#but like i’ll be damned if i go to vienna and not have a goddamn wiener schnitzel

[abba-enthusiast]

I’m going on my first real solo trip (that is longer than like. 2 days) and i’m very excited but i also feel like throwing up because I’m definitely leaving my comfort zone(tm) but i’m also so hyped? And i’m kinda terrified of eating at a restaurant alone, it’s almost embarrassing 😭

[st4rlabsforever]

post-episode 3 fix-it

words: 2.9k

notes: i started a long fic based on this post after watching ep 3. i cannibalized some snippets from another fic i wrote last week so if you see similar scenes, that’s why. i think this will end up being 12-15k words endgame sambucky by the end, but i refuse to post on ao3 until it’s complete. this is the first 3 scenes. feel free to comment and message me your thoughts since i’m still very much in the writing phase :)

summary: “It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.”

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

The thing is, Sam is unreadable when it really matters. He offers words of comfort where needed – in Germany, after seeing Walker with the shield that wasn’t his, knowing that it had affected Bucky just as much as himself; in Madripoor, Bucky’s hand on the throat of some henchman or other, Sam’s hand on his when the Soldier’s memories threatened to overtake him; even in Riga, when Bucky’s guilt over releasing T’Chaka’s killer bubbled to the surface and Sam had checked in with him even though he couldn’t have possibly known about Bucky’s meeting with Ayo. Sam speaks with his eyes, always a searching look that leaves Bucky raw and feeling like he’s been x-rayed. I see you, is what those eyes say.

In contrast, Bucky’s words of comfort feel hollow. He knows that Isaiah is still a live wire for Sam, checks in with him after Madripoor when he can tell the conversation with Nagel weighs heavy on his mind. But he doesn’t see the way Sam does. He knows he’d missed something important because that conversation had ended in an argument and a threat from Sam to destroy the shield.

He never gets a chance to ask Sam what he’s getting at, because Torres signals to them that they’re at the drop point before all hell breaks loose.

***

In the end, after Karli and the Power Broker and whoever else decides to show their head from the emporium of supervillains are dealt with and they finally have a moment of peace, Bucky says, “The shield looks good on you.”

Sam freezes a few paces ahead of Bucky, the shield strapped loosely to his wrist.

“We make a good team,” Bucky says softly.

What he doesn’t expect is for Sam to whirl around suddenly. The look of barely restrained fury is enough to nearly knock Bucky off he’s feet. They fight without ever really fighting all the time, squabbles over who went left and who went right and who was supposed to lead and who was supposed to follow, but never has he seen Sam look like this before. The fury verges on hurt and it’s so fucking visceral that Bucky can barely breathe.

“You don’t get to say that,” Sam says quietly. His voice shakes and he closes his eyes like he’s steadying himself.

“I said I’d squash it until the mission was over, and I did. But you know what? I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Sam–”

“You don’t get to tell me what a good team is. Not after all the shit we just went through. You invited yourself to Munich, and I thought, ‘Fine. I could use the extra set of hands.’ We went through it together against Thanos and I respected that.”

Sam shakes his head. “But then you went off on some lone wolf woe-is-me bullshit, and look at where it got us. You broke Zemo out without even asking if I was down with that. You knew I wasn’t and you forced my hand. Now I’m an accomplice.”

“He was our only lead–”

“Bullshit. That field trip to Madripoor led us right back to Karli. Torres ended up tracking them to Riga anyway.”

“But the Power Broker–”

“–showed his ugly face in the end. All we got out of Madripoor was you digging up your trauma and us getting our faces plastered all over the internet. I promised Sharon one goddamn thing and I can’t even deliver on that now.”

“But I went along with it, fine,” Sam continues. “I knew it couldn’t have been easy reaching back into that headspace, doing what you did to Selby’s men.” The memory blindsides Bucky. “So I tabled it.” Sam taps out a tally with his fingers. 

“And back in Baltimore, you’d been too keyed up about Steve being wrong about you to even listen to what I had to say. Again, I tabled it.” Another tally. 

“I’ve been meeting you halfway this entire time, man, and I’ve gotten near nothing in return. You kept Isaiah a secret from me, and at first I thought you were just clueless about how damn significant it would’ve been for me to know about him.” Sam shakes his head. 

“But then we met him. You saw what they did to him. The one Black supersoldier – a fucking hero – and look what they did to him. You saw it with your own eyes and you still sat there and lectured me about what you thought I should’ve done with that goddamn shield.” 

“There’s precedent for it, you know,” Sam says. It takes Bucky a moment to realize Sam is expecting an answer.

Bucky doesn’t know, is the thing. He feels like he’s all of five years old again, put on the spot. He’s reminded of when Zemo just had to let him know about the African American experience; he’d felt chastised and embarrassed enough to pretend like he’d had any clue what themes lurked in Marvin Gaye’s work. Sam just searches him with those eyes, searches Bucky for something yet unfathomable and decides he hasn’t found it. That hurts more than anything else; Bucky wishes he could sink into the ground, make himself as small as possible. Sam doesn’t notice, or else doesn’t care, and just plows on with a scoff. 

“You don’t even know the true history of the country you’re living in. Figures.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ever going to be able to separate the shield from the history Black folks have endured at the hands of this country. Not now, not ever.”

Sam doesn’t even look angry anymore. Angry, Bucky can deal with. It would be a relief, even. 

Instead, Sam looks at him with a disappointment that somehow surpasses what Steve could have ever accomplished.

“Whatever. I tabled that, too,” Sam says. “And then after Madripoor, after we heard that doctor go on and on about Isaiah’s blood like he wasn’t even a real human-being? I said my piece and all you did was throw that shield bullshit back in my face.”

“Sam–” Bucky tries again. He’s mortified to hear the crack in his own voice.

“It’s honestly breathtaking,” Sam says with something that might be akin to genuine wonder, or maybe even morbid curiosity in his voice. “We saw the same things in Baltimore and Madripoor, but your head was so far up your own ass that you never once stopped to think all of it was just proof to me. That the shield in the hands of a Black man wouldn’t make any damn sense.”

It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.

Sam’s not even done yet. “And that’s another thing. Stealing the shield from Walker…” Sam rolls his eyes at the memory. “You want to run around with that giant frisbee, fine. That’s your business. But then you forced it on me–”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky says immediately. Desperately. “You didn’t have to accept it.”

“The whole damn country was watching,” Sam says hotly. “It was either accept it, or shit all over Steve fucking Rogers’s legacy and make myself into the villain half the country was already hoping I’d turn out to be.”

“You were dead wrong for that,” Sam says. “I stuck around until we took down Karli because it was the right thing to do. After Munich, though, this little adventure was all you. Zemo, Madripoor, the shield.”

Sam shoves the shield into Bucky’s arms, the impact so sudden that it forces him back a step.

“Since you’re so obsessed with this thing, it’s yours. Congrats,” Sam says sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ll do it proud.”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam says, “Steve might not have understood everything about me. But in Vienna, when it came time to sign the accords? He was considering it. I put my foot down first and he listened.”

Sam shrugs. “Whatever you thought we were, it's not a team.”

Bucky knows where to drive the knife in to kill a man in as few twists of the wrist as possible – a brutal economy of movement and technique. But Sam...it pales in comparison to what Sam’s capable of. His weapons aren’t knives and his targets may not be made of flesh and blood, but he knows exactly where he needs to strike to rip Bucky open raw. Bucky feels like he’s been flayed alive.

“How about that long vacation?” Sam says, and claps Bucky on the shoulder. 

And we’ll never have to see each other ever again goes unsaid.

Fuck.

***

The thing about ignoring Sam’s texts was that Bucky responded if they were actually important. It just so happened that most of the nonsense Sam sent was inane prattling about his day, about his job, his sister, his nephews. Now that he’s on the receiving end of it, though, it feels awful.

