#and because it’s not consistent i’ve half convinced myself that i’m making it up which then leads me down a spiral of ‘i’m a terrible person

[buck-yyyy]

god i wish someone could just tell me what the fuck is going on in my head with 100% certainty

[sparklingchim]

game on 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: lots of smoochies !! 🤭, their first kiss <3, umm mentions of jk's infamous threesome again 😔, koo talks abt taking girls in missionary what can i say he is a man

summary: jungkook and you practice acting for the cameras. kissing him feels more right than you anticipated.

a/n: yayy chapter 2 is here!!!! <3 writing this was truly saur much fun n i hope u have fun reading too !!! 😋

read chappie one here

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Just kiss me."

"Hold on a second."

"We really need to practise this."

"I know, just give me a minute."

You scoot away from Jungkook on the couch. You were sitting so close, almost about to kiss him actually, but his intense, doe-eyed gaze made you pause, needing a grounding breath.

You’ve never been this close to his face, and somehow, you can’t seem to cross the invisible line that keeps you from just pressing your mouth on his. Jungkook’s your friend, after all. You’ve known him since he was five and once saw him get his head stuck at school, so of course it’s weird.

You press your lips together in an attempt to focus, and lean in again, but once your eyes meet his, a smile urges on your mouth.

"Oh my god." Jungkook’s frustrated sigh cuts the air. "This can’t already be doomed to failure because of a simple kiss."

"It’s not! I just need to mentally prepare myself."

"I feel...offended? Kinda?" Jungkook weaves his fingers through his hair. "I’ve never had to convince someone to kiss me."

"It’s not you. I promise!" you say, reaching for his knee. "Under any other circumstance, if we weren’t friends, I’d love to kiss you. You’re hot and cute, but the situation we’re in makes me feel so stupid. It’s absurd."

Jungkook cringes when you call him cute and removes your hand off his knee.

Yesterday, when Jungkook showed up unannounced, it took him full ten minutes to convince you he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

Who would believe their friend begging you to fake date them? It’s ridiculous. Only happens in the fictional world.

But then Jungkook showed you the pap picture that was circulating online. The comments and gossip were nasty and you knew he was caught up in a deep mess.

In the photo, Jungkook was surrounded by two girls, his arms draped casually around their waists as they stumbled out of the club, a half-full drink lazily held in his hand. His hair was a tousled mess, likely from the girls running their fingers through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small peek into his defined chest. It was bold, provocative — definitely not the ideal image of a responsible twenty-year-old football rookie.

Probably the worst pap pic you’ve seen of him so far. And the worst timing too.

"You were wasted," you commented, staring at the article he was showing you on his phone.

"And I had so much fun last night." His voice was tinged with frustration, like a child whose favourite toy had just been snatched away. "But then I woke up to this picture, and a flood of missed calls and texts." He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "They just had to ruin it for me."

Noticing your raised eyebrow, Jungkook quickly backtracked. "No, I know it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have done this right before the World Cup, especially after what I promised. I just hate how everything turns into such a big deal, just because... well, just because I’m me."

The idea of fake dating Jungkook had seemed absurd, something out of a rom-com rather than real life. But the more he explained the pressure he was under, the more you understood why he needed this.

Jungkook was your best friend, and if kissing him in public could save his career, why not help him?

While you got ready for meeting his manager, stepping out of your comfy, rotting-at-home clothes, which consisted of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt (you think it’s actually Jungkook’s, but you’re not quite sure since it’s been in your closet for years now), and slipping into a casual, more presentable outfit, Jungkook busied himself fixing your laundry machine.

Jungkook’s manager knows you well – his entire team does. You are known as Jungkook’s close friend and had been spotted with him on multiple occasions.

Taesung greeted you warmly, though surprise flickered across his face when Jungkook introduced you as the solution to the fake dating plan.

You felt Taesung’s gaze assessing you, weighing your suitability for the role. Jungkook’s PR agent mirrored his scepticism, tilting her head in doubt. They exchanged uncertain glances, which made you nervous, but Jungkook was determined. Jungkook wasn’t Jungkook if he didn’t get what he wanted. With a few persuasive words and his usual charm, he quickly won Taesung over, who sighed and leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"We need to establish the narrative from the start," Taesung said seriously. "The media will dig into your background, and they’ll want to know if there’s anyone else in the picture. So, to be clear, you’re officially single. No boyfriend, no complicated past relationships that could surface. We don’t need any messy stories."

You assured them that there was none. Multiple times. No angry exes, no secret relationships – your personal life was as drama-free as it could get.

Taesung slid a document across the desk.

"This ensures that whatever happens, no details of this arrangement-"

Jungkook’s hand shot out, halting the paper. "No," he said firmly. "She doesn’t need to sign anything."

"Jungkook, it’s just a formality," Jiwoo began, but Jungkook insisted.

"I trust ___. She’s not just anybody. She’s my best friend. If she says she won’t talk, she won’t talk. The NDA isn’t necessary."

"It’s okay," you assured him gently.

Jungkook shook his head. "No, this is ridiculous. You’re not signing a stupid contract."

After more arguing, his manager eventually relented.

Jiwoo outlined the plan in more detail with Taesung – public appearances, social media posts, carefully orchestrated moments that would sell the story to the public. You felt a bit intimidated by the pressure, but you’d get used to it. After all, this arrangement is only for a few months – just until his management can announce that you’d mutually decided to break up on good terms.

But you both need to practise before stepping in front of the cameras.

Which leads you to this moment, a day later, sitting on your couch trying to practice how to act like a couple. And it’s not going well at all.

"Okay, let’s start from the basics then," Jungkook suggests. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand. "Hold my hand."

You gingerly accept his hand, standing up as well.

"See, don’t we look cute?" Jungkook drags you to the mirror. "Or maybe – let’s intertwine our fingers. I think that would look better." He holds your interlaced hands up between the two of you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "So cute, right?"

A giggle bubbles in your throat. "You act like you’ve never had a girlfriend."

"Well, it has been a while," he admits, the slightest sulk on his lips. "I’m too busy for relationships." He swings your hands. "The only times I ever hold a girl’s hand is in missionary, above their head when-"

"Jungkook," you interrupt quickly before he can delve any deeper into the story. You give him a mock glare, but there’s no hiding the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Didn’t we both agree on only talking about your bed stories after I’ve had at least one bottle of soju – preferably two, so I can mentally brace myself?"

You love him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear about his bed stories, unless you’re the slightest bit tipsy at first.

"Oh, yeah." He shakes his head apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Wait, maybe that’s what we should do!" you exclaim as an idea pops into your mind. Your hand slips out of his, and you take a step toward the kitchen. "I think there are a few bottles of soju in the fridge."

"We’re not getting drunk to build up the courage to kiss," he insists. "We shouldn’t need alcohol to pretend we’re into each other."

Jungkook pulls you closer to him, and you stumble slightly, but his hand instinctively moves to the small of your back, steadying you.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, hand on his chest. "Was just an idea to make this easier for us." The fabric of his shirt is extremely soft and your fingers glide over it.

"I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. And they know it too. We’ve been through enough to pull this off without breaking a sweat."

He’s is right. The public knows you’re one of Jungkook’s closest friends. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that you two might have fallen in love.

After all, you’ve always been comfortable with each other —hugging, cuddling during movie nights, play-fight over silly things just to annoy each other. You’ve shared quiet moments, like when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day or when he’d run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while you talked. There were times when Jungkook was exhausted and crashed at your place, your fingers gently scratching his head as he slept peacefully. You’ve kissed each other’s cheeks in thanks without hesitation.

Jungkook’s touch isn’t foreign to you.

And still, the thought of acting like you’re in love when you’re not feels strange. Sure, you’ve always been physically close, but this was different. This time, every gesture would be for an audience, every touch would carry a different meaning. It wasn’t just casual anymore.

"I guess," you reply, fiddling with the hem of his oversized t-shirt, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I think it’s just weird to be this close for show."

Jungkook watches you for a moment, his eyes softening as he considers your words. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it’s not like we’re faking the friendship part. The rest...we’ll figure out." His fingers clasp your hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your flesh. "Don’t think about it too much," he says. "When we have our first public appearance as a couple, pretend like the cameras aren’t there, act nonchalant. Just... y’know. You and me."

You pout, an involuntarily frustrated grumble leaving your lips as you drop your forehead on his chest.

"I hope I’ll do well under all the attention."

You’ve dealt with your fair share of noisy people trying to pry into your relationship with Jungkook, but so far, it’s been somewhat manageable.

"Just you and me," Jungkook repeats, his tone softer and more assured this time. "Nothing can happen to you when I’m there."

You glance up at him, taking in the gentle lines of his face.

"Maybe you should’ve hired a girl that can deal well with attention," you voice your thoughts.

"No." Jungkook’s immediate response rolls off harshly on his tongue. "You were my first thought. I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else but you."

"I was your first choice?" Giddiness makes your face shine.

"Yeah. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable with anyone but you."

"Be honest, you just really wanna kiss me."

You stand on your tippy toes, a silly smile spreading across your face.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint buried in his eyes.

"I think you do."

With a surge of confidence, you take a small step closer, your heart beating a little faster as you close the gap between you and Jungkook. Your lips meet in a gentle, fleeting touch. The contact only lasts for a moment before you pull back, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

"That was a smooch. Not a kiss."

You frown upon hearing him complain.

"What, you want to make out with me in public?"

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. "No, but maybe a little more than how fifth graders kiss."

"You’re a kissing expert now?" you quip back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungkook leans in slightly. "I just know what I like."

The challenge in his voice sparks something in you. "Then show me how you like it."

His gaze drops to your lips, and a flutter of excitement spreads in your tummy. It’s unexpected and thrilling and it catches you off guard.

Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your back, slowly glides up, his fingers curling around the side of your face, his thumb brushing delicately against your cheekbone.

Your breath hitches as he leans in. His lips meet yours again, but this time there’s more weight behind the contact – still soft, but deeper, more intentional. His lips move slowly and there’s a warmth to it, a tenderness that makes your heart race even as the kiss remains gentle. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the connection just enough to make you melt into him.

The teasing atmosphere lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it’s pushed aside by the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

Kissing Jungkook doesn’t feel weird – which makes it a little weird.

When you both finally pull back, it’s gradual. You can feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with your own.

"Like that," he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re a good kisser."

You pull back completely. "Excuse me?" you say. "You were doubting my kissing abilities?"

"No, not at all!" Jungkook shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes as he gazes at your sulky face. "You’re just a very good kisser. Like, super gentle and smooth."

Heat crawls up your cheeks. You ignore the flush of warmth and keep your composure. "Have you been using the lip balm I got you? Your lips are soft."

"I know, right? Not chapped at all anymore."

He traces two fingers along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to his lips.

"Are we done practising?"

"Do you think we looked natural?" Jungkook’s hand slips into yours once more. While he is focused on the mirror, adjusting the way your bodies fit together – tugging you closer, alternating between holding your hand and interlacing your fingers – your mind is still replaying the memory of the tender press of his lips. "For me, it felt pretty natural. Not awkward at all. What do you think?"

It’s the simplicity with which he says it that draws a short laugh out of you.

The sound grabs his attention. "What?"

"You’re just...extremely serious about this. I don’t think they’ll analyse the way we hold hands, Kook."

"But that’s their favourite thing to do," Jungkook replies. "The gossip mills love analysing every step you take, where your eyes wander, who you smile at." A note of bitterness threads through his words.

He’s been playing pro for just two years and has fallen victim to greedy people intruding on his life so many times already. Former friends who leaked private conversations, acquaintances who turned their brief interactions into tabloid fodder, even strangers who felt entitled to a piece of him just because he was in the public eye.

Jungkook searched for solace and silence at your place many times, trying to escape the madness. In the quiet of your dorm, breathing felt easier.

You never asked questions, never pried. In a world where everyone seemed out to get something from him, you just let him be, offering him the comfort of your presence without demanding anything in return.

"People were just criticising this dude – ah, who was it again?" Jungkook stares at the ceiling, raking through his thoughts. "I can’t remember his name, but this guy was getting called out for choosing the booth seat while making his girlfriend sit in the aisle seat."

"The aisle seat? Come on, it’s an unwritten rule that-" You fall silent once you catch Jungkook’s pointed expression. "I mean, yeah. It’s definitely wrong to make a big deal about it. Maybe she prefers sitting there," you shrug.

"But do you see what I mean?" he asks. "Whether you intend to or not, you’re always judging what others do. And that judgement only intensifies when it involves a celebrity."

"Ah, when did you become so famous Jeon Jungkook?" You sigh, looking down at your linked hands.

"I know, right? Two years ago, no one would’ve cared if I had a threesome." He shakes his head in disbelief. "And now I am being punished for it—kicked off the national team, and my best friend has to save me by fake dating me."

"I feel like this would make a good movie," you giggle.

“We have to practise hard, then," he says.

You pull your phone from your pocket. "What if we film ourselves kissing so we can monitor it better?" You set up your phone on a nearby shelf and position yourselves in front of the camera. "Don’t engaged couples do this? I feel like we’re practising for our wedding kiss."

"Oh, butterflies."

"Huh?" You stare at the way he holds his hand against his tummy.

"You just told me you want to marry me. That gave me butterflies."

You slap his arm. "Stop being silly, we have a whole nation to fool that we’re in love."

~

Hang outs with Jungkook often end with the two of you lounging on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, and a movie playing on the TV.

"Next one?" Jungkook asks from his spot beside you, inching closer with his pleading doe eyes.

You try to push him away by the, but he doesn’t budge.

"I need to study. Like, for real." You had warned him before starting the movie, agreeing to watch only one, but he still tried his luck.

He holds up one finger. "Just one."

You push him off your body, and this time he allows it, his back slumping against the couch. The grumble of complaint in his throat gets muffled by his pursed lips.

"You’re smart. The material is probably set in your brain anyway. No need to revise anything."

You scoff at his bratty words.

"So you won’t ever need to ditch hangouts for football practice because you’re already so good at it?"

"Well, no." He drags the word out, brows furrowed as he considers your question, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "But I know you don’t need to study as much as you do. You’re just naturally smart."

"I wish, but I ace my exams because I study as much as I do."

"Aish," Jungkook mutters, standing up from the couch and stretching his limbs. His toned tummy peeks out from under his lifted shirt.

"Karina will be home soon anyway," you say. "And I’m not ready to play pretend in front of her yet." The thought of confessing to your roommate that Jungkook is now your boyfriend makes you shudder.

It was one of the conditions that made you briefly reconsider if you could really pull this off or if Jungkook should find another girl. You didn’t just have to act in front of the cameras – everyone had to believe that you and Jungkook are a couple, including your friends and family. You dread the day you have to tell your parents.

You know they once secretly hoped Jungkook would become your boyfriend when you were older, but as he became famous and the public started scrutinising his every move, your parents grew wary of his wild, reckless side.

You follow Jungkook to the door.

"You think she’ll believe us?"

"I dunno," you shrug. "Not sure if she’ll buy it. She’ll probably be suspicious since I’ve never talked about you in that way when we gossip, but I think we’ve practised enough to at least make it look like we love each other."

Jungkook nods and hugs you briefly. "We’ll figure it out." He steps out of your apartment, typing on his phone. "My manager sent me details about our first public appearance." He scans the text, but quickly looks up at you again with an annoyed frown. "Ah, so many words. I’ll just forward you the messages." With a sweet smile and a quick wave, he starts to leave, but you tug at the back of his shirt.

You cup his face, pulling him down to you, and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You’re my boyfriend now. Act like it."

[allbluedepths]

Re: last reblog of “Zoro would have been bored and lonely just like Mihawk if not for Luffy” — what about the opposite? Additionally, I’ve seen more than a couple fanworks with the idea of Shanks asked Mihawk to be his first mate, but Mihawk turned him down, so how about combine the two?

Aka, this is what’s in my WIP folder as what I’ve dubbed the “wings of the emperor” AU. (Read more because this nearly turned into a mini fic, haha!)

Early on after they’ve met, and before Beckman has joined the crew, Shanks wants Mihawk to be his first mate and come explore the world with him. However, Mihawk knows his goal of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman will always come first. And while he enjoys (even if he wouldn’t say so directly, even to himself) his duels with Shanks, he doesn’t have any interest in the actual duties of being a first mate. So, the subject is dropped — but there’s still something nagging at the back of their minds.

(But sometimes, Shanks dreams about what it’d be like to have Mihawk around for more than a few fleeting moments. And even more rarely, but consistently, Mihawk wonders if that ever-growing boredom would recede if chose to see more in the world than just battle. Mihawk can never fully get the image of a very eager and genuine Shanks promising to show him the world if he’d let him. It isn’t enough to convince him… but it’s enough to stick in his mind for a long time.)

Beckman comes into the picture soon enough; Shanks couldn’t ask for a better first mate, and that’s that. Though, Beckman does find out eventually from a (probably drunk) Shanks about what he had offered Mihawk, and while he isn’t surprised by the answer, he doesn’t have the idea of Mihawk being around more. They get along fairly well, actually, balancing Shanks out well as a trio.

(Maybe it’d be worth doing something and getting those two idiots to stop their complicated pining, he thinks.)

Sometime later — think still young-ish Mihawk and Shanks, mid-late 20s and early-mid 20s respectively — Mihawk is offered a position as a Warlord. But Mihawk doesn’t take it, not right away. Because as much as he’s sure he’s not right to be Shanks’ first mate, becoming a warlord would permanently close some doors between them.

Rumors get out that Mihawk has accepted, even though he hasn’t yet, and Shanks is— a lot of mixed emotions, really, when he finds out. Late that night, Beckman tosses out the thought that Mihawk doesn’t have to be first mate to sail with them. Hell, he doesn’t even have to sail with them all the time; he’s around enough anyways, it wouldn’t change much.

…Which is right when the door to the captain’s quarters opens, revealing said swordsman who had come to see Shanks one more time before making a final decision. A decision that goes much more smoothly once Beckman’s words sink in because that’s not a half-bad idea.

What results is this: officially, the World’s Greatest Swordsman turns down the Warlord position, seeing no benefit to his current travels and seclusion on Kuraigana Island to do otherwise.

But word of mouth disagrees: that sometimes, when the Red-Haired Pirates’ ship approaches from the distance, there are not one, but two, silhouettes by the captain’s side.

The truth: While Shanks and Mihawk forever disagree on if Mihawk officially joined the crew, Shanks jokingly-not-jokingly gives him the title of his “left-hand swordsman”, since Beckman is his right-hand man. (This joke gets either much more hilarious or infinitely worse after a certain incident.) Mihawk does spend good stretches of time away and on his own, defending his title and simply enjoying the peace and quiet he certainly doesn’t get onboard. However, Shanks does hold up his promise to show Mihawk the world — including one very particular island in the East Blue.

(I’m cutting myself off here because this got much longer than I expected, haha! I’ll probably make another post about this AU soon with more bits such as some of their adventures, life onboard, Beckman and Mihawk’s dynamic and how it develops over time, etc.)

[preciadosbass]

26/7/24 🕷️ [yesterday, cuz i didn’t write on the day] // possible tw for talk of cals (???)

i’m just gunna assume i woke up at 11, because i have been doing so ever since i left school. i had a cream cheese bagel for breakfast, which i shouldn’t really be having as apparently they’re like 350 cals — butt, i’ve gotten into a habit of going on decently long walks consistently so i ended up cancelling it out further along in the day.

since i’ve been [unintentionally] going to sleep at 5am every night and eating less then 400cal a day i’ve been forgetting literally EVERYTHING. but i do remember listening to ls dunes for the first time after i had breakfast. i don’t think i’ll forget it and i don’t think i’ll ever forgive myself for not seeing them when they were over at the uk. anyways, i’m kind of surprised i haven’t listened to them before. i’ve listened to every other one of franks projects. then i downloaded a few videos of tony [perry].

i watched sam and colby/ronnie radke streams, put up photos of max green + cuddled boris [my cat] up until 3:30 which is when i have to get ready for youth club. i’ve been like three times to this particular one, and i think it’s okay. i mean, i’ve gone from not going outside for a year to being around 40+ teens so its obviously gunna be weird for me. i only really go in hopes that i’ll find a friend, but i haven’t even gotten close to learning about the people there yet.

anyways, this time i was going solely because i got spoken to properly for the first time last week 2 minutes before i had to leave and i wanted to see those same girls again. spoiler alert, they weren’t there. but there is this energetic person.. girl? boy? [i don’t know, they haven’t told me yet] called jester that tries to involve me in their small friend group so i sat outside and just people watched for three hours. i don’t mind going, i just cant wait until people actually talk to me there so i don’t have to be alone. i do really try to socialise.

that was about it, really. i just listened to everyone until it was it 7 and i could text my mum to pick me up. i intended to ask jester if i could have their number/the number of anyone else there but i forgot. i cant tell whether i regret it or not, because if i did ask, i’d probably freak out trying to. at this point i’d had 515cals and burnt 200 and i was soo hungry so i asked my mum if i could get food, which i DO regret and the guilt is still overwhelming.

when i got home i listened to falling in reverse and finished my food [embarrassingly] and somehow convinced my mum to go on a walk with me again. i wish i could go out alone, as much as i don’t dislike walking with her. i made a deal with her that i’ll make a collage quickly before it got too dark so i did that aswell. it was made up of entirely receipts this time.

i changed again so i wouldn’t get eaten alive by gnats in the woods and we left at like 8ish. we walked around the park just down the road from us and thankfully but unthankfully it was all uphill. i was tired after not doing much exercise since like year 5 but according to google walking uphill burns more cals than walking normally and i really needed to make up from my mess up.

i took my dads phone with me incase i needed to call the home phone and because i wanted to take a picture of myself with a beanie on because i haven’t worn one in years and i know how the landscape is there but it started lagging and ran out. it’d been an hour and a half before we got round the park and me and mum just so happened to run into my neighbour [that ive never met, my neighbours are ages away] right before we got to our house.

he was ‘reflecting’ with a glass of wine. he talked to us for like 30-40 minutes while we stood at the side of the road, he was really drunk, but he was really nice. he invited us to a party and kept on saying about how happy he was to run into us. he then started to get really passionate about his landlord stuff, which i didn’t understand, but i acted like i did. we eventually got home and i was wondering if dad would think something happened to us because he couldn’t call his phone to see if we were okay, and originally, i thought our neighbour was him looking for us. but long story short, he wasn’t, so i just told him about seeing that neighbour.

i hope i do get to go to that party because he [my neighbour] has a grandkid i never knew about and i’m genuinely desperate for a friend, especially nearby. my cals ended up being 474 by the end of the day [cuz of what i’d burnt] which still isn’t great but at least it’s not terrible, i think. i was gunna watch a good girls guide to m*rder [or whatever it is, i have the book and my dad told me there’s something on tv either inspired or made about it.] but my mum wanted to sleep and i’ve gotten it in my head that i have to ask my parents questions about my cat every night for him to be okay so i did that instead.

we surprisingly didn’t argue this time round so afterwards i just went downstairs to do my teeth while listening to hawthorne heights and say goodnight to boris. i generally spend two hours doing that but it took 27 minutes today because i was falling asleep. when i was falling asleep he kept on coming into my room and went under my bed a few times which is extra cute considering asked him to a few minutes earlier.

have a good day/night -_<

pics from youth club ^

[some-little-infamy]

Want to Need

(Read on AO3) Femslash February prompt: Ritual

Brooke paces back and forth in the living room, looking out the window every 30 seconds or so. She tries not to - she goes into the kitchen to find something to eat, but nothing looks appetizing. She tries to read one of the many textbooks she’s falling behind on already this year, but her eyes glaze over the words without comprehending a single one.

