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bosspigeon · 3 years

Note

(hope the blood letting goes well :( ) nate/adam prompts??? lips chapped from the cold // warming the other's hands (or lips, 'cause, i mean)

in the dark, i can hear your heartbeat

Pairing: Adam du Mortain/Nate Sewell Word Count: 2603 Summary: Being sidelined during a mission isn’t too bad, if you ask Nate. Gives him plenty of time to ogle his commander. And maybe, if he’s very lucky, he’ll get to do a bit more than just ogle.

THIS PROMPT REALLY GOT AWAY FROM ME, HUH? Sorry it’s taken me so long to post it, I was just possessed by the spirit of Nate’s Intense Emotional Horniness. Title from “Cosmic Love” by Florence and the Machine~

Mild CW for some intense kissin’ and a bit of fondling, as well as some adult humor, but it doesn’t actually dip into anything too risque. Not for lack of trying on Nate’s part tho 👀

Watching Adam has become something of a self-soothing ritual for Nate over the centuries, even when it hurt him to do so. There was an odd sort of comfort in watching, in tracing the familiar paths of his silent, shackled longing with heavy eyes and quiet avarice. Then, he had to be careful not to overdo it, to make it obvious, however desperate he was to memorize every inch of his commanding agent, as if every moment with him would be the last. Adam’s eyes are sharp, his awareness of himself and how people observe him sometimes bordering on paranoia (though he would gut himself before admitting such weakness) and Nate learned to watch him when he was otherwise occupied, honed in with an intense, single-minded focus on whatever task the Agency had for them.

It became easier, over time, for him to contain the hunger of his gaze, to pick and choose the correct time to indulge himself in admiring the man who gradually became more than simply his superior, but his friend. Nate learned to play it off well when he was caught, to corral his racing heart like an errant beast, and he fervently thanked whatever power would listen to a lost creature like him that Adam’s interpersonal skills were not nearly so sharp as his observational ones. There was guilt, of course. A dark twist of shame that took far too long to shake, the niggling idea that there was something wicked about wanting the way he did, but Adam drew his gaze relentlessly from the very first moment they met. Nate was bedraggled, exhausted in a way beyond the physical, and no longer human, but meeting this steadfast, powerful, beautiful man lit a fire in his belly that warmed him, and even dulled the gnawing there, in a way he could never hope to explain.

He smiles to himself under the cover over darkness as he watches now, flushed with the knowledge that he does not have to hide it anymore.

Adam, body vibrating with restless tension as he watches the shadows, stiffens further when the weight of Nate’s gaze finally breaks through his focus. His spine somehow manages to straighten even further, and Nate’s smile widens, curling with mischief.

“What?” his commander hisses, breath fogging in the chilly gloom. The streets are quiet, and though this area is mostly condemned warehouses and abandoned factories, they lurk in the shadows and avoid the sparse yellow streetlights.

Nate’s smile does not falter, and he simply raises his brows. “Pardon?” he asks innocently.

Adam’s eyes narrow at him. “You are staring. Why?”

And, oh, he really can’t help himself, not when he is still all aflutter with the intoxicating freedom of having what he’s yearned for so long the ache had almost become a part of him. “You look quite striking in this light, is all,” he says. His gaze traces, unbidden, along the strong angle of Adam’s jaw, the proud curve of his nose, the breadth of his shoulders that strain enticingly against his coat, and when it finally drags itself back to his eyes, they are wide and startled. “What? Am I not allowed to admire you?” he teases, daring to slink closer.

“We… we are on a mission,” Adam protests, but his voice lacks the sharp edge of reproach it usually does when he is, say, chiding Mason or Felix.

“Chase, Mason, and Felix are on a mission,” Nate corrects gently, still smiling. “We are keeping watch until they return.”

