#her face (eye/chin/mouth) is still not centered right and it's still bothering me bc it's lopsided; but oh well lskjflf

[manasurge]

A quick drawing of my attempt at @commanderthalys's Thalys with her Iboga face leaves and an overabundance of thorns and spikes and teeth bc I have no chill lmao (they're also WAY larger than what they should be to properly hide while folded up on her face, but I am not good at resisting the temptation of exaggerating these things lakjdsfls)

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p3

Y’all this could get hella complicated if I go hard with all the character sub ideas and all that but I’m here for the relationship so its gonna be bare bones on combining the canon bc I’m just not that skilled as a writer 😂 

Pairing : Geraskier

Warnings: talk of human sacrifice, talk of cannibalism, ye ole impending death, mention parents death, imprisonment, public humiliation (kinda), we got major soft boys falling for each other vibes too

part 2 here!

__________

Geralt woke with his head still resting on Jaskier’s thigh, though he was now lying on his side, resting his head against Geralt’s hip just above the dagger tucked in his belt. He had draped his arm over Jaskier’s waist as they slept, holding him closer, and Jaskier’s arm was resting on Geralt’s chest. It was still dark and, from the sounds of it, everyone else was still asleep save a few soldiers at the helm. The waves had settled to a gentle lapping at the hull and Geralt found himself completely relaxed and at peace for the first time in weeks. His hand rose and fell in a gentle rhythm with Jaskier’s breathing and every now and then the blue eyed boy would sigh, bringing a soft sleepy smile to Geralt’s face. He didn’t dare move, lest he break the spell, but someone else woke from a nightmare with a scream that shattered his illusion. 

Jaskier hummed and nuzzled into Geralt’s hip before he was fully awake, making the prince blush furiously and gasp. Sure he’d fallen asleep with friends and romantic interests back home, but that sensation was… different. 

“Is it morning?” Jaskier mumbled, not moving to sit, but at least the nuzzling had stopped. 

“Probably,” Geralt answered, resisting the urge to run his hand over Jaskier’s shoulder, “still early.”

“You haven’t been lying awake all this time have you?”

Geralt forced a breath out his nose in amusement, “Only a few minutes or so.”

Jaskier sat up, laying his arm over Geralt’s, keeping it wrapped around his waist as he moved to be able to inspect the young hero’s face, “You still look… weary.”

Geralt frowned, shifting so he was leaning on his elbow over the boy’s legs, still very much resting on him, “I wonder why?”

Jaskier smirked, “Is it true you’re a child of Poseidon? Why not sink the ship and we can all ride horses made of sea foam back to the mainland?”

Geralt cast his eyes down to the deck, “They’d just come back for more. It doesn’t matter who’s son I am or what favor I do or don't have.” 

"Pull the weed at the root." Jaskier nodded. 

Geralt hummed in agreement, sitting all the way up to lean against the mast next to the brunette, "What about your family? Anything exciting waiting for you at home?"

Jaskier hooked his arm around Geralt's and rested his head on his shoulder, "Doesn't matter." 

"Does to me." Geralt mumbled, a little taken aback by the physical affection. When Jaskier rolled his eyes he laid his hand over his knee, "Humor me." 

They sat and waited for the sun to rise over the water as they discussed Jaskier’s life. His parents death, the farm he worked for his uncle, the mundane little things like how often he gets sent to the market and who cuts his hair. They learned each other's birthdays as a joke, but the hopeful side of Geralt still repeated it to him a few minutes later just to be safe. Jaskier asked him about life at the palace, if it was as grand as everyone believed. Geralt felt squeamish admitting he didn’t know, seeing as he'd only really lived in the lap of luxury. Sure his trek to Athens was dirty and many nights he slept in barns, but most of his 20 years were spent in bright white togas and tunics with colorfully stitched hems. Jaskier didn’t seem bothered, he just asked more specific questions about the beds and the fountains. He pontificated for a while on the poor musical choices made in a performance at the amphitheater last summer and did his best to explain to Geralt how to delicately pluck a harp using a lock of his white hair as a prop. Joking was easy, being earnest wasn’t quite effortless, but it was easier than with other people, and Geralt lamented that they’d only met yesterday. 

“Do you think you’d’ve given me the time of day?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt grinned, giving the brunet's leg another squeeze, “You wouldn’t have given me a choice.”

Jaskier rested his chin on Geralt's shoulder, his hair fluttering into his eyes and glowing gold as the sun began to peek over the waves, "Probably not, no." His voice was soft in Geralt's ear, the warmth of his breath made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. 

Geralt turned to look at him, their noses brushing. He was about to ask Jaskier something reckless and naive, no doubt born of desperation, but the moment was broken by shouting. 

"LAND" Echoed from various soldiers and strangled sobs broke out in response. Reality was once again stubbornly planted in the forefront of Geralt's mind and he forced himself to pull away. His heart beat furiously in his chest as he stood to get a better look. 

Someone gripped his elbow and spun him around, staring up at him with wide eyes full of terror, "You can do it, can't you? You can get us home?" The harsh whisper seemed to carry over the whole group, commanding their silence and attention as they formed a circle around him. 

Vessimir's parting words echoed in his head, he was a leader now, he had to act like it. His year of lessons and training and taking notes were over and he knew right then that even if they made it back, he'd never have a day of peace again. 

With a glance back toward Jaskier he nodded, "I will bring us home or die trying." 

The person's grip on his elbow tightened and he stared back at them with what he hoped was reassuring confidence for a moment before they released him, "Do you have a plan?" 

All his preparation could never have braced him for the absolute devastation on the group's faces when he hesitated. In the fraction of a second he took to open his mouth they knew. Only Jaskier seemed to accept the facts and take them in stride. 

"All I know for sure is that we need to make it out and back to the docks by dawn." Geralt's admission was met with curt nods from some and fresh tears from others, "I'm sorry." 

Jaskier pipped up, stepping into the center of the small crowd with Geralt, "You volunteered to try to save us. We need no apology." He sent a glare to someone about to speak in protest, cutting them off, "It's more than we've had in the last 18 years and I, for one, am grateful." 

Geralt gave him an appreciative nod but their theatrics were drawing attention from the soldiers. He shooed everyone away, not sure he could handle another altercation this close to the soldiers homeland where they'd have something to prove to onlookers.  

As they drew nearer to the shore they heard shouts of laughter and music, saw banners waving in the wind and people dancing around the port. They were throwing a festival. A festival of revenge and dominance over their enemies, where people who would have been sacrifices delighted in the activities. It made Geralt's stomach churn. 

Jaskier stood next to him as close to the bow as they were allowed, "Twisted, isn't it? And they wonder how we so readily believe they eat their brethren." 

