#spent the afternoon painting this little landscape

[finngualart]

🍂🍁

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 06/08 // “Who did this?” 

wc: 2.5k // rating: T // cw: homophobic slur, hate crime, blood/wounds // tags: post-s4 but vecna dies, eddie lives, hate crime, satanic panic, wound care

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

When Eddie woke up in the hospital after days in a medically induced coma, Steve felt a relief so deep it caught him off guard.

He wasn’t sure why the feeling was so intense. Maybe because it was the closest they’d gotten to actually losing someone. Maybe it was because Steve was the one to bring him back from the edge of death. The speeding drive to the hospital spent in cold fear that Eddie might bleed out in the backseat after Steve had given CPR, pushing hard enough to hear Eddie’s ribs crack before he took in a faint wheeze of a breath and his pulse fluttered weakly beneath his skin. 

Either way, when Eddie finally blinked awake—groggy and fearful—relief washed warm and heavy over Steve, eyes filling with tears as he gripped Eddie’s hand tightly and whispered to him quiet words of welcoming, soft praises of having done so well, gentle reassurances that he was safe now. The fear in Eddie’s eyes slowly faded. He gave a small nod—his movement limited—and with it, placed his trust in Steve.

The trust between them maintained, lingered, grew into something strong with each day spent recovering, each whispered fear and secret shared between them, each lingering hand hold. Whatever it was, it was growing, and alongside it, a fear that it was turning into something Steve wouldn’t be able to stop.

Weeks after his release from the hospital, Eddie greeted him with a story of being chased off by friends of Jason Carver—uninjured, thankfully, but still shaken—and Steve felt the rush of overprotection fill his veins like adrenaline, and realised it might be something a little more than that. But no, Steve felt protective over all of his friends. This was no different. He assured himself that the hot spike of fury and need to protect his friend was normal. His reaction was equal to the danger in which his friend was currently in. The perception of Eddie Munson in Hawkins was still… in poor favour. Despite him being cleared of all charges formally, the town had difficulty letting go of this idea that Eddie was a dangerous individual. These were people that tried to kill Eddie, it only made sense that Steve would feel this way. This was just a normal, close friendship. Until it wasn’t.

Steve’s driving toward the trailer park, warm afternoon air flowing through the open windows, a new mixtape from Eddie blasting from his speakers. Tapping the wheel along with the music, Steve takes the turn down towards the Munson trailer, slowing as he sees something that doesn’t quite fit with the landscape. Bright red. Steve’s heart drops. He turns down the music, slowing his car to a crawl. Once close enough, he parks and throws himself out of the beemer, taking in the awful sight before him.

FREAK. DEVIL WORSHIPPER. FAG. SATANIST. REPENT. All scrawled in blood red paint across the front of the trailer. Alongside the repeated words, symbols—upside down crucifixes, pentagrams, crudely drawn demon-like figures—filling up any available space. Steve feels his throat close up, immediately rushing to the door and trying not to knock too aggressively.

“Eddie? Are you in there?” He calls softly. “It’s Steve. C’mon, man, open up.”

Steve listens intently, until he hears shuffling behind the door, the sound of what could be something shifting across the carpet. Finally, the door cracks open.

“Eddie…” Steve says with relief, but the door doesn’t open further. “Are you okay? Jesus, what happened?”

Steve can only see a sliver of Eddie’s face, one eye wide and shining with fear. “Are—are you alone?” Eddie croaks. Hearing the way Eddie spoke makes his throat tighten.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just me, man.” Steve keeps his tone as gentle as possible. “Can I come in?”

Eddie only looks at him, seemingly thinking hard, before turning quickly but leaving the door open. Steve steps inside quickly, and the door snaps shut behind him, bolts locking and chain pulled across immediately. Eddie stays facing the door, and Steve sees that his hair is half tied up, and one hand is gripping tightly at his side, fingers digging into his ribs. Despite wanting to ask more questions, Steve keeps quiet, feeling like Eddie might freak out or bolt if he speaks. 

After a minute that feels like an hour, Eddie finally turns.

Steve can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the way his blood turns to ice, the flare of his nostrils in fury at what he sees. Eddie’s left eye—the one hidden by the door before—is black and swollen almost shut. The purpling extends down his cheekbone. A gash at the top of his head is open, blood seemingly hastily wiped away, but still sticky at Eddie’s hairline and down the side of his face. His lower lip is busted near the corner, bright red and swollen, still dripping blood that Eddie unconsciously licks away. With his hair partially pulled back, Steve spots purple and red on Eddie’s throat. He looks to where Eddie still holds tight at his side, and sees how his knuckles too are red and bloodied. 

When he finally looks back up to Eddie’s face, he sees a look of shame. Steve feels a storm brew in his chest. He reaches out, leaving distance just in case. Eddie flinches, instinctively, before stepping forward into Steve’s space. He lets Steve trail his fingers, softer than he would have expected, along his jaw, gently shifting his head around to look at his injuries. Allows Steve to move a lock of hair that didn’t make it into the hairband, carefully avoiding the open wounds. His warm palm settles on the side of Eddie’s face that was—for the most part—uninjured. The gesture so soft, so kind, a tear spills from Eddie’s good eye.

Steve holds steady, keeps his voice low. “Who did this?”

“Steve…” Eddie whispers. “I… I tried—tried to—” He can’t finish the sentence, words catching in his throat, breath speeding up as more tears run down his face, pooling against Steve’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, soft and reassuring. “I’m here, it’s okay. I got you.”

Eddie shuffles forward, close enough that Steve can feel his short panicked breaths. Steve slowly opens his arms, hesitating, before Eddie lets himself lean against his chest. Lowering his arms with care, Steve places his hands on Eddie’s back like he’s handling glass, feeling the sharp gasp and the tremble in the other man’s body. Eddie sags against him, curled so his face is against Steve’s shoulder. He feels his heart pound with rage at whoever did this. He feels something else as well, a shame in himself for not having been there, for not protecting Eddie. If he’d gotten there earlier, could this have been avoided?

Steve pulls away, despite wanting to do the opposite—wanting to hold Eddie so tight, envelop him in care, to let him know that he’s safe—and looks over him again, taking stock of the wounds. “Can I help?”

Eddie nods, breath still shaky but much calmer, and allows Steve to guide him back to his own kitchen. Steve grabs a chair, motioning for Eddie to sit, and turns to where a first-aid kit is already opened on the counter. Alongside it, a towel with blood on it and a bottle of saline.

“Did you try to clean yourself up?”

“Wouldn’t—” Eddie hisses as he sits. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Steve looks back at him with concern.

“C’mon, man,” Eddie says with a wince. “You know what it was like for me.”

Guilt sits in Steve’s gut. He did know. Watched, more than once, when Eddie would end up surrounded by jocks—outnumbered—and one would deliver resounding punches to his face and stomach. Eddie would only ever spur them on. “Come on! That all you got? Give me another. You know how much I like it.” Words wet with blood, teeth shining with it. Eyes lit up despite the bruises forming around them. He’d get under their skin, letting them leave with disgust.

Steve doesn’t respond, instead turns back to the counter, grabbing a roll of paper towels and the saline. Holding the damp square up, Steve waits, and Eddie gives him another nod. Steve gets to work, wiping away the sticky blood around the head wound. Eddie hisses between his teeth when Steve moves over it, trying his best to be gentle. “Sorry,” Steve whispers.

“S’okay,” Eddie rasps.

The silence settles between them for a while, Eddie’s breathing finally slows to a normal, if slightly shallow, rate. Steve wants to ask again, to know who did this, but waits. Focuses on the job at hand, cleaning the remaining blood away from Eddie’s lip.

With all the blood cleaned up, Steve turns to the freezer and pulls out a bag of peas, wrapping them in a kitchen towel. He hands it to Eddie, who gingerly holds it up to his black eye, sucking in a sharp breath at the contact. The bruising on Eddie’s hands looks bad too, but they’ll have to come back to that. Looking over the first-aid kit, Steve pulls out some antiseptic wipes and adhesive bandages.

“These are gonna sting a bit,” Steve says, ripping open the wipes.

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Least of my concerns.”

Steve gives him a half smile. At least he was joking around a bit. He starts to clean around the head wound, noticing how Eddie’s good eye squeezes shut when the alcohol makes contact, and tries to move quickly. “It’s not too deep, shouldn’t need stitches.”

“How d’you know?” Eddie mutters, still wincing at the sting.

“Had my fair share of head wounds,” Steve says, still focused on the wipe in his hand.

Eddie doesn’t respond, just looks up at him with his uncovered eye. Steve moves down to Eddie’s lower lip, softly swiping at the cut, noticing the blood still in his mouth, the purple bruising that extends down to his jaw.

“Are you gonna tell me?” Steve turns to the counter, grabbing the butterfly stitch bandages. “Who did this to you?”

“Does it matter?” Eddie asks. “What’re you gonna do? Go beat them up, defend my honour?” His voice is heavy with sarcasm.

Steve gives him a quick look, before peeling the bandages off the wrapping. “I might.” 

Letting Steve turn his head slightly, careful not to touch any of the wounds, Eddie keeps his good eye locked on him. Seemingly assessing him. “Just the same bullshit…” His voice is thick, his eye glassy with fresh tears. “They still think I did it. That I killed Chrissy. Nothing is ever gonna change that for them.” Eddie inhales shakily. “If not that, they’ll find some other reason to hate me. Easy target.”

“We’ll find a way,” Steve says. “Even if it means. I dunno. Even if we have to leave.”

Steve holds the cut closed, and begins applying the strips, tongue between his teeth as he concentrates, ensuring they don’t get stuck in Eddie’s hair. Eddie is watching him carefully again. “You’d do that?” Eddie asks, voice soft. “Leave—with me?”

Lowering himself to Eddie’s eyeline, he places a hand on his shoulder. “Isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you, Eddie.”

It’s far more earnest, far more vulnerable, than either of them have been with each other before. Eddie doesn’t say anything, just frowns slightly, like he’s trying to figure something out. They sit in silence as Steve works, only the sounds of their breathing and the unpeeling of more bandages in the room. All of it feels so… intimate, Eddie allowing Steve to take care of him, to clean his wounds and patch him up. They’d been close since Eddie woke up in the hospital, but not like this.

“Alright, that should do it,” Steve says, scrunching the bandage wrapping. He then looks to Eddie’s hands. “Lemme see.”

Eddie holds out his free hand, and Steve takes it in his, turning it as he assesses the damage. He flattens Eddie’s fingers, then softly curls them, handling him like something precious and breakable. “Any pain?” 

Eddie shakes his head in response. Reaching over for a new antiseptic wipe, Steve keeps Eddie’s hand in his, reluctant to let it go. He cleans the small cuts—splits from punching, if Steve’s own experience told him anything. He applies a small band-aid, before motioning for Eddie to swap, taking his other hand away from the bag of peas. Repeating the process, stretching and curling Eddie’s fingers and cleaning the wounds, Steve tries to ignore the intrusive thought that tells him they’re holding hands. Now wasn’t the time for that.

Feeling Eddie’s eyes on him, Steve finally releases his hand. Clears his throat. “Can’t do much about this.” Steve gestures to Eddie’s lip, wishing instead he could let his thumb trail along the side of it. “Any others? You were holding your side before.”

Setting the bag of peas aside, Eddie moves with effort to pull up his shirt. Steve kneels down immediately. Where Eddie’s barely healed scars are still red around his ribs, deep purple bruises paint his chest and waist. Extending a shaking hand, Steve stops himself from touching, instead hovering over the skin. His breath shakes as he tries to remain calm. Whatever was keeping his emotions held back is broken at the sight.

“Eddie…” Steve looks up at him, pain in his eyes.

Dropping his shirt back down, Eddie looks away. “It’s fine. Nothing’s broken.”

“Nothing about this is fine, Eddie,” Steve tries to catch his eye again. “We already almost lost you once. I don’t think I could handle it if…” Still kneeling, Steve cautiously takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. “I can’t lose you,” he says, voice breaking.

Eddie frowns again, this time with something like pain in his expression. “I’m here, Steve. I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

Steve nods, tears welling and ready to spill over. “I just… I wish I could protect you better.”

Eddie leans closer, pain momentarily forgotten. “You’ve done more than enough,” he breathes, and their faces are so close together. 

Glancing down at Eddie’s lips, and back up to his eye, he feels himself leaning in. He stops, lips parted, waiting. Eddie closes the gap, pressing his lips tenderly to Steve’s. A shudder runs through his body, and Steve kisses back as gently as he possibly can, feeling heat where Eddie’s lip is split and bruised. One hand trails up to cup Eddie’s jaw, barely brushing against the stubble growing there. Eddie rests a hand on Steve’s chest, feeling the way his heart races. 