Adam’s mouth twists, clearly sour about the reminder that they’ve been sidelined. Unfortunately, the mission is one that requires speed and subtlety, and the fewer of them to get in the way, the better. Chase was a rather last-minute addition— one that Adam did not approve of at first—until it was pointed out that his particular talents would be useful getting into the trapper hideout undetected. He even proved his skills by breaking into their Agency SUV without setting off the alarm. “That is still part of the mission,” Adam grumbles, turning away. Nate takes the final step that will get him where he wants to be, which is within touching distance of the brooding commander. Adam stiffens, but stubbornly keeps his gaze turned in the direction of the hideout, little more than a nondescript, barely-lit grey building in the distance. The radio silence makes them both antsy, but Nate takes comfort in knowing their team is a capable one, and if anything were wrong, they would be alerted. Nate allows himself another indulgence, and slides his hand over Adam’s arm. He’s done it countless times before. Even before this change, this new territory to chart, Adam allowed him and their team more intimacy than he allowed anyone else. Casual touches are not new, but now they feel strangely loaded. They carry a new weight.

An intent.

Nate squeezes the hard, tense muscle of Adam’s bicep, and Adam spins to face him again. He seems startled to realize Nate's gotten so close, and one hand comes up to press against his chest. Nate stops, lifts his head, and cocks his brows, waiting. There is a flush creeping up Adam’s cheeks, his breath seems to have frozen in his lungs (luckily he doesn’t really need it), and for a long moment, they simply stare at one another in silence.

Adam exhales in a plume of white mist, leaning forward ever so slightly. A hardly perceptible movement, but Nate has long since learned to read Adam’s gestures, his expressions, his silent requests. He slides his hand over the one on his chest, curling his fingers around it tenderly. “Your hands are cold,” he observes. Adam opens his mouth, likely to make some remark about Nate’s obvious comment, but it freezes before it even reaches the chilly air when Nate pulls the hand to his mouth to breathe warm air over it and rub it between his own. His eyes never leave Adam’s, wide and bright in the darkness, and that enticing flush only deepens when Nate presses his mouth softly to his knuckles. He kisses each one, slowly and sweetly, all the while rubbing circles into Adam's palm. Adam swallows, eyelids fluttering, and his lips part, but all that escapes them is a wordless, shaky little sigh.

And then Nate is being backed into the wall of the building behind them, Adam’s hands balled into the lapels of his coat. Nate’s shoulders hit the drab brick, and Adam crowds in close, green eyes flashing in the gloom. Nate’s hands find his hips, slipping underneath his coat, in part because his hands are somewhat cold as well, but mostly to get as close to skin as he can possibly get. He licks his lips, waiting. He’s waited three centuries for this, he can be patient a little while longer, and allow Adam to come to him when he’s ready.

The first kiss is quick, hardly more than a chaste peck. Adam's lips are cold, a little chapped, and Nate tries to follow them when they pull away. Thankfully, he isn't left wanting for long. Adam seems bolstered by his reaction, and kisses him again, more forcefully. His lips part in a sweet little gasp, and Nate takes the invitation, running his tongue along his lower lip and pulling it playfully between his teeth. He feels the sound that rumbles in Adam's chest more than he hears it, and he can't help but smirk. He hopes Adam can feel it pressed against his mouth, hopes he knows how much Nate delights in every reaction, relishes every little sound, and commits them to memory.

Adam's lips warm quickly against his, and his hands do too, sliding into Nate's open coat to brace against his chest. Nate warms his by tugging Adam's shirt from his belt and slipping his hands underneath. Adam gasps, his belly shuddering and twitching reflexively under his chilly fingers, but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he presses closer, clinging like a man drowning, soft, rough noises slipping helplessly from his mouth into Nate’s. Somehow, his thigh winds up between Adam’s, his hands creeper higher and higher underneath his shirt, inching it up over his belly. They’re pressed so close together, though, that his bare skin doesn’t meet the air.

