#tempest in a teapot

[lazyscience]

Like, I get she's going for the Madonna piss-off-prudes playbook with a slightly different take, instead of a riding crop and a cone bra it's an anonymous hotel room and hair-pulling. Sabrina, I support you in your "fuck you I don't do what you tell me, except when you're telling me in bed, which is transgressive" endeavors. I am not judging your sex choices, I don't think they make you particularly unfemininist or A Bad Role Model.

What offends ME about it is how boring it is visually. All that black and beige, it looks like those fake-edgy Calvin Klein woodpanel porno ads. "oooh, pushing BOUNDARIES." I'm not worried about your effect on the youth, but if you're gonna get bedbugs from that nasty-ass Motel Six carpet, and what you and the photographer were on when you made those color and composition choices. Sordid and outré are generally speaking good album cover choices from an artistic and memorability standpoint, but you've overshot artsy without reaching taboo, girl. You're not even to camp. Go watch some more John Waters and try again.

How do you feel about the Sabrina Carpenter discourse?

honestly extremely funny that people are so mad about an image that's so tame. people are talking about it like it's hardcore pussy out p o r n and then you google it and it actually looks like a perfume commercial that decided to get a tiny bit risqué

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

mice, performing a production of Shakespeare's The Tempest, inside of a teapot.

(the whole thing gets blown out of proportion.)

[daily-rayless]

Tempest, straight out of the teapot.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Btw Twitter, and I cannot stress this enough, is not real.

[dracoqueen22]

The Care and Feeding of Vhampirs - Tempest Edition

Nym is acting very weird.

Er. Weirder than usual.

Tempest squints and stares at the arcanist as he hovers over Easton, offering him first a bowl of the stew Rathi whipped up, then a handful of jerky, followed by a bag of roasted nuts. Easton turns it all down and goes back to his book – it’s an old thing, all cracked spine, and crinkly pages. Tempest thinks he got it from Tarsus’ sanctum, but she can’t be sure.

Anyway. Easton’s not the one being weird. Nym is. He’s not foisting food off on anyone else, and he sighs like a Mam much aggrieved when Easton won’t take the food. Nym shuffles off and sits next to Dakota, close enough that he can keep an eye on Easton without it being obvious that’s what he’s doing. He starts eating the stuff Easton turned down.

Weird.

Tempest scoops a big spoonful of the stew into her mouth, and slurps up dripping juices. It’s delicious. Meaty. Mostly meat. Rathi doesn’t bother with vegetables much though Dakota dumped a bowlful of tubers and roots into the pot when she wasn’t looking. Silly Dakota. He’s always trying to get them to eat healthier things. Healthful things? Not-delicious things that’s for sure.

Tempest pushed the one root she found to the side of the bowl, and will tip it back into the pot when she goes back for thirds. Waste not, want not. Dakota can eat all of those.

Besides, Easton’s the one who needs to eat more healthful. He’s skin and bones, and Tempest swears he never puts any weight on. Like his body actively rejects food. Horrible. Maybe that’s why Nym keeps trying to shove food at him.

Everyone else knows Easton will eat what he wants to eat and when he wants to eat it, usually out of sight somewhere, but Nym is pretty new. He hasn’t learned their eating habits. Maybe he’s worried.

Wait.

Tempest pauses mid-chew. What if Easton’s sick and Nym’s the only one who knows? What if there’s something seriously wrong with him? She doesn’t know what it could be, but maybe food fixes it. If Easton’s not interested in the stew, or jerky, or nuts, maybe he wants something else.

Tempest chugs the rest of her own stew and digs around in her bag to see if she has something that might tempt his appetite. This old cinnamon roll? It’s a bit stale, but it’ll be soft on the inside and the sweet icing should make up for that. Oh, she’s got a few pieces of bacon leftover from their big breakfast before they left Delilly.

Everyone likes bacon.

Tempest wipes the back of her hand over her mouth and grabs both the cinnamon roll and the bacon. She skips around the campfire and plops down next to Easton, curling her tail around her body. He doesn’t even look at her, but his eyebrows twitch, which means he knows she’s there.

“I’ve got bacon,” she declares, holding it up to him. “And a cinnamon roll.”

“Congratulations?” he says, but it sounds more like a question. The furrow in his brow gets deeper. He’s very, very focused on his book.

It occurs to Tempest that Easton might just be sad. Sinoun up and vanished on them a week ago, and Easton acted like he had no idea it was going to happen. He and Sinoun are very close, too, so maybe Easton just misses Sinoun. It’s hard to eat when you’re longing for someone.

“You can have them,” Tempest says, laying the sticky roll on Easton’s knee and holding it in place so it doesn’t topple off. “You should eat.”

Easton closes the book and looks at her. The dark circles under his eyes tells her he’s not sleeping much. Even less than he usually does. He’s super-pale, too. But food ought to fix that.

“I appreciate the offer,” he says, and plucks the roll with two fingers before placing it back in her palm. “But you should keep it.”

“Bacon then?” Tempest suggests, holding it up. She casts a big smile. “Come on. You gotta eat something. For me?”

Easton sighs. He takes the bacon and nibbles one end of it, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “There. You happy?”

She, in fact, is.

Tempest takes a huge bite of the sticky roll – it’s a bit stale, but still as sweet as the day it was made. She’ll keep an eye on Easton, too. Help Nym out. If bacon’s enough to tempt him, she’ll make sure he gets more helpings of meat. Sinoun might be gone, but everyone else is still here. Sometimes, people just need to be reminded they’re not alone.

Easton’s a bit like Dakota honestly. Big boys that can’t take care of themselves. Good thing Tempest is around to help.

“Thanks,” Easton says after he’s finished the bacon and wiped his fingers clean. “You didn’t—I don’t—” He stops and his nostrils flare as he breathes out hard.

Tempest pats him on the knee. “I’ll bring you more tomorrow,” she promises, and realizes her fingers are sticky. Just like the spot on his trousers where she set the sticky bun. Oops.

Easton opens his book and hunches over it, pretending like he hadn’t heard her, but the muttered ‘thanks’ she picks up on the wind is enough of a prize.

Tempest grins and bounces to her feet, sauntering off to reclaim her bowl and another helping of stew. Minus the vegetables of course.

***

a/n: Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed. I plan on releasing more of this series and I'd love to know if it's something readers would be interested in. :D

[starsandaces24]

I'd like to imagine the the boys have what looks like normal human stuff laying around everywhere, but it's all cursed or magic.

