#and my salt intake is too low anyway

[rragnaroks]

i bought myself some finishing salt after having had a weird hangup about it for years. i've always seen it as a sort of frivolous indulgence, but i've also always enjoyed that little pinprick of joy of biting into some finger salt on a restaurant meal. well now i finally got it and i really don't know why i've been dismissing the thought of getting some all this time. i'm all for little happinesses in life in general and i can't believe i've been just one step away from restaurant-level salmon for YEARS because i've been so weird about this

[wayward-dreamer]

Better Late Than Never

Square/s Filled: Snowed In @anyfandomfluffbingo | FREE @jacklesversebingo |

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 2,017

Summary: Dean and Y/N find themselves snowed in at Bobby's cabin. With a little whiskey and a cozy fire, it leaves Dean vulnerable to admit something to her he's been keeping to himself for some time.

Warnings: Minor angst, 99% fluff, brief mention of erotica.

A/N: I've had to forego tag lists as battling with dumblr isn't worth risking my mental health lol. So please go ahead and follow @wayward-dreamers-library and turn on notifications, if you want to read my stuff.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this, because it's been a while since I've written a Dean one shot. Thanks to my besties and beta's @hintsofhoney and @makeadealwithdean for looking over this one! <3

Dean pushed the door open, the gust of chilly air causing it to hit the wall as he hurried inside, forcing it closed against the wind and shutting the cold out. He unwrapped the thick scarf from his neck, breathing heavily as the warmth from the fireplace in the living area thawed his frozen nose. He pulled the gloves off his hands and took off his leather jacket, hanging it up on the rack next to the door, before turning around, frowning at the quietness in the cabin.

“Y/N?”

Suddenly, he heard boots coming up the stairs from the basement, Y/N’s head appearing from the hatch followed by the rest of her, as she carried a big box in her hands.

“Hey,” she nodded at him as she set the box down on the dining table. “I hope you’re hungry for canned chicken soup because that’s all there was.”

“Well, as great as liquid salt in a can sounds,” he began with his signature sarcasm in place, “I got a few other things to eat, and something absolutely necessary to get through the next few days.”

He reached into one of the bags, pulling out two bottles of Bourbon, smirking as he placed them on the table. “We’re really livin’ it up here, huh?” he jested, chuckling.

“Oh yeah, it’s a real Four Seasons vibe,” she added, rolling her eyes as her laughter joined his.

“Called Bobby, told him we pulled in here and we’re gonna be staying until they clear the roads in the morning or the next,” he informed, taking out two glasses from the kitchen cabinets. “Said if we break anything, we owe him.”

“Sounds about right,” she muttered.

“So, looks like it’s just you and me,” he said, handing her a glass and cracking the seal on the bottle, pouring a generous amount into it. “Hope you don’t get sick of my face ‘cause there’s no tellin’ how long we’re gonna be here for.”

“As long as you don’t annoy me, I think we’re good,” she said, looking between her glass and him.

“Oh come on, where’s the fun in that?” he teased, smirking before he poured some bourbon for himself.

They clinked their glasses together before Y/N took a sip, turning away from him to avoid his gaze. Being in close proximity to Dean like this for God-only-knows-how-long was a dream scenario in her head. In reality, it was a nightmare. She had harbored feelings for him for longer than she cared to admit, and now being around him constantly until she finally got to leave was going to be incredibly difficult. She had to keep her bourbon intake low too; there was no telling what she would confess with too much of it in her system. She thought it was just a stupid crush she had from the first hunt they met on, something that would fade away soon enough. Then they kept meeting up, sometimes because a phone call from Sam would convince her to join them on a particular hunt, and other times by coincidence.

More cases led to more time around each other, until they became a pretty permanent part of each other’s lives. She’d even go as far as to say they were really good friends, which just made being in love with him even more complicated. Sam had been trying for a while now to get her to be part of their team, that it was better than her hunting alone, but she couldn’t do it.

Why torture herself with spending every single day in Dean’s presence when nothing was going to happen?

That was exactly what happened, however, when Sam got injured on a hunt and was resting up at Bobby’s. It had forced Dean to call her in on a vampire case, telling her he needed backup as the next was larger than he could take of on his own. The drive back to Bobby’s had been difficult, as the snow started falling harder, and they both knew they had to pull into his Montana cabin until the impending storm was over, as that was the closest place they could get to. It was five days and counting being alone with the man she had feelings for, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive it any longer. 

“I’m gonna keep outta your hair until dinner, I promise,” he proclaimed, walking past her. “How does 7 sound?”

“Sounds great,” she replied, smiling. “Thanks.”

“All good, sweetheart,” he smirked, turning on his boot to face her again. “Plus, I know you need some time with that dirty book in your duffle bag you think I don’t know about-”

“Dean!” she yelled as her eyes widened, her reflexes kicking in quickly as she picked up a couch cushion and hurled it at him.

He threw his head back as he guffawed, stumbling to catch the cushion in his hand and tossing it back on the couch. He shook his head as he continued to chuckle to himself, walking into the bedroom he’d be using and shut the door. She glared at the wooden barrier, dropping down on the sofa and taking a big sip of the amber liquid in her glass. She really had no desire to read her book now that it had been discovered.

At least she still had plenty of other fantasies to keep her company once she retreated to her room for the night.

“Fucking… piece of–son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, battling with the ancient TV antenna.

Y/N pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, her eyes squinting as the glare coming off the screen as the static black and white crackled. “It’s no use, Dean.”

“This is literally the only thing to do here other than research. I’m fixing this thing,” he grumbled, glaring at the antenna.

“I saw a deck of cards in one of the drawers,” she stated, pointing towards the kitchen.

“Fine,” he lamented.

He finally gave up, turning off the TV with a scowl on his face. He retrieved the deck from the kitchen and sat across from Y/N, shuffling them quickly before dealing them out between them.

“Care to make it interesting?” he asked, grinning as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you’re thinking strip poker, you better think again, Winchester,” she countered, an unamused expression on her face.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re no fun, Y/N.”

“I know,” she giggled.

They played a few rounds of regular poker, with Dean winning the first round and then losing the next two. He grumbled as he handed his money over, but Y/N promised that she’d save it to buy drinks the next time they were at a bar. He stood up and put another log on the fire, before grabbing the bottle of bourbon and pouring some more for himself. He picked up her glass, which caused her to bite her lip, nervously. She knew she really shouldn’t, in fear that she might admit something she couldn’t if she had anymore to drink than she already had.

“Uh, Dean… I think I’m good,” she said, covering the glass with her hand.

“It’s not like we’re leaving any time soon,” he stated, gesturing at the snow outside.

She sighed, handing over her glass. She knew he had a point. “You twisted my arm.”

He poured her some before he took his place on the couch again. They fell into a comfortable silence, her eyes focused on the flickering flames and crackling of the fire. Dean looked at her, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he noticed the peace on her features. She always looked beautiful, but when she was completely relaxed and had no worries that plagued her was when she looked the most stunning. He could never tell her that though; he didn’t know how she’d react. He had liked her from the moment he met her, but he wasn’t sure if she felt remotely the same. He didn’t really want to find out, fearing that she wouldn’t.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she broke the silence, glancing over at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, frowning at the fact that she caught him.

“It’s okay, Dean,” she reassured him, resting her head back against the couch as she kept her eyes on him. “Anything on your mind?”

He took a sip of bourbon, staring down into the glass. “Nope.”

“That was a long pause,” she observed, smirking. “Okay, spill. There’s clearly something.”

“I was taking a sip,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but there was still a lot of silence,” she argued.

“Y/N, it’s-it’s really nothing-” he started but his words dissolved on his tongue as she shifted closer to him on the sofa.

“Is it about Sam?” she asked. She knew his little brother was always a source of worry for him.

“No,” he replied, taking a large gulp of the alcohol in the tumbler.

“Is it about Bobby?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he responded, annoyed at the third degree.

“No,” she sighed, holding his gaze. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I shouldn’t push it.”

His eyes closed briefly as he let out a deep exhale, his lids fluttering open as he looked at her. “No, it’s not about Bobby.”

Their eyes never left each other as she thought his words over for a moment. “Is it about me?”

He knew he couldn’t ignore the question, or what he felt for her any longer. “Yes.”

She was taken aback by his answer, instantly fearing that she had done something wrong. She shifted closer to him, the scent of his aftershave tickling her nose, a couple of inches still between them.

“Dean, whatever it is… you can tell me,” she whispered, slowly curling her hand over his.

He could’ve explained himself through words, but he had never been good at expressing his feelings that way. Actions always spoke louder.

With their gazes still locked, her heart began to beat rapidly in her chest as his green orbs stared down at her, making her gulp at how close they were to each other. He slowly leaned in, and before she even realized it, a gasp escaped her just as his lips pressed against hers in a soft kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed as he squeezed her hand in his, allowing herself to move closer to him. She lifted her other hand, cupping his face and letting her thumb stroke over the chiseled line of his jaw, a low moan leaving her as his tongue slipped between her lips, deepening the embrace.

It was over just as quickly as it began, leaving her breathless when he pulled away, both of them staring at each other. Dean shook his head, hoping he hadn’t overstepped, that he hadn’t just ruined everything between them. A small smile, hopeful but weary, pulled at her lips.

“I wish you would’ve done that sooner,” she admitted, laughing.

He grinned. “Better late than never, I guess.”

She leaned into him, her hand resting over his heart covered by his red and black plaid shirt, her forehead pressed against his. She couldn’t really believe what had just happened, feeling like she’d wake up at any moment and it would’ve all been a dream. The longer she stayed in that embrace, in the peace and quiet of the cabin, the only sounds coming from the fireplace, she knew it was all real. It was finally real.

“We have until this storm is over to make up for lost time,” he said, peering into her eyes.

“Hey, better not just be during the storm,” she warned, lifting an eyebrow.

He chuckled, shaking his head as his lips hovered over hers. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I ain’t lettin’ you go any time soon.”

“Sounds good to me, Winchester.”

They spent the rest of the night curled up together in front of the fire, before moving things into the bedroom, finding a better way to keep warm during the snowstorm.

[riflebrass]

Tonight I decided to try something different so I made "lasagna" soup. I didn't feel like breaking up lasagna into bite sized pieces so I went with bowties. But you get the idea. Ingredients: (1X) 12oz pack of pasta (3x) 29oz cans of tomato sauce. Not spaghetti sauce. Basically thickened tomato juice (1x) 28oz can of diced tomatoes 2lb Ricotta (I meant to get 1lb but got 2 by mistake and just rolled with it) 20ish cloves garlic All the onions (I had 1 white 2 yellow) 1lb ground beef 1lb ground Italian sausage 12oz bowtie pasta OPTIONAL: Sodium Citrate 1. I chopped my onions and put it in my skillet with the garlic and let it simmer covered for the better part of an hour. I didn't bother chopping the garlic because I figured it would dissolve in the sauce. It's very soft but still chunks of whole garlic. I consider that a win anyway lol.