Nate breaks away from the kiss with a heated gasp, and his wet lips are almost immediately stinging with the cold. It’s Adam’s turn to chase his mouth now, pushing up onto his toes to close the distance between them. He kisses at Nate’s jaw almost frantically, his fingers curling into his shirt, and when Nate doesn’t give him what he wants immediately, he growls.

It should be threatening. Nate has heard Adam growl before. He’s seen him bare his teeth and snarl to intimidate an enemy into backing down, or simply out of annoyance. Adam is a fierce presence when he wants to be, the very picture of an apex predator. Powerfully built, strong, and proud, with eyes that could gut a lesser man with a simple look. Now, growling as he mouths and nuzzles against Nate’s jaw, he just sounds needy.

Nate might die here, but it won’t be because Adam is any sort of threat. It’s easy enough to reverse their positions, pliant as Adam has gotten. It’s shockingly easy, really, and Nate is taken back to their conversation in Adam’s room, the way he simply let himself be spun around and pinned against his own desk, let Nate take whatever he wanted from him. They have sparred, however little Nate cares for it, and Adam’s beaten him every time. There’s no question which of them is physically stronger. The only reason Nate could push him anywhere is if Adam let him do so.

He shudders at the realization, an almost pained groan tearing free of him, and dips his head to catch Adam’s mouth again, earning another growl that he swallows up desperately. He wastes no time in slipping his tongue past Adam’s lips, tasting him with a feverish hunger that blisters with heat so intense he forgets the cold entirely. He gets his thigh between Adam’s legs again, and he pushes up, reveling in the choked moan it earns him. He swallows that too. Nate knows hunger, feels it gnawing at him even now, but even that ever-present, aching reminder of what he is drowns in the wake of this clawing need to get as close as possible, to taste as much of Adam as possible.

He is blearily considering how easy it would be to undo Adam’s fatigues and slip his hand inside, when he is nearly blinded by a sudden light washing over the little alcove they’ve sequestered into.

He snarls, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, and once the starbursts clear from his vision, he sees Chase standing at the mouth of the alleyway, shining his phone’s flashlight over them.

Nate doesn’t need the light to see the smirk curling the detective’s full lips, the wry quirk of his brow. He is flanked by Mason and Felix, who are wearing eerily matching, leering grins at the compromising position in which they’ve found their commanding agent and his second.

Heat rushes to his cheeks, and he peels himself away from Adam’s front (reluctantly, of course—embarrassed as he is, he still yearns to wrap himself around that powerful body and simply refuse to let go) with a sheepish cough. He finds his clothes are a bit… disheveled, to say the least, so he busies himself putting them back into order, risking a glance at Adam to find him hurrying to do the same.

Chase shakes his head disapprovingly and tuts at them. “Really, you two? Canoodling? In the middle of a mission?” He’s still smirking, eyeing them over with that sharp, knowing gaze.

Felix giggles helplessly and whispers “Canoodling” to Mason, who snorts.

“The mission,” Adam snaps, straightening his posture admirably, considering he is still hastily tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “You’ve gotten the information we need?” He sounds faintly breathless, but he hides it well. The pinkness of his lips, noticeably wet and swollen, less so. Nate wonders, a bit hysterically, if their accelerated healing mitigates things like beard burn.

Chase produces a manila folder from inside his jacket and waves it smugly. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“How did it go?” Nate asks, raking his fingers through his hair. “No difficulties, I hope? It’s still quiet.” He glances towards the building in the distance. Still and dimly lit. He breathes a sigh of relief. Even with the distraction, he does worry for his team, and is glad to see they seem no worse for wear. He is also, perhaps, glad to have a distraction from the heat still surging under his skin, the tangle of arousal still burning in his gut, the sharp awareness of Adam standing stiffly at his shoulder, a person-shaped knot of tension.

“In and out,” Mason says with a nod and a little smile playing about his lips. Felix snickers again. “So easy it was almost boring.” The smile widens, and Nate braces for impact. “We definitely didn’t have as much fun as you two did.”

Felix collapses against Chase’s shoulder cackling.

