#[Latest News] Flower Mound

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: Back to Autumn (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: G - grief, character death Word count: 1.8k

Part 3: In a Week Masterpost

Author's Note: The last in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This finale is based on the song Back to Autumn by Tall Heights. Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this lifelong love story 💙

Decades later

The snow would not deter him. He had planned on going to see you and so he would. And he needed to bring flowers. Nothing too delicate. Something beautiful that wouldn’t wither immediately in the cold winds. There was always Clyvedon lavender in the storeroom - it would be perfect. He selected a fragrant bunch, pulled on his boots and wrapped himself in layers before stepping out into the snowglobe. The entire world was white and muffled into silence despite the wind that swirled the soft flakes around him. The only sounds were his own breath and the crunching of his footsteps. It was rare to get such a blanketing snowfall, but then again everything seemed strange and out of sorts these days. He moved slowly, a solitary figure dressed in black, picking his way across the blank grounds of Aubrey Hall. His knees creaked. A walk of this distance was hell on his arthritis and he probably needed a cane, which was something you had heckled him about. But he didn’t want to acknowledge his decrepitude, not yet, and he would keep making the journey to visit you, snow, rain or shine.

The tips of his fingers and nose had started to numb by the time he reached the field but he couldn’t be fussed to care. Being there set his mind on other things entirely. A lifetime of memories. The paintings, the wedding, the annual dandelion harvest for the estate’s wine production - a quirky cottage industry you had started which was happily carried on by the subsequent generation of Bridgertons. So much colorful life had played out on the field as if it were a stage. Now muted, the curtains drawn for the winter, it seemed unremarkable, indistinguishable from the others surrounding it. Except for one hallowed corner tucked by the treeline where there was a rise in the snow.

Taking a deep breath, he moved to stand before it. The joyful kaleidoscope of his memories in the field had been fractured when it also became the site of your grave. Then it had grown to be a bittersweet place of memorial. He coped by visiting you every two weeks without fail. He reasoned it was good exercise but he also found something curative in speaking to you, giving you updates on the family, his latest musings and frustrations. But that sense of peace had been threatened by recent events, the kaleidoscope at risk of shattering entirely. Because now he had to adapt to the sight of the new plot beside yours, the freshly turned earth mounded under a light cover of snow.

Anthony heaved a sigh that escaped in mist. He had known it would happen eventually but had never allowed himself to envision it. Selfishly he had hoped to pass first so that he wouldn’t have to bear witness. But Benedict had been so utterly bereft after losing you, moving through life like a walking wound, that it was clear he wouldn’t linger without you for very long. The illness that had marked your final months had drained him of energy. The only fuel he seemed to still possess was the power to love. Anthony knew that if the force of his love could have lengthened your years you would have lived forever, well beyond any of them. Benedict had managed for just over a year, physically depleting while his heart only seemed to grow larger and encompass all of the family that surrounded him. But none of them could mend the hole you had left and at last he had joined you, never waking from a nap in his studio, a half-finished portrait of your younger self before him. 

That was two weeks ago and now he had taken his designated spot beside you. When you had known you were facing the end, you and Benedict had requested Anthony’s permission to make the field your final resting place. Though his jaw clenched and his eyes grew haunted, he had immediately agreed. It had given you a degree of comfort in those final, painful days, knowing that you were headed for your favorite place. The irony managed to bring a smile to your face, that you would indeed lay in the field forever as you had imagined doing in such a macabre fashion years ago. You and Benedict had called a number of places home over your years together and had filled each of them with love, but no place was as dear to your hearts as the field and you knew that its private magic would be preserved by the Bridgerton family for generations to come. 

Anthony stared at the grave. He was no stranger to grief but it was a new experience to lose a sibling. He supposed he should be grateful that he had held onto them all for as long as he had. But Benedict had left a particular void in his wearying soul. He had not only lost a brother, he had lost his closest friend, his confidante, his advisor. The man with such a magnitude of compassion that it forced his own better nature to show itself. Now without his gentle guidance, Anthony clung to the scant consolation that his brother would always be on the grounds with him. He was grateful that they would be touching the same tracts of earth and he hoped that would help him to channel Benedict somehow, to feel his force in a way that would help him steady the helm of the family for the remainder of his days.

He had never been prone to sentimentality, had never seen any use in being wistful about the past. But as he stood alone in the chilling winds he wished for one thing. He wished he could go back in time to certain happy moments in the hopes that they would soothe the gnawing grief of his present. Any moment spent with you and Benedict would have comforted him, but there were some that stood out as the most vividly joyful. He recalled one autumn when the entire family had gathered at the house. With all of his siblings married, it was becoming something harder and harder to accomplish. But everyone was there with their spouses and children, as well as his mother and her new beau. Looking around at them all, he was overcome by a novel sense of peace, almost as if he had achieved a milestone and could now release some of his anxiety. But the moment was short-lived as he watched you back out of a conversation across the room and slip through the french doors to the terrace. Benedict, Kate and Phillip stared after you awkwardly before Benedict mumbled something and took off in another direction through the house. 

Anthony had been worried. It was unlike the two of you to look anything but blissful together and it stung a little that you had run off alone rather than come to him for help. Ever the unshakable leader, he had downplayed whatever was happening and guided everyone to happy distractions. But a fear had lingered. A fear that something was seriously wrong between you and Benedict. A fear that his sense of peace had been misplaced. It grew more insistent as the hours passed but was dispelled entirely when you and Benedict finally returned, glowing, with arms around each other. Your laughter and reassurance had calmed everyone and the family was made whole again. The entire Bridgerton clan gathered around a bright fire, drinks in hand with the children asleep upstairs. Every Bridgerton was entwined with their partner but none so tightly as you and Benedict. There was something reinvigorated in the way you looked at each other, a magnetism so evident that to doubt it felt akin to doubting gravity. It was then that Anthony’s heart settled, sighing contentedly as he wrapped an arm around Kate. His family was safe. His family was happy. And they had their whole lives ahead of them. He wanted to go back to that autumn.

Or if not that autumn, to another treasured day. The day of your and Benedict’s wedding, the first and only one he had officiated. He had been daunted by the request at first but saw it as an opportunity he could not waste to publicly ridicule Benedict. The details of the event were perhaps not to his taste, dressed down literally and figuratively as guests gathered in the field and you and Benedict traipsed in barefoot, the only ornamentation being the natural sea of dandelions and floral arrangements of lilac and lavender. He did his best to whittle you both to the quick, questioning why you had chosen such a starry-eyed sod for a husband, theorizing that you weren’t as clever as he had thought, and so forth until everyone was sore with laughter. But then as he stood between you both, his closest brother and one of his dearest friends, he understood what a great honor it was to join you together. He felt as if he were stitching you into the tapestry of his family. He allowed himself to be sincere in his wishes for your future and didn’t realize he was crying until you handed him your tissue which caused more good-natured laughter. It was a moment and a day he would never forget, gaining you as a sister and knowing for certain that his brother’s sensitive heart would be cared for without fail.

You had been married in May on a day so warm and colorful it seemed impossible that it had occurred in the same white wasteland where he now found himself. If he couldn’t travel to the past maybe he just needed to carry on until next May. Then he could visit you on your anniversary. He pledged that he would make an occasion of it and would bring brighter bouquets of flowers. But for now all he had was the lavender and he knew he needed to start making his way back to the house. The cold was sinking in and it was a long trek. 

He murmured a few sentences, news he thought you should know and sentiments to Benedict that he wished he had said before. He hovered over the marker, a single stone laid deep in the grass, inconspicuous but enduring. No names, no dates, just a stanza Benedict had written after you passed. Anthony kicked the snow away then bent to brush the words clear with a hand. He placed the lavender alongside and paused to read them as he had so many times before.

Of all the flowers in the field You alone were sweetest Of all the joys my life would know Your love would be the deepest

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte

[lavendercare]

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[kiwiwebsolutions01-blog]

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[nitinguptadfw]

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[tuinstrum]

[Latest News] Flower Mound, Texas News

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Flower Mound, Texas News

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Missing 5-year-old girl, who disappeared from a New Jersey playground, extends into a second month

Al Sharpton was paid more than $1M by his OWN charity in 2018

White cop’s shocking rant after ‘racially profiling’ two men in mall parking lot

‘Twentieth Century,’ ‘Dove and the Wolf,’ ‘Hurricane Season’ Win Los Cabos Festival

Bristol Palin shows off her new buff, god-fearing beau Janson Moore… amid her parents’ divorce

Julie Andrews refused to take cocaine at a party when hosts tried to pressure her into it

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Posted:

Missing 5-year-old girl, who disappeared from a New Jersey playground, extends into a second month

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:33 PM PST

Dulce Maria Alavez, 5, was last seen at a New Jersey playground with her three-year-old brother while her mother sat in a car close by on September 16

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

Al Sharpton was paid more than $1M by his OWN charity in 2018

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:23 PM PST

The New York Post reported on Saturday that the controversial minister, 65, last year took home a total of $1,046,948 from his National Action Network (NAN)

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

White cop’s shocking rant after ‘racially profiling’ two men in mall parking lot

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:23 PM PST

Lawrence Township Deputy Constable Daryl Jones approached cousins Aaron Blackwell and Durell Cunningham as they drove out of the parking lot of a Nordstrom Rack in the north side of Indianapolis.