They part, Steve still kneeling on the ground and looking up at Eddie. He leans in for another gentle kiss, twice more, hopefully conveying all he wishes he had the words for. As Eddie looks at him, smile pulling at the cut on his lip, Steve makes himself a promise.

For the rest of his life, he’ll do anything to keep Eddie safe.

[chintzmann]

More Kungsleden watercolours! 1) View from the highest point of the Kungsleden: The Tjätkja pass. Seeing the expanse of this landscape, the beautiful colours, all those textures and its remoteness was very moving and it feels so special to me that I got the opportunity to paint and thus spend a little longer in this place, feasting my eyes and filling my heart. 2) Saying Goodbye to the trail by having lunch in the harbour with perfect views of Njulla. 3) Murky afternoon at Alesjaure. We walked a bit further past the hiking cabins and found a good spot for wild camping halfway down the lake. Alesjaure greeted us in the wildest shade of turquoise next morning. 4) Lunch break up at Tarfala, looking at one of the glaciers. I cooled down so much from sitting still and painting, that it took me 1,5 h walking downhill again, before my fingers weren't numb anymore. You can find Kungsleden part 1 here: https://chintzmann.tumblr.com/post/725753382562840576/i-spent-my-holidays-hiking-the-kungsleden-in

hiking#camping#holidays#holiday memories#Kungsleden#Sweden#long distance trails#nature#landscape#watercolours#watercolors#charlotte hintzmann#illustration#painting

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. With stop being so pretty/handsome.” “You stop being so pretty/handsome!” Thanks!! :))

beautiful

benedict bridgerton x fem wife reader

Benedict Bridgerton was in the drawing room, a mess of papers scattered across the mahogany table. His easel stood nearby, a canvas half covered in the beginnings of a vibrant landscape. He had been at it for hours, completely absorbed in his art, when the door creaked open and Y/N stepped in, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

"You’ve been in here all morning," Y/N chided gently, setting the tray down on a clear corner of the table. "You must be famished."

Benedict looked up, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of his wife. "I hadn't realized the time," he admitted, rising from his chair and stretching his stiff limbs. "But now that you mention it, I am quite hungry."

As he approached, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. His dark curls were tousled, and there was a smudge of paint on his cheek, adding to his roguish charm. She felt her heart skip a beat, as it often did when she looked at him.

"You have paint on your face," she said, reaching up to wipe it away with her thumb. "And you still manage to look devastatingly handsome."

Benedict caught her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers. "You stop being so pretty," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "It's terribly distracting."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. "You stop being so handsome," she retorted. "It's not fair."

They stood there for a moment, simply enjoying each other's presence. Benedict's thumb brushed over her knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I suppose we're both cursed, then," he whispered.

"Cursed with beauty," Y/N agreed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "What a dreadful fate."

Benedict chuckled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Indeed. Now, tell me about your morning. What mischief have you been up to while I’ve been locked away with my paints?"

"Oh, the usual," Y/N said airily, resting her head against his chest. "A bit of reading, a walk in the garden. I did have an interesting conversation with Eloise about her latest literary endeavor."

"Ah, Eloise and her books," Benedict mused. "She’s always up to something, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she is," Y/N said fondly. "But enough about my morning. I want to hear about your painting. Show me what you’ve been working on."

Benedict led her to the easel, where the canvas stood proudly displaying the beginnings of a lush countryside scene. The colors were vibrant, the strokes confident and expressive. Y/N marveled at the way he captured the essence of nature with such skill.

"It’s beautiful," she breathed. "You have such a talent, Benedict."

He shrugged modestly, though her praise clearly pleased him. "It’s still a work in progress. But I’m glad you like it."

"I love it," she corrected, her eyes meeting his. "Just as I love you."

Benedict’s expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. "And I love you, Y/N. More than words can say."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, the world around them fading away. In that moment, there was only the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of countless beautiful moments yet to come.

When they finally pulled apart, Benedict pressed his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. "Stay with me," he murmured. "Let’s enjoy this day together."

"Of course," Y/N whispered, her heart full. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be."

And so they spent the rest of the day side by side, painting, talking, and simply being together. The hours slipped by unnoticed, filled with laughter and light. In the comfort of each other's presence, they found a joy that was as boundless as their love, and the world outside seemed a little brighter, a little more beautiful.

As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow through the windows, they decided to take a break and stroll through the garden. The summer flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. Benedict held Y/N’s hand as they walked, his thumb gently stroking her palm.

"Do you remember our first walk in this garden?" Y/N asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"How could I forget?" Benedict replied. "I was utterly captivated by you. Still am, in fact."

"You were so nervous," Y/N teased. "You could barely string a sentence together."

"Well, you were and still are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen," Benedict said earnestly. "It was quite overwhelming."

Y/N laughed, the sound like music to Benedict’s ears. "And now look at us," she said. "Walking hand in hand, perfectly at ease."

"Perfectly in love," Benedict added, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

They continued their stroll, enjoying the serenity of the garden and the simple pleasure of each other's company. As they rounded a corner, they came upon a secluded bench beneath a large oak tree. Benedict led Y/N to it, and they sat down, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above them.

"You’ve always been my muse, you know," Benedict said softly, gazing at Y/N. "Every brushstroke, every color, every canvas it’s all inspired by you."

"That’s a lot of pressure," Y/N joked, but her eyes were shining with affection.

"Not at all," Benedict said. "You make it effortless. You bring so much joy and light into my life. I couldn’t imagine my art, or my life, without you."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. "And you, Benedict, have filled my life with such beauty and love. Every day with you is a blessing."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of love, of commitment, and of the future they would continue to build together.

As the day turned to dusk, they made their way back to the house, hand in hand. The drawing room, once filled with the solitary pursuit of art, now felt warmer, more alive. They settled on the settee, sharing the tea and biscuits Y/N had brought earlier.

"Shall we make this a tradition?" Y/N suggested. "A day dedicated to us, to spending time together, no matter what."

"I’d like that very much," Benedict agreed. "A day just for us, every week."

"Good," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Because I love our moments together. They’re my favorite part of every day."

"And mine," Benedict said, wrapping his arm around her. "Always and forever, Y/N."

They sat there in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. Their hearts were full, their spirits content. In each other, they had found a love that was not only beautiful but also enduring a love that would see them through all of life’s challenges and triumphs.

And as they drifted off to sleep that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that they were not just blessed with beauty, but with something far more precious: a deep, abiding love that would last a lifetime

[sarahisslytherin]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌 || 𝐁.𝐁. (PART II)

summary: you’ve been receiving love letters from a secret admirer and you’re desperate to reveal his identity. contains: benedict being fucking adorable, fluff n' angst! a/n: this one’s a bit angsty and a tad racy. enjoy! PART I

The idle days leading up to the ball inched past painfully slow. You spent them trying to occupy yourself with silly activities; knitting, painting, writing. This last did little to keep your mind from straying to your admirer, as one’s mind often drifts to the land of romance when writing. You tried to imagine the color of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the feeling you’d experience were you to finally meet at the ball. No, you scolded yourself with a click of the tongue. You would not get your hopes up only to be disappointed.

You were just beginning to paint a landscape when there was a knock at your door. You ushered in your lady’s maid, who once again discreetly placed a ribbon-wrapped envelope upon your desk and let you be. You knew your imagination would surely run wild as an unbridled stallion if you opened that letter. So you put your fine brushes away and started down the stairs. The letter could wait, you tried to convince yourself as you scurried off to the Bridgertons’.

The heat that afternoon grew more intense by the minute, but Daphne and Eloise insisted on savoring the sunlight by sitting on the garden terrace. You quietly sipped your beverage as you surveyed the garden. The flowers were in full bloom, dashes of pink and white and red standing out against the earthy tones of the greenery. Bees buzzed by and you could hear the chirping of the songbirds if you listened for it. And there, in the center of it all, were Benedict and Colin, fencing with all the grace of two combative children. You snickered whenever Benedict let out the occasional curse, or whenever he bested Colin and wore that ridiculous victory smirk. 

However, the more you watched, the more difficult it became to rid yourself of the suspicion that you were feeling something more than just innocent amusement. Benedict was now covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his muscles tautened with every movement and his ragged breaths drew one of your own from you. You tried to drag your eyes away, focus on your drink, which was doing little to put out the flame you felt brewing within. It wasn’t until Eloise called your attention that you were able to see anything else. 

“Sorry!” you laughed nervously, and noticeably so. “What were you saying?”

“We were saying that we must be going.” Daphne replied. “Simon is here for me and Eloise is off to visit Penelope.” She stood up, gracefully smoothing out her champagne colored dress. “Will you be staying longer?” 

You glanced over at Benedict and Colin, who were striding toward your little group. “Yes, just a bit longer, I think.” Daphne gave you her warm smile and bid you goodbye for the day, Eloise trailing after her as she left. When you turned, the brothers were standing by you. 

“Good heavens!” you shrieked, not expecting their looming presence.

“You’re so easily startled.” Benedict laughed as he took the seat opposite you, where Daphne had been. Colin excused himself and left you both in each other’s company. “Hot, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea.” you remarked as you took another mousy sip of your drink. 

“You seem a bit – fidgety – of late. Are you doing well?” Benedict asked.

“I didn’t know you were such a keen observer.” you smirked.

He gave a sort of knowing chuckle. “You have no idea.”

You smiled, but your expression quickly faded as you recalled the pressures you had been feeling of late to marry. “The truth is I am feeling a bit low. My family wants nothing more than for me to see suitors, to select a person I hardly know and take him as my husband to live out the rest of our miserable days together.” You scanned his face for his reaction.

“Well, that sounds dreadful!” he scoffed. “Call me an idealist, but marriage is not something that can be forced. It should only ever be for love.”

“My thoughts exactly.” you nodded in firm agreement. “Have they started looking at ladies for you as well?”

“For me?” he asked incredulously, which caused you to be taken aback. “No, heavens, no! I do not intend to marry.”

“Never?” you inquired, your slight frown betraying you. “Not even for love?”

“It would have to be a love so strong it could bear any storm, one of those loves the poets write their sonnets about.” he stated with such determined an air you felt you couldn’t question him on the topic any further. “And I suggest you do the same. Do as you wish when you wish it, that’s how I intend to live.”

You couldn’t comprehend how easily he could dismiss something of such paramount importance in your life, so high up on your list of things you must do in order to maintain your social status, or even to simply keep a roof over your head that wasn’t your parents’.

“Well, I’m sure it’s different for men.” you fired back, eyes narrowing as if in some sort of philosophical duel. “Especially when you aren’t the eldest son. Life has no worries for you, it’s all just art and those women you waste away painting.” 

Benedict’s face fell slack. “No, you don’t understand. I didn’t-”

“I don’t understand?” you repeated bitterly as you stood from your seat, Benedict looking up at you with the sorriest of looks. “Do you wish to insult my intelligence as well, old friend? I understand plenty, and I have learned that the world will never be the same for you as it is for me, so I will leave you now to enjoy yet another idle afternoon of your dutiless, reckless life.”

You stormed your way through the house and onto the street, huffing and blowing like a bull ready to charge. How he infuriated you! How mad he drove you! At least your letter awaited you at home, and you would feel peace once again.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @i-padfootblack-things @dd122004dd

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 44

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.6K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The days stretched on into weeks and the absence of news about the conflict between the Night Court and Autumn Court gnawed at your stomach like a knot. You kept telling yourself that no news was better than bad news, but it did little to ease your worries. Trying to distract yourself, you threw yourself into community housing projects and outreach work. Living in the apartments now, you saw firsthand the changes that needed to be made - everything was too dull and lifeless. Despite hoping that residents would bring their own personal touches to make the place cozier, many of them had nothing more than the clothes on their backs. It was then that you decided to create a fund for hiring interior designers from Velaris' fashion districts to liven up the homes. However, many of them were hesitant to step foot into the lower end of the city, let alone work for its impoverished residents. But there were a few generous souls who gladly offered their time, resources, and expertise to help transform the complex. Plush carpeting, fresh paint, and cozy furniture slowly brought life back into the once dreary space.

Your days were now consumed with work, keeping busy whenever there was a moment of quiet. But despite your efforts, thoughts of Azriel lingered constantly. You wondered what he ate for dinner, if it was anything like the delicious chicken curry that one of the mothers had spent all afternoon preparing but didn't have enough ingredients to feed everyone. Did he reach for you in his sleep, searching for warmth and finding only cold sheets? Did he gaze at the moon and feel comfort knowing you were both living under the same night sky?