2. While that's going I dumped the ricotta into my soup pot and had it set to medium-low. I added the cans of tomato sauce and let it warm up until the cheese melted. I dumped unmeasured amounts of basil, oregano, and thyme on top. After a while I hit it with a stick blender to mix the cheese thoroughly and let it simmer a while longer. Honestly a whisk probably would have been fine if you don't have a stick blender.

3. After about 45 minutes the sauce was staying mixed pretty well but to ensure it didn't separate later I added a spoonful of sodium citrate. It's an emulsifier common in cooking that keeps liquids mixed together when they normally separate. It's a real game changer for home made nacho cheese. Despite containing sodium it doesn't add a salty flavor. Just be careful if you're trying to watch your sodium intake.

4. After I was done messing with the base I went back to the onions. They were fully cooked so I cranked the heat up to medium-high to evaporate the water off of them then dumped it in the soup pot. This seemed like a good time as any to add the diced tomatoes

5. I fried up the pound of ground beef. I added a little salt but not much. The tomato sauce already had a fair amount of salt to it and there was the sodium citrate. Once that I was done I cooked up the sausage and dumped that in the pot. I just did them separately because my skillet was too small for 2lbs of meat. 6. While I was cooking the meat I got a pot of water boiling for the pasta. Bowties was all the store had for a 12oz pack and a full pound seemed like too much. Usually when you make pasta you're supposed to salt the water but I refrained because of the prior mentioned sodium content. I boiled the noodles to al-dente. That's pretty firm but there's a ton of leftovers here and I figured sitting in the pot of hot stuff would cook it further. I didn't want complete mush later. 7. When pasta is done drain and mix it in. The soup was a little too thick for my liking so I mixed in some water to thin it down a little. Maybe 3/4 of a cup? I didn't measure.

I probably ended up with 6-8 quarts of soup so there's plenty of leftovers and I really like how it turned out.

[a-s-levynn]

Dont know if you're still dealing with that headache or if these remedies are up your alley but, here you go. -Caffeine [Tea/Coffee/etc.] -Salt [Yeah,gross I know but it happens..You can also get salt tablets if you don't wanna go ham on a salt shaker.] -Up your sugar intake,if you're more on the healthy side you can use fruits and other natural ways to up it..Low blood sugar causes headaches even for folks who don't have Diabetes/etc. -Hydrate [Water/Powerade/Gatorade/Propel/etc.] -Warm or cold compresses,depends on the person. -Try not to chew anything till the headache goes away,know it sounds weird but anything straining on your jaw can cause your head to hurt. -Dim the lights/sleep/be in a climate controlled area/take a bath or shower. -Relax your head/scalp if you wear your hair up,give it a break. But yeah,all I can think of at the moment. Have a good day/night and feel better soon.

Dear Anon, thank you for compiling these. I was way past these when i posted my comlpaints, but these are good advice, my only addition is to try massage your neck, it could be muscle tension ass well.

But if we are on the topic, allow me to clear up the confusion i see lately around me complaining about medical stuff.

ps: salt is not gross, i usually have the type with the large chunks just to eat it sometimes 🥺

Under the cut, cause long.

So.

I do not aim to be read ungrateful here. This is mostly because i still don't really know how to deal with people being kind to me. I'm just genuinly so bad at dealing with people actually caring about me the way sometimes you guys jump in. My brain is simply reads kindness like this as someone seeing me incompetent and i am actively trying to unlearn that. So i don't even know why am i writing this long ass thing here besides organizing my thoughts. But i did it anyway.

sidenote: I had the tags "levynn cries about nonsense" and i usually pair it up with "don't mind me" or "rethorical question" as well. These were not for show. They were to indicate something, that's past any possible solution or cannot be solved momentarily and i just needed to shout about it in some form, not a cry for help. When i need help, trust me, you gonna know. I am at a point of my life when i just say if i need help with a thing. So i started to leave them occasionally because you guys are way too nice not to care anyway. But when i say "don't worry" i fully mean it in the "it has been taken care of or will pass in a bit, it's okay."

BUT please let's not forget, that i am an adult, living alone for the better part of a decade now, with a pretty decent survival rate if i say so myself.

I know i regularly say i'm stupid and joking about being unhealthy at times, but that's mostly just the energy drinks and the occasionally skipped meals. But in general i lead a pretty healthy and balanced diet and life. I am simply not smart in the academic sense. You know, more the low INT high WIS type if anything.

I've been dealing with various pains for the better part of my life, so i am pretty well equipped to battle it in theory, but there are always the types that shrug off even proper medication. Sure, i am trying to avoid too many pills because i actually did have a problem before, but it is still not beyond me to take some if i need it. It needs to be regulated but if it's needed it's needed.

Same goes for the heat and sun. I grew up with sun allergy and light sensitivity. I know how to manage it. But i still going to complain when it's 30+ °C here (it's around 40 for a week now, which is 104 for the °F users) and i am used to the 20 range, so i am going to comlpain. Even if i have a cooling unit at home, i still have to get home in the heat. And that time could be enough for me to bank a sunstroke or up to 2nd degree burns if i'm not careful.

So whenever i'm posting about something hurting (especially my head and leg) or about being hot outside, it is more to be a heads up if anything, that if i respond even slower or forget to respond or not being as nice as i usually try to be, that's why.

It is also a simple complain when even proper medication fails. And i am not talking about aspirin, but two 50mg diclofenac-calium pills for these types. The kind they give here around childbirth type of pains.

I genuinly cherish the fact that you guys are taking your time to write me various lenghts of advice on stuff, i just don't know how to process the part where you are being kind out of being kind, not because you actually think i am an idiot, not knowing how to stay alive.

[suzieb-fit]

Ok, so here goes yet another new idea on what's causing the mucus.

The boss has said a few times he thinks it's salt. I never took it seriously. I haven't once seen that suggested anywhere I've researched the symptoms. But maybe that's because I wasn't looking for it. Anyway, worth another try.

Gutted once again. Love putting olive oil and salt on my mixed nuts. So I'll try oil with pepper, mixed spices etc.

That started with breakfast today.

Lots of polyphenols in that bowl! Spices are great for those protective food chemicals! And I've got "mixed spice", cinnamon and nutmeg in there. Pepper, too.

I've also given vinegar up again. I did that a few days ago. I know you're not supposed to do more than one thing at once, but meh. I'm impatient, lol. I seemed to notice that this awful flare up started around the same time I put vinegar back in my diet. Anyway, let's see what happens this time!

Anyway, on with my day....

What a beautiful sky to greet me on my early walk this morning.

Out just after 6am, then home for another excellent, new Fiton routine.

Pure strength for lower body.

I used my smaller kettlebell (8kg) throughout the full workout.

All good until my blood sugar plummeted to an insanely low 2.4. Hmm, maybe the pump still has a way to go yet, until it works as well as it should!

A few lows recently. Need to tweak the insulin delivery settings again.

I've gone back to not worrying so much about macros. I'm basing my daily diet around health, quality and nutritionally dense food. Not too heavy on the carbs, focusing on plenty of good quality fats and some protein to take up the rest of my food intake.

My priorities go from fat to protein to carbs. That seems to work well for me.

A nice, active day.

I needed to get some yoga in today. That was my second workout after breakfast had settled.

I finished with a very short bike ride around the beautiful forest trails that I'm extremely lucky to live so close to.

So wonderful to get outside for fresh air and exercise!

Saturday has been a pretty good one. I'm feeling fine 😊

[lucysweatslove]

So I’ve been getting nauseous, a little lightheaded and dizzy, and a bit shaky about an hour after I get home from the gym.

I usually do some form of weights which depending on the breaks I take can take 45 min to an hour. Nothing super heavy right now, actually pretty light 5x5s, never going to failure, and with 1-3 min of rest between sets. Afterwards, I like to do a little cardio because cardio is good for the heart and like 150min of moderate cardio is recommended per week for general health or whatever. Then I have my protein shake on the drive home.

I used to do a lot of arc trainer and do like 15-20mi of vigorous cardio since that counts as like 30-40 of moderate but it’s less time. When I started feeling sick, I thought maybe that vigorous exercise is just a bit much for me right now (like I’m getting sick or something? Idk). So I switched to spinning, light-moderate effort (like just getting HR into that moderate zone), for like 25 min + 5 min “cooldown.”

Spoiler alert, the nausea is still happening and I’m getting super annoyed by it. Yesterday, I couldn’t even THINK about the dinner I had planned (lentil pasta, because I actually really like the taste but dislike the texture of regularly cooked lentils, and also folate!). I had to make toast and jam and wait like half an hour before I felt well enough to have a proper meal.

I think I need more carbs, maybe a little more salt too. I loosely tracked a couple of days to see where I’m at with carbs, and unsurprisingly, it was definitely low. Now I’m trying to find ways to up my carbs at meals in general, especially the more starchy carbs, and it’s been surprisingly difficult? Most of my carbs rn come from fruits, and I’ve realized we just don’t have a lot of carby foods easily cooked or ready to eat. We don’t even have potatoes?? (Clearly this needs to be remedied; I just struggle to cook them myself because executive dysfunction). Last year I was trying to up my fat intake since I was still kinda stuck in the low fat foods I just always ate, and now I feel like I’m so good at eating fats with my favorite 2% milk, eggs, avocado, nuts and seeds, not-extra-lean turkey, etc, that I don’t have room for the starchy carbs. But my body seems to be screaming at me to MAKE room for them.

Anyway, that’s why my “dinner” tonight was like 2x my normal amount of oatmeal (with a banana and some strawberries). And why I am probably going to get more starchy foods when we go grocery shopping next, especially potatoes because I love potatoes, and maybe bagels or naan to mix up breads. We have dried rice but it’s such a pain and a time commitment to cook, and we have bread for toast but sandwiches and toast get so tiring after some time too.