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

‘Twentieth Century,’ ‘Dove and the Wolf,’ ‘Hurricane Season’ Win Los Cabos Festival

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:18 PM PST

LOS CABOS  —  "The Twentieth Century," Matthew Rankin's crazed retelling of Canadian history, won the main Los Cabos Competition this Saturday, beating out a prestige lineup of some of the most notable festival standouts of the year. The win at Los Cabos, whose competition is focused on movies from the U.S., Mexico and Canada, adds […]

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

Bristol Palin shows off her new buff, god-fearing beau Janson Moore… amid her parents’ divorce

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:03 PM PST

According to his Insta profile, he’s a former Texas A&M quarterback and a ‘follower of the living Christ.’ The 24-year-old is a Texas native, currently working as a medical sales representative in Austin.

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

Julie Andrews refused to take cocaine at a party when hosts tried to pressure her into it

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 11:03 PM PST

The veteran actress, 84, revealed in her new book Home Work: A Memoir of My Hollywood Years that her and late husband Blake Edwards were offered the class A drug while at a house party.

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

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from [Latest News] Flower Mound, Texas News via [Latest News] Flower Mound, Texas News November 17, 2019 at 03:03AM

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation, teasing, some humour

Word Count: 3K +

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[terresdebrume]

The Witcher - Favorite Reads Masterpost

So, the previous one was getting really super long and Tumblr refused to save the latest update three times, which I’m taking to mean I’ve reached some kind of length limit. In view of that, and with a poke to @nyliekeo​ who asked to be tagged, here’s the second volume of my Witcher fic-reading adventures!

(Pretty much all Geraskier, because I’m only a multishipper in the sense that I have many ships across many fandoms.)

Volume 1

Last updated: April 10th, 2020.

Non geraskier fic

Her Current Is Pulling You Closer - TheMarvellousMadMadamMim

Specs: 1 900 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Eist/Calanthe - Swimming, shameless flirting

Summary: After nearly three years of marriage, Eist Tuirseach realizes there are still things to learn about his wife.

Becoming Water - Orockthro

Specs: 3 456 words - Mature - Trans woman!Geralt, curses, happy ending

Summary:  When Geralt was a child his mother kissed his forehead, wove flowers in his hair, and let him dance around the campsite they shared with the other druids. He loved dancing, the way his body moved and flowed; he was like water.

And then she left him in the road, spilled water on his feet, and a faint trail of dust where she and the cart were no longer. And a man came and took Geralt and made him into something new.

“Were you short? Waifish? Did those witcher mutagens turn you into, you know, the hulking sexy man that you are? At least they gave you such male perfection, what with the stubble and the jaw and the--”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

(Or, Geralt is cursed with a female body during their travels. Only it's not so much a curse as a gift she didn't know she so desperately desired until now.)

of cockroaches and men - Potrix

Specs: 1 442 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Yennefer & Jaskier, Getting to know each other, BAMF Jaskier

Summary: As if being stuck waiting for her supplier in this sorry excuse for a town full of narrow-minded, superstitious simpletons isn't already frustrating enough, the first familiar face Yennefer spots when she walks into the grubby tavern is that of her least favourite bard.

Or, alternatively; sometimes you misjudge people, but there's nothing some badassery and booze won't fix.

all cooped up - alittlebitmaybe

Specs: 4 205 words - Mature - Polyamory, Pandemic 2020, Non-explicit sex, instigator Yen

Summary: Geralt's old university roommate, Jaskier, needs a place to ride out the pandemic. Geralt and Yennefer conveniently have a couch and Geralt, inconveniently, has a crush.

Cover it over and write it out - TheArcheologist

Specs: 3 214 words - Mature - Dyslexia, implied child abuse, Dandelion is a noble

Summary: There is something Geralt has noticed, after traveling so long with Jaskier. It is nothing major, nothing world ending or even warranting bringing up, but it is there, nonetheless, a funny little habit he can’t unsee.

“You’re better at this stuff than me, Geralt, you read it.”

Geraskier fics

pride - Besully (Briar_Elwood)

Specs: 737 words - Teen & Up - Trans Jaskier

Summary: Geraskier Week Dealer's Choice

He only manages to get the shirt untucked from the bard’s trousers when Jaskier’s smile disappears, and he scrambles backwards, holding the edges of his shirt down.

Do It Again - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 6 771 words - Explicit - Time Loop

Summary: By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

Interlude; The End of All Things - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 3 496 words - General Audiences - Growing Old Together

Summary: Geralt realizes Jaskier is growing old and tries his best to return the rest of Jaskier's life to him. If only Jaskier would cooperate and take it.

//

How much longer will Jaskier be content with weathering the elements and contending with the uncertainty of mercenary work? How long until Jaskier realizes that in devoting himself to crafting a legacy for Geralt, he has forgotten to create a legacy of his own?

After all, he does not have a wife or children, for their nomadic lifestyle is conducive to neither. He has no home to return to between stints with Geralt, whether a sprawling mansion vaunting his wealth or a comfortable cottage replete with souvenirs from his varied exploits. How many experiences has Jaskier sacrificed because some contract or irate nobleman drew them elsewhere? How many untouched fields of snow has Jaskier never seen; how many harvests at Novigrad has he yearned to celebrate from halfway across the Continent—

“You’re staring,” Jaskier points out.

“You wanted to go to the Kovirian coast,” Geralt responds. 

a tapestry of scars - splendidlyimperfect

Specs: 7 688 words - Mature - Modern AU, Birpolar disorder, self harm, references to previous suicide attempt and car accident.

Summary: Jaskier comes into Geralt's life on a sunny afternoon in May - wide smiles and baby blue eyes; breathtaking stories and half-written song lyrics. He's mesmerizing and full of life, and Geralt can't look away. But sunshine doesn't last forever, and when Jaskier disappears, Geralt learns that beautiful things have dark and broken pieces, and even damaged people can help fix them.

Summer Mornings - The UnamazingTrashKing

Specs: 3 241 words - Mature - Fluff

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are sort of a couple. They definitely wake up together and talk about spending the rest of their lives together.

An Incomplete Happiness - BlossomsintheMist

Specs: 22 497 words - Mature - Serious injuries, injuries recovery, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension

Summary: Jaskier is traveling with Geralt when a hunt goes badly wrong and Geralt ends up injured.  Geralt soon realizes that the bard can take care of Geralt better than he'd realized, in his own way.

Hide Behind The Mound of Dead Bards - Bones (Doctorbones)

Specs: 17 296 words - Explicit - Temporary character death, Graphic depiction of violence

Summary: Jaskier is really bad at two things: shutting up and staying dead. Luckily, he can do both at the same time...for a while.

faith in transience - unconscious

Specs: 12 532 words - Explicit - Monster of the week, Service top Jaskier, attempted mind control.

Summary:  “I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.”  Geralt starts.

“Like what?”

Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?”

A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

when midnight breaks their sleep - SummerFrost

Specs: 16 736 words - Mature - Modern setting, polyamory, polyamory negociation

Summary:   The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.

shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely

"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.

AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.

he, who i love - kinneyb

Specs: 1 279 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Summary: Jaskier looked forward to these nights the most; he was playing in a rundown tavern in a small town near the coast, coins gathered at his feet, knowing that at any moment Geralt would come bursting through the door.

He spun on his heels, strumming his lute with nimble fingers, the mark of a practiced player.

Jaskier had thought he’d reached his peak when he was younger. He had been proven wrong, of course, practice truly did make perfect. He was getting more attention than ever, and only half of it probably had to do with his new songs, all depicting the Witcher’s love story with a bard of the human variety.

He never directly mentioned himself, but the people had made the connection fairly easily, anyway.

Near the Coast - IantoPace

Specs: 2 164 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Dresses

Summary: Geralt finds out some of the feminine things Jaskier likes. This is inspired by the images of Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland in the woods wearing each other's clothes.

Shoot First, Ask Questions Later - Ladivviniatravestia

Specs: 3 427 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Defining the relationship

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier fuck, then try to define their relationship.  Too bad Geralt has no idea what he really wants and Jaskier has been hiding something.

parry, riposte - plutoandpersephone

Specs: 5 230 words - Explicit - Established relationship, competence kink, power dynamics

Summary: "How about it?"

Geralt looks at Jaskier like he’s just started to speak in some long lost, foreign tongue.

"You want to take me on in the sword ring?"

-

Jaskier challenges Geralt to a bout in the fencing ring. They both get more than they bargained for.

The Coast - NinjaSniperKitty

Specs: 1 856 words - General Audiences - Established relationship, overly protective boyfriend!Geralt

Summary: Geralt takes Jaskier up on his offer to get away and go to the coast for a while. While Geralt sees danger hiding everywhere along the coast, Jaskier hasn't been to the sea in years and only sees a good time!

Sweet, Silky, Soft, and Shiny - Girl_in_Red_Crossing

Specs: 3 251 words - Mature - Inappropriate use of candy

Summary: Just a couple of bros, sucking on sweet things... sharing silky things... lying in soft beds together... (kissing)...

The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV - im_fairly_witty.

