#order marble and granite

[emperormarble]

Marble and granite suppliers

As one of the best marble and granite suppliers, we strive hard to bring marble and granite products for you in wholesale price. Now you can get the marble and granite products from the top marble and granite suppliers in bulk.

[brunchable]

How's retirement, Bucky? | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Funny. Bucky trying to find things to do to kill time, while also being a menace to Y/N and the neighbours. Prequel to 'Ouch, My face.'

Summary: Bucky decides to retire and leave the super hero world behind, but now he doesn't know how to be normal citizen.

A/N: Just another scenario tha rudely popped into my head. . .

Bucky Barnes was retired.

It still felt strange, even after months of settling into a life of quiet mornings and unhurried afternoons. He had fought in wars, spent decades as an agent of chaos, and dedicated years to redemption and healing. Now, here he was—waking up whenever he pleased, making breakfast in a house that didn’t have bullet-proof glass windows or a panic room, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day.

Today, like most others, started off simple enough: a run through the neighbourhood, a cup of coffee, and a lazy scan of the news. He’d even managed to fix the leaky faucet that had been bothering you for weeks, earning a soft kiss on the cheek as a reward.

But then… the day stretched on. There were no missions, no tactical planning, no world to save. Just the quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of suburban life around him.

So, Bucky set his sights on something—or rather, someone—far more interesting: annoying you.

And thus began the saga of Bucky Barnes’ Retirement Phases.

Phase 1: The Handyman Hero Phase

Duration: One Month

Bucky started off strong, becoming the ultimate handyman of the household. Everything was fair game for improvement. Leaky faucets, creaky floorboards, wobbly shelves—if there was a screw to tighten, Bucky was on it like a well-oiled machine.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked one morning, sipping your coffee as you watched him carefully measuring the distance between each picture frame on the living room wall.

“Making sure they’re exactly one inch apart,” he said without looking up, his voice deadly serious.

“Why?”

“Because last night, I noticed this one—” he pointed to a frame on the far left “—was slightly off-center, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”

You blinked. “Bucky, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s one and a quarter inch apart. Do you know what happens when things aren’t balanced?” He gave you a haunted look, as if you’d just suggested destabilizing the world order.

“Chaos,” you muttered.

“Exactly.”

Within weeks, Bucky had rebuilt half the house, repainted the walls (twice), and installed a state-of-the-art security system that even Tony Stark would envy. You came home one day to find the couch moved three inches to the left, the coffee table completely gone (“I dismantled it; we don’t need it”), and Bucky seriously contemplating whether the kitchen would look better with marble or granite countertops.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, “I’m begging you—stop fixing things.”

He blinked at you. “What do you want me to do then?”

You panicked. “Anything. Just—find a hobby!”

He gave a solemn nod, as if you’d just entrusted him with a new mission. “Okay. A hobby. Got it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. If only you’d known what was coming next.

Phase 2: The Google Scholar Phase

Duration: Two Weeks

With his newfound free time, Bucky discovered the internet. And when Bucky Barnes discovers the internet, chaos ensues.

It started innocently enough. You’d come home to find him glued to his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting down your bag.

“Research,” he said ominously, fingers flying over the keys.

“Research on… what?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide. “Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

“Uh—”

“And that banana slugs can grow up to 9 inches long?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a whole website dedicated to weird animal facts. I’ve been reading for hours.”

And so, you were subjected to two weeks of nonstop trivia.

“Hey, Y/N!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”

Or: “Did you know cows have best friends?”

And: “Do you want to hear about the deepest point in the ocean?”

“Not really—”

“It’s called the Mariana Trench, and it’s seven miles down!”

You tried banning Wikipedia, but he just switched to obscure forums. You blocked YouTube, and he found a random chicken fact blog. The worst part? He’d share his newfound knowledge with anyone who’d listen.

“I’m calling Sam,” you muttered one evening after hearing Bucky recite the entire history of the humble potato to the mailman. “You need social intervention.”

Phase 3: The Home Décor Perfectionist Phase

Duration: Two Exasperating Weeks

Denied access to his newfound internet pursuits, Bucky turned to interior design. You were caught off guard one Saturday morning when he asked, “What do you think of paisley?”

“What’s a paisley?”

“Pattern. I’m thinking of reupholstering the couch.”

“Bucky, no—”

Too late. Within days, every room was a different colour. You came home to find polka-dotted curtains in the bathroom, and he’d somehow managed to install a chandelier in the laundry room.

“Bucky, why is there a 10-foot mirror in the hallway?”

“It makes the space feel bigger.”

“Bucky, this is a two-bedroom house!”

He paused, squinting at the living room wall. “I think the polka dots need to go.”

You nearly wept with relief when he announced he was moving on to the garden.

Phase 4: The Amateur Detective Phase

Duration: One Overly Suspicious Month

After redecorating the entire house, Bucky set his sights on the neighborhood.

“Y/N, did you see that guy across the street?” he whispered one morning, peering through the blinds with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s Mr. Henderson. He’s eighty-five.”

“Yeah, and he’s up to something. No one goes to the mailbox that often.”

“Maybe he likes getting his mail?”

“I’m telling you, something’s not right.” He tapped the binoculars. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

And so began Operation: Neighborhood Watch. Every delivery truck was scrutinised. Every dog walker received a full background check. The poor Girl Scouts who came to sell cookies left looking slightly shell-shocked.

The Girl Scout Incident: When Bucky Barnes Met Thin Mints

The Girl Scout incident started out innocent enough—just a kid selling cookies to the neighborhood. But when Bucky Barnes answered the door, things took a turn.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. You were in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when you heard the doorbell ring. Before you could even get up to check, Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room.

“I got it!” he called out, already making his way to the front door.

Curious, you peeked around the corner just in time to see him open it. Standing on the porch was a sweet-looking little girl, no more than nine or ten, decked out in her green uniform, clutching a clipboard and flashing a bright, eager smile.

“Hi, mister!” she chirped, clearly undeterred by the stern look on Bucky’s face. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies today?”

You watched as Bucky’s expression softened just a bit, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Cookies?” he repeated, as if she’d just offered him nuclear launch codes.

“Yep!” She held up a laminated chart with pictures of the various cookies, pointing to each one with a tiny, rainbow-colored pen. “We have Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samoas—uh, I mean, Caramel deLites—”

He squinted at the chart, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “Why would you need to sell cookies?”

You nearly face-palmed. Oh no.

The girl’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. “It’s a fundraiser! To support our troop activities and trips.”

“Fundraiser?” Bucky’s voice dropped suspiciously. “Who’s your troop leader?”

The girl blinked, a little taken aback. “Uh, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Uh-huh. And how many boxes of these so-called ‘cookies’ are you supposed to sell?”

Her smile wavered just a fraction. “Um, as many as possible?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And where does all this money go?”

“Bucky—” you tried to interrupt, stepping forward, but he held up a hand without looking back, eyes still locked on the bewildered Girl Scout.

“It goes to our troop!” she answered nervously, glancing down at her clipboard as if for reassurance. “For badges and supplies and—”

“Supplies,” Bucky echoed, his tone suddenly sharp. “What kind of supplies?”

“Uh… arts and crafts…?” she stammered, clearly starting to get uncomfortable.

“Arts and crafts?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Or something else?”

You saw the poor girl’s eyes widen, her grip tightening on her clipboard as if she was contemplating using it as a shield.

“Bucky, stop,” you hissed, stepping forward to intervene. But he was on a roll now.

“Who gets the money, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, peering down at her like she was an enemy combatant. “Do you get it?

“Or does it go to some mysterious ‘troop leader’ who’s hiding behind a desk somewhere, raking in profits from innocent cookie sales?”

“M-Mister, it’s just cookies,” she squeaked, glancing nervously at the boxes stacked beside her. “We just wanna go camping this summer.”

“Camping?” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And what kind of ‘camping’ are we talking about here? Deep-woods recon training? SERE training?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Bucky, she’s nine!” you practically shouted, rushing over to save the poor child from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown interrogation.

“But Y/N, this could be—”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Bucky!” you snapped, turning to the girl and giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sweetie, how much for a box of Thin Mints?”

“Uh… f-five dollars?” she stammered, still eyeing Bucky like he might suddenly sprout fangs.

You reached for your wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she squeaked, stuffing the money into her pouch with trembling hands.

You shot Bucky a glare. “Apologize.”

He crossed his arms, looking mulish. “But—”

“Bucky.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh… sorry… for, um… asking about your troop leader and, uh… the money laundering?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly not following.

“Bucky!” you hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“I mean, sorry for… for… being weird,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The girl gave a hesitant nod, glancing back at her stack of cookies. “Um… would you like another box, mister?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. Which one’s the best?”

“Bucky—” you started, but he was already leaning down, listening intently as the girl launched into a detailed explanation of the flavour profiles of Samoas versus Tagalongs.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was the proud owner of a dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which the girl somehow managed to upsell him into buying. The look of relief on her face as she walked away was palpable.

You turned to Bucky, hands on your hips. “Really, Buck?”

“What?” he said defensively, clutching his armful of cookies. “I needed to make sure it was legit!”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why we now have enough cookies to feed an army?”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Just… try not to scare any more children, okay?”

“Hey, I was just being thorough,” he muttered, glancing down at the boxes. “Besides… these ‘Samoas’ are actually pretty good.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Because only Bucky Barnes could turn a simple cookie sale into a full-scale interrogation—and then end up buying out the entire stock.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, holding up a box of Thin Mints. “Want one?”

“Sure,” you sighed, reaching out to grab a cookie. Because, at the end of the day, this was Bucky Barnes: ex-assassin, super-soldier, and now… terrifyingly dedicated Girl Scout cookie connoisseur.

The Girl Scout incident, unfortunately, didn’t mark the end of Bucky’s neighbourhood watch endeavours.

“Hey, Y/N, that’s the third day in a row Mrs. Higginson has gone jogging past our house,” Bucky muttered a few days later, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

You glanced over from your spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” you replied absently, already wondering if now would be a good time to text Steve for a little ‘rescue mission.’ “Maybe she likes jogging?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. It’s a cover for something. Probably espionage.”

“Bucky, she’s seventy.”

“Exactly. No one that age moves like that. She’s gotta be a retired agent.”

“Or she’s trying to stay in shape?”

“Or she’s spying on us.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the blinds. “Maybe she’s HYDRA.”

“Bucky, she brought us homemade banana bread last week.”

“Which tasted suspiciously good,” he muttered darkly, tapping his pen against his chin. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”

It didn’t stop there. He began obsessively tracking patterns—when neighbors took out their trash, when they left for work, who picked up their mail first thing in the morning. His conspiracy board rivaled the one you’d seen at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, complete with photos, string, and a suspiciously large map of the neighborhood.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “What’s up, Buck?”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious. “Did you know Mrs. Patterson’s dog peed on our lawn three times this week?”

“I—what?”

“And Mr. Thompson left his house twice yesterday. Twice.”

“…is that a crime?”

“Yes. Who leaves the house twice in one day? He’s clearly up to something.”

“Like… groceries?”

Bucky frowned. “No. Something bigger. I saw him walking to his car, get this—without any bags.”

“Maybe he forgot something?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “It’s a diversion tactic. I’m keeping a close watch on him.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stalking the neighbours.”

“Of course not!” He paused. “I’m… observing. For science.”

“For science?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Buck. I’m putting my foot down,” you finally managed. “You need to stop this. The neighbours think we’re crazy. You’re scaring the kids and… the mailman won’t come to the door anymore.”

Bucky looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because you interrogated him about his route last week!”

“He was being shady!”

“He’s a mailman!”

There was a long pause as you stared each other down, Bucky looking defiant and you looking exhausted. Finally, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Buck… I know retirement is hard. But you need a new outlet. Maybe something a little less—”

“Paranoid?” he offered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And a little less terrifying for the neighbours.”

