#rip admin fry

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Word Dump…

… Draft… Demo… Thing… Mess… I dunno.

It’s like I took my brain and shook it upside down…

It’s kinda long.

So… I like the second half of this more than the first, but oh well.

Brief context: Horobi and Jin had redemption arcs a while ago, and Yua and Isamu decided to ally w/ Aruto, too. Everyone was at the Hiden building when the Ark usurped control of it and turned the entire security system against them. Yua and Aruto take Jin and Izu and head for the President’s secret lab in the hopes that it will be the most defensible while Isamu heads for the core server room in order to try and flush the Ark out, w/ Horobi volunteering to go as well, bc he’s not about to let the building get destroyed while Jin is in it.

And thus we begin.

The pacing is really terrible here, but here we are.

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“Fuwa, we made it back to the President’s private lab, but it’s not going to hold forever!” Yua’s words were slightly spotty over the radio as they descended deeper into the Hiden building, but still audible. “Where are you two?”

“Still going down!” Isamu shouted, over the sound of another security drone—until Horobi abruptly sliced it in half with a single swipe of his katana, “But murder bot here says we’re nearly there!” He glanced toward the HumaGear—or, rather, the sword Horobi was re-sheathing. “What is that thing even made out of?”

Horobi ignored his question to scowl slightly at him. “I told you to stop calling me murder bot.” He snapped—strangely, though, neither the demand nor the expression actually felt hostile.

“You’ve nearly killed me multiple times, I’ll call you what I want.” Isamu shot back, rushing past the HumaGear and down the stairs rather than giving him a chance to answer. He caught Horobi rolling his eyes, but the robot elected to merely follow him rather than complaining again.

They moved even further down, and the shiny, pristine aesthetic of Hiden Intelligence began to fade, giving way to cement walls, industrial lights, and cables running along the walls. Isamu turned off his radio when the HumaGear suggested the signal might have been attracting attentions—and it did seem to have helped, especially after a drone had gotten a lucky hit on his leg before he’d shot it down. “How many damn floors does this building need?!” Vulcan growled, shaking his head, leaning heavily on the railing.

“They weren’t expecting an aggressive AI to commandeer control when they originally built it.” Was Horobi’s flat reply, looking ahead rather than at the human behind him. On the following landing, however, he abruptly came to a stop then, purple light glimmering in his eyes as he cycled through the blueprints. “This is the floor. This way.” Without another warning, he turned sharply and darted through a door on his right, forcing Isamu to run after him.

Finally, they crashed through a door that Horobi spun around to hold closed, ordering Isamu to hit the emergency lock—the moment Vulcan pushed the button, metal bars shot across the door, and the HumaGear released it, stepping back.

“That should buy us some time.”

“How much?”

“Depends,” Was the curt reply as Horobi turned back to the room they’d sealed themselves in, “How quickly we fix this.”

Isamu followed his gaze to the mass of monitors and equipment lining the walls. “… I hope you meant it when you said you could do it, because Yaiba’s right—I have no idea how any of this stuff works.” Horobi had already crossing the floor to one of the monitors before he finished the sentence, pulling up windows and typing—but the deepening frown on the HumaGear’s face was not a good sign. “… What’s wrong?”

“The Ark is rewriting the security protocols and commands faster than I can enter them.” Horobi paused, leaning against the edge of the terminal. “I should still have at least basic admin access, if Korenosuke’s files are to be believed, but of course without the antennae, I can’t directly connect…” He actually punch the metal in frustration. “Never thought I’d regret…” The HumaGear trailed off suddenly, as his gaze lighted across the wires running between the different stations. “Unless…”

“Antennae?” Isamu frowned. “You mean the earpieces? Is there a way we could-” He stopped at the sound of rubber tearing, and looked over to see Horobi ripping one of the cords out. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t connect wirelessly,” The HumaGear explained, just as bluntly as he said everything, reaching up to yank off his head wrap and feeling the back of his head with his fingers, searching for something as he pulled more of the wire away from the wall, “But if I use one of these, I should be able to create a direct line from my system to the computer.” Whatever he sought on his head, he found at what would have been the base of his skull if he were human.

Isamu was still at a loss until Horobi pulled the cable up and moved to stab it into the spot—at that, Vulcan dove forward and grabbed his arm. “Hold up!” He tried to pull the HumaGear’s arm down, but Horobi refused to budge. “What will that do to you?!”

“At the very least, it will allow me to enter commands faster and maybe outpace the Ark. At best, I may be able to retake control.”

“You’re talking about hooking yourself up directly to the main system for the entire Hiden building. I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure that’s too much for one HumaGear to handle—you’ll fry your whole system!”

“We have no other choice.” There was an edge to Horobi’s voice that time. He moved to plug the wire in again, but Isamu refused to let go, holding on to the HumaGear’s arm with both hands.

“Your heart-”

“-Is in Hiden’s lab!” The surprise of Horobi raising his voice made Vulcan’s grip slacken, and the HumaGear yanked free and stabbed the end of the cable into the back of his head before Isamu could stop him.

Sparks flashed around the connection, surging all the way up the remains of Horobi’s earpieces, the lights and his eyes blazing so brightly it hurt to look at. The HumaGear’s body shuddering like he’d just been electrocuted, then collapsing forward to barely catch himself on the edge of the computer terminal.

Isamu tried to reach out to him, but got zapped by the floating sparks and flinched back, resorting to yelling instead. “Murder bot! Oi! Murder bot!” There was no answer. “Horobi!”

“… I…” Even Horobi’s voice seemed to crackle with electricity, “… I’m fine… I can… I can see it…” He sounded almost in awe—but very much not fine.

But the computer screen was flashing ‘CONNECTION ESTABLISHED,’ and there was a loud cracking of metal as the door began to buckle behind them. “… Shit!” Reluctantly, Isamu pulled away, spinning around around to search for something to prop the door with, even if it was futile. Horobi stayed clinging to the side of the computer station as Vulcan collected every chair in the room to barricade the door, his head periodically shooting off more sparks, the blaring lights on his head and in his eyes blinking as he worked. When he had done all he could, Isamu repositioned in the centre of the room, readying the ShotRiser and levelling it at the door. A robotic arm burst through the metal, straining at the makeshift barricade, and he could hear more on the other side. Gritting his teeth, he prayed that the doors of Hiden’s private lab were holding better.

A high pitched ringing pierced his hearing, dizzying him for a moment. It continued for several more seconds, then cut off abruptly—the arm reaching through the door froze completely… Then fell limp. On the other side of the door, he could hear crash after crash as more drones dropped to the floor.

