#Beneath the Boughs

[melonmarzal]

Dergtober Day 29: Warrior

I did a really quick drawing today of Alps! They are a warrior who despises war and usually only fights to try to end it. They usually are pretty calm, but I figure any situation where they are forced to fight would make them pretty angry that they have to fight, hence the expression.

[carletes]

flip flop for the ask game: can you do any scene from beneath his boughs in lando’s pov? maybe even lewis’? 💙

[beneath his boughs!]

Lando had done his research, of course. Ballet meant something to him. Being the principal dancer of the Royal Ballet Company meant something to him. He had attended the shows before, of course, so he knew how good the dancers were, how phenomenal the orchestra was. So when he googled Carlos Sainz and found a much older man than he was expecting, he didn’t really know what he’d done wrong. Lewis had told him the orchestra conductor was a prodigy—he didn’t think a man in his 60s could be called a prodigy. Not that Lando was ageist or anything.

So when Lando opened his eyes after his first time practicing in his new professional home and saw a much younger version of the man he had googled—with larger eyes, a wider mouth, an expression like he had had an epiphany—staring at him, he was both relieved and intrigued. So intrigued, in fact, that he had forgotten to say a single word aloud to the man, this Carlos Sainz Junior. He wasn’t alone in that, at least. Carlos looked like he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Everything about his body language spelt guilt.

Except his hand, which held onto his perhaps a little longer than was strictly professional.

Except his eyes. Because whenever they met Lando’s, something in them seemed to blaze.

Lando’s smile widened. He wasn’t some naive ingenue.

The conductor, this Carlos Sainz…he was into Lando.

Lando hadn’t intended to do anything about it other than enjoy the attention of an incredibly attractive man. Only, the morning after, Lando had gotten a chance to do his own bit of voyeurism, and he had gotten to see Carlos conduct a silent orchestra, his eyes closed and somehow full of expression at the same time. His eyebrows, the set of his mouth, the careful, intentional movements of his arms…Lando felt he could hear the orchestra of Carlos’ mind.

And he would be the visual manifestation of Carlos’ soundscape.

The doubt grew, that old fear that Lando had strived to conquer, had mostly conquered, resurfacing briefly. But then, Carlos had opened his eyes. He had seen Lando watching him. And in the split second before Carlos did the physical equivalent of stammering, Lando witnessed a man coming back into his body after being somewhere else.

Oh, Lando thought, surprised at himself. I understand him.

And that was all Lando needed to know before he decided he would pursue Carlos Sainz.

[melonmarzal]

Aes (He/Him) | Crimson (They/Them) | Mandore (Genderfluid, fluctuates between he/him and she/her) | Anguilla (Xe/Xyr/Xem) | Pisce (Any/All)

It is dawning on me that I need to get more trans dragons, my pinkerlocke has taken away quite a few.

The finnish parliament has finally changed the finnish trans legislation so that it doesn't violate human rights so badly, please share your trans dragons to celebrate!!!!!

[perexcri]

What are your favorite fantasy aus/aus in general for byler? :)

hi anon!! i have several fantasy aus for you~

tip-toeing on lily-pads and chasing heartlines by @cherryisgone!! it's got beautiful prose and off-the-charts pining. plus who wouldn't love reading about Mike getting cursed by El to turn into a frog just so Will could kiss him and turn him back to a human hehe

fireball him! (cast protection) and tell me again (you said yes) by @willow-lark!! Lark has such a good grasp of these characters and has done a wonderful job of basically rewriting s1 as a fantasy au. i spent most of a plane ride reading the last chapter and losing my mind over how beautifully Lark writes established byler :]

ley lines and shadows by AabH!! this one's an atmospheric witch/familiar fic. it's just very cottagecore-y and soft with a beautiful ending

also hangman (slack your rope awhile) by AabH!! i liked this one just a bit more than ley lines and shadows, but that's because it's a more intense, d&d-inspired fantasy au that deals with necromancy. it only has a few chapters and is unfinished, but it remains one of my fav fantasy aus i've read for byler!

i am. direly behind on this one, but your paladin, your apostle by @scribbleworms is another wonderful fantasy au!! i have been Going Through It and haven't been reading fic as much, but when i get back into my groove, this is one of the first ones i'm gonna be going after~

i'm also a huge fan of the dark mirror series by sevensided, in which the third installment, the vale of shadows, is a fantasy au! sevensided's writing has been a big inspiration to me (a dream always the same remains the only book-length thing that i have read 4+ times in the span of a year), and they don't disappoint in a fantasy setting

and idk if you've read any of my fantasy aus, but if you don't mind some self-promo, may i offer up a couple of my own?

a flower that resembles you is my favorite fic that i currently have posted - its got a lot of my own self poured into it, and it deals a lot with magic, healing from the past, and growing close and learning to live with the faults of others <3

and beneath these boughs, my devotion blooms - another one of my favs that i've written! the basic premise is Will is a cleric that gets godhood thrust upon him, and Mike is the ever-loyal paladin that pledges loyalty to him

hope this helps!! there's a lot of good fantasy aus for this pairing out there that deserve so much love :] 💜💜💜

[fishermcn]

"Come on, Sam. Go talk to Nepheli!"