He sighed deeply, like you’d just asked him to hang up his shield all over again. “I was just… trying to be useful.”

Your heart softened immediately. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? The man who’d spent his life fighting wars and doing battle against his own mind was now left trying to figure out how to fit into a world that no longer needed him to save it.

You walked over, placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a soft smile. “You’re always useful, Buck. Even if you’re not interrogating the mailman about federal postal regulations or… spying on seventy-year-old retirees.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, huh?”

“A little,” you agreed with a grin. “Maybe you should find something else to watch over.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You bit your lip, thinking. “I don’t know… Maybe get a pet? You could… I don’t know, babysit a cat or something.”

Bucky blinked at you. Then his eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the Holy Grail of retirement activities.

“A cat,” he murmured slowly, as if testing the word. “A cat.”

“Yes, a cat,” you repeated cautiously, wondering if you’d just unleashed some new kind of havoc on the house. “You could train it to… I don’t know, not scratch the furniture or something.”

“Or… I could train it to keep an eye on the pigeons,” he muttered to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Wait, what?”

But Bucky had already gone inside, the gears in his mind clearly turning. You shook your head, deciding to let him have this one. After all, how much trouble could he really get into with a cat?

Phase 5: The Pet Phase (aka Operation: Find a Feline Friend)

Duration: Ongoing, with Fur Everywhere

You didn’t think he’d take it seriously. Until you came home the next day to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a small, white ball of fluff curled up in his lap.

“This is Alpine,” he announced proudly.

You stared at the kitten, then at Bucky, then back at the kitten. “Bucky, what… why…?”

“You said get a pet,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I did.”

And that’s how Alpine, the grumpy old woman in a cat’s body, became part of your household. Bucky spent weeks trying to train him (“Sit, Alpine! Sit! … Okay, fine, just glare at me, that works too.”), set up elaborate obstacle courses (“Alpine, jump! No, don’t walk away—okay, you know what, just do your thing”), and spoiled her rotten with toys and treats.

With each phase, Bucky’s retirement became a new adventure. And while it drove you absolutely crazy at times, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Bucky lying on the couch, Alpine curled up on his chest, both looking completely content.

“Retirement isn’t so bad, huh?” you teased one evening, curling up beside him.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “I don’t know… I think I could use a new project.”

You groaned, but your groan turned into a laugh when he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “No more projects, Barnes. You’ve nearly redecorated us out of house and home, scared the mailman half to death, and—”

“Don’t forget the gourmet cookies,” he interjected with a cheeky smile.

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m trying to forget the cookies, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. I think I finally got the recipe down. I’ll just try one more—”

“No!” you practically shouted, your voice echoing through the living room. Alpine, unbothered, merely lifted her head, gave you both a disinterested look, and went back to napping.

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No more cookies. No more redecorating. No more… scaring the Girl Scouts.”

“Or spying on the neighbors.”

“Or spying on the neighbors,” he agreed, still looking a little too amused for your liking.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, most people take up hobbies like gardening or painting in retirement.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but those aren’t as exciting.”

“They’re not supposed to be exciting. They’re supposed to be calm. That’s the whole point of retirement, Buck.”

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening. “You really think I’m the ‘calm’ type, doll?”

You snorted. “No, not really. But it would be nice if, just once, I didn’t come home to find you plotting to build a moat around the house.”

“Moats are an excellent defense mechanism,” he said matter-of-factly. “But okay, I get it. I’ll tone it down.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand. The glint in his eye, however, told you he was already planning something new.

“Bucky…”

“What?” he asked, all innocence. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not for a second.”

He chuckled, then pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Alright, no more projects. I’ll just focus on Alpine. She’s a full-time job anyway.”

You glanced at the cat, who was now sprawled out like she owned the place. “You’ve turned her into a diva, you know.”

“He’s just refined,” Bucky said defensively. “He’s got standards.”

“Uh-huh. Like the way he refuses to eat unless you hand-feed her?”

“Refined,” Bucky insisted.

“And how she sleeps on your side of the bed and shoves you off with her tiny, evil paws?”

“Selective.”

“And how she sits on the counter staring at you like she’s plotting your demise?”

“Observant.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’ve created a monster, Bucky.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, smirking down at you. “I’ve handled worse monsters. She’s a good one. Besides,” he added, scratching Alpine’s head fondly, “she’s family.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, content in the peaceful moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat, and you glanced up to see him shifting slightly, like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“So… I was thinking…” he began slowly.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to ward off your incoming refusal. “What if we… I dunno… made a baby?”

You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“A baby,” he repeated, his voice steady, though there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “You know, a little human—our human. Someone we can train to take over the world… or at least keep me entertained.”

Your jaw dropped open. “You want to have a baby—because you’re bored?”

Bucky gave you a sheepish grin. “I mean, I was thinking it could be a good project… long-term investment… future troublemaker…”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, placing your hands on his shoulders and staring at him, bewildered. “Are you seriously suggesting having a child like it’s another DIY project?”

He shrugged, looking as nonchalant as ever, but his eyes were soft and serious. “Maybe. But I was also thinking it’d be nice to have something, or someone, that’s just… ours. A mix of you and me. Something that isn’t tied to the past, or fighting, or… all the other stuff.”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your mind around the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “You really want a baby, Bucky?”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong, Alpine’s great and all, but…” He sighed, his smile turning tender. “I just think it’d be amazing to have something more. I’ve spent so much of my life taking orders or fighting ghosts. But starting a family with you? That’s something I get to build. Something that’s ours.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling at his words. Despite the completely unromantic way he’d suggested it, there was sincerity in his gaze, a yearning for something deeper than fixing leaky faucets or buying out the Girl Scouts’ entire cookie stock.

“And you think you’d be a good dad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” he scoffed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’d be the best damn dad. I’d teach our kid how to throw a proper punch by age five, dismantle a toaster by six—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you want to raise a tiny super-soldier?”

His grin widened. “Hell yeah.”

“Bucky, we are not turning our child into a mini-Winter Soldier.”

He pouted dramatically. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit,” you affirmed with a chuckle. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “But… maybe we could talk about it. You know, actually talk. Not just… plan a tactical baby mission.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Yeah. We can talk about it.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “After we practice a little more.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

“What?” he asked innocently, his grin widening. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Yeah,” you whispered when he pulled away, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I do.”

You glanced down at Alpine, who was still sprawled across Bucky’s lap, looking utterly uninterested in the conversation. A baby. You hadn’t really thought about it seriously before, but now that Bucky had put the idea in your head… you couldn’t help but wonder.

There was a brief pause as Bucky gazed at you, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know,” he began quietly, “after that whole Girl Scout cookie fiasco… I kinda started thinking… I’d really like to have a daughter.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A daughter?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “That kid was just so… brave, you know? Standing there, staring me down even though I was being a total idiot. It reminded me of you—fierce and unafraid. I couldn’t stop thinking… what if we had a daughter like that? Strong, smart, and completely capable of putting me in my place when I get out of line.”

You felt your heart clench at his words, his quiet admission making your chest ache. “You want a little girl because she’d keep you in check?”

“That,” he said, smiling softly, “and I think I’d like the challenge. I’ve spent so much of my life dealing with people who only saw me as a weapon. I just… want to prove that I can be something else. That I can be gentle… and kind… and love someone unconditionally. The way I love you.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “Bucky, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. “But I still want to try. And I want to be the kind of dad who isn’t just a protector, but a friend. Someone who’d sit through endless tea parties and help her build pillow forts… and buy all the Girl Scout cookies she wants without scaring anyone.”

You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes at the picture he painted. “You’d be a great dad, Bucky.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

There was another beat of silence before Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “So… when do we start?”

You felt your cheeks heat, a mix of laughter and surprise bubbling up in your chest. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, his smile as innocent as ever. “I’m just asking. I mean, you know I’m a man of action. Gotta have a timeline.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands as Bucky laughed softly, his arms wrapping around you.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No rush. We’ll take it one day at a time, sweetheart. But just know… I’m ready whenever you are.”

And somehow, you knew this next phase—whatever it looked like—was going to be the best one yet.

× × × ×

Ten months later

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows on the pale blue walls. The room was still, save for the quiet creak of the rocking chair as Bucky swayed back and forth, holding the tiniest bundle of joy in his strong, yet tender arms.

His daughter, barely a week old, was nestled against his chest, her small, delicate breaths in sync with the steady rhythm of his own. Her tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt, as if she knew just how safe and loved she was in her daddy's arms.

Bucky hummed quietly, the familiar melody of an old lullaby drifting into the air. It was a song his mother used to sing to him when he was no older than his sweet little girl was now. The words came softly, almost whispered, as if they were sacred—meant only for his daughter.

“Darling, you're my bloodYou have my heartbeatYou have my heartbeat, beating loud,”

His voice was gruff, yet softened by emotion as he sang, the gentle rocking lulling his daughter further into her peaceful slumber. His fingers brushed through her soft, downy hair as he looked down at her with nothing short of awe. How had he, of all people, gotten so lucky?

He had been through so much darkness in his life—seen and done things he would never be able to forget—but here, in this quiet moment, everything seemed to fade away. The world outside could wait. Right now, his whole universe was cradled in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes felt at peace.

Unbeknownst to him, you stood at the door, your heart swelling at the sight before you. You had come to check on them both, worried that Bucky might need help with the baby. But when you saw him there, rocking your little girl and singing so sweetly, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, content to watch the love of your life in this vulnerable, beautiful moment. 

Bucky was a natural, even if he didn’t believe it. You had seen the worry in his eyes when you first brought your daughter home—the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he wouldn’t know what to do. But here he was, proving himself wrong in the most heart-melting way possible.

The lullaby continued, each note filled with so much love it made your eyes mist over.

"You are my lighthouseA peak of light from the dark cloudsI've lived under my whole life. . .And there's nothing I won't do for you."

Bucky’s voice cracked just a little on the last line, overcome with emotion as he gazed down at his daughter and carefully wiped his tears away. 

She had his eyes—bright and full of wonder, even when they were closed in slumber. He couldn’t help but trace the delicate features of her face with his gaze, committing every tiny detail to memory.

Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer. You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. Bucky looked up, surprise flickering across his face when he saw you standing there. His expression softened when he realised you had been watching him.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the baby.

“Long enough,” you replied, your smile widening as you walked over to him.

Bucky blushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re the best dad in the world.” you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. 

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words. He never imagined he would be here—sitting in a nursery, holding his newborn daughter while the love of his life stood beside him, calling him the best dad in the world. It still felt like a dream.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, looking back down at the baby. “So fragile. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I could love someone I barely knew this much.”

Your hand gently rested on his shoulder as you gazed down at your daughter. “You’ve got a big heart, James. I always knew you’d be amazing as a father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “You’re the amazing one.”

You reached out to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, and Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family. A reason to feel…whole again.”

You knelt down beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Bucky kissed the top of youe head, holding you close as he continued to rock your daughter. The world outside could be chaotic and unforgiving, but in this room, in this moment, everything was perfect.

× × × ×

Baby at six months

The house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You were out running errands, leaving Bucky home with their now six-month-old daughter, who was currently kicking her chubby little legs and babbling on her playmat. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she reached for her favorite stuffed bear, the one Bucky had given her the day she was born.

Bucky sat beside her, legs crossed, watching her every move like she was the most fascinating thing on the planet. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. 

“You know, blossom,” he began, glancing over his shoulder dramatically as if checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t around. “Your mom thinks she’s the boss.”

Their daughter let out a high-pitched squeal, and Bucky grinned. 

“Right? Can you believe it?” he continued, keeping his voice low as if sharing the biggest secret in the world. “She thinks she’s in charge around here. But between you and me, we know the truth.”