3/25/21, 2:58 AM

I’m sorry.

Delivered

3/28/21, 1:51 AM

Can we talk?

Delivered

3/31/21, 3:05 AM

Let me know what to do and I’ll do it.

Read 3:34 AM

4/1/21, 12:42 AM

Or if there’s anything you need.

Read 1:05 AM

Yesterday, 1:00 AM

I’m available if you need another body for a mission.

Read 1:02 AM

A week into the admittedly one-sided exchange, Sam turns his damn read receipts on. It’s ridiculous and it’s fucking asinine and it gets under Bucky’s skin immediately. It’s a form of twenty-first century psychological warfare that he’s unfamiliar with and already can’t stand. Mainly, he hates that it makes him seem desperate (he’s not), needy (he might be, especially when he realizes with horror that he actually misses Sam’s rambling texts), and ridiculous (he definitely is, because he’s letting petty mind games get to him).

Normally, Sam would send him nearly daily updates on his comings and goings – whether he’d been in New York, D.C., or New Orleans. The radio silence is unsettling. Bucky wonders if Sam made good on his promise to take a long vacation. And then....

The thing about apologies is that Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever done a proper one in his entire life, at least nothing beyond a rote “I’m sorry” with the “let’s move on” part left unspoken. But it stands to reason, Bucky thinks, that a proper apology can’t be given if he’s not completely certain what he’s dealing with. That’s all well and good because he’s got the world at the tips of his fingers, is what Yori always said. And when he grows frustrated with reading on his tiny phone screen, the New York Public Library is only a train ride away.

Sam had mentioned precedent, so Bucky’s first search is for medical experimentation. He knows for a fact he was good at this once, a memory of Steve whining about him being too good at exams coming up unbidden. He reads voraciously. Anything and everything that might offer a clue on what he’d missed. And it doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for. 

He reads with dawning horror. The Tuskegee syphilis experiments. Eugenics. God, the fucking Nazis had even modeled their race science on the American school of thought. The things that the history books left out. Some of it was even happening under his nose in the 30s, he’d just been blissfully unaware. He somehow ends up down a rabbit hole where words like `prison industrial complex’ and `school-to-prison pipeline’ make increasingly more persistent appearances. New Jim Crow. COINTELPRO. War on drugs. The way all of these horrors reached their long arms into the twenty-first century.

Bucky’s going to be sick. The memories come up one after another.

Just give him your ID so we can leave.

You think you can wake up one day and decide who you want to be? It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.

So you’re telling me that there was a Black supersoldier decades ago and nobody knew about it.

This is what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to come here in your over-extended life and tell me about my rights.

The shield wasn’t yours to give away.

He spends the next week in his downtime reading. With the mission being over and his parole in jeopardy, his downtime mostly coincides with every day of the week.

Had Steve known?

No, he thinks. Steve was compassionate, but he wouldn’t have known because he’d taken one look at the problems of twenty-first century America and decided he’d had enough. Then he’d ran back to the 40s to live out some fantasy that simply didn’t – couldn’t – exist anymore. Had he eventually become aware of all the issues plaguing this country that they’d been able to ignore as starry-eyed kids in Brooklyn? Bucky hopes not, because that would mean he’d...no. 

A part of Bucky thinks he’s so surprised because he’d thought things – race relations, civil rights, not things, his brain amends – had been getting better in the 40s. Deep down, though, he knows that’s a lie. A 2 AM read through Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States confirms it. Shady politicians. Klansmen who went back to their day jobs as cops, judges, firefighters. Mass incarceration taking its place as the new king on the throne of segregation. Evidently, 

There had been plenty of folks – white folks – raising an uproar about these hidden horrors back then. The seeds of those movements had even been there in the 30s. Bucky tells himself that he’d been raised during the Great Depression, that his family had been too focused on putting food on the table to focus on social movements, but that, too, ends up being a lie. The poorest and working class whites – some, at least – in movement and solidarity with civil rights. Not him, though. Apparently he’d had his head up his ass back then, too.

Bucky can see the bigger picture a tiny bit more clearly, now. 

Fine. So he’s been disarmed of the little lies he’d used as shields, and he also owes Sam one hell of an apology.

Somehow, he doesn’t think “I’m sorry, I was ignorant then but I read some books and now I know better” is going to cut it. Maybe a commitment to do better would work? Perhaps after Baltimore, but not now. That ship had long since sailed. Some grand act of service, then? He’s sure he can think of something Sam needs in this post-Blip world that he can provide. He vaguely remembers Sarah mentioning something about a ship and bank loan. That could be a starting point.

It doesn’t take much time to find the public records on the Wilson family business and then the not-so-public records on the denied bank loan. It wouldn’t take much for him to pry a little, not when seedy bankers were astonishingly amenable to the threat of violence. But he’s reminded of Zemo and figures that he ought not to do anything so drastic that could jeopardize Sam’s family situation further.

He snorts. Did growth that came several months late still count?

In the end, he decides to rip the bandage off quickly, which is how he finds himself in the sticky Louisiana heat with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring back at an incredulous Sam through his open door.

“I did some reading recently,” Bucky says. 

“Hmm.”

It’s not outright refusal, so Bucky continues.

“About, um, the things you mentioned last time. Precedent.”

“Huh.”

For someone who’s normally so expressive with his language, Sam’s one-word answers as nerve-wracking as anything.

“I didn’t fully appreciate the situation that you were in. That you’re still in,” Bucky amends.

Sam shrugs. “It’s cool,” he says in a way that doesn’t sound like he really believes it. Bucky wonders if this is a test; he feels just as lost as he did on that plane a week ago.

“Let’s do this outside,” Sam says, closing the door behind him and ushering Bucky away from it. “Walk with me.” 

They head down to the pier mostly in silence until Bucky breaks it. “I’m sorry for making it all about me,” he says.

Sam stares at him. It’s true Bucky might stare a little too much on occasion, but Sam’s stares are utterly unnerving in the way he seems to see right through Bucky when he really wants to, like he’s already mapped out all there is to know.

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part seven

Okay I feel like this is where the story gets a little CRAZY because I’m deadass ignoring canon from here on out. Who is canon? We don’t know her 

Anywho, I’m thinking this might have two or three parts left? I’m shit at estimating but this story is almost done :(

Warnings: I mean. Just the general stuff that’s been happening. More angst, because apparently they haven’t suffered enough

The Soldier sneaks the four of you out to some abandoned building. It’s strange, the way the Soldier acts. He’s cold and dry, a contrast from Bucky’s rollercoaster of emotions. The Soldier is quite literally a machine, and that’s exactly what you feel.

He never moves unless he senses you’re right there with him, and his steps even faltered once when your hand slipped as you were adjusting your grip. The Soldier doesn’t talk much at all, and it lacks any and all emotion, again, unlike Bucky.

You feel disgustingly traitorous gripping his arm and bicep like this, holding him so close, but you remind yourself that you don’t have another option right now.

Steve keeps sending glances your way, more frequently now that Sam is walking on his own and fully awake again. Sam is the lookout as usual, but Steve sends a sympathetic -- or is it pity? -- look your way every time you look to make sure they’re still following.

The building the Soldier takes you to looks like an old warehouse of sorts, with heavy machinery all rusted and scattered around. It’ll do the trick.

You slip your hand from his, letting go of his arm. The Soldier looks up at you, expectant, curious, waiting for his next orders. You try to keep your tears at bay when you look into his blue eyes. They’re Bucky’s, but they’re...not. He can’t stay this way.

Steve stands to your left, waiting to see what you’re going to do. It’s another long shot, but considering the other one worked, you might as well try this.

“Soldier,” you breathe shakily, feeling worse about this situation in general than anything else. “I’m ordering you to give Bucky control. Can you give him back to me?”