She checks her phone again - no notifications. She messaged Haley half an hour ago, which was half an hour after she was due back from her shift at the cafe.

Brooke isn’t used to this. She never had anyone around consistently enough that she knew when she would see them next, let alone someone she cared enough about to worry when that time passed. She isn’t entirely sure she likes it - how do people worry like this all of the time?!

Another peek out the window and she spots Haley walking up towards the door. Brooke nearly throws herself onto the sofa, picking up her textbook to make it look like she wasn’t just waiting for Haley to show up.

Haley opens the door, takes one look at Brooke, and raises her eyebrow.

“I saw you at the window a second ago,” Haley accuses.

“No you didn’t. I’ve been studying,” Brooke tries to lie.

“Oh yeah?” Haley asks with a smirk. “Your textbook is upside down.”

Brooke looks down at the book in her hands, frowning at the upside down text in front of her. “Oops.” She sighs, putting the book down onto the table in front of her with a huff. “Fine. I wasn’t studying. And I was at the window - because you’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. We were swamped at the diner, then Lucas stopped by and we got caught up talking, and…” Haley pauses, narrowing her eyes at Brooke. “Wait, were you worried about me?”

“No,” Brooke denies immediately.

Haley says nothing, only eyeing Brooke expectantly.

“And if I was, so what?” Brooke continues. “You’ve never been late before, and you weren’t answering your phone!”

“Yeah, I didn’t charge it before I left so it died before I got home. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind if I was late.”

“Neither did I,” Brooke admits. “But apparently I’m so used to our nightly ritual that I don’t know what to do with myself without it.”

Their nightly routine consists of dinner, pieced together from whatever scraps they have stuffed in the back of the fridge and what Haley gets to bring home from the cafe that they’d otherwise throw out. It’s coupled with Haley helping Brooke with whatever class assignments she’s currently struggling her way through, followed by Brooke filling Haley in on all of the juciest gossip that Haley pretends not to care about despite hanging on Brooke’s every word. Then, finally, Brooke helps Haley with whatever the day’s self-care is: hair, face, nails, etc. It didn’t take much convincing for Haley to agree to let Brooke teach her the finer art of some general upkeep routines beyond splashing water on your face.

“I tried to eat, or to go ahead and do my deep conditioner without you, but none of it felt right,” Brooke sighs. “I mean, what’s that about? I’ve been on my own for… well, for as long as I can remember, really. One month of living with you and suddenly I’m, what? Needy?”

Haley gives Brooke a smile that’s mostly kind but a little bit sad. “Brooke, it isn’t being needy to want something for yourself, especially something you didn’t have for such a long time. You aren’t alone anymore,” she points out, walking over to sit next to Brooke on the sofa. “So it makes sense that you don’t want to lose it, even for a night.”

It makes sense, not that Brooke will ever admit it out loud. Her subconscious can suck it up and deal, because she’s Brooke Davis, and she’s never needed anybody.

Or maybe it’s that she never wanted to. It’s always been a choice, to keep people at a distance. But Haley… she doesn’t want to keep Haley out. She wants her here, by her side, as often as possible.

It isn't just that Brooke needs her… she wants to need her. And she wants Haley to need her as well, at least enough to send a text if she's going to be late.

“Am I too late for that curl treatment?” Haley asks hopefully, holding up a paper bag full of small takeout containers from the cafe. “And sandwiches for dinner?”

Just like that, any insecurities or doubts Brooke has melts away as everything falls back into its usual place.

“Never too late,” Brooke promises, but she doesn't get up right away. She's a bit lost in her thoughts, musing over how quickly Haley's presence turned her entire mood around. It's as impressive as it is scary, but the good kind of scary. The kind you're afraid to lose.

“Everything okay?” Haley asks.

“Yeah, everything's perfect,” Brooke grins, because in this moment, it is.

She has everything she needs right here.

[crownednova]

I’ve only seen love directed towards RtDLDX, and while I think that’s lovely, I’ve always had several issues with it that I haven’t seen many else talk about. So that’s what I wanna do… talk about it. This was originally gonna be in the form of an essay, but I wrote the first draft half asleep, there is no saving that, and I think more of a point form, individualised analysis would get my point across better. This also means there isn’t going to be much for positives. Pretty much anything I don’t mention should be assumed I am either fine or happy with. Despite that though, I do still think the negatives are enough to cause me to not enjoy RtDLDX, at least not as much as I wish I could. But enough preamble.

New White Wafers Dialogue

Let’s start off with the two least impactful gripes. In fact, I’m just gonna get this one out of the way before getting onto the actual topic. Ability Stars look so much worse now. I get they’re 3D models now, but man, they just look so flat. Where are my RtDL Ability Star fans at? Okay, now to actually begin. All the other changes to Story Mode are great, but wow, I do not like his “Such Easy Targets” line. It feels like a betrayal of his facade. I’ve said in the past that RtDL has my favourite Magolor, which is why this stings. This isn’t like any of his other new/changed dialogue, while his Extra Mode dialogue also stands out, it still feels closer to how he acts. Not to mention, this is him finally being honest. He’s allowed to drop the facade here, it makes sense. But in White Wafers? I just can’t see him saying that. In the original, he does come off as shady, and he does mess up his story, but in a completely different way. I feel a similar slip up is when he calls Kirby a Hero in Cookie Country. At that time, he isn't supposed to know that. He also changes his story from “Just Crash Landing” to “Being Attacked by Landia.” Those are his brand of slip ups, I can’t imagine he’d mess up that badly as to say “Man I love scheming. Oops I mean crocheting ☺️” It’s also a lot more relaxed than what I expect from him. I always interpreted RtDL Magolor as having this stress to his dialogue. His ship is in shambles and he needs to keep up a lie. He still goofs around, but it’s in a completely different tone, it still has undertones of panic. This however, reads more like one of his upgrade lines in the Epilogue. Some may find that appropriate, but Magolor is never written consistently, and trying to add connections only makes things worse. Also, forgot to mention, this is just a straight up spoiler. Sure, the game is 11 years old, but Forgotten Land introduced so many new Kirby fans, people who know nothing about the series, to reveal your biggest twist, especially in a way that feels like a betrayal to the character you’ve written, I just can’t understand the idea behind this change. Because what is the point? I keep asking myself this and I genuinely can’t comprehend it.

Extra Mode Changes

Extra Mode got a glow up in RtDLDX, that’s obvious from the first stages, so then why do I find myself preferring the original? It’s consistent. 1-1 is probably the most fun I’ve had with RtDL in years, so to be greeted by that, only to be met with the exact same mode I’ve played countless times, it’s crushing. It feels like it was set up to get you excited, just to pull the rug from under you. I could get it if it was deliberately there to convince you to buy the game, but if you’ve made it this far, you already own it. So why? While this inconsistency ruins the mode for me, I can’t help but have a more, sympathetic outlook. The original mode is a clear sign this game was rushed, while most of the game, you wouldn’t even be able to tell. I don’t know if those who worked on it were happy with how Extra Mode turned out. Maybe that’s presumptuous of me, but DX was their chance to fix this, but they didn’t. If it isn’t obvious, I think Extra Mode was once again rushed. 1-1, while maybe a bit unfair, still felt like there was love put into it, as much love as the bosses. And 2-1 and 3-1 also got noticeable attention, but much less. The fact the first levels got this attention, makes me feel like they were just developing the levels they could, I can’t explain it as well as I’d like, but it still stands out to me that way. But, while I appreciate the effort, it only makes it feel more unfinished than the original. I’m just so sad about this because this was their only chance to fix the original, it just stands out compared to all the other Extra Modes from the games after. Even something simple like letting Player 1 be Dedede, Meta or Bandee would have done so much for this mode. And, as I’ll soon say, Magolor Epilogue does nothing to circumvent  this. Magolor Epilogue Part 1 - Gameplay That’s right, a two parter! This is gonna be hard though, as I don’t know where my biases begin, and where they end. While this is obviously all subjective, I still would like some ground to stand on. So, I’m gonna start with what I like and what I think works. Let’s start with the bosses. Besides the marketing, which really should have its own section, they’re pretty cool! They innovate on the original bosses, Electicky Dooter is my favourite boss from this game. But it does suck they aren’t more original, or the fact the minibosses are still the same ones from Story and Extra Mode. It just makes the fact all the world bosses were spoiled for us hurt all the more. Next are Ordeal Doors. I love them. They work around the required upgrades so perfectly. Being able to know what the player will have means they can make memorable and fun stages. The regular stages are the exact inverse of this. They’re bland, forgettable, they have to work around the fact that you may never upgrade your abilities. I often see people praise the freedom the upgrade system provides, but I only see the inverse. It’s restrictive. The most the regular stages can do is play around with the boss abilities. However, those are often so weak, done so much better in the Ordeal Stages, or aren’t intuitive for movement that they can’t stand out. The combo system is much more interesting as a mechanic, and the game can properly play around with it, but the upgrades encapsulate everything I dislike about how it feels to play. No, everything I dislike with this whole Epilogue. Magolor Epilogue Part 2 - Tone and Story

I get it’s Kirby, but Kirby has done good and serious stories, so then why is Magolor Epilogue such tonal whiplash. The intro and tutorial capture it perfectly. Magolor almost died, he basically did. He lost his friends, his magic, he’s alone. Good thing he can think uppity thoughts! That’s unfair, I love his upgrade dialogue, I don’t want them to take away the humour, but there has to be some sort of middle ground! Make it clear his jokes are a form of coping, make the pause screens talk about his thoughts rather than vagueing towards Grand Doomer being the final boss 4 times in a row. Give us a look at how he actually feels!!! This is worse in the ending, we never see him actually feel guilt for what he’s done. We’re just told he’s redeemed now, we’re told that on a pause screen that’s not even accessible for 30 seconds!! It’s not even a case of show don’t tell, because they don’t even tell us anything! What I find worse is that he doesn’t even have to confront Kirby to apologise, not really, he literally gets to start living out his dream, stalling until the whole situation blows over until he just gets to show up on Pop Star, somehow, where there is barely any tension left. He gets off easy, he dies, and he gets rewarded for it. LITERALLY TOO!! I’ve never liked his Star Allies moveset. It was so clearly busted, that it felt like he’s stronger without the Master Crown. So in response to this, they canonise this moveset and it’s even more busted. It all comes back to the fact he’s constantly rewarded for his betrayal. He loses nothing. And it’s infuriating, because how am I supposed to expect him to be redeemed when he didn’t have to suffer for anything he did. Sure, he cries at the end of the mode, too bad we never know how he’s feeling anywhere else. They didn’t even answer how he got back to Pop Star, instead answering how he got to the Dream Kingdom. Idk about anyone else, but I just kinda assumed he got there with the Lor, the “real” answer doesn’t feel satisfying at all. He doesn’t even do anything interesting in the Clash games, nothing, not unless we get another Clash sequel. I just, I just wanted him to apologise to Kirby, but instead, it feels like HAL is doing everything in their power to make sure he doesn’t. The worst part is that I’m still hoping for that Clash sequel, I’m waiting for them to execute what they’ve set up, but I just don’t think it’s happening. I just wish I could see what everyone else sees in Epilogue, but I just can’t.

Merry Magoland

I guess I should wrap this up with Magoland. It’s not that bad, but I think it suffered the most from feeling slapped on with no real purpose. I like the Minigames, but I’m more talking about the park itself. I don’t like how it looks. It might just be because I’m not a fan of Magolor’s ego, or at least never saw it being this kind of ego, but it doesn’t work here for me. From what we’ve seen of Magolor’s work in the past, it’s always had this sort of child like aspect to it, like it was made with crayons and cardboard or building blocks. It created a nice aesthetic, albeit, a rather disconnected one, Drum Dash and Dream Collection look nothing alike. But to see them completely ignore what those two set up for a boring DisneyLand parody? Especially one played so positively? Idk, maybe I’m expecting too much asking for another “Capitalism is Bad'' metaphor, but still, Disney is very well known for being a garbage company so???? It’s funny how a place meant to look as innocent as possible is immersion breaking for being as innocent as possible. In reality, it’s not that bad, Manager Magolor acts nothing like Story Mode Magolor, but that’s a consistent thing with all his appearances so whatever I’ve grown to accept it. I just wish Dream Collection and Drum Dash got more love. Especially since Last Land of all things was referenced back in Dream Buffet, I still love that btw. Some sort of visual link might have helped, but even without them, I just think gaudy isn’t Magolor’s style? Like it totally is, but this brand of it doesn’t feel like him. However, I don’t write for him, idk his “true” personality, his “true” taste, maybe he likes Glitter and I can’t stop him. It just serves to make the new stuff feel out of place juxtaposed to the more natural, magical and mechanical settings of Story Mode.

And I guess that’s it, I never want to do this kinda thing again. Being this negative, although my true feelings, is just exhausting. I hope no one agrees with my issues, but if you do, hope it’s nice to see someone talk about it lol. I’m not giving up on this game though, I want to come back in a few months and see how my feelings have changed. I doubt it’ll fix everything, but I hope I can gain a new appreciation for this game, critiques and all. I guess thanks for reading as well, it means a lot to know people care about what I have to say.

[truckroadcraft]

Some Basic Safety.

Don't hit others...

Back when I was in my teens and getting my first Driver’s License, my grandfather half jokingly told me that one of the basics of driving was remembering that two solid objects could not occupy the same space. I say half jokingly now, especially since I’m now roughly the same age he was at the time he told me. Having driven a few million miles commercially – over four million, and, no, I won’t cop to more than that – and having had a number of people try to occupy the same space as myself while I was there, I think I can say it was good advice. With nearly 30 years under my wheels, just over 15 of which was over the road, it’s stood me well.

While I’m addressing this to the newbs, this applies to all of us, and I thought I’d take time to cover it now. While some might question it, I’ve found it actually helps to review this stuff on a regular basis.

So, remember, you’re driving a vehicle that’s about as big as a house, (and which maneuvers as well as one), and it weighs around forty tons. If you’re planning on getting it from point A to point B, that’s going to require some planning. And while some might say I should mention this later, the sooner you understand something as basic as this, the sooner you get it into your headspace.

You’ve probably heard enough about defensive driving that you’re convinced you’re an expert. Sorry, Sunshine, but after spending the vast majority of my working life as a commercial driver, I can tell you you’re not. No one is. You can never learn enough about some of the basic tools of this industry.

A significant part of this is simply spatial awareness, which means knowing where the other people are, and what they’re doing. I’m going to cover two of the systems that are commonly taught, but know that they dovetail in very well, and if you apply them consistently, (which takes a lot of practice), you should do very well.

The first is something used by Performance Food Group. PFG facilities have banners covering their PACE system, which is an acronym for Plan, Analyze, Communicate, Execute. While it should be self explanatory, it doesn’t hurt to review it, especially if you’re going to be working in and around PFG facilities and equipment. (Even if you’re not, it’s a good system to learn.)

First, Plan. Where are you going? What are you there to do? Why? Don’t get cute with this. You need to actually think about what it is you’re doing. Just saying, “I’m driving a truck to the business, unloading, and leaving,” is setting yourself up for failure. Are you going to a storefront? A warehouse? Where? Are you actually unloading the freight yourself? If you’re going to fingerprint the load, what is it you’re going to do there? How are you getting in? Getting out?

Once you have your load documents, take some time to talk to someone who has already been to that location. If it’s somewhere new, use whatever tools you have to learn what you can ahead of time. At one location where I worked, it used to drive other staffers crazy because I’d ask for a list of locations where I’d be going, then look everything up online ahead of time to figure things out. I’d use Google Maps, among other tools, in addition to a Thomas Brothers map book or two and several road maps purchased at truck stops, then plan it out the night before I headed out. If I had to write it all out on a yellow pad, that was what I’d do. In some cases, I’d call ahead to the customer and ask them how they wanted me to get in to their facility. In the end, it might have been a pain, but it made my day a lot easier.

Second, Analyze. How is this going to work? If I have multiple stops, what’s the safest, quickest route from one customer to another? Is it a legal route? How do you know? You’re going to need to put in the brain work to make it happen.

I used to make deliveries into downtown San Francisco and Oakland, CA. I kept hearing from other drivers that if you could drive SF/Oakland, you could drive anywhere. I question that, but the point is clear: it’s challenging. I got to the point where I could move anything from tank trailers, goosenecks, drop decks, and anything else on wheels through the Bay Area with a certain degree of safety, (if not always certainty.) San Francisco especially has areas where if you’re pulling a trailer with low clearance, you can get hung up, which means hefty fines and towing bills. Since I’m not made of money, I learned to avoid those areas, which is made easier by the City posting safe and legal truck routes whenever possible. (When it comes to San Francisco drivers, you’re on your own.)

It’s not a perfect system. Sometimes, the route to where you need to go isn’t as well marked as it should be. But, still, if you take the time to read it over, and examine the route in advance, you stand a better chance than if you decide to trust to luck.

Third, Communicate. Let others know where you’re going, how you’re going there, and what you’re going to do. This isn’t just with Dispatch, but with the customer on site, and anyone else around there.

One of the first things I do when I get to a customer is check in. I don’t care how many times I’ve been there, or how familiar I am with the procedures at a location, I’ll stop in the receiving office, and talk to someone. It works out better when someone tells me ahead of time that I’m third in line for a door, or that I’m taking it to a different door than I usually do. It helps them to know if what I have on board is something that can wait, or if it’s an expedited load and they need it NOW! It can all change in a minute. You need to communicate with people on site.

And, you should always be polite. Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have to explain this, but I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen drivers tossed off site because they had to get smart with the shipping and receiving staff. Pull that with the wrong person, and you’ll be banned for life from a customer’s location. (And, yes. They will check, even if you switch companies. I’ve seen that happen too often.) This is one area where you want to learn from the example of others.

There are multiple ways to communicate, of course. Another means is that if you’re delivering to a store front, or in back of a shop, you’ll use orange traffic cones to mark an area where you’re trying to tell drivers moving in and around an area that they need to stay out of the way. Use yellow caution tape, too, if you have it and need it, (it’s cheap enough at most tool stores.) Believe it or not, most drivers try to be reasonable, and if you can communicate any hazards to them, they’ll be willing to steer clear.

It also applies to when you’re on the road. If you did a proper pretrip inspection, you know if all your lights are working. If they are, you’re ahead of the game. (If they aren’t, get them fixed before you roll.) Use your turn signals. Don’t just rely on the brake lights coming on when your Jakes activate. Flash your high beams if needed, or dim them when it’s best. You’re supposed to be an active player on the road. Let people know what you’re going to do before you do it.

Fourth, Execute. If you told the customer you’re going to back into a certain door at a certain time, that’s what you do. Do what you say when you say you’re going to. And be consistent about it, no matter where you are. You want to be as predictable as possible. Always.

What I’ve given here are basics. It’s not a qualification course, but just something to help you familiarize yourself with what’s expected. The same applies here for the Smith System. I’m not a Certified Smith System trainer, but I’m familiar with it enough I can cover some of the basics.

In 1952, Harold Smith, who’d been training drivers for Ford, codified a system of five basic Safety Keys as he called them. The idea was that by using these keys, you could minimize threats and develop better driving habits. According to the Smith System Institute, they’ve trained drivers for well over half the Fortune 500 companies.

The Five Safety Keys are:

(1.) Aim high in steering.

(2.) Get the big picture.

(3.) Keep your eyes moving.

(4.) Leave yourself an out.

(5.) Make sure others see you.

Bearing in mind I’m not a certified instructor, here’s my own interpretation of it.

(1.) Aim high in steering. You need to aim your eyes more to the horizon than concentrating your view to the first few hundred feet in front of the rig. Where I’m working, we use the 7/15 rule: Seven seconds of following time, an eye lead time of 15 seconds. In other words, those first few feet in front of me, while important, will work better if I give myself as much forewarning as I can muster. Look ahead, see what’s going to affect me as I move along.

To this, I’d add you should be aware of what else is happening on the road. Is there traffic backed up? What’s the weather doing? Are you driving into mountains, an urban area, or perhaps something else? Plan ahead as much as possible.

(2.) Get the big picture. This will include what’s behind your truck, underneath it, above it. I mentioned looking ahead to what you can see to the horizon, but this goes well beyond that. You’re required to know what’s around you. This will include what you’re seeing in your mirrors, and much of the time, what you don’t. Are you going to enter tunnels? What kind of clearance will you have? How about underpasses? I mentioned San Francisco driving before: will there be areas where your trailer won’t have the necessary clearance? If you’re checking your route before you roll, you should be all right. But be certain, especially when you’re closer in. Things change, and in a hurry.

