#motivating myself to drive out to the gym is so hard

[atleast15lemons]

My hangboarding has gotten super weak. I used to be able to regularly do pull ups on a 20mm and have done them on a 10mm edge. Now I can't even hang off the 20mm one :(

[helixobesity]

I gained a big amount of weight because of feedism but now i’m losing it again. i’m about 40lbs down and realised i have so much loose skin on my body. it’s so hard to stay motivated when i’m not sure i like the loose skin anymore than my big heavy belly…

I’ve been trying to stay healthy and stay way from tumblr but i always find myself back here. I know i don’t want to be a piggy but i feel like it’s just too late to back out now….

Why else would you come back to make the ask piggy~

I know feedism is a lot to commit to, for anyone

Unlike a lot of kinks, it can’t be turned off

It’s more than a fetish, it’s a lifestyle

A way to praise yourself and your fattening body

To eat in luxury

Or as unhealthy as you possibly can

All that loose skin driving you wild, when gaining weight leads to a path of praise and admiration

Gaining weight fills your frame, it keeps you heavy, full and content

A feeling that would take years upon years to build up to if you lost weight instead

But feedism

It means letting go

It means freedom

It means being yourself as you want to be without judgement

Without being looked down on for being largest than those around you

Gaining weight will always exist as an escape for you

It’s an inevitability

No matter how many hours you could hide away at a gym

Or eating as low calorie foods for each meal

Is that really what you want?

Or is that what others want you to do

To make you more like them

At the end of the day, choice is yours

You can keep going, exercising, counting calories

Or

You can be free

And let yourself gain weight

Be a gluttonous piggy as you were meant to 💞

Thank you for the ask~

🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀

[topguncortez]

sometimes i remember why i distanced myself from writing in the tgm fandom

and it’s not for lack of love lemme tell ya that. i love when i get tagged in a fic rec or my old fics get reblogged or i get asks about them.

but it’s cause of the spiteful individuals that make it so hard to find any joy.

i think the true reason i haven’t been able to sit down and write isn’t for lack of creativity (i busted out three 3k+ whump fics in about four hours today) but it’s lack of motivation. why the fuck would i want to share anything when there’s people who actively hate me and tell me how i would be better off dead in my inbox when i literally post about wanting to get a tattoo or going to the gym.

and this isn’t a “woe is me” post cause i could honestly delete this blog tomorrow and have no regrets. all my fics are backed up on a hard drive. but this a post of telling yall why your favorite writers aren’t writing anymore. 

[whentherewerebicycles]

processing some weight gain stuff under the cut

okay. in 18 weeks of pregnancy I have gained 15 pounds, which according to the guidelines I was given is a LOT more than I’m supposed to have gained at this stage. based on my starting weight I am only supposed to gain 15-25 lbs total across the entire pregnancy, which idk people seem to be mixed on whether that’s actually realistic but that is what the doctor says. in the last two weeks I went up 4 lbs, and that was with a terrible cold that totally killed my appetite and made it very easy to not indulge in holiday food (I couldn’t taste anything). I am exercising a little less (30-45 min daily walks instead of 45-75) but not like, SO much less yknow? and I have also been tracking my caloric intake on an app to make sure I’m not going over (although I think my real motivation there is if a doctor gives me a hard time about weight gain I’m going to be like yeah well here’s 15+ weeks of data on my eating habits so you tell ME what’s going on).

the point is that based on a calories in calories out model I shouldn’t be gaining this much weight this fast but I am. that’s just what seems to be happening! so I think I just have to LET GO and accept that my body is going to do whatever it thinks is best to support the pregnancy. I can still make good choices but I need to decouple the choices from the outcomes. or like, I need to accept that my good choices will produce good outcomes (I’ll be eating nourishing food and moving my body regularly!) but those outcomes will probably not include weight loss or a slowing of weight gain. here is what I will continue doing:

meal plan every week—I might want to start thinking about meal planning snacks too esp as I am feeling hungrier during the day

eat lots of fruits and vegetables every day

eat very limited amounts of processed foods and watch out for added sugars

walk briskly for 30-45 min a day

go to this hourlong weights class at least 2x a week (ideally 3x) and tack on 20-25 min of cardio on the bike after

I could also try going to the gym more often to do low-impact cardio—like trying to work in a couple days a week where I do 45 min on the elliptical while watching an episode of TV. I do find that in the past doing a lot of that mindless low effort activity seems to help with weight maintenance and is pretty easy to sustain because I’m just like, as long as I’m moving it counts! I don’t have to be pushing myself super hard! this is probably most doable for me on the weekends (and if I’m at the gym already it increases the chances that I might decide to run too).

ok so here’s a rough plan:

sat & sun: walk dogs (30-45 min x 2) + try to do 30 min x 2 of extra cardio while watching TV at the gym (or when liz is feeling better I can see if she wants to go together or do pregnancy workout videos)

mon & tues: weights class one of those days depending on work schedule + 20 min extra cardio one day + 30-45 min walk both days

wed: 30-45 min walk

thurs: this is my busy/long day with work stuff and rehearsal, but I can usually squeeze in a 20 min dog walk and could try parking far away and walking into work on days when it isn’t raining to get another 20+ min in

fri: weights class + 30-45 min walk

and I gotta remember I can make the walks less boring by 1) driving to a random neighborhood and walking from there and 2) talking to friends on the phone instead of just listening to stuff.