His little girl giggled again, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if she was agreeing with him.

“See, you and I?” Bucky said, tapping his finger gently on her nose, “We’re a team. We know how to get things done. I mean, just look at us—surviving nap time, figuring out how to stack those weird little ring toys, and we don’t even need to look at the instructions. Meanwhile, your mom still thinks I can’t fold laundry properly.”

He paused for dramatic effect, raising his brows. “Can you believe that? Laundry. I fought in World War II, and she’s worried I’ll mess up the towels.”

His daughter let out a delighted shriek, her little legs kicking excitedly. Bucky reached over and tickled her belly gently, making her burst into even more giggles.

“Oh, yeah, I know you think it’s funny,” Bucky chuckled. “But trust me, your mom’s got some pretty high laundry standards. I tried to fold one towel, just one, and she came over with this look like I’d committed a crime. 'Bucky, that’s not how you fold them!' she said. And I’m standing there like, ‘It’s a towel, not a top-secret mission.’”

He leaned in closer, as if telling her something top-secret. “She doesn’t know this, but I might’ve folded them wrong on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

His daughter cooed, her tiny hand reaching out to grab his finger, which she promptly brought to her mouth to chew on. Bucky let her, his heart melting at the sight. She was his little sidekick, always hanging on his every word, even if she didn’t fully understand yet.

“And don’t even get me started on the bedtime routine,” Bucky continued, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Your mom’s got this whole plan—bath, story, lights out. Meanwhile, you and me? We’ve got a better plan. We chill, we rock, maybe sing a little. You get all cozy, and bam—out like a light.”

“Bababababa,” His daughter babbled something back at him, her little voice full of enthusiasm, and Bucky nodded seriously. 

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got this figured out.”

He scooped her up from the mat and held her close, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he walked them over to the couch. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, and continued his lighthearted rant.

“And the thing is, she’s always right, which drives me crazy. Like, the other day, she told me you were gonna try to crawl soon. I thought, ‘Nah, she’s too young.’ But then what happens? Two days later, you’re scooting around like you’ve got places to be. I swear, your mom’s a psychic or something.”

Bucky gazed down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that never failed to melt his heart. She let out a happy gurgle, and Bucky chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’m just kidding, right? Your mom’s the best. She takes care of both of us.” He sighed, feeling a rush of affection as he thought about Y/N. “Don’t tell her, but I’m pretty lucky to have her. She keeps me in line.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, and Bucky’s head shot up in mock panic.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered to his daughter, his eyes wide with exaggerated worry. “The boss is back. Don’t say anything.”

You appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as you saw Bucky and the baby cozied up on the couch. “What are you two up to?” you asked, a knowing smile on your lips.

Bucky gave you his most innocent look, bouncing your daughter gently in his arms. “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out with my best girl here. Right, darling?”

The baby let out a little squeal, clearly delighted by the attention.

“Mmhmm,” You said, stepping closer and giving Bucky a playful look. “You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense, have you?”

“Me? Never,” Bucky replied, trying to keep a straight face. “We were just talking about how great you are. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Bianca, oblivious to the conversation, giggled and reached for you, and took her from Bucky’s arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, if she grows up thinking she’s in charge, I’ll know who to blame,” You teased, casting a glance at Bucky.

He grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Hey, she’s gotta learn from the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head in mock defeat. “You’re lucky she likes you so much.”

Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both looked down at your little girl, now happily nestled between you. “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he murmured softly, kissing the side of your head.

And in that moment, with his two favorite girls in his arms, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better kind of luck.

[whencyclopedia]

Temple of Saturn, Rome

The 4th century CE Temple of Saturn is situated in the north west corner of the Roman Forum of Rome and has eight majestic columns still standing. Built in honour of Saturn it was the focal point of this ancient cult and stood on the site of the original temple dedicated in c. 497 BCE, which itself had replaced the god's first shrine, the Ara Saturni. In addition, during the Republic the temple also housed the public treasury (aerarium), a function it kept, albeit in a more limited function, in the Imperial period.

Saturn is something of a mysterious figure in Roman religion. Depictions of the god in surviving art have him wearing a veil and brandishing either a sickle or a pruning knife. Perhaps a version of the Greek god Kronos, he was especially worshipped in the Saturnalia festival held every 17th of December (from at least the 5th century BCE) and which lasted several days. This was a festive occasion when people gave gifts to one another, slaves had the freedoms enjoyed by ordinary citizens, more informal clothes were worn instead of the usual toga, and there was a general round of partying and merrymaking which made it the jolliest Roman festival in the calendar; a fact which led Catullus to describe it as 'the best of times'. In later centuries the festival would metamorphose into the Brumalia festival and the similarity of its features and timing - pushed later into December in subsequent centuries - suggest an influence on the Christmas celebration.

The surviving ruins of the temple stand on a pediment of travertine blocks and are themselves composed of pieces recycled from earlier temples. The columns are of the Ionic order and eight still remain on the northern facade. The shafts of the columns are made from Egyptian granite, the two on the side from pink Aswan and the six facade ones from grey Mons Claudianus. Indicative of their differing history, three are monoliths and the others are composed of two pieces fitted together. The Ionic capitals are, in fact, the only parts made specifically for the temple and are from Thasian marble and carved in typical Late Antique style. The architrave carries an Ionic frieze of acanthus leaves and palmettes and came from the previous temple on the site, commissioned by one of Julius Caesar's generals, Lucius Munatius Plancus, in 43 BCE using spoils from the campaigns in Syria.

Within the temple once stood a cult statue of Saturn which became the centre of attention during the Saturnalia when his feet were symbolically freed from the woollen bonds that tied him up for the rest of the year. This act has led to Saturn being associated with liberation, certainly a feature of the Saturnalia festival. The inscription on the exterior of the architrave relates to the reconstruction carried out in the 360s and 370s CE and reads as follows:

SENATVS POPVLVSQVE ROMANVS INCENDIO CONSVMPTVM RESTITVIT

(The Senate and People of Rome, restored following destruction by fire).

Continue reading...

[yoificfinder]

In celebration of women, here are some fics centered around the great women of YOI! Happy international women's day! ♀️✨️

(Don't) Give a Damn by @forochel [T, 9K]

Mari, through the years,

an open door by tripcyclone [G, 8K]

Lilia never wanted children of her own, but caring for Victor gives her a glimpse into the life she chose to pass by.

and your feet will follow by @prinzenhasserin [T, 13K]

Lilia’s relationship with her fellow ballerinas wasn’t usually complicated. Usually, she knew exactly where she stood. Not so with Minako Okukawa who had disappeared from the ballet world some years ago to hide in the dance studio of a backwater town in Japan.

Lilia didn’t care about that, of course. Not at all. She just deserved a vacation, to Japan, incidentally.

another girl in another time by cityboys [G, 11K]

Wouldn’t it be cool if there really is another version of you out there?

Beautiful in Knowing by @val-creative [T, 1K]

Sara knew she was a girl, even if nobody else did or believed her.

She ordered Michele to call her "Lady Sara" from now on. He would roll his eyes and grumble, but never attempt to misgender her. She liked "Sara" — it meant "lady, princess, noblewoman". And she would never go back to her deadname.

if friends were flowers, i'd pick you by windupbirdgirl [G, 4K]

During the first two years of high school, Yuuko finds she barely has time to breathe. The sky seems very far away, the sea even more so. She hasn’t gone to the rink in months.

if love is king, who wears the crown by @crollalanzaa [G, 1K]

“Second is seen as nothing,” Christophe had derided.

“But that moment you glide onto the ice, that hush of the audience, and that expectation, isn’t that worth something?”

“You speak as if you know. You used to skate?"

Past tense. It still stung, even if it was expected.

Minako knows exactly what it's like to be at the top of your game, and she remembers the descent just as clearly.

if she wants me by renaissance [G, 6K]

Hiroko and Minako, then and now.

if the sea has any draw for you by weird_bird [E, 8K]

The first time Mila saw her dance in person, her power funneled down into elegance, the granite of her face transmogrified to marble, she almost gave her the password to her bank account, she’s that good.

kagura by night by seventhstar / @pencilwalla [T, 1K]

The world around her is like the mountains.

A mortal lifespan is narrow; mortals watch the mountain’s unchanging faces, unravaged by the same measure of time that takes a human from dust to dust, and think them immortal in comparison. But stone erodes, just as flesh decays. It just takes longer.

If she watches long enough, everything changes. Languages drift until all the words she learned before are meaningless. Technology changes until she ceases to believe in magic because human ingenuity is more infinite than the stars. What is beautiful, what is polite, what is wrong, what is right—time, given its way, reshapes all.

But Minako’s body remains as it has always been. That’s why she loves to dance, she supposes; it’s the one thing time cannot take from her.

Katsudon by @azriona [G, 8K]

Hiroko doesn’t need to see to coat pork cutlets in egg and panko. She has made this dish for her family for over thirty years; she’ll make it another thirty, if she’s lucky.

Now she makes it for Yuuri and Victor as they fly home from Barcelona, with silver around their necks and gold around their fingers.

keep me steady as we go by orphan_account [G, 3K]

When Isabella stood and crossed the room to where he sat she saw her notebook open in his lap, turned to the last page of their to-do list, all but three items crossed off with less than a month to the wedding date. License. Ceremony. Everything after. She saw the angle of his gaze, too, not on the words but straight ahead, staring blank and glassy and brittle into some invisible place she still wasn’t sure she could follow him to, yet. And yet she had been the one who’d promised to try—and to keep promising, forever and forever.

Kooks by BoxWineConfessions [G, 3K]

Mari clasps her right hand across her left hand and rests them both atop her growing stomach. “I guess you’re just lucky that your father, I mean your other father, my brother-“ Mari giggles. “God, it all sounds so weird, doesn’t it? Do you care? Do you care that we’re all so fucked up and we don’t care at all?” Mari laughs again. It’s all she can do when she hurts this much, and wants a cigarette this much, but can’t stop smiling despite the fact that her body seems to hate her so much. “Well he means the world to me. That’s why I have you.”

Living in the Maybe by @adrianners [T, 6K]

It wasn’t hard to spot a 180cm platinum blond in Fukuoka International Airport. Especially when he was the only person wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night.

Mari picks Viktor up at the airport when he returns from Moscow. Without Yuuri there to play his usual role of interpreter, they learn to communicate around their linguistic, cultural, and personal barriers.

my better self by @spookyfoot [G, 1K]

Mila's the first friend Yuuri's made in Russia. Technically, Yuuri became friends with Yurio in Hasetsu, but he'd never say that to Yurio's face.

On his first day training in Russia, Mila stole Yuuri from the rink and showed him pictures of Victor and Georgi wearing Spice Girls t-shirts Victor had picked up at a consignment shop during Skate America in 2006, and a video of them skating a synchronized routine to "Stacy's Mom."

"Don't let anyone here intimidate you. I guarantee none of them are scarier than Yura." They watched Victor skate circles around Yuri on the ice, Mila's camera primed for blackmail material—just in case.

_________

Yuuri and some of the women in his life, through the years.

Variations on a Theme by BoxWineConfessions [M, 20K]

Mari doesn't like it when the past and the present overlap so easily. Mari knows the mischievous grin and the burn of eyes that linger too long. They're the trademark of girls who are still figuring out what they want, but want relentlessly. Mari is tired of letting people in, only to have to say goodbye when their vacation is over.

Mila has experienced this before, this knowing little smile that implies that they know something about her body that she doesn’t. It comes across as cocky, and arrogant on men, and gentle with Mari. Mari looks like she's just told her some kind of wonderful secret.

Together, they reshape their expectations.