@yellowfingcr // company kept with a crooked crow and his broken voice.

No, absolutely not. It rattles out from under his breath as a viper's hiss, quiet but potent. "Ain't doin' it, Heysel, ya--!"

Too little, too late. Not for the first time (and for fucking sure not the last) Sam wishes he'd gotten a bit more of his da's bulk as Heysel gives him a surprisingly firm push and a wink. He doesn't flail, no, but the rude little gesture does catch him unawares and unprepared as he stumbles into the opposing stonework with a wheeze and a black oath still stuck fast in his throat.

Then he's... not. Strong but careful hands catch hold of his thin shoulders, a wall of an entirely different kind steadying him before the perfumer can kiss one of Stormveil castle's battlements. Sam blinks once, twice, first at the grip still holding him still (blade-calloused, skin the color of a ground coffee, loves a good brew he does, kissed with scars of a life lived in battle--) and secondly once his neck's craned back enough to look his unexpected savior full in her face (expression solemn but not unkind, soft brown eyes gilted gold by the scant sunlight, ain't seen a shade like hers, features sculpted as though from the stone of legends--).

For a man of already a scant few words at best, Sam finds himself grasping utterly at straws. Throat's suddenly dryer than a sand dune, sweat clinging to the back of his neck, yet there isn't a cough in sight to spare him from the sudden tension of the moment. Doubly so when Nepheli Loux, Warrior cocks her head in that half-concerned, half-curious way whilst still locking stares with him.

"... thanks." It's a thing more quiet than a snowflake's fall, accompanied by him finally cutting flinty eyes to the ground before the flush crawling up his throat has a chance to seize his face beneath his cloth mask. His own soot-stained hands settle over hers, hesitating for a moment before giving them a featherlight squeeze. Still here, still fine, no worries, they seem to say. "Should get a move on, yeah?"

Gonna kill Heysel, he is. Even if Sam's still feeling the warmth of Nepheli's hands through the ragged sleeves of his robes long after they've parted.

[vulpinekiss]

Tag dump 2: Skin verses

[planetxiao]

guys i found a new thing to obsess over

[memoriakissed]

Tag drop: Fixed Verse Tags

[fishermcn]

"Weren't nothing. Oughtta know how t'fend for yerself." Something about the way Rya laughs and in the way that her smile reaches her emerald eyes makes the already off-beat of Crow's heart skip unhelpfully, and the clearing of his throat and the cough or three to follow isn't entirely forced as he glances away. It's easier to pretend to look for any fresh nicks or scratches on his sword than to consider what that might mean. "An' that's... mhm. Normal. Felt that way too, trainin' with my da. Was hard, swingin' at him." There's something wistful in the admission, and those flinty eyes of his have softened when he does finally glance Rya's way again even as he chuckles coarsely. "Get used to it, ya do. Helps knowin' ya can't hurt whoever ya swingin' at."

Shifting from one foot to another, he finally sheathes the curved sword, considering her carefully for a few quiet moments. "As for Lady Tanith... could just meet like this. Ain't gotta say nothin', I mean." Crow carefully pokes Rya in the side with a huff of amusement. "Can't dance too well myself, but could help ya with this. Wouldn't mind."

Hand withdraws from the handle, to hide a chuckle behind it, as if the success and strength of her swing had surprised even herself. She most likely overdid it, a little. Being over excited she forgot to tone down her strength to more... human like. Especially, while striking only air. To her luck, he doesn't seem too confused. At least, she had succeeded with it, giving a weapon swing.

" Thank you, it was fun to try my hands on a real blade like this", Rya smiles. She then, turns the blade upside down and carefully offers the blade handle first to him.

" Perhaps, one day. My mother was never fan of the idea, but never did she forbid I for pursuing art of weapons, if I so desired. I suppose mother knew me well... since I found dance, music and embroidery far more entertaining, that I forgot about idea of swords training. I suppose, I could always ask sir Bernahl for lessons, should I find time fit. Perhaps, with a dummy..." His compliments about her performance do have her reconsider, even if she never found idea of eventually dueling something she could ever do. Head tilts then, and she gazes down at her feet, hiding hands underneath her sleeves.