[slimschance]

Plate: chicken burger (129), salt & pepper squid (149), sweet potato fries (74)

Bowl: sweetheart cabbage (12), spinach (4), cucumber (10)

Dipping bowl: lime juice (3), honey (30)

Glass: ice (0), fruit-tella blackcurrant squash concentrate - diluted with water (0)

locking in with omad because i can't stop overeating, my intake was over 1000cals 6 out of 7 days, and the 1 other day was in the 900cal range... yesterday i properly binged and i had shooting pains, couldn't breathe out my throat at one point, and was hurling for about 30 mins. can't even remember what i ate but the pain were near traumatic. i downed a lot of liquid between eating, i think that made it 10× worse, i thought i was having some sort of organ failure at one point... that shits so scary. so now i'm locking in. 400cal to ease myself back into lower cal intake. most of my veg and dipping sauce is left so i'm gonna save it to eat after running some floors (up the stairs lol) and just snack on it. i've already planned ahead, if i want to eat i'll eat my salad if i still have some, and if not i'll have a small amount of strawberries and my dads leftover coffee for an iced latte, might 50/50 water and milk to lower the cals. freezing the coffee in ice lolly moulds since my mum protective of the actual ice moulds lmaoo

-

also bad news, i didn't get a haircut (slept through the appointment, asked if she had more time for me after nan and mum, they didn't let me know till 20 minutes later and by then i felt really sick and had been crying) which means i can't get it cut for ages, and my fringe is already too long. i have no fucking clue what to do and i have events i need nice hair for in the next few weeks. might just figure where dads hair stuff is and trim my fringe myself if it gets much longer... but then i won't be able to go to that hairdresser again aghhh sobbing whys stuff so difficult.

p.s. if you plan on eating sweetheart lettuce, raw/as is, please get a dip cah that shit is pure rabbit food... can be a good thing when with other foods but whew that's disgusting, too much. son't make the mistake i did

-

Next day

girl...

i felt so sick, and yet i kept stuffing my face... i wouldn't say it was a binge as i think i was in control of my actions most of that time ? plus thats pretty low for a binge. anyway it felt like a compulsion except i had control over whether i did it or not yk, but physical symptoms were basically me feeling sick, both a bad stomach and food surfacing bc it wouldn't fit in my stomach. i wouldn't have been half as bad if mum didn't come home with bbq hula hoops right next to me, setting off my cravings for both the food and the texture... id already been trying all day to satify my cravings for dry crunchy food (had it for days) and i just had,, then she bought it right back within 2 hour. ooking back, those calories would likely be halfed if just ate the crisps, but mum said i couldn't have them. said i don't know when to stop (ffs she's right) and that means there'd be nothing left for everyone else. atp should i just milk it and see if i can see someone about my eating habits, mums already concerned about my bad habits, that way me tracking food and eventually losing weight won't look suspicious at all. idek if they do doctors for that though, ain't no dieticians or anything in this little shitty town and i doubt theres similar jobs

sigh

[bmimprisoned]

So I’m on Vantin for ten days which based on the last time I took this, fucked me up for easily a month. Digestive system? Gone. Ability to function? Who’s she? Anyway, what they’ve basically said is my salt intake from the safe foods I have is too high so I need some ideas on really really low cal foods that are low prep, ideally high water content, and low salt, anything you guys have found I’ll try. Because I’m not about to be a pig because I got sick

[aprayerforclarity]

4/10

Card: Nine of Swords - Reversed

Today has been going very well thusfar. I woke up around 8 to my sunrise alarm clock and made myself an epresso. I ground the Little Grill Coffee beans a little too fine and I thought I had choked out the espresso maker. The extraction took at least 4 minutes, with the strained coffee dripping out of the portifilter. My scale shut off several times, to which I had to stand nect to and keep turning it back on.

The espresso slowly began tightening my thoughts and I began gathering myself for the day. With my Kindle and Water bottle, I headed to the doctor's office on East Market Street.

Once I entered the building, I approached the front desk and signed in. A slightly overweight woman had me sign my initials on an electronic device a couple times, then I was told to have a seat in the waiting room. My wait was only 5 minutes or so before a Latina woman came through the door and waved me back. Her name was Claudia, and she was a very sweet woman with a latina accent. I wanted to share with her that I spoke Spanish, but an appropriate opportunity did not arise.

She asked me about my health and any concerns I may have for the doctor. I told her that I was working on my mental clarity and focus, and that I was praciting a low-carb diet and intermitted fasting. She told me to ask the doctor about my liver and kidneys, because they could be effected.

She then put her inflatable thing on my right bicep and took my blood pressure. It was 117 over something, which is supposedly very good. I was surprised, because I measured my blood pressure at my friend, Ben Ryan's, house on Saturday and it was much higher. Like 129 over 84, which put me in the elevated range on the chart by the American Heart Association. As surprised as I was, I was happy with the results the nurse collected.

After the nurse had finished her protocols, she left me in the room to wait for the doctor. After another short 5 minutes, the doctor appeared through the door. He appeared to be a very sharp man, brown hair with a shade of Auburn and a calm demeaner. His skin was fair and face had faded freckles. He wore glasses and had very neutral eyes.

Anyways, we talked about my health and he reassured me about my concerns for my dietary habits. I was concerned about my salt, fat and salt intake. He told me that as long as I drink plenty of water I should be fine. He said that people run into artery and heart problems mainly from eating very processed foods that are salty, and that salt is not necessarily a causation of circulatory issues. I also asked him about fasting. He said that intermitted fasting is safe. and that he actually does it himself. He mentioned a study that came out a few weeks ago whose statement was that people who eat only 2 meals a day die sooner, but Dr. Simes was very skeptical of it. In order to source participants, the researchers sent out a survey to ask people about their eating habits. Dr. Simes said the study included poor people, who don't have strong food security, so they only eat twice a day, and usually fast foods, and thus the results were skewed.

After a very reassuring doctors visit, he was sent to the lab side of the practice and ordered to get blood work done. I waited in the room for probably 45 minutes before a new nurse asked me to follow her back to the testing room. We talked idly about the recent spring weather, and she complained she won't be outside enough today to enjoy it. As I spoke about my disdain for fishing, she wrapped a tourniquet around my left bicep and inserted a tiny needle into the crease of my arm. I looked away as she drew blood into a rubber tube that led to small glass vial. After the procedure, she told me to have a good day and I left for the grocery store.

After the grocery store, I returned home and sat out on my patio for a 15 minutes meditation. Now I'm here writing this and trying to maintain my focus. Today is going to be a good day.

[runveganwankerrun]

Mon 7th Nov '22

Another week when I had to bite the bullet and make myself step on the scales. I'm glad I did. The result wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

169.6lb.

I started blogging on Sept 9th and I am 2lb lighter since then. I had hoped it'd be at least four times that. It's better than being heavier of course, so positivity only in my head. If I say that often enough, I'll believe it. I shouldn't give the numbers on the scales such power over me. I know better! Non scales victories,or NSVs, are so much healthier, but that's easily said. An NSV, for the uninitiated, is anything that denotes weight loss without looking at actual weight. Great examples are being able to climb stairs without getting so puffed, putting your socks on without having to sit down or going down a size. All good stuff and not scales dependant.

I think a round up of the good things about last week would help. While not perfect, it started in an exceptional manner and was good in many ways. I ran twice. I ate far less processed food. I bought no sweets at all and my bread intake was less than it has been of late (see less processed food eaten above) I got through Saturday and Sunday without buying ice cream, crisps or marshmallows to chomp mindlessly mid afternoon in front of the telly. All good stuff to build upon.

I finally told someone about Manchester! Eek! It's out there now. In a very minor way, yes, but someone else actually knows. I didn't say it to his face, but sent him a message.

"If someone could run 5k in about 33 mins, and they foolishly signed up to Manchester marathon, but haven't told anyone, even their partner, and they were going to be running 5k every day in December anyway, would you be able to do a plan for them? Asking for a friend."

He said my friend was nuts, but he's very good. He's going to do me a plan starting next week!

Plans for after work today to keep me on track for an A+ start to the week are attending a hill session at club and cooking a lentil and root veg stew. I should have time to start it cooking before going running.

200g green lentils

2 or 3 large onions, chopped

3 or 4 large carrots, diced

1kg red skinned potatoes, diced

Salt, pepper and dried mixed herbs to taste

Sweat lentils with onions and a little water for about five minutes. Add the rest of the veg and some water to just cover them. Add seasoning to taste. I've said it before, but go easy on the salt. I'm far too prone to be heavy handed. A little at a time. It's easy to add more, but impossible to remove excess. Cook till lentils are tender and the veg are at a prefered level of soft. I love it to all cook in together, potatoes practically melted in.

This is great coz you can add other veg, like turnip or parsnip, as you like. I've mentioned that I'm basically greedy, so I can easily eat half of this recipe, slowly I'll grant you, In one sitting. I think that's about twice what a different person would eat. The basic recipe, divided into four, works out at approx 300 cals per serving. So low cal, but uber nutritious. A fave of mine. Versatile too. Leave out the spuds and just cook down the lentils, onions and carrots, and it's a savoury "mince" that you could make into a pie, or top with mashed potato for a cottage pie.

[deadendtracks]

turns out if you drink a couple of glasses of homemade electrolyte solution you do in fact feel a lot better. 

protip.

[fencesandfrogs]

hi my name is matthew and i have some thoughts about haes

okay disclaimers: i’m a little jumpy around the subject so while i don’t feel i’m being unnecessarily harsh/unfair, if ur firm on haes w no yielding, and you don’t want to argue about it? either skip this or don’t respond. i don’t really care. but i’m putting the body under a read more.

[3k words, 10 minute read. sections headers, some text italicized for emphasis/some readibility. no images/videos, a few links.]

second disclaimer: i’m not planning on going heavy on sources. i will happily provide sources to people who want them, and i haven’t written the actual post yet but it’s unlike me not to cite anything, but doing an in depth well researched and sourced post on this type of subject is not something i’m up for right now.

like i said, i’m jumpy around this subject. and on the off chance someone decides this post is Bad and i must be banished to the Bad Blogs Bin, i’d rather not put a lot of work into it.

third disclaimer: i’m not particularly interested in reading X study that says actually no people who way 700 pounds are healthy and people who weigh less than 200 are going to die early deaths. i know that’s a straw man i needed to a) get it out of the way now and b) i just am tired all the time and don’t have a ton of itme for it. that said, if you do send one to me, i will probably read it at some point, and i may or may not provide my thoughts.

right then. moving on.

with no more waffling, my thesis is as follows: weight stigma is bad, however obesity is killing people and i really would like people to stop pretending it doesn’t.

i. really hate that that’s a controversial opinion. i mean i hold a decent number of somewhat controversial opinions, most of which i keep to myself because i’m a firm believer that what i think about something should not interfere with how other people live their lives. as a noncontroversial example, i think mormons are in a cult. children, being minors, being indoctrinated is a problem, one i myself am not dedicated to solving because i have other issues but as far as adults involved, that’s their business.

(*please note that i’m not expanding on my thoughts because this post is about haes but i do have a more complicated opinion i’m just trying to demonstrate something please don’t at me about cults i know that they’re bad and adults in them also need help getting out that’s not the point of this post & i’m anxious enough so like, please.)

anyway so. obesity. is bad. it is bad for your health. if you are obese, you are not healthy. that said, i am not going to tell you to lose weight. no one should tell you to lose weight except for your doctor and maybe your immediate family, and that should be from a place of “you are not living your best life and i care about you.” i, an internet stranger, along with pretty much everyone you know, does not get to tell you about how terrible your life is and what a horrible person you are for existing, because you are not a bad person for being overweight. you do not deserve discrimination or mistreatment. even if you’re not actively trying to lose weight. it doesn’t matter. you are a human being like any other and i will fight like hell for you.

i’m not planning on going heavy into eating disorders because a) that’s a triggering topic for me and b) it’s going to muddle the point i’m getting, but since it is a large part of the arguments re. haes, it’s certainly going to come up, so i’d like to list the officially recognized eating disorders.