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (24/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives | ch. 23 - i've still got love for you | ch. 24 - and the girl in your bed has a fine pedigree

It's quite brief and not the focus of this chapter, but just a note that there's some brief discussion of disordered eating/skipped meals.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-fourth chapter below the readmore.

Cassian found me while I was on another one of my aimless walks through Velaris. Though honestly, they weren't completely aimless anymore—the city was full of public art, and I'd taken to walking by as much of it as I could.

Statues were easier to face than paintings. The largest concert hall had several on its roof—lullabies given physical form in the stone, marble creatures from fae bedtime stories, and lithe bodies of hewn dancers. Several streets over, water sprayed from sculpted copper river nymphs at the center of a fountain where children swam during the summer. And in a quieter square, a black granite memorial honored the warriors Amarantha had killed in an attempt to break a then-captive Rhys during the War.

Murals covered so many buildings, even outside the Rainbow. The soaring, multi-story portraits were far beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined painting myself; they didn't remind me of the thorny emotions surrounding my own art. I could let myself just appreciate the colors and shapes.

The mountains and pine forests of the Night Court were all brutal, untamed beauty. But Velaris had been made beautiful by the artists who'd called it home for thousands of years. It was a waste not to appreciate it, even if I could only manage to paint half-hidden decorations in the townhouse myself.

I'd been crossing one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra when the shadow of a massive wingspan fell over me. Stopping to lean against the railing, I watched as Cassian dropped smoothly into place at my side.

There was a slight gust of wind as he pulled his wings in tight. "Rhys said you have orders for me."

I stilled. There was a deferential note in Cassian's voice that I'd only ever heard when he was speaking with Rhys—not as brothers, but as High Lord and his general.

I was aware, of course, that courts had a hierarchy and that I existed somewhere in it. Amren ranked above Mor who ranked above Cassian and Azriel—that much had been explained to me early on. I'd never thought much about it beyond that.

But if Cassian was taking orders from me, then Rhys was making it clear that he would not interfere in matters involving my father and sisters. My choice—it was always my choice with him.

"He told you about Nesta?" I said.

An expression I couldn't read flashed across Cassian's face. His wings twitched. "Is that her name?"

"Cauldron, what the hell did he say about her?" Whatever had passed between Rhys and Nesta clearly hadn't been friendly, but…I hadn't thought it was bad enough that Cassian would look so stricken at the mere mention of my sister.

"Nothing, other than that he'd met her. It's your business to handle."

"Nesta can see through glamours."

Realization dawned on his face. "Ah, fuck."

I laughed, partly just because it was a relief to hear Cassian stop speaking to me like I was someone with authority. Being his brother's mate—and his friend—was much more comfortable, familiar territory.

"Would you be able to talk to her about the sentries and ease her mind? She knows they answer to you."

"Of course."

For someone known as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian was remarkably reassuring to be around. I'd experienced that firsthand when I'd found him perched on the roof of the townhouse on my first day in Velaris. And there was nothing I could imagine intimidating him.

Well, almost nothing.

"Thank you. Nesta is…." I stopped short as I tried to find the words, eventually settling on, "She's her own creature."

Cassian knocked a wing against my shoulder. "I'm sure. There's no way anyone could have grown up with you and not come out of it unscathed."

I scowled. He barked a laugh, then added, "You're headed to the House of Wind soon, right?"

"Yes."

The world turned on its head as Cassian hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There was no chance to wiggle out of his arms before we shot into the sky. I went limp, afraid I'd end up plummeting to the ground if I moved the wrong way.

"What the hell was that for?" I grumbled, resigned to my fate for the next few minutes.

"React faster next time if you want me to hold you more comfortably."

Bastard. But he was right—I still had quite a lot of training to do before being grabbed and winnowed unexpectedly wasn't such a concern when I stepped outside Velaris's wards. The practice was good for me, even if he was being an ass about it.

"Fine. Don't drop me on my head when we get to the House of Wind, then."

"Tuck your chin and roll. If you crack your skull open on the floor, we'll do remedial drills once it heals."

Learning to fall safely had been one of the first things he taught me, so I contented myself with a glare at the back of Cassian's head. "You're worse than Az."

His long hair whipped in the wind, smacking my face as he tipped his head back and barked a laugh that echoed against the townhouses below. I gritted my teeth and wished he'd fly faster.

But before long, we did make it up there, and my training was good enough that I earned a pat on my thankfully uninjured head. Cassian left for some sort of business with a promise that he'd be in the mortal lands as soon as Nesta gave me a date and time.

Brushing my bangs back into place, I retrieved a book from where I'd left it in Mor's office the other day. Now that I could read, she'd given me an open invitation to see any diplomatic correspondence that mentioned me and give input on her responses. I'd forgotten to bring my book back home when we'd finished working through the latest round of letters.

There had been more talk of me than I would have thought. Helion himself—not an underling—had asked about what would be required to ensure a human was comfortable during our eventual visit. There had been blandly polite inquiries about my health from the Autumn Court, though according to Mor, those were Beron's or Eris's attempts at fishing for information about me because I'd been the one to whip Lucien Under the Mountain. Even amid a discussion about fish imports, Cresseida, a Summer Court princess, had written that she was relieved to hear Rhysand was treating me well, though she'd left it unclear whether she meant as an emissary or as a…lover.

"They don't know that I'm immortal, so I don't see why any of them care," I'd told Mor, speaking freely behind the privacy wards that she'd casted to protect her workspace. "As far as they're concerned, I'll be dead in the blink of an eye."

"Why wouldn't they care about the fate of Feyre Cursebreaker, Savior of Prythian, a true living legend?" she'd said, brown eyes twinkling.

I knew Mor didn't mean it like that, but I still squirmed in my seat. It sounded too much like the faeries who occasionally stopped me when I was out in the city and thanked me for going Under the Mountain. They spoke about me as if I'd been a selfless hero, but in truth, I'd only been thinking of Rhys. Everyone else just…happened to also benefit.

"Because I'm not that interesting." And because I mostly just wanted to be left alone.

Mor shrugged. "Immortality gets dull after a century or two."

I wondered if I'd ever be able to speak about being alive for so long with the same nonchalance. It was easy to forget just how old my new family was. They were all ancient, even if none of them looked a day over thirty.

"It must if I'm what passes for interesting around here."

Rolling her eyes, Mor swept her golden hair off her shoulders, twisted it deftly around a finger, then secured it to the back of her head with a spare pen. "It won't kill you to be a little less modest. You're allowed to be proud of yourself."

I wasn't sure exactly when I'd forgotten that, but I had. And I was grateful for the reminder.

Today, however, Mor's office was empty. She was back at the Court of Nightmares, but I wanted company, so once I'd grabbed the book off of her rosewood desk, I made my way to the library downstairs.

Several heads whipped in my direction when I entered, gems on their foreheads glittering. I froze. Evelyn, the priestess who'd taught me to read, waved me over to the table where she was sitting with several others.

I'd studied with them before. Roslin, who sat next to her, was a historian, and she'd been kind enough to make me a list of books about Night Court history that were appropriate for someone who knew nothing about the subject. Many of them were children's books. But still, Roslin, Evelyn, and the others didn't mind answering my occasional questions about what I read, and ever since I'd helped with the aftermath of the attack on Cesere, I'd always been welcomed to work alongside them.

No one had ever been crass enough to voice the silent, shared understanding aloud—that I might not have sworn an oath to the Mother and donned a hood, but I was still like them. Another female who'd been through an ordeal and found solace afterward in quiet study here.

But today…when I didn't move, Evelyn merely waved her webbed hand more frantically. Confused, I slid into the seat between her and Roslin.

"We have news for you," Roslin said. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"You do?" I said.

"Ianthe returned to the Spring Court."

I blinked. "Who is that?"

"The worst," another priestess at the table, Deirdre, said without looking up from the yellowed pages of the hefty tome she was reading. Roslin brought a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle.

Evelyn rolled her coal-black eyes. "The youngest High Priestess in three centuries. Her father sent her family to Vallahan—that's on the Continent—when Amarantha took over. Apparently, now she's back."

I was only vaguely aware of what the High Priestesses did. There were twelve of them, apparently, and Rhys had conferred with some of them regarding temple security after the attacks. They were as powerful and well-connected as nobility, but I didn't understand the intricacies of it.

Maybe I should have asked Mor for more detail when she'd explained all this to me a while back. "Is that a bad thing?" I said.

The look Roslin gave me was….sympathetic. "Clotho mentioned the news came in a letter with other updates this morning. We thought you should hear it first, considering your history with Spring."

It seemed as if she'd done me the courtesy of making sure I wasn't blindsided by something important and possibly upsetting. I just wasn't sure what. But still, I appreciated the gesture, even if I didn't quite understand.

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out as a question.

Deirdre flipped to the next page of her book. "Ianthe is unofficially banned from the Night Court because she tried baby-trapping the High Lord."

My immediate, instinctual rage was so strong that my vision went white for a moment. If anyone said something, I didn't hear it over the roaring in my head. My breathing nearly went ragged.

If any other female even considered bearing my mate's offspring, I'd feed her her own intestines.

A gentle hand on my arm snapped me out of it. I took a breath, hoping my reaction wasn't too insane. And before Rhys could hear anything, I clamped down harder on my mental shields. We'd never discussed the possibility of children, but this certainly wasn't how I wanted to broach the subject.

But perhaps I didn't have as much self-control as I would have liked, because the words that slipped out of my mouth were, "She can live if it means she's making Tamlin miserable."

Roslin laughed. "No wonder Rhysand loves you so much."

The tight feeling in my chest loosened. She'd said the only thing that could have made me feel better when the feral instincts of the mating bond were riding me hard—a casual observation that Rhys loved me. Not that he cared about me as merely as an interesting human playing or a useful emissary doing his bidding.

Knowing that an outsider had noticed was…comforting.

But still, I was curious. The Spring Court had been quiet since our return—no signs of interest in either a misguided attempt at saving me from the wicked Night Court or killing me in revenge for a perceived betrayal. Azriel's spies had reported that Tamlin still kept the boarders with Summer and Autumn sealed shut. We knew very little.

"Do you think Ianthe wants to be Lady of Spring?" I asked.

Deirdre's face darkened, and the scars criss-crossing her cheeks, a reminder of whatever she'd survived before coming to the library, seemed to deepen. "Despite our vows to serve the Mother, some of the sisters are more interested in serving their own ends."

Rhys had said I was the only one he'd ever sent after the ring tucked under my tunic, but there must have been plenty of others who'd wanted it, as dangerous as being Lady of Night could be. It worried me that one of them had now set her sights on my kidnapper.

Maybe it was for the best that Night had no diplomatic relations with Spring—I wouldn't have face Ianthe at some dull courtly function.

And perhaps it was all the talk of sisters, but I couldn't help but think that Nesta would know precisely how to politely eviscerate her if that ever changed.

I'd gone quiet, and the conversation had petered out. We returned to our books, and I flipped to the page I'd marked because there had been a word I didn't recognize and needed to ask about.

"By the way," I said, "What does def— defenes—"

Unable to pronounce it, I gave up and pointed to the word as Evelyn peered over my shoulder. "Defenestrate. It means to throw someone out a window," she said.

"Does that really happen enough that there's a word for it?"

"It was a favored method of execution in the Court of Nightmares a few millennia ago," Roslin said. Her smile turned into something a bit ghoulish as she rested her chin on a fist. "Isn't history just fascinating?"

I laughed, not sure I agreed, but enjoying myself all the same. This was certainly better than Tamlin's war-camp limericks fashioned out of the list of words I didn't know.

It was a good way to pass an afternoon. And it hadn't been a waste, exactly, but by the time when priestesses left for their evening prayers and Rhys had slipped into my mind to let me know he might be late for dinner, I had to admit to myself that I was procrastinating. I still needed to send that letter to Nesta.