A sigh of relief exploded from him, and he folded forward, catching himself on his knees, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Oh… Oh thank goodness…” He dragged himself back upright, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, you did it! You… You did it!”

Nothing but silence answered him.

His relief immediately choked. “Horobi?” Spinning around, he looked frantically at where the HumaGear had been standing, bent over the edge of the terminal—to find Horobi collapsed on the concrete floor. “Horobi!” Rushing over, he dropped the ShotRiser at his side, kneeling down and lifting the HumaGear into his arms. “Hey!”

After a moment of shaking, Horobi’s eyes fluttered open, both them and the lights in his head still glowing abnormally brightly. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then, “… Jin…?” Isamu stared at him for a moment, then quickly fumbled for his radio with the arm not under the HumaGear’s shoulders, clicking it back on.

“-wa! Fuwa! Can you hear me? Fuwa!” Yua’s voice burst through the static, making him wince for a moment, but also flooding him with relief again.

But then he felt Horobi shift in his arms, and remembered what was happening. “Yaiba!” His voice broke a little, despite his attempt to keep it steady, “You guys all okay?”

“Fuwa!” He heard her exhale like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness.” Yua being Yua, however, she recovered quickly. “We’re all fine.” She assured him. “What about-” He muted the line before she could finish the question.

He looked back down at the HumaGear in his arms. Seeing that Horobi’s eyes had closed again, he shook him a little to try and wake him up. “Hey… Hey, look at me.” The too bright eyes cracked open again, looking anxiously at him. “You did it. They’re okay—he’s okay.” He squeezed Horobi’s shoulders gently. “You protected him.”

Even though the HumaGear had no natural muscles, he felt Horobi relax, despite the sparks still dancing around his mechanics. “… Thank goodness…” The HumaGear jerked slightly, wincing. “I… I still have access to the system…” His eyes flicked back and forth, the beaming light shimmering slightly again. “There’s… Something here…”

“Oi.” Isamu shook him again. “Oi, don’t overdo it.”

Horobi smirked, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “I’m afraid… It’s too late for that.” Isamu’s heart skipped, but the HumaGear didn’t wait for him to react. “… It’s a Key…?” For a moment, his eyes shone even brighter. “Transferring to Zea.” The ringing noise came again—then sputtered out abruptly. Horobi convulsed sharply in his hold, an even larger shower of sparks erupted from his head, burning Isamu’s arms and face, forcing him to close his eyes. When the heat stopped, he felt the HumaGear go still once more, sagging into him. Blinking his eyes back open, he squinted through the spots in his vision at Horobi.

The HumaGear’s eyes were no longer glowing so intensely, merely carrying some residual shimmers of violet. The lights in the remains of his earpieces still shone, the colours churning slightly like he was still processing something. He was shivering a bit, but not as if from cold—in fact, he felt unnaturally warm, like an overheated computer. Isamu tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to no avail, leaning back over to try and examine the damage, even though he knew he’d be useless to help. “… What did you…?”

“… System overload…” Horobi’s voice was tired, barely audible, edged with static, “… Shutdown… Is imminent…” He looked wearily up at Isamu, wincing. “Never thought I’d die…” There was a touch of wryness in the words, his mouth twisting into a slight sneer, “… In the arms of a human…”

A sound that was almost a chuckle burst from Isamu unwillingly, but it died quickly, consumed by the understanding of what else the HumaGear had said. It was still a struggle to keep his breathing even, and tears had begun pricking in his eyes despite himself. “… What about the arms of a friend?” Unlike Horobi, his voice was entirely capable of hoarseness, and it cracked under the overwhelming myriad of emotions weighing upon him.

There was a silence, Horobi’s eyebrows furrowing slightly in thought. “… A friend…?” After another moment, the expression gave way to a small smirk—one that was ages softer than any before it. “… That would be acceptable.” His eyes drifted back up to meet Isamu’s, and Vulcan knew he saw the tears, because the smirk shifted into a genuine, sorrowful smile. Slowly, the hand holding Isamu’s scarf released to reach up and wipe away the drops that had spilled onto Vulcan’s cheek, gazing in awe at the wetness on his fingers for a moment. “… Maybe…” Horobi’s voice was beginning to blur and lag, the static in his words becoming more prominent, his system beginning to fail, “… Maybe there is hope for peace between our kinds, after all…” His eyes and the fixtures on the sides of his head flickered, and the HumaGear’s hand dropped slowly back onto his own chest. The smile faded away into a look of heartbreak that should have been accompanied by tears of its own. “… Jin…” Horobi whispered, one last time—and all his lights went dark. The words ‘CONNECTION LOST’ flashed on the computer screen.

There was a short, heavy silence as Isamu waited, just in case, to see if, by some miracle, he would restart—but nothing happened. Finally, Vulcan broke, bowing his head into the HumaGear’s chest, shoulders shaking with choking, deceptively quiet sobs.

He didn’t let the outburst last long. Taking deep breaths to pull himself together, he hauled his head back up, prying the arm not supporting the HumaGear’s shoulders up to reach over and close Horobi’s eyes, hand moving to cup the HumaGear’s face for a moment afterwards. “Rest now.” He managed to croak softly. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

Footsteps made him look toward the door. “Fuwa!” Yua’s voice was half welcome, half terrifying, as he heard the banging and crashing of the dead drones being pushed aside—and soon, the door burst open, and Valkyrie rushed in. “There you are! Listen, Zea started-” She broke off sharply, freezing in her tracks when she saw the scene—him staring despairingly up at her, tears still in his eyes, cradling the HumaGear’s body in his arms. “… Oh.”

In a wild flurry of steps, Aruto, then Izu appeared at her sides—to also skid to a halt to stare when they saw. Aruto clung to the doorframe for balance, and Izu looked even more rigid than usual, eyes wide, and both stunned into silence.

“Horobi?!” The young, anxious voice from behind the others made Isamu’s heart drop right through the floor. It fell even further as Jin pushed to the front, panic and worry already clinging to his features. It felt like a knife in the gut when the young HumaGear’s expression morphed into a look of pure horror. “Horobi!” With a shriek that broke the limits of human hearing, Jin dove forward to crash to his knees across from Isamu. “Horobi!” He didn’t so much as look up at Vulcan, first grabbing Horobi’s shoulders to shake him, then pulling him out of Isamu’s arms and into his own, clutching his father to his chest with more than human strength, dissolving into tearless sobs, burying his face in Horobi’s hair.