(3.) Keep your eyes moving. What’s happening around you? Considering you’re traveling 90 feet per minute at freeway speed, things change in a hurry. Cars, motorcycles, other trucks, it all can creep up on you. What you thought was going to happen won’t. What you didn’t think would happen will. Add to that factors like roadwork, medical emergencies, and weather… Don’t focus on one spot. Shift your focus around the vehicle. Run a mirror to mirror scan around your rig every 5-7 seconds. This gives you a chance to catch anything unexpected before it becomes a serious problem.

(4.) Leave yourself an out. When I was teaching my sons how to drive, (the few times I could: my wife did a much better job of it), one thing I kept stressing was to stay out of Wolf Packs, that crowd of drivers who seem to run at the same speed across all lanes. If one person in that mob makes a mistake, everyone is likely to wreck in those moments, and the results will get damn ugly, damn quick.

For that matter, this includes those locations such as construction zones, particularly when lanes are narrowed, or closed, as well as a whole host of other situations where your maneuverability is limited, and your options for escape are lost. Ideally, you shouldn’t put yourself in those positions, but they aren’t always easy to spot, much less avoid.

Your best option at the outset is to slow down, and give yourself room to move. Giving yourself the space you need is best. In giving yourself a space cushion, you also give yourself time, which give you the outs you need.

For that matter, don’t rush into situations until you’ve had a chance to look things over. It’s no crime to even pull off to the side of the road and wait it out for a bit, provided you can do it safely and legally.

(5.) Make sure others see you. This includes using your turn signals, your hazard lights, your headlights, and the like, but actually making eye contact with other people around you. I’ve often found it helpful to wave and catch the eyes of everyone on the road, including law enforcement, fire and EMS, tow truck drivers, and construction workers. Throwing them a wave not only draws a response from them, but it’s acknowledging that you see them. You’re a lot less likely to hit them, (and trust me, they’ll appreciate that.)

Now, keep in mind, this is not a complete less on the Smith System. All I’m giving you is an overview. (Yes, I’m going to come back to this time and again.) The point is, if you want to drive safely, you first need to start thinking about doing things safely while you’re out on the road. This is the first in a long series of steps which you’re going to wind up following as you build your career out on the road. It’s not going to be easy.

But, then, you probably already knew that.

What I’m saying is it can be done. And it should be.

[amphtaminedreams]

The Fashion, the Thoughts and the Food (ARGH): 2023 Pt.1

Hiiii to anyone reading!

Isn’t this quite the surprise! A gap in posting which isn’t so vast that the context in which I framed it has had to be adapted several times since its inception! This was a 2023 part 1 post when I started and if this surfaces on the dashboard before June finishes (almost managed it!!!!) just consider me queen of organisation. I’m nearly finished with a piece of coursework on Prospect Theory and now I’m unburdened by THAT fucking torturous demand the somewhat constant sense of creativity-quashing confusion and fear is semi lifted. 

Originally, ya see, I planned to sum up the last few months with just a winter outfits post but that time went by so quickly and was such a shitshow, that when I came to reflect, it turns out I made myself presentable and did something interesting with my life on far fewer occasions than I thought. The prospect of going full 2013 lifestyle blogger and using this post as a conduit for a more general overview of the first half of the year seemed more fun and in the nature of why I started this Tumblr which was just to do fun, creative stuff, lol. Trying to build a whole post specifically on one topic and making everything neat is so silly when I’m just a silly little girl doing this silly little blog. It’s not like this messiness was ever monetizable or is intended to be. I am far too insecure to ever need to assume that there is anyone following whatever it is I’m rambling on about. All I promise to bring to the table is the enthusiasm and lack of refinement that characterised the early days of social media back when Tumblr came under the same umbrella as Bloggr, lookbook.nu, Polyvore, WeHeartIt, etc., humble little hobby platforms that were recognised as such and not as springboards for a career because they were for FUNNN not to make money. What an era! You need time, consistency, likability and a bit of self-restraint to do anything serious online and I can promise you I only have about one of these traits even on the very best days. What I mean is that whenever I’m on Tumblr or Pinterest just scrolling freely and liking and pinning and seeing what catches my eye, when it feels like I’m treating this as a casual thing, it’s a lot easier, and so I really want to push myself to just post stuff like this even if it feels irrelevant and unstructured because it doesn’t need to have relevancy or structure for me to post it. You’ve been warned!

There is 0 need to post as if you have to consider where sponsorships are going to fit or whether you’re going to piss people off en masse when you don’t have much in the way of an audience and you don’t NEED to have to have either to justify posting something online in the first place, wtf. Capitalist interests are very predictable in the sense that they can't NOT gatecrash a good party when they see it, cannot possibly avoid the urge to make everythingggg people enjoy doing feel like it needs to be packaged as part of a slick business venture but like…if the photo dump can be re-popularised (though I am kinda convinced this was a thing Instagram started themselves on the DL to distance themselves from criticism in this vein), then let’s call this Tumblr page a mind dump. A vibe vault, if you will. I know, ew. I hate myself for that one too. Plus these are less so things I’m vibing with because I don’t have adequate levels of chill  to simply "vibe" with anything anyway. Soo here are the first half of 2023’s Pathological Obsessions™, outfits, new fashunnn finds, places, media and some general sensitive thoughts.

Now let’s get into itttt.

The Fashionnnn Bit

*(if you’re here from the recovery tag maybe skip through this, use the find option and jump to the next “recovery” mention)

Starting with the fashunnn, because if there is a single kind of continuity on this blog it’s that. I’m gonna break it down into a few things. First, the designers I’ve discovered/rediscovered. Big shout out to Vogue Runway for entertaining me in that respect on the few occasions it decided to function properly.

But also!! also!! big question mark over why I can look at unlimited collections on the app but hit a paywall on the desktop site even when I’m logged in??? I’m emphasising this because I’m genuinely searching for answers here, lol, I’m not about to dish out my coins unnecessarily, not in this £1.65 for a bag of Magic Stars economy, ffs.

Back to the topic at hand though, I’ll structure the fashion section kinda like a Currently Obsessing Over post and cover a other few things as well. For starters, anybody whose style I’ve been appreciating recently-I can’t promise you I’m going to blow your mind with some obscure, undiscovered Instagram model you’ve never heard of, but I’m starting this tradition by gassing up Florence Given so I don’t think there’s gonna be much expectation of that going forward anyway, lol. Also, this section seems an appropriate place to get all the excitement out of my system about my  favourite ethical clothing store drops. I like to think of it as a redirection of the excitement that usuallllyyy results in me spending money that I am otherwise incapable of reminding myself I DO NOT HAVE. 

Lastly, the winter outfits that were the preliminary basis of this post will slot nicely in here. Let’s be real, as much as I’d like to think my using Tumblr is alllll about creativity, it’s clearly filling some kind of egotistical self-expression need too, lol. Ego hypothesis aside, though, I can confirm that I love to refer to “oooo potential for outfit post!” to justify the unnecessary Vinted and Depop purchases I make to myself whilst continuing to complain about being broke. But BOTH THINGS ARE TRUE AND IT’S NOT A CAUSAL RELATIONSHIP FFS. Yah, becoming aware that there are just as many gems on Vinted as there are on Depop did not do wonders for my savings goals, I have to say it. But it is ethical and cheap. Anyways, I’m just gonna sprinkle these outfit posts throughout the fashion section to dilute the vanity a bit.

*2023 purchases marked w/asterisk

-20th & 21st March 2023, Shoreditch->Beyond the Streets exhibition @ the Saatchi Gallery, outfit details L to R: mohair cardi from Collusion*, beret from ASOS*, faux leather blazer from NastyGal, faux fur coat underneath from Urban Outfitters, bag from ASOS, shoes from ASOS*, trousers from @niamho31 on Depop>beanie from ASOS, mini skirt from Minga*, cropped jumper from @alexnrx21 on Vinted, lace up corset top from @kyliemccabe99 on Vinted, & Doc Martens-

Currently Obsessing Over: Patou

-Top to Bottom: RTW S/S20, RTW S/S21, RTW F/W20-

I want to thank girlie Dakota Johnson for many things, one of them being introducing me to Patou (though her making Ellen publicly uncomfortable by drawing attention to the besties with everyoneeeee bullsheet takes no.1 on the achievements list).

-L->R: RTW S/S 22, RTW F/W21-

It’s what I can best describe as a combo between Simone Rocha, Brock, and Charles Jeffrey Loverboy with perhaps a touch of Erdem, slightly twee and coquettish but fresh and modern at the same time; a few of the collections have a bit of a street style vibe, and these are the ones which show Patou at its best. If you told me this was the wardrobe of an upper east side school girl growing out of her Blair Waldorf era and into her Virgil Abloh groupie phase because she decided her true passions lay in music production and used daddy’s money to buy an apartment in the gentrified Harlem, I’d believe you. Every cloud has to have some kind of silver lining, and the lack thereof when it comes to the invasion of a bunch of posh arseholes suggests there’s room for an accidentally brilliant style lovechild like this somewhere out there.

-Top to Bottom: RTW F/W23, RTW F/W22-

It was Alison Williams in a very Audrey Hepburn Patou look at the recent Met Gala that solidified, for me at least, they’ve pretty much got the monopoly on old timey socialite with 21st century polish. I assumed they were a new brand but doing a bit of Googling for this post exposed my lack of formal fashion education, lmao, because they’ve apparently been established for, like. decades, and have just been bought by LVMH who aren’t the type to take a gamble on a fledgling label. Feeling silly rn.

-RTW S/S23-

The LVMH takeover begs the question, whyyy are we not hearing more about them? I suppose Julia Fox having closed their most recent show is a sign they’re growing in influence/fattening their money pot at the very least, but in the meantime, the theme for the designers included in this post is obvs just gonna be undeservedly slept on labels lol.

-24th March 2023: hat from ASOS*, dress from UO, rollneck from charity shop, NastyGal faux fur coat from @emily170620 on Vinted-

Whatever Happened to Stella McCartney?

-Top to Bottom: RTW S/S22, Resort 2022-

Stella McCartney is one of those names everyone knows in the fashion industry but I’d say is rarely given the level of praise she deserves? Dare I say the collective sentiment is to kinda write her off as a designer condemned to 2000s irrelevancy? Is it because the association people make with the McCartney dynasty is now a brand of vegetarian sausages which aren’t even that bloody good? omggg, I can’t speak to the Linda McCartney mozzie burger but the sausages are nasty!!

-Pre-fall 2021-

Disgusting sausages aside, if we are talking the products of nepotism or powerful “connections”, some successes are more merited than others. If we can manage not to begrudge a specialist vegetarian chef her dues despite our awareness that the famous name has at least partially played a role in getting those human rights violating sausages in the freezer aisle of every Tesco, Sainsbury's and Asda near you? If we do that on the basis girly was onto a good thing by filling a necessary gap in the market? Well we OUGHT to talk more about Stella McCartney and make sure SHE gets her place in the freezer aisle next to the Carte Dior (comedy genius) too.

-clockwise L>R: Pre-fall 2017, Resort 2019, Resort 2017, RTW S/S18, RTW S/S17-

I say all this with the disclaimer that I too really fucking hate how dominated so many fields of work are by the importance of “connections” and the way that it makes pursuing a career in the things you’re actually passionate about the kind of pipe dream you relegate to the realm of those driven by delusional, childhood optimism next to the corpses of the princess and prima ballerina fantasies. I hate that if I had wanted to pursue a job in fashion or film the best I could hope for would be a decade as a coffee runner under Wes Anderson’s 2nd cousin’s son or sat in a windowless, underground LA office managing Lila Moss’ Twitter account for my entire adult life. But you know, the fruits of one’s rich and successful parent’s connections are better earned by some nepo babies than others and Stella McCartney is one of the good ones. Those M&S red diamond strawberries were not simply handed to her. Tossed maybe, which necessitates some kind of ability to catch, but not handed. 

-clockwise L>R: Resort 2020, RTW S/S20, Resort 2024-

-Top to Bottom: RTW F/W18, RTW F/W17-

You don’t end up the creative director of Chloe solely because your family has money-there might be people equally as talented as you that didn’t have that stepping stone but I’d like to believe there’s no stepping stone strong enough to explain surviving CSM, successfully maintaining the reputation of a label pretty much renowned for being the epitome of understated elegance, and opening your own fashion house on the back of that. The other nepo babies could jump on their lil rocks all they like but they just haven’t got the upper body strength to deadlift their way onto the ladder. Stella stays hitting the metaphorical weights zone whilst the rest of them stay walking on the treadmill with me in complacency Kingdom. The fact there was a time when I used to actually run on treadmills? I could not BELIEVE. We’re out of the metaphor zone now btw-probs shoulda made that one a bit clearer.

-Top to Bottom: RTW F/W19, S/S19, Pre-fall 2019-

-Clockwise L>R: RTW F/W21, Resort 2023, Pre-fall 2023, Pre-fall 2022, RTW S/S21-

For one, she stands apart from other designers in that her brand has been at the forefront of ethical fashion from its inception. She was doing sustainable fashion long before using animal byproducts like leather, faux fur and suede was frowned upon, when animal cruelty for aesthetic’s sake was thought of as a talking point mostly adopted by fringe environmentalist groups, and where any public figure being able to leverage a major fashion house into abstaining from the use of animal fur was something unthinkable. But honestly, I’m really not hyping Stella up just for that but because she genuinely has been rolling out quality collections for years now. 

-Top to Bottom, L>R: RTW S/S15, Resort 15, RTW F/W15, RTW F/W16, RTW F/W14, RTW F/W15-

-RTW F/W23-

I can see how you could stick her with the safe label but I do think there’s talent in being able to identify elements of the ephemeral, “out- there” fashion trends with actual staying power. Stella has been able to streamline those elements into something that works outside of the high fashion bubble, and looking back at the archives was a delightful browse through the volume of evidence proving that knack. I don’t know why the name doesn’t carry more prestige other than the tendency of the high fashion industry to dismiss anything that is somewhat attainable to the average person, but if consistency is enough to grant Chanel a pass to put out the sameeee thing everyyy season because it fits with the widely established image of the brand, welllll…on the other side of that coin, consistency born of a sustained, purposeful, and analytical observation of the trend cycle and a concerted effort to refine rather than regurgitate the insane amalgamation of buzz pieces that emerge from the ever growing roster of fashion weeks…that warrants way more recognition, no?

-Top to Bottom: RTW F/W22, RTW S/S23-

-3rd February 2023, Objects of Desire exhibition @ the Design Museum, Kensington: Corset & trouser co-ord from ASOS*, blouse from ASOS*, trench coat from charity shop, & Doc Martens-

-3rd March 2023: cardi from @alisi on Depop, skirt from ASOS*, beret & shoes from ASOS-

Antonio Grimaldi 

-Clockwise L>R: Haute Couture (HC) F/W23, HC S/S23, HC S/S22, HC S/S19, HC F/W22-

For all my attempts to articulate what it is I like about collections from buzzy up-and-coming avant garde designers or prestigious labels known for intellectually driven, abstract pieces, I am no better at describing why stumbling across collections from the likes of Antonio Grimaldi fill me with joy. Pretty dresses give me a serotonin boost. Imagining myself as a princess in one is good for the soul, lol. I’m team Barbie not Oppenheimer. Does that sum it up for you? And as much as I feel duped being reeled in by Vogue sponsored content, on this occasion I’ll let it go because these creations are masterful and I’d never heard of the designer before they were featured.

-Clockwise L>R: HC S/S20, HC S/S21, HC F/W21-

-8th February 2023: skirt from Urban Renewal @ UO*, cardi from Collusion-

-23rd March 2023, Mike Nelson: Extinction Beckons exhibit @ the Hayward Gallery, Southbank: top from @kissmypeach on Depop, skirt from Ebay, waistcoat from @crisishawtline on Depop, coat from charity shop, shoes as before-

Gucci Resort 2024

I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d been through an AI takeover, another pandemic, and mass flooding throughout Britain by the time I get round to doing a 2024 collections post, so for the sake of making sure I cover my most pressing high fashion related concerns (I.e my opinions on runway shows I could only ever aspire to sit back row at in my very wildest dreams let alone own anything from), I thought I’d include the Gucci Resort 2024 collection from earlier this month in this post. See my expectations of greatness have been tentative since we lost my love, Alessandro Michele, under whose reign Gucci became my absolute favourite high fashion brand-I would get genuinely excited in anticipation of his collections every time Milan fashion week came around, which really is a little bit sad when you think about how far removed I am from that sphere of existence, but ya know, as a source of styling inspiration his maximalist, extravagant and wonderfully extra take on Gucci never failed me. 

Don’t get me wrong, this collection isn’t on the level of anything Alessandro did in his last few years as creative director but I suppose that’s something that comes with the confidence granted by time at the helm and this slots neatly into his body of work as a continuation of that elevated blend of the decadent retro aesthetic with modernity. Soo it’s promising and as a stand alone collection, comparisons prohibited, I do really like it.

-13th February 2023, Making Modernism & Spain and the Hispanic World exhibitions at the Royal Academy, Piccadilly: trousers from the Ragged Priest*, corset from ASOS*, beanie from @rosiejg2 on Depop, linen shirt from ASOS*-

-16th February 2023: beanie from Primark, skirt, cardi & corset from UO*, faux leather blazer & coat underneath as before, tights from ASOS*-

Florence Given (me life? Or some style inspo anyways, forgive me the bad pun)

Look, I know she’s everyone’s fave white feminist to go in on buut she hasn’t done anything egregious enough that we can’t appreciate her style that I’m aware of, at least? She makes a lot of valid points, one of which is that we will absolutely slaughter women for doing like 1/4 of the morally questionable shit male creatives do before we cross the threshold of dismissing their work. That man probs doesn’t deviate from jeans and a t-shirt 95% of the time!!! But Florence is the besttt at the 70s bohemian rock vibe, a shining example of why I may allow it on this occasion if the next in an endless list of tik tok’s aesthetic crazes is piratecore  (or have they been there done that already?), and an aspirational figurehead for all those of us who identify as members of the more layers the better agenda. To put it delicately, regardless of your feelings about her, with the acknowledgement maybe it’s not my place to give an opinion anyway, anybody who’s wondering how you combine the nomadic romanticism of Alessandro Michele’s Gucci/Etro/Erdem/Zimmerman/Johanna Ortiz with a little bit of that YSL glamour, we owe her one for the visual manual that her Instagram feed provides. You know, take some inspo. You don’t have to credit her. Level the playing field. Isn’t that what she did? Idk lol. It’s 2020 something. Expecting completely originality from anyone is a lot to ask. All I know is that there’s no harm in more popular feminist literature even it can be seen as surface level and her style is delicious, lol.

-13th March 2023, Lao Cafe in Covent Garden: jeans from charity shop, top from ASOS*, arm warmers from UO*, coat from @shikirajaydeen on Vinted, scarf from @jools560 on Vinted, coat underneath from UO-

-31st January 2023, @ Russell Cotes Art Museum & Gallery, Bournemouth: jumper from Bershka*, skirt from @semmoore on Depop, linen shirt from @alicialouwoods on Depop, hat, shoes and tights from ASOS*-

-10th March 2023, street art in Brick Lane: dress from the Ragged Priest*, faux leather blazer as before, coat from charity shop, tights from ASOS*-

You Better Buy, Bitch (as Karl Marx probably NEVER said)

Does it probably go against my principles to make purchase recommendations? I mean, I’d say probably, but let’s be real, being able to rave about something with minimal to no influence is a perk of the act of posting, for me at least, pretty much being an act of screaming into the void.

Pre-loved Faves

Given I’ve shown a bit of a Vinted bias in my last few posts, I thought I would stick to all the lush lil pieces I found on Depop recently. They were all still available last time I checked, which was a few weeks ago, so hopefully that hasn’t changed!

Make of these (and their potentially crappy quality given the sacrifice entailed when you want to include like 32 screenshots in one image with a pixel ratio designed for Instagram posts) what you will.

Ethical? Newness: Superdry

Any fashion company that has “it’s a start” as their rating on Good on You is practically saintly in the grand scheme of things hence Superdry’s tentative placement on this list.

What I want to know is when did their stuff get actually…a bit cute? 

My adolescence took place at a time when Hollister, Jack Wills, and (this one was practically a mark of the elite, it’s exclusivity only bolstered by my head of year’s banning of those paper bags with the anonymous male’s six pack on them) Abercrombie were the height of fashion, accessible to only an exclusive few, and Supedry, whilst not quite held in that level of esteem, was also up there. I might only have been able to get a couple of Hollister sale tops but a Supedry branded T-shirt was marginally more accessible; for whatever reason, my parents tended to see their stuff as high quality investments rather than lumping it in with Hollister, Abercrombie etc. as part of a fad of the youth, lol . Anyway, the point is, I very much dismissed all those brands as crazes of a bygone era. Buuut, despite a niggling discomfort with the English owner’s seeming attempt to masquerade as a Japanese brand,  it’s come to my attention that some of Superdry’s stuff (and actually, Hollister too) is a…bit of me? To be more specific, they do these retro style print sundresses which I have on my Karma wish list, my fondness for which is definitely in part attributable to their resemblance to Lana Del Rey’s early stage outfits. ARGH, her performing songs from the UV album in those psychedelic mini dresses were a cultural moment which still crosses my mind on the daily.

On top of that, their clothes fall within the upper regions of the high street’s price range which means they’re the kind of one-off pieces that are going to stay in your wardrobe for a long time and not end up in the fast fashion doom spiral that’s filtered through the local charity shops straight into a landfill 50% of the time.

The Ragged Priest

The latest drop I…girlies if I wasn’t BROKE already, this collection would be taking me there. I’ve gone on about my love for TRP ad nauseam already so I don’t think I need to add much more here.