Adam tenses even more, and Nate is concerned he’ll break something with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. “We'll return to the Warehouse and debrief there," he says stiffly, refusing to even deign the teasing with a response. Nate can't help but risk a touch to his lower back, light and barely there, in hopes it will soothe him even a little.

Adam meets his eyes for a fraction of a second, but Nate can feel the way his body loosens ever so slightly, and presses his palm more firmly to his back, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I bet you're real eager to debrief at least one of us," Felix manages to wheeze out, still recovering from his last little fit.

Adam's spine snaps straight again, and he begins to draw away from Nate's touch, to retreat into himself, to overthink. Chase sees it too, and he elbows Felix sharply in the side to quiet him. Nate takes the moment of distraction and loops his arm around Adam's waist and reels him in to brush a quick kiss to his temple. "Relax," he breathes into his ear.

He waits for Adam to react, keeps his grasp loose, so he can escape if he needs to. He wants this to be easy, but knows it may not be for Adam. This is uncharted territory for them both, but they have always handled uncharted territory in vastly different ways. He cannot expect Adam to simply be ready just because he is.

Adam doesn’t relax, so he begins to step away, keeping his face neutral, his posture loose. The rejection stings a bit, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. A strong hand latches around his wrist before he can withdraw it completely, and Adam’s eyes are stubbornly narrowed when they meet his. Nate smiles, warmth blooming bright in his chest, and curls his arm around Adam even tighter, slipping two fingers through his belt loops. He finally begins to relax, if slowly, and Nate can’t stop smiling.

Mason stomps his feet noisily against the cracked asphalt, interrupting the little moment, and Nate tears his eyes from Adam’s to see him rubbing his arms. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Is it?” Nate asks brightly, turning towards the black SUV parked deeper in the shadowed alleyway and steering Adam along with him. “I’d hardly noticed.”

#pidge writes #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #adam du mortain #nate sewell #adam/nate #HOO BOY THIS WAS A LONG ONE #i am SO SORRY #it's also messy as hell but i wanted desperately to at least post it before midnight #i hope y'all like it #nate kinda took over and needed to wax poetic about his feelings b*ner #we get it dude #chill maybe #this is kind of a direct sequel to my last adam/nate prompt #they're still figuring everything out #it's probably not easy to change the parameters of a relationship thats been the same for three centuries #but also its probably not easy to contain three centuries of pent up feelings #adam is also sensitive to teasing especially when he's trying to maintain his Commanding Leader persona #but like #this is his family #they love him #they're happy for both of them #but also they are absolutely not going to let them live #anyway ive rambled enough yeehaw #evilbunnyking #the bloodletting DID go well btw!#so well i had to do it TWICE in one week!#and i have to do it again NEXT WEEK

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harryglom · 5 years

Text

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?

One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.

The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.

Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?

She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.

Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.

Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.

"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"

This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.

"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"

She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?

Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.

"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.

"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."

She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."

I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.

I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#queer fiction #new poets corner #new writing #original writing #original story #short story #short tales #mental health #positive mental attitude #mental disorder #actually ocd #writers #weird fiction #weirdart #im weird #excerpt from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a book i might write #excerpts of stories

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seniorbrief · 6 years

Text

Why Women Crave Chocolate—and How to Increase Your Willpower

You’re doing so well on your diet. You’re controlling your portions. You’re choosing healthy foods. You’re exercising. You’re losing weight.

But then that stressful week happens. Your boss asks you to stay late. Your car breaks down, and your kids need you to drive them to extra practices. Your dog gets hurt and has to go to the vet. Your best friend needs you for her wedding. You rush from one thing to the next hardly able to keep it all straight.

And all of a sudden, one morning, that frosted donut sitting there on the table at the office is just far too attractive to resist. You cave. How can a donut taste so good?

It starts an avalanche of cravings. Your usual healthy lunch becomes a burger and fries. Your veggie-loaded dinner gets tossed for a nice juicy steak. When you stay up late to get everything done, your brain screams at you for fuel, and the only thing that will do is a nice big bowl of ice cream.

