#swim through the ice

[heir-to-the-seas]

Can speak again thanks to some teas, but has a quiet ,raspy voice right now, he says to himself:

🐚🌊 "Hmm...maybe going back to atlatica permanently would be bad. Erica would be sad. So would Neige....and the others...but also..I would be sad staying here. Why do I want to stay around humans if they will keep breaking my heart like this. Erica's the exception. She never would do such a thing to me. But others? I dunno. Probably even Neige is scared of me now because my overblot happened. ..right? I'm not sure what I should do.."

OPEN RP BTW anyone can join in somehow in ic posts lol unless I say otherwise

[rise-my-angel]

I am here for your takes on Dani. I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought her x Jon smelled of hot garbage. Like at best she was meh, and then when the two of them met I was just like "oh no....you're an entitled bitch". And now that its been years since I last consumed GoT, my thoughts have fermented into "oh no, she really is a conqueror" "oh no, everyone loves her because 'pretty badass lady'" "oh no i'm the fandom minority again". Anyway, where was I. She and Jon had no chemistry. The end.

The *only* way putting them in a romance even makes sense in concept is when you realize Benioff and Weiss gave Jon the Young Griff arc. It's why they gave him a Targ name, beacuse if they call him "aegon" then they can fufill that part of the books without ever having to establish Young Griff as his own character. He is the supposed son of Rhaegar Targaryean and Elia Martell, he goes to Westeros with intentions of using his better claim to take the throne and intends initially on marrying Dany, and it's theorized heavily that Dany will see his claim as a threat and the Burning of Kings Landing will come down to Aegon against Dany.

Jon Snow has nothing to do with that. He is a moral opposite to Dany as a charecter, and we've seen him time and time again be at strong odds against people with her morals. But by giving him the Young Griff arc, it means putting him into the romance spot when it makes no sense for him.

Hey I put a read more beacuse I cannot shut the fuck up about how this relationship is just rape and abuse but beacuse Jon's a man we think he wants it.

All of season 7 Jon is so out of place because he doesn't belong anywhere near Dany's Iron Throne plot, and he's being forced to interact romantically with a charecter that clearly he does not like as a person and is uncomfortable with.

But, Dany is the sacred cow of the GoT/asoiaf fandom. You love her and if you critizize her for villanious actions or morals then you are using bad faith towards her. While I personally don't like her, I don't mind other people liking her but I despise that her stans all refuse to allow any conversation about her being a morally bad person. A person who enjoys cruelty and death, enjoys creating fear and is smug when she can control others. That is not a person Jon would love, let alone even respect.

Their entire relationship wreaks of abuse, of Jon being forced into this and knows he cannot leave it without risking his and his families lives. Remember when Tyrion gave a very small level critisism of her actions and she angrily accused him of treason and siding with his family instead of her? Well what do people think would she have done, if her attraction to Jon was refused? Someone who she took all the defenses away from, all the power from, and could have killed at any moment (dont make an ygritte comparison mimi dont make an yrgitte comparison this is a different anti jon x fandom female fave charecter post).

I don't care how the show frames it, or what the intent was. What we got on screen, was Jon Snow being held prisoner to an immoral, cruel, military conquerer. And when that woman was attracted to him, she essentially forced herself into his life and gave him all but no choice. The Jon bending the knee scene and..the uh...boat...scene...later...uhhh....anyways, those to me feel so out of charecter. You cannot convince me Jon did any of this willingly. He is clearly trapped in this situation and cannot leave and is only with her beacuse she is violent and bloodthrirsty. But beacause Jon is a strong, capable man, it's not talked about as if he's the victim and that is insane to me. (Oh my good god the ygritte comparisons are almost laughable send help).

I don't consider a lot past season 5 to be canon, but if I am forced too, then I refuse to accept Jon was a willing participant in that relationship.

