@drenchgrotweek Day 7: AU

An excerpt from my Roger Rabbit AU

Shout-out to @the-experimental-writer for helping me with skekLi’s color palette!

we’re bringing this au back for @drenchgrotweek

New Story

New story for @drenchgrotweek! This is set in the same timeline as Live Unbruised and Maudra, but is set during the earlier days of Naia and Amri’s relationship. Basically, it’s the first time these two spend the night together - not NSFW, though there’s some hints of desire. Mostly it’s fluff. If you read LU, you might recognize a moment that’s been referenced before. Hope you enjoy the read, and please leave a comment! Comments feed the inspiration, so I’d love to know what you think :) Prompts included are: “better now that you’re here”, nicknames, and soft talk.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34379455

@drenchgrotweek Day 7 ~ AU TIME!!!

And we close out the week with the good ol' Guinea Pig AU!

@drenchgrotweek Day 6 ~ Nicknames

Of course Letha will get a nickname! Her parents are the best at giving them, after all :)

@drenchgrotweek Day 5 ~ Soft Talk

Snuggling in a treetop, watching the suns set over Sog (aka a heavily edited aerial shot of the Okavango Delta), with the Gelf they love. Nice.

@drenchgrotweek Day 4 ~ Submerged

Baby Gelf time isn't going to end until I'm good and ready!

Letha takes after Naia's side of the family when it comes to having gills, but that won't stop Amri from joining in on her first swimming lesson!

You want one more baby Drenchgrot? Pull my leg, I guess…

Alchemy and baby gelfs this time :) @drenchgrotweek

““Good. Pour a bit slower - depending on the temperature, the solution can effervesce just enough to spill over if you pour too fast.” Oria adjusts her grip on the bucket, and Amri nods in satisfaction. “Very good. It’ll have to sit overni-“

Oria’s eyes flick away, and she interrupts him, lowering the bucket and trying desperately to prevent it from spilling at her sudden movement. “Zenna! Stop! No!”

Amri whirls around, and before he can truly process what he’s seeing, he leaps into action. He runs across the workshop toward his youngest daughter and grabs the beakers just as she moves to pour them into a bucket just like Ori’s.

The chemicals sting his hands and his eyes water from the pain, but he doesn’t care. He tugs the pieces of glassware from Zenna’s hands and places them carefully onto Cade’s workstation, well out of reach, and as far apart as he can manage.

Oria is on her knees at Zenna’s side, pouring water over her little sister’s hands and furiously checking the rest of her body. His baby girl is crying, frightened by her older sister’s fear and, Amri is sure, by the way he pulled the cylinders from her grasp. He sinks to his knees in front of Zenna and starts going through the same motions. His hands are shaking from fear and adrenaline, and his heart is pounding.

“Dad... she’s okay. There’s none on her, she’s fine.” Ori pulls him back. “Let me rinse your hands, Dad. They’re getting worse.” He holds his hands out to Oria, flinching as the water hits the chemical burns on his hands. As soon as she’s rinsed them, Oria springs up. “I’ll go and get help.”

“Not Mom. Auntie Eliona.”

“Of course, not Mom,” she scoffs. Ori runs off, and Amri reaches for his littlest daughter, who is wailing at the sight of his blistered hands.

He pulls her into his lap and holds her tight, doing his best to soothe her. It’s not her fault, after all. “It’s alright, baby girl. It’s alright. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He’s let her play with the glassware since she was small, and she’s always liked to pretend that she was making “potions” just like her big sister. How was she supposed to know that the cylinders on the shelves weren’t full of water, today? How was she supposed to know that they shouldn’t be combined? She’s only four, after all. He’s supposed to be the one who makes sure she doesn’t get hurt. He’s supposed to be the one who keeps her safe...

“I was trying to do what Ori did,” Zenna cries, burying her face in his chest.

“I know, sweetling. I’m not mad at you, okay? Just scared. I thought you were going to get hurt.” He kisses the top of her head and rocks her back and forth as she clings to him.

“The water hurt you, Daddy," she sobs.

