the Human body stop functioning or even turn on itself.

“Gut wounds are slow to kill, but they can be painful enough to debilitate. There are vulnerable organs here, below the rib cage, and damage to them is difficult to treat without surgery if the wound is severe enough…”

Still, he held himself at attention, did his best to memorize every word.

If Virgil wouldn’t accept knowledge about Roman’s own vulnerabilities as a gift of equal exchange, Roman would simply have to treasure this information with the same dedication that he applied to the rest of their small crew.

After all, knowing all the individual weak points of a Human would make it that much easier for him to protect each and every single part of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t going to die. Not here, and certainly not by Roman’s own claws. Not if Roman had anything to say about it.

#next day reblog #self reblog #lmmr #queue

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