It wasn't the wording that I hesitated on. Nesta would feel more comfortable if she knew what Cassian looked like ahead of time—to be sure that the meeting wasn't more faerie trickery. So I intended to enclose a sketch.

I'd set myself up on the roof of the townhouse, paper and pencil in hand, and wrote the letter. That much had been easy enough. But when it came time to draw…I froze.

After the painting I'd done all over the townhouse, I'd thought I could manage it. But this was different. Those designs had been impersonal—flowers, birds, flames, that sort of thing. A portrait, however, was a statement by the artist about the subject.

I couldn't hide. But I also needed to get this done, and all I could do was sit and stare at the empty paper. I'd faced actual danger much more fearlessly, but somehow….a blank page left me paralyzed.

That was how Rhys found me when he landed some time later. Before he could say hello or ask how my day had been, I said, "Could you help me with something?"

He went preternaturally still. Better than anyone, Rhys knew how difficult I found it to ask for things, especially help. I might as well have just declared a crisis.

"Whatever you need," he said, violet eyes roving over me as if he were looking for injuries.

"I'm sending a sketch of Cassian to Nesta so she knows who to look for when he meets with her. Since you're a daemati, could you help me…er…hold a picture of him in my mind while I draw? It'll be more accurate that way."

I actually didn't need that—I knew perfectly well what Cassian looked like. But I couldn't do this alone, and it felt a little pathetic to admit that I wanted the comfort of Rhys's mind curling around mine.

He understood anyway. With a wave of his hand, the chair I was sitting in became a bench wide enough for us both. He sat, draping his wings over the back, and pulled me against his side.

He hadn't even touched my mind, but I'd already relaxed just from having him near. Getting closer to Rhys always felt like straightening out something that had just been askew.

Mate.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I let him in. The picture formed, sharper than I would have been able to manage with just my own mind's eye—Cassian, with his rough-hewn features, shoulder-length hair, and easy smile. Not so obtrusive that I couldn't concentrate on anything else, but clear and easily reachable. A perfect, helpful reference.

Rhys's mind encircled mine just as surely as his arms did. For anyone else, that might have been terrifying, but I was held—not fenced in. Cradled. Rhys was there with me, every step of the way. Even the darkness settled around my shoulders.

I managed it. The sketch was hardly my best work, but it didn't have to be. It was accurate enough, and I folded the paper and let it disappear before I had too much of a chance to nitpick my own creation. Rhys, who must have known I didn't want an audience, kept his face buried in my hair and scented me instead of peeking over my shoulder.

Once the letter was gone, I swung my legs to the side, crossing my thighs over his and letting my head fall against his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. I could hear his heartbeat through the fine embroidered fabric of his jacket, slow and steady. We sat like that for a while, until the first few stars appeared in the sky.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Rhys said eventually.

Right. Dinner. I'd told myself I'd eat once I'd sent the letter, then gotten so caught up in not being able to sketch that I'd forgotten about food entirely. But now that I thought about it…I was starving.

"No, but I need to," I said, standing up.

Rhys was looking at me curiously, with an expression I couldn't quite name. He'd once told me he could feel my hunger pangs through the bond, but I wasn't quite sure if that was what this was about.

"You could have told me sooner that this was a bad day," he said gently.

"It wasn't. Not until I tried to draw. And then…" It had felt like everything came crashing down.

"Come," he said, taking my hand. "Let's not let an empty stomach make it worse."

Cerridwen had long since left for the day, and the meal she'd left us had gone cold. Rhys set about heating it up again, shooing me away from the oven when I tried to help.

Instead, he reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a wine bottle. "You can open this and pour if you really feel the need to make yourself useful."

"There's a cellar downstairs," I said, hopping down from my perch on the countertop to take the bottle.

There was wine down there, and whatever magic protected the townhouse had kept the bottles pristine—not a single speck of dust had touched them during his fifty years away. Because I'd refused to snoop, I hadn't known they were even there until Mor had insisted on opening one that first dinner after we'd returned.

Rhys flashed me a wicked smile. "The good wine is downstairs, where Cassian can steal it and think he's put one over on me. But I don't tell him about the best bottles, and they stay where he can't get to them."

I couldn't help but feel a warm rush of affection. Even in something as small as this, Rhys couldn't help but be a sneaky, conniving bastard—who also trusted that I'd keep his secrets.

We sat down, and it was hardly the first time we'd eaten a meal together. I was still acutely aware this was the sort of evening I'd dreamed about Under the Mountain—idle chitchat about how our days had been, enough food, weather mild enough to leave the windows open and let the salt-tinged night breeze inside. Everything we'd fought for, really.

We'd just been finishing up when Nesta's response arrived, the note appearing out of thin air next to my plate. Rhys hovered in the doorway, far enough to make it obvious he wasn't trying to read it, but concern for me evident on his face.

Nesta had given me a date and time, then written, Send an accurate portrait, not cover art from a cheap romance novel. No one actually looks like that.

I hadn't embellished anything. The sketch might not have been my best work, but it was true to life. And if it had truly been bad, Nesta would have said something far more scathing.

With a small smile, I picked up the pen that had appeared and wrote, I haven't been able to read long enough to take inspiration from novels. You can trust it's a good likeness.

I thought that would be the end of it. But the dishes were in the sink, and I was halfway up the stairs and intent on drawing a bath when the paper appeared again.

Was Rhysand angry? An illiterate wife would have difficulties running his household.

I was tempted to scoff or roll my eyes, but those words had a certain weight to them when they came from the woman who'd nearly married Tomas Mandray. Instead, I considered what to say while I brought the note to my room.

There's not much of a household to run. The palace is for business only. Rhys and I are the only ones in the townhouse where we reside. He wasn't angry, though. Just concerned and horrified on my behalf.

Her last note of the evening arrived as I stepped into my bedroom. Your husband is quite strange, but send him my regards. Please ensure General Cassian arrives on time for our meeting. Goodnight.

No pen accompanied the note; Nesta clearly intended the conversation to end there. I tried to let it go, though I wished I'd asked about Elain and my father while I'd still had the chance. But still, it was one of the most civil conversations I'd had with Nesta in recent memory.

Perhaps it was easier to be kind when we weren't looking each other in the face.

Though we could now sometimes manage without it, out of an abundance of caution, Rhys and I took the sleeping draught that night. We'd taken to knocking it back together, then kissing goodnight.

We weren't quite fine yet, but we were getting closer.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1917 Fairytale house in Brooklyn, New York was apparently, by the work of a realtor, Photoshopped to show how some of the rooms could look if remodeled. I'll leave it to you to decide which you like better. 6bds, 5ba, $8.750M. For all that money, who would want to come in and have to remodel?

They didn't take many pictures, and as usual, they're not in order. This is an entrance with a working fountain and they only give a glimpse of the ceiling.

Okay, so this is the first room that was redone. This the current room.

And this is after, in the realtor's vision.

Now, this is confusing. In the pictures above you can clearly see thru the doorway that in the before photo, the fireplace was yellow, but in the after, it's white. So this is a now photo. Where's the after? I'd like to see what the realtor did to it.

The dining room now.

If the realtor had their way, this gorgeous antique sideboard would be gone and wood paneled walls would be painted white.

And, the dining room after. The realtor is killing this house.

Kitchen now.

Kitchen after. The existing cabinets were painted white and the upper doors were removed. The green tile was replaced by a granite or marble backsplash. The ceiling was also repainted in a more modern style and an island was installed thru the miracle of Photoshop.

The pantry, however, remained the same.

I hope these aren't same stairs, b/c if the realtor suggests replacing the railings, it would be a crime. The only reason I say that these aren't the same is b/c the window looks slightly different.

The principle bedroom looks like it had a modernization.

And, the downstairs family room looks fairly new.

Flagstone patio.

Pagoda style gate.

The exterior is quite beautiful. Look at the jagged wall on the right.

Scenic entrance to the garages.

Beautiful gardens.

And, there's also a pool.

[an-unraveling-unknown]

I feel like you saying this is like you're setting up a trap for me like:

🪤

Well it worked, didn’t it?? /t

and AWJDHAKDHDFF THANK YOU!!! ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE

FIRST OFF... my beloved piece of petrified wood. oouughfff oh man I love it so much, probably my favorite out of everything

previously-mentioned-in-another-post mystery rock!! still torn between it being either Amazonite or Adventurine

ROCK WITH HOLES!!!! found it at the beach, have since never parted with it

^^^ Aforementioned-in-another-post raw apatite :DD

Rocks I found by the lake and thought were nifty

SO MUCH RIVER ROCK!!! A bit of cool gravel in there as well, not to mention a few minerals (including feldspar and a small bit of fluorite that I did not in fact get from the river)

in order - Dalmatian Jasper, Amethyst (which is actually a type of purple mineral quartz!!), and Sodalite, my first bunch of collected crystals :DD

in order again, Tiger's Eye, Rose Quartz, and the infamous Adventurine!!

just cos' they're related in name terms, Bloodstone and Dragon's Blood Stone!! Dragon's Blood Stone is SO cool, the picture doesn't do it justice at all, but Bloodstone is still probably my favorite

SOME OF MY MOST FAVORITE OUT OF EVERYTHING (I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but I really do love all of these rocks n crystals n minerals very much) Kambaba Jasper [WHICH IS ACTUALLY SEDIMENTARY-FOSSILIZED ALGAE. LOSES MIND] Malachite [LOVE THAT SHIT] and Unakite [which is just so pleasant. looks like a grass n flower field someone could run through I ADORE IT]

Obsidian!! cool stuff, real shiny even without it being polished due to its microcystaline structure - if I recall correctly, its formed when volcanic magma cools so darn fast due to either water or air that the crystals it's composed of barely have any time to grow.

Strawberry Quartz and Agate!! Agate is really just quartz in structure, but it looks cooler so it has a separate name (don't quote me on that, I'm not a geologist), really pretty stuff - I don't quite recall where either of these came from actually, might've been a gift from a friend

Here we have Cream Yellow Onyx, which generally forms alongside Limestone (I think) and Howlite (which looks an awful lot like marble but its NOT, its actually a calcium borosilicate hydroxide mineral generally found in deposits of Something or Another <<< forgot)

lastly, MORE MYSTERY ROCK!! I thought this was Gneiss for a while, given it looks vaguely like a metamorphic rock and the color scheme isn't all that off, but it could also just be plain ol' granite (which Gneiss metamorphisizes from given enough heat and pressure)

(the orange veins here and there may or may not be iron/rusting - not entirely sure)

I think thats all of 'em! Thank you for humoring me friend lmao, I always forget how much fun I have rambling about geology :DD

[icecreamdreams]

an inukag oneshot

“So are you thinking granite or marble?” was the question that came through the computer. 

“Let’s go with granite for the premium model, so we can use similar slate colors for the economy ones.” Inuyasha replied.

“Sounds good, boss.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. Technically he was the boss and head of his own architectural firm, but only because he didn’t want to spend time working for someone else. He wanted to see his own designs brought to life.

He was pretty good at it too. His current project was designing nice elegant homes that could be built with a range in budget by substituting some of the more expensive materials for more reasonably priced ones. Inuyasha really liked this project because it added the challenge of appealing to a variety of tastes and making those looks attainable to everyone. He liked the idea of his work being accessible to everyone, not just those that could pay top dollar for it.

“So what are we thinking for roofing options?” a consultant asked.

“I’d like to hear your ideas,” Inuyasha responded. Usually he’d go into the office, but he enjoyed the flexibility of working from the comfort of his own home.

His home was another marvel of his design. In fact, he’d drawn up the plans as an anniversary gift for Kagome when they were dating. Now, a few years later, they were happily married and pleasantly expecting. Inuyasha couldn’t help but think he was living his dream.