The Soldier nods, but doesn’t seem happy about it. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you clench your jaw, using all of your strength. “Do whatever you need to do.”

The Soldier nods once more. He sits down on the ground, legs outstretched. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes. You’re not sure if he’s passed out, but it looks like it, his shoulders slumping and head dropping to one side.

You feel the Soldier leaving him and you close your eyes, letting out a breath that nearly breaks into a sob. “He’s gone. He’ll be Bucky when he wakes up.” You look over at Steve, tears shining in your eyes. “I’m gonna take a walk. Come get me when you need me.”

“Y/N…” Steve says, but you’re already walking away.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk, hating that you miss the weight of Bucky’s arm around your waist. Hating that the Soldier is gone now, and hating yourself for hating that. The Winter Soldier can’t stay, you know that. The Winter Soldier isn’t Bucky, you know that. So why does this hurt so bad?

At least he would look at you. Hold your waist, hold your hand. The Bucky that’s in there now will insist he doesn’t know you, insist he doesn’t have a soulmate.

You cover your mouth to muffle your sob, not wanting the noise to echo.

You sit against the farthest wall, hidden behind some crane or something. You pull your knees up to your chest again, resting your chin on your knee as the tears start falling.

Steve told you what he figured out. Someone framed Bucky somehow because he wanted Bucky to be caught. He has no idea why anyone would want that, or how they got Bucky’s face to frame him, but he knows Bucky didn’t bomb Vienna.

You didn’t have the energy to tell him that you told him so at the time. You were too focused on savoring the feeling of your hand in Bucky’s, knowing it would be the last time.

You don’t know what the plan is next, but you know whatever it is, you’ll do it. You’ll get Bucky to safety and then you’ll...leave him alone.

It’s what he wants, after all. Even if he is lying about not knowing you, he’s still saying it. You doubt his turning into the Soldier will change anything, even if he protected you while he was the Soldier.

You have no clue why the Soldier said those were his orders -- protecting you. Or why he listened to you. If his orders are to protect you, why didn’t he stay with you that day in D.C.? Why did he run off then?

All of that aside, you need proof that the psychiatrist was posing as someone else. If you can get proof of that, and proof of how he got Bucky’s face, then Bucky is free of the bombing. Getting him free of everything else he did as the Soldier, though, that will be harder.

If he even wants it. He said earlier it was smart, a good strategy for them to come in and kill him. The last thing you want is to do something else to make him more pissed off with you.

But you have to do something.

Tears having subsided for now, you tug the neckline of your shirt down to fish for your object of desire that’s hidden in your bra. You smile when your fingertips connect with the metal, pulling it out.

You slap the device over your wrist. “Buckeye,” you whisper, and the AI comes to life. “I need you to do some digging.”

+++

Steve keeps watch through a small crack in the building. Helicopters circle overhead, no doubt searching for any sign of them.

“Hey Cap!” Sam yells.

Steve trots over with Sam to where Bucky sits, now trying to stand.

“Steve,” Bucky groans.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks cautiously.

Bucky thinks. “Your mom’s name was Sarah.” He pauses, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” he chuckles, the old forgotten memory appearing so vivid now when he looks down at Steve’s feet.

Steve sighs in relief. “Can’t read that in a museum.”

Sam stares at the pair incredulously. “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?”

“What did I do?” Bucky asks. 

“Enough,” Steve replies, refusing to elaborate.

“Oh, God, I knew this would happen,” Bucky mutters. “Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know.’”

“Where is she?” Bucky asks. “Where’s Y/N? I’ll tell you, I just-- Where is she?”

You’re already making your way over, having felt it when he woke. The rush of panic, not knowing where he was but knowing he had turned, and then the relief upon seeing Steve -- and probably also from being out of any restraints with no guns pointed at his face.

“Here,” you call out, making all three heads turn to you. You keep your distance, standing a little further back than Steve and Sam, your arms crossed over your chest. “What’s the plan?”

Bucky speaks before Steve can. “Did I hurt you?”

“Depends,” you say quietly.

He lowers his eyes to the floor. “Physically.”

“No,” you answer, too tired to start a fight. “Quite the opposite, actually. You wouldn’t let me walk two steps without you next to me.” You pause, shrugging. “Don’t sweat it. I know it wasn’t you, so. You can go back to insisting you don’t know me.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I know it’s a lot to deal with right now.” 

Sam nods, urging Bucky to continue. “She’s here. Keep going.”

Reluctantly, Bucky does. “The doctor… He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?” Steve questions.

You can feel it inside of Bucky. The dread. You have a suspicion of his answer before he even says it.

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

“There’s more of you?” You blurt, half panicked and half disbelieving. 

Bucky nods silently.

“Who were they?” Steve asks.

“Their most elite death squad,” Bucky continues. “More kills in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam nods at Bucky. “They all turn out like you?”

“Worse.”

“This doctor,” Steve says. “Can he control them?”

“Not right now he can’t,” you mutter.

“What?” Steve asks, turning his head to you. Sam shifts against the wall, uncrossing his arms.

“Well, since we’re getting secrets out of the way today,” you raise your wrist and tap the device. Above it appears a hologram, showing hospital footage. You ignore the looks of shock coming from every man around you. “That’s our guy. Colonel Helmut Zemo. He’s Sokovian. And currently in a coma.” You glance at Bucky, but he looks away. Sighing, you lower your arm, the hologram disappearing. “I’m gonna contact Tony. Say I lost you guys somewhere but that I know the truth about the doctor.”

Steve frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do,” you nod. “At the very least it’ll give you guys time to get the hell out of here if they aren’t willing to help. But I am gonna try to get this cleared up. I’ll call you.”

“Woah,” Sam stops you, holding out his arm. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

“Stole it from Tony,” you chuckle. “It was broken, but I fixed it. I needed something to help me out since I was gonna be alone.” You pause, looking to your soulmate. “His name is Buckeye.”

Without another word or glance back to see if Bucky is looking, you turn on your heel and begin jogging to the exit point of the building.

Sam shakes his head. “That woman pulls something new out of her sleeve every damn day.”

Steve watches Bucky’s expression turn from sorrow to pain to longing in a matter of seconds.

“Why’d you say all that stuff earlier?” Steve asks. “That you didn’t know her, didn’t have a soulmate. I saw your journal. You still dream about her.”

Bucky looks down again. “She’s better off without me.”

“Did you ask her that?”

The question causes Bucky to meet Steve’s eyes again. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Because she thinks you don’t want her,” Steve replies, remembering how hard you cried in the office. “Any other girl would’ve went running in the other direction after D.C., but she didn’t. Buck, she’s been holding out hope for the past two years that she’d see you again. And then when she did, you said you didn’t know her. How do you think that makes her feel?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky says, still fighting it, despite the fact that he knows exactly how it makes you feel. He feels it, too. “I wasn’t even in Vienna, and look at all this. It’ll only get worse. I can’t put her through that.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “This girl jumped off buildings for you today. You aren’t putting her through anything. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“A lot tougher,” Sam chimes, reminding the pair of best friends that he’s still there. “After today, man I would not want to get in a fight with that woman.”

Bucky laughs a little, but it dies out. “She’s mad at me.”

“She’ll forgive you,” Steve says, like he’s sure of it. “She already has, I think. She wouldn’t be helping us right now if she hadn’t.”

“He’s got a point,” Sam nods.

“She looks exactly like your drawings,” Bucky murmurs, looking up at Steve. “Got the hair wrong, though.”

“Really wrong,” Steve chuckles. “I met her at a museum. She was standing in front of the part they have for you.”

“She knew it was me?”

Steve nods. “Said she found out when her friend took her there. Seeing your face made it all click.” He pauses to shrug. “I don’t know how she did it. I mean, we thought you were dead three years ago.”