He leans away so that he can look onto her bright, honey brown eyes. "That wasn't water, Zenna." His presses his forehead to hers. "Daddy needs you to make a promise, okay?"

She sniffles, and he can tell that though she's still startled, she's listening.

"I need you to promise me that you'll never ever play with anything in the workshop unless I give it to you, okay? It's important."

"Okay, Daddy," she whispers, wiping at her eyes with her hands.”

Want some more baby Drenchgrot? Okay. Here’s all four of them. (Yes I am very tempted for there to be five, just give me an excuse and there will be.) @drenchgrotweek

“Naia pats her daughter’s back as she nurses in the dark. It’s been ten long trine since she had an infant in her arms, and she feels a strange sadness at the thought of Zenna growing. She’s not sure that she’ll ever hold an infant like this again. It may be the last time that she’ll be able to touch tiny feet that kicked her from within, her last chance to hold a hand that she made.

The fact that she even gets this opportunity again is a blessing from Thra. She didn’t get to enjoy Zain’s infancy. She was too worried that something would go wrong, too afraid that he would slip away without warning in the night, to enjoy these moments with him. All those years between, spent trying and hoping to no avail, had made her weary.

Naia feels the baby’s hands pressing against her breast, traces a finger over her little curling toes, and feels thankful for a great many things. For the tiny miracle in her arms. For her husband, who never let her give up hope. For her body, which is stronger than Naia has ever realized. For her sister, who is as tenacious as their mother was, and for her oldest daughter, who helped to bring her baby sister into the world. For her middle daughter, who was instantly enamored with the new addition, and for her only son, who had already mesmerized the little one with his smiles.

When Zenna has drunk her fill, Naia fixes her nightdress and shifts the baby onto her shoulder. It takes some effort to get out of bed, but she manages it. She’s just as exhausted as she was after giving birth to Zain, but she can’t bring herself to wake Amri - not when Zenna is so comfortable in her grasp, and not when this might be the last first night she has with one of their childlings. For the first time, Naia feels old at the thought. She is only thirty-eight, and yet... she can see the years passing them by already. Elidi is only nine trine younger than Naia was when Elidi was born. Oria will get her wings any day, now. Zain is still a childling, but it won’t be long before he’ll grow into a young man.

She wanders the halls to their rooms - the same rooms she and her siblings lived in, once - and watches her babies sleep as she rocks gently from side to side.”

A little something for “baby gelf” day for Drenchgrot week. It involves one of my baby Drenchgrot gelfs (Zain) and a bedrest-bound Naia. Hope you enjoy! @drenchgrotweek

“Naia has memorized every whorl in the ceiling. She knows every knot, and how the light of the suns in the early afternoon makes the swirling patterns carved above look rough-hewn. She knows how soft the wood looks at Dying Sun dusk, and how the ceiling seems lower and more welcoming at Rose Sun dawn.

Had Laesid memorized these details, too? Had they kept her mother sane, as well, when she was confined to this same room, this same bed? It hurts her to think of it. She wishes she could ask her. Sometimes, she lets her bored mind travel the flights of fancy - lets herself imagine what her mother would say if she were curled up beside her, running comforting fingers through her hair and over the bridge of her nose, as she’d done when Naia was small and in need of comfort. She imagines Laesid assuring her that it will all be over soon and that everything will be fine.

She tries to believe her mother’s words, and tries to recall the exact tone of voice she’d have used to say them.

The baby shifts inside her, and Naia drops a hand to the curve of her belly. This is the reason why she stays in this place, why she only gets up to bathe and to join her family for the evening meal. This is why her other babies sniffle when they ask her to go out to the Glenfoot to play, and why Naia sniffles, too, when she tells them she can’t. It’s all for this little one who needs the time to grow and become ready for the world.

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing against the little hand or foot that strains against its confines. “Just a few more weeks, and then we can meet each other.” She dreads that moment and whatever truth it will bring, but she tells herself - with her mother’s voice - that it will all be okay, then pushes it aside. “We can do that, together, right? Just a few more weeks?”

Just a few more weeks of looking at this ceiling. Just a few more weeks of constant worry and constant boredom and constant guilt. Just a few more weeks and then everything will change again.”