The meeting droned on for a few more minutes before Inuyasha was caught off guard by… the scent of tears?

“Hey, I’m gonna have to jump off the call. Let’s reconnect tomorrow on those roofing options.” After successfully excusing himself from his job, the hanyou got up and started sniffing after his wife.

“Kagome?” he called out, making his way up the stairs. He wondered what triggered her tears today. At this stage in her pregnancy, she was prone to more emotional outbursts. A few days ago she cried because she saw a ladybug.

“Kagome? Where are you, babe?” When Inuyasha got to the second floor he immediately knew where she was. When he got to the entrance of their bedroom he found her curled up on the bed, tears in full force. He approached with care, taking up a spot right next to his wife.  “Kagome? Baby, tell me what’s going on?”

Slowly, Kagome rolled her head up to look at him, fresh tears staining her puffy pink face. Kagome inhaled deeply before stating “I was watching the animal show and two of the baby elephants were sick!!!” The tears were mounting to sobs now. “I got so scared, what if they died? Then I just started crying and I couldn’t stop it.”

Ahh. So her beloved animal show was now an enemy in his household. Inuyasha nodded in understanding. He would hate it if anything he used for comfort became the very thing he needed refuge from. Well, he couldn’t do anything about the elephants but he knew how to help his wife.

Inuyasha lifted her curled form into his lap to smother her with snuggles until she could calm down. Fortunately, proximity to her loving husband seemed like just what Kagome needed. She took deep breaths as her tears subsided, uncurling herself in Inuyasha’s arms. As her breathing evened out, she took an opportunity to sniff at his shirt, letting his comforting scent wash over her. 

“What are you doing?” Kagome heard from somewhere above her. She paused then looked up Inuyasha hesitantly.

“You know, inuhanyou aren’t the only ones that find nice scents comforting and enjoyable.” The pout that settled on her lips after she spoke, Inuyasha thought, was adorable. In fact, looking at Kagome, he saw what amounted to his whole universe. His wife and best friend, pregnant with their first child. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“Well, as long as it helps you feel better,” Inuyasha said, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb. “How about we order some food and watch some animal shows where there’s no risk of death?”

Kagome cocked her head at him. “How will we know that?”

“Easy, we’ll just rewatch our favourite episodes. We added them to our list, remember? Besides, I’m sure it's been a while since we’ve seen some of these episodes.”

That sounded good to Kagome. “Plus now, if any animal gets sick in the show, you’ll be here to watch it with me. You can fast forward and look while I close my eyes.”

Inuyasha chuckled at that. The animal shows really presented the whole circle of life, but Kagome was really fond of animals and she enjoyed learning about them. Regardless, he didn’t mind giving up his afternoon of work to spend time cuddling with his wife. This was an upgrade.

“Sure babe, whatever you want. Now, what should we eat?”

[andronetalks]

Dracula’s Castle, a monument to 1980s excess, is about to be cruelly defanged

The Guardian By Rowan Moore November 2, 2024 Minster Court, a pink granite-and-marble neo-gothic office block in the City of London, a work of 1980s excess sometimes known as Monster Court or Dracula’s Castle, is to be defanged. Its owner M&G Real Estate is going to obliterate its pointy bits and “reimagine” its entrance, in order to create “a landmark in sustainable design”, and provide such…

[stesierra]

Find the Word tag!

Stealing an open tag from @aziz-reads! The words to search your WIP for are thought, though, tough and through. I'm pulling from Stitches and Memories.

I'm going to tag @fire-but-ashes-too, @fishythewriter and @anonymousfoz. Open tag for anyone else! Your words are buried, claws, ice and justice.

Thought

They walked single file on and on until Antea had no idea how long they had been under the cave's oppressive roof. At last, they turned a corner, and there before them stood the ruin.

The water was gone, leaving a vast and empty cavern that arched high overhead. At the center of it polished marble walls stood beautiful and sleek, two stories high and curved around some treasure at their heart. They had barely started to crumble, some of the capstones falling to lie like scattered pearls on the granite floor. A door faced them, a perfect circular arch. It beckoned them inside.

Antea took a step back as pain split her head in two. They had come here. They had come--

She didn't remember anything about her father, this time, but she still had the fit. When it was over, Jedan helped her up, and if his hands lingered on her shoulders longer than necessary, well, she wasn't complaining. He didn't say anything. None of them said anything. The silence of the cave was too complete for that.

She crept into the building, not sure what she was afraid of. Her own head, or maybe her father. But either way, the sight of the curving hallways of the ruin made her heart pound faster and her palms sweat. Nothing jumped out of at her, for the ruins were empty, everything covered with a thick layer of dust. Old stone tables and chairs still stood along the walls, intricately carved with dragons. Their stone eyes watched Antea as she led the way deeper into the building. And it was at one of those dragon-carved tables that Antea found the first skeleton.

It was sprawled sideways across a bench, its spine and ribs and pelvis holding together as if they were still part of a living thing. From the layout of the body, the head and limbs had stuck off the edges of the bench after the occupant had died. Gravity had tugged at them until they had come free and tumbled to the ground. They rested there, the hands curled in on themselves, the skull staring up at Antea with a gaping mouth and a full set of teeth.

Reza took a step back. Antea said, "This one's not a deer, and I don't remember it being here."

"No," Vilsel said grimly. "But she has been dead a very long time, so if you don't remember your head is worse off than I thought. Whoever murdered her is dead either by execution or old age."

"She?" Antea asked.

Reza's eyes narrowed. "Murder?"

He pointed. "See the cuts on the ribs there? Someone put a sword through her. And you can tell her sex by the shape of the pelvis."

Antea took a step back. "Are those the sort of details they teach you to notice in constable school?"

"Some of them," he said. "Let us move on, and leave this one to her rest."

Though

The moon was full, spreading just enough cold light to see the shadows of fences and farmhouses, so they plodded on through the night, tripping over burrows and blundering through spider webs strung like lace between strands of tall grass. Vilsel drove them on relentlessly, convinced that the farmer would work his way free and report them at any second.

"I'm tired," Reza complained as they pushed through another field of baby oats. She lagged at the back of the party, her steps dragging as though she'd walked twice the distance as everyone else.

Vilsel said, "That's too bad, Your Highness. March."

Tough- couldn't find this one.

Through

After lunch, they marched on with Vilsel barking orders at them as if they were constables in training instead of lost citizens. Jedan fell back to walk beside her and said, "Do you remember what I said about training the favored, Antea?"

"What specifically?"

"That the main part of training a favored is teaching her to use her god-granted powers."

"How are you going to do that when we're not even sure what they are?"

"We know a few of them." He listed on his fingers, "Detecting falsehood, determining the truth, and forcing confession. It gives us a place to start. Detecting falsehoods should be an easy one to test."

"Oh, all right," Antea said. "We'll practice. Tell me what you think of me. Throw a few lies in there, and let me figure out what's true."

Jedan froze from the waist up, although his feet kept plodding on through the field. "What? Oh, no, that's not--"

Antea knew an evasion when she heard one. "You don't want to do it."

"No, I don't want to do it," he said, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"Well, there's no good reason for that, unless you don't want me to know what you think of me for some reason." She frowned, turning over in her mind all the opinions Jedan might have about her in the privacy of his head. "Do you secretly pity me for being sick? Think I'm annoying? Regret leaving Drazen with me in the first place? Think it's my fault we're being hunted? Because you know it probably is." Her throat closed as she forced herself to list all the options. She stopped before she was done because there was too much wrong with her, because there were too many things for him to hate. Impatiently she waited for an answer, all too aware that if he held his tongue, she would never know what he thought of her at all. Forcing his confession the way she had with the farmer was a tempting solution, but it felt like a betrayal, and she wasn't sure it would work.

He rubbed his forehead, his eyes still downcast. "No. No, Antea, that's not how I think of you."

Antea relaxed slightly. "Okay. These new powers say that's true, which is nice. They don't tell me what you do think of me, which is annoying."

Jedan's shoulders relaxed, too, and he finally met her gaze with wary golden eyes. "Your powers may not be that specific."

"They told me the truth the farmer was lying about."

"Well, I wasn't lying, and perhaps you just need to practice."

"Lie to me about something, then."

For Stitches and Memories

@space-writes

@acertainmoshke

Tag list for everything

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@macabremoons

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

@vorskra

@wrenofthewords

@amostdelectablescribbler

@savvy-minnow

@mysticstarlightduck

@phantommill

@gracewritesbooks

@aziz-reads

@owlsandwich

@symbioticsimplicity

@squarebracket-trick

@fishythewriter

@koala2all

@rmgrey-author

@atomatowriter

Just chapters and snippets

@da-na-hae

[kindheart525]

It had been almost a year since the Pie family patriarch Igneous Rock died, and to onlookers the rock farm had not changed at all. There was the same house, the same landscape, the same chores. Hardly any different from the colthood days of Igneous’ own predecessor, Feldspar Granite Pie.

But for young Mountain Peak, his whole world was transformed.

Working on the rock farm used to bring him such pride. It made him feel like he belonged, yet at the same time like he stood out with his work ethic. He thrived on the gentle encouragement of his grandfather, but now that was replaced by the harsh orders of his mother Limestone Pie.

“Everypony get moving! We’re already behind schedule, there will be NO fooling around!”

She barked at her family members like they were a bunch of couch potatoes, when in reality they were already working so hard. It seemed like she didn’t have a shred of praise for any of them.

Mounty didn’t understand what was going on with her, but he sure didn’t like it. He’d cried and mourned for his grandpa like anypony would, and so did his aunts—even Maud got a little misty-eyed. But he didn’t see Limestone shed a single tear, she just put on her father’s hat and took on his duties with double the vigor and almost none of the warmth.

The colt watched his Auntie Marble work at her task, hauling one of the boulders to the south field, while his little cousin Sandpiper pushed it from behind. The mare remained quiet and focused but he could tell she was struggling, that was an awfully heavy boulder. 

“Why aren’t you doing your chores?”

Limestone interrogated Mounty, who was taking too long for her liking to watch everypony else do their work.

“Sorry Mom! I’ll get right on to it! I was just thinkin’, ain’t there a faster way to get all those rocks out to the fields?”

He gestured towards his auntie.

“It looks awful hard, it might be easier if we had a conveyor belt.”

“Well, we don’t do easy on this farm.”

Limestone was snippy in her response.

“This is how we’ve always done it and it’s how we always will. Our way’s just fine, it builds character. Right Marble?”

She called out to her sister, who was starting to break a sweat from the effort. Marble didn’t look like she was having much fun at all, but when her eldest sister called for her affirmation, she obliged.

“Mmhm!”

“But—“

“No buts. Less thinking, more working.”

She forced a broom into Mounty’s hooves.

“You’re going to sweep the house for Grandma, and then you’ll do the dishes. Understood?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Not even the work was fun anymore, Mounty thought to himself as he went back to the house. Grandpa said he would be an asset to the farm but he sure didn’t feel like it right now, being at the bottom of the pebble stack. But even the little household chores were important, so he tried to take it in stride.

Still, he wondered if Mom missed Grandpa as much as he did.

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Sedimentary Next: Labradorite

Marble Pie’s cutie mark by Tralomine

[notmuchtoconceal]

On the multi-tiered dais where father sat, all was in order around him, save for where there was discord -- for around father, all was discord.

As the herdsmen could not maintain their offerings, nor the ritual purity of his martial sons, nor the contemplative awe of those scribes which troubled him, the order father maintained parted into strands of flux, and unjoined and rejoined according to the whims of sub-atomic fluctuations our instruments could not detect, but measure only in probabilities. 

A great bellow seized the room -- shaking it to its foundations. 

- Ah! I aint Columbo! Nuh-uh! I ain't a conveyor-belt douche-nozzle industrial showa fixture! I'm a good Christian Redfield. (Outta left field!) 