“I thought she would’ve moved on.”

“She won’t,” Steve says quietly. 

Bucky hears the underlying meaning. You won’t move on -- with him in your life or not. There will be no moving on. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to let him go.

+++

The first thing that Tony Stark says when he answers his phone is not, “Hello,” or “Are you okay?” It’s--

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you mutter, kicking a rock underneath your feet. You tucked your AI device back into your bra a moment ago. “I ditched the guys a while ago, been trying to get a hold of you since.”

“Where did you ditch them?”

“Hell if I know,” you reply. “I was too pissed off to look. But hey, where’s the psychiatrist?” You try your best to play dumb, not in the mood to tell Tony about your (his) AI device. Not yet, at least.

“At the hospital. He was beaten up pretty badly. Unconscious. Possible coma.”

“Gotcha. Have Friday look into him.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not who he says he is.”

“Uh, can I get more information?”

“Can you give me a ride?” You ask impatiently. “And can you get Everett to listen to me about this? Secretary Ross, too?”

“Done and...maybe.”

“Whatever. Just get here.”

“I’ll have Friday start looking into it. And we’re almost there.”

“Thanks,” you exhale. “Where are you?”

No sooner than the question leaves your mouth, a black car pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down to reveal Tony in the passenger seat and Natasha driving. She looks...pissed.

You hang up the call and climb in the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for calling,” Tony replies, sounding like he means it for once. “So, Helmut Zemo?”

“Who?” You keep up the act. 

“Friday did facial recognition on the guy. His name is Helmut Zemo. He’s not a psychiatrist. Or German. He’s Sokovian.”

After having time to give it extra thought, you recall something. “Isn’t that the country you guys wrecked?”

Tony glares at you in the rearview mirror. That was clearly a sore spot. “Yes.”

“Only asking because now we know his motive, dumbass,” you roll your eyes. “Have them check his hotel room.”

“Why?”

“You wanna know more about a guy, you look at where he sleeps. Since he’s obviously not a German psychiatrist, we need to look at his hotel room. Gotta sleep somewhere when you’re out of town.”

“Getting the address now,” Tony sighs. “Friday, send this over to Secretary Ross and Deputy Task Force Commander Ross. Tell them we’re going to the hotel and to have police meet us there.”

Natasha flicks the sirens and lights on the car -- your first real sign that you’re in an undercover government vehicle -- as she floors it to the address Tony uploaded.

+++

As expected, the hotel room reveals exactly what you need it to.

Dr. Theo Broussard is found dead in the bathtub, a sight that makes you hurl into the toilet. You quickly flush and leave the bathroom, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Of all the things you’ve seen and done today, of course, it had to be a dead body that makes you puke.

Tony eyes you worriedly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you exhale, actually feeling better. “What else is here?”

A police officer speaks up, his gloved hands holding what looks like skin. “Facial prosthetics.” He places them down and together, and your gaze hardens.

“Who does that look like to you, huh?” You tap Tony’s arm.

The realization dawns on Tony’s face and he closes his eyes, muttering, “Shit.” Because he sees it perfectly. That’s Bucky’s face.

That’s so twisted, you think. What the hell kind of person does this?

Secretary Ross enters the room with the look of a man who hates being wrong. You’ll feel great pleasure rubbing it in that you’re right.

After he takes everything in, the dead psychiatrist, the prosthetics, Zemo’s identification, and on and on, he comes to you and Tony.

“We have some things we need to discuss.” He says it with his eyes on Tony, but you are having none of it.

You smile sweetly, humming. “I think we do, Secretary.”

[imwcrkingonit]

Prompt: “How about Ethan accidentally revealing his feelings for Benji in a moment of panic, not thinking that those feelings can be mutual?” Requested by: @snovyda

“Benji, no.”

“I’m not debating this, Ethan.” Benji’s voice was firm, much like the canal boat in Vienna. There was nothing of the usually sweet and gentle Benji in that tone, but only sharpness and determination. It was still so alien to Ethan, even though he knew that Benji was strong, changed... Yet still the same person he had come to care about so much.

Slowly, Ethan stepped across the safehouse towards Benji, his green eyes narrowed but showing a mixture of anger and fear. “Benji... If you go to this meeting, they will realise who you are, and they will kill you.” That was certain to him. Sure, there was the small chance that Ethan could be wrong, but all of their intel indicated that a known enemy of IMF would be at this meeting, and with the technology for masks out of commission, Benji would be walking into the meet face first and if that enemy recognised him... It would all be over.

Benji shrugged his shoulders as he pulled his suit jacket on. “Never stopped you before-”

Ethan cut him off by grabbing both of the younger man’s shoulders, forcing him to face him. He stared directly into Benji’s eyes as he fought down his anger.

“Stop it. Christ, Benji, that’s not fair.”

“No, Ethan, it’s totally fair. What gives you the right to behave like a bloody mad man on a regular basis, and then tell me I can’t do my job?” Benji was furious. He was the one to do this, he was the one making the choice. Not Ethan.

“Benji-”

“I’m not listening to this, Ethan.” Benji shook himself free and moved across the room to retrieve his briefcase. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I love you!” Ethan blurted out the words without even thinking about them, hating how cliche it was. Even though Benji had his back to him, Ethan could see the way the other man froze on the spot, and instantly, the agent regretted it.

“You what?” Benji slowly turned around, a look of shock on his now softened features. Ethan sighed, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he attempted to figure out a way to respond. There was no going back from this, he had potentially ruined their friendship and angered Benji in the process.

“I love you, Benji...” he began, hand dropping back to his side in defeat. “I’ve loved you for years... And I don’t want to lose you tonight. Not when I’ve been too goddamn scared to tell you how I feel.” He was met with silence, and it left Ethan with major concerns that his worst fears had been realised. “Look, I know you probably don’t feel the same- I mean, of course you don’t. And I don’t expect you to say anything, but please.... Please, don’t-” Ethan was taken aback by the fact that Benji had suddenly approached him and cupped his face in his hands.

“Shut up.” Benji muttered, before their lips met in a firm, passionate kiss. Ethan tensed initially, eyes still open as the other agent kissed him, however it did not take long for shock to subside and he melted against Benji. It was only when the sound of Luther clearing his throat drifted into the room that they broke apart, and the two turned to see their friend stood in the doorway, looking rather smug.

“About damn time.” Luther commented, shaking his head. “It’s time, Benji. We gotta go.”

Benji nodded towards Luther and glanced back to Ethan. “I’ll be fine. I have you two watching out for me. Nothing’s gonna happen.” He was pleased, not to mention relieved, when Ethan nodded.

“Yeah. Youll be fine.” Ethan agreed, giving Benji’s hand a light squeeze. “Besides... We have to do that again.”

[dismalzelenka]

20 Questions

@buttsonthebeach tagged me in the getting to know you meme, but since I did that one recently I took the liberty of breaking the rules and finding another tag meme to answer instead. >:Dc

1. One thing you would change in your personality?

The constant undercurrent of social anxiety that renders me completely unable to speak coherently at the worst possible moments. I would love to have steady employment, social anxiety. Please stop cockblocking my job status. :^)

2. What is your DA rare pair?

MARIAN HAWKE AND RALEIGH SAMSON

GO RAID MY AO3, MY KIRKWALL TRASH HEAPS ARE WAITING

Sweetest Downfall

Arms Around the Past

3. A song that made you cry?

Passage by Vienna Teng. I've never had a song get me completely unglued on the last six words before this.

4. The best movie ever?

Love, Actually.

Fight me.