Anorexia Nervosa (AN)

Bulimia Nervosa (BN)

Binge Eating Disorder (BED)

Other Specified Feeding and Eating Disorder (OSFED)

Pica

Rumination Disorder

Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID)

Unspecified Feeding or Eating Disorder (UFED)

Other (aka “we are considering making this its own category but for matthew’s purposes it fits into AFRID or UFED well enough because the details aren’t important”)

so yeah. we’ll circle back to this.

section one: haes

haes initially stood for heatlh at every size. that doesn’t really matter anymore because people say healthy at every size now, however, the distinction is important. because.

okay. when i say being obese makes you inherently unhealthy, i am not saying you are having health problems for being overweight. i am saying you have a chronic illness. i have asthma. that makes me inherently unhealthy. i don’t necessarily have an health problems because i am asthmatic, but i have a chronic illness and it certainly would, say, make me more likely to die from covid. that is a fact. saying healthy at every lung functionality would not change that.

but you know, i can still be active and like smell plants and interact in the world like anyone else. i just try to keep my inhaler near by.

so similarly, if you are overweight/obese (i’ve been saying only obese because its less letters so i’m sticking with that), you can, like, live ur best life and take care of your health. you can feel good about your body and eat good food and move and again, i really don’t want anyone reading this to feel that i think everyone who’s obese needs to lose that weight because adults can do whatever they want.

what i’m angry about is that a good thing (encouraging people to make good choices no matter what so they can feel good in their bodies) got turned into a bad thing (telling people they don’t need to change what they’re doing because they’re perfectly healthy).

section two: but what about...?

see my third disclaimer. but as a fast rundown of things i probably won’t talk about in detail later:

the obesity paradox is a specific thing about a specific type of illness in the elderly. it’s also not about obesity, it’s about being slightly overweight. it’s a complicated thing, but it’s not true most of the time

sumo wrestlers have major health problems as soon as they stop exercising like crazy.

did you know there are countries where girls are force fed to become overweight? diet culture goes both ways

if you want to say healthy at every size, you have to mean that every. that means you are not allowed to say shit about underweight people. i’m sorry, is someone you care about wasting away? are they 5′10 and weigh  90 pounds and their hair is falling out because they aren’t eating? i’m sorry, you said people are healthy at every size. you can’t make fun of skinny people. you have to suck it up because you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

section three: self care

a hypothetical that is blindingly obvious to where i’m going: if a small child wants to play with a knife, are you caring for them by giving into it? what if they want to drink some vodka? what if they want to run away from home to live with a stranger in a white van?

i really really hope all those answers are “no, you’re neglecting that child, and also possibly actively harming it.”

so my point is pretty obvious: giving yourself something because you want it does not mean you are caring for yourself.

you know what i want  to do all the time? sleep and rewatch twilight every day. but that makes me feel worse. so even though it’s terrible and i hate it, i have to take care of myself (because there is only one of me that i ever get) and go outside and talk to people and eat something that isn’t popcorn because you need protein to live.

(sorry i tried to keep nutrition out of that but i have to actively seek out sufficient salt and protein due to my campus doing a lot of low sodium food, which is bad when u actually need to eat a good amount of salt to keep ur body working, and also i’m vegetarian. so i’m constantly making myself seek it out.)

that doesn’t mean self care is always supposed to be work, but i mean. i’ve always not really gotten into it. i think because i’m hella depressed and i’ve been depressed long enough i can recognize it as this separate entity when it comes to a lot of the mental stuff. like, why do i feel like everything is meaningless? that’s just the depression.

but i digress, this isn’t about me. [proceeds to talk about me again]

one phrase i like a lot for myself is “bad food makes me feel bad.” now, i’m not a fan of putting moral judgements to food. but this works for me, personally. sure, eating a bunch of ice cream right now is good, but it’s going to suck when my stomach flips the fuck out because of all the sugar. and so it seems quite obvious to me that eating that ice cream is not, in fact, caring for my body.

and i think we’d collectively be a bit better served if we could learn to distinguish between self-care and self-kindness. ask anyone who does caregiving (childcare, nurses, etc): it is hard, often thankless (at least for children they’re devils who don’t realize that their toys will get wrecked if they don’t pick them up) work. you care for them not by doing what they want, but what is best for them.

section four: diet culture

as i’ve already played my hand up above with underweight vs haes, i think it’s kind of obvious that i have strong feelings about underweight not being healthy also. so i just want to take stock of what is and isn’t diet culture, and what i think about it. this is probably the most subjective part of this essay.

things i think are diet culture

people trying ridiculous diets. obviously diet culture in the purest sense. it’s real dumb. you need all the food groups to live. sometimes it’s okay, like cutting out sugar, but i’d say its a net negative

not trying to do lifestyle changes. that’s the sustainable way to lose weight. so. yeah.

weight cycling. actually still up for debate if this is bad. this paper says no, along with a lot of others, but i’m not sitting down and reading through all of them, and all of the ones that say its bad, to offer my opinion. i’m leaning towards “it’s better than nothing,” but we’ll see

a lot of other stuff i’m doing this off the top of my head and trying to avoid issues w eating disorders so.

things i think aren’t diet culture

women being pressured to look a certain way. that’s been going on for a long time. being skinny used to be bad. it’s a fact of the patriarchy.

most things? idk i have this impression that like, anyone exercising or eating healthy is a part of diet culture, when in reality, people just have different lifestyles. (also, again, if you’re going with haes, as in HealthyAES (hyaes?) you can’t call it unhealthy or you’re not respecting that damn E)

in conclusion: diet culture has issues, but the correct response to them is not “fuck you, i’m eating fourteen pounds of sugar.” eat fourteen pounds of sugar because you want to. (also it should be fat because if you really want to stick it to the man you should be eating fat, big sugar is responsible for a huge amount of todays dietary problems, both on the under/overweight side)

section five: discrimination

yeah no fuck people who discriminate about fat people. that’s all i’m just moving along to a transition since i was drifting away from my point about health.

section six: weight stigma

...is not responsible for your health issues. being obese is. accept the consequences of your lifestyle.

well. okay. that’s a little unfair. accept the consequences of not treating your chronic illness. and i feel i’ve probably lost people for calling obesity an illness but that’s the whole point of my post.

just like carrying externally heavy objects hurts your joints, so does carrying a lot of weight inside. fat does not cushion your organs, it kills them. getting rid of weight stigma will not make these issues go away.

the treatment for obesity is eating the number of calories you need to sustain a healthy weight at your current exercise levels. (*please consult with your doctor this is more complicated when you have to lose a lot of weight.)

section seven: cico. or, why your metabolism is fine

your body does not break the laws of thermodynamics. it cannot magically create more energy out of a given amount of calories.

there are issues with calorie counting, yes. i think it’s usually done in an unsustainable way that isn’t teaching people to make decisions, just to do math. it can be hard to get an accurate count.

but you are not a miracle of science. you have not discovered how to create and destroy energy. i’m sorry to be the one to break if to you.

if you don’t believe me, if you’re really sure your metabolism is different, go on and get it tested. tell your doctors. because it’s a major problem if it’s not working right.

similarly, i’m sorry, but if someone is the same height as you and a (very, like, +- 50 pounds) different weight, and neither of you have exisitng health conditions, you are not eating the same things/doing the same exercise. you have not broken the laws of physics.

possibly, one of you have untreated celiacs or something of the ilk meaning your body is actually malfunctioning. but if that’s true, i excluded you already, so shoo. get out of here and play in the sun with the other kids.

if you don’t believe this, there’s not much i can do to convince you. but i encourage you to count your calories for a month. find some tdee calculators. weigh yourself. make sure you count everything, it all goes down. check the math. (you can do any amount of time but a month is what you need for weight to be meaningful imo otherwise you’re just proving weight fluctuates a lot).

section eight: cico. or, why counting calories is not disordered eating

it can sure be a symptom of disordered eating, and it can certainly make disordered eating worse, but it isn’t an eating disorder.

also, assuming you’re not trying to verify the laws of thermodynamics, i don’t think counting every calorie is necessary. i have approximate values (500/meal, and around 300 in snacks), which i try not to go over or under.

yeah. i actually use calorie counting to make sure i’m eating enough in one sitting. some of my medication screws with my apetite and then i only eat like 300 calories and suddenly its like 11 and i need to go to bed but i’m hungry but eating before bed makes me feel terrible and it sucks.

but hey, according to some people, avoiding that is unhealthy.

okay i’m moving on before i get salty because the next section is touchy

section nine: eating disorders.

the three main eating disorders are listed way up there. they’re the first three. AN, BN, BED.

oh, yeah, binge eating? that’s actually disordered eating too. it’s not normal.

i’m not going to elaborate on the point because i absolutely know i can’t do it without getting really fucking angry that people call calorie counting disordered eating, like i haven’t watched a fifth grader eat one meal a day because she’s scared she’s overweight. like i haven’t watched a sixth grader cram food into his mouth until he’s sick because he’s worried he’s not bulky enough for sports. like i haven’t watched an eleventh grader tell me he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday, but it’s fine, he doesn’t want his mac and cheese anyway, since he needs to lose weight.

you think someone keeping track of some numbers is an eating disorder? then either you’re lucky enough to never have to deal with eating disorders on a personal level, and i’m very happy for you, or you have, and you should maybe reevaluate that.

alright i’m cutting myself off now whoop.

section ten: intuitive eating

you know, much like haes, i want to like this. it fits in with my bad-food-makes-me-feel-bad mentality. i’m angry and tired and hungry because i ate like, a late breakfast/early lunch and now i need to eat again because if i don’t eat every six to eight hours i have a medical condition that makes me feel like shit (an aside: unless you’ve been told by a doctor, you don’t need to eat every 2-3 hours. unless you’re a child or have an applicable medical condition, you can probably eat one meal a day and be firne.)

but much like haes, it now has a meaning i can’t in good consience endorse. i can’t stand for a movement that tells people who acknowledge weight makes their joints hurt that they just need to keep eating until they feel better.

section eleven: conclusion

i have a lot more thoughts but again i’m hungry. i meant to talk more about IE and my problems with it but maybe that will be its own post.

i won’t say i’m happy to talk about this because i can’t promise i am (see: eating disorder issues.), but i will most likely respond to constructive discussion if someone sees this and wants to. i can also provide sources. i hate going, “sources available on request” but i tried to provide some stuff for some of the heavily disputed/i already had a source for it and didn’t have to dig through google scholar to find information that’s been peer reviewed.

and i do sincerely wish everyone, at any size, that they fracture the disconnect between them and their bodies (oop didn’t talk about that either another time then) & that they find peace with who they are, and that they get to live happy & fulfilling lives.

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Part Nine)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Eight / Master List / Spotify Playlist

Lunch was the most uncomfortable ham and cheese melt you’ve ever had.

That’s not to say you didn’t like the diner. Kitschy and quaint – a real hole in the wall, really, and although you’d lived right around the corner for the last two years, you hadn’t even known it was here. If you were being honest, though, you probably would have given it a pass even if you had known. With worn-down tables, cracked red vinyl booths, and chipped mugs filled to the brim with terrible coffee, this wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d ever take your young daughter.

That said, when you were single and childless, it would have been right up your alley.

Dives were a dime a dozen in New York, but you had your favourites. This one in particular reminded you of a place you used to frequent before, but more so after you started eating for two, especially when Bucky used to indulge your pregnancy cravings. In lieu of flowers, he often brought home your usual order from the little diner down the street: a couple of ham and cheese melts that the two of you shared over Netflix binges well into the night.