" See, I just... feel awful at the idea of swinging my weapon at someone... even during sparring... especially, during sparring. You must find this strange, and I understand, but I fear I would hurt someone... I would never wish to, not you, not sir Bernahl."

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

59 / 3.4k / part 3 of shark mermen Gaz and Soap with human!reader <3

kinktober keywords: dubcon, monster mermen, monsterfucking, teratophilia, overt predator/prey dynamics, hypnosis/hypnokink, praise

...

"You gonna behave?"

You bite your lip and keep your arms tightly wound around your upper half. "I thought I was."

The movement catches Gaz's eyes. They darken. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

He reaches out, catching your bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls it gently lower and lets it snap back into place, and your lip stings with saltwater. "That."

You squirm in his hold.

Gaz keeps his grip, but lets you keep moving. His gaze drops again to your lips and keeps getting lower until it's obvious that he's staring at your neck. Even if he weren't a predator sensitive to the quick heartbeat and rushing blood of startled prey, he'd see the nerves all over you. He draws closer.

"You're so small," he murmurs.

You press back, but it does no good.

"And weak," Gaz continues. The clawtip of his index finger presses into the damp flesh of your stomach. "I could crack you open like the shell of a clam. Can I touch you?"

Before you can answer, Soap's hands wander up your legs again. You tense. Gaz's tail tightens under you in response.

"Bit late to ask if you can touch her," Soap says in their mer-tongue.

Gaz ignores him. "Stay still," he murmurs, his tail tightening. Not quite enough to crush anything, but enough to restrict more of your movement. "I won't hurt you."

As Soap makes a grab at one of your wrists, the coldness of your skin and the quickness of your pulse sends a small thrill down his spine.

You try to still your movements and steady your breath. It seems like the more you squirm and protest, the more it snags their interest. You're pretty sure by now they're not going to eat you, but their interest in you has taken an unmistakably carnal tilt.

"See?" Gaz says. "You can be good." He drags his claw lightly over your belly again, and you feel all the muscles of your midsection tense. If it weren't for him squeezing you so firmly, you'd almost be lifted out of the water.

"Good," he murmurs again.

"What do you want to see? I already showed you my legs."

"Everything else."

It's a blunt, straightforward answer. The way Gaz says it seems almost disinterested—matter-of-fact—but his gaze is fixed intently on your belly. He wants to see every inch of you, the softness and the curves and the hollow spots and the sharp dips.

Soap's hands find your waist, and he pulls you closer in in a way that forces you to arch your back, bough toward him, and spread your legs wider over Gaz's tail.

You steal a glance down at the glass-sharp rocky sand and the cold waves rising in. "Here?"

They don't bother to answer. Gaz shifts your hips up his tail, contorting you further. Soap stares openly down at your tits through your wet shirt as he drags his massive hands down your thighs and back up in an exploratory motion.

Gaz's scales push up against the crotch of your shorts. Your brain skips. This can't be happening right now and you can't be feeling kind of hot under the collar about it. No, nah, nope.

You plant your hands against Soap's shoulders and push him back. "I said not here! Take me somewhere nice." No, that's not quite right. "Somewhere private."

nsfw ⬇

Gaz digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you further up his tail. The movement grinds you into him like he's starting to feel you get warm and wet.

"Yeah?" Soap purrs, letting you push him away. There's no way you could throw him off unless he lets you, but he does. "Where d'you want us to take you, little human?"

"Somewhere soft and dry."

The two merman trade looks with one another. Gaz tilts his head down at you and narrows his dark eyes. "I know a place."

You swallow. "You do?"

"Mmhm." His tail shifts beneath you. "Have you ever seen a merman's bed?"

"No..."

Gaz’s tone drops to something just above a murmur. "It's carved out of sloping reef rock and lined with the softest, sun-warmed sand. Perfect to lie in."

Despite his attempt to soothe you, Soap's claws catching the hem of your torn shirt make you even more tense. You grab his hand and push it down. A muscle in your jaw jumps with irritation.

Soap stops pushing, but there's a look in his eye that you don't like at all. He knows he's bigger and stronger than you. All he has to do is pull back a little too hard, and he could easily yank you off Gaz's tail and into his own arms instead. He can make you do whatever he wants, and he knows it.

It makes you all the more aware of the strength of his body between your knees. He could pin you down so easily—he could crush you with the sheer size of him—and you'd never be able to do anything about it.

