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rrxnjun · 9 months

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where do broken hearts go? [lmk]

you know what they say about past lovers that can remain just as friends - either they're still in love with each other, or they never were in the first place.

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader

genre: exes to lovers. angst, fluff.

wc: 12k (11.926)

warnings: mention of sex, weed and alcohol, heartbreak, swearing, park jihoon of treasure is one sassy bitch and also accidentally somehow the main character of this fanfic plz dont @ me, inconsistent writing style bc i took 3 months and 3 depressive episodes to finish this fic

playlist: where do broken hearts go - one direction / too good to say goodbye - bruno mars / everytime - ariana grande / closer - waterparks / tornado warnings - sabrina carpenter / survive the night - the boyz

a/n: hey do some of you still remember me..... AHAHA tell a friend to tell a friend rrxnjun is BACK! this fic isn't the ideal vision i had in my mind but we are working on not being so hard on ourselves with our writing so! here we are. i still kind of like it :,)

When you walk up to your best friend’s apartment one day with a tub of ice cream under your arm and the biggest pout on your face, Park Jihoon makes a complete list of things you should do to get over your failed relationship with Mark Lee. And while you think your dear friend has some psychopathic tendencies sometimes, you’d say the list is actually pretty reasonable of him.

There’s something about the five simple steps that makes you wonder if it’s really as easy as Jihoon makes it sound. And while you doubt it– because the pinging pain in your heart makes it seem like the heartbreak is truly going to kill you in a few minutes if you don’t do something about it– you give it a try, because come on… you’d do anything to not feel like this ever again.

Step one – cry it out.

“He was a cunt anyway,” Jihoon mutters as he steps into the living room with two spoons in his hands, throwing one of them to you– while almost managing to hit you in the middle of your forehead in the process, adding a concussion to the mix of problems you have going on right now– and you find yourself furrowing your brows at his hateful comment.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, as your best friend, I’m supposed to be on your side, no?” he says as he takes a seat on the sofa next to you, watching as you wrap one of the thick blankets you got for the male around your figure– you bought it mainly for yourself, because his apartment is cold as a freezer and you knew he wouldn’t buy one for you to use in the first place– and shrugs. “Besides, he broke your heart, and any male who does that is a cunt in my eyes.”

“I broke up with him,” you mourn, “so I broke my own heart,” you snicker, despair fully filling you up from the inside– fitting everywhere into your lungs and choking you up from how bad you truly feel. Now, this isn’t your first breakup– you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends in high school (in your baddie era, as Jihoon called it), but Choi Yeonjun from Maths class and Jung Woonyoung, the guy you dated for a total of 2 months over the summer break before he moved away, weren’t exactly boys you found yourself falling in love with. Sure, you liked them, you kissed them and went on dates with them– hell, you even hooked up with Yeonjun once before you realized the relationship truly wasn’t for you– but no one managed to cave into your heart just as much as Mark Lee, your first college boyfriend did.

“But you sure had a reason for it, come on!” Jihoon huffs, taking the tub of ice cream from your hands and opening it for you, since you’ve gotten quite weak from the lack of sleep and nutritions ever since the break up, hands clammy and not cooperating. “You don’t just break up with someone to break your own heart. He did that, that’s why you said goodbye to him,” he says before sitting the enormous tub of ice cream between your two bodies, nudging you to dig into the frozen delicacy.

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts, young lady. We are here to make you forget you ever even dated Mark Lee, so open up, eat the ice cream and focus your attention on Titanic so you can finally cry it out,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, you’d think he’s angry with you. Jihoon has this aura around him that makes you think he’s always at least a little annoyed at everything– but he told you to not mind it and that it’s just his sassy bitch attitude.

He does have a point, though. You broke up with Mark because he broke your heart first– there was no other reason for it. If it was something minor, something small, you were sure you could work on it. You have, numerous of times before, brought up something and had a mature conversation about it– something you always so admired about Mark, being so cautious and understanding when navigating problems in the relationship– but when you bring up the same thing over and over, and it never gets fixed despite him telling you he’ll try harder next time, you think you’re allowed to feel a little heartbroken at his nonexistent efforts. And that’s exactly why you decided to quit the relationship– after a while, you felt like you were putting in more effort than he was, effectively making you feel like he’s not even that interested in dating you in the first place.

First, he just told you he was forgetful. He forgot he promised to pick you up from class one day– and you said that it’s okay, he is busy, after all– and it was the first time it happened, so you didn’t really mind that much, truly. Then, he forgot about the date you scheduled– but it was fine, because you didn’t have reservations anyway, you could change the day to any other day of the week, after all. He kept forgetting the stuff you told him in between the conversations you shared– and it was small things, you understand, but sometimes, you wondered if he was ever really listening to you at all.

Forgetful soon turns not interested in your eyes, and when he doesn’t call you in the evening like he promised he would, when he doesn’t show up to the party you invited him to, because he forgot it was that day, you’re one step closer to calling it quits, because each and every one of these situations sends a sharp pain into your stomach. The last straw was just last week, though– and realistically, it was an important day, as much that you thought the day is somehow gonna fix everything, but the truth is somewhere completely else as Mark Lee forgets about your one year anniversary and never shows up at your doorstep for the dinner you prepared for the two of you like he promised he would.

And it doesn’t click in him two days after either– you don’t even get a text. He got so forgetful over time that he forgot about you completely, and that’s when you took an uber to his place and broke up with him for good.

And even though the breakup was the most painful thing you’ve ever felt yourself go through, Jihoon is right– you’re not the one that broke your own heart. Mark Lee did that for you many times before, and this was just the breaking point.

“Fucking hell, you bought cookies and cream again?” Jihoon huffs when he takes another spoonful of the ice cream into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the sweet taste. Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you wipe your left cheek as you hum, immune to his nagging by now.

“You know I hate cookies and cream!”

“You know, Hoon, I bought this for myself. When you’re the one that’s heartbroken, we’ll share your favorite ice cream flavor instead,” you mumble, munching on the coldness on your tongue, sniffling a little when your eyes avert to the TV screen.

And after that, the teasing from your best friend’s side stops. Maybe it’s just because he hates to see you cry– and he rarely gets the chance, if you’re being honest, since you’re pretty good at handling your emotions– but you secretly know that it’s because when he looks back at the TV screen in front of the two of you, the sad part of the movie hasn’t even started yet and the tears are not the result of the movie, but of your own thoughts instead.

Step two – give him back all of his stuff and the stuff he’s given you that reminds you of him. Demand that he does the same.

Now, step two was a thing most couples do when they break up. Realistically, it makes sense– you wouldn’t want stuff that’s not yours just laying around, and also, it’s just bound to remind you of the person you lost. Naturally, you’d want to return it.

“Why does he have to return my things as well?” you mutter under your breath as Jihoon helps you fold all Mark’s hoodies into a cardboard box, alongside with wrapping the little things your ex boyfriend made out of ceramic for you in tissue paper like you asked him to– even though he complained and said that it shouldn’t matter to you if they break, because you are the heartbroken one– but you held those little things too close to your heart to let them get damaged in the first place.

“Because that’s how it works,” Jihoon hums, watching as you throw another one of Mark’s shirts onto the top of his head, shielding his vision. “What, you don’t want your stuff back?”

“I mean…” you mumble, deeply considering of the fact that the thought of getting your stuff back didn’t even cross your mind until now, before you realize your favorite pair of socks is thrown somewhere in Mark’s drawers– the blue ones with peaches on them– and you suddenly have the revelation that while you don’t necessarily need the stuff back, you’d love to wear those socks again. “I guess…” you note as you walk over to Jihoon and take a glance into the full cardboard box, looking over the stuff and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s like witchcraft, y’know,” Jihoon points out, looking at you with fierce eyes mirroring the stupid idea that just flashed through his brain, “if you don’t exchange the things, a piece of you is still kept at his apartment and you won’t be able to move on.”

And again, Park Jihoon does have psychopathic tendencies, but he may be onto something here. So you listen to him as you nod along and close the cardboard box, ready to drive over to Mark Lee’s apartment and drop off the things you’ve collected from him for the past year. The box includes all of the clothes messily scattered across your drawers and your closet, the picture frame of you two together that you always had on your night stand, the ceramic bowls and a little tiger sculpture he made for you when he took a pottery class with his friend Renjun, and the lost guitar pics you found under your bed and at the very top of your bookshelf from when he used to bring his guitar along and play you songs on rainy afternoons. The only things of Mark’s that you kept were the love letter he gave you for your birthday and the USB with his cover of Justin Bieber’s Off my face on it that he shyly gifted to you on one of your dates; but you would never tell Jihoon that in fear of him getting rid of those most precious memories for you.

It’s good to let go, but you don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to keep something to remind you of the good times. The times you still felt loved by Mark.

“Off we go,” you say, standing up and bringing the box towards your front door, your best friend at your feet. He promised to drive you to Mark’s place– you think he’s worried about you meeting your ex-boyfriend face to face for the first time since the break up, but he said it’s because you’re too broke to Uber all the time, efficiently throwing all the considerate thoughts you were accrediting him out the window– and after a few minutes of the drive, you find yourself standing on the doorstep of Mark Lee's apartment.