Geralt took his hand, searching for anything to ground him as the fear crept up his neck and threatened to strangle him, "Monsters never think they're monsters." 

"You like being cryptic don't you?" Jaskier sighed, keeping his eyes forward as the festivities grew clearer and clearer. 

Geralt only shrugged in response. 

Soon enough they were all corralled by the soldiers with shouts and shoves. They tied Geralt's hands first, yanking on the rope so it burned into his wrists. The man was watching his face, waiting to see him wince or twitch. He gave them nothing. The end of the rope was then tied to Jaskier and so on until they were all lined up, hands bound in front of them and linked like sausages. 

When they docked there was a heavy drum roll, fitting for the captives in line behind Geralt trembling. The plank was lowered by soldiers in what had to be ceremonial dress and when they stepped back the drummers hit one last beat, leaving the whole crowd silent. 

At the front, surrounded by soldiers and standing on a throne made to be carried, was King Minos. His eyes were cold and calculating, and it was clear he was declining in health, but he still invoked fear with his gaze. There was no doubt to any rumors anymore. Geralt was sure this man was capable of absolutely anything. 

The Queen sat in a similar throne, next to them was their daughter, walking but flanked by guards. She didn’t take her eyes off Geralt as they prodded him down the plank. Her eyes were soft, betraying the rest of her face set in a hard mask of disapproval, and she made no effort to hide her ogling. Geralt stared right back, never one to back down from a challenge, until they were ushered past the royals into the crowd. The citizens were far more animated. Some threw food scraps at them, some jeered and gestured rudely, others spat, though they all blamed the 14 young men and women before them for the death of a prince before they were even born. 

They marched through winding streets and up set after set of switchback stairs to reach the palace dungeons. The guards were having their fun with Geralt in the lead, shoving him around when they needed to change direction and tripping him when they passed a large crowd. 

When they finally reached their cells they were shoved in, two to a cell, and the rope was cut. They had to hold their arms through the bars for the soldiers to cut the knotts. They took the rope with them when they left, leaving only bread and water on the bed and one torch lit hanging outside each cell. It was dreary and cold, and Geralt could hear the others crying.

Jaskier broke the loaf of bread in half and tossed it to Geralt, taking a long pull directly from the pitcher of water, “Eat. No arguments.”

__________

part 4 here

tag list: @hailhailsatan @so--many-fandoms

hmu if you want tagged 💕 I will cry tears of joy in my coffee

[arse-crack-thistle]

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians.  All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off.  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[wolfcha1k]

Decided to just do another cover, since all three had one minus this one. Ngl, I traced Ugga and Grug's head shapes and stuff to get them on model bc fuck Grug is hard to draw, bodies were referenced from a photo and several screenshots in the movie. Also totally convinced Grug had plenty of hair until Eep was born and stressed it off to hell lol Below is the story that goes along with this story, featuring Grug and Ugga and a story about them in their younger days ~ - <3 - "Is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little boy at play? I don't remember growing older When did she get to be a beauty? When did he grow to be so tall? Wasn't it yesterday When they were small? Sunrise, sunset Sunrise, sunset Swiftly flow the days"

"You know, Grug. Eventually, Eep and Guy, they're going to want to start their own pack. Just like we did, it's our nature."

Grug is confused about when his little girl stopped being so little, perhaps its time Gran and Ugga tried reminding him it wasn't too long ago he was just like Guy and Eep are now.

The Sun Was a Wayfarer - Series

<Previous> Flood and Flame <next> All I Can Think About

It was really hard sometimes for Grug to accept his little girl wasn't so little anymore. She'd always been stuck like tar to his side and would demand stories as a young child. The old cave walls were filled with tiny hand prints he never realized had grown bigger until Guy came along and forced him to be reminded Eep was indeed a woman. She was seventeen summers old and the fact wasn't lost on anyone who had functioning eyes in their head.

Fathers only saw with their hearts though and inside Grug's his daughter was still that rambunctious sweet little girl who needed him to protect her. That also included suitors.

"Grug you're brooding again," he heard Ugga say from behind him.

"This is just my face." Grug shifted his weight from where he sat lounging against his favorite rock.

"Trust me, I can see them just as clearly as you can."

Grug couldn't help but stiffen at her call out of his snooping. Was it really spying though if the two were out in the open? They were together by the beach with Chunky playing third wheel. The demanding feline squeezed his way between them when he felt they were being too touchy. Or maybe it was just Grug self projecting, his cat generally liked being the center of attention. Guy and Eep were fishing by hand in the water but it soon turned into a game of seeing who could out run the tide first whilst trying to knock the other down. Chunky kept getting confused by this activity as he shook droplets off his wet paws.

Eep was in the lead by at least seven points, it wasn't like Grug was keeping track though. "Why didn't you tell me sooner Eep was all grown up?" Grug side eyed his mate who just laughed at him.

"She's up to your shoulder and gives you a hard time like every teenager, I thought it was obvious." Ugga nudged him with her elbow, her small hands were busy threading a bone needle with sinew as she sewed new clothes for her family.

"Well… she was always a stubborn girl and big for her age," he quipped as he crossed his arms.

"And then she got that doe-eyed look when mister-you-know-who showed up." Ugga batted her eyelashes playfully in emphasis and folded her hands beneath her chin a moment. It was hard to keep a straight face, Ugga quickly laughed it off. Grug set his jaw in a very uncharacteristic pout.

"Never should have stuffed him in the log," Grug said with less heart than he actually felt. Sure, he enjoyed roughing the kid up sometimes and making a big show of being upset seeing Eep with Guy but in truth he was fond of the… guy. It was still his job as a dad to scare Guy a little.

"Oh don't say that, he's practically our son now."

"Does that mean I need to protect him from Eep then?" He kept the edge of hope out of his voice the best he could as he faced his mate.

Ugga rested her chin on her fist thoughtfully, she put the needle safely away as she watched the two lovebirds chase one another on the beach. "You might, honestly," Ugga said with a warm voice. "She's a handful."

He heard a startled yelp from the shore and got to enjoy the sight of Guy yet again face planting in the sand. Eep pounced over his toppled form, he was spitting sand from his mouth.

"Gotta be faster than that!" She shouted with a victorious smile.

Guy mustered the energy to mockingly look at her like he was bothered but the toothy grin that spread on his face afterward said otherwise.

"Lovesick idiots," remarked Gran as she hobbled over to join them. She watched Eep and Guy fondly despite her toughness. "What I wouldn't give to be their age again. Especially with a boy like him, where was he fifty summers ago?"

"Ugh, I don't need that mental image," Grug mumbled with a shudder, his face surly.