Crystal: can I use this cup

Charles: that one turns you into a fish if you drink anything but earl grey tea out of it

Crystal: this one?

Edwin: that one turns any liquid inside of it into poison

Crystal: this one?

Charles: you ever heard of a tempest in a teapot? that's a cyclone in a cup

Crystal: so, can I drink out of it

Charles: sure, it just mixes your drink really well

[gogandmagog]

On some apparent and tiny campaign to bring up a few of the Small Things That Say Big Things About Gilbert Blythe, things that you might blink-and-miss, and today remembered one of my favourite instances on this matter. And it’s way back in book one.

When we’re getting our very first physical impression of Anne in the narrative, we’re given an ‘ordinary observers’ run-down… and then an ‘extraordinary observers’ run-down.

Like this:

Anne of Green Gables, Chapter II, ‘Matthew Cuthbert is Surprised’

The text doesn’t call Matthew this extraordinary observer, instead it tells us about Matthews nerves and fear of little girls.

So where is this extraordinary observer?

Well he comes in (marked as special from the start) right about here:

Anne of Green Gables, Chapter XV, ‘A Tempest in the School Teapot’

No one else – not a single soul – in the book, at any point, makes the same appraisal of Anne’s looks. Of a pointy little chin and uncommon eyes. It’s just Gilbert.

[shewolfofvilnius]

FYI for Dragon Age fans, the newest "stupid people on the internet are bitching and moaning about" faux-controversy is that a lot of Youtube/Twitch people got snubbed for review codes. Because for some unfathomable reason, after a summer of culture war tourists, ragebait grifters, the dumbest people you know, and disingenuous bozos absolutely flooding Youtube with hate/anti content - to the point it shows up in recs even with history/cookies/etc disabled - EA decided "enough of that bullshit" and basically restricted Veilguard review codes to a handful of reviewers who typically moderate their comments, folks who are pro-DA, and *legitimate legacy review outlets* (IGN, etc).

Even for even-handed and positive reviewers, the comments on those videos turn into a toxic wasteland, but the churn of crapola just does not stop and - in a sentence I never thought I'd say - I commend EA and Bioware for largely staying the FUCK away from it going forward, even if some even-handed and positive Youtube folks get snubbed.

I absolutely tf would not want my game to have to go through that nonsense one single frame more than absolutely necessary prior to launch; Youtube as a platform is now finding out, after it's algorithms pushed hate and ragebait (and gasp a company said enough).

Of course, because some of these creators and their little fan cults also happen to be overwhelmingly THE demographic who throws ungodly temper tantrums if they're ever told no, now this is the new tempest-in-a-teapot for Veilguard.

[vagabond-umlaut]

tempest in a teapot

gojo finds nothing more delightful than seeing your annoyed frown in the middle of a storm— why should he need the sun to break through the gloomy clouds, when you're right there in front of him, huh?

teen!gojo x fem!reader; fluffy & not-very-lwk sappy [xDD]; lovesick gojo; realisation of feelings; gojo loves you— you're compelled to tolerate him; he is sort of... obsessed w you but not in the toxic way yet; implied bullying [gojo isn't involved!!]; he wants to be your knight in shining armour sooo baddd; 'one-sided enemies to lovers'; 2.5k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna!

header frm pinterest // divider by @/isisjupiter // jjk isn't mine

gojo believes, there exist two kinds of people.

one, those who aren't but love to pretend being better than everyone else— and two, those who aren't but will do anything to be viewed as the worst in the world— the second category housing no one except you—

tingles dancing behind his ribs, down his arms and right to the tips of his fingers, the boy hums when asked why he wishes to meet you out of all the people he could. that too now, the sky darkening from a mix of night and storm— that too, to meet you.

candy crushed between molars, gojo grins.

"let's just say i'm a little curious about her, shall we?"

then pauses, grin mellowing when he finally feels your cursed energy— if his six eyes were working just fine and not fatigued after today's spree of killing curses, maybe he could have known your location too in an instant or so... and not have had to rely on others for that...

the blinding beacon that your cursed signature is, brushes soothingly against his exhausted self— he adds, "also maybe 'cause i'm a little in love with her— she's really sweet, y'know?"

whatever response he might have been expecting, a scoff is definitely not one of them.

utahime makes a face. almost as if she just bit into a lemon... almost as if she doesn't believe gojo can fall in love... almost as if she deems you to be not sweet... that last implication nearly makes him want to throw hands with the girl, opting to ignore the fact that she's shoko's girlfriend—

but he stops when she jabs a thumb to the corridor to the left.

your cursed energy caresses his six eyes gently. something burns at the back of his two eyes. he begs his mind to listen to the directions being given to him. the directions to you!!

"go down this hallway then turn right at the end. she will still be in the gardens—" the rest of the sentence doesn't reach gojo.

nor does anything else, for that matter.

nothing does. except for the steady thump!thump!thump! against his ribs and in his ears. and, of course— how did he even forget this— the lodestar your brilliance is to his too impatient self, too stumbling feet, this squally evening as he skids past empty hallways...

your smile is the first thing the boy notices.

so sweet. so sweet. it is the sweetest thing gojo reckons to have ever seen in his life. the pretty little smile carving your lips and illuminating your equally lovely face, as you lie on your stomach on the grass. legs swaying with the wind. gaze dancing over the fluttering pages—

everything changes in a beat— or perhaps even less than that— with your eyes no longer on the book.

they are on him. drowning him. suffocating him. squeezing whatever infinitesimal life left in him after the past three days' missions. taking every bit of who he is, all for themselves to glare at so sweetly.

your pretty little smile falls into an adorable frown. "why are you here, senpai?"

"why am i here?" he echoes your query. your frown deepens. he grins, brushing his bangs away out of his view. "to see you, of course!! mind if i take a seat beside you?"

you do mind. gojo knows, yet doesn't find a fault in you minding him so— shutting your book, you don't waste an extra second to move to sit upright. nor to scoot away when the boy takes your absence of an answer as an invitation to plop down onto the grass.

your scowl stays unfazed, gojo watches, heart lurching and tumbling. falling onto his back, he shifts to lie on his side, an elbow propped up to support his head. and hums.

"why do you look so mad, sweet—"

"please don't call me by such terms," you cut him off, sharp and terse, "and please don't pretend you don't know why i'm mad— acting like a fool doesn't suit you."