OKAY. the takeaway is: I DO NOT NEED TO FEEL GUILT OR SHAME ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM PUTTING ON A LOT OF WEIGHT. I AM FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT! THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT MY BODY IS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING! I ALSO REFUSE TO LET DOCTORS OR THE INTERNET MAKE ME FEEL GUILTY ABOUT MY WEIGHT, BECAUSE I KNOW I AM MAKING HEALTHY CHOICES THAT ARE GOOD FOR MY BODY, MY BABY, AND MY MENTAL HEALTH. I ALSO WANT TO GENTLY DECOUPLE GOOD/HEALTHY CHOICES FROM SPECIFIC OUTCOMES. EATING WELL AND STAYING ACTIVE THROUGH MY PREGNANCY MAY NOT KEEP ME FROM GAINING “EXCESS” WEIGHT. BUT IT WILL MAKE ME FEEL BETTER IN MY BODY/SELF. IT WILL ENSURE THAT MY BABY IS GETTING LOTS OF GOOD NUTRIENTS. IT WILL HELP ME SLEEP BETTER AND FOCUS MORE AT WORK. IT WILL HOPEFULLY MAKE LABOR AND RECOVERY A LITTLE BIT EASIER TOO! I AM DOING ALL THE RIGHT THINGS AND IT IS OKAY THAT MY BODY IS NOT CONFORMING TO THE PRESCRIBED NORM. I TRUST MY BODY AND ASSUME IT HAS ITS REASONS!!!!!!!!!!!

[official-wonho]

No One Is Doing Kpop Fashion Better (or Sexier) Than Wonho

The crush-worthy idol talks about his new album "Bittersweet," his love of his fans, and his Halloween costume.

“Nightwing cosplay!” Wonho says, excitedly. “My fans recommended that for Halloween, I dress up as Nightwing from DC Comics, so I’m actually searching for a costume.” It’s that happily accommodating charisma — paired with an undeniable talent and unapologetic sexiness — that has earned kpop idol Wonho millions of worldwide devotees.

It’s easy to forget that Wonho (born Lee Ho-seok) is a global superstar when you’re talking to him. Sure, he has that same honey-dipped voice that you’ve heard blasted through stadium speakers and on a million fan-made YouTube compilations. And, yes, those are the broader-than-a-refrigerator shoulders you’ve swooned over on Instagram, but when you’re with Wonho one-on-one, he makes you feel like you’re with a good friend. His warmth and soft-spoken humility is palpable even through a pair of translators and the expanse of time zones between us (when we talk, his late night is my early morning).

Let me warn the newcomers: you are not ready for Wonho’s aesthetic. There aren’t a lot of men who could pull off jeans with thigh cutouts but, then again, not a lot of men are Wonho.

With his stage costumes, Wonho has taken dopamine dressing to a new level: Mesh, sequins, vinyl — all are fair game. “For my stages and my performances, I really think hard about trying to show sides of myself that I haven’t shown before,” he explains.

Thanks to that drive to constantly innovate, he’s managed to bring a new brand of unapologetically provocative sexiness to the kpop world. Wonho’s stagewear closet is filled with backless blazers, leather harnesses, peep-show jeans, fishnet shirts, and strategically unzipped turtlenecks, peeled back to reveal a set of abs that would make Thor do a double take. That risque wardrobe (and general aversion to wearing a shirt during concerts) means he can send the internet into a meltdown with just one performance.

“It is true. I started to work out for my physical health, but it has turned into somewhat of an aesthetic,” he tells me as the topic circles to his Instagram. Wonho’s grid is dotted with shirtless selfies and thirst traps worthy of a global idol between charmingly normal pics of him drinking coffee and sightseeing. “My physique,” he says, coyly, of the thirst traps. “I can show it to [my fans] every once in a while, because I like seeing their reactions.”

When I ask what it’s like to be known in the kpop community as a sartorial boundary-pusher, Wonho is happy to take on the title, but firmly unbothered. ”First, thank you for recognizing me as a fashion icon,” he says, with a shy smile. “I don’t really think of boundaries when I am thinking of my own fashion. If it’s a fit for the concept or the style [of the performance], I’ll just try it without any hesitation.” No boundaries, no hesitation, all confidence. That’s Wonho in a heartbeat.

Off-stage, Wonho’s preferences favor comfort. Sweats and Jordans. T-shirts and Vans. Easy styles that can take him from the studio to the gym to rehearsals to the airport. That casual, off-duty wardrobe is tweaked slightly when he’s continent-hopping. This past summer, Wonho launched his FACADE tour — his first solo sprint across Europe. The opportunity to perform for his fans there also gave him a chance to switch up his fashion

“When I’m in London, I tend to style my outfits more clean-cut and dandy. Whereas, in Korea, I style them more comfortably and stylish.” And, as any jet-setting idol will tell you, practicality will trump fashion when the weather turns. “And, more recently, in Japan, my schedule was just packed and it rained all throughout my stay there, so I wore very comfortable clothing and raincoats and stuff.”

Wonho’s fans can be cited as one of the sources of inspiration behind his whiplash-inducing fashion, but it’s clear that they’re also the motivation behind his music, as well. The rankings, the cynics, and all the other distractions that clog up your nerves and can kill an artist’s creativity — those are the obstacles that Wonho chooses, staunchly, to ignore. Instead, he only wants to make his fans proud.

