#but my heart was full of renewed love for him after that day

[jichanxo]

back 👍 ended up using tumblr app more than i anticipated so i don't think i was as noticeably absent as i thought i would be 😅 (more under the cut for the curious)

wanted to show my rgg/je mutuals that i went as tomizawa for one day of the con :D my sister was chitose! it was a lot of fun to be matching... i understand how people get addicted to this stuff now.... there were quite a few majimas and kiryus around so we got a few pictures which was fun! got recognised by a few people despite it being a pretty lowkey cosplay. i kept a little notebook on me so i could give sketches to people who said hi! i think i might have to do that again...

touristy stuff + karaoke (my friend made sure to pick a spot where we could sing bakamitai!) my sister's pictures are a lot better than mine are 😅 so i nicked most of these from her. we got a bit seasick on the boat... the open sea really is no joke....

obligatory food post. the colourful person in the back is me lol. so many places to eat over there compared to where i am...

probably going to be less active for about a week or so cause i'm going to sydney (and attending smashcon).

[sweetimpurity]

*ੈ✩‧ Day three! It's gettin steamy and sloshy up in here! wc: 1k ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The warm water laps around your arms and trembling knees, head thrown back on Miguel’s shoulder and his hand slowly sloshing around in the water between your thighs. Thick fingers massaging and caressing your core, only letting his fingers dip into the first knuckle, enough to feel the squeeze of your muscles and hear the hitch in your breath. Soft fluttering moans and his deep warm coos fill the bathroom as well as the salty sea air and the sounds of crashing waves outside the window. It’s your honeymoon. Finally away from all the craziness of your everyday lives. Just you and your new husband and you can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s not like you haven’t had sex a million times already, it’s just that being married renewed some sort of spark inside you both and now it all means more… or it feels different… but it feels so so good. 

“You let me know when you’ve had too much, baby, okay?” He hums right next to your ear, brushing his lips in feather light touches to your cheek. You’ve already been going at it like bunnies ever since you reached the villa suite. This soothing morning bath was supposed to be just that. To clean yourselves of last night's activities and ease the slight ache in both your bodies from hours of newlywed love making. But neither of you can resist. It’s like you’re magnetically, positively and negatively charged, pulling to each other and unable to resist the attraction. It’s more than just love, it’s need and devotion.

“Need more, Miguel…” You sigh, a quirk in your brow and pout on your lip. His digits just aren’t enough for the ache you feel. “You need more..?” He smiles and a huff of soft laughter leaves his lips. You're insatiable and he can’t get enough. “I can give you more, love, I can give you whatever you want…” He whispers. His head lifting from your shoulder and looking up at you, his fingers running up your sensitivity and gently past your bundle of nerves as he draws his hand from your heat. The water sloshing and lapping at the sides of the enormous tub as you turn around to face him. The flower petals that Miguel sprinkled on the water earlier when you weren’t looking, mostly as a silly joke, collecting on your damp skin and decorating you so wonderfully. Now he understands. Seeing you glistening wet and covered in white and pink petals makes his mind go melty. Making his breath hitch. The sun hitting you just right as you straddle his lap. His back pressing against the porcelain and big hands coming up to your back, caressing down to your ass. “You’re so beautiful…” He whispers so quietly. It’s almost too quiet to hear. But it’s all his voice will allow with how hard his heart is beating. 

He leans forward, water lapping as he pulls you closer still. His lips connect with your sternum and sucking small wet kisses along your damp skin. Up to your left breast, his tongue swirling around the mound and gently biting down on the precious portion of your body. His lips glistening and wet from the bath water that's covering your skin and dribbling down, clicking wet sucking sounds accompanying the feeling of bliss. Along with his wet tongue gliding along your perked nipple, his plush lips pursing around to suck. “Ohh- Miguel…” You sigh so quietly, a shiver running down your spine just watching him do this. Feeling it happen. And he moves with the same attention to your right breast until your tits are tinted slightly with a blush after his loving attacks. 

“My wife…” He whispers, looking up in your eyes and making you smile. His hands running up your back to your shoulders. Utter affection in his expression. 

…

“Miguel!” You gasp, reaching for his hand and squeezing it hard, pulling it against your chest. Drips, drops, dribbles of water running down the sides of the bathtub and the water lapping the edges. Full of him, full to the brim and tingling. His cock bullying it’s way inside, deep and warm and all for you. He wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s trying so hard to hold out. But the water and the squeeze of your warm pussy, his view from under you, watching your head throw back. The tips of your hair dipping into the water and sticking to your back. He can’t look, dipping his face into your chest to hold it together. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you come. If he doesn’t bring you there. But you make it so hard not to burst inside on the first pump. 

“Baby! Babe- babe…” Your voice high and squeaky and at the same time quiet and intimate. Only for him to hear, only for Miguel to know. “Oh come on baby, please…” He whispers into your skin, on the edge and begging for that release. Wanting to watch you go. 

His arms anchor around your back, adjusting his hips and pulling you down on him a bit harder and faster. Plunging all the way deep, hitting some magical spot inside you that has you cry out his name. 

“Yeah, right there?” He grins, doing it again, pulling you down and pushing his hips up at the same time. And once he finds the spot again, he just keeps hitting it over and over. Water splashing and pouring over the edges. Onto the blue and green glass tiled floor, soaking into the bathmat, your fingers digging into his shoulders so hard you might just break the skin. 

That familiar ache and melt concocting in your gut, right in the pit of your stomach. Blooming and burning down your thighs, originating in your heat, right at your core. Miguel finally allowing himself to succumb when feeling the spasms of your orgasm around him. A wave of satisfaction and victory when his name spills from your lips again and again just like the water and petals dribbling over the edges and flooding the floor. 

Taglist! 🥂 : @slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist please comment on my masterlist post or I might not see it! thank you!

[xanaxiii]

"WE WERE BORN TO DIE"

cw: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE! slightly smut, no use of y/n, pet names, dom/sub dynamic, mentions of death, bad health etc.  

words: 1.6k

an: i fucking love old man logan. and im so fucking horny after rewatching this movie so. enjoy.  ♡

Taking care of Logan was a difficult and tiring task. Despite the relationship you two had, he still felt that he couldn't let his guard down and allow himself to get any help. He considered it pointless...after all, his time would come to die too. Looking at how he used his last moments in this world, death was on his tail. It didn't move away even a step. 

Unfortunately for Logan, you were stubborn and wouldn't let yourself watch your partner die day by day. Raised in a way that the act of helping those in need was the most important thing you could do, especially helping someone close to you, you helped him, ignoring Logan's protests. You helped him with the smallest things, trifles. Getting out of bed, getting dressed. Sometimes even washing.

When it came to the latter, Logan would have to be in a real state of intoxication at that point, because he would rather be renewing the X-men than letting anyone help him with such intimate matters. 

 It wasn't that he was ashamed. He just knew he couldn't afford something like that. He was dying, yes, but he had the strength to wash his dick, damn it. 

And, despite his age, Logan still had a hell of a high libido. Maybe his movements weren't as fast and agile as they used to be, but now all he needed was a gentle touch. And your hands were gentle. They were downright angelic as they brushed over his rough, barely healed skin covered in scars and wounds. 

That's why every time you helped him wash, it ended with sex. But Logan didn't always feel like it or have the time, so he avoided it like the plague. Ignoring the pain and the pure need for someone by his side. He could imagine how pathetic it would be to die in the middle of a bath, which made him think about the act with less and less pleasure every day. 

Bright sunlight came through the window, blocked by thick curtains to illuminate the bedroom with its warm, bright rays. Logan turned over, mumbling something incomprehensible into the pillow. He lay exposed, his chest painfully rising and falling as he breathed, snoring softly and sighing. Strands of his gray hair brushed his forehead, his muscles tense even in his sleep. Which was no wonder, since he had been plagued by nightmares since he was a child. He sighed heavily, opening his blurry eyes, looking around the bedroom. He swallowed, feeling the dryness in his burning throat, and slowly sat up in bed. His feet hit the cold floor, his rough hands rubbed his tired face. His gray beard itched, and the heaviness in his heart made him want to leave it all behind long ago if he could. 

But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't leave you. He wouldn't forgive himself for that. 

The corners of his mouth moved as he heard the door creak open and your slow footsteps approaching him. He raised his head, meeting your gaze full of love and lust. It was amazing to him that despite his age, you still considered him the most attractive man on the planet. 

“You woke up.” - your sweet voice, he heard it so often that he memorized what you sounded like. He replays it in his dreams, in his fantasies. With quick steps, you found yourself on the bed next to him, sliding onto his lap. You heard his quiet hiss of pain, for which you immediately apologized. 

Your scent surrounded him. The new perfume he bought you turned out to be a success. The aroma of strawberries and vanilla took over his senses, so without holding back, he lowered his head and smelled you. You giggled, lifting your head to place a kiss on his temple.

Logan moved his large hands to your waist, kneading the soft skin, tugging at the silk material of your nightie.

You were so beautiful. The way you looked, the way you presented yourself. You were like an angel sent from heaven, to him, even though he didn't deserve it. Logan had become completely addicted to you. You worked on each other like the most wonderful drug, completely controlling each other.

"I woke up. I see you've become an early bird." - he whispered, his voice rough and deep, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers along his muscular back, digging your nails into it, scratching and teasing him. He removed his hands from your waist, grazing your wrists, pushing you away. His gaze was narrowed, but not angry.

"What? Don't you like it anymore, James?"

"Don't call me that…" - he mumbled, lowering his head, touching your heated skin with his cold lips. You were so smooth, so perfect. Logan decided that with each next approach, he would treat you like you were made of porcelain. He was afraid that if he squeezed you too hard, you would fall apart in his hands.

"…Why? That's your name, right?"

He shook his head, parting his lips to clamp his teeth on your neck. You sighed, leaning back a little to give him more space.

"No. I'm not who I was anymore, doll." - saying that, he began to place pleasantly painful kisses on your face. - with that, he began to press pleasantly painful kisses against your skin, forcing your wrists to grip his shoulders. He didn't let go of your hands, even though the urge to roam your body was incredibly tempting. But he wasn't in the mood for teasing this morning. No, he was in the mood for morning, bittersweet sex. You could feel his beard, tickling you as he moved his lips along your throat, biting, licking and soaking like an animal preparing to eat its prey.

"Mhm…" - you whispered, opening your plush, soft, pink lips, catching heavy breaths. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became deadly steamy, especially when Logan's lips found yours. He grabbed your lower lip, sucking, making it turn purple. His way of showing his love for you, despite how much he wished it would be different, was rather painful. But it didn't bother you. Why should it? You didn't mind any of the things your old man did.

Despite all his flaws, spite and whining, he was a really sweet man. You knew he cared about you. You knew because he did everything he could to show you as often as possible. Gifts, acts of kindness, how he would stay overtime to earn more for the two of you. It hurt your heart that he was sacrificing himself like that. You swore to yourself to protect him and take care of him so that he would never feel tired again.

But Logan was so damn stubborn. No matter what you told him, he would question it. It's not that he didn't believe you. He just thought that since he was definitely older than you, he knew better. Which, unfortunately, was often true.

When you broke the kiss, you looked at Logan with concern in your eyes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows narrowed. The wrinkles on his face were more visible than usual, his mouth slightly open as he drew air into his lungs. He was so beautiful. You could stare at him for hours.

You smiled softly, slowly grasping the hem of your thin nightgown with your fingers. You made eye contact with him until he moved to your naked body underneath. You couldn't count how many times this man had seen you in this vulnerable state, but every time he reacted as if it was the first time.

Your creamy skin, soft curves, it was everything he had ever wanted. You were like a canvas standing in the corner of the room, waiting for him to vent his emotions on you. He let go of your wrists, wrapping his arms around your waist to throw you under him.

He groaned, feeling a sudden pain in his knees. In moments like these, he simply forgot how sick and old he was. He hated it, hated how hard it was for him to do basic things, let alone catch up with you in all those intimate matters. But you obviously didn't mind.

Once he had you under him, he gently cupped your breasts, beginning to knead your flesh. Your erect, aroused nipples brushed against his open palm. He swallowed hard, looking up to meet your gaze. You slid your hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails. He tilted his face down, feeling a shiver of excitement run through him, giving him the energy to continue.