Specs: 15 338 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Animal transformation

Summary: It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher. Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Shadowplay - sospes

Specs: 26 539 words - Mature - BAMF!Jaskier, Espionnage

Summary: Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

An Old Man’s Tale - NotebooksandLaptops

Specs: 1 448 words - General Audiences - External POV, Old age

Summary: At the edge of the village, in a house surrounded by wild-flowers and weeds - re-built from its former crumbling foundations – there lived the Old Man. He’d earnt the rights for the capital O, capital M off of the rest of the villagers barely a week after he’d moved into their humble world. For he had not grown up here, like everyone else did. Yet he settled and settled as if he had always been there. He wandered the cliffsides, the beaches, the streets. He strung shells together and gifted them to the ladies of the village with a wink that betrayed the charming young man he once must have been. He bought the little ceramic pots Alicja sold on the market, and he filled them with weeds as if the weeds were flowers worth showcasing. And – most importantly – he sang.

-///-

Or, Jaskier settles in a costal village towards the end of his life.

For The Joy Of It - vvitchering (Witchering)

Specs: 848 words - Teen & Up Audiences - self esteem issues, body image

Summary: After spending years on The Path together, Jaskier and Geralt finally settle down. Jaskier notices one day that his new sedentary lifestyle has changed him in ways he fears Geralt won't accept.

The Silence Between Heartbeats - anarchycox

Specs: 7 969 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Jskier knows Geralt better than anyone

Summary: Geralt faced off with a sorceress, only instead of her magic killing him, it stole his voice. But this should be an easy fix, he knew many women who could heal this. But that would mean anyone noticing something wrong. He knew he was quiet, but seriously, did no one wonder why he wasn't saying a single thing? Months he traveled silent, no one noticing and it was driving him mad.

Until he runs into Jaskier, who notices immediately that something is wrong.Because of course it is Jaskier.

Who else in the end would it be, who properly saw the White Wolf?

tailored - jeannie_tangerine

Specs: 4 874 words - Explicit - Geralt has a kink and Jaskier is absolutely into it.

Summary: in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt has a kink and is more than glad to indulge it.

oh darling please be mine - kickassfu

Specs: 749 words - General Audiences - Introspective, fluff

Summary: Geralt’s head turns to him just as he’s jumping into his arms. Obviously, he catches Jaskier, in his very strong, very big arms. Still probably processing what’s happening, Geralt’s body is tense, unmoving. Jaskier doesn’t care.

New Monsters Stories - Kathkin

Specs: 20 209 words - Explicit - Urban fantasy, mutual pining

Summary:  “So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?

Professor Pankratz - martistarfighter

Specs: 1 147 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Sumary:  “Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.

Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.

“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”

“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”

As someone pointed out, there's too much 'witcher watching out for his idiot' and not enough 'the witcher is a himbo who loves his college educated bard husband, who is qualified to teach' content out there. So I'm fixing it with a self-indulgent ficlet!

and i plan to be forgotten when i’m gone (yes, i’ll be leaving in the fall) - Stockholm_Syndrome

Specs: 18 083 words - Mature - Discussion of assisted suicide, discussion of suicide, depression, curse, no MCD

Summary: “That was more emotional than I expected.” He finally said “I didn’t think I’d have time to share this with you, and I.” Jaskier interrupted himself, as if unsure if he should continue. “I suppose I didn’t think it would upset you so.”

“Jaskier” Geralt growled, not able to express how ludicrous that idea was.

“Yes, I suppose I was wrong there.” Jaskier replied with a helpless shrug.

---- Or, Jaskier is cursed to turn into a monster. He doesn't think this is important information to mention.

Chopsticks - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 12 175 words - Explicit - Piano teacher!Jaskier, friends to lovers, modern setting

Summary: “Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

what’s in a (pet) name? - janie_tangerine

Specs: 1 415 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, pet names

Summary:  "So," he clears his throat one evening, having just rinsed Geralt's now clean, soft white hair, and damn how he wishes the man would just take care of it somewhat decently, "I was wondering."

"What?" Geralt says after he doesn't go on for a bit. It didn't sound particularly annoyed. Right on.

"This is a very broad question, but I was just curious, no need to answer if you don't want to -" Jaskier starts, having learned that giving the man a way out is always a good bet.

"Just get on with it, won't you?"

Jaskier clears his throat, leans down, puts his elbows on the rim of the tub. "How do you feel about pet names?"

Or: in which Jaskier has a question for Geralt. It doesn't get answered the way he had assumed.

As Long As You Were Mine For A Little While - whisperedstories

Specs: 12 815 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, mutual pining

Summary: It starts with Jaskier offering a helping hand when Geralt needs to let off some steam. The thing is, Jaskier likes taking care of Geralt—however he can—and Geralt lets him, so he just keeps doing it.

And as long as they never talk about how he's in love with Geralt, they're both happy with the arrangement, right? Right.

Of Debt and Debtors - sp_oops

Specs: 5 136 words - Explicit - Semi-public sex

Summary: Two bros, chillin' in a ta-vern, five feet apart ‘cause they—fuck, they really missed each other, not that Geralt will ever admit it—and anyway, in a minute here, they're gonna have to get closer than they ever thought possible. (Or, sometime after Episode 6, they meet again, Jaskier’s in trouble again, and Geralt saves them. Again.)

This One I Shall Choose - DorkMagician

Specs: 3 751 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Quiet pining, the exact moment Geralt falls in love

Summary: Geralt falls in the river fishing for a djinn and winds up soaked. Jaskier sees the opportunity to do as his mother told him a long time ago and takes the first step when he offers Geralt his handkerchief.

Skin Deep - Sospes

Specs: 8 935 words- Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, getting together, non consensual tattooing, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced childhood abuse

Summary: “What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

They say there are 5 ways to show your love (and I don’t know any of them) - Mayathelittlebee

Specs: 5 989 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, humor

Summary: May be if Geralt stopped being so dramatic for a moment he'd finally realize that loving Jaskier is not as hard as he thinks.

I don’t mind if I’m with you - janie_tangerine

Specs: 11 152 words - Explicit - In which Jaskier has to quelle his murder instincts concerning how much Geralt’s life sucks

Summary: or: five times plus one in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt is missing on good life experiences and promptly sees to fix it.

Fill Me Up - Mysticmajestic

Specs: 402 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Romance

Summary: Geralt only knows how to give, and give, until he's empty. What is he to do with Jaskier, who only wants to give back to him?

Little Things - QueenForADay

Specs: 3 315 words - General Audiences - Domestic fluff, Ciri ships it

Summary: In the first few months of knowing the Witcher, he experienced first-hand how shut-off Geralt could be with the world around him and those within it.

At some point, and he can’t pinpoint where, that shroud started to slip away. He saw how much Geralt could, and does, actually care. It’s as fierce as the way he fights.

They spend a great deal of time watching each other; when they finally fell into a bed together, they spent most of their nights learning what the other liked, mapping the plains of skin and muscle underneath the other.

But it’s the other things, the little things, that Jaskier thinks about the most.

O, Empathy - almostnectarine

Specs: 32 624 words - Mature - Body swap, friends to lovers, questfic

Summary: “How did you manage,” asked Geralt, with infinite patience and only a desire to know the facts, and not at all a little meanhearted glee, “to insult a sorcerer while his tongue was down your throat?”

“Don’t make me recount the entire sordid affair, Geralt,” said Jaskier, with a surprising note of desperation breaking through his gruff monotone. “I’m already having a rather shit day and all I’ve done so far is wake up.”

“In my body,” said Geralt.

“Yes,” said Jaskier, with the insolent cadence that was unmistakably Jaskier’s, but in Geralt’s voice, emerging from Geralt’s face and frame.

“And I’ve got yours,” said Geralt, from Jaskier’s.

and for that love to be with men - sebviathan

Specs: 6 734 words -Mature - Emotional constipation, self discovery, self acceptance, geralt is a whole ass gay man who doesn’t know what being gay is

Summary: Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it—living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.

The enormity of Geralt's desire disgusts him.

at last, at last, at last, oh I thought you’d never ask - elegantwings

Specs: 15 040 words - Explicit - Arranged marriage, slow burn, trans!Jaskier, in this house we love Yennefer of Vengerberg

Summary: Geralt is given firm instructions from Vesemir: He is to get married to a Redanian noblewoman in the hopes of improving relations between witchers and the rest of the world. Once the ceremony is over, he plans to drop his new spouse off at their new home and carry on with his life as he always has. Little does he know, his future wife is not a woman, and not so easily left behind. He's not really sure he'd like to get rid of Jaskier, either. Over the next several years, they learn to navigate their new relationship, first while Jaskier completes his degree, and then when Jaskier insists on accompanying him on the road. And no matter what anyone else has to say about it, Geralt is absolutely not in love with his husband.

it’s what my heart just yearns to say - chasing_the_sterek

Specs: 1 071 words - Teen & Up - Slice of life, Jaskier: what if I found a way to make Geralt admit when he needs things

Summary: "If you could have one blessing," Jaskier says, eyes lit green by the fire between them, "What would it be?"

Geralt looks at him. The whetstone is smooth and friction-warm in his palm, edges rounded from use. It's been with him for a long time: almost four years.

Jaskier has been with him for even longer, but he's never done this. Geralt squints at him, but only thing different to this morning is the yellow firelight changing the colour his eyes appear.

"What," he says.

not a goodbye, a thank you - Potrix

Specs: 2 915 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of illness, near death experience, talk about death, found family

Summary: Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.