As promised, Rhysand came to the apartments three times a week, bearing trays of delectable desserts made by Elain and fabric swatches painstakingly chosen and sent by Nesta. Even though you often found yourself lost in thought, trying to discern the minute differences between the fabrics, Nesta still desperately sought your opinion on the nursery. It was an odd sight, seeing the High Lord of the Night Court seated in a too-small apartment, perched upon a rickety second-hand chair. The residents would bow down in reverence at his presence, but he would just give them a soft smile, urging them not to treat him as anything more than a visitor. You rolled your eyes at this statement, knowing all too well that those who saw him with such admiration would be shocked to see him lounging in an oversized chair in his library - feet propped up in pajamas while Nyx curled into his lap, both of their hair tousled from sleep. It was a familiar scene for you now. How had you become so intimately acquainted with the most powerful male in all of the Night Court?

Your conversations were solely focused on practical matters - discussions about the housing project, funding allocations, building permits and requests for aid. You often also worked on your shielding practice. But there was one question that lingered in your mind - if you were able to build up that barrier between you and your mate, could you return to the safety of the Townhouse, to Azriel? Although a part of you wanted to ask Rhysand for his plans regarding your future, you hesitated. You thought it better to live in the naivety that if you just worked hard enough on your shielding you might be able to go home instead of the more probably reality that even if you could keep everyone out, you wouldn’t be allowed back until everything had been resolved.

—

The bed was like a slab of concrete, the sheets coarse and rough against your skin as you lay on your side. The darkness of the room seemed to press in, with only the faint light from the streetlights outside casting long shadows of trees onto the ceiling. The branches swayed and scraped against the window, causing an eerie rhythm that matched the howling wind outside. You squinted at your clock, trying to make out the time. Was it nearing three in the morning? It felt like hours had passed since you crawled into bed, but sleep still eluded you. With a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back, feeling the cool lace of your nightdress brush against your fingers. The blankets were suffocatingly warm, so you kicked them off, only to be met with a sharp chill from the drafty windows that refused to seal properly. Another thing to add to your never-ending list of things to fix within the apartments.

You slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the hard mattress beneath you as you sat up. Rubbing your tired eyes, you took a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room. With a sigh, you stood up and your toes touched the cold wood floor, sending a shiver through your body. Your back ached with exhaustion as you walked over to the desk on the other side of the room. Flicking on a small lamp, you pulled on the cozy wool cardigan that was draped over the chair, still warm from when you had thrown it there earlier in the day. The thick material hugged your body as you settled into the desk chair, surrounded by stacks of papers waiting to be sorted through. The desk was cluttered and much too small for all of your work, so instead of working there, you often spread everything out on the floor like a giant map. But tonight, it was too late for that, so you simply grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and started writing a letter to a contractor who could potentially fix your broken windows.

As you wrote down a few words, a cool breeze brushed against your ankle, causing you to look down in surprise. But there was nothing there. You shook your head, pushing away any creeping feelings of loneliness or sadness. Brushing a strand of hair out of your face, you continued writing. Suddenly, another chill ran up your leg and you couldn't ignore it any longer. Pushing away from the desk, you got down on your hands and knees to investigate.

In the corner of the room, two shadows darted up the wall and disappeared into darkness. You let out a light laugh and whispered out into the empty space, "Hello." Your voice caused ripples in the darkness and for a brief moment, it seemed like something was stirring.

"It's okay," you whispered again, beckoning them closer. "Come down!"

One of the shadows hesitantly crept out from the darkness, moving along the top of the wall like a cautious cat. "Don't be shy," you encouraged with a soft laugh.

The shadow paused for a moment, its edges rippling and shifting in thought. Slowly, it started to make its way down the wall, eventually morphing into a thin line before dissolving into a pile on the floor. "Come on," you whispered, crouching down and reaching out your hand.

The other shadow, slightly smaller than the first, followed suit and slithered down the wall towards you. It stayed close to the floor, wrapping around your ankles as it cautiously approached. As it touched your fingertips, you could feel the coldness of its touch enveloping your hand in a grey fog. But as it recognized your touch, it seemed to gain confidence and began moving more quickly up your arm.

You couldn't help but giggle as the cool tickle of the first shadow joined by another, both climbing onto your lap and wrapping themselves around you. The first shadow seemed to have a mind of its own, making its way up your body until it reached your neck, sending a shiver down your spine with its chilly touch. It then weaved through your hair, lightly tugging at strands as it hid behind you while the second shadow curled around your thighs and settled in your lap.

"Did he send you?" You whispered. The shadows seemed to quiver with excitement and you took that as a yes. "Is he doing alright?" The shadows seemed to pause momentarily, their movements becoming more drawn out as if considering your question. You couldn't bring yourself to hope for good news as the shadow on your lap curled down towards the floor. Suddenly, it slithered over to the lamp, coiling around the adjustable arm and then rearing up as though it was looking right at you. You raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What?" The shadow continued its slithering path, occasionally stopping to seemingly look at you.

You stood up and approached the lamp where the shadow seemed to pause in its journey, staring back at you. "What do you want?" You asked, reaching out to touch the lamp and adjusting the arm slightly downwards. The shadow halted its movement so you stopped yours as well. But when you started moving the arm of the lamp back up, the shadow picked up its pace again. You soon realized that this was how it communicated. As you turned the lamp upwards, the light illuminated against the wall, casting bright rays against the otherwise bland beige paint. In what seemed like pure excitement, the shadow scampered down your arm and back up again before joining its companion on the wall.

You took a cautious step back, your eyes locked on the two shadows as they seemed to merge and shift against the wall. The darkness coalesced into a swirling mass, like ink spilled on a canvas, until it finally split apart into two distinct figures. The larger shadow moved to one side of the light while the smaller one slunk to the opposite, as if in a dance.

Feeling a chill run down your spine, you retreated further onto the bed and pulled the rough wool blanket over your legs. As you watched, transfixed, the larger shadow began to take shape - sharp edges forming and an image materializing before your eyes. It was a male figure, with wings that resembled those of a bat. Your heart caught in your throat as the other shadow also shifted into a silhouette of a female.

The two shadows turned to face each other, their postures mirroring that of two lovers leaning against a windowsill. But then, the larger shadow split into two smaller pieces that scampered across the wall towards the female figure. With awe, you realized that these shadows were telling you a story - how Azriel had sent them to comfort you in his absence.

A small smile tugged at your lips and you felt tears prick at your eyes - tears of joy and longing. But you quickly blinked them away as the shadows morphed once again, shifting back into their amorphous forms before intertwining in the center and taking new shapes.

This time, it was the familiar outlines of Azriel and yourself. The two shadows embraced, their arms wrapping around each other in an intimate embrace. You could almost feel Azriel's kiss pressed gently into your hair - just as he always did when you hugged.

The shadows danced and shifted, creating a mesmerizing display of figures in the dimly lit room. Azriel sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he ran his hand through his hair - a nervous habit that you had grown to love. In one swift motion, he crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it away from the light, where it disappeared into the darkness.

You chuckled softly as the shadows transformed again, this time into the muscular form of Cassian with his signature half-up bun. Beside him stood Nesta, her pregnant belly rounded and glowing in the dim light. She delicately hung stars and moons onto a mobile, while Cassian worked on something below with a hammer in hand. The pile of materials suddenly transformed into a beautiful cradle, which Cassian proudly presented to Nesta.

So he had built it after all, you thought to yourself with a smile.

Cassian wrapped his strong arm around Nesta's shoulders as she rested her head against him, her hand gently tracing over her stomach. The scene before you was one of pure love and contentment, and you couldn't help but feel your heart swell at the sight.

The shifting shadows revealed Azriel, standing on a balcony overlooking the moonlit city below. The other shadow, representing the moon, soared upwards as Azriel reached out to touch it with one hand. But his posture was hunched and tense, back rising and falling as though it was sobbing. Your own tears mirrored his as you watched Nesta approach him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The shadow of Azriel turned and fell into her embrace, continuing to cry.

The scene shifted once again, showing the shadow of Azriel and your own shadowy figure walking together, hand in hand in slow motion. As you continued walking forward, the shadow of Azriel suddenly stopped and reached back for you. Your shadow turned to face him and he rushed towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up into the air with joy. A bittersweet laugh escaped your lips as the shadow of Azriel brought your figure close to his, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

In another scene, the shadows depicted a family dinner with Cassian, Azriel, Rhysand, Feyre, Nyx, Lucien, Elain, and an empty chair. As the shadows sat down to eat and a somber silence settled over them, even little Nyx remained still in his seat. The shadow of Azriel looked towards the empty chair – your chair – and you could feel their longing for you.

Once more, the shadows shifted to show Nyx standing on a platform with Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys at the edge of a lake. The shadows moved like waves over the water as Nyx took a running leap off the platform, his small wings flapping furiously before giving out and sending him plunging into the water below. The shadow of Cassian erupted in laughter while the shadow of Azriel pretended to winnow down to rescue the little boy. The scene repeated a few more times until finally, Nyx took a running leap and his wings caught in the air, allowing him to flap upwards with pride. The shadows of the three males on the platform joined Nyx in the air, their wings unfurling in celebration. He had learned to fly, something Feyre had been so worried about.

The shadows danced and shifted, revealing scenes from your old life that you had never truly appreciated until now. Moments with Azriel stood out the most - curling up on the couch together, wandering through the vibrant streets of Velaris. As they settled into place, the cool touch of the shadows caressed your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine. One shadow even reached out to brush away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. You let out a soft sniffle and whispered, "Thank you."

In response, the shadows seemed to flicker and settle further around you, as if trying to comfort you in their own way. You allowed yourself to fully absorb the sensation of being enveloped by them, knowing it was Azriel who had sent them, directing them to show you what you had missed and how much he longed for you.

Feeling grateful, you shared your own memories with the shadows, including a few moments that you knew would make Azriel blush for slightly different reasons. With a smile, you thanked the shadows once more and watched as they dissipated into the night, carrying your love and longing back to their master who was surely missing you just as much as you were missing him.

Readers: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria

@florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt

@quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

@annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardust

@caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf

@acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninne @weepingwerewolf

@hauntedpiratenacho

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Queen of the Fairies

All children love fairies. Who among us does not have memories of springtime afternoons with Nurse in the gardens, watching those tiny, human-like forms flitting through the world on their delicate wings, who seem to be clad in the very blossoms among which they live?

Yet most of us, as we age, forget about the fairies. We rush past gardens and flower boxes with barely a glance for the blooms themselves, much less for the delicate creatures that hide so carefully among them. If we think about them at all, they are part of the hazy, distant memories of long-ago childhood, not a vital part of the landscape that supports every facet of our daily lives.

But there is one woman who did not forget. Who never did forget, in her eight-and-four-score years of life, despite a scientific world that laughed her to scorn. As I, with all of England, mourn the passing of this inestimable woman--beloved author, illustrator, and (at last) honored naturalist, I can think of no better way to honor Constance Sommers than to recall my childhood meeting with her in the summer of my seventh year.

I had always loved watching the fairies in the window boxes outside my family’s London home. In 1892, I visited my grandparents in the countryside, and a new world opened up to me, filled with more flowers—and more types of fairies—than I could have imagined. I spent every waking moment in my grandmother’s gardens. I watched fairies hatch from the hearts of blooming tulips, scatter thousands of dandelion seeds, and endlessly paint the delicate shades of apple blossoms.

My favorite place, however, was my grandmother’s rose garden. There I found fairies whose forms matched every species of rose to a shade—save one. The crowning jewel of my grandmother’s garden was a rose she had bred herself; its white blossoms, as large as my hand, were streaked with red, and its scent was like a thousand fresh-plucked fruits. I knew that such a flower could only be tended by the grandest and most beautiful of fairies, and I watched, breathless, week after week for this hypothetical fairy to show her face.

At last, on a morning when my quest left me restless with anxiety, I tiptoed out of my room and slipped out to the rose garden in the gray light of dawn. As soon as I reached the prized rose bush, I saw fairy even more beautiful than I had imagined. Every bit of her form, from her face to her tiny fingers and toes, was pure white, with only the faintest green specks in her gray eyes. One of grandmother's red-and-white blossoms seemed to splay from her waist like a dancer's skirt, and her wings were so transparent that in that dim light, she appeared to have none, and instead seemed to float upon the delicate breath of the dawn.