Jon's parentage reveal will always be about the revelations of his mother, and the understanding and acceptance of WHY Ned raised him the way he did. And how it was both his parents, his mother and his adopted father who loved him and kept him safe. The very fact that Young Griff's entire story is based around whether or not he truly is Rhaegar's son as opposed to that being a twist reveal is beacuse HE is the charecter whose Targaryean links is the important one. Jon's story is about him as Stark, and is always shown to be the moral opposite of Dany.

Their relationship in the best senario is not canon, but if it has to be, then there is no world in which Jon is there of his own free will. He is being forced into this relationship against his will. But considering his other love interest was another charecter who essentially forced him into a relationship against his will, and we were supposed to root for that tells me all I need to know.

Dany is a sacred cow charecter, and her stans are unreasonable in defending her. When you can like a charecter and critize them for their actions. Ned Stark was an idiot for ever trusting Petyr Baelish, Catelyn Stark's spiteful attitude and neglect of Jon Snow is was abusive behavior, Theon Greyjoy was a moron who ruined his own life for a father who long since abandonded him. Bam all charecters I love and there are some major flaws that I refuse to defend them for but thats also what makes them good charecters. Their flaws arent writing flaws, they are personal flaws for them as people.

Dany is not allowed to have personal flaws she is always to be justified even with incredibly bad faith defenses, but when she is flawed it's the writings fault not hers. Dany is a cruel, sadistic, controlling, military tyrant who enjoys watching her subjects fear her and her dragons. And she forced Jon Snow into a relationship with her beacuse otherwise then he is against her and we already knew she has no use for people who dont support her to be alive.

Jon Snow deserved better then to have both his love interests be domineering, controlling, abusive women who forced him into a romantic and sexual relationship.

Also, I mean, incest being normal is only a learned trait from Targaryens supporting their own blood purity. Jon was not raised to think incest is normal. Dany thinks its normal beacuse she and Viserys both were raised to think that, and Young Griff thinks marrying Dany is normal beacuse he too was raised with the mentality that Rhaegar would've been raised with. Jon finding out Dany was his aunt would've had Jon looking right at Sam and just

[thelingeriejournal]

[adm-starblitzsteel-4305]

MAJOR SPOILERS ALERT!!!!!

New GxK: The New Empire Exclusive Chinese Trailer!!!!!

[pybun]

cant believe this shit

[gaygirldoodles]

In my JD era

[galaxythixf]

@ryusokcn said: ❝ That was so stupid, but thanks for the attempted save. ❞ - To Clove 𝐓 𝐎 𝐗 𝐈 𝐂 𝐈 𝐓 𝐀 Starters || Accepting

"Wha-?! Well I didn't exactly have a lot of options, Bobo!" They try not to raise their voice as to alert any ears looking for a reason to shut them up. Even as they weren't entirely upset at the idea of being cased in a cell—again, but now it digs into their memories and leaves a familiar stain they weren't entirely sure they ever had the opportunity to wipe clean. Thankfully, it's without the mortifying addition of a lifeless body as their cellmate but the pain is still there. It's been too many years for the pain to still sit with them and yet, it flows through their veins like ichor. It's just too similar a scene and no matter how many times they push, even if the memories retreat to the back of their mind, their feelings on the matter do not. It's dull, it's still there.

He's still there.

Now's not the time. Finlay's repressed memories weren't silenced but caged until they could find a better time to sort through them. Staring Sabo in the face through a pair of cell bars in the dead of night was not the time. "And as far as I'm concerned I did save your scrawny ass, ya numpty! You're still standin' over there without wifey and the guards knowin' any better, aren't ya?" Their finger pokes his chest between the bars, just to prove a point. "Then consider yourself saved!" Despite their stern tone, Finlay couldn't bring themselves to actually be upset about the results that they brought upon themselves. They understood the risks of sneaking Sabo out the second they suggested the idea, but since every attempt had gone flawlessly before, they had admittedly gotten too cocky not to believe they were ever able to get caught.