You liked the melt from here, too. And the greasy fries.

What you didn’t like was the tension.

This wasn’t a date. Bucky had made that perfectly clear. He didn’t want it to be a date, because he wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to begin with. Right? All he wanted was— well, you weren’t sure what it was he wanted, exactly. He’d invited you out for lunch, but you couldn’t figure out why. To help with your strained co-parenting relationship, perhaps, or did he just enjoy your company?

No way. How could he, when you were so standoffish and nasty all the time?

Some part of you hoped that he still did want to spend time with you, but you pushed that idea right out of your mind. It was more important for you and Bucky to get along for your daughter – to work as a unit, a team, even if you weren’t together.

Right?

The problem was that you missed being together. You missed him.

You missed the twinkle in those gorgeous baby blues when he told you how much he loved you; missed that stupid, smug smile on his face when he teased you; missed the gentleness he offered you, the warmth, the affection. Even if his love was long gone, yours certainly wasn’t, and as of late you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what could have been.

What if you hadn’t ended things?

Where would your little family be?

Would Winnie have a little brother or sister?

Even when things were rocky way back when, you still thought about Bucky, longed for him, maybe even needed him sometimes. As independent as you were before the two of you got together – and after, especially as a single mom – you could definitely get by on your own, but it was nice to share your life with another person. It was nice to have someone to come home to.

When he was there, anyway. He usually wasn’t. Work kept him away.

You were better off on your own.

Right?

Toying with the last half of your sandwich, you found yourself sneaking glances at Bucky from across the well-worn table. Staring at his phone, he seemed lost in thought, brows furrowing as he read the messages he’d just received. He’d been happy to ignore them until the fourth chime; it would have been important, unfortunately, and he’d apologized for even pulling it out at all.

Work.

You certainly didn’t miss that, but today, you didn’t mind. You were just happy to spend time with him. And you were happy to see how far he’d come. Therapy at last; who would have thought? Bucky had taken great strides to better himself, and he’d changed in a lot of ways. Improved.

Soft chestnut locks fell into his face, which he absentmindedly blew out of his eyes as he typed out a response with a quickness you’d never seen. Two years’ experience with modern day technology had apparently upskilled him quite a bit, not that you cared right in this moment because you were more focused on how stupidly attractive he was.

You wanted to run your fingers through his stupid, messy hair. Wanted to brush it out of his stupid, handsome face. Wanted to kiss him and tell him how much you’d missed him.

Stupid to think any of that at all, but you did it anyway.

Your eyes trailed down to the tight, moisture-wicking black t-shirt on his body, which accentuated strong, muscular arms – arms that he’d wrapped around you too many times to count – arms that had always made you feel safe, despite the fact that one of them was cold and hard and dangerous.

Dangerous, but not to you. Never to you. A couple of red marks and bruises, nothing more, and only when you asked him for it. Or begged.

The sudden memory sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

His thick, callused fingers typed away at the screen, but you knew firsthand just how dexterous they could be. A completely appropriate thought for such a harmless setting, to be sure, and you felt your face start to heat up as your thoughts went down a path they absolutely shouldn’t have.

“It’s Nat,” Bucky said, then, startling you out of your daydream, and your eyes jerked up to his.

“What?” you asked hoarsely.

“Natasha.” He waved his phone just a little to indicate what he was talking about, before he set it to the side. “She wants a debrief.”

Right. The mission. The one he’d just returned from.

“It’s fine,” you told him as evenly as you could manage, heart pounding within the confines of your chest. It felt like you’d been caught fantasizing about him, caught red-handed, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t have to explain.”

You’d never expected him to share work details with you, and you still didn’t. Curiosity was human nature, but you didn’t need to know. That wasn’t what mattered, anyway; what mattered was that he never used to be around because of it.

Now he was.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, casually reaching over the table to steal a couple of your fries. He’d already eaten all of his, along with the rest of his food. Bucky had always been a fast eater; that hadn’t changed, at least, and neither had his familiarity with you in such a casual setting.

You liked it.

Still wanted some paybacks, though, so as he went to shove your fries into his mouth, you reached over and snatched the pickle off of his plate. He’d saved it for last, because James Buchanan Barnes had always loved a good dill pickle. That hadn’t changed, either.

Fries just inches away from meeting their untimely death, Bucky froze, as if he only happened to realize just now what he’d done. The guilty look on his face told a different story, however.

“Give me the fries or the pickle gets hurt,” you warned.

“Hey,” he pleaded half-heartedly. “Come on, you’re not gonna eat ‘em all—”

“Fries,” you repeated, inching the pickle closer to its demise: your mouth.

“Okay, okay! Here.” Bucky held them out to you – a peace offering, or maybe he was just kissing ass. He’d always been good at that, hadn’t he? “Damn. Forgot how much you love your fries.”  

You, of course, did what any normal person would do. You took them right out of his hand. Except, unlike any other normal person, you used your mouth.

Your lips brushed against his callused fingertips, accidental contact that felt like pure electricity. It made you remember all sorts of things the two of you had once done behind closed doors – things you absolutely shouldn’t have been thinking of in this particular setting, or at this particular moment. 

One-track mind. Especially today.

Why?

Even you heard his sharp intake of breath. 

Emboldened, not to mention empowered by the stunned expression on Bucky’s face, you licked away the salt from your lips. “Guess we’re gonna have to make sure you don’t forget again, huh?”

Then you took a bite of the pickle, as if to make a point. What point that was, you had no idea, and it didn’t matter anyway. This was all just a confident façade, a front meant to hide the racing of your heart.

You watched his surprise give way to something a little darker – a certain look that matched your memories tit-for-tat and had your panties sticking uncomfortably to the apex of your thighs. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

His voice, low and rough, set your body on fire.

Oh, this was a dangerous game.

You loved it.

“I don’t know, Buck,” you drawled, eyeing the pickle. “Two years is a long time, isn’t it? Been awhile since you stole some of my fries.”

Then you turned your attention back to him. 

Teasing, yes. Dangerous, absolutely.

You were flirting. Why, oh why, were you flirting? Nothing good would come of this, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He’d changed. This wasn’t the same Bucky anymore. Deep down, it was still him, just a better version, a fact that was becoming more and more evident the more time you spent with him.

Your nerves went haywire as Bucky studied your face; his eyes traced every dip and curve and feature, and when you worried your lower lip in between your teeth, his focus lingered on your mouth for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Tense in the best way. You loved that, too.

Then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“You… You go ahead and have it, doll. I’ll get the check.” 

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

What the hell were you thinking? Of course Bucky turned you down. Not that your intentions were obvious, anyway; you didn’t even know what you wanted from him, so how could he? How on earth could he know that you’d been longing for him like an idiot? 

You’d been daydreaming not just what could have been, but what could be.

Except it couldn’t. Not really.

Your relationship was over. It would always be over. The two of you had already come to an agreement that your daughter was more important. Her safety. Her stability. Winnie didn’t need parents who argued and couldn’t stand each other. She needed good role models. She needed love, and this was the best way of ensuring that she got it. Better to love her separately and do a good job parenting her than the alternative.

Right?

So what the hell had gotten into you?

Maybe you’d flirted because the future wasn’t set in stone, and you had hope. For some stupid reason, you hoped that he felt the same way, that he wanted this too, that he missed you just as much as you missed him. And that was worst part of all, because you already knew he didn’t. 

Two years was a long time. He would have moved on by now, just like you should have. 

You hadn’t. You couldn’t. 

How idiotic.

“You’re quiet,” came Bucky’s voice from your left, soft but playful. “What happened to all that sass?”

His gentle ribbing pulled you out of your reverie, and that was when you realized that the two of you had just made your way back past the playground in the park. Despite your embarrassment, the sun was still shining, the kids were still playing, and the parents were still around, still watching, still together.

Not like the two of you.

Ever the gentleman, Bucky had insisted on walking you home after paying for your meal. His invitation, his treat.  And you’d thanked him, of course, but for the entire walk back you’d been ruminating over the fact that you made a fool out of yourself.

“I’m tired,” you lied. In reality, you were wide awake. Too awake. “I had some trouble sleeping last night. It’s hard to turn my brain off sometimes.”

That, at least, was the truth.

His soft laugh made your heart ache. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Then he paused, likely to consider whether it was appropriate before he finally offered, “Anything I can help with?”

You met his eyes, then – such a stunning blue, a reflection of clear blue sky and far too genuine – before you quickly turned away, shoving your hands in your pockets. A nervous tic, maybe, or a defense mechanism.

A barrier. 

A wall.

“No,” you responded, even though you desperately wanted to say the opposite, “but thanks.”

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

“Sure,” was all he said before an awkward silence came over the two of you, and you only vaguely noticed when his hands slid into his pockets, too.

Interlude #3

[mollydollyjournals]

I wrote out my food plan! No wonder it feels like the right amount - I always feel best eating around 800kcal a day. It comes to the following:

Kcal - 810

Fat - 20.7g

Carb - 54.5g

Protein - 91.6g

Fibre - 8.8g

Salt - 5.8g

It will be a little lower today due to the missing thing, most notably in calories and carbs. 700kcal and about 40g carb. Most of the carbs in this thing come from fruit and veg so I'm not that worried about it, and I didn't bother to calculate sugars. I don't normally pay much attention to macros tbh, but I thought I probably should try a bit so I've written it out here. The salt is a little high...daily recommended limit is 6g and I should maybe go a bit lower. I can take out some of the saltier ingredients. I might not even use that much anyway, I overestimated for most of them (except for things I'd want more of, like protein and fiber).

The macro calculator at healthyeater.com says I should do this:

Low fat is less than 50g a day from what I've read, and low carb is under 100 by some definitions or 30-50g by others. So I think having 20g fat, 90g protein and 50g carb is about perfect for me. And with the perfect calorie count ugh it's too perfect ✨

I put my calorie intake etc into losertown.com and it says I'll be at 115lbs around the beginning of June, losing about 2lbs a week. Or if I go by my BMR given to me by my scales (currently 1382) then I'm at a deficit of about 500kcal a day and will lose at least 1lb a week (assuming 1lb is 3500kcal). Having said that though, 1) this isn't factoring in exercise. I want to exercise as much as I can, but obviously that amount really varies a lot. Either way I should lose more than what they say due to that; 2) I will undoubtedly have some alcohol sometimes, and my cheat meals, or other times I might be made to eat, so then I would lose weight more slowly than what these say; 3) I'm still getting symptoms of liver issues and I do have an underactive thyroid so those can also affect it. I put more exercise into the losertown calculator and it says I'll reach 115lbs by mid May...not a whole lot of difference. So that also implies it's not entirely accurate.

Either way, I do need to exercise. I'm wondering what to do today. It's late and I don't really have much energy. I find housework most exhausting but I don't know if it's actually any more effective, plus it'd be loud, so I don't think I'll do that. I could do a workout video but that feels like the middle option. The easiest would be to go for a walk, but it's freezing cold and raining and the middle of the night... I don't know. I'll have to decide soon I suppose.