Isamu took a few more deep breaths to try and keep himself collected, then took a moment to lean forward and grab the computer cable still plugged into the base of Horobi’s head, yanking it out—there was no reaction, not even a single spark, as the prongs left the HumaGear’s head. Tossing the cord aside, Isamu grabbed the edge of the computer terminal, dragging himself to his feet, and tried to make his way around Jin, toward the door. He only made it a few steps before his leg gave out and he stumbled, but his movement had broken the spell of shock—Aruto and Yua both moved to catch him before he fell, the Hiden President stepping closer on his injured side, pulling Isamu’s arm over his shoulders to support him while Yua’s hand stayed on his other arm. Izu cut around them, walking over to kneel beside Jin and place a hand on his shoulder, even though he gave no notice, just continued weeping hysterically over Horobi’s body.

“… It’s not your fault.” Aruto’s voice was quiet, watching the trouble in Isamu’s expression with undeniable sympathy—but Isamu didn’t have the strength to be angry at it.

“Leave it.” He grunted darkly, instead—but when Aruto tugged on his arm, he allowed the other Kamen Rider to help him from the room, leaving Yua and Izu to see to the newly orphaned HumaGear.

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I actually should have written more to this before posting it, but… YOLO?

… Is that even still a thing?

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

I had the weirdest dream the other night, it was both realistic, and very overdone, like an episode of a cop show or some sort of middle-budget movie.

- - -

I was at some sort of modern university type building, it was two stories, and it felt like I was in the library? You know that weirdly shaped, just off-white with a few splashes of colour and like a handful of shelves, but most computers in little rows along the wall, or in little island rectangles through the room.

But where I was, was a reception type spot, the library part was upstairs somehow; that comes in later. It was one of those vaguely shiny grey places, the reception area was curved, that semi-circle type of weird modern desk. 

The woman behind it was smartly dressed, I think it was a lavender type suit, very inviting but officious? I was trying to do something, I think student-wise and she was being very understanding and helpful; she had a headset  hiding behind her thick curly hair, and it was an odd colour choice, like red or slightly too-bright green, for the suit. I was distracted at this time, but turned when I heard something behind us.

Someone, a man trying not to look shady in his little outfit, walks alongside what I think is a security guard; the SG swipes his card, about a meter from the door or so, it’s glass and slides open with a beep. The first bloke snaps into action, shoving the SG into the wall beside them, cracking his head loud enough to hear, and darts for the doorway before the man’s body hts the floor.

The admin/librarian screams and throws herself under the desk, but the dude doesn’t care, she’s not a target; he’s just got a weapon, and begins to fire indiscriminately about the place. 

Somehow, I am inside the area beyond the reception, a few panicked people are hiding or running in all directions. And then we’re upstairs; maybe we went up stairs, no one could wwait for an elevator, the dude was behind us. 

Someone said it was a shooter, in the school, which was really weird even to dream me bc that sht does not normally happen in Australia????? but it persisted. Upstairs, no one was listening to the choas; the people there were all between 20 and 35, most on computers or reading books or frantically scribbling shit down, and they all had headphones of some type, or were in little groups talking quietly but rapidly.

No one would LISTEN to me when I said there was a weaponised nutjob coming, no one. Until this one dude seemed to realise just how frantic some of the people running through were, and took off his headphones; I found a landline (of all phones, it had a cord and was an odd pale pink seashell colour), to call 000, and he was like, “Hey, they’re serious, let’s get out of here!”

This dude was a very tall african-american man wearing what I assume was a college jacket (which was again confusing bc Australia doesn’t do that... you can buy a shitty jumper or something with your uni logo on it for a wheelbarrow full of money but that’s really it), and when he said Get Up or We’re Going To Die, people listened. It was really bizarre to see people just Move, like they’d flipped a switch from Do Nothing, to PANIC IMMEDIATELY.

Well someone on the other end of the line was listening intently and saying things like, “You stay calm, babe/baby (?), help is coming. Get out of sight.”

And as the people were dashing out the other side, there must have been other stairs; it was fine, the stragglers were hiding or ducking or being Encouraged to Get the Fuck Out of There. 

The dude with the arsenal really did take his time, but when he arrived, he just kept shooting at everything. Books, ceiling, wall, computer, etc. It was like, Should Have Gone to Specsavers. Darkly funny in a messed up way. 

----------

And basically it was all so very surreal, because this didn’t make any sense. My dreams are usually like real fucked up or quests or punching titans in the face or overthrowing shit, leading a band of people through a monster-infested house, fighting demons, or that one thing with muppets that involved a roadtrip i can’t remember but i think someone got sacrificed, or the dream about stark trek and tidal waves, or that one where a rip-off freddy kruger was murdering my high school classmates in their dreams and i had to kick his fucking arse in a tent in a cornfield and it was super weird, or the one where i fought a pterodactyl wth a frying pan, or the lion from the sea my polyamorous warrior guild had to fight whilst on holiday, or the sharks on a train slash actor dream, or the Two occasions we fought our way through jurassic park when the hungry dinosaurs were unleashed on tourists during the final parade to keep food costs low, or, or, or...

this was super fucking weird, because there was no reason for it, and how odd it felt due to the weirdly normal atmosphere up until the bullets began to fly. 

-----

Briefly woke up, glanced at a clock, got mad about the dream, fell asleep again, somehow ended up beating the shit out of the guy. I don’t... know how. I just knew that I wanted to just, beat the shit out of this dude for daring to cause so much distress and fear... and I did. Lucid dreaming or something.

Very satisfying, even if it meant less time to ready for work.

Super fucking weird though... thought about it for the last two days, trying to work out where it came from.

[noona-clock]

Drabble Game: Library

DRABBLES YAY!! library with jongup?

Yes, drabbles, anon!! I’m so glad you’re as excited as I am! I hope you like what I came up with for your 4D man!

Genre: Library!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Jongup x You

By Admin B

Every single day he came into the library.

And every single day he had McDonald’s.

Surprisingly, there was no rule against bringing in food or drink, as long as you didn’t sit at one of the computers. You figured since it was a college library, the dean realized students would be both a) spending a lot of time in the library and b) hungry.

But... seriously? Bringing McDonald’s into the library every day?

That was just... weird.

And it also made you wonder how the guy was as fit as he was? I mean, obviously, you’d never seen him without his shirt on or anything (although, you’d definitely imagined it before - wait, what?), but you could tell the dude was pretty ripped.

Anyway.

Here he was again, in the library with his McDonald’s bag.

But... the real kicker was... he didn’t do anything else in here besides eat.

He didn’t study, he didn’t check out any books, he didn’t talk to anyone, he didn’t even look at his phone. He just ate.

You were truly not one to judge because college could be rough. You understood that. But, apparently, today was the day you couldn’t stand it any longer.