"acting like a fool doesn't suit you either, darling," the boy replies, not borrowing even a moment to mull over his words. it's honestly so like playing with fire... arguing with you, that is. but he is nothing if not an extremely devoted lover of danger, so he will keep doing whatever he is doing now— plus, don't the two of you seem so 'married couple'-y right now, huh?

he continues— not disturbed, rather delighted by how your features tighten and stiffen. eyes narrowing a touch. lips pursed a pinch— he wonders if you know how much you're endearing yourself to him the longer you keep looking at him that way—

he allows his grin to simmer down to a sly twist of lips.

"but i'm not going to question that... your love for your family is pretty cool—" not really. gojo finds it boring at best, and stupid at worst. but since it's you... he tries to deem it as neither. "— so whatever amazing plan you've concocted: pretending to be weak, so you aren't sent to a mission, so you have a 100% chance of staying alive anddd your dear family doesn't have to get sad—"

"why are you here, senpai?"

obviously, to see you, silly!!

— is what gojo should say. is what gojo wants to say. but he finds his tongue numb and unmoving. rendered useless by the sight you, your cursed energy, both have become...

if you were a fire before, you're nothing less than a solar flare now.

and the boy loves it. his six eyes love it. the boy loves you—

your brows gather close. his stomach does a flip. your voice assumes an adorably serious tone. "you didn't come here to ask me out, again, did you, senpai?"

did he?

oh, gojo doesn't really know.

maybe he did... he does want to take you to his favourite restaurants. but maybe he didn't... seeing you has been the only thing on his mind ever since he was informed of his mission being in otsu, shiga.

only fifteen kilometres away from the kyoto jujutsu tech— you don't allow him to utter a single syllable in reply, however. gojo wonders if this is how all your future arguments will be like— he decides it's not that bad.

not when you lean a little towards him. gaze narrowed. tone earnest.

"look— i know keeping another's secrets is a big deal, and some folks need some sort of... uh, reward for that— but how about this? instead of me going out on a date with you, why don't i buy you a box of them gourmet chocolates? or, a ticket to your favorite band's concert? or, a gift voucher of your favorite clothing store— this is better, isn't it?"

better... it would have been... if only he was dead set on making you reward him, as you oh so eloquently put it, for keeping your secrets.

but the thing is, he isn't. the boy doesn't want any sort of silly reward from you— he just wants to take you out on a date. always has, since his eyes met yours few weeks ago and he felt something strange and sweet unfurl within his chest—

making it seem like a payment for him shutting his mouth about you, was only a tactic. a very cheap tactic, the boy chides himself, looking at the worry etched into the dip of your lips.

slipping his shades off, he sits up. and offers a tiny smile. it feels... too weird... too soft on his lips.

"you do know who you're talking to, don't you?"

it takes you a while to reply. throwing back a question of your own. "is this you telling me i can't buy a rich guy's silence, senpai?"

he is. he very much is. but heaven knows why you make it sound this rude— the same as before, you don't stop speaking. not allowing him squeeze a single word in.

"but everyone likes free stuff, don't they? i mean, i'll be buying all that for you, and you won't have to spend even a single yen..." you heave a sigh. so minute, he almost misses it. but he doesn't 'cause he's pretty much focused his every sense on you—

exhaling yet another sigh, you ask, "don't you like freebies, senpai?"

he does. he very much does. even more when you say it that way with your cute little frown and exasperated little tone—

"you're too sweet, y'know?" he breathes out, hoping he sounds just as fond as he feels of you now. extremely likely, forever. "i don't really get why utahime doesn't see you to be so."

you make some sort of a noise then.

it isn't exactly a chuckle... nor is it a snort... it's very cute, nonetheless.

you hum, "iori-senpai is the kindest out of everyone here. if she thinks i'm not someone sweet... i don't know but doesn't it ring some sort of warning bell inside your head, hm?"

"hell no," gojo mutters in that same instant— a little miffed at how you refer to utahime, a quiet respect lacing every letter you say— not-too-little miffed at the implications behind you calling that sharp-tongued girl the kindest here—

for the first time in your company, the boy feels his lips collapse into a frown.

it's something, he realises you realise too, the way your lips part a tad. in something akin surprise... but not the very pleased kind.

he doesn't really think before adding, "the only bells i can hear when i look at you are—" you frown. he bites his tongue. perhaps... he should think a bit before speaking...

chuckling, he continues as if you did not just shoot his soul a look.

"never mind what i can hear... but the thing is you can never be one who rings warning bells in others' minds— like, hell no!" he repeats. letting some force seep into his syllables. into his unwavering stare, fixed on you. on every minute expression you're making—

he really decides to think, however. softening himself on noting your shaky exhale. your nails digging into the cover of your book— he lets himself borrow a beat before resuming.

forcing his face into a bright grin when he does so.

"feel free to text me the names of those dipshits who have ever made you feel bad, by the way— but don't worry," he adds, the memories of his previous error of ways hitting him in the face.

"i won't ask you out on a date in return for that— i'm just in need of an intensive punching practice, and you will do me a big favour by doing as i asked you to— you will text me, won't ya?"

yeah. no. thank you. fuck you—

you say nothing.

nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

for a very painfully long ten seconds.

during which you do nothing except look at him— just look, that too! neither glare nor gape nor gawk— just a quiet, scarily quiet looking— gojo swears his heart skips a beat when you finally open your mouth.

and inquire, words so slow and soft.

"this isn't some ploy of yours to get my number, right?"

"hey, no—" he rushes to explain. fuming at himself 'cause how the hell did he fuck up this bad again!?!?— but as is the norm, you don't allow him to speak any more than that. cutting him off with yet another one of your queries— except this time, it's not so slow.

and more of a statement than a question, now that he thinks about it— "you did not really tell anyone about my secret in these past weeks, did you?"

no, he didn't. obviously, he didn't.

gojo satoru might be several things, but an intentional villain isn't one of them... something skids across your face when the boy tells you as much— but he finds himself not too sure.

thanks to the lightning streaking across the sky.

and the torrential rains following not an instant late.

and the way your gaze jumps from him to the sky, to the book in your hold— only to come back to his face. wide, unblinking, all-consuming for a scanty moment there—

gojo tries his best not to collapse into the mud when you break into a sprint for cover from the downpour. he tries his best not to follow you as he feels your warmth go farther and farther away. his six eyes gaze at the trail of your addictively bright and hot— and his six eyes aren't talking about just the temperature— cursed energy—

the boy tries his damnedest best not to shout, overwhelmingly happy and relieved as he realises the rapidly reducing distance between him and your cursed signature.

the thud of your sneakers on the cement floor of the building sounds nothing less than the best music the boy's ever heard. or maybe, it is the best music in this whole wide world...

yet another lightning streaks across the sky. he twists himself around just in time to catch the awe-filled look you offer at the sight. features something out of this realm as your eyes trace its path, not even a bit bothered by the deafening thunder that sounds next—

gojo thinks he'll die happy if he dies now.

or maybe he can die later, he changes his stance quickly. on noticing you dash towards him through the mud, face fixed in a deep scowl as you struggle to open an umbrella, and balance a pretty heavy-looking bag off your forearm.

you huff when you reach him.

the boy wonders if it's your finally-open umbrella, or you, who shields him from the numbing cold of the torrential rains—

crouching down before him, you drop the bag into his lap.

and exhale a quiet sigh. his breath catches in his chest when he spies a hint of something... maybe fondness? curling up the corners of your frown, as you speak.