Before either of you makes a move, Gaz growls at Soap in their mer language. Soap's eyes snap up to Gaz's. His face tightens. His hands loosen and slide slowly out from under your shirt.

You watch it happen with an unsteady glare. But now they're watching each other rather than you. It only holds for a moment before Soap pulls his gaze away. He looks almost bored as he lets his hands drift back to your thighs.

"Fine," he murmurs. But the look in his eyes still leaves you with the uneasy feeling that he isn't entirely done with you.

Fine is the only word of it you understand, but you still feel the agitation in their tone and the subtle shifts of muscles in Gaz's back and shoulders against your chest. Still, he seems fine with Soap's hands on you as long as he's not agitating you further.

You look down at Gaz's claws. His grip on you stays tight. He isn't rough, exactly, but his hands are big and his touch is insistent and slightly possessive. His hands drift lazily over your hips, up your ribs, across the tops of your thighs. It feels like he's keeping track of every inch of you he's already felt.

You squeeze your legs together stubbornly when he gets close to your inner thighs.

His grip is like iron. You feel the muscles of his tail working beneath you as he shifts to get you just right again.

"Let me in," he murmurs.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why not?" His hands wander up and down the seam of your legs.

You get the impression that he can smell you getting wet when you when you're squished up close against him like this. Does he think you're putting out crazy pheromones or something? A twinge of shame makes you look away. "Because we're mismatched."

"Mismatched?" He snorts and pulls you forward so you're leaning further back and against his chest. It exposes your neck to him and his eyes darken. "Your kind has a real obsession with categorizing everything, don't you? We can be matched just fine."

"But we're not, like, physically... you know... it would be weird. It's like having sex with an animal."

"I don't think humans are animals," Gaz murmurs. He draws his claws over the outside of your thigh--not causing pain or leaving marks, but stimulating the nerves under your skin with small jolts. "Besides in the literal sense. But then we both are."

You say nothing. His fingertips brush up the backs of your knees, and a shiver of awareness travels all the way down your spine to your toes. His voice is low and soft as he speaks to Soap in their language again. He rubs his thumb in tiny circles on the back of your knee.

If you knew what he was saying, you'd realise that he's telling Soap that you're nervous.

"It would be weird," you say again.

Soap scoffs. "You keep saying that word. Weirrrd," he repeats in a voice edged with disdain and mimicking your accent. "Why does it matter? There's no one else here."

Gaz tilts his head down in an attempt to catch your eye. "You're not even a little bit curious? You humans are always so desperate to know why and how things work. You used to poke and prod us. You're usually curious about stuff like this." His voice drops lower. "About new experiences. What if I told you that this could feel good?"

"It's still wrong." Even as you say it, you're starting to wonder. You're already pretty sure they won't hurt you. They would have already if they didn't care, right? But you can't bear to think about how disgusted people would be if they knew you were seriously considering this.

"You think it's wrong?" Gaz’s voice takes on an edge. "Humans have a lot of strange rules that don't make any sense. Do you really think we're that different?"

"Yeah."

His gaze drops to your lips. "That's what you humans get so wrong. You think everything means something. Rubbish. Sometimes things can just feel good. And this" --he strokes the sensitive skin of your ankle-- "could feel so good. If you let me in, you'll be warm and safe. That’s what you want, yeah? To be looked after?"

"I don't... I don't know."

Gaz hums and rubs your ankle. Your skin is softer than the salt-smoothed calluses of his hands, and your leg is so small. He feels like he would barely have to squeeze to break it in two. "It's okay not to know, you know," he says. "You've been through a lot. Can I tell you more about us?" he asks, voice low and soft. "About our kind?"

His voice seems to soothe your ragged nerves. "I guess so."

"Good human." He leans very close, his mouth against the shell of your ear. His hands tighten on your thighs again. You’re at his fingertips. You’ll be his in no time. "We're not so different. We hunt and we play. We fight and we... enjoy things." He traces his claw along the line of your legs again. "We can feel things other creatures can't. Sounds too quiet for other prey, smells under water, under the salt. We like the smell of other creatures. What do humans like to smell?"

"Um... flowers, I guess. And food. Baked goods."

He huffs a laugh. "What a waste of your senses." He slides his claw along the outside of your calf. "You humans like things to be clean, huh? Nice warm water and soap. So many rules and little rituals with your cleaning."

"Yeah, so?"

"But then you spend half of your time dirtying each other again. Fighting and rutting and making messes. Humans are strange. Your rules get in the way of your senses."

"We need rules to protect ourselves."

"You need rules to limit yourself," Gaz says. "No wonder you act so fragile. If you'd let yourself enjoy things, everything wouldn't seem so dangerous."