Arcana Archive

Arcana Archive is an online Japanese clothing store which acts as a platform for small, independent designers to sell their stuff. It ships worldwide and despite a relatively more expensive price mark (I’m talking in comparison to a site like ASOS which operates on a similar business model), the pieces are really unique and quite experimental within the confines of current trends. But yeah, you really can’t get much more ethical than buying an independently designed piece and Arcana Archive cuts out the uncertainty by facilitating that through a streamlined medium.

Regal Rose

Behold their absolutely STUNNING new collection. I am sooooOooo obsessed with every jewellery line they put out. They have, quite simply, perfected the delicate to dominatrix vibe ratio lol, and have the most unique and show stopping collections of statement jewellery out there by a mile. 

Very Important Face Paint

1. Tarte Shape Tape

Look, nothing is every going to be able to fully erase these dark circles. I got into a space where I was okay with them because they looked hot on Bella Hadid, lmao, but as much as I don’t want to be influenced by whichever TikTok aesthetic we’ve deemed “of the moment”, this whole clean girl thing got me pretty much back in that “would under eye fillers really be thaaaat bad?” headspace. What is a clean girl? Why does the Pinterest tag look like a white supremacist’s inspo board for the creation of a master race? I’m overrrrr the back and forth on how WOMEN’S FACES, like our GENETICALLY DETERMINED FEATURES, should look to be “on trend”! Holy shitttt, like I’m sorry that tinted moisturiser isn’t going to cover up a break out on my chin but we are not blank canvasses to be used as ad billboards for skincare products. I’m not getting under eye fillers because 1. in this economy? I think the fuck not! but 2. because the concept of getting a needle under my eye bothers me to my core. I really want to try and practice what I preach in that our uniqueness is what makes us beautiful but ARGH it’s such a difficult stance to take when it comes to accepting your own insecurities. 

Soo let’s just call Tarte’s Shape Tape concealer the middle ground. I am under no illusion any concealer is going to get rid of my dark circles but anything that reduces the number of times people (usually men) feel the need to tell me I look tired is pretty much in the business of miracles. I have really tried EVERY other hyped up concealer from Touché Eclat to Charlotte Tilbury’s Magic Away concealer and this is the only one which makes a noticeable difference. It isn’t super easy to get in the UK which is the only drawback but I managed to get it on offer through QVC, as much as it pained me to do that given the deeply embedded association that exists for me between borderline sociopathic individual Lisa Rinna and the enterprise. But needs must.

2. YSL Touché Eclat Foundation

I won’t hold it against the Touché Éclat range that it was not capable of fixing my dark circles. Many greats have tried and failed and that is no mark on their greatness but a sign of my unfortunate genetics and terrible sleep schedule. And this foundation is gorgeous on every level; it truly is so smooth and glowy but simultaneously matte and blends into the skin like the milk I imagine cleopatra bathed in. IK I like a hyperbole but don’t let it be the reason you dismiss this stuff because it is goldddd.

3. Bybi Babe Balm

Truly got me feeling like a babe, this is the closest thing my dull, crusty ass skin will get to looking alive.

4. Urban Decay 24/7 Glide-on Lipliner

The only lipliner I have ever known not to bleed, and to retain its pigment for any substantial period of time. I haven’t tested it’s staying power past the 14 hour mark but I can confidently say it made it with only a slight fade to that time stamp.

5. NYX Dewy Finish Setting Spray

Very decent for the price and gives an amazing finish. The claims of its similarity to the Urban Decay setting spray is all that stands between me and further damage to my bank account because look, if I can get something slightlyy cheaper for only a slight discrepancy in quality I’ll take the L. Like all NYX products, it’s vegan and cruelty-free as well which is a personal must. 

Food…for Thought (see what I did there)

*Hi, recovery people, it starts here!

See if I do this again, ideally, there’s not going to be a whole category for food lmao. And strap in, btw. This section is 90% of this post’s mammoth word count, I reckon.

I’m thinking in future I’ll break the things I’m about to mush into one up into:

A more specific “places” category which will go beyond restaurants, I promise, and actually include other must-dos around London and anywhere else I happen to visit!

A more specific purchases/recipes/general recommendation category.

And then keeping a thoughts section separate as long as what I’m about to address continues to be relevant and helpful. I’ll expand in a sec. It’s a topic I’m disproportionately afraid of posting about considering there’s not exactly anyone hanging on my every word, lol, but still. Ideally in time, a “thoughts” section will transcend the topic of the anorexia recovery experience, if I do manage to shake my 5 remaining brain cells out of their dormancy anyway. Yeahhh, I thought I’d just drop it in there, bite the bullet and reveal that recovery is this elusive “issue” I have some thotsss on before anybody reading thinks I’m about to go on some outrageously offensive rant which ends up being the thing that DOES catapult me to online infamy and gets all excited.

This potential future post structure is more for the sake of having a more clearly defined section to broaden my recommendation horizons beyond restaurants to museums, galleries, general activities/experiences etc. But like, on this occasion my food recommendations are prefaced with some thoughts n feelings because they give a little bit of context as to why a list of restaurants is the first thing that comes to mind whenever anyone asks what’s good to do in London aside from the obvious tourist traps.

I’ve gone back and forth on posting anything about this subject a lot, kinda unnecessarily really. Like I said, I don’t have a tonne of followers, nobody that I know irl follows me (maybe like one very close friend), and so it’s not like there’s any real ramifications of whatever I do or don’t choose to post about. The perception that I’m making a declaration to some vast audience I don’t doubt is just an extension of that internalised male gaze thang which makes everything in life feel like it’s an act of solicitation for other people’s opinions based on which I decide whether or not the crushing sense of shame I constantly feel atm is warranted.

Making my first post on the anorexiarecovery Reddit (which has the cushioning of anonymity that Tumblr obvs lacks) and just how much it helped me and on a more general level, how hearing from others who have recovered from a long-standing eating disorder has helped me, is the kick up the arse I needed to finally talk about it here. If feeling like you’re “sick enough” to accept help is hard, you can imagine openly identifying  yourself as “in recovery” is even harder so please just gently let me know if you come across this on the anorexia recovery tag and there’s ways you feel I could have more sensitively addressed the issue.

Like a girlie is vulnerable, lol. I’m a whole mess, most likely even more unbearable to others than I was in the depths of anorexia. Even when you start the formal recovery process and have the intention to follow whichever course of therapy or program or treatment you’re receiving, thinking of yourself as actually in recovery and the acceptance of everything that comes with that, rather than seeing treatment as a means of learning how to maintain your control and your weight and basically, your anorexia, in a slightly less dangerous and mentally exhausting way, takes fucking ages. I hate being out of control. Hate it, hate it, hateeee it. And I know I know. Anorexia is more about control than about the food itself so that is probably an unnecessary addendum. But it’s a cliche for a reason, lol.

Saying traight up that you’re in recovery and identifying with other people who are feels like a very permanent thing and a huge change to your life as you know it. It’s solidifying that there is no going back now, allowing your body to do all the things with the acceptance that this is a process you cannot control, and that you can’t use anorexic behaviours to try and get that sense of (fake!!!) control back. When disordered eating of some kind is all you know, in my case a cycle of anorexia and binge eating that has gone on for as long as I can recall being aware of the fact that there’s a correlation between what I eat and how my body looks, it takes time to accept that recovery could represent anything but a fucking unbearable and embarrassing existence. I’m not the happiest with where I’m at in recovery right now but being willing to call what I’m doing right now that R word and affirming that this is a process of change rather than an adaptation of my mindset to a less outwardly concerning form is, from an objective perspective, really big! And I know I couldn’t have got here without being able to separate anorexia (I’m just going to shorten it to AN because it’s always felt a dramatic word for what has just been my way of life, if anyone can relate to that? lol) from myself, which happens when you can recognise that rather than everything you think is an inherent, unchangeable part of who you are being the cause, it is just something that’s been manipulated to become a fundamental element of a parasitic illness:)

This realisation has come from two different sources. Firstly, from the formal course of therapy itself (I’m doing MANTRA treatment for anyone who finds this and is in the same boat), and secondly, from spaces (I mean mostly online tbh but I have a friend or two in real life who have some experience) where others, whether still suffering from their eating disorder or fully-recovered, are voicing their own thought processes and feelings. We like to think of our thoughts as completely authentic and complex and as resulting from a reasoned conclusion, and we want to believe we do have control over our lives, so it only fees right to act in a way that aligns with these thoughts, but what you realise as you see the exact same sentiments expressed by others with AN is that a lot of the “thought” processes that fuel anorexia aren’t so uniquely yours after all. It’s one thing to be challenged about a single, isolated AN thought by someone you know pointing out that it’s not true and that it’s just the illness etc. because you can just defend its legitimacy and why you continue to act accordingly to yourself like “okay, that’s not rational and maybe sometimessss that’s a baseless, anorexia driven false belief but it’s different for me, this isn’t irrational. It’s true. I know this because I came to this conclusion myself and so in my case what I believe will happen if I don’t do X/Y/Z will actually happen”. The cognitive symptoms sound and look and adopt the same ways of thinking that you believe to be an inherent part of who you are. If you are a rigid, routine-oriented, stubborn, all-or-nothing, obsessive (reading the list of traits identified as signalling increased risk of developing AN was a bit of a self-roast I can’t lie) perfectionist then congratulations! You won’t notice anything out of the ordinary when those “thoughts” run through your head and you certainly will not think for one minute that they are textbook mental manifestations of an illness masquerading as your internal monologue. But maybe you will when you see just how routinely they appear as part of a more extensive, specific set of “thoughts” described by people who have also been diagnosed with AN. Big oh shit!!!! moment when you feel a little bit of the special snowflake armour melting away. 

The sense of vulnerability which descends upon the realisation you can’t trust your own thoughts, not knowing which of the responses that come into your head where you’re put into a challenging food-related scenario is the AN one, the “wise”/recovery mind (I.e the truth), and which one is the most “you” and honours YOUR well-being in all of this, feels like presenting yourself to Simon Cowell on the X Factor stage circa 2007, at its peak popularity. Ya got the whole of the UK watching, Simon looks you up and down, and says “it’s a no from me”, and then him, Louis and Sharon all start bickering about whether or not he was too harsh and whether Louis is being too generous by affirming your star potential. Essentially, it feels like throwing yourself to the sharks with no clue which one is being honest about how tasty you are. Enough metaphors?

Basically, eating disorder recovery of any kind involves mediating between a LOT of internal voices who guide you with dramatically varying levels of empathy and none of them agree. Throw experience of binge eating into the mix and the “go on, you knowwwww you’ll feel better if you do eat X, Y and Z” sentiment that characterises your impulses and how similar that can sound to the things you’re taught in recovery about how to listen to your body and practice kindness to yourself ANDDDD then what is most likely the AN voice which draws on all that societal shaming we do of women having “too much” of an appetite and it’s just, FUUUUUCK. It is so FUCKING. EXHAUSTING to constantly have to distinguish one from the other. I never realised how exhausting it would be. It has really turned me into a foul person to be around at times, and that is the thing I hate about all of this the most. But hearing that other people have had these thoughts, that they aren’t an objective truth of life or the only option in your case, that disentangling them becomes second nature in time, is the reassurance I’ve needed to keep me working at it. To have evidence that these thoughts are a symptom, not a inevitable product of who I am, and that they therefore won’t always feel THIS crushing gives me hope to just stick out the extra mental stress that introducing a mediator to the internal argument creates.

Sooo it feels worth describing some of these thought processes on here in case, selfishly, it connects me with other real people who have experiences of their own to share, or less selfishly, it becomes one of the many many recounts of these thoughts that somebody stumbles across which pushes them across that same threshold of like (Kylie voice) realising thingsssss. Well, you know, realising oh shit, there are alternatives to how my brain is dictating to me I must live my life lest I self-implode in an inferno of shame and self-hatred. That’s the state I personalllyyy associate with the version of myself that has tended to precede a shift back towards restriction, probably stemming from multiple sources but that the AN voice whittles down to the single variable of numbers on a scale. Realising that being trapped by the all or-nothing rules or rituals and impossible standards isn’t something you just have to accept because it’s the only viable way to live your life, that it’s just that sneaky little anorexia MF drowning out the alternatives is one of the first steps laying the foundations for a wholehearted go at recovery.

The ability to disregard the AN thoughts doesn’t stick naturally past that initial lightbulb detection moment without a constant effort to identify and reaffirm that’s all they are but with the initial realisation comes a sense of relief. Underlying that initial commitment to recovery was the visceral sensation of detachment I had once I realised just how many of what I believed to be my OWN thoughts were cognitive biases symptomatic of anorexia and the impact of its resulting malnutrition on the brain. In other words, that what I perceived as my core beliefs were mental manifestations of problems attributable to an illness, like any that we so seamlessly identify when they present as physical ailments.

The possibility that the categorisation of these thoughts as symptoms entails, that an adherence to all the rules I developed based upon them and the misery they caused me doesn’t represent the best of a bad bunch of outcomes, that the anxieties attached to these AN thoughts aren’t legitimised by facts of nature akin to whatever it is Einstein said about gravity or the laws of motion, and thus are something that can be viably challenged, is the fundamental driving force to keep at treatment. When you’re seeing everryyy other person with shock! gasp! The exact same condition feeling exactly the same, coming to the exact same conclusions in a roundabout way, you realise...ahhh, I’ve been DUPED. SCAMMED! Like I said, we can buy into something irrational by perceiving it as a truth exclusive to our unique psychological, biological, and physiological makeup, our specific self-concept; it’s natural to want to think of ourselves as unique individuals whose decisions in life result from a sensible weighting of all these factors. Nobody wants to feel like they are pre-programmed to behave in a certain way. Our sense of self-determination gives our lives meaning and that feels all the more important when our other tendencies make the experience of being alive feel a bit scary or monotonous sometimes.

It gets harder, ya know Occam’s razor and all, however, to continue to give any merit to the anecdotal logic of these beliefs when the much simpler explanation is that they’re very cut and dry AN thought patterns just subtly tailored to include some of the idiosyncrasies of your internal monologue and thought style so they’re believable enough to you as a legitimate, reasonable, self-realised philosophy sustaining your behaviours. To live abiding by the principles formed from this “reasoning” process placates that instinctive self-determination drive.

What I’m trying to say in an overly convoluted way (this is what happens when writing about psychology usually involves the suppression of any creative flair or subjectivity as is the defining feature of an undergrad essay lol) is that talking about it, resonating with the experiences of others and how their symptoms manifested, it helps. It makes all the situations you put yourself in so much less scary when the trajectory you’re on in recovery, though requiring you endure thoughts and feelings that are intensely distressing in the moment, has ultimately helped people in the exact same position you are get to a happy, healthy place in the lives:)

Realising there’s nothing essential to your survival about these thoughts, that they don’t warrant an entire section dedicated to them (and hopefully, at some point in the future, will not get from me beyond how much better off I am without them!!!), is the beginning of a process which allows you to see the world in its whole again, and there’s so many recovery stories out there to support this. I look forward to being a much less self-absorbed person in my day to day life, lol, and being capable of meaningfully engaging with the expanse of vastly more interesting issues out there, even if this means opening myself up to a little bit more of that good old existential anxiety.

Getting to the point, then, this section exists to get these thoughts off my chest but in a way that is clear enough for anyone who comes across the tag to quickly be able to identify as similar to their own, and that gets across what I’ve found helpful in challenging them. It won’t usually be prefaced with all this context, lol! I really invite suggestions from others in the approaches they’ve taken to do this as well since you need as many tools to deconstruct AN logic as you can get your hands on, and I, for one, want my own toolbox to be full to the brim. I am to be the Bob the Builder of the anti anorexia agenda if you will, lmao.

For this reason, when I’ve managed to separate an AN thought from myself and isolate it, I’ve made sure to always note it down, trap that baby in a glass like a spider, and that’s that on how to do a perfect metaphor because I KNOW SPIDERS CAN’T HURT ME AND THERE IS NO REASON TO BE AFRAID OF THEM BUT IT FEES LIKE THEY’RE TARGETING ME, OMG. Yes, turns out spiders represented an eating disorder free life all along. To describe these thought processes on their own and just make them salient to somebody who is already trying to drown them out wouldn’t necessarily be helpful so I’m only going to address or articulate a thought when I have something to challenge it with, that I’ve picked up either through MANTRA, my studies, recovery advocates, or now and again that I’ve concluded myself and found to be reassuring. I can’t promise that the latter source will be of value but they’ve been important to me and maybe will trigger somebody else to apply that same (potentially questionable) reasoning process to their own circumstances and consider that new perspective. It’s rare but once in a blue moon sometimes this silly little brain of mine does strike something not quite gold but maybe bronze or silver, takes a dip in the pool of positivity, and shuts down the AN bullsheeet all on its own. I have to take stock of these incidences somewhere, lol.

On the basis it’s still pretty early days, there’s still a lot of AN thoughts I can’t quite convince myself don’t have some legitimacy, so when/if I do address them in a post it’ll likely only be one or two at a time as follows. Whether there ends up being too many to limit to a section in these seasonal update/summary posts because I go back to my typical lackadaisical posting schedule and end up having to just do an overall progress post at some point down the line we shall see but for now, I’ll get into it:-) on today’s agenda I wanna address:

The Spectre of Shame: 

Yess, AN really be on some Mike Flanagan shit when it comes to convincing you that recovery is the catalyst for some unbearable onslaught of shame. Hinting at it, revealing flashes of if, hanging it over your head but never actually revealing it or what would be sooo fucking unbearable about this experience that there’s no available coping mechanism or approach to remedy the resulting pain. 

Fearing my recovery body and other people’s reactions has always been a big hurdle in seeking treatment in the first place. Underlying it has just been this mental cacophony of potential responses. Notably, the idea that the people you care about will forget how ill you were at some point once you achieve a healthy weight and suddenly come to resent you for being “dramatic” about the whole thing and putting them through the things you did as a result of AN. 

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Shocker! It’s some more AN driven bullshit! And it is part of the way it sustains itself by making you afraid of throwing yourself into treatment. The truth is that the people that expressed their concern when you were sick, at first my primary motivation to give treatment a third (lol) chance, are affected by it much more they let on. Seeing you at your sickest is not the kind of thing your loved ones forget, and if anything they’re probably massively fucking relieved and grateful when they see you becoming more relaxed around food. I didn’t realise how exhausting it was for my family to watch me be completely consumed by my eating disorder because it wasn’t addressed routinely, it was only when other situational factors pushed everyone to the edge that it would all come out and I’d see how much anxiety about my health was being kept from me for the sake of not causing upset.

I get that openly choosing treatment feels a lot like walking into a crowded room of your friends, acquaintances, every last human being you’ve ever encountered, and inviting everyone there to hyper scrutinise your body. Ooo, is she gaining too quickly? Has she let herself go? Has she lost control? She’s weak. She’s sick, she has an eating disorder, but one that makes her more pathetic than us because we all want a whole ass bar of chocolate you cheeky lil bitch but why are you so SPECIAL you get to have one just because you’re sad!? 

Again, AN, I BEG of you: shut the fuckkkk up. I know rationally that I wouldn’t for a second make that inductive leap about someone else who stated they were in their recovery. If anything I would be ecstatic for them knowing how good it feels to finally give your body all those things it has been gnawing away at you to give to it for so long, to experience that freedom. Think about the environment you’re in and the people around you. The people in my life are kind, and understanding, and if I’m judging their likely reactions by all their past behaviours, they’re likely to have the same thought process as I would about someone else just chowing down all that food that is so good for the soul. If they’re not, I don’t want them in my life anyway. 

The shame comes from me and me alone. At this point, every time I do actually pay attention to what I’m craving and try and respond to that in a non-judgemental way, and accept that the absolute worst scenario in my head (omg wow weight gain, a never before witnessed human phenomenon!), I take a step backwards, and evaluate what power the actual worst case scenario consensus actually holds.

So people do think I’m greedy or weak or whatever. It’s the way I coped and still do sometimes to give myself that little serotonin boost through food, to eat every delicious thing in sight. It’s not a moral failure. Everyone has their ways of coping with strong emotions and for every way in which we give in to one self-soothing impulse, there’s some other coping mechanism we’re resisting. The idea that there is an empirically verifiable relationship between eating for joy and any kind of negative trait is a load of shite. I can’t help but think misogyny has a lotttt to do with it too. Like, can you imagine a show called Woman Vs. Food? Wolfing down everything in sight is practically celebrated when it’s a man doing it, or at the very least, just accepted as part of the male predisposition, much like a high sex drive. Horny, hungry woman=slutty slob in the eyes of society, lol.

How much/what you eat can’t inherently make you a bad person. The only adverse effect is probs that long term, it isn’t going to feel great for your body. In my case at least, I know my internal fluids be moving like Valhalla after a mad one on the carbs and salts lmao, soz if that’s tmi but nobody with anorexia said anorexia is actually glam or a B&W 2013 tumblr inspired serve in anyway. It’s 40% annoying gross body issues and 60% internalised shame, boring food thoughts, fear and the constant burden of calorie counting because who the fuck wants to be doing maths 24/7. Recovery in the long run takes a fucktonne of will power. JFC, it’s a marathon, it’s the 800m you got signed up to doing on sports day without your permission. So if you describe the internal conflict you go through with that, anybody who will still look at you choosing to eat what you ACTUALLY want at the end of the day and think that represents weakness…ridiculousness.

To stand on that stage and announce “I’m in recovery” and for that to be visible in some way or another (reminder that thinness isn’t a complete measure of sickness anywaysss!), isn’t something embarrassing. it’s a sign that it’s working and that I’ve hit the “oh my god what have I done” hurdle and actually jumped over it this time, and not been sucked back into AN. To learn to be okay with your new body, and be okay with others opinions of it off the back of that, is a part of recovery I feel I’m only just starting to be asked to think about in treatment as I enter the weight restoration zone. It’s defo revealing itself to be one of the strong walls of my AN’s lil fortress. That opinions about the way we look are important isn’t something that can be just shut down with science like those other AN “facts” are. One thing I loveee about my therapist is that she always brings the feminist perspective into it. Like, as women it’s drilled into us from the moment we’re old enough to comprehend there’s some implicit societal code that our worth is at least in part determined by the acceptability of our appearance, to the extent it feels like an inherent truth that we owe it to others to conform to beauty standards if we want to be treated with respect. Anorexia pounces on that and uses it as evidence as to why it’s not an illness, but something to be cherished, something you would be useless without. Treatment has focussed a lot on personal values and principles to aid that self/anorexia separation process so far and I think it will come in useful here too, again to break down the legitimacy of these beauty standards which reinforce AN fuelled beliefs, and tbh, are ever fucking changing anyway. Psychologically speaking, conforming to an arbitrary beauty ideal would never be a reproducible (see, it may have been some term 1 year 1 week 2 level terminology but I did get one thing out of my Research Methods modules) anyway.