Taking a deep breath in and out, almost chickening out with the flood of thoughts and excuses you could say to Jihoon when you come back to his car with the box still in your hands– sayings like “he wasn’t home” or “he didn’t want those back”, the latter stupider than the first– you decide to face your problems head-on and finally knock on the mahogany door, waiting for Mark to answer. And he does– of course he does, because he’s always home, and as his ex-girlfriend of one year, you're painfully aware of the fact– but when that happens, you feel your heart falling all the way down to your stomach, crushing you and suddenly making it hard for you to breathe.

“Um… hi,” he greets you, voice a little groggy, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while– and when you meet his eyes, the deep chocolate orbs you always found yourself admiring and writing silent odes to in your head, you quickly glance away in fear of staring into them for too long and making decisions you wouldn’t like to make.

“Hi,” you awkwardly greet back, clearing your throat and moving a little in your place, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. You're surprised you're able to keep up with the conversation, thoughts running in your brain faster than you can comprehend them, heartbeat ringing in your ears from the unexpected anxiety. Maybe Jihoon was right and you should've taken a shot before coming here– at least you'd have more courage and social skills clearly needed for this kind of interaction. “I… brought you back your things,” you say, finally looking up at the male and chewing on your lips, letting out an awkward, tense laugh when he stares at you with an empty look, “figured you’d want them back,” you add, watching as the male opens his mouth and closes it in what seems to be shock before he presses his lips tightly together and nods at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he watches you clumsily hold up the cardboard box to him, ready to leave his stuff there with him and escape as fast as you can, not really minding how you'll get back to Jihoon's car– if jumping down the window of the entrance hall is the fastest option, you're ready to get to it. The truth is, everything is starting to get a little too hard to bear– his familiar scent filling your nose, the hoodie he wore to your first date enveloping his figure, his messy hair reminding you of the many times you brushed your fingers through it in attempts to smooth it down. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him, but it was starting to feel as if you forgot about him already and were now relearning all the things you once fell in love with again, looking at him in the same light, yet noticing him and all the small details a little bit differently. “Thanks, I… I actually, uh… I have your stuff here too, so if you want it back I’ll– I can just–”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, almost a little too eagerly, “that would be… cool,” you say, trying hard to ignore the fact that he had your stuff packed too, intending to give it to you, and the crashing reality that comes with it, telling you he was prepared to do this before you were and how it’s making you feel kind of shitty.

Mark moves further into the apartment, the sound of him dropping the box to the floor filling your ears before he’s back at the door in no time, a similar cardboard box in his hands that he offers to you with a tense smile on his face. “Wanted to bring it around so I had an excuse to see you, but you, uh… beat me to it, I guess…”

Looking at him as you take the box out of his hands, gaze as if to tell him not to say such words to you when you’re still so fragile to his effect, you only nod and mutter out a simple “Thanks,” before you turn on your heel and intend to take the stairs back down.

“I’ll… see you around, then?” Mark calls after you as you take the first step out– something about it making you feel like it’s the first step out of his life, in a way– and you only nod, because one, you truly don’t know how else to reply to this question, and two, you really, really don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, but you can't bring yourself to say it to his face. Somehow, it would feel like torture to admit it– and you're not prepared for that reality just yet.

Rushing outside and getting into Jihoon's car, you almost feel like you’re on the verge of breaking, and when the male asks you how it went as he’s reversing out of the parking lot, you only bid him a one-word reply before you look through the box on your way home, too impatient to stay back from the memories.

And Jihoon didn’t really think this one through, because the fact that you gave Mark back the things that reminded you of him meant that he did the same, and now all the things you brought along to Mark’s apartment were in the cardboard box, all stained with countless memories and feelings attached to each and every single thing. The artwork you made for him, the little heart-shaped keychain you gave him for his birthday, the plant you gave him that was now long dead and dried out– those were once your stuff, but all in this world with the intention of love being sent out through them to your now ex-lover, and the fact that they’re in your possession again instead of his is not making letting go of Mark any easier.

And maybe Mark was right and he truly was forgetful, because as you rummage through the contains of the box, while you find out your favorite blue socks are nowhere to be seen, surely still buried somewhere in the drawers of his closet, obliterated out of his memory, there’s a gray hoodie sitting at the bottom and it’s surely not yours– it’s his and it was always your favorite, and you always used to wear it at his place when you got cold or when you just really wanted to smell his cologne, and you suddenly don't know if it's presence in the box slipped his mind or if he truly left it there on purpose.

Couldn’t he forget about that too?

Step three – block his number.

The third step comes into place after you accidentally slip out to Jihoon about the phone call you get on a Friday night– more like two hours into Saturday already– and now, most of all, you must admit that your best friend might be right about his advice.

Your phone starts ringing at 2:11 AM, and while you weren’t sleeping– you’ve been having some trouble with dozing off without being overbeared with thoughts lately– the name flashing on your screen shocks you for more reasons than one.

Mark Lee calls you, three weeks after your breakup, in the middle of the night. You haven’t spoken since the time he gave you back your stuff, and even though you’ve done quite a bit of stalking on his social media, you have no news of him or his whereabouts. Naturally, a call from him in the middle of the night startles you and shakes you to the core. He has no reason to call you, so your brain does the math and concludes there must be an emergency– and god knows that even after being hurt by him, you could never ignore him and leave him hanging in a state of need.

So you pick up– with shaky hands and a raging heartbeat, expecting the worst. Listening to the other side of the line, you take a deep breath in and out, bracing yourself for the impact of the words you’re going to hear. The voice on the other side is laced with haziness and his tone is almost a little tired– worn out, even– when he finally greets you from wherever he is.

“Hi,” Mark says, and for a second, your heartbeat steadies itself and the world stops spinning– he sounds okay, and for a moment, you’re grateful to hear his voice.

Humming, as if to collect your thoughts, you clear your throat before you offer him an answer. “Hello,” you greet, “what’s- what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he says, almost a little abruptly to your question. He doesn't overthink his answer and he doesn't give himself time to think if it's a good idea or not– he just blurts it out and now it's your problem to deal with, when it's there, out in the open. Your palms get sweaty and you start to lose feeling in your fingertips, making you take a few seconds to yourself to process the situation before you decide to finally answer to the strange sentence.

“It’s late, Mark,” you mumble, and you involuntarily wonder if the sentence doesn’t have double meaning– it's too late for anyone to call at this hour, and at the same time, it’s been weeks since your ex boyfriend lost the privilege of listening to your voice when he can’t sleep in the middle of the night whenever he feels like it– and it’s now too late to do anything about it or make it any easier to deal with.

“Shit, sorry,” he chuckles to himself, and you suddenly recognise the laziness in his voice to be the effect of his and his best friend Hyuck’s Friday endeavors; the sweet coating of his voice being the effect of none other than the momentary bliss that comes with the relaxation of his body and mind when he's high. “Didn’t realize,” he concludes, making you shake your head at him in disbelief– not really mattering that he can’t see you in the act.

“‘s okay,” you mumble– and in your perfect reality, you hang up the phone now. In your perfect reality, you connect it to your charger and close your eyes, calling it a night. You fall asleep with no thoughts rummaging through your brain and wake up in the morning to a new sunny day, ready to take on the responsibilities of what’s to come, having productive days ended with smiles and a hot dinner you make for yourself just because you feel like it. In your perfect reality, you protect your own heart. This is not your perfect reality, though– and that’s why you stay on the line, listening to Mark ramble on the other side of the phone, intoxicated and slightly out of it. You wonder if he’ll remember calling you when he wakes up tomorrow. You wonder if he’ll regret it, or if he’ll just shrug his shoulders at the fact and go on with his day, not really paying you much thought when he’s sober.

“I was with Hyuck just now,” he says, and you hear the rustling of his sheets on the other side of the line, making you wonder if he’s washed up and ready for bed, “and– and I remembered how we all used to hang out together, y’know… you with us all– you always clicked with my friends and it was so cool and stuff… and I realized, right, they’re not as funny when you’re not around… but anyways… Jeno’s girlfriend asked about you, ‘cause she didn’t know…and telling her felt so silly, ‘cause they all kept looking at me and I knew they were pitying me, but it was my fault in the first place–”

“Mark–”

“No, it’s true. And it’s cool, I don’t– I don’t blame you, or anything. I just… I dunno, I guess it got me wondering…”

The line goes silent on the other side, and you settle into your own bed, giving him time to continue. When he doesn’t say anything for a long time, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“You still there?”

“Yeah. How was your day?” he asks, tone of voice casual as ever, as if he’s forgotten about all the words he’s told you up until now– as if it’s not 2 AM and both of your hearts aren’t breaking at the sound of each other’s voice on the other side of the line.

