It was at that moment Petrie realized he wasn't a yellowbelly.

Just a question I thought I'd put out there! We all know which character from the TV series is the least popular (yes, he's an option in this poll anyway, deal with it), so why not see who ends up being the most popular (or if "popular" is too strong a word, then "least disliked")? Think on it, then throw somebody your vote! This should be kind of interesting.

  (Ruby isn't listed because she's a recurring character in the series. Plus, I'm already aware there's a good-sized amount of people who like her, and I didn't want to make the choice too easy for you guys!)

My first prompt entry, aaahhh!! For the February/March 2020 fanfiction prompt: "The birth (or hatching) of one's first child is always a wondrous and joyful experience, but it is also incredibly daunting.  Now there is a new life on this planet which is dependent on your support and love.  Write a story where a new parent or parents must deal with the challenges of their first nest."

I considered several different characters as my potential new parent(s). Eventually, though, I decided that it would be most fun (and challenging) to narrow it down to a character or characters you would never picture as a parent, someone who'd be utterly out of their element in the role. Sierra it was--though I admit Ozzy and Strut were so close to being the ones I chose, but I was afraid it'd turn out a little too Great Valley Adventure-ish.

By the way, I imagined the hatchling as a Dimorphodon, in case anyone's wondering.

Chapter 1

As Sierra came to, two things were immediately obvious to him: the throbbing soreness in his left wing, and the blinding light of the bright circle shining right in his face. He tried to roll over to escape the brightness—and that was when he leaned too far on his wing, causing a jab of searing pain all the way up his arm.

“AARGH!” he shouted, crumpling back to the ground as his vision blurred from the pain.

What had happened? For a split second, he was unsure, but then the previous night began flooding back into his memory.

After the whole fiasco with the stone of cold fire, which of course had been just some lousy old rock all along—curse that Pterano!—he and Rinkus had been blasted off Threehorn Peak by the exploding stone. Rinkus’s tail was injured, so he got all bent out of shape, saying banging on the stone was Sierra’s stupid idea, so the explosion was his fault, blah blah blah.

Whatever. Now that they weren’t tagging along with Pterano anymore, Sierra figured he had no more reason to deal with Rinkus restraining him. After being sure to tell the pink doofus exactly what he thought of him, he took off into the Mysterious Beyond.

He was on his own once again, just as he’d been before Pterano’s delusions of grandeur had persuaded him to follow the lunatic. It seemed so stupid now, so foolish, that Pterano had been able to draw him in at all. It was those promises of power, control—the things that Sierra had spent his formative years hungering for—waiting to be claimed in a magical stone from the sky, that had captured the flyer’s attention. Nothing but empty promises from a fool’s mouth. Sierra should have known. He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t rely on anyone else. He swore to himself that now that he’d been through that lesson twice, he definitely wasn’t going to forget it, never again.

Then the skywater began. The flyer should have gone looking for shelter when the drizzle started, but he was too angry to care about a little skywater. Soon, the gentle shower gave way to shrieking winds and vicious downpours. By the time Sierra had spotted a decent place to land, the skyfire had begun to crackle through the air, dangerously close. Before the flyer could make it to the ground, his wing was struck by a jolt of white-hot pain. That was the last thing he remembered.

As he lay motionless, he could hear two young voices nearby. Children’s voices.

“Hey, there’s eggs left in that nest.”

“Is the mom okay? Do you think she’s dead?”

“I dunno. Oh—look at the eggs, they’re hatching!”

“No, they just broke when the tree fell.”

“But that one moved, I really saw it!”

Ugh. If there was one thing Sierra downright hated, it was kids. Growling under his breath, he began to sit up, making sure not to touch anything with his injured wing.

“Look, the mom’s moving!”

Sierra opened his eyes and realized he was sitting next to a large nest of twigs with several cracked eggs inside. Not far away was an uprooted tree, while more debris from the storm was strewn around the sparsely vegetated area. In the middle of this scene, standing in front of Sierra, were two wide-eyed hollowhorn children. Pests.

“Mrs. Flyer, your egg is hatching!” one of the kids piped up.

Sierra narrowed his eyes in a deadly glare at the child. “I ain’t no mother!” he growled. “Get lost!”

Frightened, the kids ran off, and Sierra turned his focus to his injury. It was obvious now what was so sensitive—his left wing bore a hole the size of a tree star, its border charred and black. Great, just great. He wasn’t going to be flying any time soon. Now what was he supposed to do? Crud, there was nothing worse than being grounded.

Then he heard the little squeak behind him. “Da-da!”

Sierra whipped around and saw a baby flyer sitting in the nest, eggshells still stuck to its smooth little head. Tiny peeping noises came from its blunt, rounded beak as it beamed up at him, wagging its delicate, thin tail.

Blech. It was so cute Sierra just wanted to barf.