He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

After Summers of Fasting (I Feel Hunger At Last) - Artemis_Unbound

Specs: 3 793 words - Teen & Up Audiences - A six pack you can see is not a good thing, Jaskier tricks Geralt into Not Being Starving anymore, Love confessions

Summary: Defined six-pack abs are a sign that someone has been starving and dehydrating themselves, not a sign of incredible strength. It's just not healthy.

Jaskier sees Geralt shirtless for the first time, sees all that defined musculature, and is Horrified. He's slept with enough warriors and soldiers to know what that means. And he decides, this stops now.

Tunes Without Words - foxy_mulder

Specs: 22 021 words - Mature - Self-esteem issues, past abuse, miscommunications, misunderstandings

Summary: The plan is this:

He will note all the things that annoy Geralt, and he will stop doing them, and then Geralt will want him around. It will work.

It has to work, because Jaskier cannot be left behind.

The Path Not Taken - sospes

Specs: 40 149 words - Mature - Extraordinarily bad misunderstanding, Idiots in love, Explicit sexual content

Summary: Jaskier comes across an injured witcher in a backwoods town, months after the events of the dragon hunt. It all just sort of escalates from there.

.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

A Garden of Memories; A Guild Wars 2 Story

      After finally defeating another Elder Dragon, Commander Pirkko takes some time to mourn those who gave everything so she could be here now. And yet, even in death she is determined that something new and beautiful will regrow from the ashes. They will not be forgotten. 

      In a garden that holds the memories of lost friends, comrades, and perhaps even foes, she and Caithe share a moment of grief for yet another who left this world far too soon.

————————————————————————————

      “... Commander, do you have a moment?” Pirkko hardly looked up, even as she heard familiar footsteps approaching softly across the grass. She didn’t feel like talking to Caithe. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to anyone.

     She finished her work nonetheless, gently tapping down a small mound of loose soil with the flat of her gardening shovel. Her head raised, eyes watching the Firstborn’s approach. Caithe paused. Their tiredness made them seem like mirror reflections, two sylvari warriors worn down by loss and regret. In spite of herself, Pirkko’s expression softened, a long, heavy sigh escaping her lips as she straightened and brushed the dirt off her knees.

      “I can talk. What is it, Caithe?” Her voice was quiet, betraying the wound carried deep in her soul. The Firstborn stood before her, looking to the Commander’s half-finished project contemplatively. There was no doubt in Pirkko’s mind that she knew exactly what it was meant to be, even as rough as it was.

     “A statue is being constructed in Trahearne’s memory,” she answered softly. “It will stand near the Grove’s entrance once it’s been completed. The others planned to send you a letter when it was done, but.. I felt it would be best for you to hear this news in person.”

      The Commander was silent for a long moment…

      She could still feel the blade in her hands, the tears on her cheeks.

      “... I’m sorry,” Caithe amended quickly, frowning, “I suppose I wasn’t the best choice of messenger. I’ll leav—”

      “Don’t go.” Pirkko cut her off, rubbing her eyes with one fist. “I… Thank you, for telling me. You didn’t have to do that.” She looked back to the unfinished latest addition to her garden, chest tight. “It’s just… A lot. That’s not your fault.”

     Caithe nodded. “You were very close, I know.”

     “He was a good man.” Pirkko could feel that agony in her chest twisting, keen as a knife. “He didn’t deserve to die like that. It’s a fate I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy, let alone…” She took a long, rattling breath, looking away. “... Caithe. Does it ever get any easier?”

      Caithe crouched at the small planting site, pulling a seed from her coat. She pressed it into the soil, then rested her hand lightly on top… A few small sprouts poked up, fresh green leaves unfolding in the Grove’s warm light.

     “Losing someone?” She let the saplings twine around her fingers briefly before drawing them back, watching them slowly reach upwards. “Over time, you become used to the pain of it. It no longer strikes so sharply or so deep, but it never quite goes away. Each fresh wound leaves a new scar in its wake.”

     Pirkko picked up a broken sword from its place against the wall of her home, striding forward and placing it into a humble pedestal at the new tree’s roots. Caithe’s vine wound around it, framing the blade perfectly. She stepped back, admiring their handiwork.

     “So, no,” Caithe decided finally, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

     “... I’m sorry about Faolain.” Pirkko gave her a sympathetic look. “I know that had to be hard for you.”

     “She was lost to me long before that,” she answered. “Whatever was between us withered and died many years ago.”

     “I know.”

     Everything was quiet for a long, solemn moment. Mordremoth was dead, but Caithe was right, she knew. The damage it left behind was never going to completely heal, not really. Faded marks would always remain. On the land, across their skin, and deep in the hearts of all those who had witnessed its rampage and lived.

     “... Commander.” Caithe looked out at the garden before them, her gaze even harder to read than usual. “If I may ask, are all of these..?”

     “... Yes.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets, looking out over the display.

     There were so many flowers here. The entire patch of earth was covered in them.

     “It’s beautiful. I’m sure they would have appreciated the gesture, too.”

     “Thank you. I think so, too.”

     Another moment of silence came, but it was different from the solemn, sad quiet that hung over the pair before. Even from death, something new could one day regrow. Their memory was preserved not in cold, hard stone, but in the continuation of life itself. There was something poetic about that.

      It was only then that Caithe noticed a single plant that was different from the others. A tangled rose bush stood alone at an edge of the garden, adorned with vibrant red-orange blooms. Pretty as it was, its thorns were sharp, glittering dangerously in the noon sun.

      “... Even one for her, Commander?” Caithe raised an eyebrow slightly.

      “As I said… That was a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

      The Firstborn shook her head in disbelief. “Sometimes I fear you may be too soft for your own good.” She gave the bush a bitter glare. “After everything she put all of us through, I hardly think she deserves a memorial.”

     “It’s not about what she deserves.” Pirkko’s tone held a careful, restrained frustration. “And I haven’t forgiven her for what she did. But… As Ventari said, everything has a right to grow. No one else will mourn her, so I will instead.”

     “Scarlet didn’t want anyone to mourn her,” Caithe pointed out. “Her solitude was a choice. She didn’t care about anyone but herself, even to the end.”

      “Then I’ll be kinder than she was.”

      A sigh of exasperation drifted across the clearing. “You really are too soft.” She looked to the rose bush once more. “You may recall the rest of that tenet; the blossom is brother to the weed. A thistle would have better suited her.”

     Pirkko snorted. “And risk stepping on it? No thanks. Roses may have thorns, but at least they’re easy to see.” Caithe couldn’t help a wry smile.

     “Fair enough. She would have enjoyed that a bit too much.”

     “Exactly.”

     Pirkko stretched briefly, then started gathering up her tools and putting them away. “Ah, I should probably finish up here and get a look at that statue. I’m curious how it’s turning out, hopefully they don’t make it too pretentious.”

     “Don’t worry, it’s in good hands,” Caithe promised with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it will come out nicely. Want me to lead the way?”

     “Go on ahead,” replied Pirkko, “I’ll catch up, I’m sure it can’t be that hard to find.” The Firstborn nodded, heading off to their destination. Only once she was out of sight did the Commander look to another of the garden’s dearest inhabitants. A few blooms of columbine were in view, a lovely mix of deep red-brown, pristine white, and vibrant yellow. Reaching up from soft green leaves, they even looked a bit like the magister they memorialized.

     She smiled faintly. It was good fighting by your side again, sister. I just wish it had been under better circumstances. The young sylvari lowered her head a moment. Thank you, Sieran. I’ll never forget you. 

     The Commander finished stowing her tools and finally left the garden behind.

     But she could never leave behind the memories, even if she had wanted to.

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[insomnia-productions]

UAF Secret Santa

Merry Christmas unreasonably attractive fandom! This is my Secret Santa gift to @herenya-sedai. You asked for Post-AMOL Mat dealing with a daughter who can channel, and, wow, did that open up a can of worms in my brain. I hope you enjoy this fic! It’s also on AO3, if you have a preference for platform <3

.

Nora, Nora

The first few months are the hardest. He sees them in the gardens, in the halls, in unfamiliar Seanchan streets, grey dresses swishing around thin ankles, silver bands making red rings around gaunt necks. They walk with their eyes lowered, lips pale and thin, betraying no emotion, followed, always, by tall pale women with cold faces, silver bracelets glinting under the harsh sun. Some of them are dark, others pale, some willowy and tall, others short and homely, but he sees one face on all of them: dark eyes, lips quirked just so, mouth opening to berate him, most likely, with the words of a harried mother despite the fact that she was the youngest of them all, always in such a hurry to grow up, growing up too fast, burning too bright until she burned out—

He left all that behind when he came to Seanchan, but it clings to him, still. His days are wide open and empty; Tuon has crushed the rebellions against her, but Seanchan politics are a web rivalled only by the White Tower itself and she spends her days fixed firm on her throne, Min rarely released from her side. There are no more battles to be fought. Mat feels himself fading, drifting into the background, a small piece of the scenery. He spends long hours wandering the city, studying the winding streets, acquainting himself with the taverns, memories flitting in and out of sight. Sometimes he drifts into an alley, or an alcove, or a dusty bazaar, and stands there for hours, dreaming of lives lived and long passed in this strange empire.