"next time you wanna flirt with someone, try not to do that after your missions— it is very difficult to be mad at a person if they look just a push away from passing out, y'know?"

[no... gojo doesn't really know.

but as he lets you press the handle of the umbrella into his palm— an odd look flittering over your features before you turn on your heel and hurry back into the school building— and his eyes fall on the contents of the bag you've left with him—

cans of green tea. chamomile tea. dark chocolate. biscuits. water—

the boy muses if this is your attempt to buy his silence. by giving him enough food and drinks to prevent him from blacking out from sheer exhaustion while on the train ride back to tokyo...

oh. it's enough for him to not worry 'bout tonight's dinner as well, he tells himself on finding two cups of instant noodles at the bottom of the bag—

gojo smiles.

deciding not only his silence to be yours, but also a part of his heart— albeit... weren't either of them yours to begin with, huh?]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[dailyshirbert]

Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his desk a little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, 'You are sweet,' and slipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took the pink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her position without deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert. CHAPERT XV. {A TEMPEST IN THE SCHOOL TEAPOT} ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

AKAGE NO AN |  赤毛のアン (1979) dir. Isao Takahata

[asimplevampire]

i was talking with my partner (who isn't a sims 2 nerd) the other day about the tempest in a teapot with simpe

and they pointed out that being Chris Hatch must be so strange

on the one hand, you're a pillar of the community, everyone uses at least something you've made (most likely the baby clothes or the CAS widescreen fix), you've been doing some of the most hardcore modding in the game for years and people generally recognize you as an authority

on the other hand, everyone, without exception, thinks you're the most annoying man alive

[violentvaleska]

𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

sɪx ᵗʰᵉ ᵉⁿᵉᵐʸ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ sᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ғʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʙʟᴇssᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴍɪᴋᴀsᴀ ʟɪᴠᴇs ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴏʏ ᴏғ ɪᴛ. ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇʟᴀɴᴄʜᴏʟʏ ɪʟʟᴜsɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ғᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴠᴇ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @fangsgrr @tatiquichi @jjune-07

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜ ᴛʜɪs, ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴛʀᴇssғᴜʟʟ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏғ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛs ᴏғ ɪᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ :(

The midmorning light pours gently over the courtyard of the Marleyan estate, filtering through gauzy curtains that dance like whispered secrets in the breeze. The garden beyond slowly decays with the breeze of autumn, a season that usually brings freezing temperatures, yet Marley seems to enjoy the aftermath of summer a little longer. Mikasa sits curled on a cushioned divan, one hand resting absently over the gentle swell of her belly, the other cradling a porcelain teacup that steams with a floral blend.

Across from her, a woman with streaks of gray woven gracefully into her dark chocolate hair pours another serving, the teapot steady in her elegant hands.

“You glow, Mikasa.” Carla says with a soft smile.

“Just like I did with Eren. Pregnancy certainly favors you, I'm sure you will bring a healthy boy into this world.”

Mikasa gives a subtle nod, her gaze drifting past the swaying hedgerows to where two figures clash beneath the open sky. Eren and Zeke, bare-chested, sweat-slicked and wild, move with the savage grace of predators, their bodies twisting and striking in a rhythm as old as war itself. They are twin tempests, circling each other in a dance that blurs the line between rivalry and kinship. The Yeager brothers; formidable, relentless, tethered to a destiny no one fully dares to name.

From beside her, Carla exhales a soft, weary sigh. Her eyes settle on the scene below with a mixture of melancholy and quiet disapproval.

“The war is over.” She murmurs into the rim of her teacup, voice carrying the weight of a mother’s ache.

“And yet all those two can think of is fighting.”

“They’re like wolves.” Mikasa replies, her tone light but thoughtful. A faint smile brushes her lips as Eren catches her gaze across the field, gifting her with a fleeting glance; brief, but filled with meaning. Carla notices the exchange, and her lips curve into something warmer.

“He’s completely enamored with you.” She muses, her voice dipped in fondness. But the warmth doesn’t last. A shadow flickers through her eyes, softening her smile into something brittle.

“I only hope your cousin is loving my daughter the same way.”

Mikasa turns her head, meeting the Empress’s eyes with gentle certainty. There’s grace in her expression, youth and wisdom mingling in quiet assurance.

“Elise has written to me.” She says softly. “She says Levi showers her with the finest treasures Eldia has to offer.” Her words are meant to soothe, but they carry the same tenderness she wishes to receive in return.

Carla exhales, shoulders loosening just slightly.

“I’m glad the two of you correspond.” The Empress admits with a wistful smile.

“It brings me peace of mind.” Her gaze returns to the field below just in time to see Eren land a fierce blow against Zeke, a flicker of pride ghosting across her features.

The serenity is broken, a maid rushing to the side of her Mistress.

“My Empress. My Princess.” The voice cuts like a silver blade through silk. Mikasa turns sharply. Beneath the arched entrance, Pieck stands, Mikasa's ever-present maid and silent shadow. Her usually composed face is pale, and her wide eyes tremble with unspoken urgency.

“The ships have left the harbor.” She announces, voice low, tight. “They’re sailing for Eldia. It has begun.”

The air stills and Carla stiffens. The porcelain cup in her hand trembles slightly before she sets it down, forgotten. Her fingers tighten around the armrest, her mouth a thin line of dread.

“Are you sure?” Mikasa asks, though she already knows, her maid is never in the wrong, always observant. Pieck nods once.

“Porco confirmed it. He’s been ordered to lead the mission. Crown Prince Zeke gave the command late last night.” She casts a glance toward the field, to the very man now laughing beneath the sunlight, as if his hands were not stained with blood.