"Aw Grug. Don't you remember what it was like to be young and in love?"

"I do, and that's why I'm worried!" Grug jutted a thumb behind him and caught the confused blank stare Guy gave the group at catching their gossip. "Young and hot blooded , Ugga."

Eep went over to haul Guy back up by the scruff of his neck. She shot Grug an embarrassed and irritated look that was muffled by her wild mane of red hair. "Ugh… Dad, we can hear you!"

"Good! So keep your hands to yourselves! You don't want little Eeps!" Grug paused. " I don't want more little Eeps, one of you is plenty!"

Guy gaped at them like a suffocating fish, Gran guffawed and shook her head. "Let them be, lunkhead. Not like they'll do anything in front of us, eh?" The two younger children of the Croods clan, Sandy and Thunk, looked up in confusion from where they were busy playing with Douglas a short distance away.

Eep pulled the curtain of hair over her eyes and wished for the ground to swallow her. Guy rubbed the back of his neck at the narrow eyed look Grug shot him.

Ugga rolled her eyes and began to try shooing the old woman off. "Mom, please."

"Come now, it's my generational right to tease the youngsters." Gran reached forward with her staff to hook it under the back of Grug's pelt shirt. She jerked it up with more speed than a lady her age should have, causing Grug to choke a moment as he grabbed for the shirt collar. "See? Like that! Sides, I got plenty of blackmail about you two turtledoves too. Grug was pathetic ."

Grug eyed her with a pointed glare once he was free of her pesky walking stick. Gran was unbothered, only grinned a toothy smile as she flopped comfortably onto the sand. She glanced towards Eep who perked at the potential to embarrass her father for once. It was hard to miss the mischievous wink she sent her granddaughter. Grug didn't like the curious glint in those green eyes as his spunky daughter practically skidded to seat herself near Gran. Guy followed clumsily as she had a vice grip on his hand. How Eep hadn't pulled his shoulder out along the way, Grug would never know.

It wasn't long until the entire family were seated in front of Gran. Thunk had Douglas in his lap and Sandy was curled around Belt who cooed at the attention. Ugga gave her mate a look that was screaming 'you brought this on yourself', Grug resigned himself to his fate out of pride. Real men didn't run from such things and as the patriarch he refused to be cowed by silly stories of when he was courting Ugga.

"What was dad like with mom?" Eep asked as she leaned forward, grinning. She looked at Grug who just huffed.

"Like I said, utter mushy rotten fruit. You think Guy is tooth rotting, you should have seen your father in his day." Guy pouted at being the butt of the joke as usual, he cast his dark eyes at Grug. He smirked as if to boast at the boy, smug that he wasn't going down alone in this evening razzing. "I wanted to chuck a rock at him every time he came to see Ugga."

Some of Guy's pride was built back up again though when Eep fondly rubbed shoulders with him. Grug began to wonder if it really was self-projecting this time when Chunky nosed his way between the young couple for a snuggle. Guy looked startled whilst Eep just scratched the Macawnivore between the ears.

Ugga decided to play traitor this night. "Mom how about you tell the kids about that time when Grug went on that big errand you gave him."

Grug couldn't help but wince and gave Ugga a scowl. The little minx had the nerve to grin innocently at him despite the betrayal.

"Big errand?" Guy echoed, he was barely visible from under Chunky's massive form.

"That story is my favorite," Gran cackled with a devious gleam in her eye. "And see Guy, back in our day if you wanted to court a woman you had to do something for the head of the family! Gramp was dead so I got to pick the task. Bless that heart attack he had."

Eep and Guy shared a look before both teenagers gazed questionably at Grug. He fidgeted before rolling his eyes. "That was Yesterday stuff. Besides, Guy saved us from The End with all his weird ideas so… consider the tab paid off."

"That brain thing of yours is really useful," Eep agreed with a girlish tone.

Guy blushed red at the compliment but didn't shy away from it. If anything it just made him glow proudly. "There's more where that came from," he quipped and knocked his knuckles lightly against his temple.

Grug almost wished he'd missed the bright, lovesick smiles the two shared despite Chunky barring them apart to the best of his ability. The desire for his daughter's happiness won out though, luckily for Guy who beamed. Even protective fathers and clingy Macawnivores weren't enough to stop true love it seemed.

"Anyway… it's no secret I didn't like your dad. So I came up with the most impossible task ever to earn Ugga." Gran licked her dry lips as she grunted, "Of course Grug had to go and actually do it."

"What did you make dad do?"

"Told him to go get a hair off a naked molephant."

Guy blinked. "But naked molephants don't have hair."

"Well, this is Grug so of course the nincompoop found the one blasted molephant that had hair." Grug let himself puff his chest out like a peacock preening its feathers.

"Yeah, well, you should have known better when you set me out on a job, Gran." He gave his mother-in-law a catty grin, for now he could relish in a past victory that smarted her way back when.

Eep looked at her grandmother mischievously. "So… when does the story get good?"

Ugga snickered, by now she had abandoned her sewing to sit between Thunk and Sandy. Thunk leaned against his mother as the woman combed her fingers through his scruffy mop of hair. "When he came back with his tunic ripped apart by a tusk," Ugga interjected.

"Wow," Thunk said in awe, turning his eyes to stare at Grug. Grug appreciated at least one Crood wasn't laughing at him. "How'd you do that?"

Gran cocked an eyebrow with a chuckle. "Yeah Grug, tell them."

Grug crossed his arms moodily. "Just for the record, it was a real life or death battle getting that stupid hair."

"Ugga was sewing his left buttocks for weeks," Gran said with a slap to her knee, the memory made her lifetime, really. She lifted her bony hands up to gesture with those old curled fingers of hers a measurement. "He's got a scar like this—"

"— ANYWAY! Like I was saying," Grug grumbled. He turned his attention back to his family. He scooped up a clump of sand and clay from the ground below and drew a vaguely person-like shape into the rock he had been lounging on. Then he drew a beast with tusks and a long nose next to him. "It was a battle of life and death, there I was, twenty two summers old—"

It was pure spite that kept him going hours after setting forth into the desert. Gran was convinced he couldn't win her daughter as his mate, and so when the old lizard raised the stakes he was determined to prove her wrong. He would get Ugga, she was something special and worth more than daylight itself.

He loved her and if it took getting a stupid molephant hair to be with her then so be it. Gran had been making him jump through hurdles since the day he'd met Ugga, it was no secret they shared a mutual loathing for each other. It also came from the same selfless affection the two had for Ugga, though Grug would have thought knowing he made her daughter happy was enough for her. Growling under his breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

There was still a good five knuckles before the sun would set, he'd find it before then. Either that or he was going to face the dangers night brought—

“You? Staying outside at night?” Eep sounded doubtful.