“My goal [as an artist] isn’t really chart-oriented,” he tells me with the help of those translators picking up the more nuanced questions. “I don’t really focus on getting any sort of ranking on the chart but, rather, I want to make music for as many years as I can. I also want to go on a world tour to meet WENEEs who are in all parts of the world.”

The self-chosen moniker of his fans, WENEEs — the name equal parts silly and sweet — is short-hand for “WE are NEw Ending” or “WE NEEd.” Both phrases are representative of the symbiotic relationship between the artist and the fans who have been supporting him from the beginning, and will be there until the end. “[With this album,] I am making a promise to my fans to always be by my side, as they have always been.”

His latest project dropped earlier this month, a highly anticipated second single album named Bittersweet. It was a deeply personal effort for Wonho who doesn’t just sing his music but writes and produces as well, though he’s quick to share the credit with his team. “[I’m always] getting tons of support from all the staff and all the good people around me so I’m able to prepare and produce my albums very conveniently,” says the humble idol. “There are a lot of teams involved with the album production process so it comes out very smoothly.”

The new album’s tracks, “On & On” (a smooth, pulsing dance track featuring Korean rapper YUNHWAY) and “Don’t Regret” (a powerful, tender ballad), are about all-consuming emotions and the Wonho-penned lyrics are as vulnerable as a baby bunny. What helps him to write and perform music this honest and personal is, in part, his impressive multilingualism. “It’s easier to express those kinds of emotions because I can use two languages, Korean and English,” Wonho says of his skill set, which also includes Japanese. “I can use both languages to express my thoughts and emotions.” The tracks add to Wonho’s consistently introspective and sentimental music catalog, making Bittersweet another compelling treasure from the solo star.

And then there’s that beautiful Wonho duality again, right there in the title of his album: Bittersweet. “I wanted to express a mix of emotions that are bitter, yet sweet. Exciting, yet depressing,” explains Wonho. “I believe our lives are filled with different emotions and they shape how we are.”

That paradox of his album’s title and theme is an echo of his whole career and strengths as an idol. That duality is why the entire world has a crush on him. Wonho can do it all. He has a voice that is lovely and dreamy when paired with pulsing dance beats, but also soaring and gorgeous when singing full-chested ballads. He has an off-stage boyfriend aesthetic but is also an easy-to-worship glam god on-stage. Sexy and cute. A Disney face with a Marvel body, as fellow idol Jessi described him. But who needs superhero movies anyways when you have the adrenaline rush of Wonho’s duality?

Source: instyle.com

[curiositydooropened]

Cheers to lovely happy moods and writing motivation! 🍻

Now, for some Steve headcannons:

When he can’t sleep, when it’s a great day outside, or when he’s bored, he loves driving around back roads and listening to music (he also loves doing this with friends and just decompressing)

He may be portrayed as a dud in the last two seasons, but once he finds his person/someone more flustered than him, that “King Steve” comfidence/charm comes out

He’s always taking care of those around him, so I just know he loves to be a sub; however, when he’s had a really tough day, he will absolutely manhandle you

Will act all macho when first getting to know you, but will 10000% make you kill the spiders later on

Doesn’t like being alone, so even if he’s not in the same room as you, he finds comfort in knowing you’re in the house if he needs you

Aaaaand Eddie:

Absolute toilet humor; will dutch oven you and maniacally laugh

Gets excited about you wanting to learn guitar but is absolutely anal about how you handle his “sweetheart”

Loves reading fantasy/horror to you or reading the same book and chatting about it

Absolute dom energy once he gets past his awkward phase

May put on a cocky façade, but he gets insecure about what people say about him and you constantly reassure him that he’s perfect as is

As for what I’m proud of… hmm. I would say the fact that I started Pilates almost 2 months ago and I’ve stuck with it! I had my daughter almost two years ago and have been suffering with back pain after my c-section and my body whole body feels SO much better and less stiff. Working out in a gym would cause me to literally cry from pain, and this has caused me to cry because I can work out with no pain at all!

Now tell me what hcs you have and what you’re proud of!

Yes, yes, YES, ABSOLUTELY to all of this. I concur a thousand percent to it all, and I'm obsessed. Well, except with Steve making me kill the spiders (don't get me wrong, it's accurate) because I'm also terrified. So it might just be a watch the house burn down kind of situation. 😂

And ahhhhhhhh! I'm so so so proud of you for sticking with it and taking care of yourself and your body's needs and for making yourself feel good!!!!! That's so amazing, and I'm so happy for you!!!

OMG My headcanons okay so...

Steve

is for sure a worshipper, like you said, he takes good care. I'm talking calf massages, I'm talking having stir fry made when you get home, I'm talking bubble bath made to the perfect temperature

loves camping because he didn't get to do it as a kid. Not really. He camped in cabins or at luxury chalets but never in a sleeping bag in a tent on the cold hard ground, and he lives for it

although the nighttime sounds of the woods aren't ideal, and the first night out, he promptly packs up the sleeping bag and hauls you back to the backseat of his car because steel is safer than canvas

is a flirt. Like makes everyone blush, even Robin sometimes, despite her eye roll, cuz the shit he says is smooth

Eddie

is a menace. Absolute chaos demon. Keep lighters away from him because he will burn a rogue napkin and not care enough to stamp it out properly

spent a holiday season as one of those donation takers for the Salvation Army, out in front of Bradley's. (a favor for Wayne) But it only lasted a few hours before he was fired for chasing people down for their cash

gets freaky, I've got to be honest. This boy loves a costume. Wearing one, seeing you in one, doing voices, it's all on the table.