In his wanderings, he learns where they are kept. It’s a dark room, deep underground, walls studded with pegs holding gleaming bracelets. The new ones huddle in quivering groups on the cold floor. The old ones lie alone, eyes blank and dull, breaths so shallow they could almost be dead. It takes him a week, even with his luck, to find a way in: a tunnel from a bygone Age, forgotten by everyone in this generation, perhaps, but not by the men in his memories. He doesn’t use a torch, the first time, half-afraid of being caught, and as he creeps slowly through the dark, he wonders what Tuon would say.

He can’t do much. There are so many of them. He brings them sweetbreads and kaf, and it’s not enough. He brings them balms for their wounds and wine for their souls, and it’s not enough. He brings them stories of the outside world, of hope, of home, and it’s not enough, never enough. Most days, as he slips back into the darkness, he thinks all he can bring them is more disappointment.

.

On the third day of the eighth month, he lets one go. It is a foolish idea and he is not, contrary to popular belief, a fool, but she’s so young and scared, still with a spark of defiance in her large, dark eyes as she sits, unattended, in the garden, waiting for her sul’dam to collect her, and he’s done it before, knows how, and when he unlocks the necklace she smiles—

They catch her before dusk. They do not put the silver band back around her neck. When they are done with her, she has no neck to put it on.

Tuon is silent in court. She lets the girl’s sul’dam make the decision, and gives only an imperial shake of the head when asked if further inquiry is needed. Her eyes remain fixed on the girl throughout, never straying.

In the night, she comes early to the room they share. She sits there in bed, thin blankets pulled around her waist, back straight as the mast of a ship despite how large her stomach has grown, almost half her own size, it seems. It’s the first time he’s seen her by moonlight in weeks.

“Never do that again,” she says softly. “Remember that I will soon have my heir. I can kill you now, if I wish.”

Mat looks at her. He almost can’t see her eyes in the darkness. “Egwene told you—”

“The Amyrlin Seat was mistaken.” An edge of frost coats her words. “I know how to protect my people.”

“That girl wasn’t dangerous. She was barely a woman. In the Two Rivers she might not yet be allowed braids.”

Tuon’s voice softens, but her eyes are hard and cold. “You have a kind heart, Toy. I will forgive you this time.” Hard and cold—the eyes of one who was born with a crown already fixed on her head. “But never again.” She holds out a hand for him.

“Never again,” Mat echoes, and goes to her.

He passes the tunnel, sometimes, and there is a catch in his step before he keeps walking.

.

It’s raining the day everything changes—but a pleasant rain, if there is such a thing. It’s the kind of rain that reminds him of summer afternoons spent splashing through the creek, tearing newly bloomed wildflowers from trees, sticking them haphazardly in Perrin’s hair because the stems slid so smoothly between his curls and stuck. He watches the rain drip off the tiled cover above the window, falling heavily on petals in pink, yellow, and white. He watches for so long that he forgets the bouquet is getting soaked, but it doesn’t matter, because, when he hears the first cries, he jumps so hard he drops it out the window anyway.

He turns around, and there is Min, eyes wide, arms wrapped gingerly around a bundle of white, while on the bed Tuon sobs and laughs, for once too drained to keep composure. Mat walks to Min, takes the bundle into his arms. He looks down at a round face, brown in hue, eyes clenched shut, but he knows they will be the darkest brown. His daughter. His daughter.

It’s so terrifying a thought that he nearly drops the baby. Min catches his eye, grins, takes the child back and hands her off to Tuon’s waiting arms. Tuon looks at their daughter, and then at him, and, for once, smiles.

“You look frightened.”

“I never saw myself as a father,” Mat says, honestly. “I’m— I’m just— the village idiot.”

Min snorts. Tuon’s smile deepens.

“You are the greatest general that has ever lived,” she says, and her voice is so warm. “This is nothing.”

Mat gives her his most impish grin, and turns away before she can see it strain. Not for the first time, he wonders who it is his wife really loves.

.

Years pass faster than comprehension. Mat steals hours with his daughter like the rarest diamonds, moments between long sessions under locked doors when Tuon and her Court teach Enoura how be an empress. Tuon complains every day that five minutes with Mat undo three days of her work at a time. Mat takes it as a the highest honor.

He teaches his daughter how to dance, how to gamble, how to look at a horse and know how fast and how true it will run. She has Tuon’s eyes, Tuon’s steel spine, Tuon’s imperious voice—but she has his smile, he thinks, and his laugh.

When Enoura is one year old, she says her first word: “Dada.” Mat gloats for hours, and his satisfaction is barely touched by the fact that Tuon does not speak to him for the two weeks it takes before Enoura learns to say “Mama.” Even then, a coat of ice frosts her eyes for several weeks longer. Their marriage is only mended a month later, when Min, having drunk slightly too much, reveals that Enoura’s first word was actually, in fact, “Min.”

When Enoura is four years old, she splashes through a mud puddle half as deep as she is tall, and ruins the dress given to her specially for her True Name Day. She trails back into the palace half an hour later, tugged along by her latest tutor (none of them seem to last longer than a few weeks), face sullen, thoroughly disgraced. Tuon arches a single eyebrow when she sees her, fingers drumming on her knees—which, for Tuon, is the equivalent of pitching a fit. Mat fails to bite back a laugh—Light, but how many times had his own mother given him that same expression?— and is sent out of the room.

When Enoura is six years old, she wanders out of the garden gate and disappears. The Seanchan Empire itself seems to grind to a halt. Servants and soldiers alike are sent out in droves, and Tuon locks herself in a dark room with Min, admitting one courtier at a time, until she is certain that none of them are to blame. Mat finds the hidden spaces no one else can; for once, he is grateful for the memories in his head. He finds her when the sun has almost set, crouched behind the thick creeper plant obscuring a shallow alcove where two abandoned buildings meet. She is crying, and she cries harder when she sees him, and as he presses her to him, feeling relief wash over his bones, he decides that she will never cry like this again.

When Enoura is nine years old, Mat feels his medallion go cold. His daughter is standing behind him when he turns, palms stretched in front of her, face scrunched with concentration. She drops the pose when she sees him looking, blowing a mound of brown curls away from her face, and sticks out her lip. “I’m trying to blow you over.” As if to illustrate, a faint gust of wind drifts past Mat. Enoura huffs. “It’s not working.”

The medallion is so cold—and then it isn’t. He feels a shiver run through his body—part of him thinks it can still feel the thin weaves of Air, saidar spinning nets around him. Spun by his daughter. Mat feels his feet move; he goes to her very slowly, kneels in front of her, takes her hands. His eyes flit around the room; the door is closed, the window is shut and barred, there are no servants present, Tuon is far away in the throne room. No one is here. No one has seen. No one but him. He looks at his daughter, at her bright eyes, large and dark. He thinks of a rainbow stole around too-small shoulders, a thin scar around a thin neck that never quite went away.

“Nora,” he says. “Never do that again.”

.

Saidar, it turns out, is not something that can be controlled so easily. He learns this as he stands in a room full of broken pots and spilled dirt and flowers that weren’t there five minutes ago, and he screams at his daughter for the first time.

Enoura starts to cry and Mat feels all the air leave his body. He drops to his knees in front of her, gathers her into his arms, smooths a hand over her frizzy hair, feels the little leaves and twigs still hidden amongst the curls from the floral rain she created moments earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, so quiet he can’t quite tell if he’s really said it out loud. “It’s going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, gulping big shallow breaths, Enoura starts to calm down. Mat releases her and draws a cloth from his pocket. Carefully, he wipes her tears away, so that her face is dry. He sits her down with her back to him and picks out the leaves, one by one, until her hair is fit for the royal court. Her eyes stay red-rimmed and fearful, though, and he tries not to look at them, feels them bore holes into him as he tugs her quickly through the halls.

Min jumps when he slams the door open, brows drawing sharply down. Then she sees Enoura and her eyes widen, flitting between them.

“The One Power,” she says slowly. Enoura’s lip begins to tremble. It takes all of Mat’s strength not to let himself have the same response. He nods. He and Min look at each other, and Mat can see his face reflected in her eyes, pale and afraid. Min hugs her arms. “Right,” she says. “Right.”

“Can you help her?” Mat’s voice is strained and hoarse; he has to force the words out. “You were in the Tower before— can you help her?”

Min bites her lip. She looks so sad. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can— we can try.”

“I’m sorry,” Enoura whimpers. Her hand is trembling in Mat’s. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I won’t do it again, I promise!”

Mat grips her hand tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nora. Don’t let anyone tell you you ever did anything wrong. We just— we need to be careful.”

“Careful,” Min echoes. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, takes a deep breath. “I heard... sometimes, when I got bored, I would talk to the Novices or sit in on their lessons. I might… I don’t remember much, but I might be able to… help her control it better. With luck.”

“Luck is all I have,” Mat says.

The sun begins to set. Enoura sits on the ground, legs crossed, mirroring Min’s posture, hands clutched in Min’s, eyes closed.

“Picture yourself as the bud of a rose,” Min murmurs. Mat sags against the wall as a faint ball of light hovers over their hands and Enoura smiles. “You are the bud and the bud is you…”

“I am the bud and the bud is me,” Enoura echoes.

Mat closes his eyes.

.

Years pass faster than comprehension. Enoura turns twelve. The palace is abuzz as sul’dam prepare to test their proxies—and their new damane . Mat sits locked away in his chambers, Enoura curled in his lap. She is getting too big for that, now, but even as he begins to lose feeling in his legs, he can’t fathom letting her go, not when he looks out of the window and sees the rows of girls her age all lined up, sul’dam circling them like sharks in the water.