Soap watches you steadily. He can smell the way you're reacting as Gaz's voice washes over you and the way you melt slightly every time he touches you.

You huff. "That's easy for you to say."

"Humans keep themselves vulnerable. No claws, no callouses," Gaz says as he runs his free hand over your upper arm. Your skin is so smooth, he can feel the tiny hairs standing up as his hand passes over them. You really are like a seal—all big eyes and soft give everywhere and no bite to you whatsoever. Except your words, maybe. " How do you defend yourself like this? How do you hunt?"

You don't reply.

His hand finds its way into your hair, claws tracing lines over your scalp. "Do you know what it is to hunt by yourself? Taking charge when something catches your interest. Taking things that you want."

"Not really."

"It's thrilling."

"To be stronger and faster?"

"More than that. Feeling another creature's pulse beneath your teeth, hearing the crunch of bone as it gives way. Knowing you've caught your prey." Gaz strokes the hair back from your ear. His voice and fingers send pleasurable tingles down your spine. He pulls you closer to himself as he speaks so you can fully feel his large frame cradled around yours. “We don't have many possessions," he says. "We like having something that's ours."

"Oh."

"And humans are small," he murmurs. "So soft and small." He rubs circles into your scalp, and you feel his voice as much as you hear it. "So warm and pliable. Easy to hold and keep."

You catch Soap grin and realize you've been staring at him.

"See somethin' you like, hen?"

You flush and look away.

Gaz shifts to comfort you. "Don't look away," he murmurs. His big hand comes up and catches your jaw to make you look up at Soap again. "Watch his eyes. Listen to my voice."

You blink at Soap. Your mind feels sluggish. But Soap is nice to look at. And Gaz is nice to listen to. His voice is low and soothing. His hands drift. The fingertips of one hand trace your collarbone and the other strokes the softness of your throat. Your eyelids are a little heavy.

Gaz watches you for a moment before leaning very close. "Good," he whispers, and Soap's eyes darken. "Easy to hold. Just like I said."

You feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. His voice soothes you so completely that the old legends about sirens enticing humans with their hypnotic voices surfaces briefly in your mind. Then it disappears.

His hand continues, and the soft, slow touches lull you further. Your stress ebbs away grain by grain. It’s replaced by anticipation. He rubs the soft skin of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you feel the calluses on his hands.

"That's a good human." He keeps using that low voice to praise you. Soft warmth and anticipation curl low in your belly. "Just keep looking." He slides a hand down your spine and across your lower back. Your muscles and your mind unwind slowly like a fraying rope. "You remember when I was telling you about a merman's bed, yeah?"

"Mm."

"That's good. Now pay attention. I want you to hear what I say. They're comfortable," he murmurs. "Warm and soft, all lined with sand that's been warmed in the sun. Perfect to lay in. To writhe in. To sink into." As if to show you, his hands slide under your wet shirt and press against the small of your back. He rubs the warm softness of your skin, and goosebumps rise where his hands pass over. "Imagine it. Imagine sinking in. Sinking in. Sink with my voice."

Your eyelids droop even more. You're sleepy.

"You're doing so well." Gaz feels how relaxed you are—the tension out of your muscles and how your limbs feel like they're melting into his. "Sink with my voice," he repeats. "You don't need to struggle anymore. Everything's alright. You're safe with us. Just let yourself… drift."

A sweet, heavy, warm softness like sinking into a hot bath. Like sinking into the sand under his hands. He guides you into a light doze and continues stroking your back and murmuring praise, your body growing heavy and lax beneath his warm hands.

"Shh," Gaz says. You're sinking deep. He guides you down into a soft, warm haze full of quiet, soothing sounds. Even Soap is watching you with a soft, rapt interest, not wanting to ruin the moment. They're taking care of you right where you belong. Deep. Safe. Warm. Comforting.

"What do you see in that bed with you?" Gaz murmurs. "One merman? Two?"

"Hmm?"

"Can't think straight, can you? You're so relaxed." He moves so his hands slide around your waist again. He knows you can't escape this time, even if you wanted to. And you look so sweet and soft. He knows you're almost asleep, almost floating away from him. "I know. Keep listening. Can you tell me what you see yet?"

"Blankets."

"That sounds so nice, doesn't it?" Gaz murmurs. His hands shift again, one drifting all the way to the back of your neck. His voice is as quiet and warm and comforting as a blanket over you. "Just sink into my voice. Keep listening. What else is in that bed with you?"

"Stuffed animals."

Gaz laughs, but it's low and soothing. "Like a child has? That's cute. But it's not like you need them."