Whenever Sabo's concern was brought to light Finlay always insisted they had a plan if they were ever to get caught and left it at that. Somehow they never expected to use it and forced to improvise on the spot upon their return from town when they were confronted. The 'plan' they had wasn't entirely thought through but the concept was good enough for them to blabber on about. Lying was a skill they had sharpened for good use, and this counted as good use! A fabricated story about forcing their soon-to-be king to leave against his will made it a pretty simple decision to throw them in here. He could call it whatever he wanted, at least it absolved him of all responsibility.

"… Guess our luck had to run out eventually." Finlay's tone grows softer, bearing a small smile when they look up at him. "Don't get caught talkin' to me, I'll be alright."

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

Listen, Yennefer and Ciri’s relationship is sort of becoming interesting. Kind of. I still don’t fully trust Yennefer with her because she’s fully repeated mistakes before, no matter what Yennefer claims.

The more annoying thing is Yennefer acting like Geralt not fully trusting her after she betrayed him can be fixed by writing letters and reminding him of the times they fucked.

Also is it just me or do the actors have less fucking chemistry than ever before? Like holy shit, I didn’t care much at all before about that pairing, but now it’s just actively unbearable.

[trans-gay-blob-of-slime]

Augh

[captainseamech]

Tag (re)Drop

//At long last, I finally decided to stop everything and focus on my blog by itself! This post is quite long (obviously) and a few tags were slaughtered in the process since I no longer use them and also to make place for new ones, but I hope this eases the tagging mess for once!!

🌊 | outside the ship / ooc

🌊 | inside the ship / ic

🌊 | stuck in my datapad / mobile

🌊 | coming aboard / threads

🌊 | message in a bottle / asks

🌊 | grayfaced annoyance / anonymous

🌊 | a reflection of myself / visage

🌊 | Lapis did a thing / arts & edits

🌊 | in troubled waters / memes & prompts

🌊 | watching over seas / dash comm

🌊 | this looks fun / dash games

🌊 | from another point of view / headcanons

🌊 | through the soul of a sailor / study

🌊 | you're not the only fish in the ocean... / musings

🌊 | all the beauties hidden underwater / aesthetic

🌊 | don't call me tidepod! / crack

🌊 | pay attention landlubbers! / psa

🌊 | maybe for later... / wishlist

🌊 | a story for another day / drabbles

🌊 | singing sea shanties / music & audio

🌊 | in the waves of love / ship stuff

🌊 | ocean man approval / promo

🌊 | ocean man brand / self promo

🌊 | captain's data log / status

🌊 | my new treasure / saved tag

🌊 | checking again / self reblog

🌊 | swimming along / queue

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi! I love all your work - it gives me life ~

I absolutely love how you’ve added so much detail (especially the small things) to these characters and the overall story!! It’s been fantastic to watch the little details grow and unfold over time.

I love your take on Thena and cold weather! If you have time or any ideas I was wondering if you could do something angsty that elaborates on that — maybe something like hypothermia? Thanks so much!!!

"Are you done yet?!"

"Easy, Gil," Phastos discouraged, although even the usually unbothered and unshaken Fabricator flinched at the harsh tone of it. His rings floated through the air as he examined their teammate--their poor, shivering sister. "She'll live."

"Of course she'll live!" Gil barked, standing from the edge of the greentank and out of the comforting chatter of Sersi and Ajak beside him. "I care about the fact that she's freezing!"

Thena curled up on Phastos' console/exam table, unable to stop her trembling as her body desperately tried to regulate itself. She wouldn't lose any limbs or anything, but even her body of Cosmic Energy was struggling to keep the blood in her veins flowing steadily. "G-G-G-Gi-Gil-"

"I'm here, Thena," he was quick to respond, all but shoving Phastos clear across the room as he moved to scoop her up into his arms again. Her trembling didn't exactly stop but certainly it was better than nothing. "I'm right here."