“It… it was okay, I guess,” you say nonetheless, too hopeless to find a way to end the conversation before he does.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, sighing, “that’s… awesome. You still taking those yoga classes on Mondays?” he asks, and you snicker to yourself– because what kind of question even is that? Who asks that on a late night call, when there are more important things you two need to talk about?

“Yeah,” you lie, still. You haven’t been since the breakup.

“That’s great. Wouldn’t want you to… y’know,” he laughs to himself, “be too sad over this… ‘t was for the better, after all.”

You hear yourself hum– the noise way more stable than your actual words ever could be– and you find yourself feeling silly in the conversation, lying to your ex boyfriend through your teeth; because at the end of the day, you don’t want him to worry about you– because it seems to be the case that he is. And it’s stupid, because he hurt you and you shouldn’t care, maybe you should’ve even show him that you’re heartbroken and that he is the reason behind your pain and the way your life is falling apart, bit by bit, but you don’t find it in you to be so cold and heartless. At the end of the day, you still care about Mark and there’s nothing you could do about it. Turns out that breaking up with him doesn’t magically make the feelings go away– and you knew that, but now you have proof.

“What were you saying before, by the way? You… trailed off at the end,” you say, reminding him of his previous words.

“Oh, that,” he snickers into the microphone again, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he twists and turns in the sheets, “don’t worry about it. It was selfish of me.”

It was selfish of him to call in the first place. But you won’t tell him that.

“What was it?”

“It’s just… I was wondering if I lost you forever, y’know… if there was a chance we could ever…” he trails off again, but this time, you don’t bug him to complete it. You’re not stupid– you know the implication of his words. You’ve known him for a long time, after all– maybe you should’ve predicted this when you picked up the call.

“I mean…” you hum, “you didn’t lose me completely, if that’s– if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” you say, and in the corner of your brain, you can’t even believe the words yourself– but if it was selfish of him to call, you think it’s okay for you to selfishly fill both of you with empty promises, just for the sake of not breaking your heart even further.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “that’s– …I’m glad.”

The line’s silent after that, and you wonder if you two have used up the list of words to say to each other this time, if there’s truly no other answer at the end of this conversation. When the situation gets too much for you to bear, the heaviness finally settling on your shoulders and your chest, you finally find the courage to sniffle out a quiet goodbye.

“Good night, Mark.”

“G’night,” he drags out, mind still cloudy. “Love you,” spills out from his tongue, like a bad habit.

He ends the call before you get to say it back. Maybe that’s for the better.

And the truth is, you should’ve really listened to Park Jihoon and blocked Mark’s number after this encounter. But you didn’t– you’re too weak for Mark’s sweet words, finding yourself still hanging on to his saccharine voice and the muffled ramble he has reserved for you only every time he gets high and loses all self-control before calling you on Friday nights selfishly demanding your attention, somehow falling for him like a teenager over and over again despite promising yourself you're gonna move on for real now.

Step four – date someone new.

“So…” Jihoon starts one day, eyes glued to your skull like laser beams, the tone of his voice so incomprehensible you think he’s going to scold you for the actions of your previous days– even though you haven't told him about the midnight calls with Mark and so if he's not going through your phone, he has no way of knowing. Tense and nervous, still, knowing that the impact of his words could either heal you or cut you open like a knife– damn him for always being so brutally honest, no matter how soft his heart is for you– you smile at him with tight lips, crossing your arms on your chest in defense.

“So…?”

A nervous laugh almost escapes your throat. If Jihoon wasn’t suspicious of you before, he surely is now– or he just finds you strange by the way he furrows his brows at you and scans you up and down, taking a second for himself before he sighs and seemingly decides to drop the weird way you’re acting right now, shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand.

“I was thinking… my friend asked about you,” he says, nonchalantly looking down onto his hands and taking the dirt out from behind his nails, as if it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t even care that much. “Choi Hyunsuk from Biology, you know him– shabby haircut, kinda short, failed the class so he has to retake it this year…?”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that the two of us have completely different majors, Hoonie,” you sweetly smile at him with irony, making him roll his eyes with a sigh before he tries again.

“The guy who ripped his pants at Xiao Dejun’s party last year?”

“Oh, that one! You should’ve said that earlier, of course I remember Choi Hyunsuk from your Biology class,” you nod hurriedly, the gears finally clicking in your brain.

“As if I wasn’t talking about him for the last few minutes–”

“Okay, and what about him?” you cut him off, already tired of his annoying tangent.

“I said he asked about you.”

“I heard that already,” you nod, looking at him with expecting eyes. “And?”

Jihoon stares at you, unblinking, as if you fell on your head and he’s trying to comprehend if you’re still here with him or if you got a concussion and need to be transferred into a hospital. When the contact of his eyes on your skin gets a bit too uncomfortable– you swear his looks could actually kill someone, if he tried enough– you furrow your brows at him in confusion and shake your head in disbelief.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Park Jihoon?”

“Just tryna see if you’re really that stupid or if you’re just pretending,” he mutters under his nose before he sighs again– his favorite activity whenever you’re around, it seems– and speaks up again, tone of voice reminding you of a kindergartener teacher trying to explain why it gets dark in the evening to a bunch of 4 year olds. “You know, when people ask about you, they are usually interested in you, as in, my friend Hyunsuk didn’t ask because you’re nice, but because you’re hot, if you know what I'm getting onto.”

“Oh,” you get out, eyes wide in concern and a little shaken-up, “well, that’s… nice of him, I guess.”

Jihoon only hums at you before he looks around himself and brings out the bag of chips that he left open by his right side only a few seconds ago, not really speaking more about the topic. It’s either he’s waiting for you to get what he’s hinting at, or he’s just waiting for you to get even more confused and ask him about it in a few seconds again– either way, he’s not the one doing more talking right now, because conversations with you, the most oblivious person he’s ever seen, are never productive if he goes too fast.

Chewing on the chips, his eyes go wide when you finally open your mouth and talk more about the topic at hand– just like he predicted. “Why are you telling me this?”

Your best friend swallows before he places the bag of chips back to its original place and turns his whole body so he’s facing you, speaking up again. “I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’d like to hang out with him. Like a date, before you ask– because I know you’re gonna ask– and why? – because, again, I know you’re gonna ask– because I simply think you should try to date again to get your mind off the loser you broke up with two months ago,” he says, blunt and honest, answering all of your unsaid questions at once, and before you know it, he has you snickering and shaking your head in disapproval.

“Absolutely not,” you retort, waving your hands in the air to only further show your disagreement with the proposition, “that would just be a massive catastrophe.”

“Why? Hyunsuk’s nice.”

“I didn’t say he isn’t, it’s just…”

“Just?” he probes you, eyebrows raised and questioning.

“I… don’t know,” you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek, aimlessly shrugging. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Jihoon.”

“Because of Mark?” he asks, and the moment his name escapes your best friend’s mouth, the whole room goes strangely quiet– you feel your heartbeat in your throat, the tips of your fingers start tingling and you swear that if you concentrate hard enough, you could feel a bead of sweat drip down your forehead with the incoming stress and nerves only the mention of your ex boyfriend brings you.

“No, that’s not it–”

“Sure,” he nods, sighing to himself– and there it is again, the judging look you so despise.

“You can’t just expect me to date other people a few weeks after my break up, Jihoon,” you exclaim, “that– that wouldn’t even be fair to your friend. You know I wouldn’t be invested,” you explain, and your friend rolls his eyes in frustration, sighing to himself.

“Oh but I know that! And Hyunsuk does too,” he shakes his head at you, “just thought the company of someone else could take your mind off things.”

“I have you,” you try.

“Yeah, but all we do when we’re together is mope about Mark Lee,” Jihoon snickers, “and don’t get me wrong, I’m more than open to bitch about your ex boyfriend and as your best friend, I don’t mind, but the fact that you’d be hanging out with someone else could take your mind off him, because you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about him with someone else, y’know?”

You shut your eyes closed, a heavy sigh heaving out of your body as you try hard to concentrate and not lose it, and with how Jihoon’s tone gets softer and he’s not as loud with his brutal, yet logical advice, he must feel you getting overwhelmed and accommodates to your needs. “Look, it’s gonna be fun. I promise. Hang out with someone new, feel wanted and hot and pretty again, get some male attention that’s not your ex boyfriend, and you’ll see how it makes you feel. If you hate it, you hate it and you can slap me, I don’t know... If you don’t, you can keep dating around with my friends, and I swear I’ll hook you up only with the nice ones,” he takes your hand into his and waves it around in comfort, making you open your eyes and look at him again.

Seeing the softness and encouragement in your best friend’s eyes, you sigh to yourself. All this time, he’s tried to help you– what if you finally follow his advice? Who knows, it might even help.

Sighing, you squeeze his palm and hover over him to get the stranded bag of chips he’s guarding on the other side of the sofa. “Fine,” you mutter, “but let your friend know that he’s the one paying, okay?”