Been there? We all have. Unfortunately, when things settle down and we realize what’s happened, we feel awful. We lost control, we think. We weren’t strong enough to stick with our own resolutions. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It’s time to ease up on yourself. Whereas we used to think sticking to a healthy diet was all about self-control, now we know better. Science has discovered that evolution has stacked the cards against us. Turns out our food cravings are tied to things that can be difficult to control, like how much sleep we get, what our genetic makeup is, what hormonal changes we’re going through, and yes, what our gender is.

Best of all, with what we now know, we have even more effective ways to help you resist those cravings so you never have to feel guilty again.

What is a Craving?

You’ve likely experienced it before—that powerful desire for a particular type of food. It’s different from a regular feeling of hunger. When you’re hungry, a number of foods will satisfy you. But a food craving is often for something salty, sweet, or smooth—something that will satisfy a strong need you have at that moment.

Cravings can strike at any time, but usually occur when something else is going wrong in your life. You’re tired, stressed, bored, or you haven’t been eating right lately and your body needs energy. We used to think that cravings meant you were low on a certain nutrient or group of nutrients, but science has found more evidence that cravings are associated with other causes.

What Causes Cravings?

Here’s what we know so far:

Obesity: This is a tricky one, as scientists don’t have all the answers yet, but they have found that food cravings tend to be “hard-wired” into the brains of obese people. In studies, food cravings activated different brain networks in obese people than they did in normal weight people. In fact, the pathways in food cravings were similar to those associated with drug addictions.

Sugar: Studies have found that sugar, on its own, can trigger cravings. In 2013, for example, researchers reported that sugar lights up pleasure centers in the brain that play a role in compulsive eating. Lead researcher Eric Stice of the Oregon Research Institute told the New York Times that it was clear “the more sugar you eat, the more you want to consume it.”

Fat: Though not quite as strong as sugar, fat can also trigger cravings. In the study mentioned above, researchers found that fat also activated brain-reward systems—just not quite as powerfully as sugar did. But fat is still a player, and consuming it can lead to wanting to consume more.

Carbohydrates: Sugary foods and drinks, white bread, white rice, bagels, juice, and processed foods all cause spikes in your blood sugar. They are broken down quickly to glucose in the body, raising your blood sugar levels. But then after a short time, you experience the “crash”—when blood sugar levels drop quickly again. This cycle is unhealthy and will produce cravings for more carbs to get those blood sugar levels up again. According to researchers in a 2013 study, compared with a low-glycemic meal, a meal high in carbs increased hunger and stimulated areas in the brain associated with reward and craving by the time the next meal came around—encouraging people to eat more. That’s why nutritional experts recommend you consume more fiber, protein, and low-glycemic foods, as these are broken down in the body at a slower pace, keeping blood sugar levels steady.

Fructose: You’ve seen “high fructose corn syrup” as an ingredient in many sodas and sugary treats. Turns out that fructose may have a different effect on your brain than glucose. In a 2015 study, for instance, researchers found that fructose led to more hunger and cravings for treats than glucose did.

Blood sugar changes: As mentioned above, if your blood sugar is stable, it’s going to be easier for you to resist unhealthy foods. If it’s crashing, though, good luck! According to clinical nutritionist Byron J. Richards, when blood sugar drops, “your conscious level control center loses control and your subconscious control center takes over and demands that you eat high calorie food and do so now, as if you are trying to avoid some type of auto accident.”

Exposure in utero: What your mom ate while she was pregnant can affect your food cravings. Studies have found that expectant mothers who consume a junk-food diet can cause their children to have an increased preference for these foods later in life.

Genes: Yes, you may be able to blame some of your cravings on your genes! A recent study reported that two genetic variants (FTO and DRD2) can cause certain people to experience more intense cravings for unhealthy foods. If you have these gene variants, you may be more prone to overeating high-calorie foods.