Tuon will know what to do. He tells himself that, over and over, as the clock ticks. Tuon is the Empress, and she is Enoura’s mother, and she will not let their daughter be harmed, will not let her be collared, will not let her be used. Memories flit behind his eyes of a girl in a grey dress, only slightly older than Enoura, eyes wide and frightened as she is dragged into the Court, made to kneel before Tuon, made to face judgement for Mat’s mistake—

He shakes the memories away. Enoura will not be— protecting his child will not be a mistake. It can’t be.

Tuon will know what to do.

He grips Enoura’s hand as they hurry to the gardens. Tuon sits on an elevated throne, gaze unwavering, almost unblinking as girl after girl is brought forward and tested. Mat’s grip on Enoura’s hand becomes so tight that he can almost feel her bones shifting. He takes deep breaths, loosens his grasp, runs a hand through his hair, tries to look calm and presentable. He approaches his wife.

Tuon does not look away from the assembled girls when she says, “What is it?”

“I need to speak with you. Please,” he adds belatedly, as the sharp eyes of her guards swing reproachfully his way. “It’s about Nora.”

“Enoura,” Tuon corrects, as she always does. Her eyes flick to their daughter and grow warm. “It is almost time for you testing, daughter.”

Enoura shivers, pressing close to Mat. Mat looks down at her, and then at Tuon. “Can we speak privately?”

Tuon sighs, but she lifts a hand to the sul’dam and rises from her throne. Pulled Enoura gently away from Mat, she deposits her with the guards and follows Mat out of the garden. Her guards stare after her, eyes narrowed, as Mat leads her away from listening ears, into an alcove sheltered by creeping vines and blue roses. It was in a place not unlike this that Enoura was conceived.

“Tuon,” he says.

She looks at him, half expectant, half impatient. Even now, away from everyone, her back is straight, her hands folded primly over her stomach. As always, though she stands at half his height, she seems to be looking down at him with those cold, piercing eyes. She will know what to do. She will know how to keep their daughter safe. She has to.

“Tuon.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Toy.”

He has to tell her. He opens his mouth. He has to tell her. For Enoura’s sake. For Enoura…

“Tuon,” he says, “Min had a viewing.”

Tuon’s eyes glow as he talks. He is barely aware of his own words; they tumble out of his mouth like rocks making deep pits in his stomach. He tells a story. He has always been good at lying.

Tuon returns to the garden. She sits in her throne, overlooking the rows of trembling girls, some weeping because they are damane, some because they are not. Enoura is summoned. She stands beside her mother and watches with wide, frightened eyes as a silver band is strapped to her wrist.

“Enoura,” Tuon announces, the hints of a smile touching her lips. “My daughter, destined to be the most powerful sul’dam this land will ever see.”

A cheer goes up. Enoura’s head swings around; she stares at Mat.

Mat turns away.

.

“She will make a fine Empress,” Tuon hums, seated on her garden throne, silken white dress draped so that the cloth falls open to frame crossed legs. Her fingers drum silently against the stone armrest. Mat stands at her side and they watch Enoura instruct her damane together. “A fine Empress,” Tuon muses, “if only she would learn to be stricter with them.” Her eyes flit briefly to Mat, hints of warmth just breaking through. “She has too much of your kindness, Toy. I wish she would display more of that lion you keep so well hidden, too.”

I am not a lion, Mat wants to tell her. I am a fox with a loud bark and silver feet. I am a raven with clipped wings. I am a man trapped in the weaves of a Pattern I cannot comprehend. I am not the memories in my head.

Instead he nods silently, and watches his daughter struggle to keep the pain off her face as her damane again tries, again fails, to pour a pitcher of water. How long before that smooth, blank face ceases to be a struggle? How long before it comes naturally to her? How long before she stops feeling the damane’s pain at all? Enoura glances back at him, eyes large and dark and pained and lost, and he looks away.

It has been weeks since he was able to meet his daughter’s eyes.

.

Enoura is sixteen years old and sobbing. The full moon gleams in the tears that stream down her face, thin creeks of silver starlight making lines down her cheeks, splashing onto the cold stone of the terrace wall. Mat watches her and feels like weeping himself. In one hand she clutches the silver bracelet, and it trembles in her grasp. The other hand strays to her neck, lacquered fingernails pressing into it, hard enough to leave angry red marks.

“I should be wearing this here,” she sobs. “I should be one of them, I should—”

Mat pulls her close, pressing her face to his chest, muffling her words, eyes scanning the darkness for watching eyes, listening ears. With one hand he smooths her hair, over and over, as he did when she was little. Her curls are not as unruly as they used to be, cut short and flattened by a gleaming crown she used to complain hurt her ears. She doesn’t complain any more. She doesn’t laugh like she used to, or smile, or chatter. Mat wonders how there could ever have been days when he wished she would stop talking, if only for a moment. She is not talking now. Her muffled sobs pierce his ears with every other breath. He holds her tighter.

What can he do? What can he say to help her, to comfort her? There is no silver lining to Enoura’s struggle, only the simple fact that she is alive and uncollared. How much comfort is that, when the price of her freedom is the slavery of women who in any other life would be her sisters?

Tuon once told him that empresses do not love, but Mat doesn’t think that is true. He sees love in her when she smiles at their daughter. He sees it in her eyes when she travels into the city, when she looks out at her people, shining with pride for her empire. He sees love in her smile when they stay up together into the dawn and she calls him a lion, and he wonders if there is any part of him she loves more than the men in his head, and the battles they have won.

Empresses love, Mat is certain of that, but he is not certain how far that love can be tested. He is not certain how love measures up against the world’s most powerful empire, an empire built on slavery, an empire with servitude so deeply ingrained into its culture that the very notion of viewing damane as people is not worth consideration, because it is a notion that would tear the empire apart if given more than a moment’s thought.

Enoura’s sobs fade into shuddering breaths. Mat rests his head on hers and thinks of a girl, not ten years old, making little balls of light and laughing.

“Luck is all I have,” he had said, that night.

He wonders how far his luck can carry him. He wonders if he can trust it one last time. Choices spin through his head and he wishes, for the first time, that the dice would come back and spin, and spin, so that he could know which decision is the right one. He hopes he can trust his luck.

Mat pushes Enoura gently away. Cupping her face in his hands, he wipes away her tears, and tries to smile.

“It’s going to be okay, Nora,” he whispers. “Here is what we’re going to do.”

.

el’Nynaeve ti al’Meara Mandragoran turns from the window as a liveried servant slips through the door. She has to bring a hand up to steady the crown that threatens to slip at her quick movement; it has been so many years, and yet the Crown of Malkier still feels foreign against her forehead. Not that she would trade it, nor what it signifies, for all the world.

“Yes?”

“Queen Nynaeve, two travellers seek audience with you.”

Nynaeve blinks. “With me? Not with Lan— I mean, not with the King?”

“Yes, Queen Nynaeve.”

“And without any notice…” Nynaeve’s hands stray to her braid. “See them in.”

The servant bows and slips back out of the room, and Nynaeve sighs, her frown half of impatience and half of concern. Who would ask to see her, and only her, so suddenly, without notice?

The door opens. Two cloaked figures enter the room, one half the height of the other. Nynaeve’s frown deepens.

“Who are you?”

The smaller figure shrinks back, pulling down the hood to reveal unruly brown curls—some motherly instinct in Nynaeve screams the need to brush this child’s hair—and dark, strangely familiar eyes. But it is the second, taller figure that draws a gasp from the Queen of Malkier, as the hood is pulled back to reveal gleaming brown eyes and a wide, impish grin. Nynaeve’s fingers tighten around her braid. She can already feel a headache approaching.

“Hello, Wisdom,” Mat Cauthon says, insolent as ever. “Could I trouble you for a place to stay?”

.

[tuinstrum]

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Bank teller, 19, ‘broke into home of 78-year-old customer who withdrew large amounts of cash’

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Bank teller, 19, ‘broke into home of 78-year-old customer who withdrew large amounts of cash’

Posted: 16 Nov 2019 12:13 AM PST

Nathan Michael Newell, 19, was fired from his job at a credit union after he was arrested for the home invasion, which left the customer with a broken leg and his adult stepdaughter with a cut on he face.

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

Obama appears to hit out at radical plans proposed by Warren and Sanders

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 11:43 PM PST

The former President made the remarks to a room full of wealthy donors at a Democracy Alliance meeting on Thursday night.

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Shooting at New Jersey high school football game leaves man and young boy in serious condition

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 11:43 PM PST

Authorities said a man and a boy, age about 10, were injured during the incident which took place in the third quarter of a football game in Pleasantville, New Jersey, at about 8.30pm Friday.

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Wall Street reaches new heights with Dow’s milestone 28000 points and S&P and Nasdaq records

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 11:43 PM PST

The latest rally was powered mostly by health care and technology stocks, which helped the S&P reach its sixth-straight weekly gain and the Dow extending its streak by four.

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British actor Kingsley Ben-Adir cast as Barack Obama in CBS’ upcoming James Comey miniseries 

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 11:43 PM PST

British actor Kingsley Ben-Adir has been cast to play former President Barack Obama in A Higher Loyalty, a CBS miniseries based on the book by fired FBI Director James Comey.

via https://youtu.be/ZCQVSphx_rk

September 11th victims are furious at the Justice Department for refusing to release 16-page report

Posted: 15 Nov 2019 11:43 PM PST

Victims relatives have campaigned for 16 years for a report detailing Saudi Arabia’s involvement in the attacks to be made public however the Department of Justice refuses to declassify documents.