“Perfect. I'll text him your number, then.“

And maybe Jihoon was right and after dolling yourself up and dressing up in your favorite dress just so you would feel as comfortable as possible, you don’t feel as bad when his friend Hyunsuk picks you up in his white Volvo and chats with you on the way to the restaurant. He makes good small talk and even gets a giggle out of you, the music in his car is low and you find yourself slowly easing into the situation. You don’t remember when the last time you went out with a guy that wasn’t Mark was, but it’s surprisingly nice.

And Jihoon was right– you feel pretty. And when Hyunsuk opens the door for you after pulling up to the parking lot of the restaurant, you even feel wanted. You like the attention, just like any other girl would, and the smile you offer to your date seeps of tender shyness as you get out of the comfortable seat of his car.

The illusion, though, is soon broken as you notice the restaurant he pulled up to. Your smile freezes, your palms get sweaty and you feel your heartbeat rummaging against your ribcage as soon as the idle atmosphere of the restaurant opens up before you. And realistically, you could turn on your heel and get back to the car, tell Hyunsuk that you want to go to another restaurant– but you don’t do it, against your biggest wishes, because you worry that the boy already made a reservation and you don’t want to ruin an evening that’s going well so far.

“Everything alright?” your date checks up on you, seemingly noticing the frown on your face, and when his worried eyes meet yours, it’s sealed– you’d feel too bad for pulling out of the date now. So you only do what you always do best– you put on your best relaxed smile and nod, catching up to him and ensuring him that you’re all okay and you didn’t just talk yourself out of an anxiety attack.

Because you owe it to him and to Jihoon– both of them worked so hard to make you feel happy and help you to get over your ex boyfriend. It’s not Hyunsuk’s fault that he just managed to pick the restaurant your said ex boyfriend works at part-time. He had no way of knowing, and if you’re lucky enough, Mark wouldn’t be on today. He only works here part-time, it’s not like he’s here every day, and as far as you’re concerned, he only worked like two or three days a week when you dated. It would be a weird coincidence for him to be working the day you go there with your new date– you hope you’re not that unlucky.

Hyunsuk is a gentleman. Opening up doors for you, pulling out the chair for you, letting you talk and not interrupting you. He watches you with fond eyes and you almost try to feel bad for the fact that even if this ended well, the poor boy would just end up being a rebound. He deserves so much more, and you start to worry if this date was a good idea after all. Wasn’t it selfish of you to agree to this?

“What do you want to get?” he asks as you open up the menu, and you squint at the prices, mentally taking a note to order the cheapest thing just in case he wants to pay for you at the end of the evening.

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” you blurt out, despite it not being your favorite meal. Hyunsuk just stares at you with squinted eyes, but doesn’t disagree with you. After all, he has no way of knowing that you dislike the taste of the sauce in most restaurants– even though your conscience tells you that Mark knew that and always made sure to remind you about it before ordering for you, worried that you won’t get to eat much that evening– the only thing left to hope is that it tastes good in this particular place.

“Okay, sure,” he nods and puts the menu down, smiling at you before engaging in a comfortable conversation with you. It feels like you’ve known Hyunsuk forever– his personality oddly reminding you of Jihoon’s caused mainly by the fact that the two have grown up together. Everything flows soundly, but you still find yourself anxiously picking at your cuticles as you cautiously look around the restaurant, fearing the fact that you could catch a glimpse of your ex boyfriend at any second.

And maybe you should be a psychic, because those bad feelings were not there for nothing– when you see a waiter walking out of the back and eyeing your table, ready to get your order, the boy is a few inches taller than your current date, raven hair messy, but still a little styled, dark circles under the man’s eyes, and there he is– your ex boyfriend. Mark Lee halts in his movements, wearing his work uniform, eyes wide, a hint of something that breaks you at least in two mirroring in his orbs before he turns on his heel and disappears in the back again. When he doesn’t come back and his co-worker joins you and Hyunsuk at your table with a warm smile, you stop waiting to see the glimpse of him you selfishly desired to catch despite fearing the interaction the whole evening.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear in the depths of this earth. For some reason, you feel mortified. What would he think? And why do you even care about his feelings? A million different thoughts run through your brain and you worry that you’re being too distant from your current date, but Hyunsuk’s warm eyes reassure you that he doesn’t mind.

Piercing the food on your table with your eyes, you try to battle the noisy words running around your brain.

It’s easy to say you’re over someone when you don’t see them. To have them in front of you, meet their gaze and acknowledge their existence and still be able to nod and say that you’ve moved on, is something completely different.

Were you ever convinced that you were over Mark Lee in the first place, though?

After all of this– the months of following Jihoon’s advice, although making a few mishaps along the way as you continue to pick up Mark’s calls on Friday nights, snoop around his socials and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, overthinking everything and making you wish the relationship never ended in the first place– it’s time for the last step of it all. The last, most crucial part of this whole moving on process– the most important one, if you may.

Step five – avoid him at all costs.

Sounds easy, right? After the four previous steps, you’d already cried plenty about the lost months with your ex-boyfriend. You’d already given him back all of his stuff, not tying yourself to him with any material memory. You’d already gone on a date with someone new, choosing to distract yourself instead of letting yourself feel the emotions. After all the previous steps, this one’s supposed to be the easiest one. The one you’re supposed to want to do, after all. The break-up wasn’t messy, but it was still painful– it’s only natural for you to not want to see Mark ever again, right?

Wrong.

Because you never listen to the advice you’re given. That just wouldn’t be you, would it?

And so when Mark Lee calls you one day and tells you that he has a free train ticket to the Bukhansan stop, explaining that he was supposed to go hike there with Donghyuck who canceled on him last minute because of an assignment due midnight, you don’t really hesitate much before you shoot him a short text saying that you’re down and get ready for the short hike.

When you meet your ex boyfriend at the station, his figure slightly slouched up until the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel the quiet tension in the air. You’ve seen each other a few times before this meeting– on a party you went to with Jihoon, at the campus when you went to class one morning, your ex boyfriend walking you towards the Art building, hell, you’ve even met in the grocery store, all accidental and making your heart leap in your chest with tension. This time, though, you’re here completely intentionally, just to hang out with him, and something about the fact makes a dull pain shoot all through your intestines, a sensation so uncomfortable you try to hide with a tight-lipped smile.

“Ready for the hike?” he asks, adjusting the bag on his back, playing with the straps with clammy fingers. You can’t help but notice how he looks just like a little boy, in his little world, shielded from everything. He seems to have taken a protective stance, and you hate how the air between you shifted from how you two used to be when you were dating. Mark seems scared. Nervous. On top of his feet. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this at all.

You’re already here, though. Turning around and leaving wouldn’t really work right now, as you take a step towards the train that’s just arrived, humming to your ex boyfriend in agreement. Taking a seat on the place Mark’s pointed to you on the train ticket, you try to loosen up your muscles and get as comfortable as you can, clearing your mind as you gaze outside of the window.

“How have you been?” he asks, clearing his throat.

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you turn to him as you search for an answer. “Better,” you nod, voice quiet. “You?”

Mark hums, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Good, good,” he lies through his teeth, “I’ve seen you at the restaurant the other day,” he hints, and you battle the sigh that’s begging to cut out of your throat. You don’t know where he’s going with the sentence. It’s not a question– only a proposition, barely even that– and you could ignore it with a nod of your head, you could pay it no mind as you see the bitterness in his gaze and the slightly self-conscious averting of his stare. You don’t know where he’s going with the conversation, but frankly, you don’t know where you are going with your answer either, as you shrug to him in a casual manner and peep under your breath.

“Yeah,” you say, “that was just… Jihoon’s friend from uni, I suppose,” you complete, and the sentence hints at nothing– it doesn’t clear out the confusion, it doesn’t outright say anything that could make Mark believe that it was just a casual hang-out with a friend, but still, you see the boy visibly relax as he nods to you and offers you a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh,” he hums, looking out of the window, past the profile of your face. The change in topic is sudden and sharp, but also welcome as he falls into a casual conversation with you, and suddenly, you’re reminded by the Mark you once knew– the guy you’ve once called not socially awkward, but so social that it’s awkward– as he talks to you about his day and rambles on about the weather. “It’s good that it won’t rain today, I bet the view will be nice.”

Locking your gaze with him for a brief second, you lick your lips and point your eyes towards the ground. It’s good that it won’t rain today, as opposed to last time you two went to the Bukhansan trail. You wonder if he remembers.

Before you have a chance to mention it– and in all reality, you won’t, no matter how bold you could be feeling at the moment– the train comes to a stop at your station and you hop out of the carriage, ready for the hike.

It’s easy to forget how messed up things have gotten between the two of you when you walk alongside with your ex boyfriend, laughing at his silly jokes and gasping at everything he shows to you with a pointed finger, finding yourself admiring the sound of his giggle when he spots a squirrel pass your path somewhere near the top of the hill. The trail is almost empty at this hour, since the two of you have decided to go in the late afternoon, and you find your soul to finally be at peace after so many weeks, you finally feel relaxed in the nature, one with the wind and the gentle sound of birds chirping lullying your running thoughts to a rest.