The annoying thing is it barely even burns any calories, walking. Or really lots of exercise. I just looked at a website that says I'll burn about 65-70kcal in 20mins of walking...going by that, I'll estimate my workout videos are about 150kcal. I should play DDR again. I used to burn about 600kcal an hour with that. But then I've also found that the intensity of the exercise I do doesn't matter as much as the length of time. Or rather, I can burn myself out doing a short amount of really intense exercise and then probably be too tired to do much more, or I can do a consistent length of time doing something that just raises my heart rate and stuff at least a bit and I'll still lose some weight.

Meh idk I've got into rambling territory again. I should probably...go do a tiny bit of cleaning to see where my energy levels are at, then decide from there what I'm gonna do for exercise. And after that I can make another portion of soup, then that's my food for the day and I'll just try to drink more water until I go to bed.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: The Adoption

I meant to write the baking-cookies drabble from Danny’s adoption stuff came out instead! Whoops. No warnings for this, beyond it being pretty bittersweet  - takes place in the past, when Danny is five years old. 

I’ll tag the usual people - even though this isn’t really whump. But it’s background for Danny!

@finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @special-spicy-chicken

“He’s small,” The woman says, looking down at him, and Danny tries to straighten his back and make himself as tall as he possibly can. His hair sticks up a lot, which he has to hope helps at least a little. “Why is he so small? The papers I looked at said he’s five years old, has been since July.”

“He was born premature,” The social worker says without looking up from her paperwork. 

She’d brought Danny a cheeseburger Happy Meal and he’d inhaled every single bite and licked all the salt off his fingers afterward, so happy to have enough food to feel full and not have to fight any of the other kids for a single bit of it. He was currently twisting back and forth the little arms of the plastic toy man that had been inside the box, making him fight an invisible bad guy that kept punching him but he couldn’t see it. 

The toy man was from some movie, but it wasn’t out were Miss Karla could buy it yet, so he didn’t really know anything about it. Fighting an invisible bad guy seemed like the right thing to do with him. 

Bam, Danny thought to himself, making a mean snarling face. Punch him, kick his head.

“He was born eight weeks early, according to medical records,” The social worker continues, giving a loose, casual shrug. “He spent three weeks in the NICU before he went to his first placement.” This social worker was a new one, way younger than the last social worker. She didn’t seem to like him very much, but actually Danny thought mostly she looked more tired than angry, so maybe she didn’t mind him like some of the others did. 

The woman sitting at the table leans over, her voice pitched low, probably thinking Danny can’t hear her. Little pitchers have big ears, they said all the time at Kindergarten. He didn’t know exactly what that meant, other than adults said it to shut each other up when he was in the room. “Were there drug issues? We specified that we were not interested in taking on a greater than average amount of obligation-”

“He’s not a dog, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says, looking up with the barest hint of an edge to her voice, and Danny fights back the tiniest little smile. It’s kind of nice, having one who sticks up for him. Usually they don’t. “But I understand what you’re trying to say, or at least what I hope you’re trying to say. Please understand that your guidelines were taken into account by the agency you contracted when they contacted us. Daniel was premature due to pregnancy-related complications with the mother, that’s all.”

“Complications? Does that mean there’s a family history of serious health concerns? Did his mother die?” The woman’s fingers stopped tapping again, and Danny looks back at his toy, but some of the shine has gone out of having a new thing (and Danny doesn’t exactly have a lot of things just for him), because he knows the answer to that question.

She gave me up.

The social worker’s eyes go to him, and Danny ignores her, setting his jaw in an angry, pouting line, and the invisible bad guy punched his toy until he died. Then he lived and got back up, but the dead part was pretty satisfying. 

The social worker looks back at the pretty woman in the nice clothes and jewelry and sighs, a little sadly. “No, she didn’t. She chose to, um, to place him with state care.”

“Do you know why she chose to-”

“She was thirteen years old, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says quietly, so quietly Danny almost misses it. Thirteen isn’t very old, he thinks. One of his foster brothers, Craig, is thirteen, and he’s not even in high school yet. Danny could count to thirteen easily and without even needing help when he was four years old, so he knows it can’t be a very high number. That makes him think. If he’s five years old and his real mother was thirteen years old, then thirteen plus five is… Danny counts on his fingers, trying to remember.

If it’s ten eleven twelve thirteen… then it’s fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen… eighteen.

That would make his real mom eighteen.

Danny sits back, proud of himself for doing the counting all in his head and on his fingers, without having to ask the grown-ups, who were still talking about him like he couldn’t hear them.

Most grown-ups did.

“You can understand,” His social worker was saying, “Why a thirteen-year-old might make such a choice with even the healthiest baby. The home life was... not ideal.”

“I can understand.” The woman’s mouth purses a little, like she has a bite of food in her mouth she doesn’t like. “Poor thing. But you’re sure he’s healthy?”

The social worker shrugs. “He could use more time out in the sun and probably someone who lets him play outside more often, but… he’s healthy enough. He measured between 6th and 13th percentile straight through from birth until now, and his growth is steady. Honestly, ma’am, with a decent enough food intake he’d probably grow faster and catch right up. But...” 

The social worker waves her hand around the house they’re sitting in, a vague gesture that means nothing to Danny - but the woman sitting at the table nods very seriously, and so Danny tries to look serious, too.

The woman raises an eyebrow and looks around the dining room. The large table has enough chairs for twelve people to sit, and Danny is unlucky number thirteen - the youngest - so he was used to sitting at the card table off in the corner, where he sat now, swinging his legs in the folding chair and making the toy man run across the table and dive-bomb towards the floor.

When he makes the little exploding sound, the woman sitting at the table - she has pretty brown skin and black hair, and funny honey-colored eyes - smiles at him, and he smiles right back at her. She has a really, really pretty smile - warm and nice.

His foster mother is nowhere to be seen - Miss Carla didn’t really like talking to his social worker anyway, and she had been furious to hear about the rich lady coming to look at Danny, which… Danny didn’t really get, since getting adopted was a good thing. 

Then again, Miss Carla didn’t exactly like him very much. Danny had a mouth, Miss Carla said all the time, and Danny would just grin at her with all his teeth inside that mouth. 

Then he called her whatever names the older boys had taught him, only he got in trouble because the words were different when the older boys said them, for some reason.

His social worker had told him this lady and her husband had chosen him straight away after seeing his photo, and so he had combed his own red hair this morning nice and careful (no one else ever did) and dressed in his absolute best clothing - his favorite blue T-shirt and his good brown pants, his Sunday pants.

He wasn’t sure if the lady at the table had noticed, but he was sort of hoping so. 

“How are his academics?” The lady at the table asks, glancing over at him again. He smiles brightly at her, trying to get her to smile again - he’s pretty sure she likes him. He’s little, and he’d heard Miss Carla say that little kids get adopted faster. 

His biggest foster brothers probably won’t, he thinks, if that’s true. They’re both big and mean, and they look older than they really are. Parents won’t want them, even if Miss Carla likes them the best because they act like her.

“I’m in kindergarten,” Danny speaks up, holding the little toy man in his hands, nervously twisting at his arms again. His voice is high and clear, and he swings his legs a little harder where he sits. “I have lots of good days on my take-home sheets. More good than bad, Miss Carla says.”

“That’s right, Daniel, you do,” His social worker replies, and she smiles at him, finally - a thin and tired smile - as she flips through the paperwork she brought with her in a big folder with his name on it and his photo paperclipped to the outside. “Daniel’s in his first year at public school,” She says to the lady at the table. “He’s in a class of 25-”

“My God.” The woman at the table puts a hand up to her chest. “We’re looking at an exclusive Montessori for our little boy with an average class size of eight - I showed you his photo, the three-year-old. Obviously Daniel would also attend, I’ve already ensured him a spot should we bring him home, I’m good friends with the director. I just cannot imagine attempting to corral so many five year olds-”

“Most of them are already six, actually - Daniel is the third-youngest in his class. In any case, based on his school reports, he excels at academics and struggles with focus, sitting still, and social interactions. Makes sense for the age and his current… ah, situation.” The social worker looks at him again, and Danny sits himself up just a little straighter, making the toy man wave his little movable arm at her. 

The smile this time is less tired, and more real.

“Does he do well with younger children?” The woman at the table asks. “I mentioned our other son - he’s just turning three. Any aggression would be absolutely unacceptable-”

“He loves younger children actually - his last placement was with a foster home that had very young babies and toddlers other than him, about a year ago for three months, and his foster parents reported that he was very gentle and loving with the younger children. I’ve been told he changed diapers, watched the younger ones, and was very good at comforting younger children at night.”

Well, Danny thinks to himself, nobody else woke up as fast as I did, so...

“Ryan doesn’t wear diapers any longer, so we’re not worried about that, but… why was he moved, if he was so good with them?” 

Danny looked down at the floor, because he knew the answer to this question, too.

Because she was growing a new baby and there wasn’t any room anymore.

“His previous foster mother became pregnant,” The social worker says brusquely, waving one hand in a dismissive way. “All the foster children in that home were moved to new placements at the couples’ request.”

“That must have been hard on the children,” The lady says, and her voice changes a little. It’s softer, but angrier at the same time. “They must have bonded. The young ones bond so quickly-”

The social worker shrugs. “It’s not uncommon. Daniel had some… difficulty adjusting here, but he’s doing well now.”

“Difficulty?” 

“It’s all in the paperwork,” The social worker replies, looking uneasily over at Danny again, who only stares back at her with his best totally-blank ‘I wasn’t listening’ face, even though he absolutely was. “He had conflicts with his new foster brothers, missed the little ones. Struggled with the change in schedules and rules. That happens with every new move, learning a whole new household.”

“So… when he moved, he doesn’t see the other children any longer?”

The social worker blinks, surprised by this line of questioning. “Ah, no. He has no further contact with them, that would be… incredibly difficult to put together, considering he’s not related to any of the other foster children. It really isn’t an uncommon situation, kids in the system tend to adapt really quickly to the loss of foster siblings.”

The lady at the table’s mouth thins, just a little. Danny watches, fascinated, at the way her honey eyes shift, and for a second he sees them flash a really pretty purple. Then the color was gone, before he even blinked.

The social worker isn’t looking up, and didn’t see it, and honestly maybe Danny just made it up. He did that sometimes. 

“If we come to a decision in favor of bringing him home,” The lady at the table says, her voice firm and warm and calm, “It should be with the understanding that it will be permanent. I dislike the idea of such a young child being moved around so often, that cannot be healthy.”

“It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson, but that’s the system we work with.” The social worker sighs. “Daniel, will you come over here for a second? Mrs. Michaelson wants to speak with you.”

Mrs. Michaelson hadn’t said any such thing, but Danny shrugs and nods, hopping off the chair to walk over to her, tilting his head and looking up and up and up at her pretty eyes. No purple at all. 

“Hi,” He says, politely. “You can just say Danny. I don’t really like Daniel.”

The woman - Mrs. Michaelson - nods, slowly, thoughtfully, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “He really is exactly what we had in mind when we began discussing bringing a child home for-... to be a sibling for Ryan,” Mrs. Michaelson says, her voice softer and more gentle now that he stood right there with her. She turns her eyes back to Danny and leans down to get a little closer to him. “I have a little boy named Ryan at my house. Do you think you could be nice to him?”