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from [Latest News] Flower Mound, Texas News via [Latest News] Flower Mound, Texas News November 16, 2019 at 03:25AM

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[whatawriterwields]

seasons, changes

In the autumn Aziraphale and Crowley go out apple picking. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever done something so simple, so easy together, with no fear of punishment. They hold hands as they browse through trees low-hanging with ripe red fruit, and Crowley points out the shiniest, the most tempting. Aziraphale plucks it from its overwrought bough and sinks white teeth into red skin, and Crowley thinks he looks like a painting, a vision, far more divine than ever before. Aziraphale smiles and says a taste like this is worth original sin. Crowley can’t help it - he wraps his arms around Aziraphale, kissing the sweetness from his lips, those easy, flowing words that tell Crowley it’s over, this war. It’s finally over.

In the autumn they bring baskets of fruit home and make pies and cobblers and cakes, and invite Warlock and Adam and their friends over to taste them when they’re ready. They set a pumpkin outside the bookshop’s doorstep for Halloween. They watch the trees change color from the windows of their flats, always with their fingers intertwined, together. They smile at the thought that the world is still going. 

Music gets sweeter when the air gets colder. They spend time in silence, just listening to old songs they haven’t heard in decades or centuries, and some new songs, too. Then Aziraphale begins to sing, softly at first, humming as he reshelves books, then louder when Crowley says he loves hearing the angel’s heaven-gold voice. Crowley, for his part, learns to play the guitar. He stays up long hours into the night working out the complicated patterns on his ages-old fingers, which look young enough but still resist the birth of something new within them. Aziraphale is there with him, watching him, sometimes singing along to the simple tunes Crowley plays. Sometimes their musics combine and Crowley feels transported, swept away on a tide of something he can’t name. He’s never entered an autumn with so much hope before. 

Read on Ao3

Winds start to blow into London, chilling the streets, and gray clouds descend from the pale blue skies. Aziraphale and Crowley hold each other closer. Aziraphale knits a sweater for Crowley, crimson as his hair, and Crowley nearly cries. Emotions feel larger when the trees are so bright. Crowley leans his forehead against Aziraphale’s and says I love you, I love you, I love you, like the phrase is too large to be contained in his chest and must be spoken. Aziraphale draws it gently out of him, whispering the secret of his own love against Crowley’s lips. 

Autumn is a time for yearning, and so sometimes they lie on their backs and stare at the ceiling and yearn for each other, think of each other, let their hearts burn again for a little while. When they’ve had enough they turn and fold into each other’s arms. Leaves drift from brittling boughs outside the window. They pay no mind. 

__

In the winter they make snow angels. Frozen air sweeps down the clouds, which land in mounds of soft whiteness that glitter in winter’s newborn sun. Aziraphale urges Crowley outside, and they wrap themselves up in hats and gloves and scarves and track through the drifts, breath misting in front of them, letting the crisp, clean air fill their lungs.

Aziraphale flings a hastily made snowball at Crowley, who collapses as if he’s been injured; when Aziraphale hurries over to him, horrified, he grabs the angel and pulls him down into the snow. They tussle for only a moment, giggles echoing through the emptiness of this newmade world, before Aziraphale, huffing with effort, yanks Crowley to his feet again and they go on. They build a snowman, they sled down a hill, they kiss each other in the brightness like it’s their first time - they feel young again, not like the lovestruck fools who left Eden but like the children they were when the heavens were first created. Before the Fall, before the seven days, before the apple. They feel like creation has restarted. A little more right, this time.

In winter the weather’s tight, freezing fist is combatted on all sides by Christmas lights strung up in windows, and warm, brightly colored clothes, and rich food whose smell wafts from every door. Friends come to the bookshop for large dinners. Crowley and Aziraphale welcome them together, and loud, rowdy conversation rises through the rooftop to the sky, reaching upward to the celestial multitudes in Heaven and the creeping masses in Hell, proclaiming their freedom from both. When everyone else goes home the two of them curl up beside each other and watch movies, hands brushing together over popcorn bowls, kissing salt from off each other’s fingertips. Aziraphale reads while Crowley sleeps. Then Aziraphale begins to sleep, some nights, as well. 

Crowley has never loved winter; it’s usually the time of year when Hell’s dreary dampness begins to seep into his bones, chilling him so deeply he wants nothing but to crawl into a little hiding place and wait for spring. It’s usually the season that sees him shuffling through the days remembering the Grace he’s lost, and bitterly demanding of a God he doesn’t know anymore what did I do wrong? Why am I condemned to this? 

He’s never enjoyed the winter, but these days when he wakes up from a nightmare Aziraphale’s arms are around him, and comfort is so close that he can’t help feeling safe. Love is suffused so thickly through the places he goes that he has no room for despair. The universe looks bright again, the stars gleam against the black winter sky, and Crowley feels he’s beginning to understand something he gave up long ago as lost. 

One night at a large party Crowley halts the dinnertime conversation, holding up his hands for silence, and goes to one knee beside Aziraphale with a ring. Aziraphale nearly knocks him over when he flings his arms around Crowley, and Crowley is tempted to simply pull Aziraphale to the floor and hug him tight and never let go. But there’s the dinner to complete first. When the guests are gone they’ll hold each other all night long. 

Winter is the time for celebration. They finally have something to celebrate, after six thousand years. 

___

In the spring Crowley waves Aziraphale over to his laptop and shows him what he’s been looking at online. It’s a sweet little cottage in South Downs, big enough for both of them. A perfect place to live out their retirement, Crowley suggests. 

Aziraphale gains a dreamy look, eyes shifting momentarily to the little colorful buds of flowers beginning to bloom outside the window. He says it sounds like an excellent idea. It’ll be a wonderful hideaway for all his unsellable books. And Crowley can take up gardening there, with something more than just his houseplants. 

Crowley grins at the thought. He and his plants are on better terms, these days. They’ve been growing beautifully with almost no threatening at all, since Aziraphale began to inhabit his flat along with him. He hasn’t had to dispose of a single one since the end of the world. He’s beginning to think he won’t do so ever again.

Gentle, warm winds blow away the frigid winter, and the snow melts, replaced with tender stalks of grass and the soft petals of springtime flowers. Spring is a time for busyness, and Aziraphale starts packing his first-editions into boxes, bustling around the shop and picking them out at seemingly random intervals, obeying a pattern only he understands. Crowley watches, helping when he can, distracting Aziraphale when he’s feeling devilish. They talk over lunches and dinners about plans for the wedding, which will occur at the end of May, just on the cusp of the new season. Crowley spends long night hours, this time in secret, writing up the perfect vows, scribbling them out onto scraps of paper only to crumple them up when they don’t feel quite right. Aziraphale knows just what he’s going to say, but he practices saying it every morning, still, when he gets a moment away from Crowley. 

Together they load everything from their London lives into the Bentley (which is miraculously able to fit it all) and drive, and drive, down to a quiet place where the sound of rushing water is louder than that of street traffic or pedestrian babble. They could simply miracle everything inside, but they help each other with the boxes instead, enjoying the weight of books and potted plants, enjoying the strain of old muscles in work toward this goal they’ve chosen as one. Lovingly they put their new home together by hand. They paint it together, too, slopping paint on their hands, smudging it on each other’s faces, laughing uproariously at themselves as they’re reduced to messes by the kind of frivolous work they’ve never bothered to do before. Crowley miracles every stain away from Aziraphale’s clothes, in the end.

The first night they spend there together, they don’t want to go to sleep. They stay up into the wee hours excitedly planning what they’re going to do with the garden, whether they can start up a strawberry patch, where they’ll travel for their honeymoon - they’ve been everywhere in the world, but tradition is tradition, after all. At last they’re too exhausted to keep up the chat, but they wake early the next morning, ready, ready as the spring sun beams through their windows. 

The world wakes in spring. It’s never seemed so enthusiastic before, so optimistic. Crowley has never felt so ready to meet the rest of his life.

__

Summer descends hot after the wedding is done. After Crowley stumbles through the latest draft of his vows, and Aziraphale reduces Crowley to tears with his, flawlessly delivered, and they kiss - and it crashes over them all over again, the wonder, the glory of being allowed, of being permitted, of being free, the agonizing relief of unfettered closeness, and they can’t take their eyes off of each other for the rest of the day. They travel the world for a while, and then they return to the cottage, and then summer sets in.

They slow down from the spring, and they reflect. Summer is the time for quiet happiness, for satisfaction, for gratitude, and Aziraphale and Crowley have much to be grateful for. One night over dessert Crowley brings up that this time last year, they were still preparing for when Warlock came into his full power. They were staring down the jaws of Armageddon, and they were almost positive all their work was going to be for nothing - that there was no way of stopping the Antichrist, and that they were going to be forced apart again, forced into battle against each other. Only a year ago that was all the future they could see.

Crowley asks if Aziraphale really would have done it - rejoined Heaven’s ranks and marched out against him. Aziraphale does not smile. He’s grown more honest, this past year. He says, quietly, that he’s not sure. But if he had, he’d never have been able to forgive himself. Crowley nods. Aziraphale turns the question back on him, and Crowley is just as honest - no, he’s sure he never would have fought for Hell. He’d have escaped, or he’d have let them kill him, before taking up arms against Aziraphale.