You realize that this is just what you needed all this time. You needed to get out and walk for some while, to tune out yourself and to accept the fact that you’re still here, for another day, and something about that is still a blessing. Watching the back of Mark’s head as he walks a step in front of you due to the narrowness of the trail in this area, you smile to yourself. It’s easy to forget just how much you were hurt by him when he heals your soul with such a simple gesture. It’s easy to forget you were hurt when he seemingly tries to put all the broken pieces back together, glue them to where they were in the first place, when things were easier and you both didn’t have so many things to worry about.

You reach the top just as the sun starts setting over the horizon, and there are only a few people scattered across the peak, sitting on their own picnic blankets and gazing into the distance. The hues of the sky paint the world in a different color, the oranges, pinks and muted purples playing with your heartstrings as you come to a halt and crouch down and feel the presence of another soul mirror your actions only a meter away to your right, his gaze glued to your side. The view is beautiful, but the feeling of being watched isn’t ignorable anymore, and so you turn to your companion and raise your eyebrows at him, wondering if he has something to say.

You don’t know how you’ll be able to come back to your life after this and pretend you still don’t want to spend every passing second with the man on your right. You don’t know how you’re supposed to ignore the ever so growing love for him– even though after being so disappointed with the past, the feelings should be decreasing, not doing the opposite– and frankly, you don’t even want to think of going back to the way it’s been for the past few months. And so you don’t– you allow yourself to indulge the moment, to ignore the pain that’s about to come, just so you could hold another beautiful memory to your heart and enjoy the moment before it hurts you to think of it tomorrow morning.

“It’s even more beautiful than the last time,” Mark hums, but his eyes never leave your figure– if you were still dating, you bet he’d come out with a cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the view, or something. “It didn’t rain this time around, thank god.”

Gazing at him, you shake your head in disbelief. Scoffing, you play with the grass between your fingers. “You remember that?”

“Yeah,” he hums, “I remember a lot of things.”

The sentence makes you bitterly chuckle. He knows why you’re reacting the way you are– and you have every right to. He claims to remember a lot of things, but the ones important to you, the ones you wanted him to remember, he failed to save into his memory. And that’s eventually what made you break up with him, at the end of it all.

At your reaction, he sighs and drags a hand across his face, seemingly realizing the weight of his own words and just how ridiculous he must have sounded to you right now.

“I- That-” he stutters, shaking his head, “that sounded stupid right now, considering… everything… Didn’t it?”

“Kind of,” you nod, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice suddenly raw and serious, so different to the tone he’s been using with you the whole afternoon, “I don’t- I can’t remember if I said that back then, when you- when you… broke up with me, but I really am sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that, and I am in no way shape or form trying to make this about me, but I hate myself every day for the way things turned out and if I could go back to that day, I’d do so many things differently.”

The sky in front of you deepens in reds and you taste iron on your tongue, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’ve managed to bite on your lip too hard in the midst of the conversation. Tearing out stems of grass with your clammy fingertips, you focus on the clouds running through the sky, calculating your next response.

“Okay,” you nod, not giving him much else. The answer perfectly encapsulates the way you feel on the inside right now– you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, if you’re ready to let go of it and act like you weren’t hurt or that none of it ever happened, but you listened to him and you internalized his words. He is sorry. He knows he was in the wrong. And you were aware that he knew all of this before– hell, you’d even go as far as say he knew it the moment you knocked on his door that day and told him it was over– but hearing it from him surely moved something inside of you to a more comfortable place.

“I-” he starts, voice breaking making him clear his throat before he continues, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. And I know I shouldn’t have expected you to still be my friend after all of this, and that- I shouldn’t have even called you so many times and approached you at the store and stuff, but um-” he mumbles, shrugging to himself, “I guess I just couldn’t stay away from you. And again, I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to do anything, really. So… yeah…”

Snickering at his aimless monologue, you shake your head in disbelief. “Mark?”

“Yeah?” he stares at you, eyes a bottomless pool of emotion.

“Why did you invite me here today? What was the… point, I guess?” you ask, hugging your knees to your chest as the breeze makes goosebumps appear all over your body.

Mark offers you a sad smile, head leaned to his right as he shrugs, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours as he spills the truth into the air. “I guess I was just feeling selfish today,” he hums, and the sentence makes you cringe with the memory of his first call to you after your break up, “wanted to spend time with you.”

“Here, of all places?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “told you. I was feeling selfish.”

Snickering, you look away, staring at the sky again. The colors are starting to blend together into a deep, dark purple– the horizon darkening as the sun starts to say its final goodbyes to the day. You sigh to yourself, yet feel no bitterness or terror at his words. Somehow, you understand. Somehow, you get him a little too well. Somehow, you think you knew the moment he texted you today, and somehow, you think you felt it in your bones when you didn’t say no, although you could have. There’s calmness in your soul when you nod at the implication of his words, leaning back on your elbows and plopping your bottom to the ground, sitting at the dusty surface.

“You said you didn’t expect anything out of me today, Mark.”

“And I don’t,” he says, voice soft.

“And you brought me here to remind me of the last time we went?” you stare at him, a hint of a bitten-back smile playing with your lips. “Because you’re selfish?”

He nods, not escaping your gaze. “To remind you of the last time we went. To show you that… I remember, I guess. And that I still care, just like the last time. If not more.”

“Mark, you can’t just say all of this and expect nothing out of me right now,” you mutter.

“Actually, I can. Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m just… laying it out in the open, and what you do with the information is completely, completely up to you,” he explains, and you find yourself chuckling at him, the atmosphere instantly lighter as you hear his voice in its usual casualness, talking to you as if he was just unpacking what went on in class today, and not the starting and the end of your one year relationship.

And he’s right. What you do with the information is completely up to you, and the next steps and the progress of your relationship with Mark Lee is also completely in your hands. You could turn away and never talk to him again, you could curse at him and tell him that it’s too late now and he missed his chance, but if that was the case, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t be inviting you to this place, lying about his roommate canceling just to trick you into going, and you wouldn’t be blindly accepting the invitation, wanting to see where the afternoon brings you.

“So you still care about me?” you hum, looking at him from under your eyelashes, noticing his slouched-over pose as he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Always have,” he admits, “never stopped. Despite not really… acting like it in the past few months.”

“Why’d you stop acting like it, then?” you ask.

A sigh escapes his lips, his head turning forward before he leans back and sits cross-legged on the ground, more comfortably now. Shrugging, he answers the question. “I guess I just got too caught up with different things. And don’t get me wrong, you were always my priority, always, but I was all over the place with everything and my mind just couldn’t… there were too many things to keep up with and I couldn’t stay up to date with everything,” he says, “and I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and it doesn’t make it better or undo the pain I’ve caused you, but it’s… at least you know it was never because I’d care about you any less.”

His eyes bear into yours with such honesty you think the weight of the world will crash on you any minute, and suddenly, the whole situation seems so much clearer.

And you wouldn’t take it back, you wouldn’t undo the breakup or do anything differently, because at the end of the day, you think it was needed. Perhaps the time apart was what he needed as a wake up call and what you needed to shield yourself from hurting more.

“Stop me from saying it if you… if you don’t want to hear it right now,” he hums, voice barely louder than a whisper. There seems to be a silent communication between the two of you, a connection of some sort that brings out the strange telepathy, but you just nod at him, a gentle smile playing with your lips as you understand exactly what he means, telling him that it’s okay and that you don’t mind– you welcome, you need to hear him say it again.

Licking his lips, he turns to you fully, facing you. There’s not a hint of nervousness in his body, having done this a lot of times before, and then it happens– the repeated confession, confirming what was there the whole time, never leaving even when the times were rough.

“I love you,” he says.

And isn’t that all that’s needed?

A year is a long time with someone. Somehow, you wouldn’t want the time to go to waste. At the end of the day, if love is still present, isn’t it worth trying? One more time?

“And you still don’t expect anything from me?” you ask, gazing at him softly. “You don’t expect me to say it back?”

“No,” he breathes out, shrugging. “I just needed to get it off my chest.”

“Because you’re selfish like that,” you nod, teasing him.

“Because I’m selfish like that,” he agrees, breaking out into a slight grin.

Looking at the sky, now completely dipped in dark purple, you sigh to yourself at the turmoil of the conversation. You don’t say it back– although you feel it, you know it’s in there, playing with your heartstrings and clenching the muscle in the palm of its hand– you know love is there, deep inside, for the man that’s currently staring at you as if you hung the very stars appearing on the sky there yourself, stolen them from your own eyes and gluing them there selflessly, for everyone to see. You don’t tell him you love him back, you don’t tell him you forgive him or accept his apology. You don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring you, what your brain is going to tell you when you come down from the hill and get home, lay in your bed and overthink. You let the worries escape you, letting fondness and calm envelope you in a tight hug instead.

“Okay,” you nod, watching the boy next to you look at you with curious eyes. You take his hand into yours and place it on your thigh, playing with his fingers for a heartbeat before you meet his eyes again and smile. “I won’t say it back, but for all it’s worth, Mark… I’m glad you remembered.”