He had been there from the moment she was retrieved after falling through the ice and into the Baltic Sea.

They had been battling a pack of frighteningly large Deviants across the frigid landscape of the continent. Blizzards were constant and they had unwittingly tracked them right onto the ice.

"Ajak, please," he pleaded with their Prime, who one of the few Eternals who had not been on the receiving end of Gil's ire since returning. "Can't you do something?"

"I'm sorry," Ajak cooed, first at Thena, running her hand over her golden curls of hair. She looked up at Gil, pressing her palm to his cheek, "I can close wounds, mend bones, stop bleeding. But I can't make the heart pump faster."

There were a lot of intricacies to Ajak's powers, and Gil had tried to ask her about warming up Thena before to no avail.

"Just take her to bed," Ajak suggested, giving the Strongest Eternal her permission to be relieved of duty until Thena was in fighting condition again.

Gil pressed a kiss to Thena's temple as he walked out of the console room and towards his quarters. She always slept better in his bed than in hers, even when he was with her. "Don't worry, Thena. I'll get you warmed up."

She said nothing, her teeth chattering loudly in her jaw. She settled on pressing her cheek into him. "S-S-S-S-St-St-S-"

She couldn't muster a single word. Gil hurried into his room, immediately pulling the covers up over them as he wrapped his arms around her. He had seen Thena cold--she got cold pretty easily. But he had never seen her like this. He was scared.

Thena's hands clenched at him, trying to convey something. Either she didn't have the words or she wouldn't be able to verbalise them anyway. She tapped her fingers at his chest.

"Okay," he whispered, kissing her freezing cold forehead and taking her hands between his. Their armour dispersed from between them and he pulled her closer, pressing her skin to his.

Thena sighed.

Gil buried his nose in her hair, holding onto her as if the outside world were trying to rip her away from him. It this was what it took, he would hold her all night, not take his eyes off of her, hold her hands--anything.

Thena nestled and nuzzled closer to him continually, surrendering her pride to the need to feel his warmth. Eventually, her lips parted. "Gil."

"I've got you," he whispered, puffing hot breath against her cheek and then kissing it as if to seal it in.

"Got me," she repeated, finally showing some semblance of being Thena. She snuck her feet in between his, which he allowed wordlessly. Her hands flexed again, this time against the skin of his chest. "Better."

Better: better than the cold, better than she had been feeling before, better him than anyone else. Thena didn't need a plethora of words to communicate, least of all with him.

Gil meshed their legs together, his knees between hers and over top of her thigh. He moved his hands over the delicate sculpt of her hips, her ribs, her back. Everywhere her frigid skin yearned for his attention.

Thena continued to loosen as he held her, his hands so much warmer than any fire and so much more comforting than any blanket or pillow. And certainly, his presence was much more assuring than any power given by the Celestials.

Gil settled his arms around her waist and his hands on her back only when she was no longer trembling. She was all but purring when that satisfaction did eventually come. He moved his head on the pillow, so close to her that their lips and noses and eyelashes could brush with the slightest movement. His head bonked hers affectionately. "Warmer?"

"Much," she sighed against him, her face half buried under his and into his pillow.

"Good," he sufficed to say, not that he would be going anywhere any time soon. "You need rest. I'll be here."

"Good," she said in return, her hands leaving his hips and creeping their way up to his back as well.

He could tell that his warmth had really permeated her when her hands were no longer frigid but instead nice and warm on his back.

[theworstcreature]

Sensory issues not in the “if I wear socks I will immediately die and explode” way or the “socks are my lifeline. Without them, I shall perish” way but a secret third way (if I can even feel anything out of the ordinary on the ground (or honestly just go outside in general), I will burst into flames and need shoes at basically all times or else)

[blood-ology]

My god, the duel from great comet seriously has no right to be so good

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[aquaticmercy]

Hot Chocolate?