5. Food you will never eat?

C I L A N T R O >:(

6. Your celebrity crush?

Felicia Day. Mark of the Assassin DESTROYED me. 😅

7. Your favorite DA location and why?

Vigil's Keep. Because like. You're the head dumpster fire, in charge of recruiting more dumpster fires, and also you're apparently running an Arling that you never asked for and you have to deal with all these shitty nobles all the time but YOUR DUMPSTER FIRES are all right there beside you and you have the best papa dumpster fire ever who kicks nobles out of your dumpster fire house when you're tired of partying and basically it's this tiny fucked up little family and you all stumble down to breakfast in the morning in various states of hung over except for that one dwarf guy who's probably still drunk, you eat your eggs and toast in cranky silence, and then you go be big goddamn heroes.

....I really loved Awakening ok. Fite me.

8. You’re a night or a morning person?

I'm like a "night but the part of night where it's technically morning right up til morning" kind of person.

9. You have any tattoos?

Yus.

Nobody sigil from Kingdom Hearts wrapped in a treble clef between my shoulder blades.

A design of Helios on my left upper arm with "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken" underneath it because House Martell prideeee.

The Arabic word for "cat" on my left forearm, drawn to look like a cat.

I'm saving up for a griffon tattoo and maybe a stylized one of "can I get you a ladder so you can get off my back?" :3

10. How many languages you speak?

Fluent in English. Can understand Korean fairly well, but can't speak it quite as easily. Basic fluency in Italian. I can read it much better that I can speak it.

11. Where would you most like to visit?

The mountains in South Korea. I was born there and I've only ever been back to Seoul and a village on the outskirts where my grandparents lived. I want to spend like a week or so out there under the stars. ❤️

12. What’s the best book you’ve read?

The Poisonwood Bible.

So I was forced to read this in high school. And I went to a Baptist high school, so of course when I saw this summary of it I immediately went "oh fuck no."

"The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver, is a bestselling novel about a missionary family, the Prices, who in 1959 move from the U.S. state of Georgia to the village of Kilanga in the Belgian Congo, close to the Kwilu River."

Like. I was FULLY prepared to grit my teeth and spark notes another goddamn glorified colonialism story.

And then I read the damn thing.

And y'all this book is FUCKED UP. That missionary family? It's told from the POV of all of the daughters as they watch their father get more and more fanatical and abusive, as they struggle with culture shock, NONE of them wanted to be here, the majority of them slowly start to lose their faith and abandon their religion.

One of the girls is very clearly neurodivergent, but she's not really written as a character you're supposed to feel sorry for, and she's a total badass.

It has its problematic elements, but I think the fact that it's now seared indelibly into my brain is because I was 100% expecting a fucked up pro missionary story and ended up finding a story of the shit that happens to everyone else in the periphery of said pro missionary stories.

Was incredibly surprised to have read this in my AP Lit class at a Baptist high school, but goddamn, it shook me.

13. Who is your favourite BioWare character?

A N D E R S

Anders is my boy. I will ride or die for Anders. Anders was right. Fuck the Chantry. F I T E M E.

Bonus: fine Dwarven crafts, direct from Orzammar

14. Who’s your least preferred BioWare character?

Going to stick to Dragon Age because I'm too tired to rummage through my brain for other fandoms. And there's so many people I hate in Mass Effect. Hah.

Anyway. Livius Erimond kind of grinded my gears a lot, so much so that in my first mage playthrough I pissed off a ton of people and made him Tranquil. Like. My entire inner circle disapproved, it was fucking amazing. I'll never be able to make myself do it again because I felt so dirty after that I literally had to pause the game and take a shower, but man. Erimond is really good at pressing buttons.

15. What’s your favourite game?

Dragon Age Inquisition and Mass Effect 3. And Neverwinter Nights: Hordes of the Underdark. Valen Shadowbreath was my first bioware love.

16. What’s your spirit animal patronus?

According to Pottermore it's a dragonfly but I'm pretty sure it's actually a cat.

Going with patronus instead of spirit animal because I've been asked to avoid appropriating that term as someone who is not of Native ancestry, and so I shall. Respect indigenous cultures. ✌️❤️

17. Cake or ice cream?

Fine Dwarven cakes, direct from Orzammar. Preferably almond or Chantilly. :D

18. Dogs or cats?

🐈 Kitties 🐈

19. What was your favourite DA romance?

3 Way Tie (although this could change since I haven't done all of them myself.)

Anders - because his whole arc is just so FUCK THE CHANTRY and he's such a Good Person who is Struggling and at the end of the day he's a soft feathery boy who loves you and cares about making people not hurt anymore and also is into some wild shit in bed and also loves cats. Let's be mentally ill cuddly softs together, Anders, I will give you my everything always, my soft feathery mage boy. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Leliana - soft but stabby song princess becomes the pope and her devoted girlfriend wife swoons quietly through all of it.

Cullen - weirdly enough, I did not expect to enjoy this romance as much as I did. I kind of hated him in the first two games, like when I ran into him in 2 I still hadn't forgiven him for the "KILL ALL THE MAGES" outburst and was just like. "Ugh it's this motherfucker." And then I saw him again in Inquisition and was like WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHITHEAD DOING HERE? HE'S FIRED. FIRE HIM, CASSANDRA.

But then Cassandra never reciprocated my affections, Blackwall yelled at me on the battlements about propriety and we're at war so I dumped him, and then Vivienne turned me down and I was like FINE FUCK ALL Y'ALL I'M GONNA SMOOCH CULLEN OUT OF SPITE.

And then he's all like. "I went through some shit. I said some really fucked up stuff. Also I'm trying to get clean and it's literally killing me but I don't want anything to do with that old life anymore." And the chess scene, and then me getting really personally enraged at all the Orlesians copping nonconsensual feels at Halamshiral and then I woke up one day and was like wow OK this dude's alright, he's even kind of cute, I guess I can-

"marry me?" "OKAY YES."

*shrug* I'm weak.

20. Do you prefer sunshine or are you a winter person?

Sunshine in winter, ideally, but if I have to choose between one or the other, winter.

Anyway. I broke rules, oops. Gonna tag @sasshole-for-rent @suzumicchi @joufancyhuh @laraslandlockedblues @becauseanders @inner-muse @ladymdc @agentkatie @kawakaeguri @a-shakespearean-in-paris @ekoorb03 @lyrium-lovesong @5ftgarden

[apospasis]

☆ﾟ That famous explanatory post ☆ﾟ

I’M FINALLY DOING THIS So, as I said… a well damned ago, I’m writing this to explain my absence and why I couldn’t bring my ass back on here for more than two minutes. I’ll try to be as brief as possible to not bore you with my tedious developments in life, but I’d like to start from the beginning, so from early/mid February if I remember correctly??? anyway, here it goes. EDIT AS I FINISHED TO WRITE: I failed at being brief, so I’ll put this under the cut, thanks A LOT in advance for those who will read! 💘

The time I started to be less and less on this site was about four months ago, and that was because the real, let’s call it, “tough” part of the last high school year began to reveal itself… so yes, the main issue I had was school related: it was when the realisation of the typical “what the hell will I do after” hit me like a rock and I kinda felt desperate because honestly I didn’t know. I had some ideas about university of course, but I did feel that none of them would be the right one, or, even worse, that I wouldn’t be able to enter the university in the first place. To add some salt on the wound, school itself began to enter in beast mode: at the end of January, the subject of “seconda prova” (that is, one of the three written part our graduation exam is composed by) came out, so did the teachers commission, and since basically there were only less than four months left before the end of school, the teachers went crazy to test us and to finish their programs in the best way possible (and it was /February/, you can imagine how May was). So I stopped to stay regularly on my most used social networks (tumblr/twitter), keep in touch with the people I met (s/o to Classicaloid too for the amazing people it allowed me to come to know, I love y’ll), since school took most of my time. Then, March arrived. March represented one of the big turning points: I went for few days with my parents to Venice, to see the university. As said before, to me the choice for the university represented a big “???????” in my head, and even if Venice was a top choice, it remained a dream, both because it is far from where I live and because there was no way my parents (especially my mother, who is pretty strict on the topic) would let me live /alone/ in a so big and different city. So I was SHOCKED when they in primis proposed to book an appointment, and actually go and get some info; of course I had talked about that with them before, but they weren’t all that happy with the choice, so when I heard the news I was jumping on the spot! And, needless to say, I fell in love with the city the moment I put my feet on the lagoon. To talk about the trip itself I should write a whooooole other post, but what’s important is that the meeting went pretty well and after talking with my parents *MORESHOCK* they said there were okay with me taking the entrance test for the uni that was around the end of April! Then another big event happened in March: my godfather took me to Teatro alla Scala to see “La traviata” starring Anna Netrebko: it was my first opera in such an important theatre, and it’s no joke when I say I legit cried at the end of it (I should do another different post for it too, ahah, even, I need to make A LOT of more posts, such as the school trip and the recital, to make up for the whole time - and you all thought you finally got rid of me - ).