I wish I wasn’t a fashion loving girlie:( I wish the phrase heroin fucking chic had never entered my verbal lexicon:( I wish I hadn’t fucking internalised the ideals of the 2013 EFFY STONEM LANA DEL REY ARTIC MONKEYS SOFT GRUNGE BRUISED KNEES SAD B&W GIF 90S AESTHETIC etc. etc. etc. Tumblr era and allowed it to mutate into the enduring ideal of what external standards would constitute my perfect self, the one that would have all her shit togetherrr and be okay. I wish it wasn’t an ideal which I still have to see reinforced every now again, when I engage with something I’m passionate about, minding my business browsing Vogue runway and seeing that YSL once a-fucking-gain seemingly came to the conclusion they’d maxed out their body diversity quota by hiring just ONE singular model who may be, like, a size 10 at a push in amongst the 30 other size 4/6 girls walking.

Maaaaybe that I feel this way, though, have such conviction about how harmful these standards are, will give me something positive to focus my energy on rather than wasting it paying any attention to these kinds of arbitrary societal ideals. We don’t have to accept that respect would be given on a shallow basis, and tbh doing what you can to fight that norm sounds a lot more fulfilling anyway. 

Anyway, I look forward to adding some proper, professional logic to what I can only summarise as that brain fart as I cover it in treatment:-)

“This is the Best it Gets”:

The biggest lie AN will tell you.

It might mimic that harsh AN tone a lil but I find it necessary to remind myself “course this isn’t your best life. FFS, everyone knows what this disorder does to people. You know of people that have died from it. The number of people that have recovered happily is huge. The outcomes for the people who have maintained their anorexia into adulthood on the other hand are BLEAK. So why are you so special that you’re the exception to the actual, EVIDENCE based rule. Anorexia is horrible and it’s shit and it IS possible to overcome it. Get a grip.”

The way you think is not the result of you having been fundamentally and irreversibly changed as a person, and does not represent an irreparable apathy towards the goals and principles that used to motivate you in life. Not to repeat myself as I’m sure I am doing here but it has been so hugely validating to hear my therapist (whether she’s just very good at her job, speaking from personal experience, or both, idk! I want to ask but I don’t know if that’s appropriate or not? Thoughts?) essentially say “I understand. This doesn’t feel like something you’re suffering from. It feels like something you are deciding to maintain, that you’re choosing thinness over the people you care about. But it is hurting you the most and why would you choose that?” MANTRA is based on the idea of several factors coming together to cultivate an AN mindset, a combination of thinking style, personality traits, values, relationship styles, experiences, and emotional disposition. Of course these factors aren’t always possible to change but you can change the way they feed into your AN and develop methods of channelling them other than through the medium of restriction, towards achieving other, more positive and fulfilling goals. You’ve always had these traits and you didn’t always need AN to get by, right?

The belief AN is a choice, not an illness you can be inherently vulnerable for,  goes hand in hand with the way eating disorders in general are misunderstood, including those that manifest in extreme obesity. You see it most with the people who will tell you to “just eat” and “why are you doing this to yourself!”. And then you feel like a fucking awful person. Why AM I doing this to myself? Look at what this is doing to people who care about me. Either I’m a fucking horrible selfish person OR I NEED this disorder to survive. I don’t think I’m the best person on the planet. But I don’t think I’m evil enough of a person to want to cause everyone pain if there was an alternative. It’s the last thing I want to do. So there must BE no alternative. This must be my only option. The result of this logic is the sense that there’s nothing beyond AN. Shame is the only thing on the other side of the coin it feels like you have no choice but to flip, it’s prospective existence a phantom in your head that you use anorexia as a shield against because it tells you it is your only defence. This is what AN does. The less you eat; the more you think about food, and the less capable you become of thinking about the bigger picture. The more rigid and black and white in your thinking you become. It’s eat nothing or eat everything, so even eating something sometimes can feel like opening floodgates. When you starve your brain of nutrients, you don’t have the cognitive recourses to think about nuance or develop solutions. Learning that was another intense lightbulb moment, and I almost physically felt things slot into place inside me, like I’d got a bit of myself back. The realisation that this, the psychological process underlying our conviction that anorexia is the be all and end all, is the ACTUAL truth, not the thought itself. That I continue like this isn’t the only way forward. That moment where I finally understood these thoughts weren’t organic, that they weren’t MINE, that they’re textbook AN biases, was really eye-opening. I just needed, still need, a little help to get the ball rolling and bring my rational voice back into the convo. 

I might not know exactly what an alternative I’m comfortable with looks like though with each practical suggestion I try and can tolerate, that becomes more fully formed. And though I can’t predict exactly what the end result of that alternative will be, what I do know is at the very least it will take away a handful of minor inconveniences. Shopping in the little girl’s section for pants for example-the PARANOIA I get when someone even glances in my direction whilst I’m doing so that they might think I’m some nonce who just enjoys perusing the kid’s undies section. No more! Your body panicking when you eat a bit more of certain types of food and either A). Sending you into a food coma, and yes, that’s WHEREVER you are and whatever you are doing, sitting in a theatre show or the cinema and even more frequently, on public transport or B). Immediately demanding you go…expel that entire whole meal right now of your own volition or find yourself empathising with Will McKenzie in that episode of the Inbetweeners where his bowels took his A-levels for him. The COLD!!! I spent far too many days this past winter trying not to cry because I was that painfully fucking freezing. The circulation issues had the skin on my knuckles cracking open when I bent my hands FFS, I was out in the customer service trenches serving people with raggedy ass plasters all over my hands, getting dirty looks from the pensioner buying his 3rd pack of JPS Superkings of the day, I-

It’s such an unglamorous disorder, and yet we still romanticise the shit out of it. Well let me tell ya. I do not feel ethereal or delicate or fragile or any of those qualities that I probably internalised as being inherent to anorexia back in those tumblr 2013 days. I feel boring and grouchy and gross and self-absorbed and incompetent. Utterly useless except as a calorie counting machine. No wonder catwalk models always had such a rep for being airheads because depleting your brain of nutrients, as has finally happened this being the longest restrictive phase I’ve experienced, truly makes you dumb AF in ways you don’t actually realise. Like stuff just goes in one ear and out the other and I have become this truly chaotic, all over the place person which is incredibly frustrating because I used to be, and want to be, someone who makes every effort to be on top of their shit with everything, always. Unfortunately, your brain just loses the capacity to hold all the information you need in the right places or evaluate anything properly and your time management gets all over the place. Your common sense disappears and you don’t make the links that keeping up with the pace of daily life (especially true in London, lol) requires. Anything that isn’t related to your AN loses its importance and without the motivation to give other commitments your full attention, the considerations you need to make to fulfill them fall through the cracks. The worst part is that people get sick of your shit because it seems like you just don’t care about them. You either feel incompetent as fuck or wonder if you’ve actually always been like this which deep down you know you haven’t because you’ve never felt such frustration at the inability to actually execute all these plans you make. I don’t want people to worry, I don’t want to go back to a hospital ever again, I don’t want to be painfully cold all the time, I sure as helllll don’t want such irregular bowel movements or hot and cold sweats, crusty ass skin or purple hands. I want to live deliciously (sorry Florence Given antis), and I WANT to be able to romanticise my life and AN doesn’t provide the content the 2010s soft grunge corner of the internet would have you believing it does. It’s just exhaustingly mundane, uncomfortable, and awkward.

The best thing I’ve noticed since committing to a regular eating schedule, to give one example of a recovery commitment, is that the constant mental chatter has significantly reduced. Sometimes no thoughts head empty is the GOAL. I do not want my brain to feel like the store I work at on a summer bank holiday once all the other supermarkets have closed. There is so little space for anything else-I gave up reading the news like 2 years ago because anything outside of the ED perspective felt trivial and that’s ridiculous. Kourtney Kardashian could scream PEOPLE ARE DYING! In my face and I’d be like yah, whatever. But to be serious, and kinder to myself, the soundtrack to the past few years of my life has seemed to ricochet between 2 defaults: a shouting match at the Queen Vic fought not by Kat Moon and…some other Eastenders character  (idk, it’s been a while since I watched, I forget the rivalries) but instead between advocates for all the different impulses and urges and rules and regulations, OR a droning, mundane static, occasionally permeated by calculations and conversions of calorie consumption to weigh gain in pounds. There is very little feeling in the anorexic experience. Pretty much just frustration, boredom and anxiety, fear of the absolute worst happening but you don’t know what that absolute worst even is and can’t really articulate exactly why it’s so terrible. Like the end of life seems to be spiralling towards me sometimes (thanks chronic anxiety and climate change and late stage capitalism heh) and I can’t get over how much FUCKING TIME I WASTE THINKING ABOUT FOOD. FOOD. There is nothing interesting about food unless we’re talking about how good it is. The best meal deals, sophisticated subject matter like that. 

My intention in articulating these thoughts is because the more of their forms you encounter, the clearer the similarities in their underlying structure becomes, and the easier it is to recognise them as symptoms. Once we know symptoms are all AN “thoughts” are, and that it’s part and parcel for the distorted reality we experience to seem like absolute truth, it gets a lot easier to have faith that acting to contravene the rigid boundaries they’ve led to us imposing isn’t going to result in catastrophe. When we have evidence that treatment for any physical illness is effective and reduces symptoms, we trust it’ll ultimately reduce them for us too even in the face of short term unpleasantness we experience as a result. So the point of verbalising these thoughts is to affirm that they are something which necessarily become less intense each time we assess and challenge them.

To wrap this section up, I really, seriously welcome feedback from anyone in recovery coming across this. Like, I hope none of it is patronising, or comes across as if I expect anyone to read and be like “thanks girlie, ya cured me!” xoxo

I want the way I explained myself to be helpful. If not, it’s just a particularly self-indulgent ramble lol. It seems necessary to articulate an unhelpful thought pattern before I get into challenging it in order to highlight how textbook it is but ofc when I name or describe the thought, I don’t want to do that in a way that enables or reinforces anybody else’s similar belief. Any suggestions if this section has done that for you are welcomed.

On top of that, it goes without saying I’m extremely privileged to have won the postcode lottery in finally getting a long-term, holistic, person-centred form of therapy. I hate to say I’ve been unlucky in the past with what I’ve received because I know some people have had no help at all, but what I’m trying to say is that it does take intensive support to overcome this not just, like, realising things. It‘s a lot easier when you have someone you know knows what they’re talking about, and whose support extends beyond the scheduled hours you have with them. The AN voice doesn’t take a day off and so much damage can be done in just a week without the recourses to challenge it. Being able to reach out to someone who uses their knowledge to validate you and relieve that extreme loneliness that comes with feeling trapped inside your own head, who treats you as a whole person who needs pointers on how to adapt the knowledge taken from scheduled sessions to the complexities of your everyday life and doesn’t fault you for not knowing already, is so essential. You need that external voice to hold you accountable in actually translating the act of challenging your thoughts into action, but one that communicates with kindness and empathy because they know that otherwise it all starts to feel a bit too similar to the tone of AN. What I wish is that there was some kind of sponsor network similar to those attached to AA/NA groups/if there already is, it was more widely known of. Of course, a professional sounding board is the best you can get but any external, motivating voice that comes in conjunction with a thorough understanding of how deeply embedded an ED is and knows how difficult it can be to challenge what feels like the core of who you are, can help. I don’t like to sugarcoat stuff, so I say all this with the addendum that you can be as picture perfect a model of a recovered anorexic as they come and still be changed forever by the period you spent consumed by it, especially if that begins at a young age when your brain is still developing. I do kind of believe the echoes of any ED will always be there, and the framework the illness puts in place in your head to maintain itself never fully crumbles. Your perspective may always be through a slightly disordered lens. But that framework will become weaker and it will become easier for the objective truth to break through and storm the gates and ultimately be victorious against what becomes a very fragile, pathetic version of the disordered voice, to make decisions based on principles of self-care and compassion. Obviously, knowing all this stuff in isolation won’t always be enough. I can identify thoughts as a product of AN, know they’re not going to get me where I want to be in the long term, but honestly don’t always have the energy to ride out the fight or flight response that going against them entails. The self-criticism and shame is still quite instinctual at this stage. I’m at the point of slowly testing what actually happens if I make small transgressions of those food rules, tolerating weight gain regardless of how uncomfortable it is, basically debunking the existence of this spectre one bar of Dairy Milk Oreo or B&J’s Baked Alaska at a time. It’s kinda like the flooding stage of phobia-specific CBT. The trick is that in the meantime, whilst you’re distracted by all these difficult feelings, your brain is well fuelled enough to redevelop the ability to think in shades of grey, and remember the things about life you loved before you gave the illness your complete unyielding devotion.

I’m hoping in time, especially as summer comes to an end, it will be easier to deal with the physical changes. I adore the sun and the heat and the beach but at this stage in recovery, I think I’ll feel more optimistic once the seasons change and bring with them the opportunity to wrap up and drape myself in layers. Like, although I’m almost within the healthy weight range now, there are moments when the (unfair and unwarranted) recognition that I no longer have the body that I was unashamed of and how that has become unattainable again fills me with self-hatred and disgust. For a second maybe, there is a rush of emotions worthy of the fear I felt at the beginning of the recovery process. To bring back the spectre, that initial full glimpse of it is sufficiently horrifying to make it tempting to reach out for the AN shield again. But the longer you share a space with that entity, the more obvious it becomes it’s just a costume. You notice the faint lines where prosthetics meet the skin and the rings around the contact lenses, and eventually it’s like seeing the lady who plays the Nun IRL on the red carpet, like witnessing a Scooby Doo unmasking, where you realise the horror is in the all the attachments and that what lies underneath it all can’t actually hurt you. These feelings aren’t a one time affair, they occur enough to make you feel really shitty and overwhelmed, but they are transient and there is a sense of freedom that comes with this being a body which doesn’t involve depriving yourself of everything you crave and the fear of all the other devastating consequences. A rush of painful emotions far supersedes death by a thousand cuts if you will, lol. There was a time when the thought of gaining even one pound was unbearable and yet here I am. So I know that I can get through these surges of distress too, and I don’t plan to set unrealistic expectations of being perfectly okay with it on myself right now. I said to myself yesterday I probably won’t wear shorts again this summer. But that’s okay for now. Any day that solidifies my commitment to resist AN is progress. This body acceptance should become easier with the luxury of a private, safe space to fully process these feelings, without any unhelpful outside influence on how I reshape my self-image. The last thing you need when you’re trying the radical self-acceptance thing is the prospect of external chatter that comes with being exposed to everyone else’s judgements too, as is the case in hot weather when you’re like, socially obligated to get ya bum out. I need that chance to be okay with my recovery body as it is rather than feeling pressure to accommodate it to others expectations, which I know I shouldn’t and once I know myself better, hopefully won't feel the need to. Being able to challenge the worst case scenario of shame and judgement from others isn’t possible if I still haven’t got to a place where my confidence and faith in the objective, non-disordered, empirically viable truth is robust enough to not give the hypothetical judgements any emotional weight, to stay neutral and detached as AN goes into overdrive trying to adjust the marker at which this unbearable, worst case scenario will occur. It doesn’t like it very much when you reach the previously established threshold, the one that was once so terrifying you couldn’t bear the thought of any kind of change pushing you towards it, and realise…oh…soOoo my world hasn’t fallen apart. Shit. And you wonder what exactly it was you were so afraid of. Still, with each revelation, whatever’s round the corner of this next threshold is still scary. It’s just that with each one you overcome you have more faith that you can muddle through it as you have before. It’s not an instinctual faith but one you have to actively search for on difficult days where you reflect on your lowest point and grieve because it was something you feel you really suffered for and LORD knowsss, we all love to romanticise tragedy. But you keep doing that over and over again and you choose to try and cope, something that takes practice, and ultimately the idea is that you won’t need faith at all, that acting against eating disordered thoughts will just make sense. The CBT-ish part, the restructuring of the cognitive framework maintaining AN into one which makes looking after yourself the easy, sensible option (I.e your new default) rather than something that’s gonna lead to eternal pain and suffering over just how grotesque it makes you, (tehe feels good girls x) can only work as it should once you’ve also had that exposure to observe how-decisions less dictated by anorexia actually turn out, as in maybe there is no earth-shattering catastrophe to follow. You need to have built up a body of evidence that the resulting scenarios are ones you can withstand. You also need to be able to perceive life in its entirety, outside of the disordered tunnel vision you’ve developed, to remind yourself, and wholly comprehend, the richness of the experiences AN steals away. That isn’t always there for everyone, which is why I want to reiterate that recovery doesn’t boil down to having “enough” strength, but about having reasons to recover too and I’m privileged in that aspect.

But anyways….flooding, a sponsor, CBT? Did I just create my own treatment programme? Much to think about. 

I don’t know how to round off such an intense section so I guess, here are some restaurant recommendations???? Which I felt compelled to include as a means of developing my budding Google reviews career (shout out to my one follower), and thennn onto some more lighthearted stuff, ya know, stand out films, TV, books etc. of the first half of the year. But maybe in future posts, assuming I continue to progress, I can start talking about some of the things I’ve gained in recovery to round up the thoughts section. It kind of sounds like a cliche that your AN tells you is bullshit that recovery is gonna improve your quality of life like of course they’re going to make this shit sound like a trip to Barbados, but just as accumulating other people’s accounts of anorexia symptoms delegitimises the truth you attribute to those symptoms, hearing the specifics of positive recovery experiences legitimises the idea that it’s something tangible. At this point I can already say I’ve got back into cooking, which I loved before my restriction got obsessive and health and balance and all that malarky was a goal of weight loss. SooOoo maybe I could share some recipes too. ANYWAY. Let’s get into my fave London eats, which I hope will also grow and evolve to include general London/travel recommendations as I regain the capacity to retain memories of experiences other than those revolving around food, lol. Unless I miraculously come into a large windfall of cash, the “travel” recommendations will most likely be limited to other UK places but on this occasion I can dip my toe into the “wAnDerrlustt” tag realm and kick things off with a few recommendations for Lisbon which I visited at the beginning of June. Having that goal of being able to write about these things in a few months time in a completely different mindset is definitively a good source of motivation. Being able to experience all these new places without the security blanket of my regular meal routines and advanced planning is scary but that spontaneity is part of what makes a trip away so exciting. Although on this occasion, being away and allowing myself to try everything I wanted didddd trigger a bit of a downwards spiral, in hindsight, that was a pretty good flooding experience and learning experience in general because like…I was bloated as fuck by the end and you know, 2 weeks later and I’m still here. Plus, all that boujie low calorie “healthy”, “high protein” food is costly!  Gym lads must be broke, honestly. If I want to do enough to justify an exPerIencES section I have to start eating like a normal human being, right? And just buy the Chicago Town pizza and the regular Ben & Jerry’s on Clubcard (as hard as Gym Kitchen pizzas, Yorkshire Prov. soups, Oppo ice cream and Halo Top Cookies & Cream/Cookie Dough flavours slap and you can’t tell me otherwise). I’ve gotta get some CULTURE and replicate the (mostly) fine dining experiences I had at these bad boys, which are my London stand outs of the last few months. 

Tavolino, London Bridge

Price Point: £15-30

Tavolino was fucking exceptional and thank god for that, because there is nothing worse than ordering a meat dish and it not feeling worth breaking the veggie streak at the end of it all. Their slow cooked lamb tagliatelle ragu was absolutely sublimeee, and so is the view, with the restaurant sat right on the Thames with the best view you can get of the City area. That’s the bit with all the skyscrapers that isn’t Canary Wharf, lol. When you’re sat with a beautiful dish of pasta in front of you and it’s all lit up, you almost forget all the moral corruption happening over there x

The service was also top tier. We had a waiter whose customer service performance was so elite you could almost believe they didn’t despise all other human beings which I feel at this point is an inevitability of working in a public facing job, lol. Like, he was super attentive but not annoyingly so to the point where you spend more time awkwardly swallowing your food as quickly as possible to feed back your enjoyment than you do actually eating it. 

My pasta was a leeetle bit on the pricier side (by my standards anyway, though relative to other London restaurants it’s one of the affordable ones, if you’re just doing mains and either a starter or dessert for instance). My pasta was probs the most expensive on the menu at about £17, discounting anything including seafood or truffle which are both icks for me anyway. I think I should take that as indication of the fact that my dream of living off the King’s Road is ill-fated, if I hadn’t worked that one out already when my card got declined in the Waitrose there when I tried to buy an own brand soup.

2. Ollie’s House, Chelsea

Price Point: £10-20

Sooo one of the absolute best things about treatment is that the clinic I go to is situated in the South Kensington/Chelsea area, which is how I came across Ollie’s House and a couple of the other faves I’ll mention. I should mention that yes, this is an NHS service, the clinic just happens to be based in Chelsea. I do not share a therapist with any Made in Chelsea cast members so no, I don’t have any wild stories about seeing Jamie Laing have a breakdown in the reception because being an heir to the owners of the UK’s bestselling biscuit company has given him pathological aversion to rich teas, or anything like that, sorry. 

-To clarify, that is a HYPOTHETICAL scenario. Jamie Laing’s family pls don’t sue me for misrepresentation, I’m a devoted fan of digestive biscuits, trust I’m a fan.-

What I do have is the location of one of the best all day brunch locations in London. Before you even get to the food, which constitutes a menu made up of Australian/Indonesian dishes (a fusion that produces reliably dreamy results and is arguably the only good thing to come out of rich Australians gentrification of that region), the interior itself of Ollie’s House is perfect. It’s spacious and airy, but also warm and inviting, full of plants and drenched in a colour palette inspired by sunset on one of Bali’s backpacker infested beaches. I should add here that I’ve never actually witnessed a Bali sunset but…a sunset is a sunset, you know. I’m gonna guess it’s the interior as a whole which gives the beach-y vibes, lol. 