Kneading your tits, his lips began to cover your body with sharp hickeys. After a moment, your neck, sternum, and stomach were covered in burgundy stains. You tightened your grip on the sheet beneath you with your other hand, wriggling and arching your back in a delicious way. Logan, which was rare, smiled, letting your hand tug on his hair as you tried to stop yourself from being dramatic and overreacting when he had barely done anything yet. He let go of your breasts, grabbing his leather belt on his pants. He wrapped his thick fingers around the large buckle, unfastening it, throwing it somewhere to the side. He couldn't get enough of the sight before him. You looked so good when you were all naked and marked by him. A reminder that you were only his. A reminder that he had something and someone to come back to.

He reached into the loops of his belt, twisting them until he finally stepped out of his black, suit pants, leaving them around his ankles. He was damn pleased that you were completely naked, left at his mercy. Waiting for every next move from him. When you bit your lower lip temptingly, wrapping a strand of his gray hair around your index finger, tugging on it, Logan realized that you were getting impatient.

"If you really love me, you'll wait, baby." - He mumbled, leaning down to meet your lips again, his hands sliding down his boxers. You sighed as you felt his cock against your thigh, bringing your other hand up to rest on his shoulder, knowing you would need physical support soon.

“Can you do it? Of course you can. You’re so beautiful. All mine.”- His words were drawn-out praise as he positioned himself over you. He looked into your eyes again, searching for any sign of worry or embarrassment, but the only thing that he see was devotion and desire.

His smile widened, causing his wrinkles in the areas of his mouth and eyes to deepen. So restless, so impatient. He had no reason to be surprised. He spent his days either at work or sleeping off because of nights full of nightmares. He pushed you away from him at every possible opportunity, without power for movement. But today was different. He woke up horny. And that was all he needed to be able to please his princess.

Because for you he would do anything, right?

"I need… I need you, Logan, please." - you whimpered, your sweet voice breaking as you narrowed your eyes, raising your altitude higher by listening to him. He let out a quiet laugh, deep and growling, straight from his irritated throat.

Ah. who was he to refuse you?

[almmoon006]

My baby | 2/...

Plot: You are the Dark Lord's wife, who has an amazing influence on him. Autumn night, Potter family home. The parents are dead, the baby has been abducted. What if Voldemort changed his plans? Will you help him?"

Ps: maybe this child could change your marriage? (Nagini is my babygirl, she loves you since the day you came to this Manor). Also Voldemort looks like Tom, but he has red blood-like eyes. I'll call him Tom more often after he'll be warmer with you and Harry.

With a slight fear and trembling in your rapidly beating heart, you touched the baby's delicate face, gently sliding your fingertips over the warm skin in a soothing gesture. The baby was looking up at you with his mouth slightly open and those innocent green eyes. It was as if there were gears turning in his small head.

Not so long ago, his mother was going to feed him, and now he is already lying in the arms of some woman. But he wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he felt surprisingly light and safe. Harry, which was how big adults usually addressed him, felt warm waves from this strange woman. It was as if the warmth of her body was enveloping his smaller body and caressing him like a warm summer breeze. Her whole presence radiated love and a fierce desire to protect. Harry loved it. She smelled of flowers and warmth, which calmed him down. For some reason, he knew that he was safe in this woman's arms.

You lightly kissed the tender forehead with your lips and pressed the boy to your chest, stroking his back in the hope of lulling him to sleep. It's not like you're good at taking care of children, especially those so young. But the time spent with Draco was making itself felt. At least you had Narcissa, who you could always ask for advice from. You may not have carried this child, but you already felt a certain awe for him, a certain connection.

Voldemort left the main room almost as soon as he handed you the baby. It seemed that he had no feelings for the baby, except for the feeling of receiving benefits from the future wizard. You had ambivalent feelings about it.

You went up to the second floor, passing by your shared master bedroom, and stopped at another, slightly smaller one. Inside, all the things were already in their places and decorated for a new family member, as if this room had been waiting for a boy, its new owner, for a long time. Perhaps the Dark Lord simply copied the contents of Draco's room, changing some details and choosing more inviting interior tones.

The whole room was decorated in shades of green and gray. Thick curtains on the large windows blocked the silvery moonlight from entering the still uninhabited room. The walls were a pale green color, muted and soft to a child's eye. The floors were dark wood, just like the rest of the mansion. There were long candles all over the room, casting a bizarre pattern on the walls. A lot of toys and children's books decorated the shelves made of dark wood. There was a changing table and a rocking chair against the wall. Next to the window was a crib with bright green linens and a blanket.

You walked over to the armchair and sat down gently on it, arranging the baby in the crook of your elbow. The baby was surprisingly calm. You could feel your magic leaving your body and enveloping the boy like a soothing blanket, caressing his own magical core. The boy looked up at you with his big green eyes, closed with fatigue, and with renewed zeal squeezed the fabric of your dress in his tiny fist. There was a feeling that the little man felt the full weight of the day, which suddenly fell on his fragile shoulders after so many events. You gently touched his short, unruly hair, gently stroking it.

There was a soft hiss on the floor, and a gentle smile touched your lips. You felt the weight on your feet as the snake's massive body wrapped around them in tight coils, and its triangular head rested on your hip. With your free hand, you touched the cool skin, caressing the scales, and watched as Nagini looked with interest at the new person in the house.

"Hello, my girl. This is Harry," you said gently. The snake stuck out its tongue for a couple of seconds, tasting the boy's scent and the taste of his magic in the air. Satisfied with the information received, the snake obediently returned its head to your hip, lightly touching the warm baby hand.

"He's cute, isn't he?"

Sometimes you were sad at the thought that you couldn't understand your sweet friend the way your husband does. There was no information on how to understand Parseltongue, unless you were a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. So you just had to accept it. Voldemort rarely translated the snake's words for you. Although Nagini eventually learned to communicate with you with her body language, which made life much easier.

When the baby finally started to make soft snores, you smiled with relief. Leaning back in your chair, you closed your eyes, feeling sleep coming on.

•••

The man did not think that the next meeting with the Death Eaters would take so long. He has not yet informed anyone that he has sheltered the boy, with the exception of the Malfoy couple and Bellatrix Lestrange with her new husband. Otherwise, he wasn't sure enough to fully involve his own family in the affairs.

When he returned to the manor, he immediately called the house elf and told him to bring a bottle of whiskey and several glasses to his office. The house elf nodded obediently, disappearing with a light pop.

Sighing tensely, the man ran his hand through his own hair, ruffling the unruly strands after a long day.

The house was surprisingly quiet. It's not that you're a noisy person, but usually Voldemort at least hears you talking to Nagini, or even Narcissa, if you decide to invite her again. Now there was nothing.

He went up to the second floor. Approaching the right room, the man raised his eyebrows in surprise, watching the peaceful picture. You were sitting in an armchair with a baby in your arms and you seemed so.. natural. It's like you've always been a mother. There was a slight smile on your lips, and your eyes twitched slightly as you had some kind of troubled dream. The boy settled into your arms like his own mother's, feeling peace and love. But what surprised him the most was Nagini, like a faithful dog guarding the only people close to him.

Sensing the Dark Lord's presence, the snake raised its head towards him, sticking out its long tongue.

"Master," she hissed, releasing your body and crawling towards the man, climbing up his body like a spiral staircase, "A new human. A cub." The Dark Lord chuckled briefly.

His slippery friend always reminded him of the cubs, especially since he got a "female".

"Yes. It's a child."

"Stranger. The scent of another human," Nagini continued, muttering reproachfully.

"This is our enemy's child. I killed them. The child will still be useful to us," he replied, sliding his hand over the snake's scales in a soothing gesture.

"Nagini like it. The female master like it too."

Voldemort didn't answer, returning his gaze to your peacefully sleeping body.

•••

Voldemort was sitting in his office chair, leaning back in his chair and slowly sipping an amber liquid from a faceted glass. The firewhiskey burned softly in his throat, filling with warmth under his ribs.

Your hands gently slid over his broad shoulders, flexing the tense muscles. It happened almost every night after the meeting with the Death Eaters. The man remained too tense and preoccupied with his own anger and thoughts to speak. Then you were just there. It seemed to soothe his emotions.

"You will take over the upbringing of the boy," Voldemort began in a firm voice, "No one except the inner circle will know about him until I finish with the documents and the ritual of joining the family. The boy will be our direct descendant. One way or another, you really will be his real mother."

When he finished, he took another sip of firewhisky, throwing his head back and covering his scarlet eyes. You took it as a sign and gently touched his hair with your fingers, massaging his scalp. A satisfied groan escaped his lips.

"Yes, my Lord."

His feelings were never something warm and romantic. Rather, he perceived you as a very devoted follower, something closer to a friend. He knew how the man-woman relationship you had worked, but he couldn't bring himself to fully accept it. He only followed Walburga's advice by accepting her daughter as a faithful wife. Voldemort has never doubted you and your loyalty. You were born and raised to be faithful to him. Yes, you weren't as submissive as your cousin Narcissa was sometimes. But you weren't too crazy like Bellatrix, either. You were a wise and steadfast woman, able to defend your opinion or give in where necessary. Voldemort was attracted to your firmness and confidence, although he would never admit it. And he liked your warmth. The maternal attitude you showed towards both him and the Death Eaters awakened something in him. How caring and attentive you were, your attention to detail and light hand, always knowing what to say and how to calm down. All this gave him the opportunity to feel the love and care that he did not have either from his mother, or in the orphanage, or at school. And he couldn't get enough of that feeling.

[bardic-inspo]

aeterna nostalgia

chapter one: as it was

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

🩸Full Chapter List (Coming Soon) 🩸BG3 Fic Masterlist

Series Summary:

Astarion’s carefully crafted empire is thrown into upheaval when his bride falls victim to a modify memory spell. Without any memory of her lover or her own vampirism, his dark consort is a threat to both herself and her sire. 

Astarion must win back her trust and affections, all while hunting down whoever sought to break the most powerful bond in Faerûn.

Chapter CW: Blood kink, masturbation, minor character death, Astarion being racist/hateful towards gnomes

A/N: This fic incorporates vampire bride lore and headcanons. Special thanks for the wonderful @locallegume for beta reading.

Click here if you prefer to read on AO3

“Sometimes, however, the emotion may be close to what mortals classify as love. The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers. In these cases, the vampire might actually believe it is bestowing a gift when it turns the mortal into its bride - the gift of freedom from aging and death.”

-Van Richten’s Guide to Vampires

Come to me.

Astarion allows their connection to slacken. With each step she takes nearer to him, springy anticipation pulses through their bond. It’s not unlike the wag of a tail.

And the slow dawn of his smile behind the fan of his fingers isn’t so different from the sun peering between the clouds. The sight of his most precious pet stokes that same delectable warmth inside of him.

“My sweet sunlight,” he calls to her, “how was your trance?”

His voice echoes off the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. There’s enough space in the chamber to hold dozens, but there’s only seating for two. The lavish chair at Astarion’s left is vacant as it always is. And this morning, only one needy patriar comes to the Crimson Palace to pay its lord homage. Lord Ventris is stout for a human, with a face lined in age and a dark, well-manicured beard. His attention follows Astarion’s eyeline as the gilded doors at the head of the hall groan apart. 

Finer company comes his way, following the red runner that crosses the checkerboard marble. Naomi’s shift sways just past her knees. The silk robe draped over her shoulders hardly offers any modesty; she didn’t bother to cinch it.

“I was well,” she answers primly, “until I woke without you.”

Astarion adores her in that shade of mauve. It wakes the faint trace of pink in her cheeks, the flush that only blooms after she’s fed. There’s hardly any hint of it now. Astarion’s smile fades.

Lord Ventris balks, scandalized by the sight of those lithe, lilac legs striding past him. “My lady!”  

Naomi matches Astarion’s unflinching stare, a slight lift at the corner of her mouth. His heart skips to the soft sound of her bare feet climbing the dais.

“It’s nearly midday,” Ventris prattles on, “surely some shoes, at least slippers--”

“Are you worried I might step on something sharp?” Her voice is steel as she stops, her cheek only halfway turned.

“I-I’m merely expressing benign concern. Not many drow hold title here, so perhaps you’re uneducated on the typical decorum befitting your husband’s house. But--”

“You shouldn’t worry so much. This is my home. I know exactly where all the sharp things are.”

Astarion pats his thigh expectantly. Like a sword to a sheath, Naomi slides into her customary place in his lap. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh while she settles against him. Her smile curves against his collar. 