Your curiosity was just too strong.

So you pushed yourself away from the help desk and quietly made your way over to his table. You plastered a smile on your lips as you slid into the chair next to him, clearing your throat to announce your intention to speak.

“Hi,” you began in the softest voice you could muster.

“Hey,” he replied before popping a french fry into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m just... You’re not in trouble or anything, I was just wondering... Why do you come in here every day to eat?”

He furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes at you while he chewed, and when you thought he was going to answer you, he simply took a bite of his hamburger.

...Okay, this was awkward.

But you still waited because... well, you just wanted to know!

“I like the peace and quiet while I eat,” he finally explained after swallowing. “And I like seeing you.”

Your eyebrows shot halfway up your forehead.

“...O--oh,” you stammered. “O...kay...”

He nodded once before taking another bite of his hamburger, and you took that as your cue to leave him alone.

But just as you’d started walking away, he called out to you.

“I’m Jongup, by the way.”

You turned on your heel to face him again, lifting your hand in an awkward wave because you were still very taken aback from what he’d said.

“See you tomorrow!” he smiled.

“See you... tomorrow...”

Well, okay then. Not what you were expecting, but... I mean, you were kind of flattered.

Because he was super handsome.

So... yeah.

Master list // RULES // Submit a Request! // Read About the Admins

[everlarkficexchange]

Prompt numero uno!

Prompt: “I wish that ball had hit you in the face!” from @peetaspikelets

Author: @sandyeyes

Rating: T

A/N: Thank you to the admins for running this exchange! Now to catch up on all the amazing fics I’ve missed while writing (seriously, SO MANY. This fandom rocks <3)

*

“Yikes, poor Effie.”

Katniss turned and scowled at her sister, missing the moment her ball smacked into the pins, toppling them all down. She turned back in time to see the carnage be swept away, a new set dropping down into place. She strode back to the table, glaring at Prim.

“’Poor Effie?’ Were you even listening to me?

“I was talking about the pins,” Prim replied, nudging a box of fries to toward her. Katniss munched on one grumpily. “Don’t tell me you weren’t imagining her face on them. Or that they were her bones.” She scrunched her nose at the thought.

Katniss huffed. “I wasn’t imagining anything. I’m not inspired enough to do so.” Although, maybe Effie did have a point. Her most interesting scheme of revenge involved ripping the woman’s fake nails right off her fingers and smashing them to bits with a hammer right in front of her face. Except she’d probably just have them replaced, and be back to tapping on Katniss’ blueprint the next day, questioning for the billionth time if that part of the project was absolutely necessary. Damn it.

She felt a tug on her braid. Prim smirked at her. “I can almost see the smoke coming out of your nostrils.”

“Will you –“ She stopped when Prim raised her eyebrows, and took an exaggerated breath. More calmly, she said, “I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about work during girls’ night.”

Prim shrugged. “You looked angry.” She wiped her hands on a napkin, completely unperturbed by Katniss’ scoff. “I just thought I’d help you blow some steam before Madge – hey, over here!” She waved her hand excitedly, her face splitting a into a grin.

“Everdeens!” a deep voice shouted, and Katniss glared at her sister again.

“I didn’t invite them,” she said innocently, as her boyfriend, Rory, rounded the table, and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Gale settled in next to them, holding Madge’s hand while she talked to –

“Hey guys!” she greeted. “Hey Kat, you remember Peeta from high school, right?” She nodded towards him, and gestured at the seat on Katniss’ other side.

Katniss gave him a tight smile, then pulled her chair in so he could pass behind her. She reached for another fry, hoping to avoid making conversation. Prim and Rory and made their way to the lane to bowl another round, and Gale had twisted around in his chair to watch them. She had a feeling he wouldn’t respond if he tried to get his attention.

“Ah, I’m sure Katniss had more important things on her mind back then,” Peeta said with a chuckle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub at the back of his neck. If she looked closer, she would’ve noticed the red flush on the tops of his ears, but she didn’t.

“Yeah, we were such nerds,” Madge laughed. She plucked one of Katniss’ fries from in front of her. Katniss didn’t react. “Anyway,” she said, facing Katniss fully now, “Rory and Prim haven’t had a night out in forever, so I thought I’d bring him and Gale along. And bringing Peeta evens out the teams.” Katniss nodded noncommittedly. “I’ve actually been gorging myself on his bakery’s fruit tarts for months now,” she laughed, “so I figured it was time to share him. He actually had plans, but they cancelled on him, so now he’s ours. Isn’t that great?” Another nod. Madge quirked an eyebrow at her. Katniss sipped at her water.

“Right,” Madge drawled. “What would you like to drink, Peeta?”

“Beer,” Gale said suddenly, turning back around. Katniss snorted, and Madge narrowed her eyes at her.

“Uh, iced tea is fine,” Peeta replied, rubbing his neck again. Madge stood to get to drinks, Gale trailing along after her. He glanced between Katniss and Peeta as he passed, and she busied herself with her burger.

Alone, the two of them sat silently, watching as Rory wrapped his arms around Prim, pretending to show her how to properly wind up. They stumbled forward, laughing as the ball headed straight toward the gutter. Peeta huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Katniss closed her eyes, breathing deeply again, letting her muscles soften on the exhale.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, when her eyes remained closed.

“I…” she trailed off. She bent her head forward, a corner of her mouth twitching.

“I didn’t plan this,” Peeta said, leaning back in his chair, and sighing. “I didn’t realize –“

“I know,” Katniss replied, biting her lip. She sighed as well, tilting her head back. “It was supposed to be a girls’ night but…” She shrugged.

“Invasion of the boyfriends?”

Katniss watched as Prim jumped on Rory’s back, causing him to drop his ball unceremoniously. He started spinning and she shrieked before muffling her cries in his shoulder. “Yeah,” she said wistfully.

“Katniss –“

“Pizza’s here!”

Rory stopped abruptly, his head jerking in their direction. He started walking towards the group, Prim still on his back.

“We weren’t finished yet!”

“But I’m hungry,” Rory whined, then blushed as he realized his tone.

Prim pinched his cheek, and hopped down. “Fair enough. Peeta?”

“I’ll bowl with him,” Katniss interrupted. Four faces gaped at her. “Make sure your boyfriend doesn’t explode,” she muttered, before walking briskly toward the lane. She felt the others turn confusedly back to each other, but she was sure Gale was just watching her. Damn it.

“Are you usually this hostile?” Peeta asked jokingly from behind her, and she jumped. Her grip on the ball loosened, and it landed with a loud thump on Peeta’s foot.