A chill dances down Mikasa’s spine. She grips the edge of the divan, her breath slow and careful. She knows what this means. Eren has grown quiet in recent weeks, his silences thick with secrets. She uncovered fragments of Zeke’s plan days ago; dark whispers, unspoken intentions. She told Carla at once, but even together, they couldn’t derail what had already begun to move.

Carla reaches out, her fingers brushing Mikasa’s wrist.

“Write to your cousin.” She demands softly. “Make sure he keeps my daughter safe.” And as the garden wind stirs around them, heavy with the scent of roses and distant war, Mikasa nods; heart tight, mind already racing. The peace they cling to is nothing but the breath before the storm.

Far across the sea, Eldia slumbers beneath a blanket of gray mist. Within the marble walls of Mitras, your days stretch thin, long walks in silent gardens, endless sips of bitter herbal tea, the empty sting of doctor’s appointments with no answers.

You sit before the gilded vanity, brushing your hair with a kind of hollow rhythm. The mirror offers no reassurance. Month after month passes, yet your womb remains quiet. The physicians only shake their heads

“You’re healthy, your Majesty. Perfectly able to bear children to the empire.” They would say. Yet the endless nights of intercourse have not surprised you with the wanted child. The young boy you saved from the village, who goes by the name Ramzi, is slowly starting to warm up to you. In a weird way you find solace in the boy's presence, it's like he helps you compensate for the fact that you seemingly aren't having children of your own anytime soon. In the beginning you thought he was six, turns out he is already ten, he merely looked younger because of hunger and illness, though he recovered well. You take care of Ramzi like he is your own, paying a teacher and spoiling him with toys.

Right now you take the time to read with him, showing him a book filled with pictures and stories about mythical creatures. You learn that the little boy is not eldian, but a slave from the middle east. His family died and an eldian elderly woman took care of him during their time in marleyan slavery. She died on the way to Paradise and the villagers distanced themselves from the boy, finding his darker skin complexion and accent to be offensive.

“So are titans real?” He wonders, awed by the story in your book. Ramzi gawks at the drawings, pointing at one titan in particular; the attack titan. You turn from the mirror, smiling at the boys curiosity as you place the golden brush down.

“Well the Eldians like to believe so. Ymir, the mother of all titans, is a goddess to them. Much like your god.” You explain and stand up, you undone hair falling over your shoulders in waves like a curtain. Sitting down at his side, you give a quick look at the creature that has captured the boy's interest.

“There is no other god, that's what Papa said.” Your smile falters, unsure how to react to the boy's philosophical ideas.

“Ugh, well-” without any announcements the doors to Ramzi's chambers open and Levi enters, a frown placed upon his face that doesn't look too promising.

“I need to talk to you.” He pauses, glaring at the boy that steals all your attention.

“Alone. Perhaps we should take a walk.” He offers, gesturing to the hallway outside the chambers. You nod your head, giving Ramzi the book with a gentle smile.

“Try to continue without me. If you need help, ask the nice girl who is tending to you.” You gesture to Kaya, Sashas younger sister who also serves as a maid. You stand up, waving the boy good bye as you walk with Levi, Eld and Jean just a few steps behind you.

“I'm glad the brat brings you joy. Though I must remind you that he will eventually have to enter knightship. It's common for adoptive sons and bastards to do so.” He hums, but it's clear that he only tries to talk about the unwanted child to be polite. Levi has been civil to him so far, but there is no particular warmth towards him.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, not replying to his former words, since you have the feeling that there is something much more important than Ramzi's future in court right now.

“A letter from Mikasa has reached me.” He hesitates, voice clipped and cold. You turn slowly, dread coiling in your gut. Usually there is no problem when Mikasa writes to you or your husband. It's usually a bittersweet exchange between family, a little gossip here and there, nothing too bothersome. Though you can't help the feeling that something is deeply wrong. Did someone die? Other disagreements? Perhaps something about the spies?

“What is it?” You dare to ask with an undertone of anxiety in your words, fearing the worst. Levi halts, the serious expression frozen all over his face.

“It's about your brother, Zeke. He's sending a force to infiltrate Mitras. His plan is to retrieve Reiner and Annie.” His gaze locks onto yours, unflinching. Your eyes widen, an uneasy feeling setting in your gut.

“No. He would not dare-”

"Apparently he does. We both know he has never been fond of the peace pact.” Your lips quiver at the sharpness in his voice and you slowly shake your head in disbelief, your hands forming to fists, angry with your half-brother's actions.

“And if we let Annie and Reiner go? We could prevent further bloodshed.” You argue, yet your words only seem to anger him more.

“You know I can't do that Elise. I'm not submitting to that stupid ape like brother of yours.” Levi bites back, gesturing out of the nearest window.

“See those troops on the horizon? I'm sending the fucking scouts out there for our safety. Lord Smith and Count Connie Springer are currently out there leading my knights to possible death, because your brother has a big massive manic episode.”

Speechless your watery eyes lock with a group of riding knights, slowly leaving the inner walls to secure the borders.

“I want to speak to Hange.” You declare, irritated with his harsh behavior towards you, like you are part of the problem.

“You will speak to Duke Arlert first.” Frowning you follow after Levi as he marches through the hallway, apparently walking right to your quarters.

“That young Duke from Shiganshina? Why?” You ask, confusion directed at his odd wish.

“Armin Arlert has proven to be a well solver of diverse war related problems in the past. He has been in service for Mikasa's parents in the past and is a good friend of hers.” He explains with an odd admiration for the young Duke, praising his abilities.

“He also helped expose the spies. I trust him to find a solution for this as well.” You merely nod your head, hoping that Armin Arlert has peace in mind rather than war.

When you arrive at your quarters Levi opens the door for you, gesturing for you to enter them before him. So you do; walking into your chambers with your head held high and sick feeling in your stomach, like you are about to vomit.

“Please know that I'm doing this for your own good.” You turn around, raising a brow at the weird choice of words. Levi hasn't followed you, in fact he still stands patiently in the hallway, one hand gripping the iron handle of your door. Then you notice it; the delicate key to your chambers in his hand.

“What- Levi no-”

In an instant you run to the door, but you don't make it in time, as he swings the door closed and quickly turns the key in it’s lock, closing the door shut. You try to open it forcefully, banging onto the wood harshly as you cry out; begging him to open the door, but Levi stays quiet, the only thing you are able to make out is the hushed voice of him and your guard. Jean, sworn to protect you, won't help you in this one and you are sure that Hange and Sasha won't do so either. Not even your lady in waitings would be on your side in this one. The only thing you can do now is sit down and try to calm yourself.