Lack of sleep: If you don’t get enough sleep, you’re going to have a hard time resisting those donuts or that slice of pizza. A study from U. C. Berkeley, for example, found that compared to a good night’s sleep, a sleepless night impaired activity in the brain’s frontal lobe—which is responsible for decision-making—and also increased activity in the reward-seeking centers. Sleep deprivation is also tied to changes in hunger hormones that drive you to want to eat. On the other hand, getting enough sleep has been found to cut cravings significantly.

Where is a Woman Most Vulnerable?

Now in addition to those factors listed above, women are susceptible to other things that can create powerful cravings. They include:

Hormonal changes: You probably already suspected it was true, when you felt those cravings for chocolate during your menstrual period. Now we have scientific evidence to show that hormonal changes can cause cravings. In one study, for example, researchers found that women had a greater preference for chocolate foods during menstrual flow.

Stress: “Stress-eating” is a real thing. Stress releases hormones that increase appetite and ramp up the motivation to eat. Studies also show that physical or emotional stress increases the desire for foods high in fat and sugar. Unfortunately, women seem more prone to using food to cope with stress than men. (Men are more likely to turn to alcohol and smoking.)

Stress releases hormones that increase appetite and ramp up the motivation to eat. Studies also show that physical or emotional stress increases the desire for foods high in fat and sugar.

Mood: Watch out if you’re feeling sad, angry, down, or anxious, as these feelings are tied to cravings—in women. A 2001 study examined gender differences between men and women for food cravings, and found that women were more likely to respond to negative feelings with cravings than men were. (Men were more likely to experience cravings with positive feelings.)

Resistance: More bad news—compared to men, women have a harder time resisting cravings, and it doesn’t look like it has anything to do with willpower. In a 2009 study, researchers instructed both men and women to resist their hunger while they were tempted with food. Brain scans showed that men’s efforts resulted in less activation of brain regions that control hunger and desire for food. Women’s brains, however, didn’t react the same way, making it harder for them to resist. “Even though the women said they were less hungry when trying to inhibit their response to the food,” said lead researcher Gene-Jack Wang, “their brains were still firing away in the regions that control the drive to eat.”

Studies have also found that men and women have different food cravings. Whereas men may get that hankering for a steak, women are more likely to want chocolate or some other easy snack. This may have something to do with hormones, but according to a survey by the Food and Brand Lab at UL Urbana-Champaign, it may also have to do with our upbringing.

Whereas men long for that home-cooked meal their mothers made when they were young, women like less labor-intensive options not associated with food preparation. In other words, we don’t want to have to work for our reward, right?oHor

12 Ways to Outsmart Your Food Cravings

All these factors can make cravings very difficult to resist—for anyone.

Nicole Avena, a faculty member at the New York Obesity Research Center at Columbia University, says that people can have all willpower in the world, but “if the brain reward system is being activated in a way that causes them to have a battle against their willpower, then it can be very difficult for them to control their intake.”

You don’t have to feel powerless in the wake of your cravings, though. Here are twelve tips that can help you increase your ability to eat healthy more often. The good news is the better you get at resisting your cravings, the easier it will become.

Make sure you have a regular schedule for meals. If you don’t eat every three-to-four hours, your blood sugar levels will crash, which will trigger food cravings. Start by eating small meals frequently.

Add fiber and protein to each meal. These are the magical foods that keep your metabolism burning at a consistent level and help you avoid blood sugar ups and downs, reducing cravings.

Get enough sleep. Shoot for 7-9 hours each night.

Get enough exercise. Moderate-level exercise naturally raises “feel-good” endorphins and helps reduce cravings. Try walking, biking, yoga, tai chi, and the like.

Wait five minutes. Telling yourself you’ll give in to the craving later can often help you avoid it completely. During that five minutes, try to distract yourself with something else—a new project, some exercise (go for a walk), a call to a friend, etc. If that doesn’t work, try to use that time to think of a healthy way to satisfy your craving.