And that’s all he needs– there is love, there is fondness, and there is the silent confirmation that all you need right now is just a bit more time.

Where do broken hearts go?

Somehow, you think they hold on to the place where it all started. Somehow, you think your heart never went anywhere– it stayed on this hill, waiting for you to pay it a visit and pick back up everything right from where you left it.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to go here today, Y/N,” Mark laughed behind you as he looked up to the sky, the dark clouds shielding the sun that had been previously shining down on your hiking figures, casting an orange glow on the strands of your hair.

“Well, there’s no turning back now,” you shrugged, turning to him and grinning as you tugged on his hand, grip strong as you dragged the boy up the trail, your sneakers fast against the dirty ground. “We have finals starting next week and it’s gonna be too cold to go after the exam season is over, so we gotta go now.”

“I kind of regret telling you that I’ve never been here before now,” Mark sighed, but followed you nonetheless, breathlessly following your excited stride. It was October, the leaves on the trees were welcoming the two of you in shining colors, and the wind kissing your skin turned a bit chilly in the evenings– courtesy of the warm hoodie Mark shyly lended you when you shivered for the first time, adoring the way you, his friend, looked in the light gray fabric. Something about you wearing his clothes made the boy a bit hopeless about the day. Maybe he’ll have enough courage to confess his feelings to you, he thought. Maybe, despite the first raindrops falling on the skin of his bare arms, this evening will have a happy ending for you and him.

“Oh, please,” you squinted at him, continuing to run up the hill– thank god it wasn’t that steep, serving both of you as the perfect hiking difficulty, “even if you wouldn’t have, I’d drag you here anyway. It’s like, my favorite place to go in Seoul, haven’t I told you before?”

You have, Mark thought. But he was okay with hearing it again.

You squealed when the raindrops got heavier and the rain started pouring faster on the two of you, and Mark found himself laughing at your running figure. He was right behind you, praying that you don’t slip on one of the rocks and break your leg on the hiking trail, but he encouraged you with sweet comments and a hand on the small of your back as he watched the tip of the hill appear right in front of his very eyes, your body coming to a satisfied halt when you reached your destination.

“Tada!” you grinned at him, twirling a little like a ballerina, showing him the place with outstretched arms. He tried hard to observe the place, but his eyes stayed glued to your excited figure, gaze bearing into yours as you looked at him, amidst a little flustered, with sparkly orbs and a bright smile on your face. Your hair was a mess, his gray hoodie enveloping your body was slowly growing darker in color from absorbing the rain, and your sneakers were getting a bit muddy from walking around the place. He wanted to remember this moment forever, he thought– this version of you, the smiley expression on your face, the carefree and excited nature of your step.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you exclaimed, jumping around and nearing the boy, but as you went to take his hand to drag him around the top of the hill once more, your feet slipped and you fell forward, a surprised squeak battling its way out of your throat.

Your whole life flashed in front of your very eyes in that moment, embarrassment spreading down your neck at the fact that you were about to fall face first onto the ground in front of your crush of a few months, before your body collided with a soft, yet firm mass engulfing you closer. A pair of strong arms steadied you against his chest, and when you looked up at your friend, you swear all words were taken out of your dictionary, the sight leaving you speechless.

“It is,” he gaped, eyes bearing into yours. Mark was agreeing with you, but something in the back of your head was telling you that he didn’t really admire this place as much as you did– his curious gaze was always plastered somewhere completely else.

That place being your face, of course. And your eyes, your cheeks, the mess of your bangs, and occasionally– screw that, almost always– your lips. Much like in that moment, a few centimeters away from his face, so inviting he thought it would be a crime to contain the urge.

And so he didn’t– he didn’t control his feelings and the ever-so growing yearning for you, as he silently leaned towards your face and captured his lips with yours in a firm, yet short kiss.

He looked at you with a nervous tint behind his gaze when he leaned away, the sight of your wide eyes staring at him making a slight flush grow on his cheeks. You looked so beautiful in that moment– flustered, surprised, with messy hair and lips still apart– and he was relieved to not find a hint of a displeased emotion in your expression.

“Okay, so- well-” you stuttered, laughing to yourself, “this didn’t go as I planned, but I guess I’m happy as long as the final result is the same,” you hummed, standing on your tippy-toes and pressing your lips against him once more, this time letting yourself enjoy the moment fully, mouth moving against his in a careful, yet excited rhythm. He tasted like the strawberry candy you offered him on the bottom of the trail and smelled a bit like rain, the mixture always staying in the depths of your mind as his warmth enveloped you in comfort and a feeling of home.

“The final result being…?” he asked when you pulled apart once again, a dazed expression overtaking his sharp features.

“Us,” you shrugged, “like this,” you clarified.

Mark laughed at that, hugging you closer to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of raindrops washing away the top layer of dirt off the rocks on the tip of the hill, hands sneaking around his waist and enjoying the way they wrapped around him so tightly and so comfortably. You in his hoodie, in your favorite place, standing in his arms. It was raining, but it didn’t matter.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“If we ever get lost, or something happens… bring me back here, okay?” you mumbled close to his ear, lips gently glazing the skin of his ear, making goosebumps appear all over your new lover. “I’m convinced that this place could fix everything.”

“Even us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not allowed to ever leave me now, what would there be to fix between us?” you smacked his shoulder, snickering to yourself.

“You never know,” he laughed, “what if I accidentally mess up somewhere along the way?” he asked, threading his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the wet mess.

“Okay then,” you hummed, “even us.”

Staring into your eyes, letting the moment play out by itself, Mark swore he’s never felt more at peace. He wondered if it was the effect of the place, the rain, or just your sheer presence. “I’ll remember that,” he giggled before he let go of your body, petting your head as he took a hold of your hand, tugging you down from where you came from, “now let’s go home before we catch a cold.”

Nodding, following the man as you both carefully, yet fastly made it down the trail, you enjoyed the way his hand fit into yours and the way you knew that after this, you can’t ever come back to being friends with Mark Lee. He was all yours, completely, utterly yours, and you knew in the back of your head, that you were his– and nothing will ever change that.

You would always come back to the hill with him. It felt ridiculous to think about you two ever having to fix anything between the two of you back then, but even in that moment, you knew that for him, you’d keep trying. As long as he does– as long as he remembers.

Where do broken hearts go? You guess they always come right back to the place they come from– and they leave glued back together every single time.

You guess your heart never really left the hill.

1K notes · View notes

leafostuff · 8 months

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Eyes On me [Ft. IVE's Liz]

Tags: panic attacks comfort, fluff, girlfriend!Liz

Author's note: It's been a while since I wrote for IVE, but I hope this one will do well. Plus, this will be a callback to my wattpad Era, where I used to do more comfort fics.

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there are three kinds of nights in your life.

The first kind is the normal nights, which after hitting the gym, eating dinner, taking a shower, and living overall like a functioning member of society you find yourself falling asleep at 11 PM, maybe 12 AM if you are really not that tired.

The second kind is the nights where you decide to laugh at the concept of sleep, channel your inner shut in and play video games for the whole night, or just goof off with your friends on discord until the sun rises

However, sometimes you have those nights where you find yourself in your bathroom at 3 AM, throwing up all of the food you ate in the entire day and overall being miserable?

Unfortunately, tonight was the third kind of night.

Do you have any idea how you got to this situation? Nope, all you could remember is that around 1 AM, you could only feel your stomach hurting like crazy, your anxiety levels going to the 11 forcing you to go to the bathroom to try and calm yourself

However, even after an hour this was to no avail since still you found yourself throwing up while your eyes were full of tears. "Absolutely fantastic, now the one thing that can fuck me up is-" your thoughts were suddenly stopped by a light touch on your shoulder

As you look up you find your girlfriend Kim Jiwon looking at you, she was wearing a white sweatshirt, which was probably stolen from your closet.

Long black hair just like the night sky and eyes that could show sadness was the only thing you could see from your fully teared eyes as your girlfriend kneeled down before you, letting her arms wrap around your body.

"Another anxiety attack?" She asked since those events were not new to your girlfriend, at least once a month she had to stay up all night with you to try and relax you, to the point it was impressive how she still wanted to stay with you

5 minutes of brushing your teeth and a spare change of pajamas later you walked toward your shared bed with Jiwon as she looked at you with a weak smile, but it was enough to make you feel happy and in the same time: somehow guilty

"Do you know what happened that you are feeling like that?" You simply shook your head in response as she just sighed, "Oh well, it's OK... let's just go to the bed ok? After you brush your teeth" she added, trying to close her nose to block the scent of the puke.

"I don't deserve you." That was the first thing you said while you inched slowly toward Jiwon as she laid her head on your shoulder.