Summary: Bucky wakes up from a nightmare and can’t find you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : PTSD, nightmares, panic. very slight cursing. hurt/comfort. Very much an angsty fic.

Requested by : myself again 

Word count : 1.4k

Note : As someone who has struggled with sleep disorders, writing this helped me reach a strange catharsis. Since today is World Mental Health day, please check up on your friends, my loves! Oh and I am still accepting requests, I just have enough prompts for the rest of this week and will be replying to your asks at the start of next week! Also, do Americans use electric kettles? Sincerely, someone who lives in England.

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

Bucky shot awake. He shuddered, trying to bat away the lingering visions of his nightmare that clung to him like a drenched blanket.

He found his lungs grasping for air with panic gasps as his eyes darted around the bedroom. The shadows casted by the starlight filtered through the curtains took shapes that made his heart race. For a split second, he thought he wasn’t in his apartment anymore. He was back in the Siberian Hydra lab, cold metal restraints nipping into his skin. He heard his handler’s voice speaking Russian, echoing the room with his old trigger words.

He forced himself out of this terrified state, grounding himself in reality. His chest was heaving, his eyes were bleary. Instinctively, his hand reached for the space next to him. 

It was empty.

You weren’t there.

A wave of panic crashed over him, and this was far more constricting than the terror of his nightmares. His heart started pounding more violently in his chest. His fingers grazed the sheets where you should have been. You had at least been gone long enough for the pillows to grow cold.

He could feel his pulse in his veins, each beat hammering the insides of his skull. His mind spiralled uncontrollably, thoughts feeding off the remains of the nightmare and twisting them into something much worse.

Had you left him? 

What did he do? 

Had he driven you away?

Was this it?

Bucky hastily threw off the covers, sprawling it all on your bedroom floor. He stumbled out of bed, mind clouded with fear and panic. The apartment was eerily quiet— too quiet for him to handle on his own. Too quiet for his overwhelmingly loud thoughts.

He waded through the hall as if he was four feet deep in muddy waters, his bare feet softly thudding against the floorboards. The faint sound of water boiling reached his ears. His breath hitched, his heart racing.

Emerging into the open space, his eyes darted around the dark living room, his gaze finally landing on the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He walked towards the kitchen.

There you were.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, the other resting on the kettle. You were so beautiful. So perfect, compared to him.

You looked lost in thought, your posture relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him, though you were unaware.

Bucky’s feet stayed where he was for a moment, as if ice had frozen over him. Relief washed over him so fast that it nearly knocked all the air out of his lungs. 

You were here. You hadn’t left. 

The relief was quickly replaced by the gnawing ache of guilt, the kind that made his chest feel tight and his head swim feel like it was underwater. He’d thought you were gone, and the mere thought of it had sent him into a spiralling depth. How pathetic.

He couldn’t help it. He constantly felt like teetering on the edge of losing you. Like every day with you was borrowed time. Like he had already stayed his welcome. Like he wasn’t worthy of holding you in his arms.

Perhaps the reason he was so jaded sometimes, was that he was sure you’d wake up and realise he was too broken, too damaged. 

When he played this scenario in his head, you’d walk out the door, leaving him a shell of the man he is now. He thought about it more that he’d care to admit.

His heart was still pounding in his chest as he moved closer to you. His footsteps were slow and uncertain. Your eyes lifted to meet his stormy blue ones as he entered the kitchen, your brow furrowing in concern when you saw his pale, shaking face.

"Bucky?" your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. 

He shivered a bit, unable to form words for just a second. The ache in his stomach and the ball in his throat made it impossible to speak. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame curling a painful knot in his core. 

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” he finally muttered, struggling to get every word out, as if he was swallowing glass. “I thought…” He trailed off, the rest of the sentence too painful to say out loud. Instead, small sobs escaped his lips.

You set the mug down on the counter and closed the distance between the two. Your hand found his arm, your fingers warm against the cool vibranium. 