Give in…a little. Research shows that if we constantly deny ourselves our coveted treats, cravings can actually get worse. Just be sure you watch your portion size. Instead of eating the ice cream straight out of the carton, dish up a small amount and savor it.

Set up healthy snacks. If you prepare healthy snacks ahead of time, you’ll be more likely to use them. Try things like nuts, raisins, pieces of fruit, veggie bites, yogurt, and the like. Separate them into one-use containers and have them readily available for when cravings strike.

Drink water. Sometimes we think we’re hungry when we’re actually thirsty! Try drinking a tall glass of ice water and see if that doesn’t help.

Find other ways to soothe yourself. Remember that women tend to respond to negative feelings with food. What else comforts you? Maybe it’s a hot bath, time with a friend, a walk in nature, time with a beloved pet, or getting involved in a craft you enjoy. Make a list of these options and keep it where you can see it when cravings strike. Ask yourself: Is this about food, or about how I’m feeling? If emotions are involved, try one of your other options.

Ask yourself: Is this about food, or about how I’m feeling?

Play a game. A study by psychologists found that people who spent at least three minutes playing Tetris on their smart phones had fewer cravings for food and other substances like alcohol than those who didn’t. Angry Birds, anyone?

Take a sniff. Have you tried aromatherapy? Smells can affect your brain, and some smells can actually defeat cravings. One study by researchers from St. George’s Hospital in London, for example, found that smelling vanilla helped curb cravings for chocolate and other sweet foods, and helped participants to lose weight. Other scents that may work include peppermint and jasmine.

Get enough sunshine. It improves your mood (and it supplies the vitamin D you need!). If you’re not getting enough sunshine, especially in the winter months, you’re likely to notice more cravings for fatty, sugary foods. Try getting out in the sun for at least 10 minutes a day, or use a lamp designed for light therapy in the darker winter months.

Sources

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Eric Stice, et al., “Relative ability of fat and sugar tastes to activate reward, gustatory, and somatosensory regions,” Am J Clin Nutr., December 2013; doi: 10.3945/ajcn.113.069443, https://ift.tt/2oierlN.

Anahad O’Conner, “In Food Cravings, Sugar Trumps Fat,” New York Times, December 13, 2013, https://ift.tt/1e9kY9m.

Belinda S. Lennerz, et al., “Effects of dietary glycemic index on brain regions related to reward and craving in men,” Am J Clin Nutr., June 26, 2013, doi: 10.3945/ajcn.113.064113, https://ift.tt/1g8aS7U.

Anahad O’Conner, “How Carbs Can Trigger Food Cravings,” New York Times, June 27, 2013, https://ift.tt/1LdrauW.

Byron J. Richards, “How Blood Sugar Levels Influence Food Cravings,” Wellness Resources, August 17, 2012, https://ift.tt/2PJ6Skt.

Gugusheff JR., et al., “A maternal ‘junk-food’ diet reduces sensitivity to the opioid antagonist naloxone in offspring postweaning,” FASEB J, March 2013; 27(3):1275-84, https://ift.tt/2C7oQdR.

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Obesity Society, “Are you hardwired to enjoy high-calorie foods? Research links genes to heightened brain reward responses to foods high in fat and sugar,” ScienceDaily, November 5, 2015, https://ift.tt/1kwyybp.

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Jennifer R. Scott, “Craving Clues: Gender’s Role in Food Cravings,” About.com, August 17, 2015, https://ift.tt/2BV3Kin.

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Original Source -> Why Women Crave Chocolate—and How to Increase Your Willpower

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/why-women-crave-chocolate-and-how-to-increase-your-willpower/

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harryglom · 5 years

Text

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for s moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grew too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis. I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#short story #original writing #original poetry #short #mental health #weirdart #weird fiction #queer fiction #lgbtqart #queerart #new writing #excerpt from a story i'll never write #writers #excerpt from a book i'll never write #free write

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