“Katniss!” Prim was immediately out of her chair, rushing towards them. Gale followed, picking up the wayward ball, then extending his arm out towards Peeta. Peeta waved them both off.

“It’s fine,” he said with a laugh. “I – “

“He has a prosthetic,” Katniss finished for him, standing between Peeta and the interlopers. She took the ball back from Gale, and threw it haphazardly toward the pins, knocking a couple down on the left side.

“Still, we should probably look at it, see if you need to get it fixed,” Prim was saying, undeterred. Katniss sensed Gale about to pull her braid before he actually did, and slapped his hand away. He stepped between her and the ball return, anyway. He narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

“And you know about the prosthetic because…”

She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic, but Peeta placed his hand on her shoulder, and she suddenly lost her train of thought. There was an apologetic smile on his face, and his unruly blond hair made him seem almost cherubic. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She was aware that her friends were gaping at her, but she didn’t care, reaching one hand up to grasp his curls, deepening the kiss. One of Peeta’s hands slid up and off her shoulder, cradling the nape of her neck, while the other arm wrapped itself firmly around her waist.

When they finally broke for air, Gale was still staring them. He gave an exaggerated cough. “Well then…”

Katniss felt Peeta tighten his arms around her. “I wish that ball had hit you in the face!” she hissed at Gale.

Peeta nuzzled her cheek. “No, you don’t,” he said calmly.

Gale succeeded in pulling her braid this time, and she yelped. “We all know your poker face is the worst, Catnip” he chuckled. He turned to give a thumbs-up to Madge, who was watching riveted from her seat. Her worried face immediately shifted into one of excited surprise, and Katniss swore she heard her squeal.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down and examine your prosthetic?” Prim butt in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peeta assured her, rubbing Katniss’ back. Prim stared pointedly at the movement.

“Shut up and eat your pizza,” Katniss said, finally breaking away from the embrace. She shoved Gale, who was still standing there with his arms crossed, and seemed to having a conversation with Madge with their facial expressions.

“Fine,” Prim said curly, tipping her nose in the air in faux annoyance. “Come on, Gale. Let’s give Katniss some time with her boyfriend.”

The threatening glare Gale gave Peeta was ruined by his teasing smirk. Peeta just shrugged, and slipped his arms around Katniss, mirroring Prim and Rory from earlier.

“You okay?” he asked. She leaned back into him, placing her hands on top of his.

“Yeah,” she replied. Peeta nuzzled at her neck, and she moved so he could kiss her shoulder. “Just… don’t go overboard about how we met and stuff, okay?”

“Of course not,” he assured her, and gave her waist a squeeze. He let her go to pick up a ball, bending slowly and shifting his hips a little as he pretended to peruse the selection.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Katniss muttered. Worst girls’ night ever.

[btsvt-adventures]

The Dinner Date Mistake

Title: The Dinner Date Mistake Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook, hints of Yoongi x Taehyung Warnings: Swearing, cute fluff, slight implication of sexy times but nothing very R Rated~ Word Count: 2,364

A/N: This was based off this prompt I saw, but I can't remember where, so if this is yours, hit me up and I'll credit you! ^^ - Admin Soojin 

*Note: This is also crossposted on my AO3 here! 

So you knock on my door saying you live across my apartment, and you’re asking me to make food for you even though we’ve never met?

When Jungkook decided he was making roast chicken and sweet potatoes, he meant for himself. Not this decidedly very cute guy at his door begging for help. He sighs, letting the stranger –his neighbour apparently– into his house.

“So, you want me to give up my beautifully roasted chicken and my perfectly glazed sweet potatoes for you?” he asks bluntly, letting a tinge of his Busan satoori slip. The smaller man –Jimin– with pretty pastel pink hair and an ass that could kill (Jungkook was not ogling…. much), nods eagerly.

“Please, I always smell the food from your place  and it always smells delicious and I may or may not have lied to my date that I can cook and now he’s coming over in like half an hour please help me,” Jimin pouts cutely at him, and Jungkook can’t bring himself to refuse.

He glances at his chicken longingly, wishing he could at least eat some of it, but any part that was cut off would be too obvious. He’s very iffy about sharing, and even more possessive about his food, but something just wants to give Jimin anything he wants, if not just for him to smile again.

He’s got such a fucking pretty smile, Jungkook thinks as he takes the perfectly roasted chicken out to rest. Whoa, chill Kook you barely know him. What if he’s a serial killer who lied to you to get into your house? Jungkook shakes his head while grabbing the sweet potatoes, small smile forming at the ridiculousness of his inner monologue.

I’m sure he’s a nice guy, he thinks to himself, turning his attention on his, well Jimin’s now, sweet potatoes, focusing on not overglazing them (he tries not to think too hard about that one time he cooked for Seokjin hyung). Jungkook tends to have these internal debates, especIally if he’s nervous, even if they sometimes don’t end well.

Just say he’s a nice guy? Or make a joke about hoping he’s not a serial killer. Just start small talk, It’s not that hard??? Jungkook sighs, still stirring the potatoes carefully. Don’t be so awkward Jeon–

“YOU’RE A NICE SERIAL KILLER!” Jungkook nearly yells, and Jimin stares at him, stunned, before breaking out into a full bodied laugh. Jungkook can’t decide if he wants to smack himself or just die by faceplanting into the pan.

“Thanks, I think,” Jimin chortles, and Jungkook turns away from the pastel haired boy, cheeks flushed bright red while he stirs the potatoes, feeling satisfaction leak into him when he sees the thin shiny layer of sugar coating the potatoes.

Jimin sits at the dining table to watch Jungkook cook, cheek resting in his palm, and a strange… warmth growing in his belly. It’s not desire (not yet anyway), but it’s almost like… content. He’s content to watch a complete stranger cook dinner for him, like they’re a domestic couple and Jungkook’s his boyfriend who sometimes says strange things.

Yah, Park Jimin you have a date with Kim Taehyung, hottie with Yaoi hands that could probably choke you the way you want, get your shit together and stop mooning after your tall, hot neighbour, he wants to shake himself, but accidentally stubs his toe, and curses loudly, startling Jungkook.

“Sorry, but fuck that hurt,” he groans, standing up and bending over to rub his poor toe.

Jungkook’s frozen, staring at the newfound glory of Jimin’s ass, and he knows he’s fucked. Jimin’s ass is perky and round, forming a perfect peach in those tight ripped jeans of his. His ass looks good and this asshole (pun fully intended) knows it.