You huff, your hypnotic trance vaguely disrupted by his words. "You asked me."

"And I got my answer." Gaz's hand slides up your neck to rest on your jaw. He strokes your pulse point again. "You're getting a little too close to falling asleep. You need to stay awake for this."

Soap has drifted closer, his dark eyes watching you. He looks hungry, but Gaz doesn't push you towards him yet. Not while you're so out of it. "Fine, fine." He rubs your neck again, and you feel your muscles melt under the pressure. "What kind of stuffed animal?"

"Hmm..."

Gaz hums back, his voice deep and soothing. Your eyes are already so heavy, your body is so relaxed in his arms. Your breath is slow and steady, and your skin feels warmer to his touch. Gaz can smell the change in your scent, your body's response to him—to all of this.

"I'm curious now." His voice is low and dark against your sensitive ear. "If you're going to have stuffed animals in your bed, I want to know what kind."

"Octopus."

"An octopus?" He murmurs. "So you want something with so many arms to wrap around you? Something tight and big?" He's so close to your ear now that his lips brush it. "You want to be wrapped up and covered and surrounded?"

"Mm... maybe. Yeah."

Your voice is heavy with drowsiness. He keeps you skirting that line between consciousness and sleep. Your body in his arms is puppet-like.

"You want to be surrounded by so many arms. Maybe even pressed against us with no space to move, yeah?" He slides a hand down your stomach.

"Mmhmm."

"Mm. So you want to sink into a nice bed, surrounded by an octopus with its big, plush arms. Surrounded on all sides with soft, soft tentacles that cover you. You want something big and soft and heavy on top of you--resting between your legs and keeping you warm and safe." His hands slide around you again. "Would that make you feel safe and protected?"

You murmur an affirmation.

"And do you feel safe and protected here? Now?"

You murmur another one.

Something like a smile curves Gaz's mouth. It's sweet that you're answering without thinking. "Mm," he hums, and he slides both hands down your thighs. His claws trace little circles on your sensitive skin. "Very good. Hold onto that feeling as you come up, human." Gaz lifts his eyes to Soap's. "We're just curious. We won't hurt you. We just want to see what you feel like. Is that alright?"

"What I feel like?"

Soap looks down at you. You barely open your eyes. Barely even react, even though you can feel his claws grazing your thigh, even though his eyes are dark and his lips parted slightly. Your eyes are so heavy, your brain so slow.

"Mm," Gaz murmurs again, and his chin brushes your ear. "Your skin's soft. Soft and warm. We want to feel you." His hands slide up your chest again, your breath shuddering at their passing, and he holds you up so your back is against his chest but your legs are still spread over his tail. He smiles. You're so close to sleep, but he doesn't want you to miss this. "Shh. You'll see. You just need to let us touch you, okay?"

"Oh." You let your legs slide to the sides of Gaz's tail and into Soap's waiting palms. "Okay."

...

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist

[melonmarzal]

Dergtober Day 24: Alchemist

This is LIV! Technically her name is #54 written in Roman numerals, but she prefers going by Liv. She was created by a mad scientist, crafted via alchemy. This is one of her baby pictures, crawling out of the cauldron she was born in!

[carletes]

We didnt discuss BHB enough, what if lando stubbornly practicing and still have his ballet show until few days before his due date

I AGREE, WE DIDNT DISCUSS BENEATH HIS BOUGHS ENOUGH 👹

Oh my god oh my GODDDD lando learning how to dance all over again as his belly grows larger and larger, and his center of gravity shifts over time. He feels so clumsy and ungraceful, but Carlos is only falling deeper in love somehow, and has to keep himself focused because if he doesn’t, Lando yells at him for not keeping tempo LMAO. To say nothing about Carlos having to keep it in his pants when we know, famously, he CANNOT resist pregnant Lando in any capacity, and certainly not when he’s being perfect and beautiful and stubborn.

[leftoverpages]

Beneath Weirwood's Shade

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood × Bracken!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, romance, angst

Notes: inspired by romeo and juliet, thinking about posting multiple fanfics a day to reduce some of the stock i have :o

Wordcount 𓅪 1.2k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The ancient trees of the Riverlands whispered secrets to those who cared to listen. Their leaves, drenched in the gold of a setting sun, sighed with the weight of countless generations. In this land of ancient enmities and whispered feuds, House Blackwood and House Bracken stood opposed, their enmity as deep-rooted as the forests that surrounded them.