To Ventris, he snaps, “Our house is the reason why you still have one. And I understand it’s a further favor you came here to ask. Do get on with it.”

“I-- “ he stammers, “of course, Lord Ancunín. As I was saying, you’ve invested greatly in the city’s revival, in the restoration of so many of our most prized institutions. I know you recognize the value of legacy, and its role in the renewed prosperity of the Gate. The preservation of its eldest, most distinguished lineages…”

Ventris speaks as he’s commanded, but Astarion doesn’t deem to listen. His head dips to the fine edge of Naomi’s ear, nosing past a stray wave of ivory hair hanging free of her bun. His arm winds her waist, clutching her close.

“Are you well now, darling? Now that I’ve remedied my wrongs?” 

Naomi hums contentedly, eyes shut, head tucked into the crook of his neck. And yet, he’s acutely aware of the disquiet lurking at the fringes of her happiness, circling their safe haven like a mangy dog seeking scraps.

“I think not,” Astarion murmurs darkly. “You're hungry, aren’t you, sweet thing?” His fingers stroke beneath her chin and guide her gaze to his. 

Even as the ascendant, he can’t curtail her hunger entirely. He can only see to it that she never feels it for more than a moment.

“Only as much as you allow me to be,” she says, batting her eyes open again. There’s a glimmer of laughter in them, among his favorite shade of cherry. He expected her eyes to change color when she turned, but he hadn’t expected she’d keep a tinge of her former violet. A lovely surprise.

You’re full of surprises, he’d told her once, when they were only just beginning. Aren’t you?

Astarion had known he was making a bride, and not simply a spawn, the night she knelt for him. He’d known they’d be bound for eternity. Aeterna Amantes. As it should be. As it was always meant to be.

As it will be. Forever.

But how was he to know how heady her delight would feel, when it fluttered like a hummingbird from her mind to his? How intoxicating her submission would taste, when he could witness the very moment her thoughts bent for him, feel her mind yield before her body gave way exactly the way he wanted? 

Without compulsion. Without question. Without barriers. With a bond like theirs, nothing between them is secret and all of it is sacred.

Perhaps accounts of other such unions exist. But there’s never been a vampire ascendant before; there’s never been an ascendant bride, either. None of the crusted scrolls he inherited from Cazador could’ve warned him how utterly offensive her slightest discomfort would come to feel.

That he’d feel it exactly as his own discomfort.

“How could I sit idle while my precious treasure starves?” He implores her with a blooming pout. “What manner of husband would I be, hm?”

Ventris, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten his manners entirely. He dares a step towards the dais, volume rising with the red in his cheeks.

“...and so I ask you, Lord Ancunín, what manner of philanthropist makes donations to some Sharran sanctuary? Hasn’t this city seen enough fanatics? They say those cultists have a new compound, thanks to you! And the Upper City has a new, so-called theater in your so-called lady’s name! Well, sir, I see no lady here! And that should tell you what opinion I have of that den of debauchery she’s opened!”

Astarion arches a brow. Ventris’ lower lip quivers as he babbles on.

“And you build all of this while my own house remains half-ruined! It was a proud estate before that business with the brain. Curious how all of my neighbors managed to escape the worst of the debris. Curious how they’ve already rebuilt what was broken!”

Naomi raises her head, surveying Ventris lazily. Astarion hears her effortlessly, as if the words were said aloud. Were you going to kill him with or without me? 

Astarion’s answer is honest, if not innocent at all. You’d be fed either way. It’s simply a happy accident.

“It’s quite simple, Ventris,” Astarion shrugs. “You’re not necessary. Your daughter will marry that sweetheart of hers that you hate so much, what’s remaining of your pride will be inherited by their heirs, and the world will be better for it. Without you and those gaudy pillars in the way of what should be a pretty sea view from the Upper City.  A pity the mindflayers didn’t finish leveling your estate. Though, I suppose they made the job easier.”

“How dare you!” Ventris fumes, spittle flecking his beard. “I’ll have your name dragged through the streets! The city will know you spent coin on the Sharrans-- and that gods forsaken whorehouse--”

“You won’t. Besides, Grand Duke Ravengard already knows. He’ll suppress any slander because he knows every other patriar is in my pocket. After all, their own coffers are so pitifully empty these days. That’s why you’re here, Ventris. To beg.”

Ventris shrivels into his ill-fitted suit coat. Astarion’s free hand curls around the armrest of his throne.

“So I’ll say it a second time,” Astarion sneers, “There won’t be a third. Get on with it.”

“I--” Ventis stammers, cheeks purpled with indignation. “You won’t get away with--”

Naomi snaps her fingers. Violet light sparks between them. “On your knees.”

It’s not the kind of compulsion Astarion can wield, but a spell that works in the same vein. Ventris drops with a shrill cry, kneecaps crunching against the hard stone. 

Naomi slinks from his lap. Astarion catches her hand as she goes, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. The faint, lingering thrum of her magic tingles pleasantly against his lips.

She stalks forward, predatory. As her hands slip from his, her robe slips from her shoulders, pooling like spilled wine at her heels. Ventris quivers, a little leaf buffeted by the wind, but he can’t flee. And he still can’t help himself from staring, ogling at what isn’t his. 

Astarion’s grip on the armrest tightens to a chokehold.

Sunlight slices the room in brilliant rays, as righteous as any flaming sword. And in it, Naomi is scintillating. The sheer fabric of her shift seems more mist than material. His eyes burn across her supple shape, taking in the ripple through her breasts with every step, and the tease of her nipples, pushing pert against her nightgown. 

Astarion wets his lips, letting a fang tug at the tender flesh. Anticipation thrums through him again, only now, it’s hot. Thick. Permeating.

His grip on the armest eases as he leans back in the chair.

Ventris’ mouth hangs open, a great gaping maw for such a middling, waste of a man. His wide eyes bore into the last sight he’ll see. And what a sight she is. Naomi tilts her head one way, then the other, peering down at her meal like a bird choosing a worm.

She’s careful, picking her vein. She’s not, when she claws a hand into his hair, lifts him from the floor by a fist of it, and rips into his throat.

Because she wants it to hurt. 

Screams slap wet against the palace walls. Astarion’s head falls back in his chair, his eyes slitted. The ceiling swims in a blur above him. He can feel the blood flooding warm in Naomi’s mouth, the spray of it coating the back of her throat. The thickness of it, swelling stiff within his trousers. 

He parts his buttons hastily, stroking his hardened length, scarcely feeling his own touch. It’s her tongue he feels instead. Surrounding him. Sucking so greedily. Taking, just as he taught her to. 

Her cheeks hollow as she pulls for more, more. And of course, more is what she gets. Blood leaks sticky sweet down her chin. Astarion’s cock throbs with her every moan. 

It's effortless now, to pretend it's her mouth around his girth and not his own hand. He doesn't even have to picture it. She lets him feel every pleasure that ever paints her pretty lips. Like they were his own.

She is his own. Naomi and all her tenderness belong to him. Every pleasure she takes, Astarion takes, too. And while she’s taking her fill, she feels the familiar fit of his cock in her mouth, pouring fresh heat into the body he made perfect forever. Into the woman he’s unmade an untold number of times.

His hips buck into empty air. A groan splits through his teeth. Naomi peels from her meal with a slick pop of lips, gasping with the raw edge of a growl. Astarion’s release spurts warm across his fingers. He slouches limp and boneless in his seat, relishing in the feel of her soaked within and without. Just as she should be.

He blinks blearily, chasing the breath he takes for pleasure and not for purpose. Slowly, the room steadies. He sits up, wincing as he tucks his sated, sensitive cock back into his trousers.

Naomi eases back, crouched over the corpse that was Ventris. Her chest heaves. She pants in tandem with Astarion. Not because she has to; her body echoes his own, reeling from the feel of his ascended heart thudding within his ribs.

When they’ve both come to their senses, Astarion comes to her. 

“What memory kept you tranced so late, dear?” His voice is soft, even as he scolds. What could ever be sweeter than meeting again in the flesh?

“I missed you, too.”

Astarion raises his hand lazily, and she leans forward, still kneeling. One by one, his fingers slip between her plush lips, her tongue wicking away the spend still left on them. When they’re clean, he grips her chin and turns it aside so he can see the marks on her neck that made her his evermore.

Blood blooms in stains near the neckline of her shift. It reminds him of the flowers found in their courtyard garden. His eyes drip with the leak of her leftovers, roaming over her the fresh flush waking in her skin. What a lovely, murderous, and reverent thing she is. Pride flares like a lively hearth beneath his ribs, fed by the warmth billowing from her head into his. 

She’s hungry no longer. And happy. An easy smile lifts his lips.

“Well?” He prompts, expectant.

“I was remembering our wedding hunt,” she answers dreamily, eyes-half lidded.

Astarion’s smirk widens, his fangs peering out. What a delicious memory to sink into. Savory enough to trance the day away.

There was the night they wed truly. After taking her fill of him, Naomi knelt, and Astarion had his fill of her. He bit her thrice, drained her dry, and bound her as his bride for all of time to follow. The papers that came later put her surname on record as Ancunín. But they didn’t make her his; she belonged to him already.

There was the party. Mostly, they hosted it for the patriars they intended to weave into their web of influence. They spared no expense for the lavish affair. He could think of no finer way to spend Cazador’s fortune than on his and his darling’s debut into Baldurian high society.

And then, there was the hunt.

Wordlessly, it slips into his mind from hers: not the extravagant soiree, but the party of unfortunate souls that stumbled into the palace drunk that very eve. They later woke to white, opalescent stone walls. Pearly bricks laid where Astarion had once shrieked and bled uncounted times beneath Godey’s blades. 

But that night, not a speck of blood or dirt stained the corridors to the old kennels. Astarion still hasn’t settled on the chambers’ future use, but he rather likes them better this way, as a polished blank slate. The sheen is crisp enough, he can see his clear reflection every time he stalks those halls. 

He sees his own stunning visage again in the play of Naomi’s memories. He sees the seven huddled, sniveling figures that awaited them there, and feels their spines shudder again. His mouth waters at the mere recollection of it.

“The last of you alive will live forever,” he told them cheerfully, before cutting them free of their bonds. “Run along now! Go on!” 

And off they scampered, scrabbling over each other in their desperation to reach a destination forever out of reach. There’d be no escape. Not a living one, anyway. 

Astarion had turned to his bride. So beautiful, sheathed in an ivory gown with the finest of shimmers, her long white hair plaited back, a sheer veil draped over it. A teardrop train of lace fanned from the flared edge of her skirts, and her eyes glowed with the promise of violence.

He lifted Naomi’s chin in a delicate grip. “Now, feast, my sweet.”

The memory smears, vivid red. Red, like the dripping trails down the walls. Red, like color she stained his pristine coat when their lips collided, a hungry mess of blood and adoration. Red, like the streaks across her wedding gown as Astarion tore through it. He swore he saw handprints at her skirts, in the brief blur before he ripped her free of them. Perhaps her victims gripped them for mercy. 

Astarion’s grip on her hips was anything but merciful. Binding, perhaps. And liberating, all the same.

It was hours later, his body weak with bliss, Naomi bare and drifting towards trance in his arms, that he lifted her from his throne and brought them both to bed. 

Presently, she muses, “It took me forever to find that fucking Harper. Could’ve been her that you made spawn instead of Zylar.”

Astarion smirks. Naomi drained all but one of their late-night guests that evening. Their final victim was a promising twenty-something human named Zylar with no surname, no family, and nothing but a fervent dedication to his duties as a Flaming Fist. Astarion took that dedication for his own. Now, Zylar will be young forever, live out all his small dreams of climbing the Fists’ ranks, and, most importantly, serve the interests of the Ancuníns above all else.

When Zylar rose as Astarion’s second spawn, gaping in horror at the blood-smeared walls that surrounded him, Astarion told him, “Clean it up. With your mouth, if it pleases you.”  

Within the hour, the old kennels were spotless once more.

Now, he snaps his fingers at the cloaked shadow lurking at the edge of the audience hall. At once, Zylar peels from the perimeter, prowling towards the corpse at the heart of the room. There’s barely blood on the tiles at all, but Astarion’s sure there won’t be a speck of it left by the time they return here.

“Your lessers will see to the scraps, my dear,” he says, offering Naomi his arm. She takes it, rising to his side. “I have something to show you. A present.”