“Hey,” you said gently, willing your voice to be as soothing as can be, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky’s gaze stayed fixed on nothingness. You could hear his jaw clicking nervously, like a man terrified for his life. 

“I thought you’d left,” he admitted in a cracked whisper, sounding as fragile as he felt. “Thought I’d… driven you away.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice. He sounded like a whimpering puppy, begging to be held.

He had such a raw, vulnerable nature that he tried his best to keep hidden all the damn time. You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as he allowed you to. You needed him to know you were never letting him go.

At first, his body was frozen like a petrified statue— he wasn’t sure he deserved the comfort. But slowly, his muscles relaxed under your touch.

“I’m right here, darling,” You whispered. Your words were firm but gentle. “I’m always right here.”

He let out a shaky breath. His forehead dropped to rest against the top of your head, breathing on your scent— the scent that always brought him a sense of calm. “I don’t… I don’t know why I keep thinking you’ll leave.”

“I’m not.” You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m not,” you repeated again, hoping that if you said it enough times, he’d finally believe it.

The sincerity of those two simple words made his throat tighten, his chest constricting under the weight of emotions he had always struggled to fully process. He had never ever wrapped his head around how you could stand here, looking at him—someone so broken and damaged—with such gentle desire. He had never believed he deserved it.

But he wanted to believe, to trust that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he always feared. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t going to leave him behind like he feared you would.

The faint shimmer of tears fractured the soft kitchen light. He was at a loss of words at how you were holding him together, when he couldn't even do it for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I keep putting you through this.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with his. Your grip was warm, It was reassuring and steady. “Don’t be,” you said softly. You could tell that he had a nightmare. You learned the signs— the shaking, the sweating. The look of restlessness despite being asleep for the last several hours. “You just had a rough night.”

Bucky trembled against you, feeling him unravelling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was short and it came in shaky bursts. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and heavy, soaking into your skin. They started quietly, a gentle release, but soon turned into shuddering sobs that echoed against the kitchen counter, the walls, the floors.

His grip tightened, fingers twirling into the fabric of your shirt as if you were his anchor in this reality. Each sob was raw, steeped in guilt and in the fear of losing you.

No matter how vulnerable he felt, he knew that in your embrace, there was no judgement. You held him tighter, whispering soft reassurances and sweet nothings— promises that you’d stay with him forever and ever. Until the end of time. Until your heart gave out.

“Do you want hot chocolate, too?” you asked softly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a small laugh, your words a shocking catharsis, bringing him out of the spiral. 

Oh, you always knew how to say the right thing at the right time.

He nodded, squeezing your hand one more time, just to reassure himself that you were real, that you weren’t slipping away.

You smiled gently at his quiet laugh, slightly reaching out to turn the electric kettle back on again without letting your grip on him falter.

As the kettle hummed in the background, Bucky held you close, finally convincing himself that no matter how dark the nightmares were, you would always be there when he woke up.

-end

[galaxythixf]

Starter || @ryusokcn The work it takes to wedge themselves in here has frankly become a skill and avoiding any eye contact or sight from guards of the like make it all the more impressive that they haven't passed out due to a lack of stamina but it's likely they're used to it now. Ever since they met Sabo making their way to him every now and again had become somewhat of a habit while paying close attention to avoid any prying local eyes. They were practically a master by now — or they liked to think so. "You awake yet, Princey? Get on wit it, good mornin'!" Hushed rests their tone as they position themselves into a more comfortable space.

"Listen, there's a place down by the wayside I been meanin' to check out. What say you and I do a wee bit of dining and possibly more dashin' — well probably more dashin' — preferably more dashin'." Finlay didn't exactly have the funds to support their schemes more often than not and rather than badger their friend for their wealthy handouts, they usually settled for roping him into their scams, not that he seemed to mind. "Your royal duties can wait until we have a meal or two … or three if we really mean it. I'm not too picky, just hungry."