April came, so the did our school trip to… Vienna! Magical Vienna (well, we also saw Innsbruck and Graz, but we were in them just for few hours). To me, Vienna was dreamy: I tried to live “the Austrian dream” and in our free time after I had seen the most famous places with my class and the others two, I went for the Musikverein, the Opera House, the Opera Café, the Sacher Café and so on. And trust me, I ate Sachertorte EVERYDAY and I still don’t regret it the tiniest bit. One of the things I liked the most about the city was the incredible organisation about cycle lines! Back in town, my godfather took me again to the theatre to see Thomas Hampson’s recital, and let me say, when he took the sunflower I had thrown him on the stage, I had to slap my face. Anyway, time flew until the day of the entrance exam: since the visit to Venice, I have been preparing it with some logic exercises and with some books that would have helped me for the chosen curriculum; finished it, I was pretty okay about how I did, not 100% sure, but still okay. The following days though, I had a kind of breakdown which resulted in me skipping several days of school and some important tests (at that time it was the end of April, the exam was near and near and things started to get heated about it). My mother was… rightly, angry, but I couldn’t step out of the bed and the more she screamed, the more I curled under the blankets. Somehow (and after a long talk with my doc), I managed to get back on my feet, after all, I didn’t struggle for Venice, for the test to end not being able to finish high school, am I right? So I kicked myself in the butt and went back to school. At this point, we were in May: the first half was more or less “calm” in term of written and oral tests, but you can already imagine the second was pure… hell, but it is the norm, especially for the graduation classes around the country (I think you noticed I cut one evening to be back on here for the final Eurovision night because after all, I had to let our flag fly high). May was also the month the entrance test results came out, and: I passed. I was officially enrolled in Venice university (even if mother tried to bring bad luck until the very last day, lol). I don’t exactly remember how I felt, but I was proud. Just proud of myself for having succeeded in one of the first big “adult steps” in life. And so the desperate search for a roof began: it leaded to a very nice pension in an accessible point of the city. And it was done. Done. My nearest future is there, from September (probably end of August, since I need to learn how to move in the city, ahah) I’ll move and start from zero. Nothing bad for someone who can’t even bring her own keys because her parents still think she will lose them outside, don’t you think?

Test after test, we managed to survive the end of the year, and now here we are: on Monday we’ll have the third and last written test (and most feared by students) of our graduation exam (we had the other two on Wednesday and Thursday), then from Wednesday the orals will begin. Until I completed everything, I /still/ won’t be able to be fully back, since I need to be prepared the most and be in my best shape to make a good impression in front of the commission but here we are. Then again, from the 17th on July I’ll be on holiday with mother, and *adds even more shock* we’ll travel for TEN DAYS around Japan, starting from Tokyo itself! I still don’t know if I can get good internet connection outside places with wi-fi, so I don’t know when I can post here a daily account (… yes, this gargantuan post was supposed to announce my return and I’m saying I’ll be far again, ok, clap clap me) In the end, i just want to say a HUGE thank you to the people who followed me, to the ones who were already here and bore first with my idiotic posts and then with my absence and all the notifications and messages I’m going to catch up again as soon as I’m done with everything, and in general to the amazing people that this goddamned website allowed me to meet and to be friend with. As said, I need to be away for some more time, until the exam in done and I finished sorting the last things out, but you kept waiting for so long that at least an explanation was necessary. And thank you again.

[icespyders]

tagged by @orangelemonmon for the shuffle-your-music thing and my mom won't get out of the goddamn kitchen so i can make my breakfast so IT'S TIME...i'm too lazy to tag ppl so w/e let's go. as is my usual way, i'll also throw down a lyric i like for every song bc i love song lyrics!! let's go

1. "Laura Palmer" - Bastille (This is your racing heart, can you feel it, can you feel it?)

2. "She Really Wants You" - Aimee Mann (She made up some excuse to see you, you said you didn't feel a thing - tired of all the dramas, maybe.)

3. "Never Look Away" - Vienna Teng (If you're out here in the cold, I'll cover you in moonlight. If you're a stranger to your soul, I'll bring you to your birthright.)

4. "Irresistible" - Fall Out Boy (Too many war wounds and not enough wars; too many rounds in the ring, not enough settled scores - I still love the way you hurt me.)

5. "Bruises" - Chairlift (Hot July ain't good to me, I'm pink and black and blue for you.)

6. "Silver Springs" - Fleetwood Mac (Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me. I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me. I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you - you will never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.) (Don't say that she's pretty, and did you say that she loves you? Baby, I don't wanna know.) (So I begin not to love you - turn around, see me running. I'll say I loved you years ago, tell myself you never loved me.) (this is just a gr8 fucking song like damn...it gets me every time)

7. "The Ghost of You" - My Chemical Romance (And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me, for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me.)

8. "Greek Tragedy" - The Wombats (I wanted this to work so much, I drew up our plans on a chart...it's wrong, but surely worse to leave.) (last summer i was in a performance of a greek tragedy and this song always makes me think of one of the lines from it...idk why, it just suits the mood: "lull me to sleep in Hades, for great is this longing")

9. "Battle Without Willpower" - Haikyuu OST (what a good track!!!! goddamn i rewatched the episode this song features heavily in recently and it's SUCH A FUCKING GOOD ONE...my urge to rewatch all of s2 is constantly growing but i have like 15 other things to watch too lmao)

10. "Love Stuck" - Mother Mother (My feelings ran away - I didn't know how to feel them.)

[dandelliongirl]

Anger

and resentment.

I was yelling at people in a meeting today and I have no patience or energy to care about anything. It feels great to be over the hysterical crying phase, although as a side effect I also don’t care about feeding the bunny or making food for myself. Or going to bed on time. Or dressing warmly. I guess this is what they call self sabotage? I mean I’m still doing what I’m supposed to and performing but everything is tiring since 90% of my brain capacity goes to circular thougths and the remaining 10% goes to thinking about how pointless everything is and how I want a medically induced coma.