Then there’s my Nasi Goreng which was ARGH. Beautiful, gorgeous, incredible. Rice for brekky, what a concept. Again, super friendly servers, which always adds to the experience.

3. The Jam, Chelsea

Price Point: £15-30

If I had to name just one of the restaurants I’ve visited in London as most worthy of the “hidden gem” title, it is The Jam, without doubt. From the outside it’s nothing flashy and it’s pretty small but the layout is everythinggg! The tables are on balconies! Like little treehouse structures! It’s adorable! I mean don’t get me wrong, you don’t HAVE to sit at one of the balcony tables if you don’t wanna climb the ladder up there (like, if you’re gonna be very thorough in your mission of trialling their very reasonably priced cocktails…perhaps…don’t?) but it’s so fun and makes you feel a little bit like a child again. It kind of does the impossible by creating an atmosphere that’s as lively as it is kitschy whilst still maintaining a sense of intimacy at each table, and general aura of sophistication. Say the food was just…decent, the novelty of the layout would make it worth a visit maybe just for the drinks, but idk, I feel like you can never be TOO disappointed by pizza ffs. What makes The Jam one of my absolute favourites, though, not of just the first half of this year but probably all time, is that the pizza is fucking heavenly and HUGE on that note. Mine was nduja, salami, and burrata and holy shit it was good. Like I am a pizza QUEEN. A good pizza outranks pretty much any other dish bar a good burger. This is up there with Crust Bros in Waterloo and this lil place called Pizza Baracca in my hometown area. This is a niche one because it’s a little family run takeaway in an area where the tourist industry is DYING (something I’m guessing the, uh, multiple recent stabbing as on the beach have a little to do with) but if by some wild and quite honestly bewildering coincidence you ARE reading this, and you have plans to broach the Dorset region over the summer, here’s your Deliveroo back up. You’re welcome. Consider them bonus recommendations xo

4. The Yorkshire Pudding Burrito Company, Kerb Market @ Camden Lock

Price Point: <£10

Look, Camden Lock in general is not what it’s hyped up to be. It is always teeming with people, seemingly regardless of when you visit. But the food on offer at the Kerb Market despite the lack of sheltered, and frequently, actually available, seating, makes it entirely worth a visit; on a warm, dry day you’ve also got the option of walking a little bit further along the canal to find somewhere quieter to eat. There’s a few Kerb street food markets dotted about London, and the South Bank one is a lot closer to me, but it truly pales in comparison. Not only does it house the Mac Factory (truly my bestie back in 2018 when I was in UCL halls and there was a branch at Euston Square station less than 100m away), but it has the Yorkshire Pudding Burrito Company which I’ve always wanted to try. That I spent SO much money on food in first year and passed the second half of it in a binge cycle and in that time, never tried one? A tragedy, lol, because it meant I’ve I spent the last few Christmasses telling myself that the ones they sell at my hometown’s Christmas market would suffice only to chicken out on that aspiration because it felt like a waste to go for the imitation when the real deal was out there. 

But recently, when I’ve travelled back up to London for therapy, I’ve been challenging myself and going through my Google maps list of all the places I bookmarked to eat whilst I was up there and couldn’t face the anxiety of at the time. My sister and I found ourselves in Camden recently for an art exhibition and on this occasion, it seemed like fate to test if it did live up to the expectations I’d formed over the years, which is a rarity. And guysss, the impossible occurred. It ACTUALLY DID. The meat was melt in your mouth tender, full of flavour, and the roasties and garlic and rosemary caramelised veg inside were exquisitely done. For it all to be wrapped in a fluffy Yorkshire pudding though like…ARGH. Otherworldly experience, truly. I know it was just that good because the lack of mint sauce didn’t bother me, and this was something which used to necessitate suppressing the urge to throw hands when I opened the fridge on a Sunday and noted it’s absence. Of all the cravings that stand in the way of going full veggie, a banging roast is one of them.

My last pro tip is that if you’re a caramelised biscuit fan, which it seems we all are atm (and I hope it’s a food trend that, much like Oreo filled/flavoured anything, salted caramel and “gold” chocolate, stands the test of time because I’m obsessed), follow up your Yorkshire Pudding Burrito company wrap with some Lotus flavoured ice cream from the Soho Ice Cream company. It is by far the most reminiscent of an actual lotus biscuit of the ones I’ve tried. There’s also a Chin Chin Dessert Club branch at the lock which is another magnificent way of tying a bow on top of what I advise you make a 3 course meal. If you want a YPBC wrap (I can’t type the whole thing out again, soz) or a Mac Factory pot but you also see something else you can’t resist trying, I say do starters too lol. You will spend more than you would at a sit down restaurant probs but look, if you’re a tourist doing the whole London thing, street food markets are an unmissable staple.

5. Badiani Gelato, various London sites (& Brighton!)

Price Point: £5-10

Anyone I spend any decent amount of time with will know I am an ice cream connoisseur. It’s a toss up with pasta for the one food I could eat forever. It is absolutely no surprise I have a list of every ice cream place I want to visit in London. I’m dedicated to the cause, whatever time of year, and no judgemental looks from McDonald’s staff for ordering a Mcflurry to go in December or tuts from the lunch lady at my secondary school for buying a Feast ice cream for lunch in sub zero temperatures has ever knocked my undying determination to satiate my yearning.

This pursuit continues to the capital and thus far, nothing has come close to Badiani gelato, another one I treated myself to for the first time after a therapy session given there’s one super close. I really can’t see anything tasting quite as good as their salted butter caramel flavour or their signature Buontalenti flavour (the Fior di Latte and white chocolate are fucking incredibleee too). Like listen, say heaven does exist. Say I don’t get to go there. There isn’t an Angel up in that cloud land who could whip up anything this ethereal tasting for God himself. Soo abandoning my disbelief in anything supernatural, if I’m allowed to stay as a ghost lurking on the King’s Road forever, I’ll be okay with that.

I’ve been enough now that I recognise some of the staff and they’re all really sweet and generous with the free samples too, lol, and there’s a cute covered patio area at the back too so you can sit in and eat. In the unlikely circumstance in which anybody with the same niche bucket list comes across this, this needs to be at the top.

6. Unity Diner, Whitechapel

Price Point: £10-25

Vegan cheese is usually pretty rough. I think most of us who eat both that and the real deal can agree. But whatever godly concoction it is Unity Diner drench their Philly Cheesesteak in is enough for them to deserve Vogue’s bestowal of the best Vegan restaurant in London award all on its own because they did the impossible: created something even more bursting with flavour than the dairy cheese on any similar dish I’ve had elsewhere.

Add to that the incredibly friendly, warm and informative service, the interior, the entirely sustainable business model and 100% cruelty free menu, and I hope this place stays open forever. If it becomes one of the long list of Veggie places in London that have shut down the last few years I will be absolutely gutted.

7. Bancone, Golden Square, Soho

Price Point: £10-25

Right off the bat, I do want to make clear that it is the Golden Square branch (not Covent Garden’s) of Bancone I’m hyping up. I’m sure this a statement that is going to absolutely devastate a restaurant which gets entirely booked up until 9pm on weekdays a fortnight in advance, lol, but yes, the former is very much in my bad books. It’s a policy which probably extends to both their branches but look, I got stung in Covent Garden so I’ll be damned if I favour that place. They charged me a £50 no show fee. FIFTY FUCKING POUND. Their most expensive pasta is probably half that price. Let me repeat myself: FIFTY. POUND. We are in a cost of living crisis here! And forgive me pls if I can’t wait for god knows how long for someone to pick up the store phone so I can try and reschedule because they don’t let you do it online if it’s not done days in advance or whatever. I was MAD mad. I sent a very strongly worded email. They did refund me but that I begrudge that I had to go pompous customer mode for that courtesy.

Moving on to the ray of sunshine, anyway, which is the Golden Square branch because I came here for a food love fest not a pile on. Yes, the silk handkerchief pasta is every bit as good as it looks and way more filling than you would think. Our waitress was also so sweet despite the fact she was stunning enough to make me reconsider the boy brow and resembled Dua Lipa. The internalised misogyny had me expecting a lil bit of snobbery and I’m mad at myself for that because I’m almost pleasantly surprised every time a pretty waitress gives good service and this is in spite of my worst service encounters being dished out by male waiters at 2 separate Big Mamma restaurants. Yes, I’m @-ing the guy at Circolo Poppolare who scoffed at one of our party for trying to order a dessert wine with her main (imagine mansplaining wine ffs), and at Gloria who stood glaring at my friend and I as we approached the midway point of what we were reminded was ONLY AN HOUR AND A HALF booking slot the second we walked through the door. He took my cacio e Pepe dish off me the minute I finished my last string of pasta COMPLETELY DISREGARDING THE BOWL OF SAUCE I STILL HAD! Sir, I am a broke student. You’re going to punish me for not being able to afford a multi-course meal by taking away the food I DID order before it’s finished. 

This is really turning into a restaurant rant section, I’m sorry, but I have a lot of feelings about food. Did I mention? I can only apologise. At least you can skim read a post, it’s the people I’ll bore to tears with this shit irl I owe the apology to, whoopsies. The next 3 are short and sweet!

8. Miscusi, Covent Garden

Price Point: £10-20

What Miscusi does really well is balance a quick and casual vibe with stand out service and incredible quality pasta which far surpasses in taste what you’d expect from how affordable it is. It kinda works a bit like Crust Bros (or Subway I guess, lol, which would ofc be worthy of a shout out if it wasn’t like, the world’s largest fast food chain. There are more of them than MDONALDS?!) that although there are preset options the main appeal is the create your own option where you get to pick the pasta, sauce and toppings. I made mine pretty much identical to the truffle vegan pesto pasta with the substitution of the truffle for good old regular sautéed mushrooms because as I’ve said, my taste isn’t that boujie, lol, and it was delicious. Can’t fault it. A perfect pasta dish tbh.

9. Chrome, St.Christopher’s Place

Price Point: £10-15

3 words: Biscoff french toast. Need I say more?

10. Patty & Bun, various sites (cheating, kinda)

Price Point: £10-15

Okay so including Patty & Bun in a London eats section even though there’s one in Brighton isn’t the part that makes it’s inclusion rogue because, like, Badiani has a Brighton branch too and I always tend to think of Brighton as London-on-sea anyway. It’s just that their Smokey Robinson burger (caramelised onions, smoky peanut butter mayo, and then I think the optional addition of chilli jam which stays improving literally any dish ever) is probs what saved me dropping out of uni for the second time at the beginning of 2nd year one night. I was sick of anorexia, sick of how hard it was making the basic organisational tasks required of my degree and sick of the imposter syndrome that came with that. I did what I had to do: flaked on the night at Ministry of Sound I’d organised with friends, stuck on a horror, and ordered myself a burger and fries. I knew reverting to 13 year old Lauren’s coping mechanisms wouldn’t do wonders for my mood in the morning but I also knew that this fuck everything and drop out impulse was just a result of a build up of emotions, culminating in a minor panic attack and that I would be able to think more clearly in the clear light of day, lol. So yeah I can overlook Patty & Bun being a food experience occurring outside of the 2023 window. IT SAVED MY DEGREE. And plus, it’s the only burger I’ve had which rivals the Bournemouth special from Central Story-again, another niche recommendation but it’s blasphemy to talk about burgers without name dropping this place. Both make an unbeatable case for why peanut butter elevates everything. Idk what it is but it truly takes a burger to the next level. And wilder still is HOW its the inclusion of BISCOFF SPREAD in the Bournemouth special that makes it magical!? Can’t explain that one because it sounds like a monstrosity but trust me, it’s mind blowing. I could do an “according to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should fly. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible” Barry B Benson style monologue on the matter if anyone wants to challenge my statement on that fact. Like I appreciate that according to all accepted culinary boundaries, this crossover, I.e  lotus, beef, cheese, onions, BBQ and chilli, should be inedible. But whoever the chef at Central Story is, they decided to go where most chefs wouldn’t dare tread and made something gorgeous. A true pioneer. It sounds so rogue but oh, feels SO right.

Now, to go international...

Lisbon, Portugal

I am aware that talking about an entire city as if it’s a cafe you could pop to one afternoon is very much giving Americans talking about going to “Europe” (sans further specification) energy but I only went for a few days and I feel like there’s soooOOo much there, we barely skimmed the surface; a “top things to do” list doesn’t feel warranted! I would LOVE to go back at some point in the near future to give it the rundown it deserves. It gets called the San Francisco of Europe, not that I knew that before, but now having been I resent it because the comparison does Lisbon a complete disservice. I see why the association is made; both are hilly cities with tram systems being the dominant means of transportation, and are situated on a waterfront. They also share near identical bridges. Again, I never knew but Lisbon has a near replica of SF’s Golden Gate landmark. Lisbon’s is smaller but built first by the same people responsible for the Golden Gate Bridge because Portugal’s dictator at the time found out about the plans for the SF version and demanded one too. Dickhead, diva behaviour. But shout out to the Uber driver turned tour guide who told us that.

Having spent the same amount of time in San Francisco 5/6 years ago, though, I prefer Lisbon! It just has more spirit-I know that’s kind of an abstract concept to define but I suppose it has less of the typical American city sheen, where as shiny and new and exciting as everything is, a lot of it seems cold and impersonal, and you know there’s always some pocket of poverty just around the corner that’s been pushed out of sight for the sake of maintaining this image. Lisbon feels more organic and laid back and has a cool, unexpected balance of trendy, hipster-y (I don’t know what other word to use, lol, but I don’t mean hipster in the negative sense as it’s generally used nowadays) areas and eateries, street art and brunch cafes GALORE, as well as older, more traditional streets and architecture teeming with history and the vibrant energy of the local community. Last but not least, let me tell you something about Lisbon: they love a pastry. You’ll find pastelerias, source of the most delicious crossaints known to man, on most streets. Anywhere which counts sweet carbs as constituting a crucial part of the culture is somewhere I’m more than happy to be.

NOW. Seeing as I can’t dedicate a whole section to recommending Cadbury’s Twisted chocolate buttons or Magnum Billionaire ice cream, I’d better move onto the next thing-I don’t think I can quite justify raving about food purchases you can make at your local Asda. So tell your internal monologue to put its best Robbie Williams hat on because this next section has the working title of:

Let MeeeEeE EnterTAIN YOU!

 Let’s talk about my fave distractions of this year:-)

Podcasts

I used to be a music girlie but now all I do is listen to podcasts. I feel very out of touch and uncool because I literally have no fucking idea what’s playing on the radio anymore hence why the prospect of going clubbing nowadays feels like a nightmare, but idk I just feel like I’ve never been someone who’s been engaged by music on its own and when I’m studying new content I find it hard to digest wordy stuff with pounding music. I do want to try and listen to music again but gotta find some way to incorporate it into my routine because I feel like such a fucking grandma at the ripe age of 24. Anyway, for podcasts, here are a few of my faves, ignoring the fact that I’m going outside the box of this post because it was supposed to be confined to things I’ve gotten into this year. It’s my first one though, allow me a little flexibility in this regard. There’s a lotttt of recommendations I must make.

Katherine Ryan’s Telling Everybody Everything: is everything Katherine’s husband says undercover tory coded? Yes. Am I almost certain he’s the kind of guy who admires Elon Musk on the DL? Yes. But I adore Katherine Ryan and could listen to her talk all day. I rarely disagree with her and it is a breath of fresh air to have someone who voices things that do depart slightly from the occasionally frustratingly rigid, moralistic stance of the people I follow. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with the online left’s consensus 90% of the time but I do hate how SERIOUSLY everything is taken and the pile-ons that result from an acknowledgedly uninformed, passing comment on an issue, and also the shaming that comes from being interested in something which giving attention to is deemed to contravene interests of that political stance. This is how we talk irl. Your friends don’t accuse you of being a morally defunct person because you have a simplistic or admittedly problematic view on some things. I feel like it’s possible to feel ways we know we shouldn’t and that we know rationally don’t align with our general philosophies and as long as it’s not anything prejudice driven, as long as those convos happen with the adage that we KNOW these opinions are a bit fucked, it shouldn’t be a criminal act to lightly discuss them in a setting free of consequence. I also kind of agree with her stance on comedy, in that there shouldn’t be anything off limits. Ofc, if there’s a pattern of someone making harmful and punch down kind of jokes, criticise them as much as you want. Don’t talk about them! Don’t make them a topic of conversation and bolster their audience! But if we start drawing a hard fast line between what’s punishable and earns an industry blackballing then comedy becomes completely predictable and that element of unpredictability is what makes it entertaining.

Stephanie Harlowe & Derek Lavasser’s Crime Weekly: I mean an interest in true crime may be exactly what I’m referring to when I talk about interests that contravene your expressed political stance because I see a lot of the people I follow online, who are pretty much as far as I know entirely left leaning, disapprove. But morbid curiosity is a human thing and Stephanie Harlowe, both on her podcast and YouTube channel always does it with the best intentions; the ridiculously extensive amount of research she does show an unparalleled level of commitment and intention to do justice (seriously, they have cases they spend about 6 or 7 hour and half episodes on), and even on the most infamous of cases you are bound to come away with a tonne of knowledge of the case that you were unaware was even out there.  I also love the dynamic between her and Derek Lavasser, whose presence is a crucial element of what makes this a standout podcast given his actual first hand experience of investigating cases. I think the best podcasts are those that feel like sitting in on a conversation with friends regardless of how serious the topic is and in Crime Weekly, they always manage to uphold that vibe. Stephanie is very opinionated and I know a lot of people might disagree with that and think we should take a neutral stance when discussing true crime but honestly, if I wanted to do that, I’d read a Wiki page. This is how we talk about things irl. We give our opinions, we have feelings, we relate it to our anecdotal experiences-as long as the line between opinion and fact is clear and respect for the victims is maintained then I don’t see the problem.

Red Handed: I love Suruthi and Hannah. I want to be one of their best mates, lol. Pls girlies, let me be your friend. Again, I know there are probably people out there who would be firmly against any kind of true crime content which has a lighthearted tone but I genuinely do feel like all the laughs come from the dynamic between these two and never at the cost of the victims involved in the cases they’re discussing.

Sounds like a Cult: I loved Amanda Montell’s book Cultish and this is again a podcast where the dynamic between the girls is what separates them from all the other podcasts of a similar nature. I do want to know about current events and the serious stuff that’s going on in the world but there is only so much existential dread a person can take without a bit of levity framing it; Amanda and Isa take a serious subject matter and apply it to something which at face value sounds trivial but results in some genuinely interesting discussions about just how pathological our appreciation of certain fads and individuals truly is.

Books

How to Kill Your Family, Bella Mackie: So technicallyyy, this is kinda cheating again because I read this last summer, lol, but I continue to recommend it above and beyond any book I’ve read in the meantime because it truly is the perfect novel. It’s Gone Girl dark subject matter but in snappy magazine columnist format and that is a feat of genre fusion rivalling the Indonesian Australian blended brunch. 

Boy Parts, Eliza Clark: an actual recent read, and the first knock out of a book I’ve read since How to Kill Your Family. Like, the narrator is a disgustingly awful human being, to the extent that has put me off reading books from the perspective of individuals who meet similar levels of awful in the past (for example, I could never quite get into Lolita). In this, though, it adds to the compulsion to keep going. It’s probs because she is awful in a way that never requires a suspension of disbelief, the kind of way I feel like we glorify in everyday life on a lesser scale, and so the satirical element feels very relevant. At the same time, it’s not so heavy on the satire that some of the left turns the narrative takes and how twisted things become is without impact. I’d say it’s a bit like the book equivalent of watching a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills episode where the women are at their most unhinged but with a more sinister undercurrent, like everything that takes place is referred to as if it’s an mildly scandalous everyday occurrence when in actuality it’s disturbing AF. Imagine watching back the episode where Brandi Glanville yells “at least I don’t do crystal meth in the bathroom all night, bitch” at Kim Richards with the foresight that not only was she on crystal meth but like, her and Kyle were actually in there carving up a body or something. All the dark stuff is woven into the protagonist’s co-occurring everyday mundanities that very accurately capture the worst parts of the mindset and social values of the present and the devastating realisation is like...it all fits, lol.

Television

House M.D (2004-2012): My brain cannot compute that Gregory House and Hugh Laurie are the same person. That thing people always say about standout performances “they brought the character to life”? Hugh DID THAT. He SERVED. His performance alone is arguably enough to make House a great show. But other than that, it’s the perfect blend of drama and levity and almost every series main with only a handful of exceptions is a character you truly want to see flourish. Plus, I love me a 40 min show; an episode of House flies by and I would say there are only about 2/3 throughout the 7 seasons I’ve watched so far I haven’t enjoyed, all of which were a bit too conceptual for my liking. Also can I just say? Wilson and House, one of the most engaging TV duos of all time. For them and them alone, I will condone the use of a word that is in all other circumstances cringe to me, to grant their relationship the title of the GOAT on-screen bromance. 

The Missing (2014-2016):  I do love a good Brit mystery drama, I do.

Search Party (2016-2022): so watchable, so ridiculous, funny as fuck, but also addictive.

Yellowjackets (2021-): A perfect show, truly. And I’ve just got to say...Christina Ricci’s Misty fills the Mona Vanderwaal shaped void in my life that Pretty Little Liars ending created.

Succession (2018-2023): Succession must be one of those shows that’s really annoying if you don’t watch it/tried watching it and weren’t a fan because anybody who does watch it never seems to shut the fuck up about it. But like, chill out, it’s ended now, and I feel like it did so in a way that was satisfying enough that we can put it to bed and appreciate it on reflection like a nice piece of art every now and again, lol. After Game of Thrones, the ending of which left me raging for a solid few months, I think we all breathe a sigh of relief at this point when a really hyped up show ends in a way that actually feels correct, and doesn’t violate everything we’ve been told about the characters right up until that moment. 