At first, I stood awestruck—this was truly a queen among fairies. Then I recalled—I couldn’t let her slip out of my grasp. In a twinkling, I caught her in a glass jar, with one of my grandmother's roses tucked safely inside to serve as shelter and food.

How I rejoiced in that treasure! I brought the fairy to my room and marveled at her graceful fluttering until breakfast time, when I slipped away to the kitchen to eat with Nurse. By the time I returned, the beautiful little fairy was splayed, lifeless, across the base of the jar.

I wept myself breathless, completely inconsolable. Nurse offered comfort and threatened punishment, but she could not quiet me. At last, my sobs drew Grandmother, who took one look at that lovely little fairy and said, "I suppose there's nothing to do but give it to Constance Sommers."

I knew that name—every child in England did. Constance Sommers had written and illustrated the marvelous tales of the flower fairies that had a place on every nursery shelf—and all this time, she had been one of my grandparents’ neighbors! Surely she, if anyone, could save this little fairy! After much begging and pleading, I was allowed, reluctantly, to accompany Grandmother as she brought the fairy to Miss Sommers.

The carriage brought us to a tidy brown brick cottage atop a hill, surrounded by the most glorious gardens I had ever seen. Flowers bloomed on shrubs and trees, climbed trellises and the walls of the cottage, and blanketed the ground with every color of the rainbow. Even from the carriage I could see dozens of fairies flitting among the blossoms. I was utterly enchanted. Were it not for the dead fairy I carried in the jar, I might have lost myself in ecstasy.

The moment we alighted from the carriage, a gate leading to a back garden opened, and a woman strode toward us. She was like the branch of a tree—impossibly tall, thin and knobby. Her hair—dark, with only whispers of silver—was cut close to her head. She wore a simple white shirtwaist and black skirt, and dozens of tools—pens, keys, scissors, lens—hung from a silver-chained chatelaine at her waist. Her eyes, caged behind gold-rimmed spectacles, darted a million directions, fairy-quick, as if cataloging the landscape.

At last, her eyes lit on me—or rather, upon the jar in my hands. She rushed toward me without so much as a glance at Grandmother. “Fairy?” she asked.

I nodded and lifted the jar toward her. She took it and examined it with those sharp eyes—which quickly widened. “I’ve never seen this kind before.” Those eyes pierced me. “Where did you find it?”

She was speaking to me, not Grandmother! Never before had an adult addressed me so directly. “In Grandmother’s rose garden,” I said. “Can you save it?”

The head moved—one sharp shake. “It’s dead. Perfectly preserved. Do you have more?”

“N...no.”

“If you get some, I’ll pay triple the going rate. Could be a new species.”

She bombarded me with questions—what kind of flower the fairy resembled, the location of the garden, the soil conditions, the time of capture, the surrounding flowers. Grandmother answered the more technical ones, but since she hadn’t seen the fairy until I’d shown it to her dead in a jar, most of the questions about it fell to me. I was terribly shy, but under the circumstances, too bewildered to be afraid. As Miss Sommers jotted down my answers in a small diary, I had my first brush with a scientific approach to fairies—and I was fascinated.

As she questioned, Constance Sommers wandered through her gardens, making note of various fairies—lilies, honeysuckle, hollyhocks—but clearly intending me to follow and continue with the interview. I had never felt so important. I answered the questions to the best of my ability—and she seemed impressed.

“You’ve got a good eye,” she said. “Good memory.”

As if I could have forgotten anything about the queen of the fairies!

I trailed Miss Sommers through her back garden, losing Grandmother somewhere along the way. At last, Miss Sommers approached one of the cottage’s side doors. With a twist of one of the keys at her waist, the door opened, and I followed her inside.

At first, I thought we’d entered another garden. Every surface—every wall, ceiling, shelf and dozens of tables—seemed to be covered in framed flowers. Enchanted, I stepped closer to the nearest one, and found that it was the lilaced purple skirt of a flower fairy.

My enchantment turned to horror. Every single one of those surfaces—every frame—was filled with flower fairies, each one as lifeless as the beautiful specimen in my jar.

I ran away screaming.

I took only two steps out the door before Miss Sommer’s hand came down upon my shoulder like an iron shackle. She stood over me, as immovable as stone. “Where are you going?”

She did not sneer. She did not sympathize. She didn’t try to soothe or placate me. She simply asked. Before such unshakable practicality, I was helpless. My screams stopped.

She pulled me back into that room and plopped me onto a low wooden stool. Frozen as I was, I didn’t resist. Then she opened the door, tipped the fairy onto a table, and went to work.

Her hands were like two fairies, constantly in motion, yet always sure where they were going. I forgot about the walls and simply watched her work. With minuscule brushes, she cleaned the fairy’s lifeless form, then arranged it inside another wooden frame. She posed it with its hands outstretched, its nearly invisible wings positions halfway down so as to catch some of the light in rainbows. I recognized in this work the same hand that had painted such delicate pictures of living fairies. Though the fairy’s end was tragic, she was turning it into something beautiful.

As she worked, she lectured—I believe she forgot I was only a visiting seven-year-old, and not a potential apprentice. She explained how the preservation of specimens allowed for further study. She spoke about competing theories as to the origins of the fairies—whether they were one species that took on camouflage based upon the nearby blossoms, or multiple species that were born with each flower—whether they were somehow tied to the flower’s life cycle or whether they were an independent species laying eggs within the blossoms.

I have heard it said many times over the years that Constance Sommers did not like children. Certainly, she did not handle children with delicate patronizing care, as the adults of that generation and that class tended to do. Certainly, she had attention only for her work. But I believe it was simply that she was no respecter of age. Whether her listener was seven or seventy years of age, so long as they respected her work, she allowed them to stay.

That day, I stayed for hours as she utterly captivated my mind and imagination. My little fairy, who met such a tragic end, became a crowning jewel of her collection, vital to her later discoveries about the camouflage abilities of rose fairies. Those discoveries were not published by the scientific community for decades—her gender and field of study made it almost impossible for her to be taken seriously, until later developments in ecology made her work impossible to ignore.

But what adults could not accept, children welcomed with open minds. The fairy of the white-and-red-striped rose featured in her next picture book—as Queen of the Fairies.

Now, I am grateful that, in recognizing both the artistic and scientific achievements of this remarkable woman, the rest of England knows what I learned that day—that title truly belongs, and always will belong, to Constance Sommers.

[fayes-fics]

Portrait: Epilogue

Masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: What happened after the last session?

Warnings: some suggestive content, flirting, banter, nudity.

Word Count: 0.6k

Author's Note: Please enjoy the wrap-up of this fic :)

Epilogue (4 weeks later)

“Benedict,” you whine, pouting at him over your shoulder.

“I am almost done,” he chuckles, “hold still for just a little while longer…” the request muffled around the paintbrush he just shoved between his teeth.

You sigh dramatically and writhe slightly, the crisp white sheet you lay on tickling your stomach; a shard of warm sunlight cuts over your back as it leaks through the gap between the window shutters. 

“Husband, this is not what I envisaged when I said let's retire to our bedroom for the afternoon. This is our honeymoon, and we only have three days left,” your exasperation fond.

“Darling, I want to memorialise this. My beautiful wife, in the first flush of marriage,” he flatters. “You will thank me one day that this painting exists when we are both old and grey and our bodies sagging.”

“Hmmm, most likely. But it would perhaps be much less distracting were you not painting me whilst also nude yourself,” you shoot back, twisting to ogle the muscular thighs you can see under the easel.

“You are nude darling wife; I thought it only fair,” his voice like velvet and pitched to make you flustered.

“Get on this bed right now,” you groan, raising your hips and opening your legs a little so he can see everything you want him to.

“A few more moments…” he replies, but he sounds a little breathless now as you buck and writhe once more, making a show for him.

Your parents were horrified when you returned from your final portrait session wearing a ring from another man. But under your very real threat to run away to Gretna Green should they not allow the marriage, they reluctantly acquiesced. To avoid the scandal that an elopement would bring to your family and his. Viscount Bridgerton hastily arranged a special license, and you were married a few days later. (Your portrait taking pride of place in the hallway of Benedict’s home when he carries you over the threshold as Mrs Bridgerton.)

And henceforth, you departed for the South of France on honeymoon, where you have spent the last three blissful weeks together in a hilltop villa surrounded by a rolling landscape dotted with vineyards. Idyllic would not even begin to describe your sun-soaked days of wandering fragrant fields of lavender hand-in-hand, swimming naked in the fresh river, feasting on wine, cheese and local delicacies, before retiring for hours of love-making with your wonderful, attentive husband. This is everything you could ever have wanted. Beyond your most ardently wished dreams.

The clatter of palette and paintbrush being dropped breaks your reverie, and you squeal in delight as he flips you onto your front and crawls over you, a huge grin on his face.

“You never could behave when I paint your portrait, could you?” he contends lightheartedly, trapping your wrists on the pillow and looking down at you with an expression that never fails to leave you wanting.

“Why break the habit of a lifetime Mr Bridgerton?” you respond breathily, your gaze sliding greedily down his naked toned torso.

“Well, every other subject does pale in comparison, I admit. I will never paint another portrait again unless it is of you,” his glittering promise is murmured into the skin of your neck as he presses heated kisses there, lowering himself on top of you.

“Not even of our children? Or grandchildren?” you query as you enjoy his body heat and sinful tongue mapping your collarbone.

“Correction,” his head pops up, the most adorable squint on his face. “I shall never paint another portrait unless it is of you or our progeny….. Speaking of which, I think we should get right onto that, Mrs Bridgerton,” he inhales, sliding lower to capture a nipple between his lips.

“Onto what?” you ask over a moan, feigning ignorance.

“If you do not return to England pregnant, I have neglected my duties. Surely?” he teases, his tongue swirling, making your hand slide into his hair and grasp hard, pushing your breast up into his warm, wet mouth.

“Well then, please proceed, my darling artist.”

And he does.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

[goblinpuppy35]

Out of Place Together

University Remus x Male Reader

(Previous Chapter) - Part 2 - (Next Chapter)

Summary: An academia-core themed story about the Marauders during their final year of university in the Muggle world. Soon after meeting each other  Remus begins to fall for one of Sirius' friends Y/N another shy student.

---------------------------

It was 5:35 am and Y/N was in the university library. It wasn't his original plan to be hunting the long corridors of tall bookshelf this early but his inconsiderate housemates had chosen 3 am on a Thursday morning as the perfect  time to come home after a extensive night of clubbing. Their return had not annoyed him greatly, Y/N accepted he was a light sleeper, what more annoyed him was his housemates insistence on coming home to continue thier intense audio intact of drum and bass music by hooking up their speakers in the kitchen and jumping up and down until the clock on Y/N's nightstand which painfully remained him of what time it was, was shaking and jumping itself.

This was not the first time Y/N's housemates had done this and despite the results of limited sleep turning Y/N into something which resembled a dishevelled and angry badger, Y/N was also an incredibly non confrintational person. Therefore once his shaking alarm clock woefully passed 4 in the morning he made the decision to get up. Flinging his notebook and some books into his bag and putting on his long black coat on as he briskly walked down the stairs, ignoring the loud chaos coming from the kitchen and left through the front door. Y/N had felt the temptation to slam it behind him but with his housemates speakers on at full blast he doubts the passive aggressive gesture would have even been registered.

Now at the library Y/N felt a lot calmer, the warm morning light was starting to shine through the large windows and highlight spots on the carpeted floor. Y/N happily spent a peaceful morning writing and reading until his stomach began to grumble, so he wondered to the universities cafeteria to pick up a sandwich and a peppermint tea. Cradling the warm cardboard cup as he rested his back against the buildings wall outside in the smoking area Y/N suddenly thought back to being at James and Sirius' house and how their housemate Remus started to make Y/N's tea for him. This made Y/N smile to himself a little before returning to his cigarette. It assumed him how flattered he was by the gesture, a rather minor act of kindness, nevertheless one which took Y/N by surprise. Y/N contemplated whether he needed a new found sense of self worth as he finished his food and returned back to the library.