And I'm proud of myself because I stayed up really late last night reformating my resume and writing a cover letter to a dream job. And then I applied. And fingers crossed I get even an interview, but if I don't, I'm really proud of myself for putting the work in and getting my name out there. In the past, I would have been too insecure to even try. But now I'm confident in myself and my abilities, and if I don't get an interview, they really don't know what kind of gem they're missing. 💎🥰

Thanks so much for this, love!!!!! xo xo

[0daytrick0]

Week 8...?

It's been a wild ride, but I'm nearly there. I am currently drowning in all of the work I have to complete, but the finish line is in sight.

I currently have 5 assessments that I need to start along with one exam to study for - well at least watch the lectures and stay on top of it before the exam.

Full time uni, let me tell you, even with having a flexible job, to maintain consistency and manage your time... It's a hurdle.

I just keep telling myself that it's my first official term at uni and I'm going to struggle with this one. Especially when I'm still finding my feet to figure out what works.

At the moment all I want to do is play fallout 4. It's my third playthrough and I got back into it after watching the show and now studying and working is a whole new level of hard.

But I will get there. I know I will. I just have to keep my head down now and concentrate. There are a whole lot of assessment to create and submit, but having these massive lectures to attend ONLINE, man, it makes it way harder than it needs to be. I cannot sit still for more than 30 minutes. 40 minutes on my good day. To have a 4 hour lecture with no breaks, man... It's just setting me up to fail. Especially when I'm in my own house. Do you realise how many distractions there are here? "There is a mark on my desk, let me clean it. I'll go grab a drink of water, oh wait the dishes need doing. I'll just sit down and make a to do list. Oh wait, not until I vaccume my carpet so I can focus."

I have always struggled with procrastination all through school, but this takes the cake. Even things I enjoy doing such as gaming I can't sit still for. It's crazy man. It took so long for me to be able to sit where I am now. To be able to attend University without worldly stress hurdles. I couldn't even attend my bachelor of psychological science after I graduated as I didn't have enough points. So I had to do an online pathways program for three months. I decided to apply for uni and went the year after that only to nearly end up homeless. So then I came back home, got my own place with my partner, and proceed to apply again but online and I am finally here. Ive made it past census date. And I am here for good now.

It took so long to get here. I was so excited about it too. Couldn't wait for a challenge and commit to a grind. But now that it's here... I'm exhausted. I want to quit. I'm starting to not care. I have little focus. It is fascinating at how the human mind works... Whatever the case may be, I am stuck here and commited either way. So I might as well make the most of it and push myself as far as I can (which is not far at the moment).

In between all of this I am trying my best to have money to pay for bills so it's not all reliant on my partner on top of saving money for my tattoo which has been 4 damn years in the making.

I need AT LEAST 5k to be able to drive there, afford the tattoo, and have money for food and accommodation. It's possible. It most definitely is, even with my studies. But it's the saving part that's the hardest. My god is it hard. When I finally can afford things, I just spend all my money on things I like. Don't get me wrong, it's things I use and have wanted for a while. But damn man, I really have to set my priorities. But a budget book and be strict with myself. Honestly, I need to be strict with myself with everything. Studying, saving, eating, going to the gym. I just really need to change my whole mindset and push myself. It's not about motivation, it's about consistency and building habits.

In other news, I finally bought my dream iPad pro along with the apple pencil. I couldn't afford it outright, and I couldn't justify saving for an iPad when I also want a tattoo. So I ended up using a credit card. Which is dangerous and I always swore to myself I would never do. But! I am only using it to pay off the iPad and will delete it once it's paid off. I have also locked the card and will hide the card away from myself. I will not build debt on appliances.

Right now I am planning out my whole week, dedicating time to the priorities, and making time to work as well as work out. It's going to be a massive week, but if I can just start all of these assessments, it won't be so bad.

[aydenfswblog]

Hard work and community

Starting off looking at this photograph to most, It might just seem like a bunch of strong looking dudes, but some of the details in it truly show a lot. These types of physiques take immense amount of work and time. As you can see one of the guys is smiling, and they're all looking in the same direction. They are all looking in the mirror at the guy in the front who is posing with a sense of "heck yeah man!" bringing a sense of building each other up. What speaks to me about this photo is that it shows a sense of community. It shows a bunch of guys who have definitely worked very hard to get to the points they are all at, lifting each other up to make each other better and as you can tell they've all surrounded each other with the same goal and all of them are big or accomplished in what they're trying to achieve. For me, I've always loved bettering my health and I know personally that having someone else doing the same thing as you working towards the same goal, creates a close bond as partners in doing so and motivating each other to do better which i've always loved and that's why this photo speaks to me in that sense. Not only in the sense of community and upbringing in this photo that I like but it's the showcase of hard work and long hours. I believe that if you wanna make a big difference in your life and do something it's gonna take a lot of work and it's gonna be a grind, I've learned this lesson through over half a decade of working out and its certainly taken a lot but shown a big difference in my life. This sense of working hard has motivated me in life to do many things and I'm so grateful for the opportunity I've had through working out to teach me that lesson. This photo is such a great showcase of that lesson because these are some of the best golden age bodybuilders, and these guys put an hours and hours of work to get to the point they are and one of the most notable people in this photo is Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you look at what he's done in his life whether it's the politics, working out, or his countless movies you can tell it's taken a lot of work to accomplish all of these things and I think that part of that drive that he has definitely came from the work that he put in in the gym and the people he surrounded himself with to become successful which speaks to me in so many ways of building myself up and how this photo relates to that.