Also...with Succession ending, I realllllly hope we can firmly put a lid on the idea of stealth wealth dressing or whatever you wanna call it because I don’t give a fuck if the clothes are expensive, they’re bland, I’m SORRY:( I don’t like subtle, if that isn’t obvious from the Alessandro Michele appreciation, lmao.

Black Mirror, Joan is Awful, 6x01 (2023): Okay so the fact I like, just watched this before writing this post would suggest it would be better placed in 2023 part 2 but I don’t want to acknowledge the horrifyingly fast passing of time so I gotta talk about it now while it’s fresh on my mind. Because what a delight!!! Apart from the movie that came out a few years ago and one or two episodes, Black Mirror hasn’t blown me away in a while. This was like, classic Black Mirror for me. Like left me with an appropriate level of dread so as not to trigger a complete existential crisis but enough to make me physically shudder. It was also, off the top of my head based on foggy memories of past episodes, the funniest episode to date. I never knew Salma Hayek had such great comedic timing and I feel bad for that. I owe her way more appreciation.

The Trashy Stuff..

Married at First Sight: I have never ploughed through reality TV like I have Australian MAFS. I started watching it with my mum and was so incapable of waiting til she was free to watch the season we were on I started simultaneously watching the previous season on my own. We haven’t even finished that season together yet but my solo venture sees me 3 seasons deep at this point. The dinner parties, man! I can’t look away. So much second hand embarrassment, awkwardness and tension that manages to permeate its way through the TV screen and yet despite getting my fill of that in day to day life, I consume that shit like I do carbohydrates in a binge episode, lmao. I won’t deny it probably falls within the vein of exploitative trash TV but you know what, it’s in an exploitative trash TV league of its own and if I go another 10 years down the line without being bothered to go on a date because I GENUINELY FEEL LIKE I HAVE NO TIME!! Sign me up. Producers exploit TF out of me. Give me the awkward recluse who just does not have the energy for the shit that interaction with a solid 60% of men entails edit if you want, though the driven career woman who is just above them all works too xoxo I’ll make the same argument I make about Big Brother and say that I genuinely do think there’s at least a pat of me which enjoys it from the psychological perspective, like putting humans in high-stakes unknown territory has our common pathologies spilling out allll over the place to observe in the bright light of day/the TV’s fluorescence but yes, ofc my engagement with it goes beyond educational purposes. It must be a known fact that I love watching some toxic individuals because it came highly recommended to me; whilst it shouldn’t be a good thing if my friends think it’s on brand for me, I’ll take that hit to any illusions I have of my refinement if’s what brought this show into my life. 

Love Island: It’s in a similar vein to MAFs, but look, I have no shame in admitting that there are some summer days where knowing LI is airing later in the day is all that keeps me going. I need structure in my life. Time is a human construct but ITV2′s programme schedule is NOT and if this show airing at 9pm every night is all that’s set in stone I’ll take it. No speak of guilty pleasures here. Straight up pleasure. It’s trash, it’s staged, it’s shallow, blah blah blah, but it’s in this brief period when the annual summer season airs I feel a sense of NATIONAL UNITY that, for once, doesn’t stem from something a little too closely aligned with things you’d see or hear at an EDL rally. England is really lacking in things to feel patriotic about that don’t have some kind of murky colonialist past, lmao.  So SUE ME. It’s giving judgemental. If you want to miss out on the top tier comedy going on this far this season (best cast in years I thinkkk) then that’s your loss. 

Film

Maybe mentioning some of my fave movies in this post issss taking a slight shortcut by removing the need to include them in my eventual film list buuut anyways idk, I love going to the cinema and a post like this would feel compete without naming a few standouts. For the sake of emulating a film ranking post, assume all these would fall under God tier:

Barbarian, dir. Zach Cregger (2022): A bit of a creature feature and a wild ride from start to finish. Definitely has the qualities of a modern classic horror, relatively simple narrative but definitely layered and open to interpretation if that’s your kinda thing.

M3gan, dir. Gerard Johnstone (2022): I could definitely get a roasting for including M3gan on this list and by implication, that it warrants a God Tier ranking but like 1). I’ve gone on for sooOOo long now that I doubt anybody who has got to this point has the brain power left to process this controversial stance and 2). even if this does register, I am willing to die on the hill of it being a perfect movie anyways. There’s probably plot holes, nonsensical writing and bad acting galore, but if there was I didn’t notice it because I was having a WHALE of a time. Sign me up to rewatch this at the cinema over a night out any day. Hear me out…it’s all the issues and psychology debates about artificial intelligence and the singularity and attachment theory and the dark stuff that might entail, yes, on what is probably a very, very shallow level, a massively take on all that stuff I’m sure many will argue but okay, nerd!!!! Live a little! It’s of the moment! Isn’t horror supposed to take that thing we’re all really afraid and exploit the fact that we know, like, next to nothing about the science of it all to paint some utterly ridiculous worst case scenario!? For whatever reason I can think of 0 examples of this right now, but I’m sure there’s some smart video essays out there about it that will explain it in an intellectual, less indignant way, lol. Like maybe I’m just amalgamating a bunch of unrelated facts in my mind here and coming out with some bullshit false statement but I’m suuuure I have read/seen/watched a video about how the vampire craze within horror has some kind of origin in tuberculosis panic hundreds of years ago. Don’t quote me on that! The only thing I’m sure on here, that I take zero issue with being quoted on, in which I have no qualms saying, is that M3gan was WILD!! ICONIC!!! It’s Chucky for the Elon Musk girlbossgaslightgatekeep era. Giving campy halloween classic. I'm standing my ground on this one.

Bodies, Bodies, Bodies, dir. Halina Reijn (2022): Imagine Bodies, Bodies, Bodies being your English language debut and still managing to capture the most annoying aspects of the speech patterns we’ve (and when I say we, I mean American and English youth, and yes, I include myself in that lol) developed this well. Uncanny. Even more impressively is how Halina Reijn is able to set the scene to communicate that very particular chaotic energy that hangs in the air when you put a bunch of intoxicated people with a messy group dynamic in a room together. The kind that unifies a startup company’s christmas do for their employees with a teenage house party. Like everyone’s kind of wild and throwing their weight around and letting off steam. The suffocating weight of the school/office/retail/what-have-you environment is lifted and at first the mood is electric and people who usually can’t stand each other are laughing together, getting on like a house on fire. But you KNOWW, you just know, someone’s gonna unleash some uncomfortable truth at any second, pull it back like an arrow back through the bow, fire it straight into the target and send half the room feral. Halina brought that dangerous kind of excitement to the screen in a way I don’t think any other director has managed in recent years, besides perhaps Gaspar Noé with Climax, but this was a lot more fun. It isn’t quiteeee on the same level but Bodies, Bodies, Bodies does the same kinda thing that the first Scream movie did in the 90s in making a film that is equal parts horror to Pandora’s Box for this moment in history, putting all the worst traits of our collective psyche in the...spotlight? Strobe light? Glowstick light? It’s glowsticks that were all over the ad campaign, right? She even got the Y2K aesthetic craze nailed down there, didn’t she.

 •Scream VI, dir(s). Tyler Gillett & Matt Bettinelli-Olpin (2023): 

That segue, honestly. The stuff of legend.

Admittedly, I didn’t make the Scream/Bodies, Bodies, Bodies comparison just for that purpose. But it does round off the post in a very satisfying way so I’ll pat myself on the back for it regardless. 

Speaking of legends...see, clunky when intentional...

I have to, of course, gas up this year’s Scream. Howwww there’s been soOoo many at this point and how they continue to be wonderful yet consistently on brand, when the brand in question could so easily go stale, is a marvel. It’s probably the franchise that got me into horror (or maybe Final Destination, it’s a toss-up) and if I’d watched something like the Insidious series first I don’t know if I’d be the horror fan I am today, possibly deprived of my beloved genre. Like I started watching them back when I still believed in ghosts and I was super sensitive to high levels of what they tend to categorise as “threat” or “suspense” which seems to be code for supernatural stuff. Now I’m a non-believer (lol) I love the supernatural stuff just as much when there’s a good story but I will always, and clearly have always, loved a good slasher, especially with a sense of humour. Scream is truly the prototype for that. It never misses. 

Plus, side note, I love that they gave Sidney closure. It shows confident writing, which again is something the films always deliver on. Similarly, the casting of Jenna Ortega and Melissa Barrera as the series’ new protagonists makes perfect sense; a new Scream is an instalment that never disappoints.

Much like...this post? 

Let’s just pretend that was an intentionally awful segue for the sake of continuity and not me having no idea how to tie a bow on this fucking ESSAY from me. Whoops.

But yeah!!

I guess that covers it all! She says after a post that supersedes the word count of your average dissertation, which is probably the crux of why I struggle with academic essay writing, lol. I love a waffle, cannot help myself. It’s a need that would ordinarily be satisfied through the medium of creative fiction writing but until I finish coursework anything requiring deep and meaningful thought is out of the question. One can only hope I don’t completely flop my degree and that by summer 2024, posts of this nature will be significantly shorter. In the meantime though, I do have a couple of photo dominated posts planned, including finally posting what we’ll call a master post of all the FW22 shows I didn’t finish covering, as well as SS23 which are actually of relevance to balance out the notion that it’s just a content dump (which it essentially is but idk, we all love a good runway photo set). Blame Tumblr’s stance on the female nipple which means fashion week posts are always delayed because I have to go back and photoshop out all the tatas. As welll as that I have an outfit post planned which is one of my faves I’ve everrrr done and basically another “sitting front row at” thang. 

And to anybody who comes across this post on the recovery tag and reads that section, please don’t hesitate to inbox me. In fact, I’d love it if you did, regardless of whether or not it extends to anything beyond that. Like I said as well, constructive criticism is much appreciated, though I love hearing people’s recovery stories too. To anyone who identified with my ramble and is struggling too, I’m sorry you’re dealing with this and I’m sorry it likely feels as if no one understand. I do and lots of people do and even if it’s not fully fledged formal treatment there are recourses out there. Suggestions in that regards are very encouraged!

But yeah! In summary, love & hugs to all!:D

Lauren xx

[tangiblejournal56]

7/13/11

Trying to overcome this loneliness that hits me when I’m sleeping alone, & instead searching for solace in it.  It’s a tough & as yet unsuccessful transition.

Max making mention of his friend Brandon’s crush on me from the one time he, Max, Rachel & I were hanging out, months ago.  Asked him why he took so long to tell me of his friend’s crush, he mumbled some half-assed excuse, “I didn’t think you’d like him,” etc.  While it is true that I have no interest in Brandon, that wouldn’t have stopped Max from telling me.  Significance?  His need for me not to have anyone but him, juxtaposing his inability to have or acknowledge any romantic feelings for me.  Will I wait around forever, until he no longer needs me, has found someone he can let himself love without feeling like an idiot?  I would do anything for him, but what will that cost me, all of that struggle to put him back together enough for him to be able to open himself up to someone, & then I’m to be left again all by myself?  Not certain I’m strong enough for that inevitable outcome, I can’t steel myself so easily to a loveless existence as he can.  I want nothing more than to help him find  a way to thrive, but my small modicum of self-worth I’ve forged finally won’t allow me to be so resigned to such a self-destructive course.  And still yet my indefatigable damned naïveté keeps the flicker of hope that all my selfless work to help him will cause him to love me.  Which then turns me against myself in self-loathing over having to work so hard for his love, as I am so apparently unworthy of it.  I do believe him to be out of my league & lightyears better than myself, but at the same time, am I not also worthy of love?  My flaws are evident, yes, just as anyone else’s are, but I do have some good qualities, strong ones, & though I would never win any contests, my physical self is far from grotesque, some days even appealing.  I am not always a great person, but not so bad as to believe I don’t deserve love, even his.

And then I remember how I treated him in our relationship, & I realize why I would have to prove myself to him, why it would be my penitence to do all of that work & in the end still find myself alone.  Because I helped to break him.  And even after all of the work I still would not deserve him.  I was no better than all of those other forces & persons I despise so much for hurting him, killing the good in him, the optimism & idealism so deeply hidden behind his shell.  No one, not even his friends, see that optimism because it doesn’t fit their image of him as the sarcastic, surly, drunk curmudgeon.  I am maybe the only person not trying to fit him into this niche, this little box with its precise & indisputable description.  He is far too vast & encompassing to be in such a box; he contains multitudes, like anyone else.  But unlike anyone else, he shows this self to a very few.  I am as yet the only audience I know of.  He doesn’t just gift that self to anyone, you have to work to earn it, should you want it badly enough.  For my part, constant but subtle convincing of him that I want to know him entirely, without agenda or judgment, has helped me get inside.  It can’t be all, but it goes a long way.  There has also got to be a certain compatibility, he has to feel you’re akin to him, he has to respect your views & ethics & what he believes your character to consist of.  We think similarly, but with enough variation that we can offer each other alternate yet valid viewpoints.  I am as yet unaware of what exactly it is that I encompass that I am the only one he’s let in.  That is not exaggeration nor false modesty.  He has told me countless times over the past two years that he can open up to no one else, something so deeply flattering & at the same time so heart-wrenchingly sad.  And yet still, something I’ve never fully understood, as there cannot be anything so different about me than all the friends he’s ever had, all of the girlfriends.  This singling out is a large part of why I can never fully believe that he will never love me, that we will never end up together.  That & his either inability or refusal to end our emotional & physical relationship when I couldn’t hide that it was causing me to fall in love with him again, even after him telling me multiple times nothing will come of it.  Max is not the sort to let someone throw themselves away on an impossibility, even over himself, especially someone who means so much to him.  Proof of that in our relationship, in his & his ex’s relationship.  So how do I not read into his actions & interpret some kind of future between us?

I want so badly to believe him, to be free of this chaining of myself to him as it causes me so much pain.  But that belief is there, & to imagine a life without him is terrifying.  A such as he says I give him, he opens entire universes in me I wouldn’t have believed available to me otherwise.  He gives me self-worth, he gives me permission, he doesn’t even realize.  A relationship so beneficial & symbiotic, & yet he feels nothing for me?  I have such a hard time comprehending & accepting that.

In the end, I will do whatever is necessary to help him.  I don’t give a care to what it will do to me.  He is far more important than any self-preservation.

[lepierr0t]

This week I got back to practicing kung fu. I have always been back and forth with it, the longest I’ve practiced was one and a half year. But I seemed to always convince myself that I’d have to stop for some reason. I’m very much the kind o person who can focus in one thing at a time, and end up hyper focusing in one area of my life (normally work) and forget about life itself. Actually when I stop to think about it, it makes sense that the period I’ve practiced kung fu the most was right after the pandemic after I got laid off from my previous job. I wasn’t working but had some savings and decided to just keep on training.

Well, then I started working again, and started a new concept art course, and suddenly I couldn’t prioritise Kung Fu practice anymore, besides the monthly payment got a bit more expensive, which was enough excuse for me. I stopped training again, tried going to the gym but it lasted about 3 months…

This Tuesday was the first time I practiced kung fu after 7 months. And it made a huge difference on how I’m feeling, and functioning.

After some days as a sedentary I started feeling very tired, moody and feeling a lot of pain in my lower back. Besides that, I was unmotivated to do anything and my mind was blurred… it was like I couldn’t focus or do anything properly. I was starting to feel frustrated about my low productivity and didn’t couldn’t put the pieces together to understand why I was feeling so bad, even started to think I was dragging myself back to depression because of some hormonal issues that I might not be aware of. After I went on my journal, and checked the dates and the entries, I realised my mood started to swing after I stopped going to Kung fu practice, and the sharpest changes happened after I stopped doing any physical activity at all.

isn’t it funny how a simple thing like working out or just practicing physical activity can help your body regulate your hormones and help you think clearly? Sometimes all you need is to punch some punching bags and feel the pain of your muscles working.

Since I started journaling all those cycles I tend to repeat have become more clear to me, and I can always work on them so they become more and more narrow to the point that I have a consistency, and brake the bad habits that put me back into self sabotage.

I can think clear again, and got back to my career plan. I’ve been able to wake up early, and I feel more motivated and capable. All thanks to Kung fu.

[thefanficmonster]

Unlucky

Part 2: ‘Lucky Me’

Corpse Husband x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Corpse decides to email back a person who has sent him quite a few creepy stories. She never seems to run out of scary encounters of both sorts: paranormal and stranger-danger. He gets suspicious that the stories are all made up so she can grab his attention, but he’s in for a surprise.

U/N - username

Requested: No

Corpse’s POV

I’m looking through my most recent emails from fans. They are all of scary encounters they’ve allegedly experienced. By now, I’ve read so many, it’s easy to decipher which are real and which are just made up nonsense. Some, I must admit, give me chills. Big props to the people who write those, especially if they are made up. If you can make someone’s skin crawl with your twisted, frightening imagination, you have one, for lack of a better term and in the most positive way, fucked up mind.

My cursor lands on the familiar username I see almost every other week. U/N. They have been sending stories consistently for about three years now. They, and I’m saying they cause you can never be sure who’s hiding behind the username, are either the most unlucky person to walk the planet or the one with most twisted imagination and story telling skills. I’ll admit, sometimes I narrate a story just because it’s well written. Believability is not the only thing I go by, I also reward creativity. And this person, U/N, has had their spot in many of my videos in the last three years. I’m honestly hoping they are made up, or at least some of them, because not only are there too many of them, but none of them fail to give me that eerie paranoia after I read them or the chills while I read them.

Once again, they have submitted a downright terrifying story. It would be a shame if I didn’t narrate it.

It would be a shame if I....

If I never actually meet them.

This many run-ins with people with malicious intent, always getting away by some miracle, what if they one day don’t make it out alive to tell it.

My heart sinks a little at the thought. I feel like I know this person, like we’ve known each other for three years now. They know the things the whole internet knows about me, and I, along with my regular watchers, know their stories. That’s by no means enough, now that I think about it.

My next action is really out of character for me. I decide to reach out to them. My fingers fly over the buttons on my keyboard too fast for my rational side to try and stop them. Deep down, I know I’m doing the rightest wrong thing I’ve ever done. My previously sunk heart is now in its assigned spot again, beating quickly.

You don’t know what you’re doing

I maybe don’t, but knowing isn’t what’s important right now. I just wanna do it.

~ Hey, this is probably, what, your twentieth story so far. I’m just curious, how many of these are made up? By the way, your stories are amazing and I’ll probably keep narrating them even if they aren’t real. They’re just that good.

I send the email before I can talk myself out of it. I get up from my chair immediately afterwards, putting as much distance between me and the computer as possible, silently promising myself I won’t be checking my mail every five minutes.

Y/N’s POV

I anxiously refresh and refresh my email inbox, waiting for the dreaded email back from my professor. Being halfway through the college experience, I know how tough this professor’s class is and how much I suck at it. I sent him my completed assignment last night, barely making the deadline mind you, so now I’m sweating hardcore, staring my computer screen down.

After refreshing for the millionth time, I’m met with a new email which makes my heart stop for a second or two, my stomach dropping. Then I take the time to read the sender’s name, the subject and the first sentence of the email, and all the previous changes in me reverse. My heartbeat picks up speed, going faster than a galloping horse and my stomach turns, making me feel the sensation everyone calls ‘butterflies’.

Nah, man. This shit ain’t real. It can’t be.

But then again, what if it is. What if I’m about to full-on ignore my favorite youtuber because of my paranoia. Well, it’s not exactly unsupported. My life has been a shit show of unfortunate event and situations I’ve literally had to claw my way out of in order to stay alive. Now, when something of the sort happens, it’s just another weekday. However, I still wanna share these encounters. Not only because they are proof of the dangers girls have to deal with on a daily basis, but they also get narrated by one of my favorite people ever. What more can a girl ask for?

~ Listen, I’m really not looking forward to getting catfished. Please leave me alone

It’s short, not sweet, and to the point. It’s easy to understand, and it clearly states that I’m not falling for it if it’s a scam, but if it’s real....someone call 911 cause I think I’ll faint.

~ I get it, you have trust issues. But that’s understandable. From the creepy guy messaging you on all your social media. To the stalker you had from you high school, or even that teacher that turned out to not be a teacher at all and just a pedo, I see where the lack of trust is coming from. But I assure you, they only thing I wanna do is chat.

The shock and happiness overwhelm me when the reply arrives not even ten minutes later. 

Holy shit, this is him.

I start typing and then erase the typed half-sentence at least three times before receiving another email from him. From Corpse Husband. Corpse freaking Husband. How the fuck am I supposed to compose myself enough to reply to him, let alone sound cool and leave a good impression.

My hand shakes as I click the newly received email.

~ You probably don’t know what to say. Either that or you just don’t wanna talk to me. If you’re just baffled and surprised, reply with your name. If you want me to fuck off, ignore this email completely.

The smile I didn’t realize was there grows into a grin as small bursts of laughter escape me. Laughter caused by disbelief and shock. The type of laugh you let out when you score a good mark on the test you thought you completely fucked up.

~ Y/N. My name’s Y/N. 

PS: The stories are all 100% real. All happened. In the order I sent them too. And before you ask, I guess I’m just unlucky, but you are proving me wrong right now.

I don’t know where that confidence at the end came from, but I don’t care really. All that matters is that this might just actually be happening and it might be the best thing to ever happen to me.

~ Man, you’ve had it rough. Tell me, is there an easier way to access you than email. Like Insta DMs? I feel we have a lot to talk about and email is not the most convenient.

At this point, it feel so much like a fever dream that I decide to treat it as though it is. I just go with the flow.

~ Yeah, but first.....am I really not being catfished right now?

The email I receive as a reply to this message is empty of text but there’s a file attached. Not gonna lie, I am a bit hesitant to open it, but I decide that if this turns bad, I’ll just have to deal with it. In the meantime, I’ll believe it’s not a scam.

It’s an audio file: “No, Y/N, you are not being catfished.”

That voice. That god damn voice. It could convince me of anything. 

And now it’s convinced me into believing him. And finally letting out that squeal I was holding back before sending him my Instagram username.