The afternoon rolled on by and Y/N was still happily spending his time in the library as he often did if he wasn't in his own department. At this point he was running his finger across the spines of the books in the 'Art and Illustration ' sections, looking for something specific. "Hello again." sung a low voice suddenly taken Y/N out of his tunnel vision searching. Standing in the hallway between the shelves stood someone whose tall figure almost surpassed the height of the shelves themselves. At first Y/N recognised the baggy jumper before he recognised the handsome face of the man he'd met earlier that week. "Remus! hello" a mixture of surprise and delight came through in Y/N's voice which he instantly felt embarrassed by. "Not interrupting am I?" Remus asked pleasantly surveying the rows of books in front of them "oh no, no not at all, I was just looking for something. A book about northern landscapes painted in the Romantic period." "Ah I see" Remus replied in a low purring like sound pushing his shoulder off the shelf and starting to look at the books on the top row. Y/N stared at him befuddled for a moment before silently returning to his search as well. A moment of silence passed between them. "So, if your looking up art books I can assume your an art student?" Remus asked still looking at the books, Y/N did the same as he answered. "No, well sort of. I'm a drama student but I'm not into acting or anything. I'm studying to be a theatre technician you know building sets, rigging and doing the lighting mainly". "Oh, so while everyone is watching the stage your the one in the little room above all the seats making the lights switch on and off" Remus mused as he gently pulled down a book and handed it towards Y/N, eyes still locked on scanning the shelf. Y/N took it and smiled "Yeah exactly, though we call that little room the box", after saying this Remus turned to face Y/N his eyes bright with amusement, "oh really?" he smiled and Y/N found himself getting lost in the corners of his raised lips. He felt weak for a moment and then incredibly tense.

Remus was able to help Y/N find several useful books which he explained he wanted to look through for lighting inspiration for an upcoming play. Sitting across a table together in a corner of the library the two men sat, Y/N hunched over several large open books, flicking through the pages and making notes while Remus sat pressed into the corner against the wall, feet propped up on the seat next to him while he read his own book. He had not asked to sit with Y/N nor did Y/N ask him to however they appeared to find each others company relaxing. The afternoon gradually transformed into evening.

Before starting his third book Y/N looked up and titled his head in Remus' direction, "Your and English student right?" Remus hummed in agreement without looking up from his page. "So why have I never seen you in the library before?" with this question Remus smiled and looked up "I get most of my books from charity shops, they are always teaming with them and selling them for basically nothing". "Well that explains the mound of books flooding your guys living room" Y/N said with a small grin, "You should see my bedroom!" Remus chuckled with a sense of pride. The thought of Remus' bedroom gave Y/N the same weak then tense feeling from before, this feeling then increased when Y/N wondered if that was an actual invitation.

A wave of energy was about to burst upon their tranquil evening as Sirius stried through the library doors. Resulting in a sharp shush from the libraries desk. "Sirius! You alright?" Y/N asked pleased to see his friend. He believed this was the first time he's ever seen Sirius inside the library and not outside in the smokers corner. "Oh hello you too!" Sirius was noticeable taken a back seeing Y/N and Remus together but quickly his mind refocused and he grabbed Y/N's shoulders. "Y/N please I need your help. I'm handing in my course work tomorrow and I haven't finished it yet". "STILL?" blurted out Remus, "oh shut up Mooney! since your here you will need to help me too. Y/N I promise I've written all the personal analysis I just need some help finding case studies and you know this library so well and" Sirius' words began to drift off and his face took on the expression of a melting puppy, it made Y/N laugh more then feel sympathetic, regardless he agreed to help. With a long sigh Remus also rose from his chair to help look for relevant books in the psychology section. 

The evening yawned on and grow dark, the groups table was now littered with books and pages of Sirius' coursework. He frantically scribbled in paragraphs as the other two handed him books, open on the key pages. Every now and then Y/N would look up and across the table and lock eyes with Remus, they would smile at one another, primarily because of silliness of the situation they were in, but Y/N also got the sense that they liked to look at one another, he did at least. 

Several hours later in victory Sirius pumped his fist into the air, clutching his pen, "I'm done! Victory is mine. Thank you again for helping me, really". "Anytime" Y/N said before he started to collect the assortment of books to return them. "Oh by the way what time is the play tomorrow?" Sirius asked leaning back in his chair, "what play?" Remus chimed in looking confused. "The play my year is putting on for this semester. It's the opening night tomorrow. That's what I was researching for" Y/N explained. "What! Pads you dick making him help you out when he's got to prep for a bloody play" Remus said kicking Sirius' tilted back chair making it wobble, forcing the relaxed man to panic and then grip the edge of the table. "No no really it's fine, us technicians are never allowed in the theatre to prep for a play until the morning before. It's too much in demand. The set has already been built and I have a lighting plan and everything for tomorrow. I was just doing extra research today for what colours I wanted to use". Hearing this Remus' face relaxed however he still seemed mildly annoyed with Sirius. "Anyway it starts at 7:30 pm Sirius. I'll be in from 7:30 am doing all the prep I can before the actors get there" Y/N added extra empathise on the "am" followed by a weak laugh. He loved his theatre lighting but show weeks were always brutally draining. Sirius looked at his watch quickly "It's already pretty late Y/N. The last bus might have already gone. Do you want to crash on our sofa again?". "Thank you but I can't, I have my script and cue sheet all at home" Y/N said looking at his own watch with concern, "I'm sure a bus will come along its fine". "Nope" interjected Remus shoving his book into his bag then swinging it over his shoulder as he got up "I'll drive you home come on". Y/N wanted to object but truthfully he was grateful for the offer, "Wow. you know he never busts out his car for me" Sirius said playfully while putting on his own jacket. "Finish your course work on time and maybe I'll consider it" Remus retorted back, he lightly placed his hand on Y/N's upper arm guiding him to follow. This contact made Y/N's breath hitch for a moment despite the touch being so delicate. Y/N was transfixed on Remus long slender fingers, coming back to reality he waved goodbye to Sirius and they left the library. 

In the dark car park only a few circles of garish orange light from the streetlamps highlighted the ground. One spotlighted the only car left in the parking lot a beaten up second hand grey one. "The real reason I don't give people lifts is I can't afford that amount of petrol" Remus said with a smirk as he reached the driver's side, fiddling with the key to open the car. "Well in that case, thank you really. Your helping me out a lot here" Y/N said as he waited, with a click the inside light in the car switched on and the doors popped open. Before dunking into the driver seat Remus straighten his figure and rested his hand on the cars roof, looking across to Y/N, "It's my pleasure". 'You really mean that' thought Y/N as he looked at the man's honest blue eyes, his chest tensed again.

As they began to drive across town Remus opened the cassette player and ask Y/N to pick something to listen to. Opening the glove compartment in front of him Y/N was welcomed with a flood of cassettes, some falling onto his knees. Rummaging through the box he was able to find Rush's album 2112, "an excellent choice" Remus remarked as he popped the cassette in and soon music filled the car as they drove into the night. Y/N watched the streetlamps in formation pass the car window, he felt very relaxed, it was rare he found traveling so easy. After giving him the address it took about 30 minutes before Remus' car reach Y/N's house, the Rush album was about half way through when the car stopped as did the music. "This is where you live?" Remus asked looking around and then pursed his lips realising how impolite his remark sounded. "It's okay I know it's a shithole but it's cheap" though this was what Y/N said he was reluctant to get out of the car. Thankfully there were no deafening drum and bass music pulsing from the house meaning his housemates were most likely out.

He thanked Remus again for the lift and then made his way to the front door. As he turned his key in the front door and started to step inside Y/N turned seeing Remus car still there on the street. In the dark night Remus hunched over his stiring wheel watching Y/N was framed like a painting in the car light. Y/N waved at him and Remus gestured back with his own little wave and then his engine weered into gear and he began to drive away. Y/N shut the front door behind him and made his way upstairs smiling. All these kind deeds were going to get to his head.

[elderberries-and-honey]

Winifred had been right to suspect that once the dog days of summer arrived, their quaint neighborhood would begin to fill out. The once peaceful, empty streets were now humming with life; as if the glittering morning dew frosting over each day had beckoned them all back home.

You could not go more than a few hours without hearing a horse’s steady gallop hauling a carriage, or sometimes, even the sound of a rare streetcar.

Lawrence was particularly pleased by this fact, anxious to get to know the families around the neighborhood, but Winifred herself was not quite as keen. She had liked the quiet of their solitude, and it felt almost like an invasion of privacy not to have it anymore.

However, much like their new seemingly sophisticated life, it was just something she would have to adjust to. These days, everything felt like something she just needed adjusting to.

And, now that autumn was just around the corner, their lives had somehow become busier than ever before; their days spent together at the lake felt years behind them rather than only a few weeks.

In the afternoon, Beth and Winifred attended painting lessons together; a gift from Lawrence to them both. Their instructor was a soft-spoken, well traveled Frenchman, teaching impressionism and neoclassicism.

Personally, Winifred thought he was a little overqualified to be teaching a skill of his caliber to a housewife and a widow, neither of whom had much experience in the arts, but she was trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, it had been a thoughtful gesture and she wanted to appreciate it nonetheless.

Despite not having the experience though, out of the two of them, Beth was notably more skilled; their instructor often awed by her work. More than once, she could hear his tone vibrating with excitement, almost bursting at the seam as he complimented her use of different brush strokes, much to Winifred’s envy.

Her mother, Alice, was always a natural at painting; as a girl, she loved to sit at her mother's feet whenever she stepped in front of a canvas, and watch as she transformed even the most mundane of landscapes into elaborate works of art. She regularly wished she would have inherited her aptitude for it, but it appeared that she was much better with a pen than a paint brush.

Even the little ones had busy schedules now that summer was on its deathbed. Lawrence had hired two nursery maids, one for each of the boys; it was the only service he had not taken care of before they arrived at their new home. He wanted them to be the perfect fit, and it seemed he had accomplished the seemingly impossible.

Ozzy now spent most of his days with Ms. Hamilton; a woman only a few years Winifred's senior but with the sweetness and patience of one's old Nana. Ozzy warmed up to her quicker than anyone could have expected and their daily lessons seemed to be paying off. She taught him shapes and letters (of which he was quite fond of), along with all the manners that a well-adjusted young man should know (he was not quite so fond of this), and even how to begin writing his own name.

Every so often, when Winifred went to check-in on their little classroom, she would once again be overcome by a similar feeling of envy. She didn't want her children to struggle, not at all; each time she felt it, she would call herself a silly woman for being jealous of a toddler and be on her way, scolding herself for the thoughts that echoed in her head.

But, it was just that, well, they'd all adjusted so quickly! All of them were getting on with things just fine, while she could hardly make sense of it all!

Did no one else think this strange? Didn't they miss their chickens, or long to watch the sunset over the hillside, or even the flower paths on their way into town? And what about their friends, or their beloved shopkeepers who memorized all their names?

It was as if they'd all somehow forgotten the first place she could ever truly call home; and if she couldn't find the will to adjust, would they all wish they could simply forget her too?

next / previous / first

[headphonegrl]

The first summer you and Kylian spent together was when you were toddlers, both teetering on the edge of being able to walk without the help of an enthusiastic adult. There’s always been a great debate between you both about what’s actually a memory and what’s derived from the photos that are treasured by both of your parents and brought out at any given opportunity; you pictured in a tiny green bucket hat and him with so much sunscreen on his nose that it looks like white paint. In the hallway of his childhood home hangs a framed photo of you both clumsily clutching each other's hand, a habit you both developed long before the notion of walking or talking.

The fifth summer was significantly defined by the evening you both decided to turn a wall into a full elaborately drawn landscape complete with flowers amongst the grass and an attempt at an accurately sized sun, all with the help of the crayons Kylian packed in his suitcase amongst his socks. Understandably, you were both punished and spent the rest of that week sulking beside the pool you weren’t allowed to swim in and fishing out insects to nurse them back to health. There was a dramatic departure of a bee you had both formally named ‘Fuzzy’, who flew away gracelessly after being fed water with the end of a leaf; ever since then Kylian has drawn a little bee on the envelope of all your birthday cards.

The ninth summer was so hot that the concrete patio had turned into the equivalent of lava. Nearly all of the time was spent under the shade of a peach tree that belonged to the house you were all staying at; it was far too warm to be in direct sunlight for more than a minute without feeling faint. A planned mission had secured you both garden furniture chairs, stolen from the top of the garden while everyone was preoccupied with making lunch. Most of the mornings were spent picking the best peaches and eating them until your hands went sticky with juice and you’d have to walk up to the kitchen to wash them. Then the afternoons were consumed by taking grainy pixilated pictures on Kylian's new phone he had got in light of the next school year, one of which has been your contact photo for over ten years.