Aziraphale is not overwhelmed by the words. He’s come to know, to understand, by now, just how fully and deeply and desperately he’s loved. It doesn’t shock him. Instead of breaking down, he simply reaches out and takes Crowley’s hand, and tells him he’s good, he’s so good, he’s wonderful and brave and compassionate and selfless. And Crowley, who’s learned a thing or two himself this past year, doesn’t contradict him. He smiles. He lets himself be content in this world and in the love of this beautiful angel, and he lets himself believe he deserves it. 

Summer is a time for easy things. They settle into a comfortable routine, here in this cottage at the beginning of the world. Cocoa and tea in the morning. A newspaper that’s read slowly and deliberately, cover to cover. A vegetable patch that needs tending, a fresh bouquet of flowers to pick for the table, a stack of books to be read and annotated. Long drives in the country, Aziraphale learning to enjoy the freedom of speed; serene picnics under the lazy sky, Crowley feeding Aziraphale little bits of cheese and sausage with greasy fingers. Aziraphale braiding Crowley’s hair, weaving wildflowers into it, kissing his neck when he sweeps the long locks aside. A welcoming home to return to when the sky begins to dim. 

Autumn will come soon enough. The cold wind will blow in again, and it will be time for apple-picking. Crowley can’t wait to watch Aziraphale be tempted by the fruit of humanity all over again. He can’t wait for music to stir his soul in the way it only does when flame lights the treetops, and he can’t wait to make pies and invite the children over to eat them, and he can’t wait to discover the year once more with his love.

These seasons taste like hope. It’s been a very long time in coming.

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8 Reasons to Upgrade Your AC System Instead of Repairing It

Upgrading your AC system is a big decision, because the cost is rarely cheap. Making such a big financial decision should involve research, and that’s why we put together this list of reasons you might want to consider upgrading your AC system i your Flower Mound home.

Make no mistake, there are times it absolutely does not make sense to upgrade, and we’ll talk about that later.

For now, let’s look at why you might want to upgrade.

1. Save Money by Upgrading Your AC System

How will a new, more efficient air conditioner save money? Not to be redundant, but efficiency is the answer. By using electricity more efficiently, and usually by integrating with smart tech, your cost goes down. How much money you save depends on different factors: the age & size of your home’s current AC system, insulation, amount of shading in your landscape, and thermostat settings.

The air conditioner is usually the highest energy use appliance in a home, especially in Flower Mound, TX, so it pays to make certain it’s the most energy-efficient appliance, too.

Let’s look the numbers.

A new, more efficient air conditioner system could reduce cooling costs by as much as 20%-50%!

Today’s central air conditioners build on decades of research and improvement, could save you plenty of cash even if your current AC system isn’t that old.  Thanks to even more recent advancements, today’s air conditioners are 20%-40% more efficient than those that are just 10 years old.

That’s serious improvement, and you can take advantage of that improvement for your home.

2. Reduce the Cooling Load in your Home

When HVAC system pros design systems for residential homes in Texas cities like Flower Mound and Lewisville, one of the main factors they take into account is the home’s cooling load.

The Cooling Load is amount of thermal energy that your AC system must remove from a cooled interior living space so that it can maintain a comfortable temperature range for you and your family.

While it is entirely possible to determine a precise cooling load for every individual Flower Mound or Lewisville home, not all AC companies do. Instead, many rely on a general relationship between interior space and cooling needs, known as “the rule of thumb”.

This “rule of thumb” calculation produces reasonably accurate cooling load calculations for most homes in this area, but always feel free to ask for more information if you like.

If you have made efforts to increase your home’s energy efficiency, also known as “tightening the building envelope”, your home’s cooling load might be markedly lower than the rule of thumb suggests. If this is true, it’s important to get more precise cooling load calculation, since this number largely determines the right size for your home’s air conditioner system.

An AC system that is too large for your home will suffer from inefficiency, excessive wear and tear, all of which will shorten the lifespan. That’s why reducing your home’s thermal load is a good reason to think about upgrading to a new, more appropriately sized air conditioning system.

3. Your AC Cooling System Is More Than 10 Years Old

Most air conditioners are designed to last for at least 10 years. After 10 years, many AC systems may not work as efficiently as when they were first installed in your home. The 2 ways old AC units cost you money: they will lose efficiency or they’ll need repairs often.

Air Conditioner repairs become much more expensive after the 10-year mark, simply because you’re replacing larger and larger components of the system.

It’s natural to think that replacing a 10 or 12-year-old air conditioner system sounds like spending too much money. But when you consider the upside of upgrading to a new cooling system, it starts to make more sense. When you invest in a new HVAC system, you’ll see the upfront cost, but the latest technology updates on current systems  mean that you will almost certainly save money over time, and possibly even pay for the upgrade difference outright.

Almost all new air conditioner systems work with “smart” thermostats, meaning that you save on utility costs by holding your energy usage to lower amounts for long periods of time each day.

4. Repairs, Repairs, Repairs (did we mention repairs)

Let’s face it: AC repairs ain’t cheap.

If you wait and hope until something actually breaks, those costs are going to be inconvenient, so it’s best to plan ahead.

Now, when you compare repair vs. replacement, you’ll easily see that continuous repairs to your AC system are going to be expensive! Even with the help of a highly skilled Flower Mound AC repair company, an HVAC unit may start to show its age.

To keep these costs under control, you want to determine a repair cost cutoff – meaning that once you reach a certain point of  repair costs, you go ahead and replace the entire AC system.

How do you determine your repair cost cutoff point? Consider this: if a major piece of your AC system fails, like the fan motor or the condenser unit, or the repair cost is approaching to ½ the cost of  a new air conditioner system, it’s probably better to upgrade your AC system. You should still discuss all your options vis a vis repair vs. replacement with one of our friendly HVAC professionals, so that you can get a better idea of all costs involved and the lifespan of your current unit vs a new one.

You’ll feel much better about making that choice with all your bases covered.

5. Repairs Often Cost More Than a Brand-New Unit

Sticker shock is real with HVAC repairs. Maintaining an older air conditioner system under the demands of heat in Flower Mound and Lewisville summers is no joke. According to a 2017 report from HomeAdvisor, most homeowners shell out between $164 and $506 on each air conditioner repair call to maintenance companies.

Those really start to add up on an older AC system that’s beyond its service life, and can easily tack on hundreds or thousands of dollars to your cumulative repair bill.

What repairs are these, you ask?

For starters, your AC system could need parts that can be relatively hard to find, or aren’t even in production anymore, which would require custom-built solutions or components that are as close to the original as possible.

Older HVAC systems could also need more labor to diagnose & repair than newer systems. More than one component can also fail at once, which almost always points to replacement over repair, because at that point, the bill is going to be really high.

If the cost of keeping your HVAC system on life support exceeds the cost of a newer, more efficient model, that’s when you know it’s time to invest in an upgrade to your AC system.

6. Boost Your Property Value with a New AC System

Investing in an upgraded central air conditioning system to your Flower Mound home or office could increase your property value by up to 12%, according to information collected by the National Association of Realtors.

Always choose a newer, more energy-efficient AC system when shopping for one. Whether planning to sell your home or not, investing in an upgrade will give your property value a nice boost. Your home will also stand out from other homes in the neighborhood.

7. Better Air Quality for your Family

A very important, but often overlooked function for your HVAC system is maintaining high air quality in your home. Your air conditioner is simultaneously providing ventilation, holding the humidity at an acceptable point, while also filtering particulants out of your air.  You and your kids would be breathing these particles without  this filtering.

Because modern homes are built for energy efficiency, meaning that they will be as air tight as possible, air inside your home could be up to 5 times more polluted than air outside.

Modern AC systems offer add-ons like whole home dehumidifiers, air filters and air purifiers.  These units not only capture minute particles, they are capable of cleaning the air and destroying harmful molds, vapors and germs. The result is that you get a cleaner and healthier living environment for you and your family.

Your HVAC system in your home is there to heat and cool your home, but it also plays a role in cleaning the air. If your current outdated system doesn’t do a good job of filtration and ventilation, it’s another reason to upgrade.

Some HVAC systems have options that will filter allergens like pet dander and dust. If someone in your home suffers with asthma or allergies, this could be a very beneficial option to consider. Good air quality means that everyone breathes better, and that enhances your home’s comfort. Other units have a pre-installed air-purifying and air-cleaning system, which makes your air quality even better.

Are you thinking about upgrading to a new HVAC system? Service Hub of Texas installs new Heating & Air Conditioning systems, and we’re here to help.

Call (972) 449-4463 today, and let’s get started!

8. New, Efficient AC Systems are Better for the Environment

Older, outdated air conditioning systems weren’t made with environmental protection in mind. They tend to use a lot of electricity, and they also use Freon to cool the air. Freon is an effective a refrigerant, it contributes to ozone depletion when it leaks (and old AC systems leak a lot). Modern AC systems use the chemical R-410A instead of Freon. R-410A is just as effective as Freon, but doesn’t contribute to ozone depletion.

The post 8 Reasons to Upgrade Your AC System Instead of Repairing It appeared first on Service Hub of Texas.

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