“Oh, sure,” Danny replies, nodding, because that’s what he’s supposed to say. And he really does like the littler kids - he’s small and littler kids don’t pick on him like all the big kids do. “I always think it’s fun to play big brother. Is your house very big? Would I share with him?”

“Share?” Mrs. Michaelson cocked her head, and it was like Miss Carla’s cockatoo in its cage, and Danny giggled a little. She smiled at the sound. “Oh, like a bedroom? No, darling, you would have your own room, of course you would.” 

“Then I think I could be a good big brother,” Danny says, with a grave and thoughtful voice he thought sounded very grown-up. He was rewarded with another smile. Mrs. Michaelson looks him over one more time, taking in his skinny arms and the freckles scattered across his face and the rest of him darkened by the time he spent just sitting outside in the sun. 

“He really does fit the profile we were hoping for exactly,” Mrs. Michaelson says, but her voice is very quiet and she seems to be talking more to herself than Danny or even the social worker. “They’re looking for Ryan, but that hair, those freckles… that’s what they think they need to look for, isn’t it? They think we’ re meant to be Irish, but oh no, we’ll fool them, won’t we? We always have...” 

“Huh?” Danny cocks his head right back at her, and she laughs, a brilliant, sparkling sound that he loves already.

“I’m sorry, what?” The social worker asks, looking up.

“Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Michaelson says breezily. “Just muttering to myself. I don’t need to speak with Patrick about this, I’ve already decided. We’ll move forward with the adoption immediately.” The social worker smiles, and the two women begin to speak in low tones, throwing words and terms and stuff back and forth Danny hadn’t heard before and doesn’t know. He steps a little closer, and a little closer still.

Danny blinks.

He blinks again. 

“The what?”

The two women turn to look down at him.

“Oh,” The social worker says, surprised. “Daniel. Mrs. Michaelson would like to consider adopting you. Would you like to go stay with her and see how it works out?”

“Go stay? For real?” Danny’s heart starts to beat fast inside of him, like when he stands up in front of music class to sing. He smiles, and he clutches onto the little toy man as tightly as he can. “For really real?”

Mrs. Michaelson laughs again, and he hopes she will laugh like that for him a lot when he goes to her house. “For really real,” She says with a nod, and leans over to tap the end of his nose with one finger.

“I, I, I’ll go get my things! I don’t have a lot of things, but I do have, I have a little dog I carry around his name is, um, his name is Scruff and he has a collar but I can get him and I have some clothes-” Danny starts to turn, only for both women to laugh.

He stops and looks back at them, suddenly embarrassed, his face burning bright red under his freckles, feeling his lower lip stick out all on its own. Miss Carla is always telling him to pout less, but he can’t stop, it’s not his fault, the lip just does that. 

“Oh,” He says, and feels a wave of hurt and mad. “Oh, it was a joke. I thought you meant for really real.”

The social worker is the first to understand, and her expression goes serious and thoughtful. “Daniel, we’re not laughing because it was a joke. It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson really does want to bring you home to meet her little boy.”

“I do,” Mrs. Michaelson says. “As soon as I can. We were only laughing because you were so excited - and it can’t happen right away, it takes a little while. The agency has already put everything in motion, of course,” She says sidelong to the social worker. “It’s just a matter of getting all the right papers to the right people.”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll take you home, Daniel,” Mrs. Michaelson says to him, and bops him on the nose again. He hates when his foster brothers do this - they always flick the end of his nose and make it hurt - but he kind of likes it, from her. 

“Yeah? Not a joke?” Danny’s head goes back up, and he searches both of their faces for signs it’s still just a mean joke, like when Conrad apologizes and then smacks his head again and he didn’t mean the apology at all. “For really really real?”

“Not a joke,” Mrs. Michaelson says, and there’s a sweet little smile on her face as she puts her hand out, littlest finger crooked. “Pinkie swear.”

Danny puts his hand up, too, and he hopes that she understands how much it really means when you say you pinkie swear a thing, because that means you have to do it.

“For really really really really real,” He says, seriously. “You have to mean it or you shouldn’t say it.”

“I mean it,” Mrs. Michaelson says softly. “I really, really mean it. Don’t worry, Danny. I’m going to bring you home to stay with us, and you’ll be just like another son. My little boy Ryan is going to love you. He’s always asking for a brother.”

“Are you going to love me?”

The question startles the two women, who blink down at him in unison.

Then Mrs. Michaelson leans over to tuck a curly bit of bright red hair behind one ear, and smile. “I’m sure I will.”

[monstersandmaw]

Male selkie x reader (light nsfw) - Mermay story #5

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Shsshhhhhhh, it’s still Mermay ok. Good? Ok. Let’s continue.

I hope you like this new boy. Something a little different this time, back to High Fantasy setting, rather than Starfall, and we find ourselves taken on as a guard at a castle by the sea which has one or two more secrets than most castles do…

Content: very light nsfw and a gender neutral reader.

___

You’d stumbled up to the colossal old castle gate little more than a month ago, bedraggled, with a notched blade and not much else to your name, wounded, and utterly exhausted. Mercifully, instead of shooting you on sight from the parapets, the guards had taken you to the little infirmary and you’d been taken care of there.

In order to repay them, you’d offered your services on the watch, or as part of the guard. After surprising the Captain of the Guard by proving yourself more than capable of wielding a blade - you could take care of yourself alright when you weren’t outnumbered six to one by bandits, which was how you’d got into that mess in the first place - you were given a bunk in the barracks and told to report to the castle’s armourer and smith for a mail shirt.

The smith was… colossal. With shoulders practically as broad as the castle gates, he towered over you, but as you entered, he glanced up from his work, and from one look at his handsome, dark-bearded, fire-stained face, you saw a gentle, kindly man beneath the grime and the muscles. He had a bit of a paunch too, which made him seem jovial and friendly, softening him at the edges where the muscles of his arms might have made him seem aggressive or dangerous.

“Alright?” he asked in a gruff, deep bass voice.

You nodded. “Been sent for a mail shirt. I’m joining the guard.”

“Ah, welcome,” he said. “I’m Dennek. I’ll be seeing more of you then, I suppose,” he added with a wonky grin as he extended his dirty hand to you and clasped your own in a bone-creakingly strong grip. “So, you managed to get lost yet?” he asked, his grin only broadening when you rolled your eyes.

“Yup,” you said. “Only about, four times… This place is a labyrinth!”

His friendly expression flickered suddenly and you watched his shoulders drop just a little. “Don’t go poking around this place, alright? Stick to your guard patrols, and the upper castle.”

“The ‘upper’ castle?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. There’s been a castle on this outcrop for, well, thousands of years. As long as you stay up here, and don’t go exploring down into the cliff itself, you should be fine.”

“What’s down there?”

“Nothing but empty tunnels for miles and miles, or so I’m told,” he said. “Most folk who go wandering around down there either don’t come back at all, or come back stark raving mad.” He clearly saw the look on your face and added with an empty chuckle, “But you’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. Come on, let’s get you fitted out with some new gear.”

The blacksmith’s words stayed with you, and in fact you found them echoed by the Captain of the Guard, who told you in no uncertain terms that you were not to go ‘poking around’.

Between your new duties and the training regime, you barely had a moment to yourself anyway, and all you wanted to do at the end of your rotation was crash into a bath or a bed. Preferably the former then the latter.

You formed a few close friendships in the first months of being at the castle, but perhaps your closest was with Dennek. He always seemed pleased to see you, and recently had taken to offering you a cup of tea whenever you dropped by the castle’s impressive forge.

“What’s on the anvil this time, Den?” you asked, leaning against the wooden door frame of the separate smithy and making him look up at you from his work with a fond smile. The forge-fire reflected in his huge, dark eyes, and his lashes you suddenly realised were very long indeed. Something fluttered and turned over in your stomach at the discovery.

“Oh, just horse shoes today,” he said. “I seem to make more nails and more horse shoes than anything else. Can’t make a new sword everyday after all…” he grinned. “Even for His Highness up in the tower,” Den added, jutting his chin up in the direction of the highest tower of the castle.

“I’ve been here six months, and I’ve never once seen the prince,” you said, stepping inside. The heat and the smoke and smell of the forge had become a comfort to you in your time there, and you came to associate the smell of hot metal and leather with the strong arms and dark eyes of the smith.

Dennek chuckled and rubbed at his close-trimmed black beard. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s the shy and retiring type.”

“I heard he was sick,” you said. “But I’ve also heard that he’s mad and that the adviser is the one with all the power…”

The smith’s heavy brows darkened and he shook his head. “Where’d you hear that rubbish from?”

You shrugged, unnerved by the hint of outrage in his tone. “Same place I hear stories about a skeleton that wanders the castle, glowing green in the dead of night, and of folk that transform into wolves or seals at night and steal away young virgins from the safety of the castle walls… The guards and the servants like to talk…”

Dennek’s usual ruddy complexion paled instantly, but he recovered himself and turned away. That was hardly the reaction you’d been expecting. “Codswallop, the lot of it,” he muttered, sticking the blank, glowing horseshoe into a trough of water to cool it and tossing it into a pile of similar ones nearby.

“Den?” you asked, taking an uncertain step towards him.

He huffed an awkward laugh and turned back to you. “Fairytale stuff from superstitious folks, that’s all. Magic and all that has been dead for a thousand years.”

You nodded slowly and let your gaze drift towards the fire, and your thoughts went with it. Now that he’d lessened the air intake, the coals were glowing more softly and you sighed as you stared at it.

Dennek murmured your name and you jumped, not realising that the huge smith had crossed back over to you to stand so close. “What is it?” he asked in a gentle murmur. It seemed strange that someone so large could still manage to be so quiet.

“I wish… I wish it hadn’t all died out, you know? I wish there hadn’t been the trials and the burnings… I wish we still had magical creatures. It sounds foolish, I know, but my father used to tell me stories about the fair folk and healers who were also witches, about goblins who lived in the mountains and selkies who lived in the sea.” You let out another sigh. Beside you, Dennek had gone very still. You smiled sadly and exhaled. “I always ached for it to be true. I think part of me still does.”

You shot him an embarrassed look, expecting him to laugh, but his face was oddly unreadable. “Maybe it is still true, somewhere,” he muttered under his breath.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” you smiled.

To your surprise, he shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing with the movement, and he moved away from you. “It’d be miserable for them, living in hiding, always in fear…”

“I guess…” you said, unnerved by the sombre quality his deep voice had taken on. You hopped up lightly onto his anvil and perched there like a crow on the castle parapets, and said, “Well, that turned gloomy… What are you doing tonight? You want to come to the tavern with me?”

He turned from where he’d been stowing his tongs and hammers back in the neat rack at the side of the forge, and you took the opportunity to admire his incredible body yet again. His pale shirt was scruffy and dirty beneath the leather apron he wore, his softer stomach very much evident beneath it, and since he’d cuffed the sleeves up to his elbows, you could clearly see the iron muscles of his forearms and the smudged and scarred, darkly tanned skin. His brown trousers were simple and baggy, tucked into clunky boots which were falling to pieces at the soles.