The door opens with a sound too soft for such a heavy moment. You don’t rise. You simply sit, poised but hollowed, at the far end of the chamber, wrapped in silence and the fading perfume of rosewater from your morning bath. The air is thick with stillness, as though even the walls have drawn a breath they are too afraid to release.

Then he enters. Duke Armin Arlert. A name stitched into court whispers and war chronicles alike. The boy who once stood on the burning shores of Shiganshina, now a man draped in the solemn poise of power. He does not bow deeply, only enough to honor your station without forgetting his purpose.

"Your Majesty." He greets, his voice quiet, shaped with care. Like a surgeon’s blade: delicate, exact, meant to cut clean without cruelty. You have seen him before, on your wedding day, though there was no interaction with the man who devoted his genius brain for war strategies.

You watch him with veiled eyes as he takes a seat across from you. There is nothing threatening in his manner, only that dreadful calm you’ve come to fear in people who’ve seen too much, survived too much. His presence is a reminder of the world you were born into, where truths are rarely kind and even questions can carry knives beneath their silken tone.

"I will not keep you long-" He begins, opening a small leather folio with fingertips that move like wind over still water. You roll your eyes at the words, knowing it wouldn't even matter if he did. "-but I do need you to speak plainly with me." You tilt your head, the faintest arch of your brow betraying your disdain.

"Is this an interrogation, or a conversation?"

"Perhaps both." The duke replies, though not unkindly. His round blue eyes offer a warmth you didn't think he would provide.

"Though I hope it leans toward the latter." He sets the folio down, steepling his fingers as he regards you with those soft, ocean-sky eyes that seem far too gentle for the purpose they now serve.

"You have had no recent contact with the crown prince of Marley, I assume?" Armin offers in a wary tone, the question certainly being layered with deeper intention.

"No." The word is clipped and clean, washing you from any fault.

"Are you certain, your Majesty? No letters, no messengers of sorts? Not even a rumor from the court?" Your gaze hardens at the potential accusations of the younger man, lips drawing into a tight line.

"I have received nothing. And if I had, do you truly believe I would keep it secret?"

"I believe you might, if it meant protecting someone you love. I am aware you are swoon by our Emperor, but love? Do not take this as an insult, your Majesty, but people assume your love for the male spy, Reiner Braun, to be greater than for your own husband.” His words hang there, suspended in the stillness like dust in a sunbeam. For a moment, it almost offends you, his assumption, his insinuation. But more than anything, it wounds you. Why would someone like him know what it's like to be in your position? You are an Empress to a land that sees you as an enemy.

"You would not know the burning of my heart that yearns for love and appreciation of a person you were taught to be the villain. And I take your assumption of me being in love with the rightfully convicted Reiner Braun to be a great insult, perhaps even the highest of treason. Hold your tongue on that matter if you want to keep it.”

Armin doesn't answer immediately. His expression calms further, like he doesn't take your threat all too seriously. He knows that the Emperor and Lord Commander Smith have a soft spot for him.

"I believe I know the burning you speak of, as I myself have found myself fallen in love with the enemy.” The confession startles you, your eyes going wide as you try to undo the knots in your head. Who could he possibly speak of?

You study him. For the first time, you realize how tired he looks, like a man who has carried too many burdens that were never his to bear. There’s something almost poetic in the way his strength is quiet, not born of brute force, but of endurance. Of understanding that some truths must be lived, not spoken.

“Are you speaking of Annie?” You whisper the question, like someone might overhear you. Knowing that's not possible doesn't matter to you either, this young man you have thought to be insulting actually might feel very similar emotions to yours. He is someone you could connect with.

Armin Arlert doesn't answer, only blushes as you caught him red handed. The fact makes you smile; the goody two shoes Duke of Shiganshina falls for the convicted spy. You would laugh if it wasn't so sad.

"You and brother-" He continues gently, finding a smooth way to change direction.

"- you share blood. And blood has a way of binding beyond reason. Right now, that bond, whether you’ve embraced it or not, is the question we must untangle." Duke Armin explains, quietly taking notes, perhaps to use your own words against you in the future.

"I have not spoken to him, not since my departure months ago.” You promise again, slower this time, letting the truth sink through every syllable.

"I would not know of his plans. I do not support them. I am a wife to Eldia’s emperor, that’s the only alliance I keep, I have taken vows in front of your goddess. I will not disrespect them, Duke Arlert." Armin leans back, folding his hands in his lap.

"I believe you." Blinking twice in surprise, you tilt your head, not having expected this from him.

"But belief does not erase suspicion. Or danger, you must understand this, your Majesty. If the palace is breached, if Reiner or Annie are taken, your name will be spoken. Whispers will turn to roars and it will not matter what you did or did not know." He explains, his words making too much sense for your liking. You haven't thought about it that way.

"I understand.” The tone in your voice is defeated, saddened by the realization. You can do nothing about your faith.

“Is there nothing I can do about it?” Armin somewhere his head, answering your question with a suffocating silence.

Defeated, you ask him to leave, finding the outcome of this interrogation too tiring. To your surprise the young Duke stands up to leave, respectfully bowing to you before he walks past you out of your chambers, making sure to lock the door shut from outside.

You cry again, the ugly kind. Your face swells red and the little veins in your eyes pop from exhaustion. Feeling unable to bear the chaos outside of your golden cage you rip your fine gowns from your shoulders and sink into your warm bed, not caring that you ripped the fine stitches of the slik. That night is the first time you refused Levi too, screaming at him in an unlady-like way, even going as far as to throw a pillow after him. He deserved it, you tell yourself, for locking you in your chambers and forcing you to talk to the Duke. If only you knew that the next night would be even worse than this one…

Night drapes the palace of Mitras in a mantle of silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the eerie stillness before a storm, too quiet, too perfect. The moon casts a brittle silver glow through the high arched windows, illuminating cold marble floors and gilded pillars that glimmer faintly like sentinels keeping secrets.

The guards posted along the inner corridors barely register the shift in the wind before it is upon them. Steel flashes in the dark, a whisper of movement, the faint swish of fabric, and then blood paints the ivory stone. The Marleyan warriors do not march, they slither like shadows, striking fast, clean, and without hesitation. Under Porco’s command, the infiltration is as brutal as it is silent. Every footstep has been rehearsed, every turn mapped. They know the way. Their beloved Crown Prince Zeke made sure of it.