The thirteenth summer you spent together always pops into memory whenever the smell of vodka rears its ugly head again. Neither of you were unlike the rest of the kids your age, both victims of the typical adolescent crime of not knowing limits yet when it comes to drinking. As soon as the hand of the clock hit six in the evening, any alcohol sitting in the door of the fridge would sneakily be poured into mugs and tiptoed up to one of your rooms. On the last Friday of August, you mixed heapings of vodka with way too little apple juice and both ended up lying in a tangled heap of limps on a sun-lounger. Over breakfast the next morning as Kylian cut his toast into tiny pieces, his mother cooed at the picture she uploaded to Facebook of you both cuddled up with all the comments underneath from her friends exclaiming what a cute couple you both were. 

The seventeenth summer ended so quickly that it was almost heart-shattering. The months don’t bid everyone farewell like they used to, as you’re both nearing your twenties they just melt away in a blink. Stubborn as ever you insisted on not having any help with shoving your bags into the back of the car, so all Kylian could do was stare down at his feet and kick pieces of gravel around. A goodbye kiss was pressed towards his temple, and he embarrassingly grabbed onto the side of your top like a silent plea for you to stay a second longer. Watching your car drive away felt like letting go of a balloon and witnessing it float further and further until it looks like a tiny dot of ink on a page. When he’d finally been dragged back into the house, his little brother offers him the last chocolate bar as if to send him his condolences. 

The twenty-first summer you spent together was when Kylian finally kissed you. The lights under the surface of the pool were reflecting off your face and there were little droplets of water in your eyelashes. You tasted of chlorine and that coconut lip balm you still lend him sometimes if he asks nicely. Probably due to all the romantic films he had consumed throughout his life, part of him believed that after a moment like that something unbearably dramatic would happen; that maybe the world would implode whether it went well or otherwise. Though slipping into this kind of affection felt incredibly safe and comforting, like falling into a blanket after a long day or hugging a childhood teddy. After all, Kylian had been holding your hand before he could even talk or eat from a spoon; he was born loving you. He loved you even before he knew what love was like. 

[antares-ct-9905]

Hunter's first time | The Bad Batch oneshot

Hunter x Female reader // Hunter x You

Word count: 4105.

Warnings: Spoilers from The Bad Batch S2E13, NSFW, Smut, Explicit, Fluff, Unprotected Sex (use protection IRL).

Note: I was inspired by the Episode 13 in Season 2 but without the tremor nor the tsunami.

Ao3: [link]

Wattpad: [link]

------------------------------------

You are a bounty hunter who joined the group temporarily after altruistically saving Omega. You needed to escape from a planet and they offered their help in exchange. Since you had nothing left and nowhere to go, and Omega got well along with you, she convinced her brothers to let you be part of their team temporarily. Of course, you put yourself at their service to collaborate and not be a nuisance.

At first, they didn't trust you, especially Hunter, the most protective of them all. But over time, they discovered that behind the appearance of a cold-blooded assassin, there was a kind hearted person and you won their affection.

--------- 🔞ONLY +18 ----------

The team and you have settled in Pabu, and you have been there for a few days. They were given a house, and you got a smaller one. Wrecker and Omega went out for the day, Tech and Phee went out on what seemed like a date. Hunter stayed alone and went for a walk in the afternoon, the sunset views were a gift to remember.

You were leaning on the balcony in front of your house, enjoying the orange and purple colors that were painted in the sky. Pabu was a tropical island, the sea surrounded you to the infinity, and the houses on the entire island were starting to light up.

Hunter's aimless walk led him to pass right in front of your lodging, casually. A warm smile appeared on his face when he saw you, he approached you and leaned on the railing next to you.

"Enjoying the view?" he said after clearing his throat.

The landscape had you so absorbed that a startle brought you out of your trance. Although you maintained a calm composure, your heart was pounding.

"Oh! Hi Hunter, what are you doing here? And the others?" You looked over his shoulder hoping to see them coming after him, but no one else appeared.

Hunter told you about everyone's plans and that he spent the day relaxing, but he was a little tired of doing nothing and decided to go for a walk.

You told him that you were also a little bored of being alone and invited him to stay and chat for a bit. He accepted delightedly, his eyes shining.

*********

The hours passed and you talked about a little bit of everything. You shared about your tough childhood on the streets and how you were trained to be an assassin, about growing up as a special clone on Kamino, and about how sweet Omega was. Meanwhile, you went to a nearby stall for dinner. There were few people there, and the atmosphere felt private. As you began to speculate about what plans Tech and Phee had for the 'date', you asked Hunter between laughs.

"His first date? You make it sound like it's the first one in his whole life."

Hunter, looking serious and not knowing where to look, responded.

"Our purpose has been to fight, we haven't had any chance to have any kind of relationship," he muttered.

When you heard his words, you felt empathy for them, as you too were forced to train from a young age with the purpose of being an assassin. Luckily, you were able to find your way out of that world years ago, which is how you later became a bounty hunter. Even so, despite not being able to afford to fall in love and have a partner, you had had your occasional encounters. So, since the subject came up, you decided to satisfy your curiosity.

Hunter was an attractive man to you. His long hair and tattoed face were very sexy, perhaps too aggressive for most people, but that only made him more attractive to you. Nothing like a tough guy appearance. And when you got to know him and saw his protective side with Omega, it got you extremely hot to see that duality of tough-guy-good-guy in him. On more than one occasion, your hands slid under your underwear to give yourself pleasure while thinking about him. You bit your lower lip and asked him.

"So... you haven't been with any women before?"

You leaned in closer, interested in his answer. Imagining someone like him being inexperienced was quite arousing to you.

Hunter tried to clear his throat, it was obvious that this wasn't a topic he was used to discussing and he looked uncomfortable. His fingers were restless.

"Um... no," he stammered as he scratched his neck, his face completely red.

You leaned in a bit more, tempted to tease him fondly. He looked cute to you, all embarrassed like that.

"Nothing at all? Not even a casual encounter?" you insisted.

"We haven't had time for anything other than war or survival," he said bluntly.

Your expression went from mischievous to sad. You furrowed your brow, and your lips turned down. "Poor things, they haven't enjoyed life," you thought.

You pressed your lips together for a moment to think about what to say, but before your mind could catch up, the words were already coming out of your mouth.

"Well, if you're interested in knowing what it's like to bed a woman... Well... I'm willing to help you. You and I have nothing to do tonight."

You couldn't believe what you had just said, your heart was racing. But you said it already and you had to keep your composure. So you offered him your best smile as you touched your hair.

Hunter's face went pale, he was breathless and as stiff as a protocol droid. As soon as he regained his speech, he thanked you hastily for the offer and quickly excused himself to go back home.

You had no choice but to accept that you fucked up and endure the embarrassment, knowing that it would haunt you from that day on, each time you see him.

*********

It was already late at night, you stayed drinking alone to try to forget the shame you had just experienced. You were already in your pajamas - if being in panties and a tank top could be considered that - and decided it was time to go to sleep.

You heard a noise at the entrance, someone knocked on the door with their knuckles. Although there was no crime in that city, your survival instincts automatically kicked in. You approached with a hidden knife in your hand and, cautiously, asked who it was. You didn't expect to hear his deep voice.

"It's me, Hunter. Hope I didn't startle you."

You quickly drop the weapon and crack the door open to peek out, since you're not decent for him to see.

"Not at all. Has something happened? What are you doing here?" you ask, looking down and blushing.

He seems uneasy, he cleared his throat. He's dressed in a short-sleeved green shirt, with a short kimono of the same color that was crossed in front and a belt at the waist. Below that, loose pants that end inside his high leather boots. He was dressed exactly as before, "didn't he went home after all?" you ask yourself.

"I've been thinking... about what you said earlier," he said in a hoarse voice.

He paused briefly, which felt like two full rotations, but you didn't interrupt him because you could tell he still had something else to say.

"I would like... to be with you... if your offer still stands." He couldn't say it all out loud or maintain eye contact with you for more than a second.

As soon as he finished, all your worries dissipated at hyperdrive speed. In their place, a pulse in your intimate areas sent a shiver down your spine.

"It will be my pleasure, Hunter. Please come in," you looked him up and down.

You relaxed your expression and smiled. You opened the door wider for him to come in, staying behind it and then closing it. When he entered and turned to see you, barely dressed, you noticed how his whole body became rigid. He shifted his weight, as if trying to adjust his leg due to some discomfort in his pants. You could tell he was struggling to keep his gaze on your eyes and not look where he shouldn't.

"I'm glad I didn't scare you off earlier, I didn't know how I was going to face you", you said with relief.

"Uh, yeah. I certainly didn't expect it. But I've been thinking about it and..." he spoke cautiously and shyly.

With a suppressed giggle, you brought your right hand to his face to stroke the fringe that fell over the bandana, playing with his hair. It was softer than you expected. Your other hand rested on his arm, feeling strong to the touch.

"Get ready, you're going to lose your virginity tonight, Hunter. Do not worry, I'll be gentle”, You smiled with complicity, noticing that it was difficult for him to swallow.

Your hand left his hair and began to trace the line of his prominent eyebrow on his tattooed side. Your fingers followed the path from his temple to his sunken cheeks, ending at his chin. He had shaved a couple of days ago and his skin felt rough to the touch. Your heart was racing as he stood so close.

He was still, completely lost and at your mercy. He just twitched his hands restlessly on either side of his body, as if he didn't know what to do with them. You rested your palms on his pectorals, making circles on his kimono. His breath was heavily. You closed the distance between the two of you stepping forward. The house was almost in darkness, just an ambient light that you left on.

You wet your lips and brought your face closer to his, slowly, until your lips rubbed together superficially, without exerting pressure, as if you wanted to tickle him. You could feel his hot breath on your mouth, with a ragged breathing. At the same time, your hands slid up his clavicle, past his neck, and ending at his back.

After you admired him for a few moments, you gave him a soft kiss, slow and simple, just on the lips. Hunter let out a moan as he closed his eyes, resting his hands on your waist. He sighed to try to calm himself down. You gave him a couple more timid kisses, this time shorter, but with the same care.

"Are you sure you want to do this?", you said softly and looked into his eyes.

He couldn't find the words, so he nodded his head. You responded with a smile to try to calm his -obvious- nerves.

"Come, let's get more comfortable."

You took him by the hand and led him to your room. He was behind you and you could feel his gaze scanning every inch of your body. His trembling hand was slightly sweaty. You turned on the bedside light so as not to be in absolute darkness, you wanted an intimate setting but also to be able to see him in all his splendor, and for him to see you too. You were still holding hands, you didn't want to lose tact with his skin.

"Let yourself go. Do what your body wants, don't be afraid. You won't break me," you whispered with a playful chuckle, releasing the grip and turning towards him to cup his face with both hands.

He frowned with uncertainty and concern, it was a completely new and unexpected experience for him.

"Understood," he finally said with a shaky smile, as if it were a mission and you were his superior.

Your bodies leaned into a kiss with more intensity than the first one that you gave him in the living room. Your hands snaked up the nape of his neck, gently balling into fists to better feel the strands of hair between your fingers. Hunter, on the other hand, traced the outline of your body, up and down, along your sides. The kisses were only broken to get some air.

You were being flooded by Hunter's essences. A blend of damp earth, metal, and leather. They were the scents of war, of his armor, of a soldier. The smell of a man who knows what he's doing and how to survive. It got you very horny.

Your lips parted slightly to stick out your tongue. You traced his lower lip until he took the hint that he should repeat your play as well. Suddenly, your tongues met in a wet dance inside your mouths. Hunter wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, you couldn't suppress a moan, you were overcome by the need for him to be inside you.

You managed to detach yourself from his mouth and you looked at him with the hunger of a beast that hadn't eaten for days, wanting to tear his clothes off. Between gasps, you started to remove his belt, he quickly assisted you and in less than a second it was out. His kimono opened automatically and you ran across his chest over the shirt. You reached under it, and as he removed his kimono, you lifted his shirt until his bare torso was facing you. You liked his olive skin so much!

"You don't know how I've been longing for this, Hunter", you let out between sighs as you ate him with your eyes.

“I'm all yours,” he gasped.

Like a moth to the light, you stuck to him to kiss him on the neck. Hunter no longer held back, his moans were louder and more frequent. He tipped his head back to give you some more space. He could feel your breasts oppressed against him, his hands were gaining confidence and you noticed how he caressed your bust on the sides. You pulled away for a moment to give him a chance to touch them better, and he did.

His large and calloused hands cupped your breasts gently, afraid not to squeeze too hard. His thumbs rubbed your erect nipples across your shirt, you didn't have a bra on, that thin layer of fabric was the only thing separating him from your skin. You mischievously pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed, you could feel his erection through his pants. You placed your knees on the bed as well, on each side of Hunter, you were on top of him with your hips elevated, you still didn't want your private areas to rub together. You looked at each other with lust and he groped your firm rear, taking advantage of the space.