It was not father's voice, for he had taken to slumber upon his throne, a chocolate mousse sticky to his shorn cheeks, awash in nostalgic waves of static from a cathode ray cube of Midland Laurentian manufacture -- its primitive display screen subtly bulbous, so from some angles the image would seem to swell as though from a central porthole.

- I'm Columbine High School. I'm Columbus, Ohio! Why, I ain't Magenta, no-siree! I'm the entire country of Colombia -- what's left of it anyway!

Cpt. Haruspex was on top of father with a reassuring pat -- whenever he carried his historical meditations into wakingness. 

- It's all right, dad! Nobody's going to ban Doom! Contemporaneously, it's considered a classic! They actually teach it in schools nowadays!

Glass rained down upon his throne, cutting him with frosted sugar.

The wedge of a beam of cast-iron flew across the hall and ricocheted off Cpt. Psychorrhagia's forehead, skidding across the tile into a buffet table manned by none but two wait staff.

He stood there -- a whiplash in his atlas vertebrae, slightly dazed. He was aware the vibrations had shifted the big ugly box on its pedestal -- a charming marble column inlaid with veins of amber and gold dust, whose hand-fissured cracks had sprouted countless buds of gelatin ivy grown from the matter of a thousand pulped honeycombs.

Cpt. Haruspex -- reassurances unceasing -- slid the utility proboscis from his belt, and pinched its neck 3/4ths from the top -- to distend the radial prongs from the node at the bulb of its vertical tip :-- his hand dropping another 3/8ths to twist a concealed dial and distend the membranes by stalks and stretches across the prongs -- creating an umbrella he held between him and the debris as he twirled. 

- You can play it usin nothin but another man's prostate! You can move me around the screen on your inner-eye by makin inputs with my butthole! Pretty as a picto! It's the wonders of technology, dad!

Shards of glass shimmered in the dense, lacquered pitch of Cpt. Psychorrhagia's clumped and slickened mane.

The portal displayed two images simultaneously -- neither one program, nor the other -- and Cpt. Psychorrhagia twisted the breadth of him along the slender pivot of his waist -- glutes tightening on the final push forward off his boots -- so that he seemed to hang there, in suspended half-motion before you -- the heft of his granite ass ��� wet as greasy locks pressed against the sheen of his leather. He gripped with the stiffness of his heavy, powerful arms -- so powerful for such a young man -- those slender apparati so much like insect-antennae in wafts until the picture was clear, and with a smoothness similarly half-lubricated retracted his back -- to return to the noble solemnity of his watch -- his eyes always-present on father, glancing from time to time, over to you.

- Would you like to have a go at it right now, dad? You can bet your ass you can bet yours beat! Best off me bein a real rough customer! 

Cpt. Psychorrhax -- in the background -- had already fireman carried one of the injured waitstaff to safety -- and was now hobbling towards the medkit concealed inside an antique radiator with the other. 

The doors of the breakfasting hall, which father had dedicated to his morning leisure, swung open and from their oak-carved scenes of jasper-inlaid pastoral splendor, Cpt. Schreibermachen strolled forward with Cpts. Hlaford and Drythen in the rear -- and stating truthfully, it occurred only now what an odd twosome they must have been. For you had never seen either converse with one another -- only each with Cpt. Schreibermachen or with the other -- and you wondered, with a curiosity you felt alien to you -- the nature of their rapport while on patrol. What the three revealed to one another in the solitary tirades which came about henceforth in the explorations of their hidden talents.

- Splendid news, father!

Joey belted, as a cock would herald the dawn.

:-- We've received word from the grand anarchist council! 

The anarchists of your era -- were well-known for their penchant for publicly-and-outwardly-transacted central organization. 

 -- Their words, father -- are leaden with a certain flamboyance and falsity! There is much about them which is terrible, and much in their implications which is dread and stirring! They would doubtless mortify men of juvenile countenance, and send those bestial among us into fits of rage ;-– allow me to share a few of them with you now!

The words of the anarchists were fit for father's ear --

and so too for personal and public redaction. 

- Damn, Joey.

Cpt. Haruspex swung the umbrella now gently as the fan of a palm.

... Those anarchists sure do have a fancy prose style.

He whistled.

In awe of the beauty and terror of our adversaries.

... I don't think I've ever heard anyone make pronouncements quite that ungainly and dramatic before!

Cpt. Schreibermachen did not clear the air so much as crystallize.

- My being a literary scion in our homeland, Haruspex -- it would not be shocking to expect a few admirers amidst the ranks of our enemies. Poetry is, after all, the great unifier. Were our nation not already well-held in father's soft and pretty baker's hands, I would suggest after a libation and a few rounds of incense, intoxication by rule of a council of muses!

There was something about the golden hours of morning that made Joey seem even more blonde, brainless and vigorously Teutonic than the crisp, dry hues of the noon and after.     

- Scribbles? Scribbles, where'd you go?

Father didn't have his eyes in.

... I been lookin everywhere for you!

Father couldn't see shit when he don't have his eyes in.

... Scribbles? Scribbles, did you bring me my paper?

Joey received him graciously, having much left to deliver.

- Better, father! The hydra which constricts our country has rolled onto its back to expose many miles of its tract of neck! I beseech you, highest and most holy, that I your most gallant son should be best now beset upon this task! Trust in my faith to you, father! ;-- and I shall see our country prosper! I shall see you cherished by the distillations of later generations as not only a conqueror, a philosopher, a reconciler, a mystic, but a playboy, a showman and a boon to the arts! Hear my words, father! Do not strike at your son who prophesies when his every word foretells the shapes of the stars for you! You who are as the crown will shine as a crow in flight as I resculpt the veritable matter of our physiques from the cells up!

Cpt. Haruspex -- out of boredom perhaps -- continued to twirl his umbrella. Light from the membrane which enjoined the flaps streamed through the broken window and illuminated the cloudiness and imperfections of the material -- in their structures, they were as the honeycombs before they had been pulped -- the honied translucence of the leaves shuffling out cloudbursts back into kelpy mass

Cpt. Psychorrhax -- straightening his lapels -- stepped forward.

- May I approach, father?

- No.

- I speak on behalf of Cpt. Schreibermachen, sir. I have personally observed him in his preparations to grip this blight which rots our city-state by its root. He has collected, over the months between now and the last bombing -- which was not (as the odious free press which oppresses your reign reported) a bungled mismanagement of catastrophic negligence which claimed the lives of many comely and able-bodied men -- but a deliberate subversion of your will by hostile forces too alien and microbiological to be glimpsed by the naked eye.

- Whaddya you know? Why ain't Scribbles tellin me this?

- Cpt. Psychorrhax is my closest and most cherished attendant, father! As you yourself know well, the meager details and nuts and rods of the implementation -- the route tedium that comes with putting a plan into action -- these can become obscured from an aerial perspective, being tasks better-handled by those best-suited to crawl along the ground!

Cpt. Schreibermachen's hand -- which had been grasped firmly around Cpt. Psychorrhax's shoulder -- crept now downward, savoring each descent and taper of its journey across the stolid hull of his lats -- 

- That is correct, father!

(This was Psychorrhax talking now)

-- and lower still... down the small of his back --

… very much can pass for human error in the scheme of things :-- particularly in a structure as vast, ornate and precise as our ruling body.

-- where he caressed him by the back of palm --

... there can be equally little doubt, however -- that in a body as broad and yet of deceptively compacted strength as ours --

-- he came down with a smack to cup the pony-like swell of his ass.

… more than an atypical allotment of contaminants will well up! I have seen -- from Cpt. Schreibermachen's reports, no doubt --

-- his smile twists -- catlike.

... much evidence to suggest that many of the incidences of damage to supply lines and other infrastructural failures have been --

He cuts off a moan -- biting his lip.

... especially in an environment so gifted as to receive your rule -- calculated attempts by enemy forces -- less simple wear and tear from constant overuse and a history of negligence which spans backwards decades. No. It only takes a few rogue cells, father --

He gasps -- laughing now.

 -- to create a mass tumescent enough to strangle the organism whole!

Cpt Schreibermachen was laughing, too.

- Joey, don't fondle me in fronta dad -- bro

He sounded way less fuckin stupid when ya wanted to kick his ass.

... he's not gonna take me serious!

Joey was leaning in. Standing upright, he leaned in best.

- You want me to stop?

It wasn't a question. He weren't expecting an answer.

… lil bro?

Cpt. Psychorrhax ceased to breathe as he looked to him

… make me.

Joey knocked off Laika's cap . He had taken him beneath the back of his skull. Was devouring his face. Tasting. On his lips, and on his teeth -- the pungent spices of eggs and sausage -- coffee and the salted butter -- tasting so many amino acids on Laika's lips that were not his own -- and yet which would inevitably become ; -- and Laika looked to him, nearly limp -- that stupid look of someone who had never lost it all, and could expect much, in turn-- lips quivering as he was wolfy and sheepish.

Brux ... continued to twirl.

- No, no -- I think Laik might be onto somethin, dad -- y'know. Literate men -- they're dangerous. They get heads full of ideas. They go around -- given their ideas to other people. Soon people're out -- readin books. Lookin at other people with crazy fancies. Not doin any work. Maybe they're all readin the same book -- who knows? Maybe it's a real popular book! Maybe they wanna go around bullyin ya cause ya don't read their favorite book. They talk about the characters -- y'know. Ya don't know who they are. They use the stories -- as reference points -- like you should know. Gosh, mates -- what's even worse is when there's two people livin in the same area, and they each got their own popular book -- they never get along! All they wanna do is hound ya! They wanna know which book it is ya like more, and don't accept it none when ya say ya ain't read any book -- whaddya mean ya ain't read both their books? Whaddya mean ya haven't picked a favorite (Even fuckin stupider when both their books are by the same author, and it's somethin goofier like... I dunno. The editor or the translator or the commentor or somethin is different, and sometimes it's just the rhymes are different, or maybe there's not one or none, but sometimes it's like... wow, we readin the same story, the same characters? We gettin into some complicated shit, and you're actin like I gotta have my mind made up now. Join your club. Be on your team. Say the exact same magic words when we sit down to try'n have a dinner without killin each other ;-- Holy shit. You book people, I swear!) Like, what's the goddamn matter? I'm sure ya both got great books -- basically I've heard all the stories in em already, been talkin to so many people -- whaddya want me to do, quote it at ya? Make ya feel like we had the same experience cause we stared at the same page? Mate, why don't ya invite me back to your place? We'll read your book -- you can read it to me! We'll get some wine -- sounds sensual. Why can't that be how ya do it, mates? Why can't ya just sit down and read your books to each other instead of tryin to kill each other all the time, huh? What'd those books have to say to make you act this way, goddamn.

Cpt. Psychorrhax ;-- in the intervening moments --; had found himself once more wholly vertical. 

Father meanwhile ... had stopped paying attention.

- All right, kid. Give ya a shot.

He looked first from his nails. Then back to Joey.

... Just don't do anything too crazy. 

Cpt. Schreibermachen ...--... bowed his head.

- I promise, father --...-- to surpass every example you have set for me.

( o )

Joey took to the square – and fired his pistol at each malfunctioning light fixture so that upon the crowds a spring rain fell one day, at the points in the interwoven lattice where heat met once more the dry brown leaves. 

 - ANARCHISTS, ANARCHISTS COME OUT!

Windows caked with grime collapsed into the streets. There, sticky floors knew once more light from out the dinge of an ever-unending half-day.

- I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK WITH YOU ABOUT THE LOGISTICS OF TRANSITIONING INTO A STATELESS SOCIETY 

The conglomerated structures which were the outflow of State Finance into the ventricles of the Imperial Palace bore the marks of Joey's wrath.