“... yes ,” Grug huffed.

“See? Big mush,” Gran interrupted.

"Can I finish? Nobody interrupted this much back in the cave," he grumbled moodily.

—He was sure the beast was around here somewhere as he took a cautionary sniff of the dry, dusty air. Grug could see footprints inbedded in the barren and broken ground that sand didn't cover yet. Running onwards, he pressed his knuckles into the ground as he paced himself.

Grug crossed the desert quickly and ignored the aching in his palms and feet from the hot tough earth. He was built strong and a little pain wouldn't stop his pride. He paused when the scent grew stronger, flaring his nostrils he climbed up a nearby tree to survey what was around. The sun was strong against his eyes and Grug strained through the bright rays of light to see a dark speck in the distance. In a nearby canyon below, Grug finally found what he was looking for—

"What about never being afraid?" Thunk asked his father.

Grug looked at Thunk before settling his dark eyes on his beloved Ugga. "I was afraid," he admitted with a chuckle. "But I wanted to impress your mother more. Being stubborn and hormonal is a terrible mix."

"You stubborn? No!" Eep exclaimed with a teasing grin. Guy gave her a playful look from where he was walled by Chunky.

Grug made a vague gesture with his hand and he relished in the confused faces Eep and Guy made when Chunky pressed his full weight against both of them. Guy yelped for mercy as Eep tugged on the cheeky feline that was crushing him into the sand.

"Grug! Please call him off!" A large paw cuffed his head, Guy's words quickly muffled.

"Dad!"

Grug suppressed a grin as he went back to his story. "I found the molephant so what was next was getting the hair—"

Grug couldn't say how long it took climbing down that cliff wall to reach the level the molephant was at. It was risky and went against what Grug practiced in his beliefs. Caution and fear kept him alive this long, yet here he was about to go harass an molephant for some hair it might or might not have. Dread pooled in his belly and made him cold, going after more beasts was not how he wanted this to go. Breathing heavily through his gritted teeth, Grug crept as quietly as he could across the canyon. There were many tall and small rocks around that would provide cover should he need to hide.

Grug didn't have a brain, cavemen didn't use those. At least he didn't and it showed when he found himself running full speed away from a rampaging molephant. He relied on his gut instinct to weave and dodge its massive tusks that were swung at him. Grug scrambled and whenever he managed to get close, the creature stomped it's way towards him with a vengeance.

He bit back a curse when a tusk just barely ripped part of his tunic at his chest—

"—so this is when the story gets to the best part," Eep interrupted with a cheeky hum. She'd since rescued Guy from the weight of Chunky and had him cuddled protectively in her arms. She rested her chin on his mused up brown hair. Guy idly stroked one of her hands that were interlocked at his neck and chest.

"I thought it was always at the best part," Thunk quipped in a confused voice to his sister.

"If I say anything else I'm worried I'll become Macawnivore food," Guy said and tipped his head to the side with a huff.

Ugga smiled at her children as Grug shot them a look to be silent. "Look if you want to laugh at me can I finish this up then first?"

Gran reached her staff out to bop Eep over the head, her bushy red hair cushioned the blow. "Yeah, hush your tongue."

Eep huffed when she felt Guy trying to muffle his grin into her arm. Grug shook his head at the sight, feeling a fond nostalgia swell within him despite the protective instinct. He looked at Ugga and she just arched a brow at her mate. Grug turned back to telling the story, large fingers drawing more on the rock.

"The molephant was putting up a good fight but your old dad was better—"

—He was swearing aloud and screaming as he hung onto the tusk by his shirt. Grug was glad he didn't feel wounded but this was just a disaster waiting to happen. Even the molephant seemed dismayed at the fact he now had the man stuck on his face. It kept rampaging and Grug strained against the beast in order to sink his feet forcibly into the hard earth. Dust filled the air and with his innate strength, Grug managed to swing his body around to grab it by its tusk. The molephant slowed and leaned back to buck, swinging Grug off after a lot of effort.

He was thrown through the air and scrambled to find his feet as he rolled like a big boulder. Dazed, Grug just barely got out of the way of the molephant as it charged him. Panting, Grug finally saw the hair on its angrily swishing tail. It groaned in frustration and Grug realized the molephant had gotten its massive body stuck between two rocks. Panicked and running strictly on adrenaline, Grug reached forward to yank off a clump of hair from its tail. It trumpeted its distress, Grug began to rush away but there was the sound movement. He dared to look behind him, yelling out he did all he could to escape the incredibly pissed off beast.

It only took one stupid stumble to find that in that split moment he was thrown into the air. Pain flowered under his back and rump. The last seconds felt like they were slow motion as he landed harshly into a patch of huge, prickly brambles. Everything went blurry and before he knew it, there was nothing...

He'd awoken to darkness and the scent of blood in his nose. He was tangled upside down in a bramble bush and covered in an uncomfortable amount of burrs. There was also pain in his rear end and back, Grug noted with a groan. However the panic he felt for that hair won out his concern for his current state. He couldn't go back without that blasted hair!

He froze his struggling at a sound in the distance and cowardly he hunkered down the best he could whilst suspended in the air head facing down. However, it soon turned into a voice. "...Grug! Grug?!'

"Ugga?!" He whispered harshly and in the moonlight he saw the cavewoman trotting cautiously on all fours. "I'm over here!"

Ugga hurried towards him and gave him a worried once over. Grug grinned at her concern until she scowled, harshly tugging on his ear like he was an impudent child. "Are you asking for a death wish, Grug?! Look at you! I can't believe you took mom seriously!"

"...it's good to see you too, Ugga," he grunted, pressing a hand to his ear to drown out the headache she gave him.

Ugga circled him with careful gray eyes as she tried to figure out how to get him down. "You are lucky no hungry predators sniffed you out first before I did," Ugga continued to scold.

Grug stiffened at the mention of such a risk and reached an arm to grab her shoulder as if it would protect her. "You shouldn't even be out here," he grumbled back.

"I know but after hearing mom laughing it up with the tribe about this stupid errand I needed to find you," Ugga hissed, pulling away to give him another stink eye. "I'm so mad at you right now."

"Yeah well once I find where that dumb hair went I'll be the one laughing at her!" Grug exclaimed, wiggling in an attempt to dislodge himself.

"Would you hold still? You're just going to make yourself worse," she complained and began to tear at the thicket with her strong, calloused hands.

Grug, being the stubborn man he was, continued to squirm this way and that. "I can get down myself," he huffed.

Ugga threw her hands up in frustration before yanking at a cord of bramble. "You have a head made of rocks, Grug."