Those big dark eyes gleamed in the low light of his forge, and he looked at you with an intensity you’d never really noticed before. Den was always quiet, thoughtful, but something else seemed to have leached into him that day.

“Den?”

“Love to,” he said a heartbeat later, and his smile was back. “Meet you at the Wingspan Inn at seven?”

You nodded. “Perfect. My shift finishes at six.”

Dennek was already there when you pushed the dockside tavern door open.

It was one of the pubs frequented by the employees of the castle, but this one also had a mix of folk who lived in the town which had grown up at the base of the outcrop on which the castle had been built. The smell of iodine and salt followed you inside as you stepped over the threshold, but it was quickly swept away by the smell of food, gathered people, and spilled ale.

The smith was deep in conversation with a beautiful young man, lithe and slim, with long dark hair and pale, freckled skin, and he was openly flirting with Dennek.

The man’s slender hand slid up Dennek’s muscular arm, and you watched as the smith laughed and leaned more heavily on the bar, chin resting on his balled fist. When he glanced away and saw you, his eyes lit up and he excused himself from the young man and patting him rather patronisingly on the upper arm as he passed him by in favour of you.

“You’re popular,” you couldn’t help snipping as he joined you, and he shrugged, blushing a little.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “The man might have had sweet words, but he’s not you that’s for sure. What are you drinking?”

He got you something to drink and you followed him to a quieter corner of the bar.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked as he leaned back and stretched out his long, thick legs beneath the table with a grunt. One caught your calf as he crossed them at the ankle, but he didn’t apologise. He only smiled and left his leg where it was, a warm weight against your own.

You told him about your day, but you couldn’t really focus. His eyes were so bright, his smile so warm, and his presence just so… big. You’d been drawn to him since the moment you'd first met him, but now you felt something new, something deeper binding you to this huge, gentle man.

“You know what?” he asked as he finished his beer and set the heavy glass tankard back down on the table with a clunk. “You want to get out of here?”

You nodded, and he held out his hand to you, helping you to your feet. He almost didn’t let go of it, but then he let you walk ahead of him through the closely-spaced tables of the traditional old pub.

A large, older man caught his attention by yelling his name and laughing, and Dennek chuckled ruefully. “Excuse me just a moment, will you?” he asked you, and turned to speak to the grizzled man. You thought you saw a familial similarity in the two as they clasped forearms and clapped each other on the back.

“Uncle Jordan,” he said.

“Laddie, when are you coming to visit again! It’s been too long. But life in the castle is clearly doing you good - look at you lad!” he chortled, slapping Dennek’s slightly round belly with the back of his hand.

“I’ll visit tomorrow, I promise. But tonight, I’m a little busy.”

Jordan dug him in the ribs with an elbow and laughed. “Ach, get on with ye,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Have your fun, but remember…”

“I’ll be careful. I remember.”

A frown tugged at your brows at that, but it was erased when Dennek turned his own eyes on you and smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered as he joined you and ushered you out of the pub. “Overbearing family who lives locally…”

“They care about you. It’s nice,” you said. “I wish I had family who lived nearby and looked out for me like that.”

“You never told me about your family,” he asked carefully as you stepped out into the chilly evening and headed along the empty cobbled street towards the shore.

With a snort, you said, “There’s nothing to tell. Yours seem nice enough though?”

Dennek fell into step beside you, his footsteps oddly quiet for a man so big. He towered over you, but you somehow felt protected instead of dwarfed, which was ridiculous because you knew you needed no one to protect you. Still, it was nice to have the luxury.

He bowed his head in mixed apology and acceptance. “You want to walk towards the beach? The tide is out.”

You and Dennek made your way along the road, and in that strange, empty space, something seemed different now between you. There was a tension that had not existed in the months you’d been friends, and you realised that although you’d been out together before, it had always been in the company of others from the castle. This was your first time alone with each other.

Cool night breezes wafted in from the sea, and it carried with it the scents of the ocean and the call of gulls. Dennek lifted his head, his thick, curly hair lifting in the sea air as he inhaled deeply, dark eyes fluttering shut. He had the longest lashes you’d ever seen on a man.

He caught you looking at him and his lips quirked behind his beard. “What?”

When you told him your thoughts on his eyelashes, he tipped his head back and barked a booming, deep laugh that came from his belly and made his throat bob. “Aye, I’ve heard that before,” he said.

“I bet you have,” you shot darkly, and his laughter cut off immediately.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked in a very soft and gentle voice.

You sighed. “Nothing.” You shivered. “I’m cold. I want to head back to the castle.”

Dennek nodded, unaffected by the chill air, and the pair of you wove through the streets in silence. That shivering tension had tightened and you sighed.

You said goodnight to him in the castle courtyard, simply raising your hand and thanking him for the evening as you walked away.

Dennek watched you go until you were at the very door of the barracks and only then did he turn around and enter the little door of the smithy.

The next morning you woke well before dawn feeling unrested and twitchy. Your watch was not due to start until midday, and you had free training before that, but you didn’t feel like swinging a sword around the training ring that morning. Instead, you dressed in light clothes and set off at a jog out of the castle.

As you crossed the courtyard, you glanced up at the highest tower, which had affectionately come to be known as the Prince’s Tower, and you glimpsed a hooded figure, shrouded in darkness, standing on the balcony way above you. You blinked, and a moment later there was nothing there. Feeling odd, you shivered and turned your back on the place.

Your feet took you through the town below the castle. Mist clung to the rooftops and hung between the houses, and as you reached the beach, the sand of the shore still dark in the wake of the retreating tide, you saw a group of seals on the rocks at the far end of the curving bay. You smiled and thought fondly of the stories of the selkies your father had told you as a child.

You jogged along the hard sand towards them, enjoying the way your muscles had to work to balance you, to work a little harder to propel you forwards, and welcoming the burn in your lungs with every inhale.

Out of the waves, another seal emerged much closer to you.

This one was huge and really rather chubby, and the moment it breached the surface, nostrils flaring, and saw you, it went utterly still.

Water washed over its stone-grey back, swirling around its flippers and caressing it gently as your own feet faltered and you watched it in wonder.

“Hello,” you said, crouching down. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

One of the seals on the rocks barked a warning and the one before you jumped as though startled out of a trance by the sound.

“It’s alright,” you said again. “Here,” and you stretched out your hand, fingertips trailing in the cold foam at the edge of the lapping waves.

To your surprise, the seal lumbered forwards and pressed his - something made you think it was male - nose into your palm.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?” you chuckled, and the seal snorted indignantly, spraying your hand with salty water.

You laughed, and then sighed as you stared into its inky eyes. The seal blinked slowly and made its awkward way a few inches closer to you, cocking its head to one side in a manner that, oddly enough, reminded you of Dennek.

“You know,” you said, “My father used to tell me stories about shape shifters. I always dreamed they were true.” You scratched the seal under the chin and stood up, turning to go. “Maybe you’re one,” you said with a rueful smile. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so patronising.”

The seal lowered his chin to the sand and lay flat as he watched you leave, the same way a hound watches a beloved friend go, knowing he must remain behind.

When you finally jogged back up to the castle, you paused outside the smithy. Curious, wanting to satisfy your strange whim, you knocked on the door, but it was all shut up, cold and quiet. “Dennek?” you called, trying to peek in at one of the windows.

You heard your name called across the yard, and you turned around to see Dennek come running in through the gate, out of breath, hair curling and wet, dripping into his face, and his damp shirt open at the neck to reveal a little of his skin. His chest heaved from the effort of running, and you frowned, turning to go back to him. Over the crook of one arm, he carried something silvery and shiny. At first you thought it was a finely woven mail coat, but, looking at it more carefully, you could see it was an animal pelt.

“Den?” you asked as you got closer. “You ok?”

“It’s true,” he whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

You drew level with him and halted. “What’s true?”

He leaned in close and you smelled salt water and sweat on him. “What you just said to me… on the beach… it’s true.”

Your world tilted. “You mean…”

He nodded and your knees went weak.

“Come inside,” he said, jutting his chin towards the smithy behind you.

His knuckly, scarred hands shook as he slid the key into the lock, and it took him a couple of goes. The pelt across his arm was a seal pelt.

It was all true.

Selkie.

He turned around to face you as you came inside and shut the wooden door behind you. Swallowing, you looked up at him and smiled. “Promise me this isn't some kind of sick prank…” you said. “Tell me what I told the seal on the beach, and I’ll believe you.”

Dennek smiled gently, fear still obvious in his dark eyes. He licked his lips and said, “You said that your father used to tell you stories about shifters, and that you dreamed it was true. And that you shouldn't be so patronising.”

You sank down onto a wonky, three-legged stool as your knees gave way.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. A moment later, you added, “That was really you?”

He nodded.

“How…? I mean… Are there many of you?”

He shook his head, dark curls bouncing. “Few enough of us survived the troubled times. I’ll tell you about it one day. Do you want something to drink? Are you alright?”

With a weak little laugh, you nodded. “Yeah, a drink would be good.”

The smith smiled and dipped a copper ladle into a bucket of clear water from the well and filled a pewter tankard for you. He handed it to you with a steady hand and knelt before you. He looked up into your face and you were suddenly, viscerally reminded of the seal on the beach.

With a laugh, you said, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“You weren’t looking. No one is, these days, thank the gods. The prince has done a lot to protect our kind and to make the people forget, to make them think that it’s all just foolish superstition.”

“The prince…” you thought about the shadowy figure on the balcony. “Is he… different too?”

With a shy, private smile, Dennek gave a tiny nod. “Yes, but that’s not my secret to tell. He’s not a selkie though.”

“Right. But you are.”

“Yes.”

Dennek looked at you with steady, dark eyes. “Den…?”

“Yes?”

Your fingers twitched. “May…?” you bowed your head and looked at your lap instead, your courage draining away.

“May what?” he asked gently, still kneeling before you.

You swallowed thickly and let out another awkward chuckle. “I was going to ask if I could kiss you.”

“If you were to ask,” he said, “I would say yes. Does that make it easier?”

And at that, the tension snapped, and you began to laugh. In fact, you couldn’t stop laughing.

Suddenly his rough hands, callused from years of forge work, were on your cheeks, his thumbs tracing a soft arc over your cheekbones. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes drew you in, and he was still laughing softly as he kissed you. His beard was scratchy and rough, but his lips were soft, and his kiss was so tender it stole your breath.

All you could hear was your heart hammering as he kissed you. He stood, drawing you to your feet and pulling you close, back into the kiss.

You pulled back, breathless with amazement. “Dennek…”

“Yes?” he rasped.

He’d been pushing you, guiding you gently towards the single bed in the corner of the humble room, but he suddenly froze, as if he’d just realised what he was doing.

You smiled and bit your lip. “I… I didn't know you were interested… I mean… in me…”

His hands skated down your sides to your hips and he pulled you tight against his body. You felt the hard line of his cock tenting his loose trousers, and as you looked up into his large, warm, dark eyes, you had your answer.

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