Wednesday was the worst. I put off my return to the apartment by walking back from the train station slowly. It was the first time in my life that I wished a train ride would never end. I asked my guy to leave the place clean and put his remaining stuff away in a box to be taken up to the attic so that I wouldn’t have to look at it once I got back. Well, turns out he pretty much put all his stuff back into the cupboards and even left his damn pajama pants in the bed. I would like to see him left behind as I leave subtle reminders of myself around every fucking corner. In addition to his stuff being all around the house I found the floors and rugs and sofa were covered in bunny hay and sawdust, the trash wasn’t taken out but rather left on the kitchen floor and the bunny had eaten the strap of my favourite pair of shoes since my guy didn’t feel like watching the fucking pest. (I am probably going to get rid of the bunny in December, taking him in was a huge mistake and I have no interest in his welfare now that he’s destroyed literally everything.) I specifically told my guy that I’d be tired and emotional after my trip and wouldn’t want to start off by cleaning but that’s what I ended up doing while ugly crying. I also ended up bruising my leg from thighs to shins, and hack slashing my wrist with scissors. It’s the first time I’ve actually drawn real blood, I normally just scrape my skin with blunt blades so that it hurts as much as possible but heals quickly without leaving marks. This time I just didn’t care if my wrist got cut off, which was super scary. I couldn’t feel any pain because of the anger and emotional pain I was in. So hey - this started out great. :))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Yesterday the desperation and constant crying turned into anger and resentment towards him for leaving me behind, and equally towards myself for being this fucking pathetic and petty. I just genuinely want him to suffer as much as I’ve suffered - and more. I’m a real fucking disney villain, aren’t I? Waking up this morning I still resent him but mostly just want to keep away from him and build a goddamn ice castle to retreat to and not care about the world or any expectations I myself or others might have on me. Let it go, let it go, that perfect girl is goooonnnneee. I know hating him and isolating myself is a psychological coping mechanism to avoid future hurt and I know avoiding him will be the shittiest thing to do but it’s all I can right now and I’m damn well going to put myself first because WHO CARES. With this much anger inside me and nowhere else to take it out on except my own disgusting body and a damn bunny I’d rather just avoid it. I haven’t felt like crying anymore. I purged my FB of old “friends” and posts from way back when. Debated deleting my profile picture but that might go into the category of seeking attention rather than disappearing. I would’ve deactivated the whole profile if I didn’t need to use Facebook for work. I also unfollowed my guy on there because I don’t want to see any of his stuff. I’ve disabled notifications on most of my WhatsApp groups and I’m debating giving up literally everything - which I won’t do but hey..

I still mostly hate myself for being this childish and abusive and sick and dependent and disgusting. I would’ve loved to be the good girlfriend but turns out I am just too selfish and have no energy to pretend that I’m not deeply hurt. I despise myself for letting myself become so dependent on another person. This is why I should be alone and I’ve said it a million times..

In other news, my business trip went pretty well. I was social, I went out on dinners, I got praised for my presentation and made lots of money, I tried to make connections. I stayed at a hotel by myself for the first time. Vienna was a beautiful city that I definitely want to return to at some point.

Yesterday my friend came over to keep me company, play ACNL and bring me mango tea (man go heh heh) and chocolate. I honestly don’t know what I would do without her. I’ve had other friends offer moral support as well but so far she’s the only one who was there for me. It was awesome not having to be alone on the first critical day. She also told me that as long as I’m feeling /something/ I’m doing good.

Today I went to a morning meeting, came back to grab a quick snack and went to the first showing of our newest apartment purchase with my family. Then we went to get some groceries, and had a nice lunch as a courtesy of the contractor of the apartment. My first warm meal. My stomach is acting up like crazy and I’m tired all the time but don’t give a fuck about going to bed or eating properly. Taking a shower this morning was enough to tire me and make me want to go right back to sleep. I want to take time to distance myself from everything. I don’t feel like doing anything. This post makes no sense but I guess it serves its function of being a stream of consciousness type of way to vent.

I have to keep going and I’m going to push myself through. I went to study Japanese with my friend in the evening and she made a point of telling me how strong I was for going and studying with her in the middle of all this shitstorm. If there is one thing I’ll never do is sabotage my academics because I know I’ll never amount to anything without it anyway. I have to keep trying even if it eventually kills me. I’m sure I’m being over dramatic and in a month from now I’ll be a new independent me but hey right now everything is shit?

If I can get myself out of my huge and lonely bed tomorrow I’m going to clean the house. And put up fall decorations. And light candles. And maybe start MEA or play ACNL or Stardew Valley. And hopefully make an actual meal.

[dynamoverlagracing]

RACE REPORT: LAKE WILDERNESS

It’s been over twenty months (math: almost two years) since my last triathlon, mostly because of moving and finishing grad school and traveling a lot - all good stuff - and so it’s been nice to get back into training and racing. On the return home from a Spring Break vacay I began training intensively, and signed up for a summer’s worth of races, the first being Lake Wilderness. I decided to concentrate on Sprint races because of the comparatively short swimming leg. By minimizing my time in the water, I minimize the minutes lost to the natural swimmers, of which I am not one. Let’s just say I’m getting better, but it’s gonna take awhile. Swimming might very well be that language I learn as an adult - it’s extra difficult but definitely possible with some stubbornness.

Part of the inspiration to improve swimming comes from the beautiful lake in close proximity to where I live. As most triathlon swims are in lakes, learning how to swim in dark, deep water is crucial to getting through the swim part of a triathlon with confidence and energy left. It’s a pretty unusual set of skills, and I didn’t grow up near any large or clean bodies of water to practice in. So, I got home from Vienna, bought a cheap wetsuit, and started doing lake swims with the local triathlon club. I also signed up for a pool pass to the community center, and all in all crammed a ton of pool/lake sessions into the six weeks before Lake Wilderness. The result?

PART ONE: THE SWIM.

Going into the swim portion of the race, I was feeling better than ever. Some easy math will help explain why. In my past triathlon-racing history, I’ve swum a total of two races in open water (WAAT?), and only one with a wetsuit. The first was a very clean, very warm lake swim in a sprint triathlon (Who Tris Harder? at Innsbrook, MO 2008) in which I set bike (48-min 19miler, i.e. 23.5mph average) and run PRs (sub 20-minute 5k, ~6:30s), all at the spry age of 21, annihilating my age group by over eleven minutes and taking 8th Place overall. But the swim. Oh, the swim. I don’t remember it being all that harrowing, but at the beginning, before the national anthem, they announced how this guy at the same race the year before had drowned, and they had a moment of silence for him, etc… Sheesh! I learned later that he had had a heart condition, but you know - no pressure. I had zero lake swimming experience, I assumed I’d just figure it out at the race itself. It wasn’t bad, but I didn’t have a game plan. I splashed my way to a fairly terrible 12:30ish minute 500 meter lake swim, something like 75th out of 150, or 150th out of 300, somewheres about halfway out of everybody that day. Very, very average. The worst part was I got out of the water having expended a shit ton of energy, and, although I subsequently managed a running vault-mount onto the bike out of T1 and a punishing bike-run PR, I have to wonder if I’d have biked an extra mph faster, or come closer to breaking 6:00 mins/mi on the run, had I conserved more energy on the swim.

The second ever time I swam in a lake was at my first and only half-ironman a couple years ago. Plenty of pool swimming in practice but again, no lake experience and zero (read: zip) wetsuit experience until race morning. Not the most brilliant game plan. Once again, I just assumed I’d figure it out. ‘Figure it out’ I did, but my quite slow swim (50 mins for 1.2 miles) put me so far back in the pack that my 21mph-average bike split for 56 miles (2:40) hardly made a difference.

Anyway, fast forward: In the last month, I’ve done more practice lake swims with the local club than I have done swims in any lake ever the past my-entire-life. Really only five or six, total swims in the lake with the group, but that’s still a huge difference. Combine that with the many pool sessions I’ve put in before work each day, and I came to the beach at Lake Wilderness feeling pretty darn good. Maybe not fast, but I had a strategy, I finally had an idea of how triathlon pack-swimming, with sighting and breathing and drafting, etc., worked.

So, back to Lake Wilderness. I got on my wetsuit with 15 minutes to go, got in the lake for some warming up, and then we were called out to corral in the transition area so our timing chips could be activated. Then back onto the beach to tread water as the swim waves were announced. It was somewhat chaotic, as the various-colored swimcaps bobbed to and fro sorting themselves, first the Olympic relays, then the men and women Olympic-distance, then the sprint relays and then finally us. I ended up hanging from the dock by two hands waiting for our turn. Then finally, two minutes until Sprint Men and Women. Then one minute. I released the dock and doggie paddled as close to the starting ‘line’ as possible. With forty-five seconds to go, I decided it would be best to skirt the furthest-left edge of the front dock in order to get some uncluttered water for my swim out to Buoy #1. This worked well. Inevitably I merged with the mass of swimmers about halfway to the buoy, but we were spread out enough that by the time I reached the buoy, I actually had the inside line on it. I kept this line going clockwise from Buoys 1 to 2. Breathing every third stroke and sighting between every other breath, I had a smooth swim to the second buoy, and took the inside line on it as well. On the final stretch back to the beach, which felt kind of long, my stroke rate went up, although I don’t think I was going much faster. Towards the beach, really cooking, I started to think, probably too late for it to matter, that I ought to concentrate at this point on catching and pushing through the water with more efficacy, rather than windmilling like a machine, which is what I felt I was doing. Close in to the beach I tried to swim as far as I could into the shallow water rather than clomp lugubriously through the shallows all the way onto dry land. Up I went when the water was about 1 foot deep, and I felt relatively relaxed, felt like I’d finally figured something out with open water swimming. According to the results I was 35th out of the water, out of approximately 80 people or so. More importantly, I exited with the main clump.

Swim: 400m (maybe closer to 450m?)

Time: 9:08

Rank: 35th

  PART TWO: T1

There’s no easy T1, not for me anyway, not yet. As this season proves to be the first actual “race season” for me, ever (a summer in which I do at least two races per month), perhaps by triathlon #7 or #8 I’ll cruise into T1 feeling so relaxed that I’m not shaking, or (nearly) losing my balance yanking off my wetsuit on one foot. Which is not to say I fucked any part of that up. I think things went well in T1. I had my wetsuit down to my waist almost before I was off the beach, and onto my lil’ towel by the bike I had it off my feet in just a few seconds. No tugging, no mishaps, no excruciating battle with the final leg. This is thanks, I think, to liberal amounts of bodyglide applied to the shins. I won’t forget that. Off I went, still shaky, wearing my hilarious (and unbelievably comfortable) keen sandal (click-in) bike shoes and my Dolan Duk emblazoned Giro Air Attack -

-out to the 13.7 mile bike course, wondering for a split second if my arm warmers would have been a good idea…

 T1: 1:15

Rank: 7

  PART THREE: THE BIKE

Sheesh. Maybe this is the result of not racing for months and months, but goddamn I am not used to rolling courses. I am small and sprightly with narry a roll of fat on me, but damned if this is the kind of course I’m suited for. I swear, if the course were pancake flat I would have crushed 22.5+ mph. Alas, some long ramps, false flats, technical twisty-turny descents, all the kinds of stuff to cause one to sit up out of the aerobars and feather all those watts away… I should remind myself that my bike PR, mentioned above, was on a course of brutal rollers; that what I lacked at this, and my previous sprint (which had a very similarly hilly bike course) triathlon bike was not billy-goat climbing-with-power ability, but a lack of training hours/miles. Before setting my bike PR on a rolling course, I did a 550-mile bike week just before race taper. That’s what it takes to feel like there’s plenty of juice in the legs up and down the hills. That—and the only hills I trained on during my easy-breezy 100mile bike training weeks this time were the super steep stingers from the rail trail up to where I live. Constant rollers are a very different beast, one I hadn’t really trained in a long, long time. In the end, my seemingly unremarkable 20mph bike split put me ahead of a couple dozen people, and I was only passed by two or three others (at least one of whom, I learned at the end of the day, was on a relay team and had no swim or run to worry about). Nonetheless, I would sum up my ride as a cross between this...

...and this:

...I rolled back into transition feeling pretty depleted, with a mind that I was at least back in twentieth place or so (though I had no idea) just based on how crappy I felt and how low my numbers had looked. 

Bike 13.7mi

Time: 42.03

Rank: 7th

  PART FOUR: T2

  What can I say? Shaky onto the bike, shaky off. I racked my bike front-ways by the brake levers like the guys in the 80s triathlon race videos do, slipped on my sockless wonders and visor, and snatched up my race belt. Could still stand to shave 20 seconds off the T2, but I’ll excuse the slowness for inexperience… Like I said, it’s been a couple years…

  T2: 55.5

Rank: 9

  PART FIVE: THE RUN

  Turnover good, stride length bad! I did not expect anything remarkable from the run portion of the race. While my running mileage during 100 mile bike-training weeks (with 4-5x weekly swims) never topped 25 without the intermittent sensation of shin splits and/or plantar fasciitis (probably because I also work on my feet all day…), I felt like my base was okay, but not great. I did not expect any PRs. My last run PR from a triathlon (mentioned above) came a month after setting a run PR in the half marathon (1:27:02) so that’s no surprise. Also, in the last training week before my one week taper for Lake Wilderness I got some fairly severe shin splints, complete with superficial bruising (eew! The lesson: don’t do a slow run on mostly concrete/asphalt in racing flats to “get used to” running in them; ouch!).

  At the Lake Wilderness run segment, I was just hoping to not get passed on my way to…whatever place I was running in. Up the road along the same route as the bikers, I was not feeling great about the course, bored already and with very little in the tank. Somewhere inside, however, I knew the run course wound around the lake, and sure enough only a couple blocks out the course turned down some steps and onto the shaded, tree-lined and unpaved footpath that led around and behind the lake. The path was gorgeous and shaded (though the day was 100% overcast anyway) and did I mention it was unpaved? Sweet, sweet softness. I doubt my speed increased, but my pleasure probably helped me maintain something close to seven flats. I’d have a more accurate read, but I don’t wear a watch all the time (or at all, actually) like so many of those who tri... At one very straight portion of this wooded path I turned and spotted 9th place very far behind, coming down the steps onto the path. Yikes! I swore not to turn back again the rest of the run portion, and hoped this person didn’t have a mean run in them.

  For approximately 1.5 miles of the run course stayed along the footpath which wound around behind the lake, until turning around the lake’s south end and into some neighborhood developments. These were quiet, paved, and kind of hilly. A few rollers, which I navigated with more confidence than I had on the bike, and overall the 3.5 mile course felt more like 2 miles. It was just a really nice run course. I did make one wrong turn, running the length of a cul-de-sac having not spotted the steep 180 degree turn out of the little neighborhood loop at first passing. Oh well – apparently, 9th place, who had gained steadily on me the entire run, was still far enough behind that this slight detour did not affect or scare me into a really dark, painful finishing pace. I was able to pound my way relentlessly over the final mile to a sound finish, with no challenges to my eventual 8th place, and no one in sight. From the beginning of the run course to the end, I think my pace did not change much, but I went from a higher turnover, smaller stride-style run (the triathlon ‘scurry,’ as Michael Lovato calls it, or, as others have put it, the ‘glider’ running style) to a lower turnover, bigger-stride-length running style (‘gazelle’ style). Thank the downhills in the final portion of the run for opening up my stride… Anyway, into the chute I went, very close to cramping in one of my calves. With a chocolate milk and a banana in hand (and finisher medal round the neck) I found my girlfriend—who took awesome footage all day—who told me I was in 9th place – WHAT? That sounded great to me, although I learned when the results were finalized (about an hour later) that I had actually made 8th place. Even better.

  Run: 3.5 miles

Time: 25:34

Rank: 9th

  OVERALL RESULT: 8th Place OA

Time: 1:18:58

I think this qualifies as an early season, rusty...

l’Equipage:

Cervelo P2SL (alu old school - The Shep Sord)

2XU Wetsuit

Zoot Shoes

Keen bike shoes

Giro Air Attack Helmet

Profile Design flight deck

Pearl Izum tri shorts

Custom Tri Top

Dura Ace Components

Fuelbelt Race Belt