Grug opened his mouth to argue back before suddenly falling. He cried out when his head hit the ground, grabbing at his neck in pain of the impact. Nursing a bump that felt like some giant goose egg, Ugga examined his tunic.

She made a noise through her teeth in fret. "How are you not dead right now?"

"I don't know!" He said with a growl, shuffling to sit up. Everything hurt from his skull to his toes that spread out in the pulse of his blood. "But between you, your mom and that molephant, all of you are really trying to bury me!"

Ugga rolled her eyes and spun him around, she pulled up his shirt before Grug could even protest. "You're lucky," she sighed, relief warming her voice. "That molephant tusk missed a major arterie. Really ruined your tunic though."

He softened and reached a hand out to touch her arm. "I got other shirts."

"It's probably going to scar. Can you walk?" Ugga faced him once again, he couldn't help but frown as he watched her wipe her bloody palm in the sand. My blood, Grug thought with a pained wince.

The adrenaline of the moment and even beyond it was wearing off, Grug really wanted to go back to his cave to nurse his wounds and ego. "I think so. Um… help balance me?"

A smile lit up her face and Grug wondered if it was the blood loss or her that made him sway breathlessly. "Sure." Ugga offered her arm to him which he took.

However, he stopped with a groan. "Ugh… wait. The hair, I'm not going back without that hair!"

"Forget the hair, Grug. Mom will get over it."

"Oh no! Ugga, I'll never hear the end of it if I don't give her that stupid hair!" Grug let go of Ugga to try peering through the darkness on the ground, crouching on his knuckles.

Ugga put her hands on her hips. "What is so important about getting my mom this hair? Naked molephants don't even have hair."

Grug just stuck a finger at her triumphantly. "Yes, yes they do and I swear to the sun it's not just me getting loopy from all this blood loss."

"Grug, you're scaring me," Ugga said in a deadpanned tone, brows arched.

"That old lizard can't keep us apart anymore after this," he continued to ramble on and on.

"Grug…"

"If it's a hair that ancient fossil wants in order to get her out of mine for good then so be it," he continued.

" Grug!"

"What?!"

"If you want to be my mate so bad why don't you just ask me yourself?"

Grug stopped his frantic search and stiffened up like a ribbit being hunted by a liyote. He turned to face her and saw she looked disappointed, arms crossed over her muscular chest. "Um… excuse me?" He wanted to kick himself for stuttering, he wasn't a boy anymore.

"I'm not something to trade for, and the fact you actually went through with it astounds me." Ugga shook her head with a sigh.

Grug shuffled his weight uncomfortably, he'd never been good at addressing his feelings out in the open like that. Even if it was for Ugga whom he loved dearly. "I know you're not an object, Ugga."

"Then why ask mom?"

"I… I don't know. I guess… I got tired of her talking badly about, you know… us." Grug looked at her with a frown, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Ugga reached out to cup his cheek in her hand as she stood in front of him. "Mom says a lot of things, you really need to tune her out."

He turned his head to brush his nose against her palm in a fond gesture, slouching. "She always says I'm no good for you, Ugga."

"Well, lucky for us mom isn't the one you have to court. It's me." She leaned back on her heels, still stroking his face with a gentle touch for a woman as fierce as Ugga.

"I'm just saying, getting her to shut up would be a win win to this mess." Grug shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive way, a small grin on his face.

Ugga rolled her eyes at him. "You and your manly pride are going to get you into trouble."

"If I'm already in trouble I might as well finish up," he quipped. Grug found his molephant hair amongst the broken debris the molephant had left in its rampaging wake, he’d lifted it up triumphantly in the moonlight. Ugga shook her head. “Okay, now, we can go back!”

When they returned, the sun had started to rise over the desert as dawn chased off the night. Gran had stood outside the dwelling she shared with Ugga, her scowl etched deep into her wrinkled features. The other families were creeping out of their dens in preparation of the morning hunt and foraging, their curious eyes were shocked to see Grug limping back into the canyon with Ugga supporting his hulking mass.

Grug shoved the wad of hair into Gran's face with a low growl, "Here's your stupid hair!" The old woman took it with muted shock for once, gaping mouth wide as she looked between Grug and Ugga. With a burst of adrenaline and pride, he looped his massive arm around Ugga's waist to haul her over his shoulder.

She gave a startled laugh, lightly smacking her fists into his back. "We're going back to this tradition, are we?"

"I gotta make sure your mom doesn't try anything again, you're as good as mine now," Grug huffed, limping with his Ugga secured in his grasp like she weighed light as a feather.

"You're too much, Grug."

"You've never complained before," he shot back with a grin.

"C'mon big guy, I think all that blood loss is affecting your head. Let me patch you up."

Grug headed for his cave, merry that he'd gotten Ugga and at the same time shut that awful lizard of a mother-in-law up. It costed him his pride, he noted, it was hard to ignore the snickering of the families around them. He only bared his teeth at them which seemed to work for the moment. Once his back was turned the whispering and giggling continued.

Ugga merely pressed her forehead into the back of his neck and it made everything better… least until Gran moved in but that was a different story for another tomorrow.

Grug finished his story with flourish, loosely drawing what seemed to be a lopsided circle around the two images presenting Ugga and himself.

"I like that story," Eep said, a bit dreamily as she looked at the pictures. "It wasn't really embarrassing though."

"It was if you were there," Grug scoffed as he wiped his clay covered hands on his pelt.

"Well, it still makes me laugh at least," Gran said from where she sat, cackling.

"You laugh at anything that has me getting beat up," he pointed out, surprisingly with a much more amiable tone.

"Not true, now that you learned some jokes I laugh at other things too."

Ugga smiled fondly at her mate, letting Thunk sit up so she could go wrap her arms around his bicep in a hug. "Thank you," Ugga said, rubbing her nose into his cheek.

Grug softened and felt his ears burn, giving her a small smile. His eyes fell to his audience and he couldn't help lingering on Eep who still had Guy draped in her lap. They were gazing at one another like nobody else existed around them for the moment, Guy lifting a finger to fondly boop her nose.

Ugga shook her head. "Let them be, you remember what it was like still." She patted his arm fondly with a knowing smile.

Grug huffed but said nothing, just reluctantly looked away from the two lovestruck teenagers. "I've been lounging around too much anyway." He tried shrugging off the blatant teenage romance going on right in front of him. "Since they're busy, dinner duty is on me now." The plan had been fish but he knew that failed disastrously from the word go.