[spenciegoob]

Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler​ ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me. 

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing. 

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it. 

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around. 

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

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[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

So... I have a lot of thoughts on the finale. I've deliberately kept my mouth shut, more or less, on the campaign overall because I'm a firm believer that you can't pass judgement -- at least not complete judgement -- on stories until they're over and done with.

Well, it's done! Kind of crazy. I've been watching Critical Role with almost insane consistency, viewing almost every single episode live, with maybe five-ish exceptions, since episode 19, and I've been blogging it for, what, two and a half years?

It's a weird feeling. It's been such a constant thing for me that I'm always gonna have love for it and remember with a lot of fondness.

...Which is in spite of the fact that I can now comfortably say I'm pretty eh on the ending. I know not being positive about something most of us have loved a lot for a very long time can sting a bit, but I personally think it also stings when people relentlessly crow over how good they think it is or want it to be, to the point where you feel you can't voice your absolutely valid upsets or dissatisfactions. So, here goes, if anyone's interested! I'd be curious to see other opinions, too!

I actually drafted a post talking about my overall frustrations with the campaign a whole two weeks ago, and then scrapped most of it when 140 blew me out of the water. I was really touched, and really happy. I hadn't expected it, but it shockingly felt right, you know?

Unfortunately 141 robbed me of most of that satisfaction and brought me right back to neutral.

The blanket statement you have to make, of course, is that you can’t criticise this as a DnD game, and you can’t be mad at the cast for playing it in a way they think is best for them. They’re the players, Matt’s the DM, and in the end it makes no sense for them to try to make themselves act how they think the audience wants them to, and I’m sure most of the audience wouldn’t like the result anyway.

That said, there is an audience. And that’s where I see this clash coming in. As a DnD game, as long as the players and DM have all enjoyed it and been satisfied, it’s a successful game! But for us, it’s not a DnD game. For us, we’re watching a story be written in real time through the medium of an RPG. And while as a DnD game you can’t fault it, as a piece of media, I completely get why the way things have gone has sat weirdly for a lot of people.

It's not satisfying to see so many character hooks dealt with so quickly or left as an offscreen "and then you do it." If they don't want to keep playing to dive into it, absolutely, but for us who have been watching this as a story with all these character elements get so built up, it's a huge anti-climax.

Which is a lot of what this campaign has been, really.

Oh, Nott’s cursed! But through a really cool character moment that problem is completely taken care of with no consequences we see. Yay, I want her to be Veth and that was an iconic move from Jester! Still, it kind of feels like this was built up to be a big problem and at the first success it was let go... Caleb's got a really intense frightening past he tries to hide, I wonder how the Mighty Nein will respond? Oh, they found out, but it's not a difficult revelation for anyone. Looks like it's easy for them to move past it and forgive. Yeah, that's healthiest for the characters, but huh, kinda undercuts it as a storyline or point of interest. Oooh, Avantika’s back! Ah, they’ve killed her and grabbed the eye again. I mean I don’t want them to die or for Uk’otoa to be free, but I’m starting to feel like that’s not much of a threat anyway. The Traveler’s been kidnapped! Nah he hasn’t, he tried to save Jester so he was let go with no further issue, and also he wasn’t actually in any danger anyway. Oh... Cool. So... Why should I care or be worried?

And these are just the biggest ones I remember being kind of let down by. I wanted to see them STRUGGLE for the successes to have meaning. To my view, threats of failure -- real failure -- really decreased the more the campaign went on, with a few exceptions.

Because don't get me wrong, we've definitely had struggles, and those have made for some of the best moments! Molly’s death, Yasha’s kidnapping, Yeza’s imprisonment. When failures that were threatened are allowed to occur, it’s far more gratifying when it’s followed by success, because you understand that that success was actually necessary. It shows us that what they do really means something.

Honestly, that's why the final battle really shut me up, because nothing makes you quite feel stakes and failure like having two PCs die, and having a resurrection ritual fail -- AND knowing that failure would be delivered on, had it not been for a seemingly miraculous roll of the dice to turn it around. One of the greatest failure's -- Molly's death -- made the success of his resurrection put a lot of my other issues to rest immediately, because to be honest? Molly's resurrection was the biggest success of the campaign, exactly because it was originally the biggest failure.

But this episode, we got to see the other side of making threats and successes feel disappointing -- when you get the impression that success was robbed from you. Again, their characters, their choices, but to have them roll an intervention to get Molly's soul, to convince Molly to come back with his own possessions they've so loved, after so long and so many struggles... only to apparently not get Molly at all?

Changed, of course. Memories, maybe he'd never get them back, though that seems inconsistent to how the initial resurrection was played and Matt's hints. It even makes sense that not having his memories and being a bit different, he might forge a new identity, but insisting Molly was a different person entirely after such a supposed hard won success to get Molly back, especially after what his death meant to the audience and potentially healing that old wound? It robs the narrative of a LOT of catharsis, at least for me and I know many others.

Trent, too, I'm very up and down on. He was so built up -- and what fun that build up had -- and I very much disagreed with the idea that the best story would be dealing with him offscreen.

It's true that you don’t need to explicitly address, confront, or explore every big aspect of character's story hooks and background ties for PCs to move past them and grow healthily. But that does not make it a satisfying viewing experience. People quietly healing in real life is healthy. People quietly healing in an explosive fantasy setting is frustrating for the audience.

What on earth is the point of a story if you don’t get to SEE THE ESTABLISHED CONFLICTS go anywhere? A lot of the characters got distant, quiet resolutions, if that, to everything we wanted to see.

Except, we did get to see Trent. It was a really fun, inventive battle, from opening to conclusion, but much like Travelercon, much like Nott's/Veth's problem with the hag, these were things that the audience in general wanted to see be really dug into and explored, and every single one of them got, in my opinion, quickly tidied up instead. Trent got beaten in the first and only proper battle they had with him, which, after all his build up, is pretty disappointing for a villain many of us wanted to see be a big deal. It really just felt like they were trying to tidy up to get on with the epilogue, which is not what a lot of us were looking for with Trent especially.

And that's how most of their endings felt to me. It didn't feel like any of them had reached a comfortable conclusion. Literally all of them, bar Veth and Caduceus, continued on their character journey threads, without each other and very quickly. Meeting Yasha's tribe and Vandran, Caleb finally openly debating changing time for his parents, Trent and Zeenoth's trials and the changing of the guard at the Assembly... All were things it would have been so fun to have all the PCs react to and explore together, and instead they were fleeting encounters in the latter half of a seven hour finale.

Is all this, from Molly not really coming back to Trent being a finale side plot to the Nein continuing on their individual journeys, potentially realistic to how these fantastical things might go down in real life? Sure! But that's not necessarily a good thing.

Stories THRIVE on conflict and resolution. That’s what makes them FUN! Conflict isn’t nearly so fun in real life and resolutions are often frustrating question marks, so no, past a certain point I don’t WANT stories to be realistic. I want stories to be SATISFYING.

And campaign 2 has fallen far short of the mark.

I haven’t spoken... Basically a word of this for most of the campaign, because as I said I’m a firm believer that you can’t necessarily judge something until it’s over, and because I ALSO firmly believe that being negative WHILE trying to enjoy something is counterproductive. I have had no interest in spoiling or naysaying the fun of the campaign for anyone, least of all myself.

But it's done now, and all I can say is... I really have had fun. I love the characters. I love their relationships. I’m pretty okay with where they’ve ended up. I’m not mad, really, and I’m still going to think of this campaign with a lot of affection. But it hasn’t been a satisfying story, even though for a week following episode 140 I thought, despite all the brushed over story threads, it might be.

So... to try and reclaim some of that satisfaction for myself, I might ignore some aspects of the finale proper. Namely Kingsley specifically. Taliesin's choice -- but to me, it's pretty clear that who we saw at the end of 140 was Molly, and the tags on my posts will reflect that, just as my 141 tags will be for both Kingsley and Molly, for clarity's sake. I personally want to believe Molly did come back, however others might want to interpret it. The victory in 140 that meant so much to me is hollow otherwise, and it just kind of hurts that we would lose Molly after everything. I was okay with him being dead -- I'm not so okay with his resurrection being stolen.

Kingsley will always be canon, but Molly is what I choose to acknowledge. I get if you don't like that take, and that's okay! I didn't care for canon's in the end. That's the good thing about storytelling, is that no one can stop you from making your own versions.

For the people who are hopefully hyped for campaign 3, heck yeah have fun! I’m on the fence. My investment, which... I think I can objectively say was pretty substantive as this blog will attest, doesn't feel rewarded, so I’m not convinced I can faithfully keep up for over three years all over again with a strong possibility that I will once again be left disappointed. It's been a huge chunk of my life, and... yeah!

I’ll take a break, probably, view (and liveblog, if people want!) campaign 1 when I’ve had a mental stretch and vacation, and then... I might start campaign 3. I definitely won’t be able to put the same time in it I did campaign 2 (my first love no matter what), knowing that it’s likely to not be so vindicated, in the end.

I swear I’m actually writing this in fairly good humour, but I totally get its always disappointing when the people you come to for fandom enjoyment just aren't sharing your fun. Honestly I’m half tempted to write all those frigging AUs I have sitting around! But I wanted to say my piece, and try and logically outline why this ending has been lacklustre for so many people, ultimately myself included.

Episode 140 felt right because it felt like a natural conclusion -- these disparate people coming together and finally being whole, finally soothing the hurt that MADE them so long ago. Episode 141 spat on that sentiment -- they all scattered to the winds, not as happy people to live out their dreams, but as confused people chasing up loose threads towards an unknown future, with the friend they thought returned still lost to them, ultimately.

It doesn't feel like the ending we should have gotten for the Mighty Nine, who were finally, finally all together. Until they weren't. So to me? I choose to acknowledge that they were, even if I have to force it to happen post-epilogue in my head.

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 2

[special dt @bluewingedangel <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

The afternoon sun brought in a relaxing mixture of natural light from the windows, but I wasn’t even remotely focused on it.

My right leg was bouncing hastily under the kitchen table while I prodded my salad with a fork. I tossed a particularly small carrot around in the bowl, swirling it around the sea of other vegetables.

“Are you gonna eat that or play around with it sweetie?” The sound of my mothers voice raced right through one ear and out the other one.

I only sighed in response, and leaned the side of my head on my hand, not bothering to look up at either of my parents that sat across from me.

They urged me to consistently have family meals with them today, in an attempt to dine on the experiences I had away at college. If they’d asked me to do this at any other time, I wouldn’t mind.

But my head was clouded by something else; or should I say by someone else.

Last night refused to escape my line of thinking. Even after it all went down, I went back to bed to try and fall back asleep, but it was absolutely no use.

The cunning quirk of his lips as he smirked back at me was an image that glued itself to the front of my brain. I reeled around in bed until sunrise, unable to silence my thoughts regardless of any persistence. So as of now, I was beyond exhausted.

“y/n? Are you alright?”

I jump faintly in my chair, with my fathers words pulling me away from my cogitation of the man from the pool, “I’m um.. I’m fine, sorry.”

I gave them a toothless smile as reassurance, but by the exchange of looks they both gave each other, they didn’t seem too convinced.

I shifted uncomfortably, and stabbed the carrot I was messing with. I slowly bring it towards my mouth, finally having the compulsion to take a bite.

Until the man’s wink decided to project in front of me, as if I was experiencing the whole ordeal all over again.

I abruptly dropped the fork into the bowl, resulting in a reverberating clash that not only startled my parents, but it startled me back into reality again.

“Jesus y/n, what’s gotten into you?”

I’m asking that same question, mom.

“Nothing, I uh- think I’m just tired,” the excuse flew out of my mouth in a panic, “I’m just.. I’m gonna go shower for the party later.”

I hurriedly sprung from my seat, and scurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Well that was smooth, dumbass,” I muttered out in the open, while slamming the door behind me.  

That son of a bitch is driving me crazy, and I haven’t even had a single conversation with him.

I take a few steps into the bathroom, placing both of my hands on opposite sides of the sink, leaning over with my body weight. With my head bowed down to the direction of my feet, I suspired deeply.

This was stupid. The brief interaction was embarrassing, yes, but with how I reacted today during lunch, especially when the party was happening later on today..

I just needed to stop thinking about what happened last night.

Act like it didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

____________

Turmoil carried on in the form of muffled conversations, and distinct bass from the speakers on the lower levels of the house. Even being upstairs in my room, the walls weren’t thick enough to block the noise that derived from the party.

Of course, my dad’s annual excuse backfired, and instead of the party being fairly small, it was as big as the rest of the parties we've had in the past. Although I really shouldn’t be surprised, knowing this really has carried on for 10 years at most.

As of now, I could only assume that the booze was already out for everyone, and by the end of the night, I could guarantee that almost half the people here will be drunk. It reassured me though, especially when I’ll probably end up being one of those people.

I could use a little alcohol in my system; to let myself go a little bit.

While fixing the straps of my white sundress, I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure any scraps of exhaustion were not visible on my features. Despite longing for a few hours of rest, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to get much yet again.

With satisfaction, I back away from my vanity, and start for the door that barricaded me from the chaos.

The exchanges of laughter became much more pronounced as I slowly opened the door, and traveled down the hall. My feet carried me towards the stairs, shaking from the rumble of the speakers seeping through the walls and floors.

It was a blessing that the noise didn’t affect our neighbors enough for them to make complaints; but that was mostly because they were all here.

With each step down the flight, more of the party overtook my vision. Guests were dispersed amongst every room as far as I could see, gathering around each other in hopes of starting conversation over the music. It had been fairly crowded to say the least.

Immediately after I make it to the ground floor, I’m bombarded by my mother.

“Hey honey, Nathan and Elena are outside if you want to say hello to them!” her slightly raising her voice didn't really help much, with us being right next to the speakers. But I nodded letting her know I understood.

Turning away from her, I then faced the crowd of people in front of me. I start to weave my way through, making slight pauses along the way to thank them for coming. Most of the people around me had a slight stench of beer already, making me scrunch my nose; that smell is definitely going to linger afterwards.

Eventually making it to the door, I slide it open and step out, letting the freshness of the outside air fill my senses. I quickly noticed the difference between the outdoors and the impeded aura from inside the house. It felt like I was finally able to breathe.

After shutting the sliding door behind me, I strolled away towards the yard.

I made sure to make a slight detour to the cooler to grab myself a beer though, rashly cracking it open as soon as I got my hands on one. I take a swig while observing the guests around me.

As soon as I saw a familiar head of blonde hair a few yards away, I could feel myself smile widely. I hadn’t seen Nate or Elena in four years, and being back home now is making me realize how much I missed them.

The both of them had moved into the neighborhood about a year after my family, and that was over 15 years ago. Ever since then, they hit it off more than you could imagine.

They had all gotten so close to one another, that they’d have annual dinners together, game nights and tag along on all of our family trips. They would even bring in their ideal vacation spots up to us, which evolved into us traveling to entirely different countries most of the time.

While Elena and my mom went to any beach they could find, and my dad found the bar, Nathan really wanted to drag me along to the historical landmarks and teach me about everything he knew. It made our relationship blossom, and now I considered him my second father.

Plus, because of him I began to develop an endless love for history.

I liked it so much that I made the decision to go to college for it. Nathan’s reaction when I told him before I left was something for the cover of a photo album, and I just knew already that a million questions were going to arise when I got to them.

I stepped down from the deck, and walked towards them with my lips still curled in a smile.

As I made it closer to them though, my gaze became hazy. With my brows contorting, my confused demeanor became more visible with every footstep I made closer to Nate and Elena.

There was another man wrapped into their conversation. He was taller than the other two, especially Elena. I noticed his hair slicked back ruggedly, from above the others’ heads. Though, I still couldn’t get a proper look at his face yet.

I turned my direction slightly to discreetly see who my neighbors were conversing with. My curious nature was overriding my body.

I should have just listened to that universally cliche phrase.

Curiosity did kill the fucking cat, and I wish it would just kill me now.

From here, I had a clear view of his face. He stood there listening to Nate’s banter, with a cigarette wedged between his lips.

The lips I had been staring at the night before, along with the rest of him.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

By this point I would’ve  been repeating my annual habit of staring in place. But  fortunately, I turned on my heal sharply to try and escape.  

“Oh my god y/n?” My breath hitched while Elena's voice rang out towards me.

Well great.

I held that particular breath in as I turned my body once more to face her. My warm smile returned to my face, but a layer of embarrassment and panic riddled beneath the surface.

“Elena, it’s so good to see you,” I went over and wrapped my arms around her carefully, keeping her baby bump in mind, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she returned the hug, leaning close to my ear, mumbling, “especially when I’ve had to deal with him all alone. I swear sometimes I really question whether the pregnancy hormones are hitting me or him harder.”

I look over at Nate for a quick second, stifling a laugh while I let go of Elena. The two of us continued laughing faintly, certainly gaining the attention of Nate.

“What are you two laughing about? What’d I do this time?” Nate looked genuinely perplexed, which made it funnier.

“Oh nothing, Nate,” Elena and I looked at each other, smirking as she spoke.

Even with Elena and I’s pleasant interaction, that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach just wouldn’t quit. I just knew he was watching my every move.

Especially, when in the corner of my eye, I watched his travel with me as I went to give Nate his hug.

“It’s good to have you back, Crash.”

Hearing the nickname took me away from my thoughts on the man behind me for a moment, and made my smile lift. 

“It’s been too long, Aku.”

We stayed this way for a few more seconds, until I feel him pat my back. I let my arms fall away from him, and return to my spot in front of them.

I then feel my head slowly turn over to the unknown one of the three; well to me he was unknown. 

“So who’s this?” I cross my arms in front of me, anticipating an answer from one of them.

But silence continued to radiate around us. 

They all stood there, exchanging looks with one another, making me raise one of my brows. While awaiting a response I decided to take a long sip of my beer, feeling the cold liquid slide down my throat. 

That is, before Nate finally spoke up, “Y/n, this is Sam,” he paused, and I could see the hesitation written all over him, “Sam Drake.”

I almost choked on my beer as soon as I heard the last name. I thought for a solid minute that my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets. 

“Is this your-” I pointed between the both of them.

“He’s my older brother.” Nate finishes my sentence, as he scratched at the back of his neck. 

My face fell even more if it was even possible.

Wait.

Nate was in his early forties to begin with, so that would make Sam…

I looked at Sam’s face intensely again, specifically at the wrinkles that were tainted across his face. Now that my brain was functioning properly, unlike last night, I noticed how many there really were. 

Great. Not only was I checking out Nathan’s BROTHER, but the man that was more than twice my age.

Fuck.

[finalvortex]

Green.

I’ve got a record player that was made in 2014, Dyed my hair blue, it came out a seasick sort of green. I like vintage dresses when they fall just below my knees, I pretend I scraped them climbing in the trees.

Sometimes I think all I’m ever doing is trying to convince myself I’m alive.

-Daisy the Great, ‘The Record Player Song’

Green is a difficult color to talk about.

Green is a difficult color to talk about because everything in Amphibia, or at least Wartwood, is green. The plants are green. The grass is green. The trees are green. The water is green. The sky is green. The majority of background frogs are green.

Green is a background color.

It’s always there. Ever present, but never significant. Defining every scene by its presence, but never in a way that draws attention to itself. Green is so prevalent, so pervasive, so consistent, that you never really notice it’s there.

Until it’s gone.

Green is Marcy’s color.

Most Marcy episodes deal with her relationship with another character without focusing purely on Marcy herself, because Marcy is always standing in the background, behind everyone else, both in supporting them and in not revealing her true self. Because of this, there are very few times when green stands out.

One notable exception is that Anne wears this green dress throughout Girl Time, when she’s fixated on what she thinks Polly needs instead of what she actually wants - specifically, trying to get Polly to ‘fit in’ with a preconceived societal idea Anne has of what a girl ‘should’ be like.

Huh.

Anne’s back to her regular outfit before the end of the episode, by the time she’s realized that she’s “super wrong” and she shouldn’t be pushing Polly to be something she’s not.

On the other hand, Anne wears a green sampot (pha thung? look don’t expect me to know fashion) in Lily Pad Thai, as she fixes up Stumpy’s and delivers on the promise she made. This is Anne at her most capable and competent, as she easily handles the task of running a restaurant - because it’s something she knows that she’s good at and has experience doing.

The mossman is green and surrounded by cyan butterflies. I don’t have anything to say on that right now, because we still don’t know the full deal with the mossmen, but I thought I’d point it out.

In Cursed!, the color of Barry’s magic is a paler, almost sickly, green, which makes a nice contrast to Maddie’s purple:

Barry, as we know, is a real jerk. But he’s a jerk in secret.

Barry: I played it cool and was sweet, because my image is half my business! I may look nice, but I’m petty and vengeful on the inside!

And you know who else is a shade of light green?

Everything about Tritonio is a fabrication. He pretends to be an ordinary, boring teacher to Hop Pop, and then a cool teacher to the Plantar kids, but he’s neither of those things. He’s a con man. Even his goatee is fake. Hell, I don’t think he’s actually Spanish. And what the first lesson he taught them?

Trust no one.

And then there’s Children of the Spore.

Throughout the entire scene of Gary’s possession, Amphibia’s moon becomes a similarly pale green, which provides an eerie lighting that helps to sell this episode’s horror vibe. This is hardly the last time we’ll see the moon change color, but what’s really interesting is that immediately after Gary is defeated and the threat has passed, the moon turns back to its normal red.

So, either the light of Gary’s mushrooms is making the moon look green somehow, or there’s something more mystical going on. Green is also the color of wit, of course, and these frogs are having their minds taken over. While we don’t know how Gary enslaved most of the town, we can say one thing: he got control of Hop Pop’s kids by tricking him. Like Tritonio, he’s a con man.

As with Anne and Sasha, a lighter shade of green represents Marcy’s positive traits taken to a logical extreme - in this case, intelligence, cleverness, and strategic brilliance become deception, trickery, and lies.

And that’s it for green in season 1, so come back next time when we actually talk about episodes with Marcy in them.