The happy hum in her head is a knowing one. They enter the ballroom, where the white marble tile swirls with gold, and a long, windowed wall overlooks the palace gardens. There waits her latest gift, shining radiant in the sunlight. Her smile is a fitting match for it.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

They’ve had three such marvels call this ballroom home in just as many years. She’s said the same of the other two as well. He’s inclined to agree. The grand piano shimmers, resplendent. All but the keys and its insides are coated in gold leaf. The lid is propped, shedding light on landscape painted on its underside: Baldur’s Gate, by view of the sea, vivid in the setting sun.

Astarion allows her to part from his arm and rush to the piano, as if it’s a lover she’s running towards, and not away from. His arm sways, empty at his side, in the wake of her momentum. The delicate stroke of her fingers down the keys plays the most delectable shiver down his own spine. A long, stuttering sigh leaves his lips.

Strange that, only three short years ago, she didn’t know what to do with the first piano he gifted her. He remembers, crystal clear, the timid trepidation that crept across her face, the hesitancy with which she reached and just barely brushed the keys. 

“Little love,” he’d purred in her ear, “whatever could be the matter?”

“I-I don’t know how to play it,” she’d confessed, sheepishly retracting her fingers. He’d seen those same nimble hands curl the neck of a fiddle and flit effortlessly across a flute at least a hundred times over.

Astarion only grinned, letting his teeth graze the slant of her ear. “You’ll learn it. We’ve an eternity now, darling. You can take as much time as you wish and never run out of it.”

He never tires of taking his time with her. Taking her here, in the ballroom, even at the expense of their most expensive furnishings. No, this one won’t last any longer than the others, he decides as she saddles over the cushioned bench, her hands poised. He wets his lips, mulling over at least a dozen ways to put an arch in her back as she straightens tall.

But, in the interest of not breaking her gift so soon after it's been given…

He turns, like the perfect vision of restraint he is, and says, “Why don’t you play me something as pretty as you are?”

The instrument was made for her, and Naomi plays it as if it’s what she was always meant to do. What pours from the piano melts across his ears and leaves a saccharine taste on his tongue. It carries the tang of her magic with it, as all her music does. Tantalizing. Mesmerizing. Numbing, in its own way. Astarion could spend hours soaking in it. He’s spent so many mornings this way, warmed by the sun, staring out over the city he and his consort share, complicit with her in shared contentment.

Siren, some call her in whispers. They’re right to whisper. Astarion’s seen Naomi kill with one.

He stiffens to the sound of a throat clearing. It’s a cutting, and unwelcome intrusion. Claude, the rancid little gnome who tuts at him so expectantly, is eternally an intrusion. 

It’s the carrot of vampirism Claude chases. It’s easy enough to dangle it, just out of reach. He served Cazador with a religious fervor. He serves Astarion with even more zeal. He’s mortal, still, and Astarion can’t think of a single good reason to turn a servant already so eagerly playing their role. The thought alone makes his stomach roil.

“My Lord,” the nasally wretch says, “they’re waiting for you in your office.”

Astarion scowls. For all the patriars they’ve killed, there’s still a bumper crop of them crowding into his office every other week. Wanting the favor of Baldur’s Gate’s best-loved benefactor. Unknowingly begging at the heels of the one and only Vampire Ascendant. 

Such is the ignorant bliss of the cattle. He’s more than they know. But they know well enough to beg while they still can. 

What they do know is that he’s a hero. A savior of the city. The holder of its purse strings, while his heroine lover pulls the strings of the city’s heart. All in service to the web of power and influence that will see him named Grand Duke by summer’s end.

“Shall I tell them you’ll reschedule?” Claude asks.

“No,” he relents with an exasperated groan. “You shall not.”

Naomi plays on as he passes, but he feels a tug in the back of his mind. A flicker of a familiar feeling: her hand leaving his, and his arm left loose with an empty grasp.

I won’t be but an hour, my sweet. And then, I think, it’s back to bed with you. I think you might never leave it.

Her answer floats about his mind like a dandelion buffeted by the wind. I think I died happy.

Happy, Astarion muses, already half a palace away from her. He pauses by the mirror in the corridor, adjusting his high collar before he makes for his office door and the waiting patriars. As you should be.

Astarion drums the richly polished oak with restless fingers, his chin situated in his other palm. From his seat at the table’s head, he has a prime view of today’s entertainment: a pair of bickering magistrates. They hold the table’s attention as they trade barbs, too ablaze in their own irritations to notice their host’s growing disinterest. 

Do try to pay attention, dear, Naomi snickers in his head. We paid a hefty sum to get this little feud off the ground, after all.

Ostensibly, Lady Ancunín isn't interested in politics. Such manners bore her, and would detract from her management of the city’s finest theater. In reality, it's as if his little love never left his lap at all. She should be in this chair. He’s the one who's bored. 

Naomi’s left the piano now, though it plays on without her. Her steps patter in the back of his mind as she takes to the footpath through their gardens, her music still wafting pleasantly with the scent of the roses. With their minds linked, she listens more closely to his meeting than he can bear to.

Astarion’s gaze drifts to the open windows, to the bustling Gate, throbbing with life. Ripe for the taking, all due to his careful tending. A breeze ruffles the curtains, carrying the salt of the sea with it. 

It used to thrill him, to sit here, steeple his hands, and watch his empire be built brick by unwitting brick. He’s amassed enough influence to carry a current, even while sitting entirely still. There’s an inevitability to it all now that should please him. Instead, he feels the restless urge to pluck those bricks from the pile and dash all the heads in this room with them. To hear fresh screams instead of circular whining. But instead, he must endure their peevish--

Silence.

Abruptly, Astarion stiffens. The patriars prattle on unbothered, but beneath their noise, a stagnant quiet furls through his halls like a fast-moving fog, setting his hairs on end. Across the palace, the piano ceases playing. It’s not a remarkable change on its own; the magic expires after some time without Naomi’s touch.

That familiar, slipping sensation comes again: the feel of Naomi’s palm sliding from his and leaving it empty. His head feels empty as an echoing, vacant cathedral, only home to his own thoughts. His own mind. 

Darling? The word reverberates inside his skull, making it no farther than it would if he said it aloud in this room without her. His nails claw the table’s edge.

Naomi? Answer me. He calls again, anger flaring, but it feels futile. Like banging his fists against stone. 

Footsteps race down the corridor. His head turns for the door before the knob even moves. By the time it opens, he’s already standing. Every head in the room turns to Claude stammering frantically in the doorway.

“M-My lord, a visitor--”

Astarion grips his collar, storming from the room with the little wretch in tow.

“Lord Ancunín,” an old crone of a tiefling barks from the other end of the table, “what is the meaning of--”

Astarion slams the door on her inane protest, not even pausing to savor the flinch that passes through his captive audience.

“Where is your mistress?” Astarion growls. 

“The throne room,” Calude answers meekly. “W-we think.”

“You think?!” Astarion releases his grip on Claude’s shirt, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants. 

He doesn’t wait for Claude to elaborate. Astarion sheds his form and flies. Moments later, he materializes again before the great shut doors to his audience hall. A blue veil of magic simmers over them.

With a boiling vitriol, he rounds on the other elf kneeled near the doors. Strictly speaking, Emilia is his favorite of his lesser spawn. It isn’t the highest of praises; her only competition is Zylar, and her knack for magic makes her useful. And yet, he feels a dawning hatred for her as she crouches there, glowing hands outstretched in vain.

“What in the hells is this?” He shouts, the sound bounding like fitful thunder. 

“A magical barrier, my Lord,” Emilia says, strained. “It’s elaborate, but I’ll have it down shortly.”

“Who cast this? Who’s in there with her?”

“We received a visitor at the front door. He said the gatekeep allowed him entry, that he was a scholar from Waterdeep here to inform you of something of great import. He didn’t give a name. We intended to turn him away, but Claude went to Lady Naomi to inform her, and the lady said she would see him in your absence. She awaited him here, but all the doors closed when he entered, and the barriers appeared at once.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “And the guards at the gate simply let him pass?”

“It seems so.”

How could that be?! Astarion snarls, his fist curling with flame. He hurls it at the barrier, but the firebolt only melts harmlessly against its surface, dissipating into useless smoke. 

His bond with his bride can be turned like a faucet on either end, but neither of them can stem the drip of it entirely. Naomi would never wish for such separation. But even if she had, she could never hide from him fully. 

And yet, he hadn’t even an inkling of this stranger’s arrival. The last he felt her, she’d been in the gardens raking her fingers through thorns, savoring the sting of the cuts, and thinking of his fangs. 

“I believe Zylar is in there as well, my Lord.”

Astarion tenses, thoughts racing. Zylar never stays anywhere alone with Naomi if he can help it. Ever since the wedding hunt, he’s stayed terrified of her.

His mind blanks abruptly. The barrier dissipates, flecks of magic raining down from the doorway like sleet. The doors part. Through the narrow split, he sees Naomi as her knees buckle against the marble. 

A cloaked figure looms over her, one hand outstretched, the other clutching a fluttering scroll. Red magic twists just above Naomi’s forehead, coiling on itself like a knotted vine. Astarion surges towards them.

Ascension made him swifter than anything he’s yet to encounter. Sharper. Stronger. But now that he’s  near enough to see the spell reflecting in Naomi’s irises, near enough to see them washed in fear, his bones feel leaden. Slow. 

Weak.

The spell flares into a blinding, burning orb. Bloody light scorches the room. Astarion feels the heat of it spear through his temples. Carving, like the tadpole used to. Cutting. His lips split around the pain, but it’s Naomi’s scream that pierces his ears.

The quiet that comes after lays against the room like a knife to a throat.

Naomi wavers where she kneels. Astarion skids across the floor, catching her before she can collapse. The light vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving the cloaked mage crumpled in a limp heap. 

“Master!” Emilia gasps. “Master wait-- she might--”

“Shh,” Astarion coos, caressing a hand through Naomi’s hair and down her cheek. Blood leaks from the corners of her fluttering eyes, drying in dark trails. The magic burns a ruby outline around her body before it sinks beneath her skin.

“I’m here,” he rasps, pleading. “Come to me, darling. Come back to me.”

He holds a taut breath as her eyes open wider. Naomi blinks dazedly up at him, lips trembling, face glazed in confusion. Her gaze settles to his and sharpens. 

“W-who are you?”

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean the world to me if you let me know you did in box at the end here. It's scary and exciting and invigorating to share a new story!

And HUGE thank you to so many Tumblr moots and discord friends who have supported me along the way in drafting this one. 💜

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? It was Pen and Colin's wedding day and as they were preparing for the ceremony, she needed a breather. Luckily, Ben was there to calm her down from all the havoc happening. Just Ben being her knight in shining armor 😀. Thanks!! :))

of course! this is going such a cute story line!! i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. 🫶🏼

Benedict Bridgerton x wife reader

Matron Of Honor

The grand hall of Aubrey Hall was abuzz with excitement and laughter as final preparations for Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington's wedding were underway. The Bridgerton estate had never looked more magnificent, with flowers in full bloom, shimmering decorations, and a sense of joyous anticipation in the air.

Y/N, the matron of honor, took a deep breath as she glanced around the bustling room. She had been running around since dawn, ensuring every detail was perfect for her best friend's big day. The bridesmaids were all gathered, chatting animatedly, and Penelope was in the center, a vision of beauty and happiness.

But for Y/N, the overwhelming emotions of the day were beginning to take their toll. Watching Penelope's face light up with joy had stirred up a whirlwind of feelings inside her. She needed a moment to collect herself, to step away from the whirlwind of excitement and nerves.

Slipping quietly out of the room, Y/N made her way to the garden, seeking solace among the roses and the soft rustling of leaves. She found a secluded bench and sank down, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

Just as she was beginning to feel a semblance of calm, she heard footsteps approaching. She opened her eyes to see Benedict Bridgerton, her husband and her rock, coming toward her with a gentle smile. His presence alone brought an immediate sense of relief.

"Taking a break from the chaos?" Benedict asked softly, sitting beside her and taking her hand in his.

Y/N nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "It's just so much, Benedict. Seeing Penelope so happy, making sure everything is perfect... It's all a bit overwhelming."

Benedict wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "You’ve done an incredible job, my love. Penelope couldn’t have asked for a better matron of honor. And as for the emotions, it's only natural. You've been such a good friend to her."