He grabbed Thunk by the shoulder and the boy protested a moment, Douglas scampered between their legs as Grug lead the way towards the woodland hugging the beachfront. Ugga watched Grug go, sighing like she was a girl of twenty summers old again. She reached down to grab Sandy who wiggled in her arms, Ugga tucked her under her elbow without batting an eye over the feral snarling. She cast one last look at Eep and Guy before walking off herself, intending to put Sandy down for a nap.

"C'mon you little scamp," Ugga told her daughter. "You need all the rest you can get for when Dada comes back with food."

"Hey… where did everybody go?" Eep found a moment to look away from Guy to realize the clearing had been well… cleared out. Only one that remained was Gran, the old battle ax of a woman rolled her eyes.

Guy lingered his gaze on her still. "I don't know but you are still here so it's not a problem yet for me."

She fought off a smile best she could but failed at his widening one.

"About time the two of you joined us back in this world," she grunted in a teasing tone, her joints creaking as she pushed herself to her feet.

"Oh, hey Gran." Guy waved a hand idly in her direction.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eep inquired, huffing.

"Oh, you know very well what I mean," Gran replied, stretching a kink out of her back. She gave a satisfied sigh at the pop, leaning comfortably against her stick. "Anyway lovebirds… I want my afternoon nap now. Laughing at Grug really wipes an old lady out."

"Hold on a second!" Eep exclaimed, springing up to her feet. She unceremoniously hefted Guy up in her arms as she did so, his dark eyes only startled for a second. "Why is that story your favorite, really?" Eep asked with a squint.

She put Guy back on his own two feet though clung to his bicep. He leaned against her solid form without a thought, it came as easy as breathing air. "You and Grug didn't seem to have the best relationship," Guy added thoughtfully as he looked at her.

Gran huffed through what was left of her teeth, shaking her head. "It reminds me of how foolishly in love you two are," she chuckled at the matching blushes on their faces. "Being so devoted that you go and do something stupid to prove it. I'd watch your back Guy, Grug knows he can get you to climb in Chunky's mouth if it means Eep is your reward for it."

"Eep isn't a thing," he sputtered.

Eep couldn't help but playfully jab his ribs. "I'm not a catch then?"

"Of course you are!" Even at her most gentle, Eep knocked the wind out of him and he was wheezing.

"See! That is what I mean," Gran cackled as she reached out to pat Guy fondly on the shoulder. "Lovesick idiot. Eep has you down pat. That's okay though, us ladies like a man who's easy to boss around." She winked at Eep and Guy.

She heard Eep's disgruntled scoff as she turned away, a mischievous grin tugging her old lips. "Do try to behave yourselves. Well, I'll say ta-ta for now, loves." Leaving the two to their own devices at last, Gran began to hobble off after the direction her daughter Ugga had gone.

Guy stared at the pathway until Gran was a mere speck and turned to look at Eep. "Am I easy to boss around?"

"Behave ourselves," Eep said, pouting. "She's acting like we have no restraint!"

Guy chuckled with a teasing grin, leaning down to brush his lips against the hinge of her jaw. She immediately melted. "Maybe she's kinda right about that, at least," he mumbled against her chin.

Eep nuzzled herself closer to him, feeling his breath fan her neck. “We probably shouldn’t prove her right, you know how Gran is.”

Guy just huffed and began to pepper her neck and face in kisses, Eep had no complaints despite her playful refusal. Rebellion just came with being young, even if the old codger would relish in teasing them later for it.

[sunbrights]

inktober #17: ornament

fandom: the magicians characters/pairings: this is a mosaic fic bc i'm a SAD SAPPY BITCH rating: t

“Green,” Quentin says, again.

“If it turns out the answer was ‘the spirit of Christmas’ all along,” Eliot says thoughtfully, slotting yet another green tile into F9, “I might actually, completely lose my shit.”

It’s Q’s pattern, so he’s the one up in the chair today, wrapped in a quilt and with their workbook flopped open in his lap. He leans up just enough to poke Eliot between the shoulderblades with the stick they use for orchestrating, the one that Eliot picked up on a whim years ago, and that Q has since shaped and smoothed into something actually useful.

“Shut up,” he says, all warmth. “It’s fun.” And then he says again, like Eliot even needs the guidance at this point: “Green.”

Christmas is a new thing. It’s Q’s new thing. And Quentin isn’t, like, a Christmas person, one of those people who prostrate themselves beneath red and green coffee cups and the one Mariah Carey song they know; he’d never even mentioned it before, in all the years they’ve already been here. But he mentioned it this year. Picked a day out and everything.

(“I just,” he’d mumbled into Eliot’s chest when he first floated the idea, late at night and unable to sleep, “I keep thinking about how when I was a kid, my dad—”

And Eliot doesn’t get it, but… he gets it. So: Christmas.)

They leave the last tile— a bright yellow one that goes right at the center of the star atop Q’s angular, geometric Christmas tree— for Teddy. He comes barreling out of the house on wobbly, excitable legs, Arielle hot on his heels, and Eliot has to catch him around the middle before he face plants right onto the puzzle.

“No,” he wails when Eliot tries to hand him the tile, months-deep already into his whirlwind toddler romance with the N-O word. “I wanna do it!”

He’s incandescently proud of himself when he’s able to squat down on his own and pick it up with both hands, his grin wide and toothy, so... really, Eliot’s the stupid one here.

“Alright,” Q coaches gently, one arm already wound around Arielle's waist like a weird, renaissance-y Christmas card. “Remember, just be careful— there you go.”

The tile slots in. Teddy pats around the edges of it like, presumably, he’s seen them do before, his little face screwed up in concentration.

Nothing happens, thank god.

Teddy doesn’t understand enough about the Mosaic to be disappointed by it. It’s only done what, from his perspective, it’s always done: nothing. So he tips his head back to look at them with that same bright, shining grin, and— honestly, Eliot barely remembers the last time he was disappointed by the Mosaic, either.

He flops dramatically back onto the tiles anyway, because Teddy still finds that shriek-laughingly hilarious, for some reason. He flops, too, fully starfished, one little boot making full-force contact with the side of Eliot's head.

“We’ll get a tree like this one today,” Q says, ever the voice of forward momentum. “Someone has to put the star on top. Who do you think it should be, Ted?”

Teddy shoots to his feet. “Me! I’ll do it!”

His hair is sticking up all over in the back. Eliot sits up enough to smooth it down for him. “You?” He lifts his chin and wrinkles his nose. Teddy scrunches his whole face back at him. “But you’re so short. How will you even reach?”

“I’m not!” He goes up on his tiptoes, arms stretched high over his head. “I can do it!”

Eliot leans back on one arm, rubs his chin, draws his thoughtful hum out, the whole nine yards. Teddy doesn’t waver for a second, hangs on to his determined eye contact, mouth set and fingers wiggling. In his periphery, Eliot can see Q rolling his eyes and Arielle hiding her smile into his temple.