Beneath the sprawling branches of a towering weirwood, where the heart tree's face wept red sap, Benjicot Blackwood waited. His dark eyes, pools of sorrow and longing, flickered towards the distance. His heart, though hardened by the years of familial hatred, beat with an unyielding fervor for you, the light amidst his shadows.

You, a Bracken, the sworn enemy, the forbidden fruit. A love like yours was bound to secrecy, hidden beneath the shroud of night and the veil of danger. The thought of you filled his every waking moment, and his dreams were haunted by your touch, your smile, the gentle cadence of your voice.

From the shadows, you emerged, cloaked in the twilight, a figure of ethereal beauty and tragic grace. The world seemed to hold its breath as you approached, each step a defiance against the legacy of hate that threatened to tear you both apart.

"Ben," you whispered, your voice a soft symphony that danced through the air. He turned, and in his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own soul—tortured, yet unwavering in its love.

"My love," he murmured, closing the distance between you. His hand found yours, and in that touch, a silent promise was exchanged. "Every moment away from you is an eternity of pain."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his, the world around you dissolving into the backdrop of your shared sorrow and joy. "We cannot keep meeting like this, Benjicot. The risk grows with each passing day."

His grip tightened, desperation seeping into his voice. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live a single day without you. We are bound by more than blood and duty; our souls are entwined, and no force on earth can sever that bond."

"Then let us run away," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "To a place where Blackwood and Bracken are just names, where we can be free to love without fear."

Benjicot's heart ached with the weight of your words, the tantalizing dream of a life together pulling at his every resolve. But reality was a cruel mistress. "I fear there is no such place, my love. Our names, our histories, they follow us like shadows."

A shuddering breath escaped you, and you clung to him, seeking solace in his warmth. "Then let us cherish the moments we have, however fleeting. Let us defy the stars that conspire against us and carve our own fate, even if only for a night."

The weirwood watched over you, a silent sentinel to your stolen time. Beneath its ancient boughs, you and Benjicot found a sanctuary, a fragile haven in a world determined to tear you apart. You spoke in hushed tones, of dreams unfulfilled and love everlasting, your words a tapestry of hope and despair.

In the heart of the forest, time seemed to stand still. You and Benjicot lay on a blanket of fallen leaves, your hands intertwined, your hearts beating as one. The night sky above was a canopy of stars, each one a silent witness to your forbidden love.

"You remember the first time we met?" Benjicot's voice was a mere whisper, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hand.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget? It was at the harvest festival. I saw you across the field, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped."

He chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to your soul. "I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But when I found out you were a Bracken, my heart sank."

"And yet, here we are," you said, your voice tinged with wonder and sadness. "Despite everything, we found each other."

Benjicot turned to face you, his eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken promise. "No matter what happens, I will always find you. In this life and the next, we are meant to be together."

The hours slipped away, and dawn's light began to creep over the horizon. With a heavy heart, you knew your time together was drawing to a close. You stood, reluctant to break the fragile spell that had bound you both.

"Until we meet again," Benjicot whispered, pulling you into a final, lingering embrace. "Remember, my love, that you are my heart, my soul, my everything."

You held him close, memorizing the feel of his arms around you, the scent of his hair, the warmth of his breath against your skin. "And you, Ben, are my hope, my dream, my forever."

With one last, lingering kiss, you parted, each step away from each other a dagger to the heart. But even in the face of inevitable sorrow, you carried a piece of each other, a love that transcended the bounds of feuding houses and cruel fate.

In the days that followed, you returned to your separate lives, each day a painful reminder of the love you could not openly share. You exchanged secret letters, hidden within the folds of cloaks and beneath the roots of ancient trees, your words a lifeline that sustained you through the darkest of times.

But as the tensions between your houses escalated, the danger grew ever closer. Whispers of war and betrayal filled the air, and you knew that the time would come when you would have to make a choice—between duty and love, between loyalty to your family and the call of your heart.

One fateful night, the shadows deepened and the air grew heavy with foreboding. A message reached you, written in Benjicot's hand, its words a stark warning: "Meet me at the weirwood. Our time is running out."

Fear and desperation clutched at your heart as you made your way to the ancient tree, your every step a prayer for his safety. When you arrived, you found him waiting, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

"My love," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There is no time. Our families are on the brink of war. We must leave, now, before it is too late."

You nodded, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached. "Together, then. We will face whatever comes, as long as we are together."

With a final, desperate embrace, you turned and fled into the night, leaving behind the only world you had ever known. The forest closed in around you, its shadows a refuge and a promise.

As dawn broke over the Riverlands, the ancient weirwood stood silent, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. In its heartwood, the echoes of your love remained, a testament to the power of a love that dared to bloom amidst the thorns of hatred and the shadows of despair.