For you could see plainly the fine utility of non-contradiction which composed his thought – for to attack our allies so brazenly, no doubt – aside from further concretizing the power and influence of the Guard – would agitate any bacterial elements which had penetrated into the insulated body – inducing a heave, the channels of which might flow into the more open cesspits of Free Thought you had less cause to attack openly, for there would be more just cause for later retaliation.

– STATE AUTOPHAGY NOW

( o )

( o )

STATE AUTOPHAGY NOW

[butchharrydalton]

I will now recite the rocks in alphabetical order:

adamellite

amphibolite

andesite

anorthosite

anthracite

appinite

aphanite

arenite

argillite

arkose

basalt

basanite

blueschist 

biomicrite

biosparite

boundstone

breccia

carbonatite

cataclasite

chalk

chert

claystone

clinopyroxenite

coal

conglomerate 

coquina

dacite

diamictite

diatomite

diorite

dolomite 

dunite

eclogite

essexite

evaporite

flint

foidite

gabbro

gabbronorite

gneiss

gossan

granite

granodiorite 

granophyre

granulite

graywacke

gritstone

greensand

greenschist

harzburgite

hornblendite

hornfel

hyaloclastite

icelandite

ignimbrite

ijolite

itacolumite

jadeitite

jasperoid

jaspillite

kenyte

kimberlite

komatiite

lamproite

lamprophyre

larvikite

laterite

latite

lherzolite

lignite

limestone

litchfieldite

litharenite

llanite

luxullianite

mangerite

marble

marl

metapelite

metapsammite

migmatite

minette

monzodiorite

monzogranite

monzonite

mudstone

mylonite

nepheline syenite

nephelinite

norite

novaculite

obsidian

oil shale

oolite

pantellerite

pegmatite

peridotite

phonolite

picrite

porphyry

phyllite

pseudotachylite

pumice

pyrolite

pyroxenite

quartzarenite

quartzite

rhyolite

sandstone

schist

scoria

shale

siltstone

serpentinite

shonkinite

skarn

slate

suevite

soapstone

syenite

syenogranite

taconite

tephrite

teschenite

theralite

tholeiite

tonalite

trachyte

travertine

tuff

turbidite

urtite

variolite

wackestone

websterite

wehrlite

whiteschist

xenolith

[shahrourmarble]

‏‎ #shahrour_marble_decoration Get the product your customers will love at the price you will love. Choose from the world's largest supplier base and enjoy complete order protection. ................. ............. ........ ..... .. .. .. . . . #travertine #marble #naturalstone #stone #granite #interiordesign #travertino #limestone #mermer #travertinetile #marmerimport #homedesign #marmerindonesia #whitemarble #Travertine #travertinepavers #travertines #travertineblock #travertinetile #travertinebathroom #travertinebridge #travertineslab ‎‏ (في ‏‎الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية‎‏) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp3d9oCo5At/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[flashing-blades]

I blink. Once. Twice. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

The tyrant’s grim facade breaks, for just a moment. A streak of confusion dashes across her face. “Excuse me?”

“Are you really trying to pretend like you’re above me?” Bile rises to the back of my throat. I spit on the polished floor between us. Her eye twitches. “Bastard. You probably even believe it too.”

There is a rage in her that wasn’t there before. “I know each name. I recall each face. For you to dare imply that I know not the price I paid in blood. I bear the weight of my sins every waking moment.” She sneers. “You’ve killed thousands, and you spare nary a thought for the souls you reap.”

She breathes in, taking a moment to compose herself. When she opens her eyes, the rage is gone. Only cold contempt remains. “And so you reveal your nature. Do you think yourself the hero? Does each of those lives mean nothing to you? You lay waste wherever you go. Death follows your path. And all to snuff out one more.”

I nod, locking eyes with her. “Thousands. I’ve lost count. Some I’ve forgotten.” My eyes do not leave hers.

“Yes. All to kill you.” I step forward. My hand grips tighter around the handle of my sickle. “What about yours?”

This time, she does not break. She rests her head on her hand, and opens her mouth to speak. But my words seem to register. No sound comes out as she furrows her brow.

I continue. “You don’t need to answer that question. We both know. Each and every person you killed was for this.” I gesture at the throne room, slick with carefully carved marble and granite. “For your seat of power. For your place at the centre of the world. And to what end?” I bark out a laugh. “You’d probably say that it’s for peace. So that you can guide the world to a brighter future. You probably tell yourself that every day. But just because you lie to yourself doesn’t make it true.”

There it is. That same rage as the mask falls away. “I brought order to this land. War ravaged the country before I stepped in. Danger encroached from every side.”

“And in return, we received steel blades at our throats. Shiny metal knights on every corner, watching for any sign of insurrection. Friend turned against friend for fear of retribution. Your peace is violence and terror.” Fury grips my voice, clouds my vision. “Our barons strangle the life out of our towns. Tax and steal until there’s nothing but the dust of the lives that were there before. And you do nothing.”

She slams her fist on her arm rest. “You couldn’t even begin to imagine the challenges-“

I shout louder. “Damn the challenges! The fact remains that you did nothing while they ran our lives into the dirt! Because if you annoy them enough, they have the resources to pose a threat to you.” I gesture at the side of the throne, where the carvings lie. “How many of those were ‘the last?’”

She says nothing.

“You grieve your sins, and yet you continue to slaughter in the name of your throne. 769 people have died today. Tomorrow there will be another. The day after that, perhaps there will be two more. Each will be the last. As well as the next one. And the next.” My voice evens out. I regain my composure, though the edge of my words remain. “That you remember means nothing. You kill to keep your grip on our world. No more, no less.” I step forward again. She moves to stand. “I fight, and I kill, yes. But we are nothing alike. I believe in a brighter future. You tear out the throats of any who do.”

I raise my blade to the tyrant. “To the tomorrow you don’t believe in.”

I charge.

“How many people have died to achieve this world domination of yours?” “769.” “…What?” “769 people died to achieve my plans. I counted them, and had each of their names etched on my throne so I never forget what my victory cost the world. Now tell me, how many have you killed to see me dead?”

[itnseo101]

Stunning Budget-Friendly Modular Kitchen

Visit us:Stunning Budget-Friendly Modular Kitchen

Your cooking space can be changed without breaking your budget with a gorgeous, affordable modular kitchen. You can find both beauty and functionality by selecting cost-effective yet long-lasting materials like quartz countertops and laminate cabinetry. Pull-out racks and space-saving designs are examples of smart storage solutions that maximize functionality without breaking the budget. The best kitchen brand in India, Regalo Kitchens, specializes in designing functional kitchens that combine affordability and elegance without sacrificing design or functionality. You can find a modular kitchen that fits your budget and provides timeless value to your house with careful design.

1. Understanding Modular Kitchen Design

Manufactured pieces or modules, such as cabinets, drawers, shelves, and worktops, make up a modular kitchen. The versatility of kitchen modules allows them to be customized to various sizes and layouts, creating a functional and structured cooking space. These kitchens have multiple advantages, such as:

• Optimization of space: Customized kitchens are perfect for large homes or small houses since they are made to maximize every square inch of available space.

• Easy maintenance: Customized kitchens are simple to clean and maintain due to their simplified surfaces and creative storage options.

• Aesthetic appeal: Because modular kitchens are available in a variety of styles and finishes, they may blend in with any type of interior design.

Modular kitchens have many advantages, but they can also be costly. However, you can design a gorgeous kitchen without going over budget if you plan properly and choose good choices.

2.  Choose Cost-Effective Materials

The total cost of your customized kitchen will be strongly influenced by the materials you choose. Although it might be tempting to choose luxurious finishes, there are less expensive solutions that are just as stylish and long-lasting. Regalo Kitchens, famous for its premium yet affordable products, offers a variety of materials perfect for customers on a limited budget:

• Cabinet Materials:Medium-density fiberboard (MDF) or manufactured wood with laminate procedures are affordable alternatives to costly wood solutions. Although they are less expensive and simpler to maintain, these materials have a similar look to wood. Matte or high-gloss laminates can also be utilized to provide a modern look without paying the extra cost.

• Countertops: Granite and quartz are strong but can be pricey. Choose laminate worktops or manufactured granite. These materials give your kitchen a classy look for only a portion of the price. They come in a range of finishes, such as wood-like textures and marble-inspired patterns.

• Cost-effective: Cost-effective substitutes for marble or glass backsplashes are ceramic or tile in porcelain. Because these tiles are available in a variety of colors and designs, you can create a unique style without breaking your budget.

3. Make the Most of Storage with Smart Solutions

Any kitchen needs storage, and modular kitchen are excellent at providing it. You can make the most of your space without going over budget with smart storage options. Regalo Kitchens is excellent at offering storage solutions that are cost-effective and useful for kitchens of all sizes.

• Shelves and pull-out drawers: These not only save room but also make it simple to get to kitchen requirements, which clears up clutter and boosts order. Various sizes and combinations of pull-out drawers are available to fit your storage requirements.

• Cabinets on the Wall: Use vertical space by mounting cabinets on the wall. To maximize available space and maintain a clear countertop, these cabinets are a great solution to store dishes, pots, and pans.

• Corner Units: Kitchen corners are sometimes wasted, but with corner units, you can utilize these areas. Items in difficult-to-reach places are best stored on pull-out shelves.

• Integrated Organizers:  Consider adding dividers, spice racks, and utensil organizers to your kitchen cabinets as integrated organizers.

4. Focus on a Minimalist Design

In addition to producing a clean, modern look, a minimalist design uses less materials, which reduces expenses. Regalo Kitchens ensures that your kitchen looks stunning without needless decoration since they recognize the importance of basic designs and clear lines. The following advice can help you create a simple design on a limited budget:

• Flat-Panel Cabinets: Choose cabinets with flat surfaces instead of intricate designs. These are easier to clean, have a modern look, and are generally less expensive than traditional carved cabinets.

• Handle-less Cabinets: Opt for handle-less designs that use push-to-open mechanisms. These are not only stylish but also reduce the need for additional hardware, which can be a significant cost-saving.

• Neutral Colors: Use neutral tones such as whites, grays, or soft pastels. These colors make the space appear larger and more open, while also being easy to maintain. You can always add colorful accents through accessories like rugs or kitchenware.

5. Energy-Efficient Appliances

Energy-efficient appliances can save you money over time, even though they might be a major investment in a modular kitchen. In order to save power costs, Regalo Kitchens makes sure that its designs mix in perfectly with modern, energy-efficient equipment. When buying kitchen appliances, take into account the following:

• Choose Simple Models: Choose basic variations that provide a basic level of functioning rather than spending money on luxury brands with advanced capabilities. If your kitchen necessities are useful and long-lasting, you don't require costly devices.

• Power-Saving Appliances: A++ or A+ energy ratings are good indicators of a high-quality equipment. Although they can cost more up front, energy-efficient dishwashers, stoves, and freezers will save money over time.

6. Regalo Kitchens: The Best Choice for Budget-Friendly Modular Kitchens

Regalo Kitchens is the top kitchen brand in India for designing beautiful, affordable modular kitchens. Regalo Kitchens has a large selection of modular kitchen layouts that fit all price ranges and are dedicated to quality, creativity, and affordability. Their knowledgeable staff operates closely with customers to design customized kitchen solutions which combine durability, style, and functionality while maintaining costs within budget.

Conclusion

The correct planning and materials can help you create a beautiful yet affordable modular kitchen. You can design a kitchen that suits your lifestyle and budget by emphasizing energy-efficient equipment, useful storage options, simple designs, and reasonably priced materials. You may be certain that Regalo Kitchens will provide you with top-notch, affordable modular kitchen layouts that satisfy your requirements without sacrificing design or usefulness. A well-designed kitchen module not only makes cooking and cleaning easier, but it also improves your house and maintains prices down.