Eliot snaps his fingers. “Ah. I see. How about—” and then he lunges forward to scoop Teddy up by the armpits.

Teddy shrieks again, this time right up against Eliot's ear. Which, whatever, he wasn't planning on winning any awards in long-distance listening any time soon. Teddy's just the right size now for Eliot to plop him on his shoulders, big enough and aware enough to keep himself steady without Eliot having to readjust his center of gravity every two seconds— which means he'll be way too big by this time next year, probably.

Demonstrably so, he twists his hands into Eliot's hair like the goddamn world is ending.

“See?” he crows, all his excitement kicking out through his legs. “I can do it! Daddy, I can do it!”

Q is smiling, sparkling like the whole fucking sky opened up and dumped every star in existence straight into the creases of his dimples. “You sure can, buddy.”

“Fine,” Eliot allows, catching Teddy's tiny, destructive feet in both hands, “but I get to hide the pickle.”

Arielle, who only hears the double-entendre, snorts indelicately into her hand. Teddy, who only hears the ridiculous combination of sounds that make up the word pickle, cracks up all over again.

Quentin, in his gold-star, stern-Dad-voice, says, “Eliot.”

“It’s only fair,” Eliot answers. “I did the legwork to get one, and, yes, it was exactly as tedious and impossible as it sounds. I deserve it.”

“What?” Arielle laughs, which he expects.

“What?” Quentin says at the same time, completely serious, which he doesn't.

“The ornament?” He’s getting the same blank, confused look, so he can’t help himself when he says, “Wait, what did you think I meant?”

“Eliot,” Q says again, decidedly less stern this time.

The thing with the pickle ornament is, it turns out, not as ubiquitous as Eliot assumed it was. He ends up having to explain it, which is— fine. Teddy’s excited, and Arielle thinks it’s cute, so they’ll do it. Simple. It should be validating, because it really was a pain in the ass, trying to find-slash-construct an ornament that would work.

On the other hand, he also kind of wishes he hadn’t bothered.

“We never did anything like that when I was a kid,” Quentin says, once Teddy has scurried back inside. It’s his affected-casual voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to make a point but doesn’t want to seem like he is.

“It’s really not that complicated, Q,” Eliot tells him. “But if you need help, you know I’m always happy to demonstrate.”

A wry, slanted little smile blooms across his face. “No, jackass.” And then it curls back in on itself again, quick as it came. He steps close, bumps their shoulders, tangles their arms, their elbows, their fingers. “I just, um. I’m pretty sure that makes it your tradition, El.”

Oh.

Eliot thinks it’s a weird way to frame it. Tradition is what Quentin is doing: letting the legacy of his family live on while his family isn’t here to participate. Eliot just… has a few semi-okay memories of tearing up a Christmas tree with his very Midwestern number of little cousins, and assumed everyone else did, too.

He says, “I guess.”

Q is peering up at him, searching his face. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that,” he says, when Eliot doesn’t say anything else. “If it’s... weird, or bad, then—”

“Pretty sure that ship has sailed, Q. I can tell you from experience that if that child doesn’t find a pickle by this time tomorrow, we’ll have goddamn armageddon on our hands.”

“Sure, but...”

But... what?

The pickle ornament he found isn't really a pickle. It's a western marshlands long radish. They grow for months in muck and swamp slime, and they’re an absolute bitch to cook right; simmer them too hot, or for too long, and they get awfully, nastily bitter, bad enough to spoil a whole stew.

Teddy’s the only one in the family who likes them, because Teddy’s only ever eaten them after Eliot finally got the recipe right.

“It’s okay,” he decides, right that second. He tugs Q against him, tucks his worried, furrowed brow under his chin. “It really is. It’s— good. I think.”

“You think,” Quentin echoes, softly amused, but all his tense muscles go looser, just a bit. Just enough.

“Almost certain,” Eliot tells him. “Like, at least sixty percent. Minimum.” He closes his eyes, touches his lips just to the edge of Q’s hairline, and manages, softly, “Promise.”

He’s been doing this a long time. He’s spent years, decades, whatever, just— taking all the broken, sharp-edged pieces that came tumbling out of Whiteland back in the summer of 2010, and turning them into something new. Something different. Something his.

His stupid radish ornament. His queer little family. His shrieking, beaming son. His backwards, bizarre, beautiful mess of a life.

As far as traditions go, Eliot thinks he could do worse.

[irlaimsaaralath]

"Oh, my belovèd, have you thought of this:  How in the years to come unscrupulous Time,  More cruel than Death, will tear you from my kiss,  And make you old, and leave me in my prime?" So I was reading Edna St Vincent Millay poems and this one (the whole thing but this part especially) struck me as very Solavellan. I say as someone who hasn't romanced the egg in ages bc I'm still mad at him from my first DAI playthrough

Apologies for this taking so long.

Also, Solas ugly cries.  Sry not sry.

Standing in the courtyard at the base of the stairs into the main hall, the people of Skyhold moved around him as if he were invisible.  In fairness, they were the craftsmen and laborers and had little reason to note him, and he, likewise, had his grey-blue eyes turned to the fortress and paid them no mind.  It had been years since he had stood within Skyhold’s walls, and it was likely he would not have recognized any of the faces even if he had looked.  His easy gait carried him up and through the double doors to the unoccupied hall beyond.  Each step echoed as he made his way to her chambers, and he couldn’t help but think how strange it was to see so massive a space so utterly vacant.  As it ever was, her heraldry hung high on the wall, and her throne sat empty.  They were the only witnesses as he passed through her door.

Along the walkway, his steps were quiet, the sharpness of his sabatons muted by the wood underfoot, and as he topped the short set of steps to her chambers, he didn’t bother to knock.  When he passed through the door, he was immediately assailed by the scent of blackberries and sage – it was her favorite soap.  He paused to breathe her in, filling his lungs and relishing in the tingle it sent across his skin.  When he rounded the top of the stairs, he expected to find her there, but she was nowhere to be seen.  A shard of apprehension shot through him, and his brow fell low.  “Niyera?”  Her answer was prompt:  “On the balcony.”  He thought it curious, but his relief was such that he did not question, simply went to her.  Her back faced him, and her hand rested lightly on the railing.  He noted that her hair was much longer than it had been when last he saw her, even more so than when she joined the Inquisition.  Gone was the braid that held back the strands from her shaved undercut, and instead, her hair was thick and full and swept the small of her back.