She leaned into him, feeling the warmth and strength of his embrace. "Thank you for being here, Ben. I just needed a moment to breathe."

He kissed the top of her head, his voice a soothing balm. "I'll always be here for you, your my wife for crying out loud. You don't have to do this alone. We’re in this together, every step of the way."

Y/N felt a surge of gratitude and love for the man beside her. Ben had a way of making her feel seen and understood, even when her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. His support was unwavering, his presence a constant source of strength.

Taking another deep breath, she looked up at him with a smile. "You know, you're my knight in shining armor, Benedict Bridgerton."

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection. "And you, my dear, are my heart and soul. My ravishing wife and future mother of our children. he smiled and leaned into kiss you. After he pulled away he states “Now, shall we go back and ensure that this wedding is as perfect as Penelope deserves?"

Y/N nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. With Benedict by her side, she knew she could handle anything. Hand in hand, they stood up and made their way back to the grand hall, ready to face the day with love and support for their dear friends.

As they rejoined the festivities, Y/N felt a calmness settle over her. She glanced at Penelope, who was now radiating with joy and excitement, and caught her eye. Penelope smiled warmly, and Y/N returned it with a nod of reassurance.

The ceremony began, and as Y/N stood by Penelope's side, she felt Benedict's gaze on her, a constant reminder of his unwavering support. The vows were exchanged, and the room was filled with love and happiness, a perfect reflection of the journey Colin and Penelope were beginning together.

And through it all, Y/N knew that with Benedict by her side, she could face any challenge, any emotion, and come out stronger. For in Benedict she had found not just a husband, but a true partner, her best friend and soulmate.

As the ceremony concluded and the guests moved to the ballroom for the reception, the joyous atmosphere was palpable. The orchestra began playing a soft melody, signaling the start of the evening’s festivities. The newlyweds, Colin and Penelope, took to the floor for their first dance, their happiness evident in every step.

Y/N watched them with a content smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. The day had gone perfectly, and seeing Penelope so blissfully happy made every moment of stress worthwhile.

As the music transitioned to a more lively tune and other couples began to join the dance floor, Y/N felt a familiar presence beside her. She turned to see Benedict, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection.

He gave her a dramatic bow, extending his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

Y/N giggled, her heart swelling with love for the man before her. She curtsied gracefully, taking his hand. “Of course, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict pulled her close, and they began to waltz across the floor. The world around them seemed to blur as they moved in perfect harmony, lost in each other’s eyes.

“You know,” Benedict whispered as they twirled gracefully, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful. Except for on our wedding day of course.” he smiled a cheeky grin.

Y/N blushed, her heart fluttering. “And I don’t think I’ve ever felt more loved.”

They danced together, completely immersed in the moment, the laughter and chatter of the guests fading into the background. For Y/N, this dance was the culmination of all the love and support Benedict had given her throughout the day.

As the music continued to play, they moved effortlessly, a perfect reflection of their partnership in life. The challenges and emotions of the day seemed distant now, replaced by the warmth of Benedict’s embrace and the certainty of their love.

As the song drew to a close, Benedict leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “Thank you for being my partner, Y/N. I couldn’t imagine doing this without you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “And I couldn’t imagine doing this without you, Benedict.

With a shared smile, they stepped off the dance floor, ready to face whatever the future held, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could conquer anything.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Did I miss the Gale prompts? I wanted to see Gale + “pet”. Sorry if I’m too late ; 3 ;

Hi Anon! No, you did not. You were right before the deadline! I think there was one person after you? But I'm not writing these in order, so.. 😅 Anyway, thank you so much for this prompt! I, too, would love to be petted by our darling wizard. So I decided, "Let's do it!"

♡♡♡

His tent was roomy, warm, and softly lit by a Dancing Lights cantrip when you entered for the first time, poking your head through the flap. "Ah!" Gale looked up from his book and beckoned you in with a smile on his face. "Come in! I thought you might have decided to forsake our promised evening for some well-deserved rest after the trials of our day." He chuckled sheepishly, rearranging several pillows to create extra space.

"I wouldn't miss this, Gale." You chuckled in return, your cheeks warming at the subtle admission.

"That's good to know." He paused, his warmth-filled gaze now resting on you. Each time those chocolate brown eyes graced you with their focus, you felt akin to the embers in a slowly dying fire: crackling, melting, fusing, and pleasantly flushed. You held his gaze for a few moments, basking in his glow, before finding your sense and ducking your head in renewed embarrassment.

He coughed. "Well, uh- please, take a seat! I can't wait to begin. This volume is one of my absolute favorites, and I am truly honored to share it with someone who has never had the pleasure of reading it before. Being here to bear witness to your first time is quite a privilege."

You lowered yourself onto one of the soft pillows beside him and giggled softly at his remark. "I'm afraid you're a bit late to witness my first time, Gale, but perhaps the second or third." You chittered colloquially and he gave pause.

"But you said you hadn't read- oh!" It was the wizard’s turn to flush. "I never would have guessed your propensity for double entendre, my friend." He chuckled, turning his head to shuffle through a pile of books beside him.

"In that case, I am full of surprises." You laughed.

"Mm, so you are." Gale said as he turned back to face you, a wicked smirk on his lips. "Perhaps I ought to match your wit one of these nights."

"Oh, how delightful a thought is that." You giggled and his smile widened.

"Alright, before we stray too far from the topic at hand. Let's get started, shall we?" He flourished the book in his hands, and you chuckled.

"Indeed, let us begin."

"Far above the skyline of the Terniff's kingdom rest a Wyvern with a scepter cast from bone..." As Gale's rich-timbred voice filled the tent with life, you lost track of where you were and when you were. You floated high above the kingdom of Terniff with the lonesome Wyvern and felt both its freedom and its sorrow in tandem.

You didn't realize you had allowed your eyes to close until you felt the soft brush of the pad of Gale’s thumb wipe across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with your wizard’s face, open and understanding. "I wept the first time, too." He murmured softly, his thumb chasing another tear down your face. Before you could stop yourself or even grasp your own actions, you were surging forward.

The Wyvern was Gale. Of course it was. It was Gale, and it was you: desperate to be recognized, with all the visual trappings of accomplishment and stability. But the ever-present loneliness ached and throbbed in the hearts underneath.

Your lips met his, and the palm of his hand found the back of your head almost immediately after, pulling you closer; fingers tangling in your hair. You were lost in him, lips and teeth and tongue clashing and dancing and pulling you closer like a riptide. When you finally parted, pupils blown and breath heavy, Gale’s fingers loosened and carted through your locks; then again, and again, as he continued to hold you close.

You tucked your face into his neck without a word and he pulled you closer, settling you into his lap and running his other hand down your spine, then back up again. "I have been craving your kiss for some time now." He murmured softly onto your scalp.

"Then why haven't you kissed me?" You asked, your voice muffled against his skin.

"I have feared losing you; losing this. Your closeness, your kindness. You are quite special to me."

"You're special to me too, Gale."

He coaxed you up to look at him, and with a tender smile and a stroke of your cheek, he kissed you again, pulling away only to murmur against your lips.

"I am so very glad."

♡♡♡

No edits or revisions. We die like women with severe brainrot. 💕

[taurasiluvr]

how you can help palestine

★ req: "HEY HI HEY ok i saw youre accepting requests and thought why not. how about something where reader plays for barca fem and when she first moved to barcelona pedri reached out to her online and offered to show her around and they just bonded REALLY well yk???? thank u ^_^ have a nice week!"

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; seriously nothing but fluff, flirting and some teasing !!

 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; my requests are open if you guys want to send in something! i write for barcelona + barça femení and some other premier league players, send some innnn!!!!!

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 1.5k

you first moved to barcelona to join barça femení, leaving behind your time with arsenal. it was your dream team and you had finally gotten a deal, and signed with little hesitation. leaving your teammates was the hardest part ─ however, they understood.

the city felt both exciting and overwhelming, a whirlwind of new experiences and challenges. adjusting to a new team, a different style of play, and a foreign culture pushed you out of your comfort zone, but you embraced it all. the vibrant streets, the passionate fans, and the warm climate quickly made barcelona feel like a warm welcome.

you were a bit nervous but after your first few weeks at training, you slowly adjusted. one of your teammates had invited you out to dinner one night with the team and you agreed, hoping to make some new friends.

after a great night with some friends, you got home with a full heart. barcelona felt like home, now too ─ you knew you'd made the right decision.

while you were scrolling on instagram, you felt your phone buzz. you instinctively glanced up to look at the notification, your eyebrows furrowing at the name.

pedri gonzález | hello! i saw you at the party tonight and wanted to say hello :)

your face flushed at the name, pedri gonzález? the young barça star? you couldn't believe it. you had noticed him at the party, but you'd never imagined he'd take the time to message you. taking a deep breath, you typed back a reply, trying to sound casual despite your excitement.

you | hey! thanks for reaching out. it was a great party, sorry i wasn't able to come say hi lol

you hit send and waited, your mind racing with thoughts of what this could mean. was he hitting on you, or just being polite? you shook your head, reminding yourself to stay grounded. after all, you'd just moved to barcelona and had plenty on your plate with your new team.

a few moments later, your phone buzzed again.

pedri gonzález | absolutely! it’s always fun when everyone gets together. by the way, i’ve seen a few of your matches. you’re an incredible player!

pedri gonzález | since you're new to barcelona i'd love to show you around sometime, maybe a smoothie after training. only if you are free 😁

your cheeks flushed as you read his message. was this really happening? it felt surreal. you took a moment to gather your thoughts before replying, trying to keep your cool.

you | that sounds great! i'd love to. a smoothie after training sounds perfect 😁

you hit send and exhaled, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. the idea of spending time with pedri was thrilling, but you also didn't want to read too much into it just yet. maybe he was just being friendly and welcoming.

either way, you decided to enjoy the moment.

the next day at training, you couldn't help but feel a bit more energized. you pushed yourself harder, feeling a renewed sense of motivation. after the session, as you were packing up your things, you saw pedri waiting near the entrance, a friendly smile on his face.

"ready for that smoothie?" he asked, his accent thick as his lips curved into a smile.

you nodded, returning his smile. "absolutely. lead the way."

you and pedri both walked down the hallway, a silence creeping up in between you. however, before you could get too far ─ you heard some noise from the end of the hallway.

you made eye contact with gavi and joao, who were grinning mischievously as they approached.

"look who’s getting cozy," gavi teased, nudging pedri playfully.

joao joined in, chuckling. "taking our new star out already? smooth move."

pedri rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his blush. "come on, guys. just showing a friend around."

gavi smirked. "sure, sure. have fun, you two."

joao gave you a friendly wink. "not too much fun, though-"

"okay, shut up." pedri cut off before sending you nervous smile.

you laughed, feeling more at ease with their playful banter. pedri led you down the hallway, the laughter echoing behind you, you couldn't help but feel a little lighter. the camaraderie among the players was heartwarming and reassuring.

once outside, pedri led you to a cozy smoothie bar. the warm barcelona sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city. you both ordered your smoothies and found a spot to sit, enjoying the warmth around you, a stark difference from england.

"so, how are you finding barça femení?" he asked as you both sipped on your smoothies, sitting at a cozy outdoor café.

"its been amazing, honestly. the team is fantastic, and the city is incredible. but you know, i'm still adjusting, but it's been a great experience so far," you replied, feeling at ease in his company.

"thats good to hear. i'm sure you'll do great here. and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out," pedri said, his tone sincere.

"thank you, seriously. you didn't have to... you know, show me around." you smiled, a soft blush spreading on your cheeks.

"no, i know. i wanted to," he remarked, a teasing expression on his face. "you know, i don't show just anyone my favorite smoothie place."

"oh really?" you replied, a teasing edge to your tone. "so... you're saying i'm special?"

"very." he answered, not missing another moment. "very beautiful, too."

wow, he wasn't even being subtle anymore. you laughed, shaking your head at his antics. "wow, you really don't hold back, do you?" you said, laughing and shaking your head at his antics.

pedri grinned, leaning back in his chair. "why should i? life's too short for that."

you couldn't help but admire his confidence. It was refreshing, and it put you at ease. "fair enough."

"how'd you like arsenal?" pedri quippied as he glanced back at you. "you liked it?"

"yeah, of course. it was my first team and that kinda just sticks with you, right?" you answered honestly.