You and Benjicot, bound by love and fate, ventured into the unknown, your hearts beating as one. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and peril, but as long as you were together, you knew you could face anything.

In the annals of history, the names Blackwood and Bracken would be forever linked by strife. Yet, in the hidden corners of the Riverlands, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, the whispers of your love would linger, a testament to the power of a love that defied the stars and dared to reach for eternity.

[perexcri]

15/16 for your fic ask! I always love your titles

omg hi Maebh the elf <3 see you saturday for another bi night at the gay bar to begin our quest heheheh >:)

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

for titles: i am a sucker for using song lyrics (especially fall out boy ones lol), so a lot of them come from songs that i think fit the fic/vibe well!! and i go to great lengths to find the right lyrics. for example, i knew i wanted my fic what a match: i'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet to have a fall out boy title because it had such pining loserboy qualities that i thought only a fob lyric would suffice. i literally went through each of their albums and looked through the lyrics of each song until i found that line from the disloyal order of water buffaloes that became the title :D

but sometimes, i try to be original and come up with titles on my own lol. i think my favorites of those have been drowning on rooftops, which i came up with like right before i posted, and beneath these boughs, my devotion blooms, which i don't recall how i came up with title, but i know i really really like it :)

and then there's si vis amari, ama, which is a quote from Seneca in the original Latin 🙃

for chapters: i actually only have six fics with actual chapter titles, so i can just give my reasonings for each one lol

Maybe it's Called Growing Up: all the titles come from TXT song lyrics! each chapter was a byler scene based off of a TXT song :3

To Hell and Back Again: ok the chapter titles for this one are super lame because i just named them after an important symbol/aspect/object in each chapter. like there's literally one chapter that's just called "bike" :)

the truth beneath the rose: i basically am doing what i did in thaba but am making things more descriptive and pretty sounding :D so instead of it just being like "wine" it's "wine in bottles, wine on tongues"

come to me again (in the cold, cold night): all three of the chapter titles are taken from this scene from buffy the vampire slayer, which is one of my all-time favorite Spike scenes. it's when he reveals to Buffy that he's won his soul back, but he speaks in these really broken and poetic lines that i love. AND THEN IT ENDS WITH HIM DRAPING HIMSELF ON A CROSS??? hell yeah 😎

sweetheart, you're so cruel: so the chapters on ao3 don't technically have titles, but each one has a heading designating it as Side A, Side B, etc like records! and then each side is divided into subsections with headings taken from classic rock lyrics :D

si vis amari, ama: each title is a Latin phrase! i tried to make most of them liturgical or related to the church in some way or another, but i don't think all of them are

16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

usually in the middle/towards the end! i rarely have a title planned out before i start something, and the title usually gets changed multiple times before it gets posted heheh

thanks for stopping by, my friend!! see you on the adventuring road later *salutes* 💜💜💜

[fishermcn]

@dragonskxn // x

"Reckon ya want t'keep passin' by then. Whole patch o'these wriggled on in nearby," he rasps before falling into a coughing fit. His grip loosening, the sprout gains the upper hand as its roots begin to wind tightly around his biceps... before he bodily hefts the plant off the ground, only to slams them both back down with a loud thump. "Godsdamned bloody--! 'Randa sprouts don't lay roots lest there's plenty o'bodies t'draw from. Like wanderin' about, they do."

With scarcely a muttered "thanks", he takes the proffered sickle. Rather than immediately hacking at the still struggling roots though, he reaches for a vial on his belt and uncorks it, dabbing the blade with a few drops of something violet even as the scent of lilies drifts about them. With a deft slice across a root, the sprout struggles for another few moments before slowly stilling... though not before defiantly erupting in a cloud of virulent green pollen.

Covered in the pollen, he seems resigned rather than fear-struck at the toxic shroud blanketing him now. "Mhm, rude fuckin' thing." Wiping the sickle clean on a ragged cloak's sleeve, he offers it back alongside another small vial. "For th'poison." Toeing the petals of the bloom with his boot, the perfumer regards her warily, carefully even as another coughing fit strikes him fiercely. His next words are croaked out, coarse even after clearing his throat. "Good blade. Know ya plants?"

[azurefishnets]

Eeeee thank YOU I love them!! Celeste are you playing cheesy songs... Celeste are you yearning.....

Les donneurs de sérénades

Et les belles écouteuses

Échangent des propos fades

Sous les ramures chanteuses...

...Et la mandoline jase

Parmi les frissons de brise.

(Mandoline, Paul Verlaine)

posting on its own too. ty @azurefishnets <3