[carmenthabaddie]

3 day juice fast 🥤

I am doing a 3 day juice fast. I’m gone drink green apple, ginger and celery for 3 days. And drink plenty of water. I’m doing this for health reasons. I lingering cough that will not go away. I tried everything. Tuesday going to my primary doctor and getting a referral to the lung doctor. I just want to be healthy and strong immune system. My immune system so fucked up.

I am doing this juice fast to eat better and lose weight and 2024 more juicing and more fruits and vegetables. Green leafy greens and vitamin C foods. I get weighed at my monthly mental health appointment and I went up to 229 from 222. I been in the 220s for a few years. I been maintaining my weight but I’m ready to lose more weight. Took my resistance bands out where I can see them and do workouts with them watching YouTube resistance bands workout videos and also my 5 pound kettlebells. But I’m mostly doing cardio.

I want get peloton but the seats be uncomfortable since I’m plus size. I want and need stop avoiding and making excuses on why I can’t go to the gym. I scheduled workouts in my digital planner and none of the days I scheduled I didn’t go. I don’t know how to drive and my family is older and by time my step dad gets off it’s late or raining and I try to be considerate since they doing me a favor. So im not gone stress about going to the gym until I can drive and take myself.

So I should start planning and scheduling my resistance bands, kettlebells, treadmill, and maybe Pilates and want get mini stepper and do mini stepper workouts. And schedule in my digital planner and hold myself accountable and my friend who have similar goals. Do this until I can drive.

I want to practice driving more. My step dad be too busy. I’m gone ask if we can practice before he works in the morning. Or wait for my grandma permanently move down here in South Carolina with us. It will happen. Patience is a virtue and I’m learning that some shit takes time. The more I do and consistent the faster shit manifest for me. I’m doing good. Proud of my growth and me taking control and creating my dream life. I’m the creator of my life. And people especially black women should know that we are creators of our lives.

I am gone start being strict and actually save money. And stop blowing my money. I need to be more responsible with my money. My family live above they means. February im paying my bills and saving $100 and don’t touch it. Save up for a IPad. I need a new tripod. Or save up Final Cut Pro to edit my YouTube videos. And plan my content , film , take photos, edit and post and have schedule and make hella content and not post it all in one day. And use my vlogging camera and give good advice for other black women growing, leveling up and on they glow up journey.

Created a budget, investment list, and my plans for 2024. I need to stick to my goals and hold myself accountable and put in work. Do what I say I am doing. Not depending on motivation but depending on determination, consistency, commitment, dedication , discipline. I am not perfect but I’m doing better and holding myself more accountable. I’m going hard all 2024. Praying this cough go away. Had this cough for months. Been dependent on sleeping pills and think it’s making me cough. I find it hard to stop getting high off sleeping pills. I take prayer cause this cough just won’t go away.

I’m gone start listening and reading more self help books and applying the information and sharing what I learned with other black women leveling up and glowing up knowledge is power. It’s my time to shine. Put myself first and others last. I deserve to have it all. I love who the fuck who I am. Spirit and my beautiful black ancestors all I need. My sp David will message me and follow on social media and stalk my post and be obsessed about me since I’m the definition of what a bad bitch all day everyday period.

I am doing good. I’m going so hard. I always get my way. Spirit and black ancestors in me and giving me hella spiritual abilities to help me rich and famous and love and be myself. I love who the fuck I am. I am gone practice singing more and start showing my singing as soon as I figure out how do it without copyright taking sound down. I’m blessed with singing abilities and dance abilities and beautiful face and body. My weight gone melt off and the number on the scale doesn’t trigger me. The number has nothing to do with my self worth. The old story is me extreme dieting. New story is me being happy and taking my time and not making me miserable on my weight loss journey. More juice fasting.

And gone learn more about Fin Dom and onlyfans and making X rated content. And men worshipping and praising and pleasing me and paying me. I’m going hard. And it’s me vs me. I am a icon and trendsetter. I’m bad bitch goals.

[sweetsummercashmere]

King of the Navy

(Photo Credit: Source Pinterest, Author is 1975SlidesN_0002, Accessed November 29th 2023, link: https://pin.it/72TEa0L)

Orion

“King of the Navy”

(Schedule)

6:00am Wake up, Smoothie, Morning Jog.

Waking up late is for those who make it nowhere. I need to remind myself daily of the burden I could become. The burden that drags down my family. But no, I wake up, fight the weak feelings that pull me back to the warmth of my pillow, and walk to the kitchen. Make my smoothie.

“Spinach, raspberries, protein mix, water, and ice”.

Leaves me hungry but I cannot give up, pain is temporary, I remind myself this every second I feel restless. For every weak point I remember the moments my family found out my mom passed. When dad took up drinking, and missed work daily. Those moments motivate me.

I jog up the hill I used to sled down in the winters, and through my whole neighborhood.

7:00am Wake up dad for Work, have a Protein Bar.

Although I shouldn’t have to wake him up, I do it regardless, because we're family. I remember when he would wake up before I did, make mom breakfast, and drive us to school before heading to work. He was so motivated, I can’t become him, the world keeps moving.

After my runs, I do have a Clif Bar, gotta get the calories from somewhere. Can’t pass out from low iron anymore, it can be hard though, to keep up my energy, I put out too much the doctor says but I don’t take in enough.

7:30am Prayers for Iris, Pers, and Dad.

Everyday, I make prayers for my family. Things can be rough with handling my relationships to each of them, but I always remind myself of what we all had to deal with. And that mom would want us to get along. Mostly, I pray for Iris. She’s always in her room, on her phone, I yell at her sometimes to even get out of bed for dinner, I want her outside, doing normal teenage things. It hurts even more as dad always says she’s just like her mother. So I pray that Iris can be good again, to be that rainbow of sunshine she used to be, and get off whatever poetic app she’s stuck on.

7:45am Gym

8:30am Shower and Morning Routine.

Cold showers only. It helps the blood circulate, for your mind to wake up, and to push yourself to do things you're uncomfortable with. It’s almost like an exposure therapy ordeal.

After showers, I shave, and spray on my cologne. I like this one my mom got me years ago called “Jazz Club” from Replica. One time our family went shopping, and Pers tried on every perfume in Sephora, and while I was waiting, I went and smelled that one, and I loved it alot. Without even telling her, mom noticed it made me smile, and saved up for me to get it for Christmas. I’ll always remember how much she noticed the little things, it was so special.

I only spray it once per day, it’s almost gone and I think it’s a waste to buy something so expensive when dad can barely afford the house anymore. But the smell takes me back. Back to that Christmas, it's the one thing that hasn’t changed since she passed, I like that it's still.

(Photo Credit: Source: Fragrantica, Accessed December 1st 2023, link: https://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/Maison-Martin-Margiela/Jazz-Club-20541.html)

9:00am Work at the Lumber Yard

5:00pm Make Dinner, and Read Before Bed.

9:45pm Music

Before I go to bed I listen to music to calm down, this night I listened to “Summer” by BROCKHAMPTON, one of my current faves, great for my morning jogs too, motivation to live the best day you can, I always have to be keep moving, I can’t stand still, I never will.

[visible-buttholegirl]

life update rant

using tumblr dot com as my mental and emotional dumping grounds once again, this time a slightly more positive rant than the majority of what i puke up here.

i got my license a week or so ago! so happy that's over, i was so anxious leading up to it but i feel like a confident and calm driver, and next on the list is buying a car. i have gotten a second job serving a couple nights a week in addition to my dreaded day job and it has allowed me to save money a lot faster, so i could conceivably have a car before this year's end! that would be so so sick, and the freedom that affords me will feel so good. i could run solo errands on my time, take way less ubers, pick up friends, go on camping trips or road trips when i want to, drive thrus, groceries and not walk them, etc etc! that will be so hot of me to have a car.

having a car will also allow me to leave my current day job and move on to the next chapter of my work life 🤢 which will have many more options available to me as a person with a car. i mentioned not knowing what i wanted to do yet last time, and that uncertainty remains. my ever-supportive parents continue to send me graphic design gigs to apply to, but many of my friends think i would be happier doing more service industry stuff (probably because i've been telling them i think i'd be happier there), but of course my indecisive brain does not allow me a moment of peace and assuredness. i am once again sitting at the crossroads of my life wondering what i should do after leaving my job. i will probably keep serving at my other job, but that will not be enough for me. not gonna continue thinking about this right now but i will have to think about it later.

some secondary focuses in my life right now are my health/fitness, and my creative outlet/learning new things. i have slowly started eating better and trying to get to the gym when i can, and its felt really great mostly, but i have to do better. i am trying to be patient with myself but not lazy. i know it feels good to be healthy and active, and i want that for myself. so when i feel like i have more time i will work harder on that. as for creative stuff, i want to do more visual art, though my main interest is in music production. i see so many people making the music i want to make, having a persona, aesthetic, a vibe, and living and creating within that, and i want that for myself as well. i have so many ideas for this kind of stuff in my brain, i just don't currently have the know-how to put pen to paper. once the car is sorted out and maybe the job schedule is a little more set in stone too i will come back to this. i just don't feel like i have a ton of time to focus on it, and again, i want to give myself a little grace because i am very busy lately and i think working decently hard to make other positive changes in my life.

lastly, i'm still single and jealous of my not-single/sexually active friends, and i need to be better about putting myself out there because this whole time its always been there if i wanted it, and i do want it, but i just never felt confident in myself enough to go for it. all of these positive changes in my life will boost my confidence and over time i will slowly try to be more proactive and confident! i deserve it and i can have it. the past is the past but i can change the future.

i have lofty goals of being and feeling a hot, confident, talented and traveled individual who above all else is HAPPY. i have dreams of creating art and music that resonates with people and performing it and hopefully putting that more at the forefront of my life than "work". maybe 2023 didn't shake out the way i hoped but i feel like i'm seriously laying the groundwork for some big stuff in 2024. i feel like when i'm in a good mood i always say shit like this and the last three years have not been as life-changing as i wanted but i do think i've made some moves in that direction for once, and a big change is a shift in personal motivation that i know can blossom into self-confidence and overall happiness. these are the things i'm going to try and focus on moving forward. rant over.

[0thsense]

5/30/2023

Go ahead, put anything. okay tumblr. I want to develop my life. I want to upgrade myself. The path to physical upgrade is so clear.. go to the gym, do cardio, etc. The path to other upgrades? not so clear. Should I flesh out my frameworks of living? do I just choose one even though I'm not sure of anything? I have no direction in life. I want to create something beautiful. If I create one beautiful thing.. well I can't make any promises. to myself. I wonder if everybody feels about their soul in the same way. Does everyone feel that they have something uniquely pure and beautiful to offer to the world. It's probably all a delusion, but thinking that way feels like my soul will just die. I'm just rambling about things that make no sense. Everybody has different definitions for these things so communicating about them is really hard. I guess the human brain is hardwired to think in terms of cause and effect, which makes us ask "why am i here". but for that we can't find a meaningful answer, so we have to decide on an answer, and that's really hard. I sometimes think I should just decide on something just to try it out, but for these things you can't just "try it out", it'll never work unless you fully believe in it. Is that something that other people have done that I'm missing? that leap of faith to just believe in some purpose? I guess from a religious perspective maybe but what about non-religious people? I guess there's less pressure to answer this question if you naturally life effectively in society anyways, since you don't need the additional motivation. I always feel like I need additional information to answer this question and I don't have the drive to gather this additional information. Gathering this additional information means trying really hard at things for like a year.

I also feel like I'm not maturing because my life experience does not give me new insights. I could try to read books and ponder on them, but I feel like that results in incorrect and shallow conclusions, even if the books are good. Did I mature from playing omori? I probably felt the strongest emotions from playing Omori in my whole life the last 2-3 years. Maybe I forgot something, which feels increasingly common.

Due to the earth's rejection of my autistic self and my waning self-confidence, im trying to be a normie. I suck at socially interacting in a normie way. I miss when I could just say whatever was on my mind and people respected me enough to take me seriously. I feel like there's a ball of thoughts in my head that only make full sense in context of the entire ball, and it's impossible to write that whole ball so it's impossible to communicate this whole ball. That makes me scared to share any one part of this ball.

I finished reading The Road, and im reading oyasumi punpun right now. I want to write something on the things I read which affect me so I never forget. I should write something about Omori now, as my memory of it continues to wane. I'm so scared of doing all these things like reading, etc. and just not making any progress towards anything. One main purpose of reading is I want to be exposed to different views and ways of thinking, and I can't tell if thats happening. I recognized value in The Handmaid's Tale but I probably got like 5% of what the author was trying to put across. And I never wrote my thoughts on it. I guess I should do that too. I think I'm pretty initially dismissive these days. I try to lump lines of thinking into things I've thought of before, and by and large most of the time I find a way to lump a new thing into something thats close. This makes me lose those crucial insights that lie in the difference between what I already know and the new thing. My brain automatically does this through years of practice. I need to be more vigilant in carefully considering everything with no biases and no assumption that I already know what it is.

I think my dad was a lucky genetic freak in our family tree. I'm reverting to the expected outcome of my gene pool. My cousins are doing okay but not that well. Compared to other smart people, who have much stronger family lineups. The more research is done, the more people realize how hereditary most things are. I am a weird concoction, and so are most people. And we will never fully know the wonders of each others' mixes. I'm thinking it's likely that I'm part of the last human generation, mostly because of AI. I am deathly scared and think about what an AI singularity scenario will look like, but it's hard to predict. There will be nowhere to run, we will just be ants. Hopefully we will be useful to our new overlords. Maybe they will care about us and treat us humanely. Humanely is such a weird term, treating non-humans humanely is a good thing right!

I had something else I wanted to write. Oh yea pretending to be happy is hard. And it's a vicious cycle. I'm less valuable in every way if I present as unhappy. Sorry everyone.

[universe-082594-oops]

10 FEB 2023 - buzzing bees

- Yulita. Our past, my resentment for lost time. Our present, my resentment for how much lead I’ve given her and how much I’ve taken on in an effort to protect her. But just because I have a healthier support system/coping mechanisms, it doesn’t mean I’m responsible to take on more than her. We should have an equal friendship and she deserves to know how I’m feeling.

- Eliza. Questions about our long-term future keep coming up. Is this someone I can rely on for big life decisions? Is this someone I can potentially raise children with? Their lack of self-awareness and lack of drive/zest for life makes me nervous that I am wasting time. I wonder if I am staving off our doom by pushing it off just because it feels good/healthy/safe in the moment.

- Sex. My triggers around wanting to have sex or wanting to want to have sex or blahablahlablahhh are getting worse the longer that it goes between times. I want to get to a place where I feel more fluid in my sexuality and less anxious/triggered but I don’t know how. Not sure which is the chicken or the egg: feelings of doubt with Eliza, or not having sex with Eliza.

- Jace. I’m frustrated that I feel like I’m losing them. After the last few sessions, I question whether I can rely on them anymore. I’m feeling resentful that I’m wasting money on sessions that are no longer serving me. I feel like my life raft is deflating. Like my anchor is floating. The idea of starting fresh with a new therapist is so overwhelming and daunting. I’ve already invested so much time in building a relationship with Jace and I really want to make this work because of how well they know me. 

- Ames. I’m wondering if this friendship is fizzling? They seem less motivated to hang out and I’m feeling resentful that we’re spending less time together and that they aren’t really making much of an effort to hang as much. Seeing each other for an hour before their lunch date feels kinda measly. 

- Gym crush. The more I feel uneasy about Eliza, the more I fantasize about gym crush. I know they’re just an escape but a part of me does wonder what could’ve been if I had decided to make a move when I was still non-monogamous. 

- My job. I don’t feel that my talents/skills/experience are recognized here. I don’t feel like I’m growing or learning about digital marketing in a way that I can take into the rest of my career. I wish I could do more creative work. I wish I could have a hybrid schedule. I wish I could be making more money to pay for a safer apartment. But I also love that I can bring Bambi in. I love that I make enough money to be comfortable and the work isn’t that hard. I love that I don’t work more than 40 hours a week. Brent is easy enough to work with and maybe I should just stick it out for a while longer because somewhere else could be worse. 

- My body. I haven’t been happy with the way I look lately. I just want to look cool and fashionable in my weird clothes but I feel like it’s hard to make that happen when you’re not thin. I know I’m healthy and eat right / exercise a lot and usually that’s enough to keep me feeling good about myself. But lately when I see myself in outfits or in photos I just hate what I see. I genuinely don’t think it’s a gender thing. I just wish I was thinner and more elegant/cool looking.

- My music. When will I get out of this stuck place? Why do I keep holding myself back?

Things I’m grateful about: The gym existing. And my friendship with Alina getting back on track. The Bambina.

[alexinframes]

Dec 15th 2022

Current State Assesssment

It was good sleeping again this morning because I was able to wake up with relatively high energy. It’s ok I skipped the gym.

My body is telling me that I need to accept the fact that my willpower can run out, and if that is the only thing I use to motivate myself to go out and seize the world, then I might find myself not being able to bring consistency to my life.

Right now that is the one thing I’m fighting for.

And hey, it’s not as bad as it seems.

I’ve been working consistently for the past few weeks. I consistently wake up and get a bath, and that habit is so engrained I barely ever fail.

This year I made a ton of great things happen, and I do feel proud about that. The fact that I know what the next problem to tackle is really doing means a lot. If I manage to fix it, wow. What could I not do?

Because I’ve seen how AWESOME my willpower is when I have it there, I just need to help myself to come about bringing that to fruition on a daily basis.

I do believe a meaningful ‘why’ is missing in my life. I don’t really know exactly which of the thousand things I want to do is, and it makes sense that when I wake up in the morning and need to access those why’s, I just don’t find enough meaning.

Like, yeah wake up early. But why? I could keep sleeping, and that’s what I’ve been doing.

There has to be something more powerful, something that REALLY deep down moves me to go out of my way to get it.

Another part of my mind is telling me to wait for vacations to go about it, but that’s 8 days away, and I do want to finish this year’s work in a great place.

What I learned:

(1) I can do almost anything I want if I’m motivated, and that’s fucking great. When that happens there’s just an absurd amount of momentum that is built within me, and is really motivating, which makes me feel connected to a bigger me. Yet, if my motivation is that momentum I had and I suddenly lose it via external factors, then I also lose the motivation and go back to square one.

(2) If I find a way to link that motivation back to something deeply meaningful to me, with several layers of ‘whys’ that are irrefutably meaningful, then I should be able to stick to my pursuit of a better future even in bad days, because I’ll be able to just pull the ‘why’s off whenever momentum fails, and it’s certain it WILL fail, at least for one day. It’s my duty to make sure it doesn’t fall for several days in a row.

(3) So the problem is that my bursts of productivity are fueled by momentum-based motivation, and momentum can either stagnate or fail because I have no control over what the world throws at me. The problem is that I have the WRONG source of drive, and in theory, if I change the channel I should also change the way I keep it.

(4) Another problem is that Discipline is mostly a pre-frontal cortex function that is mediated by dopamine, and epinephrine/norepinephrine circuits. If dopamine levels are below baseline then I simply won’t be able to hijack my inner desire to keep up. Unless there’s an external fear-based response that makes me do things I naturally won’t want to do.

(5) Mediating my dopamine levels will be a matter of combining healthier dietary, exercise, and sleeping habits to maintain a healthy dopamine level that in combination to strong motivational sources (like having a deeply meaningful why for every action I’m going to take) should be enough to make a big change.

Potential solutions:

For the next 8-days (1) Bring this discussion up in my therapy session today. (2) Prioritize dopaminergic enhancing solutions (diet and exercise), and sleep hygiene for new habit protocols. Scratch whatever is NOT that, since it's not as urgent.

As soon as vacation starts (1) Do one very hard thing every day to show me I own this (2) Work on my future goals and what I want to do with my life during 2023, and especially on meaningful why. (3) Bring results to the discussion in therapy. (4) Keep up with dopaminergic enhancing solutions (diet and exercise) and sleep hygiene, and do my best to streak on those. And if it ever fails, just fall back to something that can quickly increase dopamine to then engage in positive dopaminergic enhancing activities.

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

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[chubbology]

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

*

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

*

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