"Ahhhh, so that is what you are anxious about?" She asked while she turned on the TV to a random episode of friends. You could only nod as your girlfriend pulled you into an embrace

"I just..." You hesitated, which in reaction Liz leaned and kissed your forehead. Even after numerous times, she has done that it still surprises you

"Just what?" she asked, he eyes pleading for an answer as you couldn't handle it anymore

"That I am too anxious for you" her reaction could only be puzzled as she tilted her head sideways, letting you explain

"You just... deserve someone who isn't depressed all the time or a scar-" You were shutted by your girlfriend's lips on yours, their sweet taste however was short.

"I. Will. Always. Love. You, " Liz said, each word was spoken clearly as your cheeks turned red from embarrassment. However, as you tried to turn away, both her palms on your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pleading eyes.

"Eyes On me okay baby? I will always love you, say it" she requests as you have no choice but to sigh and comply

"I will always love you" you recited her words as she smiled cutely and pecked your lips.

"Good, now... let's go sleep okay, baby?" She asked, however, as her hands went over to your back she could feel you shake.

"...you are still stressed, right? It's ok, let me help you relax, " she said as her hands reached to your back under your shirt, her fingers lightly tapping on your back, causing you to instinctively let your head find its rest on her chest.

You slowly start to destress yourself by taking deep breaths, "Good baby...I'm here for you," she said while pecking your forehead, "you need this sleep...more than me" she added as you finally close your eyes, the first snore is able to be heard from your unconscious self.

And the last words you manage to hear before fully drifting into dreams.

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#kpop fanfic #kpop #fluff #kpop fluff #ive lockscreens #ive messy moodboard #ive fluff #ive #ive liz

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atom-writings · 7 months

Note

Can I request the allies helping their S/O when their depression keeps them in bed for a few days, which isn't normal for them.

hetalia allies when their s/o is going through a depressive episode

1.8k words ~ gender neutral scenarios

tw: theyre not always the best but they figure it out (:

a/n: hope this was ok. if u want just like, comfort, thats cool and i can do that too seperately (: but anon i totally get i got crippling depression too. were alll in this togeeethherrr

America

Depressive episodes were nothing out of the usual for you. What was out of the usual though, was just how horribly this one was hitting you. But it seems like the person who it hurt the most, was Alfred.

Once you began spending the majority of your time in bed, he began to bother you incessantly. It'd be more annoying for you if it wasn't clear just how much Alfred was panicking.

Every day he returned from home to find you in your miserable state, he would question your sudden episode over and over again until one of you fell asleep. He offered to take you somewhere, to buy you everything, anything to get you back to normal. No matter how much you insisted that none of that would help, he continued.

That was until one day, upon his return from work, he didn't immediately come up to interrogate your lack of motivation. From your shared bed, you could vaguely hear him fumbling around downstairs. After a while, his footsteps finally echoed up the stairs.

Your door creaked open slowly, revealing Alfred awkwardly carrying bags of snacks as well as a TV. He rushed forward to throw everything on the bed before starting to hook up the TV in front of the bed.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?“

”What are you doin'?“

”Making this room fun to be in,” He answered bluntly, but his tone was kind.

After a minute, he finished setting up the TV and crawled into bed with you. Before you could say anything, he pulled you flush against his side.

“Staying in here is no good for you, but at least there's ways to make it... less bad.” He told you softly.

You took a moment to respond, ”Can... can you stay in here with me?“

”I'll stay in here until you're ready to leave, K?“

England

As soon as your illness began to rear its ugly head, Arthur took notice. It's not like it hadn't happened before, after all. The unusual eating habits, the exhaustion, how less excited you would become over things you love, it's all typical. So he would help the way he usually did.

If you're too tired for work or school, he gets you out of it. If you're hungry, he makes whatever you want anytime. If you're slacking on chores, he makes up for it two-fold.

The entire time you spend gloomily sitting on your phone or watching TV, Arthur is running from place to place in a panic. It's clear why, he's just desperately trying to ”solve“ your sadness. After all, over his many periods of depression, he always works himself to the bone to get through them. He struggles to understand how you can just... sit there.

But of course, that's not how human depression tends to work. Seeing him so motivated did nothing but make you more insecure about your own sudden ”laziness.” Living in an incredibly clean house only helps for so long until it starts feeling weird.

The only place safe from his worried frenzy was the bedroom, where you lay nearly all day. It was quiet there, at least. Not frustrating like everything else. That was until Arthur interrupted your silence by joining you in bed with a huff.

“Love, you've been in here all day.”

You didn't respond, simply nodding and rolling to face away from him.

“What's wrong?”

Still, no response.

He grabbed your shoulder lightly, trying to pull you to face him.

“What is it?”

“You know what's wrong.”

He sighed, before laying down as well. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him, his soft breath hitting the back of your neck as his heart beat against your back.

“I guess a better question would be... do you want to talk about it?”

You pause, ”Not really...“

”Well, I'll be here with you until you do.“

”No running around?“

He chuckles, ”No, I'll stay here. After all, you're strong... I imagine this won't last forever, right Love?“

France

Francis is a sensitive person, but most importantly he's an emotionally intelligent one. He notices as soon as your depression begins to get bad again, and he always tries to do little things to help. But... he knows that you're the one who's had to live in your head for years. The only reason he would go out of his way to help is if you asked him to.

Which you usually don't. It never seems to stay unbearable long enough for you to justify asking him, even though he's made clear he's always willing to do anything for you.

But this time is different, it feels as if your thoughts can't stop, no matter what you do. Even as you rest in bed, you only get more and more tired, more angry and miserable. Francis noticed this... but he wouldn't want to do anything you didn't want him to.

At least, that's how he thinks usually. But now, seeing his beloved sobbing for the 15th day in a row, he decided he had to do something.

Early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, you were awoken by Francis's smiling face.

”Time to get up!“

”No-“

You were swiftly cut off by him grabbing your arms and pulling you upwards.

”I've set out clothes for you. We're going somewhere.“

You shook your head, ”W-Where? I'm tired-“

”It's gonna be fun! I'll buy you coffee on the way, don't worry.“

So up you were, regardless of your protests.

An hour-long car drive later, and you understood why he was so enthusiastic about going here. Before you stood the most stunning valley you had ever seen, surrounded by perfectly green trees and water so blue you could've sworn it was fake. But the breeze flowing through your hair said otherwise.

“While we walk to the beach, you can tell me all about what's wrong, okay?” He locked his hand around yours.

Sure, it didn't solve everything. But... it was better than the bedroom.

China

Yao doesn't really... understand what depression is. When you tell him it's a “mental illness” all he understands is “illness.” So the moment things start getting worse for you, he's recommending all the things he learned to make sick people better.

If it gets to the point of being bedridden, he acts like you're gonna die. Which is obviously not very... comforting. So after many times of you telling him to leave you alone, he's gotten used to popping in every couple of hours with tea, but that's it.

After all, you're usually back to your normal self pretty quickly. But this time, he can tell something's off; and he's not about to let you wither away.

So, one morning, you're awoken to a delicious breakfast already in your lap and Yao sitting in front of you, looking like a kid on Christmas.

“Wh- Yao? Why did you...”

“You haven't been eating enough, and I don't want you getting tired soon.”

You looked at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“We have plans.“

”Good plans or bad plans?“

”Good plans! What do you think of me?“

Once you finished eating breakfast, he dragged you out of bed. No matter how much you protested, his grip on your hand was strong. He brought you to the other side of the house, into his already set-up studio.

”What are we doing in here?“ You ask nervously.

”Getting you out of bed,“ He responds quickly, gesturing to the yoga mat set up next to his.

All you could was sigh and stand next to him, waiting for instruction.

”Do we really have to do this?“

He nods, spreading his legs to the side and reaching down with one hand. Looking up at you expectantly, he smiled.

”It keeps you spry,“ He switched sides, ”It keeps you healthy.“

”I'm really not in the mood,“

”Trust me.“

With a huff, you slowly worked your creaking body into the same pose he pulled.

”I can't stand to see you suffer in that room.“

”It's not fun on my end either.“

”I love you. I wish you would tell me how to help.”

You groan as the next pose he demonstrated stretched you a little bit more than what was comfortable.

“You can't 'help.' Just gotta wait it out.“

He took a moment to respond, “Well, I suggest you wait it out in ways that get your mind off everything. Like this.”

“It's helping the tiniest bit, I guess...”

He chuckled, “We will keep working at it until you feel better. No matter how long it takes.”

Russia

When your depression gets bad, it seems to be obvious to everyone... except Ivan. Despite you bringing it up to him, he either doesn't know what to do... or he doesn't care. The possibility of the latter doing nothing to make you feel any better.

Even as you spend all day laying in bed, crying constantly, he doesn't seem to notice. He just acts like you aren't... suffering. That stings, a lot more than anything else creating this depressive episode.

But after a week of this unending gloominess, you get a strange text from Ivan.

“Come downstairs.”

Weird and annoying... but more importantly ominous. It takes you only a second to throw on a hoodie and rush downstairs. You can't hear his usual humming, and the house seems completely still as you search for him. But when you look out the back window, you see him.

As you enter the backyard, you fully see what he was doing.