"absolutely," pedri nodded, his expression thoughtful. "your first team always has a special place in your heart. mine was a small club, but it means a lot to me."

you smiled, appreciating the shared sentiment. "yeah, it's where you grow and learn so much. arsenal was like that for me. the fans, the teammates, the whole atmosphere — it was something else."

pedri leaned forward, his interest evident. "what was your best memory from arsenal?"

you thought for a moment, a smile spreading across your face. "probably the day we won the FA cup. it was such an intense match, and the feeling of lifting that trophy with the team was unforgettable."

"that sounds amazing," pedri said, his eyes sparkling. "i've watched some of those matches, you were incredible."

"thank you," you replied, feeling a warmth in his praise. "what about you? what's your favorite memory from playing?"

"scoring my first goal for barça," pedri said without hesitation. "the roar of the camp nou, the feeling of the ball hitting the net... i'll never forget it."

"wow, i can't wait for that feeling." you replied, a small smile on your face. "first goals are always special for... you know, anyone."

he laughed at that, nodding as he leaned back. "very special, indeed. and you'll get it. who knows, i may be watching, too."

you felt a blush as he looked at you, a nervous laugh leaving your lips at his intense gaze. "yeah? you'll cheer for me?"

pedri laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "oh, obviously. i'll be your biggest fan. just make sure you celebrate big so i can spot you from the stands."

you giggled, feeling the warmth of his support. "i'll hold you to that. no pressure, right?"

"none at all," he teased, his smile genuine. "but seriously, i'm looking forward to seeing you make your mark here. you've got a bright future ahead, i can tell."

"thanks, pedri. that means a lot," you said, your blush deepening.

the conversation continued, light and easy. you talked about your favorite places to eat, your hobbies outside of football, and even shared a few funny stories from your respective teams. pedri's stories about his teammates had you in stitches, and you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute.

before you knew it, hours had passed, and the sun had long set. the city lights twinkled around you, casting a magical glow over the evening.

"i should probably get you back," pedri said, glancing at his watch. "its getting late."

"yeah, you're right," you agreed, though you were reluctant to end the evening.

pedri walked you back to your place, the conversation continuing effortlessly. when you reached your door, you turned to him with a smile.

"thanks again, pedri. today was amazing," you said sincerely.

"anytime, y/n. i'm glad we got to hang out," he replied, his smile warm.

you hesitated for a moment before stepping closer and giving him a quick hug. "goodnight, pedri."

"goodnight, y/n," he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer.

as you watched him walk away, you couldn't help but feel excited about the future. barcelona was starting to feel like home, and with new friends like pedri, you knew you were in for an incredible journey.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[b0nten]

BLUEBELLS, YOURS TRULY.

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ albeit rarely, rindou overthinks, and frequently, ran doesn’t think too much.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ this is like the “backstory” for the ring. MAYBE i’ll turn it into a multiple part. i also put it in the timeline where everyone is happy because i really love everyone being friends. wrote it because rays’s version destroyed me !!!!!!!!!!!

he spins the ring on his finger. he slides it off. he looks at it. he lets it hang from his neck, on the chain. he sighs.

“now what the hell is up with you?” barging in, ran asks. “who shat in your cereal every morning for the past two weeks?” he says, opening the kitchen cupboard to take — funny enough — some cereal out.

“i’m not in the mood, ran.” his younger brother spits back, head falling against the wooden table.

“hey now, there’s something really wrong with you if you’re acting like .. this.” pointing at him, he sits down, fat bowl of cereal clashing against the dark block, spilling some milk onto it. “now, spill.” with mouth full, he tries to choke out the words, spoon in his brothers face the moment he gulps down the first mouthful.

“you’re gross sometimes.” rindou just sighs, looking away.

“what’s with the ring?” ignoring the insult, the lanky haitani just continues his questioning. “by the way, the blue doesn’t look that bad on you.”

“it’s mine, and i got a matching one for y/n.” the other explains, “thanks, by the way. it was her idea to dye it like this.”

“you wanna propose to her?” his older brother asks, chewing loudly. “y’know we’re still just teenagers?”

“no shit, big head.” rolling his eyes, rindou feels the exasperation dig its roots deeper into his brain. “i’m not proposing. yet. but i don’t know if i should give it to her.” he finally says, letting ran in on his worries.

“and why not? what’s that? cartier, right?”

“no brand can escape your gaze, you’re really unbelievable.”

“thanks, bro, love you too.” as he swallows his last spoonful, ran winks.

“not in a good way.” the younger sibling announces, earning a displeased look from his brother.

“now you’re the annoying one. fuck’s going with you two?” ran finally snaps, trying not look worried. after all, he loves his brother, but they don’t do that kind of talking.

“she’s leaving next week” rindou finally manages to choke out.

“what? what do you mean?” his brother asks, taken aback by the sudden information.

“her student visa’s expired. she’s gotta go back home until gets it renewed.”

it pains him to even think about it. he hasn’t eaten in almost fourteen days, ever since he found out. but what pains him even more is how excited you are about going back home. about going away from him.

he thinks it’s selfish, because he knows how much you’ve missed your parents and how much you’ve waited for a holiday that’s long enough to return.

“if the flights take four days in total and i want to stay for two weeks, then i’d rather not go anymore.” you always said. “i want to spend as much time as possible, without having to rush anything, y’know?

but maybe sometimes love is all about being selfish, loving someone with your whole heart. maybe he wants to never let you leave without him. maybe he can’t let you leave without him because he can’t stand not being an 8 minute subway ride away from you.

“don’t tell me you got some of those control issues, the pretty tiktok girls say they’re not cute at all…” ran comments, dodging an uppercut by a mere second.

“can you take me seriously for once? i think she wants to break up with me, she called me over today saying we have to talk.” rin frowns, blond-blue bangs covering his tired eyes. “i shouldn’t have believed that tiktok reading that said good news are coming my way.”

“you’re so fucking dumb, lord have mercy.”

“excuse me, ran?”

“you’re excused. let’s get this straight: does it really matter to you wether she’s oceans away or in meguro? what do you think she’s gonna do, break up with you only to return in three months and see you everywhere? do you really think y/n’s that kind of girlfriend? throw away three years BECAUSE OF A VISA?! fuck outta here with that insecure crap, rin. i raised you better than that.”

on the inside, ran smiles. oh, how he loves knocking sense into his younger brother. truly the best activity.

“now go and talk to her.”

rindou hesitates.

“i won’t say it nicely the second time around.” the older one threatens, and rindou jolts up from his chair and bolts through the door, house slippers still on, door wide open. before ran can say anything else, rindou’s voice echoes from the staircase into the kitchen:

“i’ll buy a new pair when i get back, don’t start bitching, please! i’ve got a girl i have to convince not to break up with me!”

his older brother laughs as he pulls out his phone.

sister in law

(16:22) he’s on his way.

then, a ping fills the empty space.

sister in law

(16:23) already talked to mikey. everything’s going great.

(16:23) love you, big head

(16:23)🫰

maybe ran’s not gonna tell you the reason rindou is running like a maniac through minato ward right now.

ugh, is his head really that big?

tagging: @h4nman BECAUSE YOU MADE ME CRY😡😡😡 ; @sirachano0dles <3 i might start a taglist if i make this into a multiple part fic?!?

[allsouls-emma]

hey! love your leon writing, it’s really great to read. thank you for your work, keep it up!

i was also hoping you could write a something with a gymnast!reader where she’s seen him compete and vise versa. thanks <3

✧Partners in Performance ✧

─ Léon Marchand x OC, Léon Marchand x Reader

Hi Anon, Thank you lots and lots for your ask, super cool idea to mix gymnastics into the mix with Léon !

Warnings: Established relationship, I haven't been to the village nor events in the Olympics (Paris '24), not fluent in French, Fluff!

---

Y/N tightened the straps on their gymnastics grips, their focus sharp as they prepared for their next routine. The gym was filled with the familiar sounds of chalky hands clapping and the rhythmic pounding of feet on the mats. It was competition day, and the energy was palpable.

But Y/N’s thoughts weren’t entirely on the upcoming performance. Instead, their mind kept drifting to the tall, curly-haired swimmer who was probably wrapping up his own practice at the pool. Léon Marchand, the rising star of French swimming, had been a constant presence in Y/N’s life, both as a competitor and as something more.

They had met at a sports camp two years ago, each working tirelessly to refine their craft. What started as a friendship rooted in mutual respect quickly blossomed into something deeper. They understood each other in a way few others could—how the pressure of competition could weigh heavily, how victories were both exhilarating and fleeting, and how the grind never really stopped.

“Ready?” Their coach’s voice pulled Y/N out of their thoughts.

“Ready,” Y/N replied with a nod, rolling their shoulders back and taking a deep breath. This was their moment.

The announcer called their name, and Y/N stepped onto the floor, the apparatus shining under the bright lights. The music started, and with it, Y/N’s routine—a carefully choreographed blend of strength, grace, and precision.

They flowed through the movements, each leap, turn, and flip executed with a combination of power and elegance. As they completed their final tumbling pass, landing with a controlled but firm stance, the crowd erupted into applause. Y/N smiled, their heart racing with the thrill of nailing the routine.

After saluting the judges, Y/N jogged off the floor, a sense of accomplishment washing over them. As they grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from their brow, their phone buzzed in their gym bag. They fished it out and saw a message from Léon.

**Léon**: *J’ai vu ta performance en direct. Incroyable, comme toujours.*

(I watched your performance live. Incredible, as always.)

Y/N’s smile widened, warmth spreading through them. Léon had always been their biggest fan, even when he couldn’t be there in person. They quickly typed back.

**Y/N**: *Merci, mon amour. J’aurais aimé que tu sois ici, mais savoir que tu regardes, c’est presque aussi bien.*

(Thank you, my love. I wish you were here, but knowing you’re watching is almost as good.)

There wasn’t much time to bask in the moment, though. The rest of the competition still loomed, but Y/N felt a renewed sense of determination. They weren’t just performing for themselves; they were doing it for Léon too.

---

Later that evening, after the competition had wrapped up and Y/N had collected their medal—a hard-earned silver—they finally had a chance to unwind. The hotel room was quiet, and as they settled into bed, their phone buzzed again. It was a video call from Léon.

Y/N answered immediately, and there he was—his handsome face filling the screen, eyes bright with pride.

“Salut, championne,” Léon greeted, his voice warm and full of affection.

“Salut, champion,” Y/N replied, feeling a flutter in their chest. “How was practice?”

“Tough,” Léon admitted, running a hand through his damp curls. “But nothing compared to what you just did. I watched your entire routine, Y/N. You were amazing.”

Y/N blushed slightly, still getting used to the way Léon’s compliments made their heart race. “Thank you. I wish you could have been there.”

“Me too,” he said, his expression softening. “But soon, we’ll both be competing in the same city. I can’t wait for that.”

“Neither can I,” Y/N agreed. “I miss watching you swim in person. Videos don’t do it justice.”

Léon chuckled. “Well, I’ve got a big meet coming up. Maybe you could come watch?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that. What’s the meet?”

“It’s in a few weeks, actually,” Léon said. “The nationals. I’ve been training hard for it.”

“I’ll be there,” Y/N promised. “Front row, cheering you on.”

Léon’s smile was radiant. “Knowing you’ll be there makes it even better.”

They talked for a while longer, sharing details about their training and upcoming competitions, each finding comfort in the other’s voice despite the miles between them.

---

When the day of Léon’s big meet finally arrived, Y/N was in the stands, heart pounding with anticipation. The aquatic center was buzzing with excitement as swimmers warmed up and spectators filled the seats.

When Léon’s event was called, Y/N’s breath caught in their throat. They had seen him swim countless times before, but it never ceased to amaze them. The way he moved through the water was almost otherworldly, each stroke powerful and fluid.

As the race began, Y/N leaned forward in their seat, eyes glued to the pool. Léon surged ahead, his movements precise and controlled, and Y/N’s heart swelled with pride. When he touched the wall and the scoreboard flashed his time—first place—Y/N jumped to their feet, cheering loudly.

Léon looked up into the stands, and when his eyes found Y/N, his face broke into a wide grin. He pointed up at them, a silent acknowledgment that this victory, like so many others, was shared.

After the medals were awarded, Léon found Y/N in the crowd, pulling them into a tight embrace despite the fact that he was still dripping wet.