“Why have you come, Solas?” she asked, with no malice in her voice, only a calm curiosity.  The air was particularly biting, more so than it seemed it should be, and he stepped toward her, close enough that the pelt over his shoulder brushed the back of her arm.  “I missed you, vhenan,” he replied, and a sharp wind off the mountain teased strands of her hair against his hand.  He shifted closer, settling a hand on her hip as he bowed his head to press his nose into the hair behind her ear.  “We both know that isn’t so, ma lath,” she said, a mirthless chuckle tumbling over her lips.  “It is past time that you were honest with me and with yourself.”  The hand on her hip slid to encircle her waist, and his eyes closed as he pulled her tight against him.  The way he held her, it was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her body on his – her lines, her warmth, the way they fit just so.  When he spoke, his voice was strained, “I do not know what you mean.  You are never far from my thoughts, vhenan.”  

With gentle fingers, he drew the hair back from her neck and placed the softest kiss just beneath her ear.  He felt as well as heard her sigh.  “Perhaps not, but that is not why you are here,” she said as she turned in his arms and tilted her gaze to his.  Her viridian eyes were dark, but clear as always, though lines now crinkled her skin at the corners.  Around her face, strands of silver mingled with the white, and her pale skin was lined with more scars than he remembered and infinitely more wrinkles.  Regardless, she still stole his breath.  “You know you should not be here,” she continued as she smoothed a hand over the pelt on his shoulder.  “I told you not to return,” she finished, quieter, as her fingers lingered against his neck.  Abashed, he let his eyes stray from hers as he resettled his arms about her waist.  She was right, of course; she always was.  Even when she did not know his name, she knew how to read him.  “Forgive me.  This is the only place I want to be,” he intoned, “I do not know how to stay away.”  She braced a gentle finger on his jawline to turn his face back to hers.  Meeting her eyes, he found sadness, regret, even love, though it was a love left unsatisfied.  Taken for granted.  “You do.  You always have.  There is just something here you can’t find anywhere else,” she accused, her hand having come to rest beneath his chin.  Her thumb eased over the dimple on his chin.

So simple a touch, but it sent a tremor through him, ice under his skin.  Her hand fell to his chest, and she patted his armor in the space over his heart before a light push caused him to withdraw his arms and stand aside.  He watched as she began inside, and only at long last did he speak, “What is that, vhenan?”  On the threshold of the balcony doors, she paused, glancing back at him as she spoke, “Punishment.  But, I am no longer inclined to give it to you.”  His features drew taut as she turned away from him, and though his mouth opened to speak, he managed to say nothing at all.  This is not how he had imagined this would be, how he needed it to be.  Following in her footsteps, he found her before the hearth, her arm wrapped across her stomach.  She said nothing, only stared into the fire, while the flames lit her features in light and shadow.  “I…do not understand,” he finally said as he stepped toward her, and her head canted in his direction.  “Of course you don’t.  You’ve come here expecting to find what you always find:  a shadow,” she said, and while her voice was firm, there was no anger in it.  “But, I am not a shadow, Solas.  I am that which casts it, and I will not allow you to use me for your self-flagellation.”  

His mouth abruptly went dry as his grey-blue eyes widened.  No.  It was not possible.  Before he could move or speak, she was standing before him, with her fingertips on his cheek.  When her touch grazed his brow, his breath hitched in his chest with the flash of images before his mind’s eye.  –  It was their life.  Together.  The years in the Inquisition.  When they’d met, how they’d fallen in love.  All the moments that wove them together like threads, knotted and bound.  How he’d cut those threads, abandoned her even before he left her.  Then the years she had searched for him.  Two sides of the same coin, facing in opposite directions always, but inextricably bound.  How she’d found him, and he’d turned from her yet again, forsaking her love, their love, for a destiny he could not be convinced to abandoned.  How many more years had she searched?  So many.  Until at last she’d found him.  Still more time had passed before he’d relented, and by the time he had made amends, won back her trust, the balance of her life was nearly spent.  The years that had seemed so few to him were a literal lifetime to her.  He’d taken her for granted yet again.  

Anguished and wretched, a broken cry struggled from his lips as she withdrew her hand.  His knees had become too weak to hold him, and so he slid to the floor, knelt at her feet.  “It is actually you,” he said, barely audible.  He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so they rested on his knees.   “I thought…the memory was all I had left of you,” he confessed, face downturned.   An almost bitter chuckle exited her, and she summoned his gaze with light fingertip on his cheek.  “My body was not the only thing left scarred by our love, ma lath,” she said softly, with a voice that was meant to be soothing, but drew tears to his eyes.  He bowed his head, helpless to do otherwise, unable to hold her gaze.   “I am so…sorry, Niyera, vhenan,” he struggled to say through his tears, the weeping that made his shoulders sag and tremble.   “Ar lath ma, above all else.  But, I squandered our time, your life.  If only I could-,” his words were clipped short by her interruption.  “But you can’t.   And it’s time you accepted that,” her fingers were a chill that slipped beneath his chin to lift his face.  

Tears ran silver streaks down his face, that were then glossed a pale green as the Fade began to fray the edges of her form.   “I am so weary, Solas, my Fen’Harel,” and even as she spoke, pale terror washed across his eyes as he lurched up from sitting on his heels.   Under his gaze, the Fade teased tendrils of her essence away from the whole, unraveling her one strand at a time.  “No!” he begged as he clutched at her hand, then her waist, trying to hold her together by sheer will alone.  “Niyera, don’t go!  I can't…”  He felt the weight of her embrace on his shoulders, the press of her lips to the top of his head, and smelled the blackberry-sage scent that haunted her as she haunted him.  “Ir abelas, vhenan,” she whispered, the sound assailing him from all directions as she slipped from his grasp.  “Never doubt that I loved you,” came her voice once more as his arms closed on empty air, and he fell forward, braced on his hands with his head bowed.  The arched line of his back shook with the force of his sobs, and he curled in on himself as the last of her, a rush of white, spiraled away into nothing.   

The pain of his sorrow was physical, and he felt it in every fiber, every sinew of his being.   The culmination of it sat him straight as he threw back his head and howled his grief.  It reverberated across the Fade, rippling out from him to tear through the mist-made walls of Skyhold until he was left kneeling in the center of a vast emptiness, with only fingers of Fade reaching to comfort him.  His eyes fell closed, and he took a deep but trembling breath.  When he opened them again, he was back in the chilly basement storage of Skyhold where the eluvian was housed.  Around him, it was silent and dim and hollow.  Everything was hollow.  The tears he’d shed in the Fade were warm on his cheeks outside of it, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.   He should go before he was discovered, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move.  So, he folded his arms over his stomach, bent double by his grief, and mourned the loss of the only thing he still held sacred.