“Quit staring, I can feel your eyes drilling holes into my ass,” Jimin snorts weakly, still trying to recover from his accident (He’ll never admit the slither of heat that pools in his belly from Jungkook’s intense gaze), and Jungkook jerks so hard he hears a crack, stumbling over his apologies as he hurries to pack the food for Jimin to bring back.

Jimin half wants Jungkook to tug his arm and ask him to stay, like in those clichéd dramas his mom loves watching, but they’re both guys, both shy, and Jimin is going to be late.

“T-thanks for this, I’ll return the favour eventually, promise,” Jimin stutters, cheeks flushing lightly as his brain conjured up all the filthy ways he’d like to repay Jeon Jungkook. The younger grins slightly at him, showing off his bunny teeth and the adorable way his eyes scrunch up as he holds the door open.

“Sure hyung, you know where to find me,” Jungkook laughs, winking, and Jimin giggles nervously, practically dashing out of the apartment and back into the temporary sanctuary of his apartment.

Jimin’s heart is still pounding from his encounter with Jungkook not five minutes ago, but he needs to get ready for his date with Taehyung. He pretties himself up with a little bit of eyeliner and eyeshadow (and concealer of course), just to give himself some definition, and sets about plating everything that Jungkook’s prepared. He opens the container that the chicken is in, and moans from how good it smells. The chicken’s glistening, already carved so Jimin won’t have to butcher it later, with soft baby carrots and vegetables soaking up the juice from the chicken.

He thinks fleetingly that he should be eating this with Jungkook, but shakes the thought away, hurrying to get the chicken, sauce and sides on a nice big plate so it’ll look like he didn’t just buy takeout (which he technically didn’t, but eating from a container is so classless).

Jimin’s just getting the last of the sweet potatoes onto another plate when a loud knock on his door startles him. He glances at the clock, dumping the containers in the trash (thank god they were disposables), and hurries to the door, shaking out the tension in his shoulders before opening his door.

Kim Taehyung is.... Beautiful. There’s nothing else to say about it. Taller (by only 4cm, but it feels like so much more), with mesmerizing eyes and a blinding smile, Jimin’s stunned at how good Taehyung looks. Taehyung on the other hand, just wants to kiss Jimin (or fuck him, he hasn’t decided yet). Pastel hair contrasting prettily against his honey skin, hands small and twisting in his too-long shirt sleeve, ripped jeans that reveal smooth strong thighs.

“I know I’m irresistible but I think we should eat first,” Taehyung breaks their staring (read: ogling) match with a quirk of his lips. “I mean you put in all this effort into making dinner, I can smell it all the way from here, and I’m starving,” he winks salaciously at Jimin, and nearly coos when the smaller’s cheeks flush a dainty pink.

Min Yoongi eat your fucking heart out.

Taehyung never intended for this to happen, not a date like this anyway. He’d just seen Jimin at a club, dancing like he didn’t have a care in the world, slut dropping for anyone who was willing to look his way, and Taehyung was definitely willing. He isn’t heartbroken per se (he’s completely broken), but seeing Jimin dance like that made things a little less painful. It put a small grin onto Taehyung’s unusually sullen face, and made the rock in his chest the slightest bit lighter.

He follows Jimin’s mop of pretty hair into the dining room, humming with approval at the chic light blue walls with sleek monochrome furniture, but his attention is drawn to the food on the table, and his mouth waters.

“Holy shit you actually can cook!” Taehyung exclaims, eyes taking in the food, and Jimin lets out a nervous laugh, pulling the chair out for Taehyung like a gentleman.

Not like Min Yoongi, that asshole.

No. Taehyung isn’t going to think about his shithead of an ex-boyfriend; he’s going to focus on this adorable cutie sitting across him, looking at him like he had saved Korea in his past life. Jimin nudges the plate of chicken towards Taehyung, and he blinks, grinning boxily and taking a drumstick, biting into it heartily, groaning when the richness and juiciness explodes in his mouth.

“Fuck why didn’t I meet you first? Yoongi hyung could barely fry a fucking egg,” Taheyung moans, nearly inhaling the bone with how good the chicken in. Jimin giggles, feeling a swell of pride that Taehyung’s enjoying Jungkook’s cooking– Jesus Park Jimin stop thinking about him you’re on a date right now!

“Yoongi hyung…?” Jimin asks carefully, taking the other drumstick and eagerly digging in, suppressing a groan when the flavours hit his tongue.

Taehyung wrinkles his nose with slight distaste, but his shoulders sag in a way that Jimin can only describe as broken-ness. He sets the chicken down, turning wide, sadness filled eyes to Jimin, and he feels his already bleeding heart ache with sorrow.

Jungkook hates himself. Well, not really but he really wishes he had the balls to ask Jimin to stay, to share the chicken with him, not the cute bowl haired boy he saw knock on Jimin’s apartment door earlier (he did not stalk… he was heading to the convenience store for ramyun and instant rice). Jungkook sighs heavily, punching the pillow and pouting.

He wants to eat the chicken, he wants to talk to the cute pastel haired boy who lives across the hallway, see his pretty smile and perfect peachy ass, maybe kiss and nip at those fucking plump lips and– fuck he’s getting hard for his pretty neighbour.

He shakes his head, deciding a very cold shower, his makeshift dinner and some Overwatch will do him some good (or so he hopes).

This was a horrible idea, Jimin thinks, no less than an hour later, when Taehyung’s sobbing his eyes out in apology. It’s not that Taehyung’s an awful date, god he’s great, and any other time he’s sure Taehyung would’ve made him fall head over heels, but just… not right now.

“I still love him,” Taehyung wails into the ice cream that Jimin dug out of his freezer. “I only asked you out because I was upset and wanted to make Yoongi hyung jealous and you were slut dropping so sexily, Jimin-ah I’m so s-sorr-SORRY,” he sobs, and Jimin can only pat him on the back, ignoring the twinge of rejection and ouch, I was only a rebound.

“Hey, if you still love him, then go tell his stupid ass that you still love him, and that your argument was stupid, and that you still want to move in with him, you were just scared,” Jimin coaxes Taehyung gently, and the elder whimpers softly, nodding and mumbling his apologies, quietly asking for the bathroom so he won’t look like such a wreck.

Jimin laughs lightly. “I’ll even help you with your makeup, mm? I’m pretty sure we’re about the same shade anyway,” he offers kindly, and Taehyung just nods, nose red and eyes puffy from all the crying.