“You were incredible,” Y/N said, their voice muffled against his chest.

“Only because you were here,” Léon replied, pressing a kiss to their temple. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re better together.”

Y/N laughed softly, looking up at him. “Yeah, we are.”

As they walked out of the aquatic center hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but feel that, no matter where their sports took them, as long as they had each other, they would always find a way to shine.

[walkswithmyfather]

“Mathew 8:27 But the men marvelled, saying, What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him!

“There is absolutely nothing that can stand in the way of Jesus.

No enemy has the power He simply casts out demons.

No teacher or skeptic can stump him with a question.

No disease can withstand his call for healing.

Not even nature can baffle or threaten him.

He is not just a man

He is God's Son

He is Immanuel

God with us.

Until we go home to Him it is only then we will fully understand who He is. We can be secure that He will care for us and bring us to his home

Fear is not just being troubled with circumstances it also is the uncertainty about what will ultimately happen to us.

Jesus shows his disciples that their safety, their destiny, is under his command and nothing can withstand his grace offered to bless his disciples

Isaiah 43:2 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

There are sometimes times in our lives when we have been hit by blow after blow, and we feel depleted and also defeated. During these occasions, it is easy to lose all hope. The good news is God does not want us to live out our daily existence discouraged or hopeless so He has given us His word as a source of blessing and encouragement.

Deuteronomy 20:4 For the Lord your God is he that goeth with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.

One of the most encouraging thoughts for you to know is that even when things seem the worst God is in control. He easily overcomes what feels impossible to us.

Every time we struggled with feelings of loss and defeat we have to remind ourselves so our hope can be restored.

1 Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 John 5:4 For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.

God does not want us to be overcome by feelings of defeat and despair in spite of the crushing blows we receive. He has given us His powerful word full of encouragement and hope to strengthen us instead.

His will for us is that we live our lives in victory.

We all have battles that we fight every day . It might not be a physical war against other human beings, but rather our struggles may be against our own thought patterns, bad habits or weaknesses.

Sometimes these situations and circumstances that we face that are out of our control. When this occurs read Deuteronomy 20:4 this verse can fill us with hope and courage.

It reminds us that it is the Lord who goes with us to fight for us against our enemies whoever or whatever that may be. God not only fights for us but he also gives us the victory.

2 Samuel 22:18 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: for they were too strong for me.

Heavenly Father

Please act with Your strong power to still the storms in the hearts of those we love. Give them peace and calm and lead them to know that Jesus is their source of help. We ask You to replace our sadness with joy, defeat with victory, and weariness with praise. Help us when we feel defeated, weary or sad to focus on Your blessings in our life rather than on my circumstances. Remind us to praise You the Father at all times so we may obtain life and hope. We ask that You bring all things to our memory that concern You and Your plans in my life. Please increase our hope as we focus on Your Word. Help us to not be conformed to this world but transformed by the renewing of our mind. Strengthen and renew us in our innermost being. Destroy the fiery darts of the enemy that attempt to pierce our souls. May we always hear Your voice and obey Your will. Father, help us to overcome today fears. Thank you for the ones in our life that Love us. We praise You and Love You Lord in all circumstances. In Jesus’ name we pray

Amen.”

(Via)

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

Madara Week Day 5 : found family

Originally analysis but there is a lot of my own interpretation so let's say Meta/Headcanon?

Madara sincerely tried to consider Konoha as his new home. He did it for the sake of his people but mostly because the warring state era, the death of every single member of his family left him emotionally exhausted.

Paradoxically what Madara feared the most in his youth was solitude. It is revealed during the monologue Obito did to Naruto just after the death of Neji and Madara noted that Obito sounds just like him back then.~

Hashirama's hand came like a relief from the horror of his situation. Everything had been destroyed anyway so yeah... maybe let's build something brand new from scratches. Yeah maybe he can trust the Senju clan after all and life would be easier. But the effect of this renewed friendship was unfortunately temporary, it was like applying a tiger balm in an open infected wound full of filths. The weight of guilt, the promise he made to Izuna on his death bed, the distrust from his clansmen he wanted so badly to save, it was still haunting him... And later the village revealed itself to be just an illusion of peace. People were living side by side but they still hated each other in silence and soon he could already prophetize his clan would be in great danger under the Senju's authority. But he never found a way to properly communicate his worries to the Uchihas that have now a warm roof over their head and a meal everyday. He couldn't neither communicate with Hashirama, and the main reason in my opinion was because they have changed too much during the last decade.

If you think about it seriously there is something unrealistic about Kishimoto's writing. Close you eyes for a minute, remember your best friend when you were 12 years old. and then you go your separate way and you see him again fifteen years later. What would you say to each other? Sure you still have dear memories together but...that's it.

The fundamental period of your life when you grow from being just a child to a grown adult many things happened that change you deeply:

1) puberty, often more spectacular in men. their physical appearance, their height, their voice, their hormones like testosterone that makes them more aggressive, open to sexual experience. Just from being 12 to 17 it's two different characters. Your parents who have to deal with your teenage angst can talk about it.

2) socially you change too. from 12 to 17 you're still cocooned by the educational system, for most of us we still depend economically from our parents. and from 18 to 26. Some goes to university, changes for a different cities, hang out with different friends, shape their values different from what their parents taught them. Others start to work straight away and the changes are even more brutal, now you confront the child that you were with the reality of building a career, earning a living, pay your own taxes, vote for your president ect... in a nutshell being a functional and independent member of your society.

3) emotionally you mature : it's obvious that from our 12 to 26, most of us went through different phase of first love, second love? maybe third? maybe just broken heart, maybe just a period of chaotic love affairs one after an other, maybe long abstinence. and probably after 26 some choose to finally settle down. other may already have children and being a parents which means you don't live just for yourself anymore. It's a complete shift of paradigm when someone else depend on you for survival. Your social circles change a lot too, slowly you befriend people based on your workplace, your hobbies, your political views rather than just sharing the same playground. Some of you can befriend people from lower or higher class that what you originally comes from, forcing you to understand new codes, new skills, new cultures, new languages. And when you almost reach your thirties you may experience for the first time the death of the elders from your community. A grandma, a grandpa who was there since you were born is now gone. The brevity of life suddenly slaps you in the face. Children thinks of themselves as eternal, not adult.

Birth, childhood, adulthood, love, deception, growth, rebirth, mourning, wisdom ect...Why do I say all of this? To describe the life of someone living in a relatively peaceful environment and born in a wealthy modern world which is all of us.

The fact that you are literate, you can read my words in english, you have an internet connection, a smartphone or a desktop, and the luxury to spend time on tumblr is a proof that you are relatively privileged comparing to the majority of people on Earth.

Now we are talking about Madara born into a traditional environment and during a war time when life was even shorter and fragile. Everything I've just described is basically done faster. At 15 you're already an adult, at 18 you have responsibilities as a breadwinner, at 26 you're a senior, head of clan, veteran of many war with all the trauma it drives, parents of many children, maybe widow, (not his case but for instance Tajima was). To put it into perceptive Madara at 26 lived the life of someone 40 years old in the modern world.

To pretend that Hashirama can cast out a a whole lifetime, and just hold to their childhood to build his dreamed village was indeed utterly naive. Between the moment he was elected hokage and the moment Madara shows him the Uchiha shrine, at least a whole year has passed, the relationship with Tobirama was still tense and the first hokage did nothing on purpose. Based on that, it's obvious that Hashirama never thought about discussing what Madara went throught the last 15 years of his life. He knew the child Madara but he completely brush off the adult Madara.

Yes they were close friend as children, but that were now two different persons with a separate background. Am I saying that their reconciliation was doomed from the start? No, they have healthy roots but it would have ask from both side to be more patient with each other and more attentive to what the other says rather than forcing a past childhood into the present.

@uchiha-event

[viktheviking1]

Confession V2

(This is kinda outta context. I tried to make it make sense. If you want to know what really happened that led up to this scene, I've got links to my fanfic at the bottom. I hope you enjoy anyway!)

Blitz hadn't seen Stolas in so long. Between Stolas getting kidnapped, and then getting kidnapped himself, he had realized how precious time in this life was. Not to mention the giant lump in his throat as he watched his old friend and first crush live the life he always wanted, and get to love whomever he pleased. Stolas had told him once that he loved him, and he brushed him off. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

So when he knocked on the door of Stolas's mansion, on a day that was distinctly NOT a full moon, he had one goal in mind.

"Hey there, good looking." Blitz said, leaning in the doorway.

Stolas was clearly taken by surprise, "Oh! Hello, dear. What can I do for you?"

"The better question is what can I do you for?" Blitz grinned.

Stolas couldn’t help but let a goofy, sheepish smile, sprawl across his face, “Heh. He he he! How silly.” He started giggling little hoots.

Blitz seemed to let out a sigh of relief, “It’s been so long since I heard that sound.”

Stolas immediately stopped, “Oh-! I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no!” Blitz closed the space between them, and grabbed his hand, “I meant . . . that I missed it.”

Stolas’s heart flipped, and he looked down at their hands. He tangled their fingers together and he watched as Blitz squeezed his hand.

"You know . . . I've had some time to think. . ." Blitz started, looking away as he blushed, "about you and I. About our arrangement. About how I . . . really feel about you."

“Oh~? And how do you feel about me?~”

He expected a sarcastic return, a witty comback, or at best, a flirtatious remark. He was not expecting for Blitz to grab his cardigan, and tug him down, and kiss him roughly.

Blitz pulled back after a moment but didn’t let go of him, pressing their foreheads together, “I love everything about you, Stolas. I love your creepy bird mouth and the way you laugh. I love listening you talk about your stupid hyperfixations on plants and toads and constellations. I love how much you worry over your daughter and how a simple text from her can make your day. I love how you are somehow so shy and sweet, and somehow the k*nkiest motherf**ker alive and that you know what you and chase after it. I love to listen to you sing in the shower and watch you gaze at the sky. I love you so much, Stolas." He let go of his shirt and cupped his face in his hands, and pulled back to get a better look at him, "and that's why I've been so scared to hurt you. And I know being with me would mean a lot of hard decisions, public ridicule, and general trouble for you. Not to mention my tendency to be the worst of bad luck charms."

"Blitz-"

"But if you really do think for some crazy, insane reason, that I'm worth all that, then . . ." He nuzzled him and smiled, "why the f**k not?"

Stolas stared into his eyes, stunned. He reached up and pinched Blitz's cheek.

"Ow!" He shouted, but didn't let go of his face, "what the f**k was that for?!"

"I had to check if I was dreaming." Stolas blinked.

Blitz laughed, "You're supposed to pinch yourself to prove it."

"Oh, that's right." Stolas grinned.

"Dumb*ss." Blitz chuckled, and the two fell into another kiss. There tongues tied together in a familiar fashion, the sweet taste of renewed love and churros on their lips. It was also so completely different from their kisses of the past. Before everything was hot, passionate and fast, but this was a tender, honest kiss. A purity in it that neither had ever had before.

Stolas felt a sharp pain, and pulled away suddenly. Standing at his full height, he reached his hand down to rub his butt where it hurt, "Ouch!"

He looked down at Blitz who was grinning mischievously, "So? Is it a dream?"

It took him a moment to realize what had happened, but when he did, he burst out laughing.

". . . It wasn't that funny." Blitz smiled, eyebrows drawn together.

"Oh yes, my dear," Stolas leaned down and picked Blitz up, letting him sit on his arm, so he could face him, "Yes, it was."

Blitz snorted, "You have such a weird sense of humor."

Stolas giggled, "You're the one who made the joke!"

"I know what I said and I stand by it." Blitz nodded.

They both laughed together.

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 93

Returning to civilization felt strange as if I’d expected the world to be drastically different. In some ways, it was—just worse. Thanos, the mad titan, had set his sights on Earth. I wasn’t sure if I had any fight left in me; on bad days, I could barely stand.

We had just fought two of his minions—formidable fighters who fled only after Sam, Nat, Steve, and I intervened to save Wanda and Vision. Their relationship had always struck me as odd—Vision wasn’t human, after all. But the way they looked at each other, full of love and devotion, made my heart ache.

Vision had been wounded during the fight, so we rushed to the one place that could help him—Wakanda. Not only to treat his injuries but to extract the soul stone from his forehead. Destroying it was the only way to stop Thanos from getting his hands on it.