“Only one thing’s worse than stinkin’ kids,” he muttered under his breath. “Stinkin’ babies…” Rolling his eyes in disgust, he began to trudge away from the nest on foot.

The next thing he knew, there was something small, fuzzy, and warm up against his back.

“Gaah!” he shouted, turning his head and finding himself nose-to-nose with the baby flyer. “Get outta here! SCRAM!”

“Da,” the baby cooed. Unfazed by Sierra’s anger, he lovingly licked the bigger flyer’s shoulder.

“Yuck—GET OFF!” Sierra spat in disgust, shaking the hatchling off his back. “I mean it! Go away, you brat!” he grumbled, forcefully pointing at the little nuisance.

“Yoo brat!” the thing babbled, pointing back at him.

“You don’t call me names! You’re the brat!” Sierra screeched. “AAUGH!” Now he was arguing with a hatchling. This was ridiculous! He gnashed his teeth in front of its face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll beat it!” he threatened, stomping away.

After he’d gone a ways, Sierra wondered if the coast was clear. Was the little beast gone? He looked over his shoulder.

The smiling hatchling was crawling along behind him. Following him.

“GO AWAY!” Sierra screamed. “Can’t you take a hint?!? GO!”

The hatchling remained there. It didn’t even flinch.

“GO!” howled Sierra in furious exasperation.

He spent several minutes just screaming at the hatchling, calling it names, threatening it, gnashing his teeth, throwing dirt at it.

The hatchling didn’t go away. “Da-da,” it reiterated.

“You blasted little numbskull!—I AIN’T YOUR DAD!” burst Sierra, glowering down at the little creature with pure loathing.
That did nothing to stop the hatchling from scrambling up to perch on top of Sierra’s head before the furious flyer could even react. It nuzzled against Sierra, wrapping its small wings across his face.

“Get off—NOW!” Sierra roared, desperately trying to pry the baby away, which only resulted in it settling into a new position on him each time. “AAARRGH!” he cried, dancing around like a fool in an effort to get the hatchling off. “Geroff—stupid—you little—”

After managing to wrench the hatchling’s wings from his eyes, Sierra saw a domehead had begun gathering twigs at the other end of the fallen tree.

Perfect! This was his chance to pass off the little pest!

Clumsy as a three-legged bellydragger, Sierra stumbled towards the domehead as quickly as he could, which was not particularly easy with a sensitive wing and a hatchling on his head. “Hey, you!” he shouted.

The domehead turned towards him with a questioning expression. “What?” she inquired.

“Take this thing!” Sierra growled, prying the hatchling off his head and holding it out at arm’s length while it flapped its wings energetically. When the domehead only stared at him in disbelief, he shoved the hatchling towards her face. “Here! TAKE IT!”

The domehead coolly took a few steps back. “I have my own mouths to feed. I’m not taking your baby!” She broke a piece off one of the tree’s roots and gently bent it to test for durability.

“What the—it’s NOT my baby!” Sierra screeched. “Look, lady, you’re a mother, and I’m not! Just take it already!” He tried to force the baby towards her again.

The domehead thwacked him on the beak with one of her twigs. “Get ahold of yourself, for goodness sakes! You’re a grown flyer, and it’s only one hatchling! I have three and one more on the way!”

Sierra’s hands began shaking, balled into fists. “Then give the brat to his real family! The ones who built that nest!” He thrust his claw towards the nest. “You live here, you must know ’em!”

“I don’t live here. We’re only passing through,” said the domehead. “The storm has been over for a while now. If those parents haven’t returned to the nest yet…” Sadness flickered across the domehead’s face. “This egg was very lucky to survive.” She paused for a moment. “I would take him in, but I just couldn’t support another child.”

Sierra grumbled. “Look here…” he said in a low voice, “I don’t know the first thing about dealing with hatchlings, and I ain’t about to start learning. Come on…” he growled, “just take it!”

“I don’t think that hatchling would let me take him if I could,” the domehead replied.

Exasperatingly content, the hatchling was nuzzling against Sierra’s leg now.

“Stop it!” Sierra snapped. “I am not your dad!”

“Da-da,” the hatchling insisted, pointing up at Sierra. Then it pointed at itself. “Brat!”

Goodie, it actually thought its name was Brat.

The domehead gave Sierra a stern but kindly look. “Caring for a youngster is intimidating. But it can also be the most rewarding thing. Sometimes life takes you in a direction you didn’t choose, but you just have to buck up and make something out of it.” She turned away and began to leave. “Good luck now, I’ve got my nest to repair.”

As the hatchling affectionately drooled on Sierra’s (thankfully uninjured) wing, there was only one thing the flyer could say:

“%#&@!”

This is the thread where I'll post my babies!  I've made quite a few LBT plushies, so I'm gonna take this one post at a time! Also, since this has already come up in my introductory post, I should probably mention that I'm not selling any plushies right now, these are just my personal projects.

First off is Tricia! She's made of felt and is about six inches long, give or take.