Twenty minutes later, some more convincing, and a little more pushing, Taehyung’s on his way with a wide, hopeful grin on his face, any trace of his sobfest hidden under the makeup, and a promise to stay in touch with Jimin (mostly so Jimin can know if Tae’s stupid ass actually managed to make up with this Yoongi guy). He slumps, staring at the still warm chicken, sitting temptingly in the oven, and a shit eating grin makes its way onto his face. He grabs it, nearly dropping the plate bc it’s hot, damn it, and carefully dumps the untouched sweet potatoes onto the plate. It doesn’t look half bad, save the missing thighs, but Jimin figures he’ll have to make it up to Jungkook… if he’ll even forgive him for stealing his dinner like that.

Jungkook sighs heavily (he really needs to stop sighing, it’s going to give him wrinkles or something), and throws his Xbox remote onto the sofa cushion. It’s not helping, nothing’s working. All his mind can focus on are those damn mesmerizing eyes, with that disarming smile, adorable laugh, and – fuck – that ass.

God damn you Park Jimin

A (second) frantic knock on his door startles him even more than the first, and Jungkook can’t believe his luck.

“I don’t have any more food to give!” he yells sulkily, pouting at his TV screen.

“What about some food to share? I come bearing ice cream too!” a voice he only familiarized himself with this evening comes through the door, and Jungkook nearly trips over his feet in a hurry to wrench the offending thing open.

“What happened to your date?” he asks breathlessly, taking in the sheer beauty that is Park Jimin. The elder shrugs, brushing slightly past Jungkook and setting the food on the table, putting the ice cream into the fridge before he settles into the chair.

“Rebound. I sent him off with wise words and a warning to reconcile with his boyfriend,” Jimin grins shyly. “Besides, I couldn’t focus on the date at all,” he admits quietly, pink tinging his cheeks.

Jungkook gulps, almost gingerly seating himself at the table. “A-and why not?” he asks, looking at the man in front of him, the man who’s refused to leave his mind the entire night. He can feel the air between them, charged and sizzling with tension, but he doesn’t mind; in fact, he welcomes it.

Jimin leans forward, till they’re barely inches away. His cheeks are still flushed slightly, but for a whole other reason now. “Because,” he breathes, and Jungkook can almost taste the plumpness of Jimin’s lips under his own. “I could only think about how much I wanted to spend the time with you instead.”

Jungkook blinks at him almost owlishly, then leans forward, closing the gap and kissing Jimin sweetly. It’s every bit as perfect as he imagines it to be, plush and sweet, moving eagerly against his own, but he pulls away before they can go further, much to Jimin’s unwillingness.

“Let’s finish dinner first, then we’ll talk about dessert,” Jungkook smirks at Jimin, deliberately letting his eyes rove over Jimin’s body, and he blushes, nodding as he cuts out a piece of chicken for himself. Jimin giggles nervously, heat pooling low when he sees Jungkook’s eyes, dark and filled with lust, and can only thank heavens that he can’t for cook for shit.

Doesn’t mean I won’t be eating good though

[lauramalchowblog]

Ask a Health Coach: How to Go Primal, Why We Crave Sugar, and Loving Your Body As-Is

In this week’s edition of Ask a Health Coach, Erin answers more of your questions from the Mark’s Daily Apple Facebook group. She’ll be discussing strategies on the best way to go Primal, the real reasons we crave sugar (and what to do about it), and what happens when we all go back to work and have to wear real clothes. Got more questions? Keep them coming on the MDA Facebook page or in the comments below.

Michael asked:

“I’m planning on starting the Primal Blueprint next week. Better to dive in 100% or do it more gradually?”

As you might have guessed, some people do great diving right in, while others find it too overwhelming and have more success with a gradual approach. I think the bigger question we need to ask here is: what will make you stick with it for the long term?

For the record, the Primal Blueprint isn’t a diet or a workout routine — two things that have “short-term” written all over them. It’s not an all-or-nothing approach either. The Primal Blueprint is based on an 80/20 principle that allows you to abide by the theories of ancestral living without worrying about a French fry here or a glass of red wine there.

The key is to know yourself well enough to understand what works best for you. Do you have proof that you’re better going cold turkey rather than dipping your toe in? Or maybe you’ve always been more successful taking baby steps. Look at all the areas of your life — all the times you thrived when there was zero room for negotiating versus not wanting the pressure of everything needing to be perfect 100% of the time.

There’s not a ton of research out there about which is better, but this study 1shows that you’re more likely to stick with a new diet and exercise routine by making small changes. However, this study 2 contradicts that finding, saying that going all out in the beginning can influence how well you do in the long-term.

For some, the immediate reward of dropping a bunch of water weight with an all-in approach can be really gratifying. For others, starting gradually can feel less scary and more comfortable.

No matter which way you decide to pursue it, it’s important to be 100% committed to the changes you’re making, knowing that 80/20 doesn’t mean you have a free pass to binge on ice cream or stay out late 20% of the time. And if you’re not totally committed, you might be better off taking a step back to figure out why this change is important to you in the first place.

Suzanne asked:

“I know sugar is bad for me, but why do I crave it so much?”

Since you’re already aware of sugar’s health-degrading properties, I’ll save you the lecture and the research. But you bring up an interesting question. Why do we crave it so damn much?

Any kind of emotional or psychological dependence on sugary foods, or even foods that convert to sugar in the body is classified as a sugar addiction. So, we’re on a similar playing field to other addictions like cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol.

Sugar provides a quick fix 3 that takes the edge off a stressful day. It makes staying at home under quarantine a little more bearable. And gives us a jolt of dopamine, even if it’s only temporary.

The reason we crave it so much is because it allows us to cope. It helps us change our reality (or our perception of our reality) in the moment. That need to want to change where we’re at is so strong sometimes, it overrides our innate knowledge that sugar is bad for us.

Three main reasons we crave sugar:

Stress. The more stressed out we are, the more intense cravings can be. Think about healthier ways you can relieve your stress like doing a few minutes of diaphragmatic breathing 4 or going for a walk outside before choosing to rip through a bag of M&Ms.

Sleep. Skimping on sleep can send you looking for a hit of energy 5 before most people log into their first Zoom meeting of the day. When you eat sugary meals like pancakes, cereal, or even a fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, you’ll end up feeling more tired as soon as your blood sugar starts to crash.

Emotions. What thoughts, emotions, people, or places bring on your cravings for sugar? The more awareness you can have on these subjects, the better off you’ll be — and the fewer cravings you’ll have to deal with.

Jenny asked:

“Ok. I’ve really let myself go these last few months. Any tips for getting back on track? You know, for when I have to wear real clothes again?”