I thought going to Wakanda might stir something in me—the prospect of seeing Bucky again. But I was too tired to feel anything. All I could think about was how I had hoped to hunt down Dr. Locke the moment I could show my face in public again.

Yet here I was, with another being from space threatening our existence, forcing me to put everything aside. At least when we were on the run, my life was my own. Now, this overwhelming responsibility was thrust back upon me, and I wasn’t sure if I could bear it.

Putting the suit back on felt like a heavyweight, dragging me down, and I didn’t have the strength to fight it. Steve, on the other hand, seemed to welcome the distraction—if you could even call it that. He was back to his stern, commanding self, throwing himself into the fight with renewed purpose. But every time his eyes landed on me, he offered a sad smile, as if he could see how much I was struggling beneath the surface.

We touched down on one of the many helipads in Wakanda. As I unstrapped myself, Steve approached, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. "Are you okay? If you want to stay back, not join the fight..." he started, his concern obvious.

But I cut him off. "I'm fine. I’d rather fight than sit around and think," I replied, my voice firmer than I felt.

He nodded, his eyes searching mine for a moment longer, then bent down to press a quick kiss on my lips before turning to leave the jet.

I took a deep breath before stepping out, and there he was—instantly recognizable. His hair was longer, his beard fuller, but the smile he wore seemed genuine. Steve greeted him first, pulling him into a tight hug, both of them laughing. Bucky’s smile faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned the area, and when Steve pointed in my direction, our gazes met.

I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. Without thinking, I quickened my pace, rushing toward him. The moment I reached him, Bucky wrapped his arms around me, and I felt him sigh as he murmured my name. We held each other tightly before finally pulling back, our smiles reflecting the same quiet joy. For the first time in a long time, I truly smiled.

I pulled back fully when I realized everyone’s eyes were on me. Steve broke the silence with a smile. "We’ll take Vision to the lab. Why don’t you two catch up?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, my brow furrowed, trying to ignore the hopeful look on Bucky’s face beside me.

"Yeah," Steve nodded, his smile turning solemn. "Enjoy the peace and quiet before everything goes to hell."

I knew he was doing this for me, offering a small gift of time and space because he understood how fragile I’d become. His gesture wasn’t lost on me, and I gave him a small nod in return, grateful even in my hesitation.

Steve patted both of us on the back before disappearing with T’Challa and the others, leaving me and Bucky alone in the quiet aftermath.

"So, how have you been?" Bucky asked with a soft smile. I opened my mouth to respond, but the truth felt too heavy, too raw. I didn’t want to burden him with it. Instead, I redirected the conversation.

"Forget about me," I said, forcing a lighter tone. "How have you been? How long have you been out of cryo?"

We started walking through the bustling city, the vibrancy of Wakanda almost surreal against the weight of everything on my mind.

His expression grew serious, his gaze fixed ahead as he replied, "A while… They woke me not long after they found a way to get those words out of my head."

I hadn’t expected that answer. It stung, more than I wanted to admit, that he hadn’t tried to contact me all that time.

Sensing the shift, Bucky glanced at me, almost apologetic. "I knew you were on the run, so I figured it was best not to reach out. Wakanda has been a blessing, honestly. I just wish you two could’ve been here too… maybe Sam too." He smiled faintly, trying to soften the weight of his words.

I nodded, but the ache lingered. Part of me understood, but another part couldn’t shake the distance that had grown between us. Maybe it was better this way, I thought, trying to convince myself.

"So… did they help you? With the trigger words, I mean," I asked as we sat down on a bench overlooking a small lake, the water calm and reflective.

Bucky smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes as he nodded. "Yeah. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I’m free." He glanced toward a small cottage across the lake and pointed. "I’ve been living there. It’s so peaceful here, and the people are incredible. I haven’t felt like this in… well, a long, long time."

Hearing him say those words—a kind of peace I’d almost forgotten was possible—brought a strange mix of happiness and sadness. I was glad for him, but it made me wonder if I’d ever feel that kind of freedom again.

"I’m so happy for you, Buck," I said, and I truly meant it. Seeing him like this, so at peace, warmed my heart in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

"You and Steve could stay here when all of this is over," he suggested with a wide smile. "It’s not Brooklyn, but the air’s a lot better."

I smiled softly and looked out at the lake. He was right—it was beautiful and serene, the kind of quiet I hadn’t realized I missed. Children played and laughed in the water, their joy contagious. A few of them waved at Bucky, and he waved back with a smile before turning back to me, his eyes still bright with hope.

"It sounds amazing, Buck," I said, my voice soft yet strained. "But I can’t… at least not for a while. There’s something I have to do."

The heaviness in my words made his smile fade, his brow furrowing in concern. "Do what?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I fidgeted with my hands, struggling to find the right words. Bucky’s hand gently rested on my shoulder, his touch reassuring. "Talk to me," he said quietly, sensing the complexity of the matter.

I took a shaky breath. "Steve and I have a son."

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise, but I rushed on before he could react. "Hydra ambushed us in the middle of the night and took me. They drugged me, kept me unconscious through the entire pregnancy, and then stole my baby, leaving me behind like trash."

Tears welled up as the memories surged back, my voice trembling. "Hydra has him, and I won’t rest until I get him back."

I wiped away my tears, waiting for Bucky’s response. He was momentarily speechless, his shock evident. After a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

In the shelter of his arms, I allowed myself to fully feel the weight of losing my baby, setting aside the anger and the vengeful images that had been driving me. For a moment, I just let the pain wash over me, grateful for the comfort and understanding he offered.

Bucky pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes with a determined expression. "Do you have any leads?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing. I only know the doctor’s name—Doctor Locke." Bucky’s face darkened at the mention.

"Do you know him?" I asked, a knot tightening in my stomach.

He nodded slowly, a grimace crossing his features. "I do." He took my hand firmly. "We will get your son back, I promise you."

At that moment, I felt a spark of hope flicker to life within me for the first time in months, warmed by Bucky’s resolve and the promise of a future where I could finally find my son.

Next Chapter

[emytellsrandomstories]

Some warnings + Chapter 1 Progress!!!!!

HELLO MY LOVELY STARS!!!

You didn't expect to see me updating KoW so soon, did you???

I usually post updates on Saturday or Sunday, but I'll be traveling so I decided to leave the previews today.

In fact, this trip is the warning I have to give. I will be away from my work desk and my materials for a few days (I don't know exactly how many but between one and two weeks), therefore I will not be able to make progress on the Comic during this period.

This is sad I know. But look on the bright side, I'm going to get a lot of rest and return to work with renewed energy!!!

✨YAYYYYYY !!!✨

Anyway, without further ado, let's get to what everyone wants to see:

THE CONTINUATION OF THE OUTLINES OF CHAPTER 1 OF "THE KINGDOM OF WISHES"

( Written by @annymation , design by @uva124 )

Check out part 1 here.

"The two brothers grew up and, with their father's teachings, became powerful sorcerers."

"But when the big day arrived, Florian was crowned king, as Magnus still didn't feel confident and claimed that something was missing in his life; something that gave him strength and courage!"

"It was then that Magnus met Amaya."

"The most beautiful maiden he had ever seen had been found adrift in a boat and taken shelter in the castle by order of King Florian."

"As a form of gratitude for the hospitality, Amaya began to serve the court as a royal alchemist and, as the days went by, she ended up winning Magnus' heart, finally making him feel like he could do...anything".

"Encouraged by his new love, Magnus decided to travel in search of adventure, leaving the kingdom to prosper in Florian's hands."

"But then, a tragedy happened. When Magnus returned to Rosas he discovered that his brother had passed away due to illness. A painful loss for the entire kingdom, which was made worse by Florian not having legitimate heirs"

"Magnus was moved. He could not let the magnificent legacy of his beloved brother and predecessors end like this."

"Feeling confident with Amaya by your side, Magnus took over the throne and changed the way wishes were granted monthly, doing dozens of them a week, making them float back to your Wish Makers, during the night"

The Kingdom was so happy and grateful that they began to name their new rulers with nicknames that reflected their magnificence and passion, thus making them known as King Magnífico and Queen Amable.

"The end".

Sabino: "I admire your taste in complex stories, Asha, but... Hmm...Don't you think this is too complicated for you?"

Asha: "I thought it was a fantasy book, but it's just romance. Yuck!”

Sabino: "Never judge a book by its cover, darling! What you have here is a history book."

Asha: "But he doesn't explain things very well.Where does Queen Amaya come from? And the king's staff?What disease did Florian die from?"

Sabino: "Well, Asha, let's see..."

"First, the queen is very private about her past, we have to respect that."

"Second. That staff is just a souvenir the king got on his travels."

Sabino: "And third. Sometimes bad things just... happen... without explanation."

"And there's nothing we can do about it."

"Unless you move on..."

To be continued...

FORGIVE FOR ENDING WITH AN ANGUISH DRAWING 🥺🥺

BUT DESPITE THAT, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!

And understood. Remembering that, like Anny, I'm Brazilian, but unlike her, I don't understand English and I'm always using Google translate, so maybe there are some mistakes. But Anny and you are always welcome to point out mistakes and correct me!

That's it for today and until after my little vacation Lmao 😅 I'll still be online to answer any questions or curiosities you may have, or simply to see posts and rewrites in which they mark me. I love interacting with this fun and tight-knit community of Wish Concept Art fans!

Anyway, goodbye!!

Kisses full of light and stars!

~Emy

[mihai-florescu]

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 2: *walking encyclopedia of every obscure 2d idol project* you should get into argonavis

Mutual 3: i think my headaches these past few days are from the cyanide ive been eating

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!

Mutual 4: it's friday, pass the yaoi

Mutual 1: it's so over

Mutual 5: i think im scared of being known and loved

Mutual 6: i would actually kill for a croissant rn

Mutual 1: we're so back!!!!!!

Mutual 7: tatsumi kazehaya would NOT be homophobic just because he's christian, stop applying a western lens on japanese media.

Mutual 8: i love my wife:D

Mutual 9: *fanart of an anime boy as a jesus christ figure, with a queer interpretation of christ's side wound*

Mutual 10: should i drop out?

Mutual 11: everyone should read ep:link and blackbird and tempest and sanctuary and

Mutual 12: i made some yummy pasta today :D *photo of yummy pasta*

Mutual 1: it's so over...

Mutual 13:

Midway upon the journey of our life

    I found myself within a forest dark,

    For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say

    What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,

    Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;

    But of the good to treat, which there I found,

    Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,

    So full was I of slumber at the moment

    In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain’s foot,

    At that point where the valley terminated,

    Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,

    Vested already with that planet’s rays

    Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted

    That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout

    The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,

    Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,

    Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,

    Turn itself back to re-behold the pass

    Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,

    The way resumed I on the desert slope,

    So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,

    A panther light and swift exceedingly,

    Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er!

And never moved she from before my face,

    Nay, rather did impede so much my way,

    That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,

    And up the sun was mounting with those stars

    That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;

    So were to me occasion of good hope,

    The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;

    But not so much, that did not give me fear

    A lion’s aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming

    With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,

    So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings

    Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,

    And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,

    With the affright that from her aspect came,

    That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,

    And the time comes that causes him to lose,

    Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E’en such made me that beast withouten peace,

    Which, coming on against me by degrees

    Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,

    Before mine eyes did one present himself,

    Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,

    “Have pity on me,” unto him I cried,

    “Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!”

He answered me: “Not man; man once I was,

    And both my parents were of Lombardy,

    And Mantuans by country both of them.

‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late,

    And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,

    During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just

    Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,

    After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?

    Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable,

    Which is the source and cause of every joy?”

“Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain

    Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?”

    I made response to him with bashful forehead.

“O, of the other poets honour and light,

    Avail me the long study and great love

    That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,

    Thou art alone the one from whom I took

    The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;

    Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,

    For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“Thee it behoves to take another road,”

    Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,

    “If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

    Suffers not any one to pass her way,

    But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

    That never doth she glut her greedy will,

    And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,

    And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound

    Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,

    But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;

    ’Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,

    On whose account the maid Camilla died,

    Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,

    Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,

    There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best

    Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,

    And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,

    Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,

    Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are

    Within the fire, because they hope to come,

    Whene’er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,

    A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;

    With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,

    In that I was rebellious to his law,

    Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;

    There is his city and his lofty throne;

    O happy he whom thereto he elects!”

And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat,

    By that same God whom thou didst never know,

    So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,

    That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,

    And those thou makest so disconsolate.”

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.