Porco leads the unit with sharp, determined eyes. He splits the group quickly, one set toward the lower levels, where Reiner is held in a fortified chamber. The others break off to locate Annie, though Porco knows the task is likely futile. Reports say she is kept somewhere beyond the palace walls, under Armin Arlert’s personal watch. A ghost in her own right, guarded by a devil of Shiganshina. Though he knows that some intels are not reliable and he will not leave this hell without even trying to save her.

Within minutes, Reiner is freed. His cell doors are forced open by brute force, the guards outside incapacitated before they can so much as raise an alarm. Reiner looks like a specter; thinner, slower to rise, but once he does, the look in his eyes is fire reborn. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't hesitate. Reiner Braun moves like a man chasing the echo of his former self, and Porco sees it, that glimmer of purpose.

“You need to tell me where our beloved Princess is, Reiner. I will not leave her rotting to this man.” Porco demands, helping his comrade out of the dark dungeons.

“She has her own wing, walk through the garden with the elder tree in the middle of it. Her chambers are on the second floor.”

Porco turns down the east corridor alone, his stride tightening as he approaches the high doors of your private quarters. Reiner requested to help him, but the warrior declined. This is something he needed to do on his own. He vowed to protect you and yet he didn't when you needed him the most. To Porco the war is long but over and you, the kindhearted and timid princess of Marley are caught in the middle of it.

He follows Reiners description and silently takes out the guards in your wing, leaving a trail of blood as he walks up the stairs. The warrior is exhausted, his muscle hurts underneath the armor, but he will not break, he will keep going and save you. Like he promised himself, his wife Peak and your brothers.

The chamber is dark, only a few candles illuminate the room in warmth. They flicker along the walls, casting a gentle glow over the velvet-draped room in green. You are wiggled in blankets, sound asleep with puffy eyes from spending another evening of crying. Porco steps in, carefully walking towards you as he leans over you, a rush of anger hitting him as he takes in you change. Your hair looks to be longer and your skin is too pale. You even appear thinner, like you lost weight. While you did write letters of being happy here just a couple of days ago, he doesn't believe a word you wrote. You were locked in your chambers just now for god's sake.

When he wakes you up the terror slowly filling your eyes at your sight is not what he hoped your reaction to be. You don't make a sound, only stare at him as he pushes you out of bed in a hurry.

“Come, my Princess. I came to take you home.” You stare at your former guard in disbelief, shaking your head as you take his hand, noticing the blood on his iron armor. You gulp, wondering who of your knights had to suffer for him to reach you.

“Porco, I am not your Princess anymore. Eldia is my home now.” You hate to admit the reality, but it is what it is. You have a duty to this empire now; fleeing back to Marley would only escalate this situation further. Even worse, this might start another war again.

The warrior stares at you in disbelief, a mixture of shock and anger overcoming his features.

“But my Princess-” he calls out the name given to you by your mother, a marleyan name you haven't been called for a while now. Not even your parents addressed you by it in their letters anymore.

“My name is Elise now.” You remind the young man, taking a step back as you clutch the long sleeves of your nightgown between your fingers.

“You have to leave Porco. Take Reiner and Annie with you, but if you take me something bad will happen.” Trying to reason with him goes straight to deaf ears, as he grabs your wrist and simply pulls you after him.

“No. I promised the Crown Prince to safely return you to Marley.” You shriek at the mention of your half-brother, pulling on your arm forcefully as you try to stand your ground.

“Zeke is acting irrationally! Leave me be, Porco. If you do this you will-”

You aren't able to finish the threat as suddenly the air splits, the sound of iron slicing air cutting through the room. Porco is quick to dodge as Jean jumps him with such a force you can't help yourself but to shriek back in shock. Jean is hurt, you can tell by how the blood slowly drips from a gash on his side, a part not as well protected as his chest. Porco must have overwhelmed him earlier.

“Please don't kill him.” You blurr out to no one specific, unsure if you ment to spare Porco or Jean. The warrior and the knight throw their swords at each other, gasping and growling at each other like animals.

“Please stop.” You slur out, tears covering your vision, as you further move away from them, too scared as they move closer with their sharp blades.

You don't notice the dark figure appearing in your doorway. You don't notice it pulling a pool black sword from its hold and you don't hear it slicing through the air. The only thing you do notice is Porco gasping for air as he bags away from Jean and the figure dressed in black. A bleeding wound covers half of his face now, dripping down to color his shining armor red.

“Porco!” You cry out, trying to rush to his side with a panicked face, but the man dressed in black is faster, he swings his sword one last time, its sharp side cutting through Porcos flesh on his neck instantly, letting the blood of his carotid arteries run freely.

Not able to reach your old guard and friend in time you fall to your knees, landing in his warm blood on the ground as you catch him just in time before he hits the ground. His body is limp in your hold, his face pale compared to gashing wound and soaking red neck. His lids, heavy and sleepy, slowly form into slits as he glances at you with a far away look in his eyes. You can tell he tries to talk, but no words leave his gaping mouth, only blood. Undoubtedly his vocals and throat have been cut.

“I am sorry.” You whisper, not able to hold back the tears as they run over your cheek.

“I am so sorry, Porco.” When he drifts off into the afterlife you hold him close in your arms, not caring that you paint yourself in his death with blood and tears. You knew this would happen, there was no way even a warrior like Porco Galliard could pull off a stunt like this without being caught.

The only other sound in the room besides your desperate cries and whimpers is the heavy breathing of your husband, while he hovers over the dead body of your former guard.

“Why-” Levi gasps for air, he must have run to your wing and fought himself through to you.

“-How did he get in here, Kirstein?” He is angry, clearly so, giving the knight an aggressed glare.

“He overwhelmed me, my Emperor. I am sorry.” The taller, younger man seemingly shrinks into the ground, ashamed at the fact that he couldn’t stop the enemy from entering your quarters.

Levi spares you no further comfort, simply leaving you trenched in Porcos blood,murmuring something about Sasha having to clean up the mass and killing the other intruders. There is no comfort from Jean either, as he simply lifts you from the ground and urges you away from the body, waiting for reinforcement.

“I hope he can see past your mistake for crying over this man for your sake.” Is the only thing you register coming from Jean Kirstein's mouth before you blackout in his grip, from exhaustion or heartbreak you don't know. But your knight is right, this massacre, this betrayal will surely not be tolerated from your emperor.

[adobongsiopao]

Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper:

"Carrots! Carrots!"

Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!

She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears.

"You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!"

And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it--slate not head--clear across.

— "Anne of Green Gables" Chapter XV "A Tempest in School Teapot"

[hoarding-stories]

"A young witch is much more tempest than teapot"

That's a wonderful saying

[bulkyphrase]

WinterIron Rec List

Some of my favorite Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark fics!

Mind the tags, some of these are pretty dark.

This is a gift for my beloved @cloudbells who definitely asked for a WinterIron list specifically.

Mutually-Assured Destruction by Sineala (@sineala) (Explicit, 108,711 words)

Note: Most of the fic on this list is MCU, but this one is 616!

Summary: It's 1966, the Cold War is well underway, and the Winter Soldier has escaped his handlers. He makes it to the United States and shows up at Avengers Mansion. He'd like to defect to the west and join the Avengers. Tony isn't the only one to wonder if the team can trust an ex-Soviet ex-assassin, and yet he finds himself falling for this mysterious stranger, a man who has a shadowy past, who has done a great many things he regrets, and who won't talk about why he doesn't want to be in the same room as Captain America. Over the years, the Winter Soldier has gathered quite a wide variety of secrets. And the secrets the Winter Soldier and Tony learn about each other could bring them both down.

Found Assets by hobbitdragon (@bittylildragon) (Rape/Non-Con, Explicit, 11,927 words)

Summary: What happens if the Asset's cryo-tube was stored in a Stark facility, found by non-Hydra Stark personnel, and turned over to pre-Iron-Man Tony Stark as a curiosity? What happens if this is the second time Tony Stark has defrosted a man, having continued his father's hunt for Captain America and thus found him early in the Arctic? Trash. That's what happens.

More below the cut!

Temptation by The_Winter_Writer (@the-winter-writer) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Not Rated, 5,418 words)

Summary: Tony would rather be anywhere but sitting in a cemetery, alone, waiting for vampires. It was cold, creepy and this whole thing was entirely Howard's fault for trying to force the family legacy on him.

The (Not So) Great Pretender by RayShippouUchiha (@rayshippouuchiha) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Teen And Up Audiences, 19,587 words)

Summary: “What,” Tony says softly but with a great depth of feeling, “the actual fuck just happened?” “I believe, Sir,” JARVIS pipes up from the phone in his pocket, an unnecessary amount of what sounds like glee in his voice, “that you’ve once again managed to maintain your closely guarded secret identity. Truly your subterfuge skills know no bounds." “You’re an asshole J,” Tony mutters back as he reaches up to rub at his temple. He either has a headache coming on or a blood clot. At this point he’s honestly not sure which he’d prefer. "I did learn from the best, Sir,” JARVIS tells him sunnily.

Tempest in a Teapot by AvocadoLove (@awesomeavocadolove) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Teen And Up Audiences, 30,742 words)

Summary: Or, how Bucky watches his best friend die in his place, wakes seventy years in the future, takes up Captain America's shield, joins a group of super heroes, and finally begins the process of forgiving himself.

If I Was Gonna Haunt Somebody, It Would Be You by Linedragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, General Audiences, 20,507 words)

Summary: A creepy house they can't leave. A blond giant who can't stay. A promise that they'll be fine if they stick together. One little problem: his name's not Bucky.

Take My Hand (Don't Fear the Reaper) by dracusfyre (@dracusfyre) (Major Character Death, Not Rated, 6,693 words)

Summary: For the ITAB prompt: After Afghanistan tony became a part-time grim reaper assigned to the winter soldier, since Bucky has a messed up head he can see tony.

The Road Less Traveled at the End of the Line by NarutoRox (@muteelfmoonmoon) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Teen And Up Audiences, 27,889 words)

Summary: To say Steve is surprised to wake up haunting his loved ones after sinking his plane into the ocean would be an understatement. To say he enjoys it would be just plain cruel. For starters, there’s the ‘minor’ problem of said loved ones being unable to see or hear him, which is bad enough. Things only get worse when he finds out Bucky is alive, but held prisoner by the very people he and Steve had fought against, leaving Steve to watch as HYDRA slowly tries to unmake his best friend. Then there’s Tony, Howard’s genius son, whom Steve loves dearly and may or may not be a little protective of after watching him grow up under Howard’s less-than-stellar care. Steve doesn’t know if they keep him sane or drive him crazy, but he does know that Bucky and Tony are the two most important people in his world. He also doesn’t know if it would make his life easier if they knew each other or not, but it doesn’t matter; they’ve never met, are on opposite sides of the world, and other than being cared about by Steve, have nothing else to do with each other. Until Tony is kidnapped by the Ten Rings…and HYDRA thaws Bucky for a mission…And Steve decides it’s about time these two met.

Unconditionally by Potrix (@potrix-the-queerschlaeger) (Teen And Up Audiences, 5,479 words)

Summary: “Hello,” Steve whispers quietly, carefully brushing some of the tears away from the baby's cheeks. Giving a sniffle, the baby latches on to Steve’s hand, then whines unhappily, hiccuping wetly. “I don’t know how to, you know,” Steve explains helplessly, making something that vaguely resembles a cradling, rocking motion with his free arm. The baby is less than impressed with that, though, and takes a noisy, stuttering breath. Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, no. No, ssh, no. Here, c’mon, it’s all right.” Very gingerly, Steve slides one hand under the baby’s back, cups its neck with the other, and slowly lifts the squirmy bundle out of the crib, and against his chest. “There, ssh. That’s better, isn’t it?” In answer, the baby tucks its damp face into Steve’s neck, apparently content to stay where it is. Steve glances around the room, a little lost, but the baby just gurgles, and doesn’t start crying again, which he decides to count as a success.

tell me i'm your national anthem by lanyon (Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Mature, 3,829 words)

Summary: Alternate Universe: Steve Rogers falls from a speeding train and Bucky Barnes is left to carry the mantle and the shield. In the twenty-first century, the Winter Soldier is brought in from the cold and there can be no redemption.

[shatar-aethelwynn]

@thatlittleegyptologist : without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite films and then tag ten people to do the same.

Uhhhh, movies, umm... Sure, I watch those...sometimes... (I had to go stare at the shelf of dvds to try to figure out what to pick, because I don't actually have favorites and I don't watch movies often 😂)

@lolipop1920 @glasscamera @a-tempest-in-a-teapot @theliteraryluggage @demonic-mnemonic @amarcia @thesmartbluebox @bibliomancer7 @audkitty @nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui