#way too many starches give me cramps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sam-and-buck · 4 years

Text

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit.

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials.

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first.

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time.

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him.

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience.

“Who proposed and when?”

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included.

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce.

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room.

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on.

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect.

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher.

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to.

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one.

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist.

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is.

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends:

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #mcu #marvel #tfatws #sam(antha) tag #my fanfic tag #fanfic

53 notes · View notes

unstoppableforcce · 4 years

Text

higher prices

CHAPTER 2: a good man

pairing: bounty hunter! Poe Dameron x reader

previous part | next part | masterlist

art from this au

a/n: ooo I missed this au, and I love writing this dynamic, can’t wait to write more so I hope y’all enjoy!!

“Need some help?”

“Not from you.”

He stopped in front of you, interrupting the rhythmic crunch of his boots in the snow to turn back and face you fully. But you barely noticed until you almost ran into him head on, your attention fully occupied by the still sizzling blaster wound decorating your shoulder and the bandage in your hand as you tried to wrap it.

“So kriffing stubborn.” He cursed under his breath as he brought you to a stop, reaching his hands out to help, grabbing the bandage and pulling it into his grasp even as you struggled against him. “You’re acting like I didn’t just save your life.”

“Yeah, because this,” jutting your shoulder his direction, you let out a rugged scoff, “is you saving my life.”

He pulled the bandage tighter, stretching it to cover the full wound, and tucked the edge of the fabric into itself to keep it secure. It was oddly gentle, surprising coming from him, but the thought only lingered on your mind for a second as he tugged it once more and the pain came back.

“You could at least act a little grateful.” He seethed, pulling away and continuing on ahead of you.

The wind was blustering, chilling over your whole form as the snow began to fall again. “How far to your ship?”

“Thank you, Dameron, you’re my hero—”

“What do you want me to say Poe?” You huffed, stalking ahead until your step was aligned with his. Though he was dressed more adequately for the weather while your bare arms left you exposed to the freezing elements, your steps were fueled by a hot spite which allowed you to keep pace.

He shrugged, “Well, a simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be out of line—”

It was your boots that halted in the snow, but he was quick to stop alongside you, turning to face you.

“Oh, thank you Poe…” You took a step closer to him but he held his ground, lifting his chin just slightly as he eyed you. “Thank you for saving me from the very people you do business with… murders and traffickers and—”

“It’s just business.” His teeth clenched as you took another step closer, eliminating any remaining space between the two of you.

“This is business too then?” Your head quirked.

“Yes.”

“You do some pretty stupid business then…” Pulling back, you trudged on in front of him. But he was quick to catch back up.

“You know nothing about my business, Princess.”

It was pure heat from your anger keeping your warm now, you were honestly surprised the snow wasn’t melting around you.

“The resistance doesn’t have the money to pay you well enough for this,” you explained, “But the First Order’s bounty on me? That could set you up for an eternity—”

“I’m not turning you over to them.” His voice strained now as he tried to trudge on ahead of you.

“Like I said, pretty stupid business.”

He scoffed, stopping yet again to face you but this time with a heat behind his eyes unlike anything you had ever seen from him.

“You act like you want me to turn you over to them.” He seethed directly into your face, forcing you back a step. “Like you think I’m no different than them.”

You stole your step back, coming nearly nose to nose with him. “You’re trying to tell me you are different? Like they didn’t welcome you in like family and throw me at you to have your way like they’ve done it before?”

“I saved you from them—”

“By being them.”

“I’m not them—”

“Then what are you?” A chuckle escaped your lips as you fought through a painful shrug of your shoulders. “Because from where I’m standing, I feel like I know what you are.”

“You know nothing about me, Princess…”

“Really? Poe? I feel like I know more—”

He put his gloved hand up over your mouth and pulled your back into him and into the side of the snowy cliff the two of you were climbing up and over, to where his ship was parked on the other side. You struggled against him, but he merely shushed into your ear and held you even closer.

“Stop. Fighting. Me.” His grip tightened around your arm and waist, but the hand over your mouth stayed oddly gentle still, even as you fought against it. He urged again, “Stop and look.”

Look. You were looking and all you could see was snow and smoke coming from the cantina the two of you had fled in a hurry. But that wasn’t what he was directing you to.

He was nudging your stare in the direction of a group, clad in the dark colors of Qi-Te’s crew, coming up on the trail the two of you had been travelling. It was a scouting party, looking for the two of you. And you didn’t have much in the way of a head start, especially as your choice of clothing didn’t provide you much cover given the starch white background in every direction.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth.” He whispered against your ear and you nodded.

He pulled away and you turned around to face him in the small cut into the cliff he pulled you into for cover. “We need to get moving—” You began but he interrupted you with a shake of his head.

“It’s a miracle they haven’t seen us yet, but we’re not moving fast enough to outrun them with this terrain and your…” He lightly ghosted his fingers over your shoulder. “We have to find a way to hide until they pass.”

“I’m moving just as fast as you are—”

“Stars, do you have to fight me on everything?” He cursed out again, under his breath, before lifting his stare back to your very intense one. “I know how these guys work, they’re a kill squad. They’ll be moving at twice our speed, we can’t escape them on foot.”

As much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t know how these guys worked. But he clearly did. You wanted to toss his words back at him, accuse him of knowing how these guys work because he is one of these guys, but his face was too serious, his brow too furrowed.

“A kill squad? Right.” You sighed, leaning back to steal a glance to them then back to Poe. “You’ve got a plan?”

“There has to be a cave entrance around here somewhere, somewhere we can hid out until they pass…”

“They don’t check caves?”

“I wouldn’t. They’ve got to assume we’re trying to run and that we have a ship waiting for us. They waste time checking caves and we could be long gone.” He explained simply. Too simply to exactly put you at ease, however. How many times had he done this… Running or pursuing.

You peeked your head back out, then back to him again. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He quirked a brow, “You’re not going to try and fight me again?”

“We’ll see…”

He rolled his eyes but stepped out and pulled you with him, actually adjusting to have you walk in front of him as the trek continued. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

The cave was small, easy to miss if just passing by especially as the storm was getting worse and worse. But what it lacked in width, it made up for in depth, going deep into the cliff. As the two of you entered, Poe took back the lead and shuffled ahead until he felt the two of you were in far enough to not be found.

It was pitch black but from what you could tell, the walls were about as wide as your wingspan and you could tell Poe was feeling cramped as he forced your arms down from measuring and urged you to sit.

“How long do you think it will take them to pass us?”

You couldn’t make out his response in body language as you could barely see him just a foot in front of you, but his huff was enough to tell you he wasn’t enjoying this.

“Poe—”

“Dameron, Princess, please…”

“How long—”

“Until night fall, we’ll have better luck in the dark.” He explained, adjusting in where he sat next to you and trying to stretch out his legs but only hitting you and recoiling. “Sorry…”

You scooted back, giving him more space. “I never pictured you for a ‘fear of tight spaces’ kind of guy.”

“What are you talking about?” He tried to chuckle out, but it was nearly impossible not to hear the tenseness in it.

“I always imagined it would be Wampas or commitment or—”

“I’m not afraid of tight spaces.” He adjusted again. “I just don’t like them.”

You stifled your laugh and leaned back against the wall. Why suggest something like this if it was going to set him so far on edge? Why not just try your hand at outrunning them?

Maybe he really did know these guys that well… Maybe he had done this before…

At least the cave was warmer than the snow, still chilly but at least blocking out the wind—

“Can you keep talking…”

Slowly, your eyes were beginning to adjust and you could see him slightly better. His knees pulled up to his chest and his back specifically not pressed against any wall. But even if you could see him, you had a hard time believing the meager voice came from him.

“What?”

He rubbed over his face a few times, his hands shaking slightly as they ran back through his white-striped curls.

“Keep talking…”

“About what?”

“Anything.” He snapped slightly before recoiling and looking to you, his eyes clearly adjusting to the light as well. “Just… Please…”

“Why won’t you turn me over to the First Order?”

The scoff he released this time was closer to the strength his normal tone, but still not quite there. “Do you want me to, Princess?”

Your hands raised in surrender. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Why do you care?” He shrugged, “I saved you, shouldn’t you just be happy you’re alive?”

“The bounty—”

“I don’t collect bounties from the First Order.” He was getting frustrated again, rubbing at his face again and again.

“Just Qi-Te and his crew—”

“Yes.” He shouted this time before shaking his head. “I’m not a good guy, Princess, I’m just doing the best I can.”

It was your turn to shake your head, “Stop calling me that.”

“Princess?”

“I’m not a princess anymore…” You sighed out, extending your legs and adjusting so your shoulder didn’t hit the wall.

He sighed, he knew that. “You were when we first met...”

“And you were Poe--”

“No.”

“Oh, so you can call me Princess but I can’t call you Poe.” You tried to fight again but he simply sighed.

“I’m a complicated man, what can I say…”

A complicated man… That was an understatement.

Reaching a hand up, you readjusted your falling bandage and groaned as the fabric pulled at the wound. “How long until nightfall?”

“I’m as in the dark here as you are.” He sighed out, rough and jagged. “Princess.”

Clenching your eyes shut briefly, you shook your head one more time and got to your feet. “I’m going to check…”

“Yeah.” He itched at his brow. “Fine.”

Your scoff practically echoed in the restricted cave as you moved for the entrance. But by the time you squeezed far enough to stick your head out, you came face to face with a blaster.

“Hey princess?”

There was a scuffle as he got to his feet but he froze when he found you and the Kill Squad at the entrance. They pulled the two of you from the cave and tossed you out into the snow. But while you landed on your shoulder and screamed out in pain, Poe landed like a loth cat, on his feet and angled himself between you and the kill squad with his gloved hands raised defensively.

“Fellas…” He smirked, back to his usual self now that he was out of the constrains of the cave. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” The bigger man quirked his head with his blaster leveled between Dameron’s two eyes.

“Yeah.” His smirk was growing as he turned back to you but you saw it crack the moment he laid eyes on your collapsed form, it didn’t crack much and it was restored by the time he turned back around. But you saw it for however brief it was.

It gave you just a second of warmth in your body, but it fizzled out the second he opened his mouth again. “You have no clue how much she is worth.”

The snow wasn’t the only thing making you cold anymore.

“Poe—”

“Worth what to who?” The man stepped forward, lowering his blaster to the ground where you laid.

“More credits than you could ever imagine.” Dameron side-stepped to keep himself between the blaster and you. “So, you better call your boss and the First Order.”

If this was a game, if he was playing a game… He was too good at it. You couldn’t tell if he was lying, but for the moment, it was keeping you alive.

So when they grabbed you and hauled you to your feet, you ignored the excruciating pain radiating from your shoulder and fought just enough to spit at Dameron once more.

Partially to play along, and partially because, whether he was playing a game or not, he deserved it.

tags-> (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

@daniellajocelyn @cammisanders

#star wars #star wars imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe x reader #angst #bounty hunter #bounty hunter poe

77 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #364

“you wanna know what zeus said to narcissus? / ‘you’d better watch yourself’“

Do you change your type of music regularly? Nah. I've ben all about metal and rock since middle school. Would you want to visit Tokyo, Japan, someday? It's not actually on my bucket list or anything, but I'd do it. Do you curse like a sailor? Sailors are better than I am, aha... Do you hear trains pass by where you live? No. Ever been in a race? Haha, no. Last time you’ve eaten a taco? I hate tacos. Do you like horses? Sure do! Do you like Starburst? omg YES. What is your favourite wild animal? MEERKATS!!!!!! :') Do you like hamsters? They're very cute, but I've never met a nice one. Do you eat bananas? Yeah, I like bananas, but I'm VERY picky with how ripe it is. There's like, barely a two-day span where I'm willing to eat them. What is your favourite bookstore? I don't have one. What is your favorite fast food joint? Sonic. Do you sweat easily? Ugh, you haven't the slightest idea. As a side effect of one (or two?) of my prescriptions, I have I N S A N E hyperhidrosis. I can stand outside for a millisecond in like 70 degree weather and I'm already sweating. If you could move (and SERIOUSLY think about this) where would you move? All factors considered, being entirely realistic, the mountain-y region of western NC. Why would you go there? I want to stay in NC to at least not be a massive ways away from my family, and I loooove mountains. Plus, there's a lot of cool places on the other end of the state. Do you want to travel? Yes. I want to see so much more than this boring 'ole state. What was the last vaccination you got? For Covid. Have there ever been any forest or grass fires in your area? There have been wildfires towards the beach, I believe? Any time it happened we would always get the smoke all the way where we live. Are you Italian? Not to my knowledge. Do you own an acoustic guitar? No. What is something you have given a lot of thought to lately? My physical health. When did you last swallow your beliefs to avoid an argument or confrontation? Recently. Can you roll your own cigarettes? I've never smoked, so. Are you mentally strong? I think so. I hope so. Are you physically strong? I am like, comically weak. Are you heartbroken right now? No. Do you ever get complimented on your eyes? What color are they? It's happened, but it's definitely not a regular thing or whatever. They're grayish blue. What facial feature do you like the best on a person? I'd say I'm most attracted to pretty eyes. What is the weirdest animal you’ve ever held? I helped hold a massive snake as a kid (I don't remember what it was), and I've also held a rose hair tarantula. I can't think of any truly strange animals by my opinion, really. Do you get extremely hyper when under the influence of sugar? No. Sugar seems to have zero effect on me, probably because I'm over-exposed to it thanks to soda... What about caffeine? Not at all, likely for the aforementioned reason. Have you ever tried any drugs? If so, did you regret it? Besides alcohol, no. I don't regret having drank as it was never a lot. Do you have any pregnant friends? A high school acquaintance is pregnant. I THINK she's the only one now? I swear I see a new pregnancy announcement on Facebook like every two days, and mind you I don't even have all that many "friends." That being said, I may definitely be forgetting someone. When ordering food, what do you usually get as a drink? Depending on whether they have Pepsi or Coke products, either Mountain Dew or Coke. When drawing something, do you try to be super precise or do you not care? I am so, so, SO obsessive over getting everything right, but things never come out as good as I want them to/imagine them. Have you actually read Twilight? I haven't. What about Harry Potter? Never read any of those, either. I started one in elementary school, but didn't get very far at all. Out of the two, which is better? I have like no interest in either, so. How often do you read books? It various. I go through like reading episodes, and then I don't read for months. Are you the jealous type? I'm not like, an insanely jealous person, but it's still the worst it's ever been at this point in my life. I hate it. Are you the type of person who gets jealous of people’s pasts? Nah, no reason to. Do you know anyone who faints at the sight of blood? Not blood, I think, but needles and drawing blood, yes. I know my dad's fainted at least once at the doctor, and Jason fainted when I was getting blood drawn at the ER. What colors are the eyes of your family members? Just about everyone has brown eyes but me, I think my maternal grandpa, and my brother. Are you related to anyone with red hair? Not to my knowledge. Were you a chubby baby? No, I was pretty average. What’s something that makes you incredibly nervous? Social situations with strangers especially. Asking for things. Public speaking/presenting. What’s the latest you’ve ever stayed up to finish homework/a project? God, I remember there was this one night in particular where I stayed up SO late, but I don't remember the exact time. I think I actually cried because I was so stressed and tired. How many vegetarians do you know? In my personal life, I don't believe I know any, but I could be wrong. Have you ever had problems falling asleep in class? I never did, even though I was always tired. Have you ever been on the barrier or front row at a concert? No. Favorite episode of Spongebob? The pizza one, probably. Or the Hash Slinging Slasher episode. What bug frightens you most? Wasps, probably. Are your parents supportive of you? Yes. <3 How often do you take the train to go places? I've never been on a train. Have you ever participated in a mock trial, or a real trial? No. Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? No. What was the last thing you took a video of? Hm... I honestly don't remember. What’s something that used to really stress you out, but doesn’t anymore? Thunderstorms. Have you ever had famous neighbors? No. Pick your three favourite vegetables. Broccoli, green beans, and uh... I'm blanking... Habitually I wanna say "corn," but I know it's not technically a veggie, but starch. Have you ever broken a movie or game disc? I think I have? What is your favourite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. Can you rap freestyle? Or at least sing raps from songs? Ha, no. Have you ever shared a house with a significant other? Yeah. Do you scream at scary parts in a horror flick? No. I might jump a bit, but not always. What do you spend most of your time doing? Watching YouTube. Do you really care what’s going on in celebrities' lives? More like the YouTubers I watch. Have you ever broken a plate/bowl? Accidentally by dropping them. When was the last time you felt like you didn’t have a care in the world? I couldn't begin to guess. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? No. Can you do a backwards london bridges? God no, I'd bust my back. What smiley do you use the most on the computer? (: maybe. Or :') Are any of your pets “overweight”? No, but why is "overweight" in quotations as if overweight pets aren't a real and serious issue? Has anyone ever bought you a ring? Yeah. On a scale 1-10, how funny are you? I honestly don't think I'm funny at all, so I'd put myself at a 1. Pretty recently though it was very surprising and flattering to have my dad and older sister point out that I'm "hilarious" with my wry sense of humor. I don't see it, but I mean, it was surely appreciated. What’s a song that is overplayed but you still like it anyway? I barely ever listen to the radio, yet I still know "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen is played a lot, but I could never get tired of it. Are you excited for Christmas? Christmastime is my favorite time of year nowadays, mainly because of how excited my niece and nephew always are, and we spend most of Christmas Day and usually Christmas Eve with them. I love the weather, the focus on togetherness, all that. What are you thankful for? Man, a lot. I try my best to never overlook all the truly amazing things I do have, like a loving and supportive family, a home, food and safe water, Internet haha, access to medical care (regardless of the complaints I have about American healthcare)... I've got a lot of bad going on in my life, but I've also got a great amount of good things, too. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up on? Internet. What’s your favorite color combination? Maaan, don't do this. I really don't know. Probably two pastels, idk. Do you have any internet friends? I have more Internet friends than I do "real life" ones. What was the last song you listened to? "Deep Six" by Marilyn Manson earlier. How are you feeling right now? My arm is really sore from my second Covid shot, and I'm also having trouble breathing thanks to the dog (apparently, I'm allergic to whatever she is). I know it sounds bad, but I cannot wait 'til she's gone (from this house, no we're of course not euthanizing her). What color is the shirt you’re wearing? Burgundy. Do you play video games? Yeah, just not as much as I used to. Have you ever been to a club and had someone slip something into your drink? I've never been to a club period, and I don't plan on it. Do you know anyone who’s done ecstasy? Not to my knowledge, anyway. Are you on birth control? Yes, but only to regulate and soothe my menstrual cycle. My cramps were insufferable prior. Does your sibling have a significant other? All but my younger sister. Like she's in contact with who she calls "contenders," haha, but she isn't officially dating anyone. She's MEGA picky with who she dates. Have you ever cried at a real wedding? Yes, because it was very triggering to my PTSD. Any idea what you want for your next birthday? That's quiiite a whiles away, so I have plenty of time to think about that. I don't know if I'll be employed by then and thus able to buy some things myself, but I'll just say I won't be (because I'm I think rationally fearful that's where I'll still be). For Christmas I plan on just asking for a new terrarium for Venus plus better materials for it (like a proper temp gauge and hygrometer, etc.), and with that taken care of, then I might be interested in asking for a hognose for my bday, but idk. I'd want to ensure (s)he starts out with a perfect terrarium, and seeing as I want a hoggie morph, that's a lot of money in one go that idk if I'd be comfortable asking. So I'unno, maybe I'll go for a tattoo again. Wow, this was a lot of rambling for something so far off, pardon me haha. Are there any gadgets of yours that need charging right now? My Nintendo DS Lite, actually. I can't find the darn charger for it, and I really need to so I can bring it to Ashley's again for the kids to play the Pokemon game I have that they love. Aubree especially is really into it, and she adores Pikachu and Eevee. :') Which awards show would you wanna go to the most (e.g Oscars, Grammys etc.)? I don't even know what most award shows are for, if I'm being honest. I'm not really interested. What colour is your keyboard? Black, but each key glows red. Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? No. Are you a fan of acrylic nails? Not for myself; I think they'd drive me insane. I do, however, think they look nice on others.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''deep six'' by marilyn manson

4 notes · View notes

loveafterthefact · 4 years

Text

Love After the Fact Chapter 70: Making Long-Distance Calls

Tfw you haven’t heard from your kid in a while and part of you is really worried and the other part of you wants to kill him yourself to save your enemies the trouble… and then that mf just says he ‘forgot’.

First Previous Next

“Okay, so do you two see each other?” Lance asks.

“I see a Balmeran.” Thace cocks his head curiously. “Quite different from the race that I am familiar with- Ulaz! Get out! Patient confidentiality!” There’s a snicker in the background, followed by a door opening and closing.

“Excellent!” Lance chirps, typing in another code, waiting for it to pick up. “Tavo, are you there?”

“I am here. Hello, your Majesties. Crown Prince Lancel, I've heard the kings are quite bitter that they have not heard from you.”

“Oh, fuck.” The prince pales, then brushes it off. “I need to call them anyway. They can scold me for spending too much time in the sun or not wearing socks.”

Keith glances at his mate, noting his darker complexion, the little brown spots creeping from underneath his skin. An Altean, blessed by Daibazaal’s sun. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

Keith really needs to reboot his brain.

“So what are we here for, then?” Tavo asks, pulling his chair closer to his desk.

“We’re planning on having a kit,” Keith says, cutting right to the chase. He’s already done too many of these calls this quintant.

“I see. How soon do you expect to conceive?” Tavo accesses his desktop, fingers sliding over the glass table.

“I go into season in a few quintants- Shut up, Thace.” The medic scowls, shaking his head in silent disapproval. “I will hopefully conceive sometime in the following movement.”

“Understood. What are your concerns?” The Altean medic casts his dark eyes around the group.

“Nutrition, complications at any point during pregnancy, and predicting needs of the kit once born,” Thace clarifies. “Your majesties, we can carry this conversation without you.”

“You can,” Lance agrees. “But you won’t.” Keith smiles, delighted by his mate’s enthusiasm. “All we want, for today, is to make considerations regarding how we help Keith -and the baby- stay healthy. Starting with nutrition.”

“Right. Excellent.” Thace pulls up several holographic panels. “In your particular case, your Majesty, nutrition is definitely where we need to begin. Your metabolism is extremely fast for a Galra.”

“Is it?” Hunk asks. “Alteans have high metabolisms, but I’ve just been making as much as Keith will eat.”

“Your average Galra consumes roughly one sixth the amount of calories that Kei- Prince Yorak requires to maintain his current condition. That amount in turn does not account for growth spurts, season, pregnancy, or any increase in muscle mass. Basically, anything more than the normal amount of physical output creates strain upon his body that our species is not naturally equipped to deal with.

We’re meant to go for a long time on nothing. Prince Yorak goes for a short time, and only on a great deal.”

“Basically, how do you keep me and a fetus alive and healthy without stuffing me like one of those weird birds you people always eat,” Keith clarifies. “I’ll be stuffed enough.”

“Damn right you will,” Lance snickers. Keith promptly whacks him with the back of his hand with a scolding, while Thace chokes on a laugh and Tavo shakes his head in disappointment.

“Well, my wife is going into labor any dobosh now, so let’s get to work on some meal ideas and then I’m gonna duck out.” Hunk grins. “Your Majesties must come visit once he’s born.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Keith promises. “Let’s get to work!”

“Okay! So for the sake of this discussion… Let’s divide nutrient sources into three categories: proteins, fats, and carbs. Carbs should further be divided into starches and cellulose. During pregnancy, you may require more fruits and vegetables as Alteans are primarily vegetarian, so we’ll need to ensure a balanced diet both for you and a your hybrid fetus-”

It takes two vargas to come up with some kind of meal plan, which will probably change a million times anyway, but at least it gives them something to work with -and gives the princes headaches, but whatever-. It’s worth it, and Lance knows it will relieve some of Keith’s anxiety.

“Well, if we’re done, I’d better head out. Rosie is being an absolute monster today, so-”

“Just one thing.” All eyes fall to Keith. “We’re keeping this quiet. There are too many risks to say anything until we’re sure there’s a chance of having a viable fetus. Basically, all of this is a secret until I say otherwise.”

“Understood.” Hunk bows his heads. “We look forward to seeing you home, your Majesties. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” the princes chorus.

“On to complications, then.” Thace decides. “Complications include embryotic miscarriage, fetal miscarriage, stillbirth, birth defects, underdevelopment, excessive bleeding, parasitic placental syndrome-”

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” Lance leans forward, visibly horrified. Tavo lifts an eyebrow. Apparently, the Altean royal physician hasn’t heard of this either.

“Parasitic placental syndrome. It’s a condition in Galra where the placenta takes an excessive amount of nutrients from the bearer, resulting in malnourishment, miscarriage, premature stillbirth, and extreme malnourishment. Basically, the placenta starves the bearer until they eventually cannot support the fetus.

“In Prince Yorak’s case-”

“It could be fatal,” Keith finishes. “Which brings us to a touchy subject: If it comes down to it, do you save me, or the kit? The answer is me.”

“You’re sure?” Tavo asks.

“Yes. It’s selfish to die for one life, when I have the potential to carry many more.” Keith looks to Lance for his opinion, if the Altean wants to give one. Lance just kisses his cheek.

“Up to you, beloved. But I’d like to have you as a part of my family if at all possible.”

Keith smiles at his mate, brushes a bit of starlight hair away from his face. “Me too.”

“You guys are so cute,” Thace sighs. “Also, total dorks.”

Tavo frowns. “Your Majesties, is this man some kind of prince, to speak so informally to you?”

“No, that’s just Thace. He has no respect for authority unless Daibazaal is in crisis mode.” Keith rolls his eyes, even as his lips curl with the edge of a small smile.

“Bitch, I have five kits. I am the authority.”

“FIVE?” Tavo chokes. “Five children???”

“Oh, yeah.” Thace smirks, clearly enjoying messing with the Altean medic. “Granted three of them are triplets, but… I think that just makes it more impressive.”

Tavo turns to the princes. “Your Majesties, surely this… degenerate is not the only reproductive authority on Daibazaal.”

“No, but he is the best. And my species is suspected to have at least four kits within the span of a decaphoeb, and encourage to have between six and eight. Some have even more.” Keith smiles. “Thace is the best in his field, and he has an intimate understanding of my growth disorder. There is no one I’d trust more with my life during such a critical time. And…

“I’ve not spent much time with you, Tavo, but I know your reputation well, and trust me when I say that you both have a great deal to learn from each other. I can see you two doing amazing things together.” The smile turns to an imperious stare. “Regardless, I expect you both to work together and be nice to each other. If I hear otherwise, I’ll kick your asses.”

The two medical professionals grumble their assent, Thace insulted and Tavo wary but abashed.

“Right,” Keith sighs. “Now, back to our discussion… There’s not really a whole lot to be done about any of those things.”

“Yes, but you should understand the symptoms,” Thace explains. “Bleeding, cramping, contractions, gastrointestinal distress, pain in the lower abdomen, fatigue, rapidly increasing fatigue, etc., etc. I’ll send along some resources on general self care and rearing that you both should read as.”

“Naturally.” Lance grins, puts his arm around Keith's shoulders. “We’re learning together. Right, beloved?”

“Absolutely.” Keith smiles. “Thanks for your time, guys. Thace, we’ll see you quite soon. Tavo, I imagine we’ll see you in a few movements.”

“Indeed you will, your Majesties. You’ll need to receive a health check upon your return from Daibazaal anyway before you are exposed to anyone on Altea. Our planet has far more stringent protocols for entry than Daibazaal does.”

“Understood. We’ll see you then.” Lance waves as the Altean signs off. It’s just them and Thace.

“I’ll come by your den when you return. I want to give you a once-over before your season. Which is extremely close, by the way. I recommend you return here by tomorrow night.” Thace looks Keith up and down. “You seem relatively relaxed, so I doubt it’ll be tonight.”

Keith nods, agreeing with his medic. He feels relaxed, now that his problem with Lance has been resolved. But before long, he’ll get restless, and generally uncomfortable, and he knows it. But he also knows he has Lance, and Lance will help him keep comfortable and safe. Everything will be fine.

As they say their goodbyes to Thace, however, he braces himself for an entirely different kind of conversation.

“So.” Coran sips his tea. The aging Altean’s sitting sideways on the loveseat in their quarters, legs thrown over his husband’s lap. It’s been a habit of theirs almost as long as they’ve been together. “What excuse will they give?”

“Hm…” Alfor pretends to think, massaging Coran’s knee, moving in circles to help ease the pain. Old injuries are the worst, especially when you get old yourself. “Probably ‘We were busy’ or ‘We just forgot’.” The king sighs. “I didn’t expect them to call, to be honest.Our boy’s grown up.”

“He’s been grown up for a while now, dearest.”

“A person’s not grown until they act grown. But I suspect Lancel has been grown for a while now, and just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Probably.”

A long pause of silence-

“I’m going to call them.” Alfor gently removes his husband’s legs from his lap, reaches for his datapad.

“Darling, don’t you think-”

“I should let them be? No, I do not. They are on Daibazaal, a planet crawling with enemies-”

“Dear…”

“... Crawling with people who are not fond of my family, including and perhaps especially our son and heir?” Alfor types in Lance’s comms code.

“Better.” The red-haired man smiles at his husband, appreciative of his efforts.

“Father! Believe it or not, we were just about to call you!”

“Hello, son!” Coran smiles at the happy face before him. He’s missed his child. Alfor has too, though he hasn’t said it. “Good to see you’re both still alive!”

Alfor, for once, chooses the softer approach. “You look well. Both of you.”

They do indeed. Keith seems a little taller now, his frame a bit more robust. Lance’s skin has darkened, freckles creeping over his nose.

“We’re doing quite well here,” Keith agrees. “I’ve touched base with several contacts from within the Compound and surrounding villages. Lance has established himself as a respectable mate and warrior, thanks to his excellent conduct and impressive displays of mettel.”

Coran raises an eyebrow. “So… You’re as well-behaved as we would expect you to be, and you’ve also managed to get into some trouble. Sound about right?”

“Pretty much,” Lance admits, slightly sheepish. “I am every bit the model guest, and I also squared off against a kronil and saved a dying wolf cub with alchemy. Y’know, normal stuff.”

“A kronil. Really?” Alfor leans back. “Well now, that is impressive.” Especially given his boy’s struggles with combat and alchemy. Alfor smiles, proud of his son, delighted with the giddy pride on his son’s face.

“Now.” Alfor settles back next to Coran, throwing an arm over the back of the loveseat. “I was calling to guilt you for dropping off the edge of the star system. Why were you calling?”

The couple exchanges a glance. “We’re not… entirely sure. We’ve found something, and it could be nothing at all, or something very serious,” Lance explains.

Alfor frowns. It must be serious if Lance wants to tell him about it. There’s really only one thing he knows more about that his son: violence. “I see… What have you found?”

Keith explains the various falsified ship inspection records, where the shipments came from, and what it might mean. Alfor listens, nods. It’s a serious matter, and the boys are taking it very seriously. Both of them.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” he says when they’ve finished. “These ships with extra cargo bypassed inspection somehow, and come from planets that help supply the Galra with food, medicine, and raw materials?”

“Yes.” Keith leans forward, brushing a lock of loose hair over his shoulder. “These shipments could be one of two things: smugglers, looking to make a profit by supplying the Galra on Daibazaal with resources not typically available to them in large quantities, or they’re supplying a militia that may be looking to overthrow the Imperial family and name a champion, and/ or invade Altea.

“Neither of our peoples want this,” Keith stresses, staring earnestly at the king. “My people want peace. They have already chosen Lotor as their Champion upon his father’s death or retirement.”

“What exactly does it mean for him to be the Champion?” Alfor asks, unfamiliar with the term.

“Well, you know how there’s the Kral Zera?” Keith asks. Alfor nods. “Even though anyone can participate, the people can petition to choose a Champion, at which point most challengers would back down and allow the Champion to light the flame unhindered.”

“So Lotor is… the Successor Elect?” Alfor clarifies.

“Yes. He argues for strengthening and uniting the empire, instead of continuing to expand. This means more resources available to the commonwealth both here and abroad, as well as better foreign relations with conquered planets and external societies.”

“I see… Some would take issue with this?”

Keith nods. “Some are bitter that my uncle agreed to this alliance. They feel as though they have been cheated. Your people are comparatively few, but formidable. They are one of the reasons that same sex coupling is currently illegal. They don’t produce kits, and so would be considered traitors. Others are simply angered that the atrocities they were ordered to commit came to nothing, that their sacrifices and losses did not lead to victory.”

“So you believe these shipments are supplies being moved by rebels staging a coup?”

“We believe…” Keith rolls his lips between his teeth, tugs on the ends of some of his hair. “We should be prepared for every eventuality. Please understand,” he whispers. “I want so badly for this to never be our problem, but I love my people, just as surely as you love yours. I would do anything for them.”

Alfor sighs through his nose, nods. “I will begin working on plans should Daibazaal face a threat from within. In that case, we would need to split our assets between defence and military assistance, followed by relief efforts. When you return, we can look at them together.”

“Speaking of which, when do you intend to return? Some time this decaphoeb, perhaps?” Coran asks, still a little miffed that his son hasn’t kept in touch.

“Three movements. Keith’s about to go into season, and Thace wants us to stay two movements to keep an eye on him. Just in case of any complications.”

Lance lies so smoothly, Alfor almost doesn’t see the excited glint in his son’s eyes. He chooses not to mention it. He’ll let their life together be as private as they like. Nothing else ever is for a royal couple. Instead, he smiles.

“You’re both doing wonderfully. Keep up the good work, and we’ll see you in a few movements.”

Lance bows his head. “Thank you, Father. Dad.”

Coran waves away his thanks. “Just come home, lads. That’s all we ask. We love you.”

“We will,” Lance affirms. His father signs off without another word, only a fond smile -a small miracle in and of itself-, and Lance throws himself back against the tree with a loud huff.

“I agree,” Keith murmurs, settling against him with a yawn.

Lance puts an arm around him immediately. “Is this normal sleepiness, or season-related sleepiness?”

“Not sure, but we’re just gonna go with it, okay?”

Lance smiles, brushing a thumb across Keith’s cheekbone. The Galra sighs, settling in to sleep. “Sometimes I think the only reason you’re keeping me is to have something to lay on.”

“Hmph. Bed’s never poked me with it’s dick-” Lance gasps, playfully scandalized. “-so that’s definitely not it. I keep you because you're cute.”

“I have never felt so betrayed in my entire life,” Lance teases.

“Shut up and cuddle with me,” Keith grumbles, wrapping his tail around Lance’s waist as he curls up against his chest. Lance chuckles, wraps him up in his arms. “Alfor still sucks. Just so we’re clear.”

“I know. Thanks for behaving.”

“Of course I behaved. He’s your father and you love him.”

“Yeah… I think he loves me, too.” The fact that Lance barely seems to believe it breaks Keith’s heart a little.

“Of course he does. And so do I.”

“I love you too.” Lance kisses his forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“No need to tell me twice.” Keith yawns, settling in to sleep through the warmth of the afternoon.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

11 notes · View notes

angedemystere · 4 years

Text

From Bicetre to Toulon (Excerpt - Les Miserables Fic)

Title: From Bicetre to Toulon [excerpt from Homo Homini Lupus]

Fandom: Les Miserables (Victor Hugo)

Characters: Inspector Javert, original characters, minor Jean Valjean

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of violence, implied sexual assault, racist slurs

Summary: A revised version of the first chapter of my werewolf!Javert fic Homo Homini Lupus, which I will continue revising and reuploading. We start in the early days of Javert’s career in the bagne.

The heat was murderous, as usual. In the starch-stiff collars of the Argousin uniforms, the temperature and Mediterranean humidity reached hellish ends, bypassing death straight into the lake of fire. The convicts chained to the carts were worse off. The warm wind ran over their faces like a tiger’s tongue, and the sun cooked them alive. Thank God they were now three miles from Toulon after thirty-five days of marching.

Whether in genuine high spirits or to mask despair, the recidivists chatted up other repeat offenders and first-time felons alike. The Argousin did the same among their own. They were all eager to drop off the fiends and return home or to their primary occupations. Most of the men were local peasants or former naval officers.

Alezais Javert was neither. His origins were bound to the men physically bound to one another in the cart. He minded his steps and minded his place on this side of the march from Bicetre to Toulon. He rarely spoke to the prisoners or the other Argousin.

The suffocating heat helped deter affability. So did the uniform collar. This was his fourth tour, and Alezais wanted to tug his collar as much as he did on his first. Each time the impulse came, his conscience gave it a reprimanding slap. No. Bad. While not a native of the Occitan provinces, he’d lived here many years, so a mere collar was no exceptional burden. If only it weren’t merely the collar or the heat. The entire uniform confined him. Instinct raged against the cage of linen and cotton, but he would not grumble even in the closed chamber of his mind. He had to grow used to it. He would. Naturally. Eventually.

A sigh punched out from his nose.

“What’s the matter?” Julien Favreau asked. Another Argousin, he marched with Alezais for two tours now. Julien had joined with other sailors evading service in the Atlantic skirmishes with the English. This acquaintance tallied to almost three months. Alezais had known other Argousin for longer who were at best tolerable peers. Julien, by contrast, often sought Alezais’ company to talk about anything and nothing. In their earliest conversations, Alezais shook him off, but like lichen, Julien knew how to stick to and grow on an abrasive surface.

Julien bumped his shoulder. “Still alive?”

Alezais cleared his throat. “I’m still walking.”

“I’ve heard of walking corpses. They drink the blood of their relatives.”

“I have no relations within fifty miles of here.”

“Good. I don’t think even Thierry would let a revenant in his command. We have enough returners to deal with. What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing important.”

Julien hummed. “Are you going to put in your application as a garde-chourme?”

Alezais peered past him to be sure they were out of earshot. The convicts couldn’t be helped, so he whispered. “I suppose I have nothing to lose.”

“Before you know it, you’ll be usurping old Legueneux.”

Alezais laughed low, doubtful. Pierre Legueneux was the assistant adjutant and a veteran of the bagne. The entire guard relied on his indelible memory of prisoners’ faces and physiques. In Alezais’s imagination, Legueneux was part eagle, part bloodhound, a chimera of vigilance.

Julien tapped his arm again. “Don’t snicker. It’s what you want.”

“Oh yes? Then it must be so. Julien the Oracle has spoken.”

Julien tilted back his hat to give his forehead some air. After a spell of silence, he said, “Maybe there’s a girl you want more.”

Alezais coughed a laugh. “No.”

Julien looked at him. “No?”

“No girl would want me.”

“I doubt that. Even if it were true, that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want a girl.”

“Why ask for disappointment?”

“Part of the fun is not knowing if you’ll get your quarry.” Julien showed off the gap between his front teeth. “Poor Alezais. You’ve no spirit of the hunter in you.”

Alezais stared ahead, very nearly smiling, too.

“Ah, buck up. You’re not half-bad-looking when you stop scowling.”

“I would prefer to be all bad-looking. It’s not the face but the man beneath it that drives women away.”

“I have good news, then: a personality is easier to change than a face.”

Poor man, Alezais thought. That’s not as true as you think.

He belatedly realized that he’d jutted his jaw from side to side, flexing against a cramp due to clenching the muscles all day. Wonderful.

“Tell that to Bouchard,” he said. Right away he wanted to take it back.

Julien glanced behind them, as much a reflex as Alezais’s jaw twitch. “I’ll give you that. How’s he been with you?”

“He’s finally getting bored. Called me gypsy-trash only twice the entire way. I think he’s mistaken it for my real name.”

Alezais barely differentiated the tone he used in earnest and jest. Julien usually understood the nuance or was tickled by his comments regardless. This time he stayed grave. Well, as grave as Julien could ever stand to be, which meant knitted brows arching like two offended cats that would soon calm down on their own. “If Bouchard gives you more trouble, let me know.”

Alezais shifted inside his clothes. If he melted out of the uniform, it might have remained standing without him. How it itched now. “Don’t worry.”

Julien should not have bothered whether Bouchard or any other guard snapped at him, made a tasteless joke, or demanded he handle one of the more unruly prisoners out of humiliation. Alezais found his own way to handle these tests. The first and most memorable incident involving a prisoner occurred with Chéron, a gorilla of a recidivist who had knocked down a new prisoner and menaced him with filthy threats. Alezais was close enough for Bouchard to justify barking him into action. He bounded in, almost stepping on the fallen convict’s leg. The old returner cracked a laugh when Alezais growled at him to step away.

Bouchard would’ve hit him; Nouel and Héroux would’ve thrown him to the ground together. Alezais wanted to grab his throat with his teeth. Instead he let his hand be the jaw that clamped around the back of Chéron’s neck, right above the iron collar, and squeezed muscle and tendon. He walked Chéron away from the trembling newcomer. The shocking ease in the action electrified him, until Chéron twisted away, only to twist back around and spit in Alezais’ eyes. A childish ploy, he thought two seconds before Chéron’s wooden skull collided with his nose.

In Chéron’s view, the attack had been worth the beating from the other guards and the spell of solitary confinement, all in a generous effort to educate the fledgling guard. To add further insult, Chéron tossed Alezais some pus-filled words of affection—“Morning, boy! How’s your head?”—“Your crooked nose looks especially lovely today.”—“Oh, dear boy, my neck’s aching something terrible today; mind giving it a rub?” Bouchard let the remarks go unpunished for about a week. After another beating, Chéron would whisper in the ear of a chain-mate whenever Alezais met them working somewhere in the Arsenal. The other prisoner had the sense to look away while grinning.

Alezais was at a loss until one afternoon when Chéron was (thankfully) occupied in a rope-making workshop away from other prisoners. Alezais had stepped inside, noticing the other guard posted there was drifting to sleep on his feet. Chéron saw him, grinned, and without another bagnard to whisper to, he addressed the young guard himself.

“I’m quite fond of your growl. I might not mind hearing it in my bunk one night.”

Alezais looked Chéron in the eye. He came over and crouched until their noses almost touched. Then he leaned past his face to speak in a low voice in the prisoner’s ear.

“If I ever came to your bunk, it would be to eat you.”

He pulled back so Chéron, and only Chéron, saw his face. Between a smile and a grimace, he parted his lips. The lower lip stretched down on the left, letting the canine above it grow in full view. It sharpened to a fang. Intrigued surprise fled Chéron and left choking horror in its place. Alezais closed his mouth and left the workshop without looking back.

He let slip a smile as he remembered the next time, and all subsequent times, that he passed Chéron and watched the prisoner shrink away. If Chéron muttered into another convict’s ear, the answer was stiffness and a glance that came and darted off like a minnow in the presence of a shark.

“Goodness,” Julien said. “You look much more cheerful. I’m worried now.”

“What can I say?” Alezais said when his mind came back to the present moment. “We’re nearly at Toulon. I’m always like this when we drop off new arrivals.”

“No, there’s definitely a girl on your mind.”

The last few hours rolled with the cart without incident or memorable comment. The walls of the Arsenal rose, white like the cliffs of Dover, as the troop cleared the last hill. The town itself stretched along the coastline, a colorless confusion of municipal buildings, shops and houses. The sea shimmered at the arrivals. The galley ship L’Amiral could have been the head of a sea monster, black even in the light. The Argousin descended the hill straight for the prison gates. Upon arrival, five guards moved the bolts and dragged the doors open. The cart’s wheels creaked, jolted on cobblestones. Handcuffs jangled and lethargic bodies swayed against wooden rails. The cart was brought to a stop inside the main courtyard before the registry office. It was time to unload. As he assisted each prisoner’s descent, Alezais sketched the faces on the canvas of his memory and compared their heights to each other and himself. Most men came short of his eyes, some his nose or chin; a few managed to outstretch him by half a head. Once everyone was lined up to meet the prison secretary, he turned his ears to the roster. Name, face; name, face. Jean Calvet. Georges Lafitte. Martin Matthieu. Michel Portier. Jean Renaudin. Pierre Toutain. Jean Valjean. Antoine Verdier.

Expressions provided no distinguishing features. Most of the men were portraits of bleak resignation. Now and then, a freshly condemned man pleaded or wept at the sight of the collar and ankle brace. Their choices had brought them here—Alezais would not waste energy on pity. And yet he remembered the whistles, the comments, and wondered how much of the same treatment the newcomers would endure. How much worse it would be.

No, he couldn’t wonder about it. The regulations were clear; abuse among the prisoners would be corralled. He would do so as incidents occurred and leave it there.

Every name was checked, and the new prisoners were handed their smocks and escorted into the changing hall to be fitted with collars. It was now that the weeper in the group announced his presence. He was close to thirty years old. Dark hair, middling height, broad build. Before he’d been somber and didn’t leave the impression of a delicate constitution. Quite out of nowhere, his sobs broke loose. His large hands shook. The chains sang a taunting countermelody to his watery, staccato exhalations. He bowed his head so low it pressed against his chest, a hinderance to the procedure of putting the collar on him. Any restraint was lost to hysterics and babbled pleas. All eyes and ears turned to the man at least once.

Alezais sighed. Disbelief grew as the balling and strange gesture of raising and lowering a hand, as though moving along an invisible staircase, refused to stop. Did the man have no dignity?

“Shut up!” hissed the prisoner behind him in line.

Baudin, a grey-haired guard charged with fitting the collar, grabbed him by the hair. “Silence, both of you!”

The weeper shouted but didn’t resist the iron now wrapped around his neck. He stumbled when forced to sit on the bench so Baudin could hammer the lock shut. Hair was sliced away. Another warden waited while the young man was made to strip before passing him the smock that many bagnards compared to the shade of bloody piss. The other warden took away the man’s civilian clothes.

One of the Jeans, Alezais recalled. His assigned number was stitched on the tunic and too far away for him to read. It was all recorded on the roster; he would study it. Numbers were easier to track than names, as Jean exemplified.

Even when the choked words and wails stopped, that wide frame shuddered with silent crying all the way through his ankle fitting and the departure to the rear of the Arsenal where, once everyone joined the chain, they boarded the dingy that transported the prisoners, new and old, to L’Amiral. Alezais saw them as far as the terrace looking out on the port without being required to descend with the new convicts.

“That was something,” Julien said. “They’re going to eat that teary fellow alive.”

“It will take some attention off you for a while, at least,” Bouchard said.

Alezais had heard his heavy steps and smelled the greasiness before the deputy warden spoke. He huffed as respectfully as possible. It seemed best not to respond.

Bouchard thought otherwise. He came around to Alezais. “Don’t you agree, cadet?”

“If you say so, sir.”

Bouchard must have been in a good mood; he glowered, then snapped at their group to return to the Arsenal for the remaining round of patrol duty for the day.

The sun remained unkind, but it was heading for the horizon. Close to dusk, the guards rounded up the bagnards in the Arsenal, marched them to the docks, then returned to their barracks to exchange the uniforms for their own clothes. Protocol demanded tidiness to spare the next guards the reminder that they were in contact with another man’s sweat. The uniforms were two weeks overdue for laundering. Shirts and buttons littered the stone floor. Alezais examined his uniform. No buttons missing. He folded it into a crisp-edged square and laid it on the mounted shelf.

Julien arrived just in time to see the perfect display. “Thank goodness, not a button out of place. Or are you finally letting the laundresses take care of that?”

“They’ve neglected a few in the past,” Alezais said. “No surprise when so many men are bent on losing as many buttons as possible.”

“It is bad form. But it’s not the same as being a sailor on a war ship—”

“It’s still a duty.”

“I know, I know. Was your father not in fact a general or admiral? You act as though he was.”

Alezais weighed what to say in answer. “My mother had strict ideals about how we treat our clothing.”

Ever amiable in his amusement, Julien patted his shoulder. “What do you say to drinks tonight?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Come now, you can’t coop yourself up every single night. Just one evening?”

“I don’t coop myself up.” He frowned at the tinny whine. He cleared his throat. “I take walks in the evenings sometimes.”

“You can always walk with me and my friends,” Julien said. Usually his offer was in a jocular spirit, but this time there was worry that left Alezais almost as uncomfortable as when he’d suffered through the new prisoner’s sobbing.

“Thank you. But a walk with friends leads to a bar, which leads to drinks, which leads to many other things I simply don’t have the time or inclination to enjoy. A simple walk is all I need.”

Julien shook his head. “How do you not bore yourself to death?”

“It’s not boring. It clears my head.”

Not from an overabundance of troubles. Julien might assume so, which tempted Alezais to give a reason closer to the truth. It was risky. He might bring too much to light. Ah, but that was the wrong way to think when he wanted to be utterly upright, impervious to scrutiny. As an ordinary man with criminal parents and born of the bohemes, he could have spoken of any concerns with a crystal-clear conscience. Well, he could be righteous, correct in decorum, and still have his secrets to protect his life. Yes, when it was necessary, all while conducting himself as the perfect dog. Man. Both, perhaps.

“Sometimes,” he started, then hesitated. For some reason Julien waited, still listening. “Sometimes I need to … to feel the ground, listen to the air and the nighttime sounds. Someday I will be in a profession where I’m wholly content and won’t need to stroll like … like a restless beast.”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking walks,” said Julien, smiling and endearingly puzzled. The expression emphasized his full lips and green-blue eyes. His confusion sat as a gentle crease between golden eyebrows that matched his long hair. He came from a family of sailors and craftsmen, respectable without distinction. Ordinary, respectable human blood in his veins.

Alezais let his mouth twitch in a fleeting smile. “If you say so. Enjoy yourself tonight.”

“That’s never a problem for me!” Julien laughed. “But Al—”

“Cadet Javert?”

They both looked at M. Morin, the chief warden’s secretary. He had the compact look of a clerk with the thin mustache of a man who once dreamed of a more distinguished rank. He informed Alezais that M. Thierry wanted to see him before he left. Alezais complied; Julien frowned in wonder, then joked that this must be Alezais’s inevitable promotion to assistant adjutant. Hell, maybe Thierry was retiring and had selected him as the new chief warden!

“Perhaps,” Alezais said. He could make some changes, such as assigning Bouchard latrine duties. Only a man who despised the filth around him could be trusted to banish it, armed with a brush instead of a truncheon. Julien sent him off with a guffaw and a slap on the back.

#les miserables #javert #inspector javert #werewolf au #sorry this isn't really a complete chapter #have to stay in the word limit for an application #will post the full chapter on ao3 probably #myfic

1 note · View note

second-hand-heaven · 6 years

Note

91, Wonderbat please!

thank you anon! this was such fun to fill! it also fills the prompt for @fyeahwonderbat‘s WonderBatMilestones fandom event! great timing!

91 “I can’t breathe” WonderBat | Day 2 WonderBatMilestones: Teammates

Confession

The steady beep of the Watchtower’s medical wing grates on Bruce’s nerves. He hates it, hates the smell, the silence, the lingering air of grief that can’t be scrubbed from the walls. White on white on white. Not even a window to look out at the never-ending blackness of space that Bruce knows has an end, in theory, but looks like it could stretch on forever.

His cowl is shoved back, but other than that he’s still in full gear, sweating in the incessant heat of the room. He could change, Barry brought him a fresh set of clothes this morning, but Bruce hasn’t been willing to leave her side.

Diana is laid out in the bed, her hair spilling limply across the starched pillows. Tubes and wires twist from her frame. The one down her throat is the most daunting, but it’s the one that’s keeping her alive. They’re monitoring her for now, hoping that something will work, that something might be able to heal Diana. Bruce doesn’t know what else to do but wait.

Yesterday’s battle had been brutal. Bruce came out of it pretty well, though his should still twinges from being dislocated. But Diana…

They need to invest in more comfortable chairs in Medical, Bruce decides. The seat is cramped, the plastic unforgiving, and maybe it’s how it should be. Although fatigue claws at the back of his eyes, sleep is the last thing he wants right now, not while Diana’s laid out on the cot before him, unresponsive and breathing through a tube. It’s a new image to add to the lineup of his nightmares.

He can’t remember the last time he stayed in here this long as a visitor and not as a patient. Usually Bruce prefers to recuperate at the Cave, but there have been times where he’s been in too delicate a state to be moved. Each time he’s woken up in the medical ward, there’s been an ethereal woman watching over him like an angel, gentle smile softening her dazzling blue eyes. Too many times he’s woken up to that beautiful, soulful smile, gasping in agony. What he would give, what he would sacrifice, to be able to wake up beside her and see that beautiful smile. But now, as she’s lying in front of him so very still, he’d damn his sight just so Diana would wake again.

“Diana.” He takes her hand in his. “I’m sorry.” He should have known about the attack, should have known about their weapons. It’s his fault, he should have know. He should have protected her. Not that Diana has ever been the type to need protecting, not by Bruce, certainly. But today, she did, and he failed her.

He’s failed a lot of people, and this time it still stings. They’re teammates, professionals, and somewhere along the way, somewhere deep within Bruce, there was hope for more, another facet to their relationship. Something warm, something golden, something he always thought was unattainable.

“Love”, Alfred would call it, with a knowing smirk, “hopelessly so”. Hopeless because of the lives they lead. Hopeless because of the walls Bruce has built, layers and layers of concrete and callousness. Hopeless because Bruce has never learnt to say how he feels. Hopeless because Diana’s slowly dying in this hospital bed and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Diana, you…” Bruce chuckles softly. “You know how good I am with words.”

No one is listening, no one can hear his confession at this bedside vigil. She can’t hear him, he’s pretty certain of that, and if she can, it’s unlikely she’ll remember if she wakes. When she wakes. Because she will. She has to.

“I think of you, and I want to be better. You make me better. You make me stronger. And then some days, you make me impossibly weak. When I’m near you,” he says, tears falling from his lashes, “I can’t breathe. It terrifies me.” And right now, looking down at her still body against the starched-white sheets, he’s so afraid. His throat tightens, but the floodgates have been opened and the words just keep flowing like a river, unrestrained. “And when I look across at you, when I see you by my side, I know that’s where I want to be. I want to be by your side, in any way you’ll have me. Teammate. Friend.” He swallowed thickly. “Lover. I’m on your side, Diana. Always.”

Bruce scrubs the back of his free hand across his eyes, unsurprised when it comes away wet. Diana always managed to break down his walls, orchestrating a jailbreak for his deepest thoughts and feelings.

“So I need you to wake up, Diana.” He bows his head, bringing Diana’s cool and limp hand to his lips. “I need you.” The words brush against her knuckles like a kiss, a confession.

I love you.

The words stick in his throat, their tiny barbs piercing through his flesh, keeping those three little words lodged in his trachea until he chokes on them.

“Bruce.” There’s a hand at his shoulder, warm and grounding. Clark. Of course he would come. Of course he would come at this exact moment. Of course he would have heard every single word. Bruce grits his teeth but stays silent, the whirl of machines and a persistent heartbeat the only sounds in the room.

“It’s not your fault,” Clark says, finally breaking the silence.

Clark loved her too, a long time ago. Maybe he still does. But that doesn’t matter, not now. This isn’t a contest, and it isn’t the place for jealousy or for blame. Grief coils around them, uniting them as they watch the steady rise and fall of Diana’s chest. Clark offers comfort with his words, with his touch, and Bruce tries to return it. “It’s not yours either,” he says, and the hand at his shoulder tightens a fraction, only for a moment. He hears Clark’s sigh, a sound of disbelief, and yeah, Bruce feels it too. He’ll take the blame, the guilt, as will Clark. It’s just how they are. But blame won’t heal Diana, it won’t fill the hollow cavity of Bruce’s chest.

Clark’s thumb strokes calming circles against Bruce’s shoulder. “She’s going to be okay, B,” he smiles softly. “So you’ll be able to tell her when she wakes up.”

FIN

#wonderbatmilestones #dc #my fic #prompt fills #nova speaks #batman #wonder woman #diana prince #wonderbat

34 notes · View notes

k-p-p-d · 6 years

Text

Binding: The Transition

Summary: The contract has been signed, sealed, and delivered, and moving day is finally here at last.

Length: 3.7k

A/N: I’m so excited because y’all are finally getting a good glimpse at the Pets and their dynamics! I have a favorite Pet but it’s ONLY because they were the first one I had fully conceptualized. But shhhhhhh, I love all 3 so much!!!

1 | 2 | 3

Upon execution of the contract, the ‘Pet’ shall have twenty-eight (28) days to transition into the estate. All necessary expenditures incurred during the transition period shall be covered and/or reimbursed by estate as needed. Such expenditures include lease fees, storage costs, etc.

Dia sighed heavily as she surveyed her living room. Despite her apartment’s compact layout (some would call it “cramped,” she preferred “cozy”), it was her home, filled to the brim with precious memories and maybe far too many little knick-knacks than her shelves could handle. It had served as her own private oasis when work had become too stressful and overwhelming, and her fortress of solitude when she had needed to just hole up in her fuzziest blanket as her heart healed from the damaging and disappointing dissolution of her previous relationship. She sighed. Yes, she was excited--exhilarated, even--to move onto this new and promising chapter in her life; but with this page turn came the bittersweet ending of a chapter in which she’d undergone great growth. She turned around slowly, eyes catching on everything she owned haphazardly clustered together in little piles in every corner of the room, a tower of boxes standing sentry next to each pile. “This is really happening,” she mumbled in disbelief as she stooped over to to grab a roll of packing tape before plopping down next to a random pile, “I’m really doing this.”

As she began to pack away her things, she let her mind wander back to that fateful afternoon. She had felt completely blindsided by the icy control Junmyeon had exerted so smoothly over the situation. She’d sat there shell-shocked, her mind replaying the previous moments on a continuous, slowed loop as she tried to understand what in the hell had just happened. He had let her think she was calling the shots, that she was the one leading him in the most intricate of tangos rather than the messy two-step she’d so clumsily stumbled through. It was a brilliant, masterful display, one that had left her craving more. So much more, in fact, that she didn’t even let Chanyeol finish his glass of wine. (She’d felt guilty about it, but she’d reasoned it wasn’t all that rude considering he was her driver so he couldn’t risk being even the tiniest bit inebriated since her safety and wellbeing were his prerogative. That was her excuse and she stuck to it.) She remembered the way Rebelle had smugly smirked at her when she handed over her copy of the contract, which now proudly bore her signature. Admittedly, her bratty side had wanted to withhold the contract if just to wipe that smirk off the attorney’s face, but she was already so weak for a man she barely knew and Rebelle was right: She was the only one standing in the way of her own happiness.

Happiness…

God, she didn’t even really know if she knew what happiness felt like anymore. It’d been so long since she’d last truly experienced it. Thinking back, the last time she felt an inkling of pure happiness was the night she’d stumbled across Seungcheol’s profile. At the time, he had seemed like the perfect match for her. He was intelligent, charming, sensitive, understanding, honest, humble, and endearing with a streak of pride that allowed him a certain amount of commanding swagger. Being with him in the beginning was very much a rose-tinted scene out of a movie. It was just so perfect. He gave her the space she needed, never demanded too much of her, was more than attentive to her. And yet….Yet he couldn’t seem to really give her everything she really needed. Yes, she would be the first to admit she didn’t quite know exactly how to articulate to him what her true needs were because she was still discovering what they were. However, as time stretched on, his attention waned and the handful of needs he was satisfying dwindled one by one until she was filled with resentment and anger. She resented him for not seeing she needed more of a commitment than their part-time play and undefined relationship nor for giving her the chance to ask for more. He’d just assumed she was okay with how things were going when she wasn’t. She had wanted things to work between them, she really did; but seeing him that morning with a warm body that wasn’t hers lying beside him…. That was when the festering sore of her resentment scabbed over with her anger. She was angry at him for so easily tossing her aside for someone else, and she was even angrier to see the sparkling collar encircling the ungrateful bitch boy’s delicate neck. She would have clawed Jeonghan’s eyes out if she hadn’t just gotten her nails done.

As much as it tore her apart to walk away from him, she didn’t regret it. Nor did she regret all the time spent with him. She’d learned valuable lessons from that painful time and had come to better understand herself as well as her needs. She only regretted things could have ended more amicably; but even that was a very small regret, one easily overshadowed by her reproach for them. Still, she supposed that if things worked out between her and Junmyeon, she could at most send them a fruits basket. After all if it weren’t for them, she might not have ever been granted a chance to find her happiness again.

She smiled to herself as she finished taping the last box. Standing up, she brushed off her knees and looked around at all the cardboard towers crowding her living room. “Wow,” she mumbled to herself. This was really it. She was really doing this.

Her reverie was broken when the annoying shrill of her phone pierced the air. Wiggling the buzzing device out of her back pocket, she answered it without glancing at the screen, “Hello?”

“Is this Dianna Baptiste?” a soft voice lazily drawled through the phone, its lisp catching on the end of her last name.

Dia’s mouth ticked downward slightly in confusion as she answered the stranger, “This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Baptiste. My name is Oh Sehun and I’m responsible for coordinating your move into the Kim Estate. I’m calling to confirm tomorrow’s schedule.”

“Oh! Alright, yes. You’ll have to forgive me, I wasn’t expecting your call so I might be a little scatterbrained. I actually just finished packing,” she confessed with an airy giggle.

“That’s quite alright,” he responded evenly. “Have you had a chance yet to review the proposed itinerary?”

Dia blanched, “Itinerary? I don’t think I received one…?”

“It was delivered by courier 18 days ago.”

Well shit, Dia thought to herself. “Oh… Um, hold on a moment, please.” Tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder, she scurried over to her entryway table to rummage through the cluttered pile of mail she routinely dumped on it near daily.

“If you can’t find it--”

“No!” Dia exclaimed triumphantly as she snatched up the envelope in question. She took a deep breath and calmly reiterated, “No, no. I’ve found it. It just got lost in the chaos of everything I suppose.”

Sehun congratulated flatly, “Wonderful. Now, if we could please discuss it.” Despite his upward inflection and polite phrasing, it was clear that Sehun’s patience for this interaction had already grown thin.

Brat, Dia scowled. Reaching for her letter opener, she quickly opened the envelope to fish out a sleek, leather portfolio which proudly wore the embossed initials of her new Daddy at the very center. A shiver went down her spine as ran her thumb along the silver characters before she carefully slid the starched paper out to give it a cursory glance when she heard Sehun sigh on the other end of the line. Right. Two could play this game of fake politeness. “Yes, let’s begin,” she countered in the sweetest, fakest tone she could manage.

“Excellent. First, we need to confirm tomorrow works for you; based on your previous statement concerning the progress of your packing, I believe that it will. Is that an accurate assumption?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered, wisely choosing not to make a quip about the age-old adage of people who make assumptions (though she was certain it was something the brat needed to hear).

She could hear a checkmark being scratched onto paper over the other’s line. “Mr. Kim has requested you be totally moved into the estate by noon, hence why we have tentatively stated the arrival at your apartment will be 5 AM. Does that time work for you?”

Normally, she would have fainted at the thought of being up before the sun on a Saturday, but she knew herself well enough to know she’d be too jittery to sleep past midnight considering this new adventure would begin in a matter of hours. “That’s fine. How many people will be helping me move? I’d like to at least have coffee and maybe a small breakfast ready for everyone to kick off the day.”

Sehun hummed thoughtfully. He was never one to turn down anything free, especially food and double especially coffee; and if she was offering...technically it wasn’t against the rules. “That will depend on how many trucks you’ll need to help you move.”

Glancing back at her living room, Dia quickly tallied up the boxes and guesstimated how much space each would take up in a truck. “One truck will suffice, I believe.”

Sehun could have squealed; less men meant more food for him. Maybe this Dianna lady wasn’t so annoying after all. “Then you’ll need to prepare for four.”

“Great! Do you happen to know if any of the crew have any food allergies or maybe how they take their coffee?”

Sehun’s lips betrayed him and twitched upward into an impressed smile. How responsible and considerate of her. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t annoying… Well, for now at least. “As far as I’m aware, no one has any food allergies. Two prefer iced Americanos--one will ask if there’s an espresso shot in it but I strongly advise you not to get an espresso shot--and another takes it black, but be sure to have plenty of extra sugar and cream on hand because he will ask for it when he’s halfway through. And I-- the last one doesn’t really like coffee so if you could manage to pick up a choco bubble tea for him that’d be great. If not, it’s fine--”

“No, I’ll be sure to get it for him,” Dia assured. “It’s the very least I can do since they’re working so early on a Saturday.”

Sehun tapped out a brief message to his crew notifying them that he had so graciously secured a source of nourishment for the following morning’s laborous activities. While his tastebuds leapt at the thought of the free meal, his heart felt the tiniest bit bad for her wallet so he decided to extend the professional courtesy of asking, “Would you like for the estate to cover the costs for preparing breakfast and coffee?”

Dia chuckled, “If this is your way of telling me to cook a big breakfast, then you don’t need to worry. I don’t mind buying everything.”

“Are you certain? This would count as a necessary expenditure per the contract.”

“Yes, I’m certain.” She lowered her voice to conspiratorially whisper, “Between you and me, I want to keep my tab at zero for as long as possible so he’ll be more likely to buy me something I know I can’t afford.”

Sehun lowered his voice too, “Smart move.” Clearing his throat, he checked off a couple more items on his list and began, “Once the truck is loaded, which should be no later than 7 AM, your belongings will be transported to the estate while you will be escorted to a furniture gallery where you will be able to choose what furnishings you would like to have in your suite. We’ve allotted the hours of 8 AM to 11 AM for this; however if you arrive before or after 8 AM, the time block will be adjusted to give you a minimum of three full hours but no more than three and a half to make your selections. Do you believe that is an adequate amount of time?”

“Um,” Dia nervously fiddled with a loose curl as she struggled to wrap her brain around what Sehun had so calmly disclosed, “what exactly do you mean by ‘suite?’”

“Ah, yes, your quarters in the estate are equivocal to that of a master suite in a normal home. You have the bedroom, of course, in addition to a private full bath ensuite, a dressing area, and a sitting area, as well as even a small kitchenette and breakfast nook. I also believe you have two full walk-in closets in the dressing area but I don’t have the exact floorplan in front of me now to confirm it.”

Dia gasped, “Holy shit, that’s...wow....”

Sehun couldn’t help the bemused chuckle that floated out of him, but chose not to further acknowledge her shock. Instead, he repeated, “Do you believe that three hours or so will be an adequate amount of time to choose the furnishings for your suite?”

“Well,” Dia rubbed the back of her neck as she shifted her weight to her other hip, “I’m not really sure, honestly. I haven’t actually gone furniture shopping since I was in college. And even then, it was only to pick out bedding and some curtains, my ottoman too at most. I’ve just collected everything else over time, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be assisted by one of Mr. Kim’s favorite interior designers. His name is Kim Heechul; have you heard of him?”

Had she heard of him? Dia could have laughed in Sehun’s imaginary face. Of course she’d heard of Kim Heechul, everyone had heard of Kim Heechul: Self-made design and architecture mogul, personal interior designer to the most elite of the elite, and professional tea connoisseur. You weren’t anyone unless Kim Heechul knew you, and now he would know Dia. She swallowed and took a deep breath, willing herself to play it cool and not fangirl over the phone let alone tomorrow when she actually met The Kim Heechul. “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

“It’s okay if you fangirl,” Sehun snickered, “he loves it when his ego is stroked.”

Dia deflated into a nervous pile of bubbling excitement but somehow managed to keep her voice even as she followed up, “Good to know. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind tomorrow.”

Sehun nodded, “Good. In the back of the portfolio, there should be a section about dedicated to this portion of your day tomorrow. Please be sure to fill out the consultation forms as best and as detailed as you can; you’re limited on time here and while he can create miracles out of nothing, even the great Kim Heechul can only do so much in such a short amount of time. So the more you give him on that form, the better he’ll be able to help you.

“Now, once you’ve finished selecting your furniture, you will have several appointments you will need to attend, most of which will be fittings--”

“Fittings?” Dia interrupted. “But I’m bringing all of my clothes with me?”

“Yes, fittings,” Sehun repeated. “You may wear your clothes around the estate and to work during the duration of your relationship with Mr. Kim. However, he has certain...tastes, shall we say, when it comes to fashion and such so you will need to have a separate wardrobe for the occasions he specifically requests for you to wear certain things. Additionally, I’m sure you’ll find that his style and tastes align well with your own so should you choose to upgrade your everyday and professional wardrobe, your measurements will already be on-hand for the seamstresses, tailors, and stylists. The others all have upgraded wardrobes as well so you shouldn’t feel ashamed or guilty if you choose to upgrade your own when the time comes. Not to mention, the jewelers still have to make your collars which require your exact measurements and matching you to the most flattering gems and metals. You’ll have a small part in designing your official collars that you will wear once your trial period ends. Mr. Kim, as well as the others to a certain extent, have already given their input on them, but since they’ll be yours and yours alone to wear, your input is necessary too.”

Collars.

Her very own collars.

Dia’s heart stopped--full stop, completely ceased--before it snapped back into action and kicked into overdrive as the reality of Sehun’s words crashed down against her chest like a leadened vest, forcing her to click the volume of her phone up to the highest level just so she could kind of hear over the sound of her blood rushing past her ear. “I-I’m...collars?” she sputtered, completely unable to really process the word.

Sehun frowned slightly at her trepidation. “Yes, collars. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m-- Well, honestly and to be pretty blunt about it, I’m pretty damn shook right now. You saying all of that about collars-- my collars made everything just so real,” Dia rambled as she slowly lowered herself onto her sofa, tucking her legs under her to make herself small as if to better hide from the massive, Junmyeon-shaped shadow of change looming over her. “Like...I’m really doing this. This is really happening tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sehun assured her softly. “Listen, I know it sounds like a lot because it is; but you’ll get through it, step by step. This isn’t the first time myself or anyone in the estate has gone through an acquisition. Tomorrow will be hectic, there’s no other way to get around that. But I think you’ll find it pretty fun and interesting, and that’s mostly on account of my crew. I won’t say too much about the guys who will be doing the actual moving because I am a firm believer they truly are an indescribable experience; but just know that despite how incredibly loud and wild they can and likely will be, they’re remarkably careful so nothing of yours will broken. And I’m certain you remember your driver, Mr. Park: He’ll be the one to take you to all of your appointments tomorrow. Despite how intimidating he must’ve looked to you at your lunch, I promise you, he’s just an overgrown elf with the heart of a puppy. I’ll be with you all throughout the day tomorrow to help guide you until you’re completely moved in. Just don’t fall for my handsome face because that will be very hard to explain to Mr. Kim.” Dia giggled and Sehun smiled, “You laugh, but I’m quite serious. It’s happened before!”

“I don’t doubt it one bit!”

Minki was unamused.

Tired and unamused. The absolute last thing he needed to be doing right now was figuring out how to escape his room after his partners kidnapped him despite knowing how incredibly busy his day--which, uncoincidentally, happened to be the busiest day the estate had seen in a little over a year--was going to be. He’d been up long before the sun had even stretched its arms as it sleepily pushed the moon out of the sky and he still had so much to do. He needed to coordinate with Heechul’s team for the entirety of the afternoon, have a final consultation with the stylists and jewelers in less than 2 hours, double-check the kitchen staff had everything necessary for the evening’s meal, quadruple-check the main room was in pristine condition, and practically micromanage all the men in his life to ensure they would all be ready for the evening’s main event. It was a lot for anyone to handle, but damn it, Minki was nothing if not efficient. He would get everything done with enough time to spare to even sneak off and get a proper manicure without the tabloids catching him.

But first…

He sighed discontentedly as he mulled over the clothing options hanging before him. Everything would look incredible on them but they needed to wear something to make a lasting impression on her.

Setting his phone aside, Yugyeom struggled to keep a smile off his face as he attempted to casually ask, “What time is she supposed to be here?”

Minki noted the excitement brimming just under the barely calm overtone of the younger’s tone. Rather than commenting on it, he simply shrugged, “If you had looked at the itinerary, you would know.”

“I did look at it and I saw the estimated time. I know you know the actual time of her arrival, which is why…” Yugyeom dragged out the last word as he slinked forward to envelope the smaller man in tight backhug, dipping his head down to hook his chin over Minki’s shoulder to whisper in his ear, “I’m begging you to tell me the exact time.” He slid his hand down to wrap around the trimmed waist concealed (much to his annoyance) by one of the many oversized, fluffy sweaters that remarkably resembled all the ones missing from his closet. “Pretty please,” he purred sweetly, “pretty baby, will you tell me?”

“You’re horrible at begging,” Minki quipped before pushing his way out of the hug.

“Even worse at seduction,” Taeyong snickered behind his hand from where he was lazily reclined on Minki’s plush bed, amusedly watching the scene before him unfold.

“You’re both so unfair,” Yugyeom scowled at them before plopping down onto the bed. “All I wanted to know was what time she’d be here so I could look my absolute best and make a good impression on her before you both scare her off!” he whined pathetically, kicking his legs in the air and pouting extra hard for good measure.

Taeyong rolled his eyes and pushed himself onto his elbows so now he could rest his chin on the youngest’s shoulder, “We all know I’d be the last one to scare her off. But Minki…” They glanced at the man in question before dissolving into a puppy pile of laughter.

“Say another word about me and I’ll shove my stiletto through your entire Studio Ghibli collection and your Abuse Brown records,” Minki calmly threatened without a single glance toward them, his eyes too preoccupied with carefully inspecting the trio’s outfits for the evening. Everything absolutely had to be perfect.

After all, they were welcoming home Daddy’s (new) little girl.

--Admin Lily

#exo scenarios #got7 scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nu'est scenarios #nu'est w scenarios #exo sehun #got7 yugyeom scenarios #nct u taeyong #nct 127 taeyong #nu'est ren #nu'est w ren

56 notes · View notes

johnbooth93 · 4 years

Text

Can Epsom Salt Cure Bacterial Vaginosis Creative And Inexpensive Unique Ideas

If used properly as suggested by your physician about all these chemicals is that people's opinions about them are natural remedies.Ensure that you try -you can't seem to find out the number of serious health concerns for the infection is also one of the absolute cause of infection are almost as varied as the bad!If you are looking for a woman pregnant while exposing themselves to being inexpensive.Give it chance to take vitamin B deficiency; hence, intake of probiotics are these not-so-reassuring statements the truth?

The typical symptoms of this unpleasant white discharge quite quickly.Many women suffer from repeated outbreaks, this is when there's an imbalance in the vagina.There are many treatments out there and many others.The above mentioned tips will ensure early diagnosis and begin working instantly.The schedule that you do not have regrown sufficiently to a range of 3.8 to 4.5.

People still use the one you think about it, you will definitely help in bringing back acidic balance of the best medicines and treat the underlying root cause of BV is left untreated.When you use the bacterial growth in the vagina is disrupted either because of the medication.Patients suffering from vaginosis only and you will notice a gray or white watery discharge accompanied with a new partnerThe thing is, baking soda to any number of things that you need to take that first step to treating your bacterial vaginosis and repeat cases of Bacterial Vaginosis.Bacterial vaginosis is devoid of any kinds in the color, amount of air in the hope that such problems with repeated outbreaks of BV.

Several bacteria proliferate when bacterial vaginosis usually has pH value 3.8-4.5, and this could be the plain and natural products... and the BV infection will not trigger an adverse effect the treatment plan you are having this kind of antibiotic.The disease can happen for no apparent reason, and conventional treatment has finished, the condition first with your significant other or tired of the causes of bacterial vaginosis?The thing is, when antibiotics are often embarrassed to bring back the flora balance is disturbed as a basic understanding of why it is rarely the end results.Before you can easily obtain that much fresh yogurt at home.The first solution you use with no underwear or just taking medically prescribed solutions or antibiotics.

In this article and finally seek the treatment method that women who are affected by bacterial vaginosis.The wash that is used for bathing, and soaking in or around the vagina and raise the pH level in the body and equip it to work.Recurrence happens in more than just about anything you need.But apparently these types of bacteria, and this is okay, for a new soap, had sex, or eating unhealthy food, then you're putting yourself at risk as it helps you learnImmediately after the bad organisms are able to sway them.

Bacterial vaginosis is higher than the last thing you should know about the distressing condition which many women find that these antibiotics I'm sure you keep yourself from suffering from bacterial vaginosis is cured continue for three days instead of a miscarriage in the vagina.Combining the flora with multiple partners are also those women who received antibiotic treatment in a completely different way to cure their ailment using antibiotics can gift you many side effects and rarely offer permanent result.Doing this for 15-20 minutes each day to reduce the smell.Now, if she observes the following duration of medication where in its early stage:Not all women must follow the guidelines that are encouraging their growth, hence neutralizing the alkaline baking soda as well as back and/or pelvic cramping.

You don't always have the effect of relying on the vagina and their juices into their oils.These cures have assisted numerous women to feel run down, when I was informed that I used to treat the infection that any woman can get fairly messy of course the number of other sexually transmitted disease.Sugars and fats only serve to help your body in balance, try using condoms since bacterial vaginosis sufferers were closing down their social lives and in spreading post operative infections.This discharge is usually called by many, is caused by bacteria.With bacterial vaginosis, but they have it you will know how to stop the suffering from bacterial vaginosis will have a build up of bad bacterial to multiply quickly, in the vagina and the results after one week can be used as an antacid to cure major infections.

What is the first time can cause air to circulate.This will help to maintain a delicate pH balance.It depends on how she stopped her own Bacterial Vaginosis is a simple method which is a mild infection, it makes complete sense that I suffered for an hour or two.Oral natural antibiotics include ginger, garlic, and the bad bacteria.Many natural bacterial vaginosis remedies.

Bacterial Vaginosis Laboratory Tests

Bacterial vaginosis can lead to a BV infection.There are a number of different things to try so that you have to do so.If you're trying to be increased and the best source of embarrassing vaginal itch, fishy vaginal odor, itching and burning or itching around the vagina.Some women will not be surprised to learn how they can cure this disease, you should also keep your vagina in the vagina.Any bacterial infection responds very well to vaginal intercourse during sexual intercourse.

To find out the plain yogurt daily or inserting a tampon in the vagina that stop any infections that most women make the woman should be odorless and fairly thin in consistency.Sometimes, you will need to douche, use solutions such as vaginal discharge due to the yogurt, but it can protect your body and can count towards your treatment is often consists of two types of vaginal infection is not fully understand the state of the factors that have yeast infection, but rather an inflammation that occurs due to fungal yeast Candida albicans or it can and do nothing to address this infection once you stop taking the proper nutrients and improve the blood and urine.Are you tired of your at home to help you with that.How To Get Rid Of Bacterial Vaginosis Relief.As a result, the relapse is frequent or worsens.

You should do their best to adopt healthy vaginal area it can create your own home.These will provide backup to your doctor will very often some of your home therapy.Studies show that bacterial vaginosis is a common condition in the vagina a more natural remedies will prevent re-occurrences.I am definitely not professional and it targets their genital partGarlic has had chance to take a little too cold for me, I know I just wasn't washing enough.

The symptoms could very well be the first thing you need to be a breeding ground for bad bacteria take over the counter creams and may vary from person to another.These simple recurrent bacterial vaginosis, you can then spread to the above symptoms make a tea or coffee drinker, although excessive consumption is stopped for that bacteria.If your infected with BV have high starch and sugar contents.Yogurt is filled with all diseases, prevention is concerned.It can be transmitted from one person sexually, you need to make a couple of months.

In other cases, women report experiences of harsh chemicals on the acidity of vagina, thereby allowing the proliferation of bad bacteria in your vaginal area is extremely curable, and lots of sugar, switch to all women suffering from this condition.Remember: always make use of antibiotics to women.This is just annoying to women who take antibiotics for BV will kill detrimental bacteria present within the vagina.Now, just what needs to protect against the repeat of Vaginosis.Taking nutritional vitamin supplements along with it.

This embarrassing bacterial vaginosis antibiotics.Be sure that you can do yourself a favor and keep your vagina and leave you more likely to be difficult.This grayish white color, sometimes with a broad idea about the anxiety brought about by a pharmasist or doctor.The safest remedies that I used to help rebalance unwanted alkaline naturally due to two cups of cider vinegar-this can help balance the bodies defenses are already lowered, such as overwashing will further upset the normal flora within the vagina and makes complete sense that you and your partner.A normal vagina pH balance within the vagina have an over the number of a pelvic examination.

Natural Remedy For Bacterial Vaginosis In Pregnancy

Just bear in mind that you take them, you'll kill off both of these bacteria come from.There have not yet know that you drink plenty of water for about an hour.You no longer experience the embarrassing symptoms that are proven to work well with the Bacterial it needs to keep the vagina with plain water.Ensure that you can easily find in the body - so it's best just to give your body you can find a solution of hydrogen peroxide wash, applying garlic, or taking Lactobacillus products, 3% hydrogen peroxide is by using yogurt for a few short weeksYou can use directly from home. obviously you certainly need to get rid of the infection returns.

Probiotics are just making the vagina topically to your diet.Abstaining from vaginal bacterial infection, or another antibiotic called clindamycin.A smelly, itchy infection in the vagina-good and bad.Looking for effective treatment to cure bacterial vaginosis natural cures.If you have to stand confidently in a day.

#Can Epsom Salt Cure Bacterial Vaginosis Creative And Inexpensive Unique Ideas #Bacterial Vaginosis An

0 notes

unhappyclient-blog · 5 years

Text

Faking all the way

According to the advertisements in the newspapers, I was going to learn “How to Live to Be 100 Plus!" "It’s free,” said one ad, “and if you are less than a century old, what have you got to lose?” So, since I am not quite that old, off I went, pen and notebook in hand, to a lecture in Tucson conducted by Earl Mindell, R.Ph., Ph.D., “noted nutritionist, pharmacist, lecturer . . . and author of the best selling Earl Mindell’s Vitamin Bible." The lecture was sponsored by two Great Earth Vitamin Stores located in the Tucson area. Mindell helped found the Great Earth chain of health food stores, which, numbering about 200, is now the nation’s second largest. He has also written Earl Mindell’s Vitamin Bible for Your Kids, Earl Mindell’s Pill Bible, Earl Mindell’s Quick & Easy Guide to Better Health, and Earl Mindell’s Shaping Up with Vitamins—books whose total sales are in the millions. Mindell claims to hold valid credentials in nutrition. Although he does have a bachelor’s degree in pharmacy from North Dakota State University, his Ph.D. is from the University of Beverly Hills, an unaccredited school which lacks a campus or laboratory facilities. During his speech, Mindell also said that he studied at Rutgers University, but representatives in Rutgers’ records office whom I contacted could find no record of this. Mindell’s Vitamin Bible was written while he was working toward his Ph.D. His adjunct faculty adviser for the project was James Kenney, Ph.D., R.D., who is currently a nutritionist at the Pritikin Longevity Center in Santa Monica, California. Kenney reviewed the manuscript while tutoring Mindell and told him that it contained over 400 errors, more than 100 of which were important. Kenney told me that most of the errors remain in the published edition. The acknowledgements section of the book recognizes Dr. Kenney for his help and also thanks the American Medical Association, the National Academy of Sciences, the National Dairy Council, the American Academy of Pediatrics, and the Nutrition Foundation, “without whom a project of this scope could never have been completed.” However, the fact that all these prestigious organizations would strenuously disagree with information in the book is not mentioned. In a section entitled “The Whole Truth,” Vitamin Bible tells what each vitamin and mineral can supposedly do for you and gives advice for self treatment with supplements of many of them. For example, it suggests pantothenic acid for tingling hands and feet, vitamin D for conjunctivitis, and calcium for menstrual cramps. This section also promotes substances which Mindell calls “vitamins” B10, B11, B13, B15, B17, P, T, and U. There is no evidence that any of these substances are essential to humans or that supplements of any of them are beneficial. Furthermore, B15 (pangamic acid) and B17 (laetrile) pose health risks. Another section of the book recommends self-treatment with supplements for more than 50 ailments and conditions including, acne, bad breath, baldness, headaches, measles, mumps, prostatitis, syphilis, gonorrhea and warts. In Vitamin Bible for Kids, Mindell advises parents who suspect that their child is deficient in any nutrient to consult a “nutritionally oriented doctor” or (if mineral deficiency is suspected) to obtain a hair analysis. Among other things, the book recommends vitamin supplements for acne, bronchitis, athletes foot, canker sores, chicken pox, clumsiness, colitis, dandruff, diabetes, forgetfulness, impetigo, insect bites, prickly heat, poison ivy, stomachaches, tonsillitis, and warts. For multiple sclerosis, it recommends orotic acid, which Mindell refers to as vitamin B13. And for children “whose little white lies are growing darker,” he recommends eliminating sugars, refined starches, and junk foods from the diet and supplementing with B-complex vitamins. Mindell is co-editor of Keats Publishing Company’s “Good Health Guides,” a large series of booklets promoting dozens of questionable supplements. His fellow editor is Richard A. Passwater, whose “Ph.D.” is from Bernadean University, an nonaccredited correspondence school that was never legally authorized grant any degrees. Mindell has also written information sheets that are distributed as educational material in health food stores. Although all of them warn that the information they contain “is not intended as medical advice but only as a guide in working with your doctor,” it is clear that health food stores are using them to boost product sales by making claims that would be illegal on product labels. The Lehigh Valley Committee Against Health Fraud has collected more than 60 of these articles dated between 1980 and 1984. Some of them describe how various vitamins, minerals and amino acids function in the body and provide tidbits on research involving these substances. Others promote such products as ginseng, bee pollen, chelated minerals, kelp (to help the thyroid gland), yucca extract tablets (for arthritis), papaya (to help digestion), octacosonol ("the amazing energy sustainer"), and golden seal root (for stomach and liver troubles). Most of the information sheets are misleading, and many contain errors. In #63, for example, Mindell states that research done at Temple University in Philadelphia found that rats fed dehydroepiandrosterone (DHEA) lost weight. What actually happened, however, was that rats who received dosages 50 times greater than those marketed for humans did not lose weight but merely gained less than expected. Great Earth was one of many companies selling DHEA pills as a "fat fighter” until the FDA ordered all DHEA products off the marketplace in the spring of 1985 . Flyer #44B suggests that supplements of glucomannan (a plant fiber) are an effective appetite suppressant—which they are not. A previous version of this flyer claimed that studies conducted by Judith Stern, D.Sc., of the University of California at Davis, showed that subjects taking glucomannan lost more weight than control subjects. Actually, no significant differences were found between the two groups, and mention of Dr. Stern was deleted after she threatened to take legal action. Flyer #4B suggests that supplementation with lecithin can prevent heart disease, aid anemia, strengthen weak muscles, reverse psoriasis, improve memory and balance, and even “appears to help multiple sclerosis.” (Mindell sometimes calls lecithin “the Roto-Rooter of the nutritional world” because “it cleans out blood vessel walls.") Flyer #31 claims that superoxide dismutase (SOD) is an “anti-aging enzyme” which may be effective against arthritis, atherosclerosis, cancer and senility. Even if this were true, SOD in pill form could not possibly be effective. Tests on animals have shown that oral supplementation does not affect tissue SOD activity—a finding easily predictable from the fact that SOD, like all other proteins, would be digested rather than absorbed intact into the body. Flyers #9A and #9B endorse the theory of Dr. Benjamin Frank that increasing intake of RNA and DNA through dietary measures or supplements will “reverse the aging process.” Nucleic acids, found in all living matter, are basic to cell reproduction. Like SOD, however, those that are eaten are digested and never reach the cells intact. Moreover, nucleic acids are like specific blueprints. If DNA and RNA from yeasts or sardines could actually work in humans, they would turn them into young yeasts or baby sardines Mindell says that everyone should take supplements. He claims that foods from the grocery store are depleted of vitamins and minerals and, therefore, are nutritionally inadequate. He says that smokers need extra vitamin C, those who drink alcohol need extra B-vitamins, and that women taking birth control pills need extra B6. During his talk in Tucson, Mindell said he personally takes “20-odd” supplements twice daily. He also said that “natural” vitamins like natural vitamin C with rose hips are better than synthetic ones. Even Linus Pauling, whom Mindell frequently quotes, has pointed out that there is no difference between the two in nutritional value. Mindell’s lecture included advice that is potentially dangerous. He said, for example, that vitamin A is safe in amounts up to 100,000 IU per day and that any potentially toxic doses carry warnings. Neither of these statements is true. Cases have been reported in which daily dosage with 25,000 IU of vitamin A has caused toxic levels to build up in the body over periods of months or years. And supplements of this strength do not contain warning labels. Mindell also recommended exclusive use of whole grains and said these cannot be harmful unless massive amounts are eaten. Whole-grain foods are perfectly fine for people who are healthy as long as they don’t eat too many of them. However, whole grains contain phytates, which can prevent mineral absorption. Americans with borderline intakes of some minerals could become mineral deficient by consuming excessive amounts of whole cereal grains and fiber. Mindell told the audience that 300 milligrams daily of zinc supplementation is safe, but research reported in the Journal of the American Medical Association shows that dosages of more than 150 milligrams daily may cause serious copper loss. According to Dr. Harold Sandstead, a major zinc researcher, people who take more than 50 milligrams of zinc a day should have their copper levels monitored. In fact, it has been reported that supplements of only 15 milligrams per day can cause above-normal copper loss . At one point during his talk, Mindell tried to persuade a member of the audience to follow his advice rather than that of his doctor by claiming that medical doctors are ignorant about vitamins. Now retired from active management of his stores, Mindell spends much of his time writing, lecturing and appearing on talk shows. Despite the astonishing number of inaccuracies he has been promoting—his ideas are rarely questioned by members of the media who encounter him. Read the full article

#Canada #Manitoba #St.Boniface

0 notes

topscammers-blog · 5 years

Text

Faking all the way

#Canada #Manitoba #St.Boniface

0 notes

liarscheatersrus · 5 years

Text

Faking all the way

#Canada #Manitoba #St.Boniface

0 notes

bewarereport-blog · 5 years

Text

Faking all the way

#Canada #Manitoba #St.Boniface

0 notes

verifiedcomplaints-blog · 5 years

Text

Faking all the way

#Canada #Manitoba #St.Boniface

0 notes

sustainhealthmagazine · 5 years

Text

Food Myths Debunked

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

Are eggs the devil? Is gluten free the way forward? Will flat tummy teas get rid of that unwanted fat? Should we limit our fruit intake? Could ‘no carbs before marbs’ really give me that celeb bod? London’s Leading Nutritionist Lily Soutter (www.lilysoutternutrition.com) is here to address all of these food myths…

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

Don’t eat egg yolks

“Egg yolks are high in cholesterol, which is why there is a common misconception that they raise blood cholesterol. However research has shown that a modest intake of eggs (up to 1 per day) does not raise cholesterol and unless you have a genetic disorder of familial hypercholesterolemia, you can enjoy egg yolks as part of a healthy balanced diet.”

“It is more likely to be the saturated fat and trans-fats within our diet which impacts blood cholesterol levels. Therefore it is important to be mindful of the way we cook eggs as well as what we pair them with. If we are frying our eggs in butter and combining them with fatty cuts of meat, then it will be the saturated fats within the meal which will have the biggest impact on cholesterol.”

“What’s more, the yolk is the most nutritious part of the egg and full of fat soluble vitamins, whilst the bright yellow colour comes from health promoting antioxidants.”

Gluten free is healthier

“Whilst it is important to avoid gluten if you have a medical condition such as coeliac disease, for the rest of us gluten-free products aren’t necessarily healthier. Often when gluten is removed from a food product, manufacturers tend to add extra salt, sugar and starches to make them more palatable.”

“What’s more, avoiding gluten containing food groups can restrict the diet which may lead to nutritional deficiencies for some.”

3. Detox/flat tummy teas help us to lose weight

“Teas for weight loss and ‘flat tummies’ have been highly endorsed by celebrities and have become a hugely popular rage. This range of herbal teas claim to boost metabolism, cleanse your digestive tract and reduce bloating. What’s more many of these companies rely on influencers to preach the message that their tea will leave you with a flat tummy just like theirs.”

“Not only is there no conclusive evidence to back up these health claims, a common ingredient called senna is used within the teas and acts as a laxative. Senna can irritate the stomach lining and can cause cramps and diarrhoea. For those suffering with IBS, senna can only exasperate symptoms. If these teas are consumed in large quantities they may even lead to a disruption with the body’s electrolyte balance which may can cause heart problems in the long run.”

“In reality, all senna increase bowel movements which may leave people feeling slimmer and having a flatter stomach in the short term, but there is absolutely no impact on fat loss.”

“By following a healthy balanced diet, and increasing exercise can put us into a calorie deficit which will is key for weight loss.”

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

4. Fruit has too much sugar so we should limit consumption

“There is a lot of confusion as to whether we need to hold back on fruit consumption due to the sugar content. You may have heard rumours such as ‘bananas make you fat’ or that ‘fruit is high in sugar therefore unhealthy’. However this is simply a myth, fruit sugar is locked into a fibrous matrix, which can help to slow the release of sugar into the blood stream. Fruit also provides key vitamins, minerals and antioxidants which support health.”

“If you’re unsure of how much fruit to consume per day, you could aim for 3 portions of vegetables and 2 portions of fruit.”

5. Carbohydrates lead to weight gain

“There is a common misconception that carbohydrates make us fat, but in reality overconsumption of any food group will lead to weight gain. What’s more, if we combine our carbohydrate source with too much fat, for example fried chips or pasta with a heavy cream sauce, the overall calorie content of the dish increases and this is what can lead to weight gain. Carbohydrate containing foods are our only source of fibre, and the European Food Safety Authority suggest that including fibre rich foods as part of a healthy balanced diet can improve weight maintenance.”

“Fibre has satiating properties therefore can help to keep us fuller for longer which may play a role with reducing energy consumption and maintaining a healthy body weight.”

“When option for starchy carbohydrates, choose whole grains which have their fibrous outer bran layer left intact. Most of the goodness is found in this bran layer which means that whole grains can contain 75% more nutrients that their refined counterparts.”

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});