Here’s an idea. Love where you are, right now. And if you can’t do that, try giving it some respect. Now, before you start rolling your eyes, hear me out. The human body is an incredible, multifaceted, miraculous organism that keeps you alive. It effortlessly adapts to the nutrient-dense foods and fresh air you give it — and just-as-effortlessly course-corrects when you inevitably mess it up. So, the least you can do is show it some appreciation.

Micromanaging your macros, obsessing, or forcing your body to look like it did 10 years ago or 10 weeks ago is a serious waste of time. Trust me.

I spent way too many years wishing some parts of my body were smaller, wishing some were bigger, and hating on my stretch marks and dimples; and I regret those years of lost joy. It can be hard living in a world that’s obsessed with “perfect” physiques, but here’s the thing. Your body is already perfect as-is. It knows how to breathe. How to pump blood through your veins. And how to let you know when it needs fuel. Frickin’ amazing!

The time we spend bad-mouthing our already perfect bodies is unbelievable. So what if you’ve gained a few pounds or got softer in a few places? Instead of focusing on the parts that might have changed over these past few months, start loving on the ones that have kept you alive all these years. And if you can’t love on them, at the very least, start respecting the hell out of ‘em.

(function($) { $("#dfBrJTs").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfBrJTs" ); })( jQuery );

References

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5644785/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3780395/

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-019-53430-9

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5455070/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/sleep-newzzz/201912/the-connection-between-sugar-and-your-sleep

Ask a Health Coach: How to Go Primal, Why We Crave Sugar, and Loving Your Body As-Is published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

[jesseneufeld]

Ask a Health Coach: How to Go Primal, Why We Crave Sugar, and Loving Your Body As-Is

In this week’s edition of Ask a Health Coach, Erin answers more of your questions from the Mark’s Daily Apple Facebook group. She’ll be discussing strategies on the best way to go Primal, the real reasons we crave sugar (and what to do about it), and what happens when we all go back to work and have to wear real clothes. Got more questions? Keep them coming on the MDA Facebook page or in the comments below.

Michael asked:

“I’m planning on starting the Primal Blueprint next week. Better to dive in 100% or do it more gradually?”

As you might have guessed, some people do great diving right in, while others find it too overwhelming and have more success with a gradual approach. I think the bigger question we need to ask here is: what will make you stick with it for the long term?

For the record, the Primal Blueprint isn’t a diet or a workout routine — two things that have “short-term” written all over them. It’s not an all-or-nothing approach either. The Primal Blueprint is based on an 80/20 principle that allows you to abide by the theories of ancestral living without worrying about a French fry here or a glass of red wine there.

The key is to know yourself well enough to understand what works best for you. Do you have proof that you’re better going cold turkey rather than dipping your toe in? Or maybe you’ve always been more successful taking baby steps. Look at all the areas of your life — all the times you thrived when there was zero room for negotiating versus not wanting the pressure of everything needing to be perfect 100% of the time.

There’s not a ton of research out there about which is better, but this study 1shows that you’re more likely to stick with a new diet and exercise routine by making small changes. However, this study 2 contradicts that finding, saying that going all out in the beginning can influence how well you do in the long-term.

For some, the immediate reward of dropping a bunch of water weight with an all-in approach can be really gratifying. For others, starting gradually can feel less scary and more comfortable.

No matter which way you decide to pursue it, it’s important to be 100% committed to the changes you’re making, knowing that 80/20 doesn’t mean you have a free pass to binge on ice cream or stay out late 20% of the time. And if you’re not totally committed, you might be better off taking a step back to figure out why this change is important to you in the first place.

Suzanne asked:

“I know sugar is bad for me, but why do I crave it so much?”

Since you’re already aware of sugar’s health-degrading properties, I’ll save you the lecture and the research. But you bring up an interesting question. Why do we crave it so damn much?

Any kind of emotional or psychological dependence on sugary foods, or even foods that convert to sugar in the body is classified as a sugar addiction. So, we’re on a similar playing field to other addictions like cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol.

Sugar provides a quick fix 3 that takes the edge off a stressful day. It makes staying at home under quarantine a little more bearable. And gives us a jolt of dopamine, even if it’s only temporary.

The reason we crave it so much is because it allows us to cope. It helps us change our reality (or our perception of our reality) in the moment. That need to want to change where we’re at is so strong sometimes, it overrides our innate knowledge that sugar is bad for us.

Three main reasons we crave sugar:

Stress. The more stressed out we are, the more intense cravings can be. Think about healthier ways you can relieve your stress like doing a few minutes of diaphragmatic breathing 4 or going for a walk outside before choosing to rip through a bag of M&Ms.

Sleep. Skimping on sleep can send you looking for a hit of energy 5 before most people log into their first Zoom meeting of the day. When you eat sugary meals like pancakes, cereal, or even a fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, you’ll end up feeling more tired as soon as your blood sugar starts to crash.

Emotions. What thoughts, emotions, people, or places bring on your cravings for sugar? The more awareness you can have on these subjects, the better off you’ll be — and the fewer cravings you’ll have to deal with.

Jenny asked:

“Ok. I’ve really let myself go these last few months. Any tips for getting back on track? You know, for when I have to wear real clothes again?”

Here’s an idea. Love where you are, right now. And if you can’t do that, try giving it some respect. Now, before you start rolling your eyes, hear me out. The human body is an incredible, multifaceted, miraculous organism that keeps you alive. It effortlessly adapts to the nutrient-dense foods and fresh air you give it — and just-as-effortlessly course-corrects when you inevitably mess it up. So, the least you can do is show it some appreciation.

Micromanaging your macros, obsessing, or forcing your body to look like it did 10 years ago or 10 weeks ago is a serious waste of time. Trust me.

I spent way too many years wishing some parts of my body were smaller, wishing some were bigger, and hating on my stretch marks and dimples; and I regret those years of lost joy. It can be hard living in a world that’s obsessed with “perfect” physiques, but here’s the thing. Your body is already perfect as-is. It knows how to breathe. How to pump blood through your veins. And how to let you know when it needs fuel. Frickin’ amazing!

The time we spend bad-mouthing our already perfect bodies is unbelievable. So what if you’ve gained a few pounds or got softer in a few places? Instead of focusing on the parts that might have changed over these past few months, start loving on the ones that have kept you alive all these years. And if you can’t love on them, at the very least, start respecting the hell out of ‘em.

(function($) { $("#dfe88e3").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfe88e3" ); })( jQuery );

References

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5644785/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3780395/

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-019-53430-9

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5455070/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/sleep-newzzz/201912/the-connection-between-sugar-and-your-sleep

Ask a Health Coach: How to Go Primal, Why We Crave Sugar, and Loving Your Body As-Is published first on https://drugaddictionsrehab.tumblr.com/