After a couple more kisses bathed in both of your saliva, you stuck out your chest for him to massage them again. You put your hands on his to show him how to bring your breasts together so that he could feel how far he could compress them without hurting you. You began to notice how Hunter tilted his hip with a swinging movement. As soon as you let him explore freely, he wasted no time in lifting your tank top, you finished pulling it off over your head. Your breasts were exposed.

Hunter didn't know you had a large snake tattoo that ran across your chest and down your side. When he saw it, he pushed you down himself and lifted his hips until you felt great pressure below, huffing and puffing. Your panties were wet for a while ago and the arousal with the touch of his erection made it worse.

"I didn't know you had tattoos too," he exclaimed excitedly.

"Would you have liked to find out earlier?" you teased him.

"Better late than never," he replied.

Hunter put a hand on your back for support, you leaned back and with the other hand he slid his index and middle fingers from your navel to the neckline, grabbing one breast and then the other. You returned to your position from before, sitting on him with your back straight, and Hunter took the opportunity to run his tongue over your nipples.

"Ahh.. Hunter!" you let out.

Your heart was about to burst out of your chest, your iner parts was so swollen that it ached, and if you kept going like that, you were going to stain his pants. So you got up and started taking off his boots, luckily they were easy to slip off. You took one off and he did the other.

You introduced your fingers through the waist of his pants and his underwear, lowering them at once. His manhood was so hard that it bounced in front of your face when you undressed him. You heard how Hunter let all the air out of his lungs, seeing himself completely exposed in front of you.

You got on your knees and caressed his hairy legs with your fingers, leaving a trail of kisses behind them, from his knees to his inner thighs, ending at his crotch. Avoiding touching his erection to torment him some more. Hunter called your name, frowning, when you made the move to lick him but dodged it by aiming to the opposite leg. His organ had an involuntary contraction and a droplet of precum appeared.

When you had teased him enough, you used both hands to caress his cock, it was wide and veined, slightly curved downwards. You used the entire length of it to pleasure him, Hunter's head was thrown back and he rolled his eyes. His hands dropped to your head, as he brushed his fingers through your mane, then you opened your mouth and took it inside you. You tasted the liquid and that made you groan with your mouth full. You played with your tongue while you gave him fellatio, turning it around the glans. From time to time you would firmly grab his member and, with your gaze fixed on his face, completely blushed, you would lick it from the base to the tip, to end up introducing it again at once. Hunter's legs wouldn't stop shaking.

"Oh fuck!" Hunter said, rapidly inhaling and exhaling.

You gave him a kiss on the tip with your swollen lips. You got up and took him to the bed, to lie on his back. You took off your underwear, curving your body sensually. His gaze was fixed intensely on your shaved area, French bikini style. You were both completely naked at last, your battle scars standing out in the light from the bedside table.

You crawled across the bed to end up on top of him. Hunter welcomed you with open arms, groping your entire body. His dick was rock hard, throbbing. You leaned in to kiss his neck, he took the opportunity to kiss your clavicle and your shoulder.

Hunter bent his knees to support the soles of his feet, he was seething with excitement, his hips rose and fell pushing you with all his power. You also moved your hips but with the movement inverted, to put more pressure when your sensitive areas pressed against each other.

"I think it is going to explode", he begged indirectly for you to relieve him.

With your tongue, you licked from the base of his neck, where you were kissing him, to behind his earlobe. Right after you bit  it carefully. Hunter arched his back in pleasure and dug his fingers into your thighs.

"We'll need to fix that", you whispered in his ear.

You sat on him, grabbed his member in front of you, and brought yourself up on your knees, aiming his member just below your entrance. Hunter was expectant, stroking your thighs on the outside and inside, in circular motions.

You were descending with your body towards his cock, you were so wet that it had no resistance. You decided to go down little by little, for him to feel your warmth and get used to the pressure of your vagina. His arms stretched out the width of the bed, he closed his eyes and moaned, trusting you completely. Once it was completely inside you, you let it rest for a few moments. It felt so good.

“It's all inside me”, you gasped and he looked at the area with wide eyes.

Your hands were resting on his -well-trained- abs, his hairs tickled your fingers. You started to rotate the waist, squeezing down even more, you wanted it inside as much as possible. Your breasts protruded tightly in your arms, Hunter grabbed them with his hands and fondled them as you taught him before. Then your body began to go up and down, each time with more rhythm.

Your arousal increased with Hunter's, your breasts bouncing to the beat of your movements. Hunter couldn't take his eyes off you, you never imagined seeing him like this. He was biting his lips in excitement.

“You're doing it so good… I like you a lot. You are beautiful”, he stammered.

You've done it with one-night stands before. But with Hunter you felt…a connection. His words generated a stream in your body that you took advantage of to go faster. At that moment, one of his calloused hands touched your most sensitive spot, inserting his thumb between your lower lips and rubbing. He was exploring your parts, enjoying you. But as soon as you made a noise of pleasure that you couldn't suppress, he repeated that gesture. And soon you had a series of contractions that got bigger.

There you were that night, with Hunter between your legs. Enjoying pleasure, flooded in spasms as you moved up and down on top of him. You arched your back and threw your head back.

"Ahh! Hunter!”, you blurted with the last downloads of energy.

Hunter felt your orgasm, the spasms around his erection, and an increased amount of lubrication. After that, he could not contain himself and he took you by the arms to put you with your back on the bed and him on top of you. He made sure that your pelvises were glued together at all times so that his dick wouldn't come off.

"Give it all to me, fill me up", you said with all the blood on your cheeks and a big smile after the orgasm.

His tongue searched yours as he thrust his hip into you, his dark mane falling over your face. You surrounded his waist with your legs so that the penetration was deeper. His breathing became more and more labored, his arms began to shake.

"I think… I think I'm cuming" he said between thrusts.

Soon you were listening to his gasps as he went faster and faster until he reached climax. You noticed how he was unloading inside you, you helped him with your hip movements.

Gradually, he reduced the frequency of his movements, pressing with your insides to release every last drop.

He didn't got off to be able to enjoy you, after his first orgasm. He had her elbows on the bed, on either side of you. He gave you a series of kisses on the lips, on the cheeks, on the forehead, on the eyebrow, below the jaw. Until his body finally asked him to relax completely. He pulled his pelvis back, arching his back slowly, until his penis was out of you.

"That was amazing" he sighed.

He turned to the side of the bed and lay next to you. You were full of his, you could feel it dripping. You'll change the sheets tomorrow.

*********

Both of you stayed cuddled up in bed. Hunter lying on his back and you on your side, with your head on his chest. Both of your breathing clear and serene. You closed your eyes to listen to his heartbeat, it was relaxing.

"What's your impression?" you asked curiously.

“It has been the best experience of my life. Thank you”, you didn't see his face but you could feel that he was smiling.

You began to caress his chest without a certain pattern, sometimes a caress deviated more than necessary, towards the south of his body.

"We can do it again if you want. There's still so much more for you to explore," you said, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Hunter gave you a kiss on the head.

“I hope we can do it again soon”, a new erection was beginning to appear.

"There's no need to wait for another day", you wanted to tease him.

Hours passed, Hunter and you continued to enjoy each other as he regained his vigor. Thanks to you, he had the best night of his life... and there were many more to come.

---

Additional note: I reposted this here because I first uploaded in my main blog ( @antaresgalaeth )but it was about Hogwarts Legacy, so I wanted something only for SW/TBB.

[robo-writing]

(IDK if this went thru tumblr said there was some issue?) BUT, Reader as Barnabas' queen who has not provided an heir to the throne. After hearing some unsavory comments, Barnabas makes sure that his queen is bearing his child? :3c

God help anyone who disrespects his queen :p

Lord Tharmr was content to worship the very ground you walked on the day he met you. You plagued his thoughts, had his very soul in the palm of your hands, and if you so choose could have destroyed the King of Waloed. You, the girl who caught his eye on an afternoon stroll. You, who managed to pry open his ribcage and make his long cold heart beat once more.

The power you held over him was crushing, and what made him admire you more is that you never took advantage. Instead of smothering his fragile spirit you nurtured it, even offering your own in return. A gift undeserving of a monster such as him and yet you did so anyway.

Where his was blackened by nearly a century of battle, yours was pristine; lily white. A small part of him thinks it’s selfish to keep a gentle little thing to himself, but the greed in him couldn’t be happier that you choose to spend the rest of your days with him.

You spent your days and nights together, whether it be outside the castle or inside. For a long time you were a package deal, where one went the other was surely close behind, Sleipnir likening the two of you as a swan and it’s children. While Barnabas couldn’t find the humor in the joke, he remembers how fondly you smiled at the metaphor, and that was enough for him.

He looks back to those days fondly, but the memory that remains burned in his psyche is the day you walked up to him, held him in your smaller frame and looked up at him with lust in your eyes; the day you finally asked him to consummate your marriage. He had waited patiently, giving you as much time as you needed and making sure you were not pressured, but the look in your eyes when you asked, no, begged him to take you...

You awaken something in him, a beastly feeling, as if he was merely a spectator to his own body. He could attest to the symphony of moans that spilled from your lips the moment he brought you to his bed chambers, how you laid yourself bare for him to see, both embarrassment and arousal painted across your face. A landscape of soft skin and warmth, a canvas for him and him alone to paint. He treated you like the queen you were, and then some.

That was the day you truly became his, beyond a shadow of a doubt, but there was one thing you two were missing: an heir.

He expressed his desire for one, a sentiment you shared as well, but neither of you were in a rush. Just as he waited for your permission once, he can do so again. However, the same could not be said for his royal court. At least once a week he had someone mention when he would produce an heir, and for the longest time the answer would be the same.

“It will be done on my own time.”

And the answer seemed to satisfy them, until it didn’t. This was where he made his first mistake.

Perhaps hearing their king speak was enough, but some couldn’t fathom those same words leave your lips. Barnabas will be the first to admit: he did not take into account your experience.

One night you came into your shared room downtrodden, immediately he was at your side, a hand at your waist.

“What is wrong dear?” he asked, and with a shaky breath, you told him.

You told him about how cruel some members of the court were, about how you hadn’t “completed your wifely duties”, about you hadn’t done the “decency” of giving him a child. Their words rang loud, mocking you.

He sat and listened to your woes, apparently this is not the first you had heard this but you chose to spare Barnabas from their venomous words, believing you could handle it yourself. A controlled rage bubbles underneath his skin, at the audacity that anyone could have to disrespect his wife, at his own ignorance to his lover’s suffering. He would send Sleipnir to find the aggressors, but that comes later. For now, he had his dearest to attend to.

He holds you tight as you sob into his shoulder, tallying every hiccup and sniffle to ensure the perpetrators receive the same amount of lashings. When you’ve finally stopped shaking he wipes away your tears and kisses at your temple.

“Dearest, you should not listen to the words of snakes,” he says gently, although he can’t help the sneer on his face when he speaks of his court. “They are not worth the air needed to speak them, they mean less than nothing.”

A small part of you knows that, but the guilt makes its ugly head known. “But it’s true, isn’t it? I know how much you want an heir—“

“You misunderstand my love,” he interrupts. “I do not want an heir, I want a child. Our child.”

Barnabas holds your cheek as he speaks. “I would not have you give birth to a puppet to the throne, I want our child to be a culmination of us, a proof of our love.”

The same hand that held your face now rubs comforting circle across your stomach. The devotion in his eyes hypnotizes you, lost in his gaze.

“Should we ever have a child, I would want them to be like you,” he admits.

The sentiment tugs at your heart. A huff of air escapes you, one that turns into a chuckle as Barnabas plays with your hair.

“There you are, that smile I know and love,” he whispers. “I would hope that she has that same smile.”

“She?” You ask.

“Our daughter, of course.”

Your face heats up. “And what if it was a boy?”

“Then I would hope he has your compassion.”

Your silence is adorable. You play with your fingers, eyes falling to the soft linens all to avoid his gaze.

“Does that mean you’ve entertained the idea? Of a little one running down the castle halls?”

You still don’t look at him, but nod in agreement. “I have, for a while, but I felt that you were so busy with the blight that the last thing on your mind would be fatherhood.”

“I am never too busy for you,” he says. “If you wish it, we may start now.”

And once again, that beastly feeling rises in him when you nod your head. In the time it takes for him to capture your lips against his own, he realizes his second mistake: not placing his claim on you sooner. Between making a home between your legs and swallowing your moans, only one thought runs through his mind.

“You will make a wonderful mother, my dear.”

.

[rizzstappen]

*sets up folding chair, lays blanket along my legs* Just gonna....get comfy real quick. Don't mind me. 👀👀👀👀

Okay this strays so far from the original tags lol but I was feeling extra soft especially after traveling myself. So this is kinda about the feeling of the ache of your body and returning home and how that’s such a good feeling.

It is a little shorter then last time but it is set in the same universe as my college au!

This is my second time writing maxiel so still figuring it out but of course any questions to comments are welcome!

So I hope you enjoy it Danni! 🫶🏼

Pov: snapshots of college Daniel and Max’s texas road-trip

-

Orange. That’s all Daniel saw as he drove down the Texas highway away from the border. The sun was setting behind them painting the desert landscape in hues of oranges and yellows against the brown of the dust. The week had been filled with memories Daniel would never forget.

On the first day, Max had peeled oranges in the passenger seat as they started their way through Texas stating:

“Of course they’re the best snack Daniel!”

Before he fed a slice to his boyfriend. They had agreed to do a road trip through Texas. They lived in Austin after all but had never ventured out of the city.

~

An hour into the trip, they stopped at a local winery. Of course, they had to get a couple of bottles to remember the trip.

“Look this one has a cool label,” Max said showing Daniel.

“It’s like us. You’re the orange and I’m the blue,” Daniel replied.

The label was a magnificent swirl of blue and orange hues with yellows in between. Daniel nodded “let’s take it,” he said before they went to check out and keep driving.

~

A stop in San Antonio resulted in a visit to the Zoo because of a new Australian exhibit. Of course, Daniel explained how he’d seen these kangaroos in the wild

“When you visit Maxy we’ll see them all along the side of the road” he nodded promising his boyfriend a grand tour of the red-orange Australian desert.

~

An afternoon was spent among the orange and yellow poppies in a canyon in Texas. That year had brought a lot of snow and once the heat of the summer melted the water the seedlings were able to bloom at the base of the mountain.

“Let’s have poppies at our wedding. This is beautiful” Daniel whispered as he lay with Max in the grass picking an orange poppy and sliding it into his soft blonde hair “I’ll even let Charles do the center pieces” he joked.

Max laughed softly against his boyfriends shoulder. His eyes shut “sounds like a plan Daniel” he whispered contently

~

Next came the salsas in El Paso. Green. Red. Orange? The lady had tried to explain in her best English that it was made from an extremely spicy pepper. Chile de árbol. By the end of the meal, both Max and Daniel had tears in their eyes but complimented the local taco shop on how amazing the food was.

It was Max who attempted in broken Spanish “muy bueno. Gracias!”

After that, it was time to go.

~

Daniel’s muscles felt sore and stiff from driving eight hours but finally, they were back in Austin. He parked the car before he looked over at a sleeping Max. Curled into the door of the old car his parents had lent him enough money to buy. An orange hoodie around his chest kept him warm since Daniel preferred a cold car keeping the a/c on.

“Babe wake up we’re back” he whispered placing a small kiss on his boyfriend's forehead “let’s go inside” he hummed shutting the car off.

~

The water ran down Daniels back. Getting the stale smell of his car off of himself was his first priority so a shower was in order.

The shower curtain opened and Daniel saw the silhouette of his boyfriend step in while he brushed the water out of his eyes.

“You’re gonna use up all the hot water” Max mumbled still half asleep from his nap in car. Daniel laughed as he squirts shampoo from the orange bottle into his hand.

“So you decided to join me?” He asked with a soft grin.

“It’s the only way I don’t have to take a cold shower” Max said sliding close to Daniel to get his own body wet.

Daniel stepped aside to rub the shampoo in his hair letting it suds up in his curls as he watched his boyfriend under the water.

He was glad to be home.

As close to home as they could each get.

Well, Daniel was always home with Max.

~

[umichenginabroad]

Week 4: Snorkeling and Venezia

Ciao again!

This past week featured a fun field trip for Intro to Marine Bio and my first big week adventure! For the first field trip, we explored different habitats in Ieranto Bay, a marine conservation area only accessible through kayaking or by hiking down. We took the hiking route, taking in the picturesque landscape as we went.

Around 45 minutes later we got down to the bay and split into three groups to rotate through the day’s activities. My group had free time first; I spent the hour at the beach, swimming and enjoying the lovely clear water. Kayaking came next. Although we couldn’t cross the entire bay due to strong winds, we kayaked to another section, going in and out of a few caves and observing different marine habitats. I loved exploring the caves, especially one where it was so low you had to use your hands instead of the paddle to navigate! Lastly, our professor guided us in snorkeling, pointing out several key organisms and marine structures we had discussed in class. This might’ve been my favorite part as I loved diving down to look at everything up close (I even swam through an underwater tunnel lined with bright orange corals!)

(views of the bay during the hike down)

(four of us representing UMich in Ieranto Bay with the water and cliff in the background)

Over the weekend, I visited Venice and a few of the surrounding islands with some friends. I can honestly say it was the most unique place I’ve been so far. Wandering around and getting lost was so fun as there was something neat around every corner. We stayed the night in Naples Friday as we had a very early train Saturday morning (yay 4 am wake up). The train ride went smoothly and 5 hours later we emerged in The Floating City.

(Pictures of the colorful Venetian houses lining the edges of canals)

We took in the sights and wandered around for the afternoon before getting dinner (the pasta was delicious) and gelato (also delicious). Sunday morning, a few of us got up bright and early to see St. Mark’s basilica before the rush (slept in until 5am this time). My jaw was practically on the floor from admiring the intricate ceiling mosaics and it was worth every second of sacrificed sleep. Even today, creating artwork like it would be an impressive feat, let alone in the 11th century when the Church was constructed.

(Part of the outside of St. Mark's Basilica featuring ornate mosaics and paintings)

After some morning sightseeing, we booked a boat tour for 20 euros each to take us to Murano and Burano, two smaller islands known for their glass and lace making, respectively. Our stop in Murano also included a live glass blowing demonstration! I am now the proud owner of a hand-made Venetian glass bead bracelet and an adorable glass snail (name is still pending). Burano was very quaint with canals lined with vibrant houses and filled with cafes and small shops highlighting their handmade lace.

(First picture of a glass blowing presentation on Murano, the other two pictures of the canals of Burano. Yes, the tower in the third pic is leaning, it's not a crooked picture!)

Once back on the main island, we did a little shopping, ate some more yummy pasta, and took in the sights again before heading back to the main bus station to board our overnight bus, beginning our trek back to Sorrento. I lucked out and had both seats to myself on the bus, allowing me to get some much needed shut eye as I had my physics midterm that same morning!

I am already missing the charming streets and enchanting canals of Venice, but I have an exciting week and another weekend adventure ahead to keep me busy!

Arrivederci,

Marika Ruppart

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering in Sorrento, Italy

[anonsally]

Weekend in Chicago

Day 0

Unusually, I didn't feel particularly anxious about this trip, though I still slept badly the night before departure. Although I left slightly ahead of schedule, I had a long wait for BART and then a long wait for the little mini-train to my terminal at the airport, and then the line for security was longer than I expected, so I only just had time to buy food for the flight. When I arrived at my gate, my group was already boarding. Since I’m usually at the airport 2 hours before departure, this came as a bit of a shock! But once I was on the plane, it all went smoothly. Nobody was in the middle seat next to me (I had a window), and I spent the flight reading a novel. I finished it just after we landed! [separate post coming about the book]

I landed at Chicago O’Hare around 8pm. Because it was such a short trip, I hadn’t checked a bag, which is practically unheard-of for me; I was proud of packing so light! Although it’s obvious, I still felt surprised at how quickly I could leave the airport since I didn’t have to wait for checked luggage! Because it was dark (and raining a little), I took a cab to my hotel, where Best Friend had already arrived. We went up to the room to drop off my stuff, then went out for dinner. This was a hip hotel in a hip neighborhood called River North, and we were decidedly not cool enough to stay there! However, we were also old enough not to give a shit!

By then it was 9pm (7pm for my body clock though), and we were very hungry. We had thought we would just go to a little ramen shop nearby, as surely at this hour restaurants would be emptying out, but it turned out to be packed. It was Saturday night, and I guess people in Chicago are back to going out at night. We struggled to find a restaurant that could seat us, but we eventually got a table at Hub 51. Chicago is a foodie town, and we enjoyed our meal, though the portion sizes were enormous.

After that, we returned to our hotel and went to bed soon afterwards.

Day 1

We had a leisurely start before heading out to grab breakfast en route to the Art Institute of Chicago, which was the main purpose of this weekend getaway. They had an exhibition of Remedios Varo, my favorite artist, called Science Fictions. It was fabulous. If you are in or near Chicago, I think you still have a week or two to catch this before it closes! I will be posting photos. I had only seen a few of the paintings in person before, and there were more paintings than I expected, along with a bunch of sketches. As always, seeing the paintings in person brought out details I hadn’t noticed when looking at reproductions of them, and in fact, I think there were some paintings I wasn’t familiar with at all. We spent quite a while in that exhibition before moving on to look at other works in the museum, including some great Georgia O’Keeffe paintings (I loved the landscapes) and quite a few Sargents (many from early in his career), the Chagall window, the Tiffany window, some Frank Lloyd Wright-designed things, and some furniture (some of which was great and some of which was hilariously hideous). We ate a late lunch in a sheltered courtyard café in the museum and then resumed looking at art.

After the museum, we wandered through Maggie Daley Park. It was late afternoon, and I did some birdwatching while Best Friend made a couple of phone calls. I saw a palm warbler! That was a new bird for me, and I also got a good look at a fairly distinctive bird but still couldn’t identify it. I took photos, and was later able to determine that it was an ovenbird, which is also a new one for me! There were lots of white-throated sparrows (uncommon where I live) and yellow-rumped warblers, as well as some northern cardinals (which don’t exist where I live).

We ate dinner at a deep-dish pizza place, which seemed mandatory while in Chicago. It was delicious! This restaurant makes single-person pizzas, which are cute (the fork and pen below are normal-sized and included for scale). I still couldn’t finish mine, so I brought ¼ of it back to the hotel (in a cute box!) to eat for breakfast.

We then returned to the hotel to pack and wind down.

Day 2

I had set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 6:45am, not because either of us had an early flight (we didn’t), but because we wanted to do something fun before heading to the airport. So we checked out of our hotel at 8:30, left our luggage, and took the metro (well, the el) to the 606, a repurposed elevated rail line that is now a sort of park/trail for bikes and pedestrians. Best Friend admired the architecture of the neighborhoods we were walking through, while I did some birdwatching. We then walked through Humboldt Park (more birdwatching, the highlights of which were a golden-crowned kinglet, wood ducks, lots of white-throated sparrows, and more northern cardinals, though there were also about 60 Canada geese, which was slightly terrifying!).

On our way back to the el, we stopped at Typica Café, which turned out to be Venezuelan. Best Friend had to attend a Zoom meeting for a half hour. I ate a delicious guava-cheese puff pastry, which is apparently a Venezuelan thing and which I highly recommend if you get the opportunity to have one! The hot chocolate was also exceptionally good; it was made using Venezuelan cocoa and, I think, a tiny bit of caramel syrup. It was excellent; not too sweet.

We then walked to the el and rode back to our hotel, picked up our luggage, walked to the pizza place so Best Friend could bring two frozen pizzas back for her husband and son, and then rode the el to the airport. We had gotten day passes for the Chicago el, which were a steal at $5.

At the airport we hugged goodbye as we were on different airlines. Going through security was fine, and I got to walk through the colored light underpass that is the only good thing at O'Hare. I bought snacks to eat on the plane. Boarding was a bit of a fiasco (they started boarding group 3 before group 2 for some reason) and very inefficient, but as we all reminded each other and ourselves, the only thing that really mattered was getting to our destination safely and approximately on time.

The flight itself was full and slightly delayed but fairly uneventful, and I got home via BART within 1.5 hours of landing. Yay! Although it was frankly bananas to fly halfway across the country for a 2-night stay, I feel very refreshed and energized by it and am glad I went, and particularly glad that Best Friend joined me. She's a great travel companion (despite her snoring), and I think it's the first trip we've taken together since she had her son nearly 13 (Edit: 14!) years ago.

I plan to post some photos from the trip. (I realise I didn't manage to do that after the Europe trip this summer, but this was only 2 days so it should be more manageable!)