In the middle of the yard, he set up a picnic. Surrounding him is a mountain of bright flowers, and tens of little plates bearing your favourite sweets lay on the light blanket.

“Come sit, darling.”

You would be foolish of you to not oblige. Once you sat down next to him, he reached out to stroke your cheek lovingly.

”What is torturing you so horribly?“

You took a deep breath, “Where to start?”

“Wherever you want,” he clucks his tongue sympathetically, resting his hand on your thigh.

“Y-You know... I thought you didn't care. You've been so... normal...”

Ivan looks awkward, averting his gaze, “I didn't want to make it worse. You're so strong, I knew you could get through it on your own. I'm sorry.”

“I can.... but I don't want to...”

He leans forward, kissing your forehead.

”I promise, now, you will never deal with anything alone.“

”You're sure it won't be too much?“

”Never. Never too much.“

hey there. its gonna get better. its gonna be different. but its gonna get better. there are hundreds of people youre gonna meet, and hundreds of places youre gonna go, and its gonna be amazing. one day youll wake up and realize everything is alright. because youre gonna be ok.

#heta tag #hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #ivan tag <3 #aph russia x reader #hws russia x reader #arthur tag #aph england x reader #hws england x reader #alfred tag #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #yao tag #aph china x reader #hws china x reader #francis tag #aph france x reader #hws france x reader #not proofread at all

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petrichor-idyllic · 11 months

Text

OPEN WOUNDS

Alright, alright, I just know people are gonna get mad at me but I'm having Maze Runner burn out, and the requests I have are throwing me through a loop right now lmao. (Requests are still closed.) So, I thought I'd write something different to get me out of my hole- my own idea. Yeah, I know, Petri writing their own original plot? Mad.

Hope I've got at least one OBX fan in my audience.

MASTERLIST | JJ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Fem! Reader x JJ Maybank. Enemies to lovers.

You and JJ have a tense relationship - you always have. But, both of you coming from rough home lives, you've both resorted to the Chateau and John B as your saviour. Neither of you talk about it, but you know more about JJ than you let on. Though, tonight is the night. With John B out with Sarah and JJ's dad out of town, you finally have the Chateau to yourself - until things don't go quite as planned.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, themes of physical abuse, generally depressing subject matter, no depiction of actual violence just the aftermath but still trigger warning for abuse. Also some friends references.

Ah.

The sweet relief of silence.

Between yours and JJ's bickering, the constant string of girls flooding through the Chateau, the parties, the drinking and John B's terrible music taste - the Chateau is normally a chaotic bundle of angsty teenagers. But not tonight.

Tonight, John B is on a date, Pope and Kie are at their respective homes, and JJ's father is out of town, resulting in him going home for his own peace. Probably, because he doesn't actually want to be stuck in the house with just you.

But that's fine by you.

You're not really sure why you and JJ hate each other so much. You swear blind that he started it, but he says otherwise. You were childhood friends with Pope, and JJ with John B - so when John B befriended Pope, you both just ended up tagging along. Now, you're a certified Pogue, and you're close with everyone, even Sarah.

Apart from JJ.

John B says you're just too similar to get along, Pope thinks it's because you're both too stubborn, Kie reckons it's because there's some underlying tension you both refuse to admit. But it doesn't really matter why, in your opinion.

And Kie is clearly wrong.

Though, when shit hit the fan at your place and you decided to seek refuge at the Chateau, you kinda sorta forgot that JJ was there for the same reasons.

You've tried, okay? You have tried to get along with him. To make things less awkward, if just for the sake of the other Pogues more than anything else.

But it just doesn't work.

JJ knows how to push your buttons, and no matter how calm and collected you try to be, most of your interactions end in an argument.

But not tonight.

Because he isn't here.

You lay, spawled on the couch, wearing a long worn band tee as a dress as you scroll through your phone, an episode of friends playing on the TV in the background. You think it's the one where Chandler gets handcuffed to a filing cabinet - but you're really not paying attention, nor do you remember the actual name of the episode. You mindlessly dive your hand into the bag of potato chips resting on your stomach, laughing at some TikTok Pope had sent you.

Between work, school, and arguing with a pretty surfer boy, you very rarely get time to actually just chill out and relax. You've not even bothered to get up and turn the lights on, the thin shine of the moonlight and the electronic flicker from the TV being the only things stopping you from walking into something when you eventually stand up.

Not that you intend on standing up anytime soon.

Things are going well. You might even be able to have a shower without JJ thinking he's hilarious and stealing your clothes. Or maybe even listen to music without him blasting his own music even louder.

Life is good, sometimes.

Just as you're smiling to yourself about how good your evening is, the door is violently yanked open and then slammed again, scaring the shit out of you.

"Jesus!" You jump, looking over the back of the sofa, it's too dark to make him out properly, but his trademark red cap and locks of blond escaping his choice of head wear give you a pretty good hint. "Maybank? The hell? Aren't you meant to be at home for once?"

You're too angry that he's interrupted your pleasant evening to realise that he's in clear distress.

"Fuck off, (Y/N)." He spits, leaving you in a state of shock. That's blunt and forward, even for him.

"What-?"

"Leave me alone." He says sharply, going into the spare room where he sleeps and slamming the door.

You sit there in a bubble of confusion for a couple of seconds before huffing and returning to your original position on the couch. "Whatever."

Your peace only lasts a few seconds as you hear a loud crash from inside the room. You sit up, silently, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off to see if you heard that correctly.

There's more crashing and banging as undoubtedly JJ has some kind of rage induced meltdown. That's when your phone buzzes. You open it, reading the message:

Pope

I thought Luke was out of town???

You

Huh???? He is??

Pope

I just saw him???

Went to the corner store and he was smoking outside

You

????

I thought JJ said he was gone for the week??

Pope

Is JJ at the Chateau??

I can't get ahold of him

You

Yeh

Burst in about five minutes ago

Pope

Can you check on him for me

You

Are you fr rn?

Pope:

Pls

You groan, tossing your phone to the side as you stand up. You stop in your tracks when you realise that the noises have stopped. The house is now completely and utterly silent.

Which is somehow more concerning.

"Oi, Maybank, you good?" You half-shout, earning no response as you pick up your phone from the sofa - just in case you have to call John B or Pope in a panic.

You get no respond, slowly walking towards the room. "JJ? Hey - you okay?" You knock on the door.

"Leave me alone." JJ's voice breaks as you hear his voice through the door, and you feel your stomach sink.

You don't particularly like JJ, sure, he's like, the hottest man you've ever seen, and he is genuinely kind of funny sometimes. That doesn't matter; you don't like him.

But you can empathise with him. And he's Pope's friend.

And it doesn't take a genuis to put the dots together about what's happened.

"JJ." You sigh. "I'm coming in."

To your surprise, he doesn't respond, so you slowly push the door open.

The room is a mess, clothes are scattered everywhere, a lamp's broken, the bed sheets are a mess and the pillow is across the room, slumped against a wall. It looks like he's thrown anything he managed to get his hands on. JJ sits on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, he stares at the floor, one hand in his messy blond locks, the other resting on his knee, red cap in his hand.

He doesn't look up as you walk in, his hair hiding his face along with the dimly lit room. Silently, you move, walking to sit next to him. You leave enough distance between you to make neither of you uncomfortable.

"I told you to leave me alone." He mumbles, not even looking at you.

You hesitate for a second, sighing.

"...my step dad was an asshole. When things got bad, I'd lose my shit and scream at anyone who got too close, screaming about how I wanted to be on my own. ...But, all I ever really wanted was for someone to push past all that and act like they cared about me."

JJ doesn't move, or even look up, so you keep talking.

"You can hate me, and tease me, and throw shit, and say you hate everyone and this whole shitty island and whatever you want to say to get it out your system - I get it. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you, Maybank - so suck it up."

JJ is still silent, but his hand falls from his hair, loosely resting on his knee as he finally looks at you. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and try not to visibly react.

JJ already has a black eye forming, a cut on his cheek and blood smeared under her nose. There's also blood staining the back of his hand, probably from wiping his nose.

"... you gonna put our petty differences aside for five minutes and let me fix that?" You ask; reacting dramatically or with pity is just going to piss him off even more.

JJ hesitates, but eventually nods, sighing. "Alright... but I don't wanna talk about it."

"I wasn't gonna ask." You stand up, offering him a hand, that he doesn't take, before he brushes past you and out the room.

That's about right.

He sits on the sofa as you get the appropriate means from the first aid box. You walk back to him, looking at him for a second before you step forward and touch his face for him to look up. He immediately flinches, pulling himself away, making you huff.

"Dude, I've gotta touch you if I'm gonna help you." JJ mumbles something you don't quite catch, but he lets you lift his face. You lightly dab under his nose, wiping the blood away before moving to the cut on his cheek.

He hisses as you press an alcohol wipe to his cheek.

"Sorry," you mumble.

"Could've warned me."

"Figured you wouldn't be such a pussy."

JJ simply rolls his eyes at this as you continue to nurse to him. Then you grab some glue strips, pressing down on one side of the cut and pulling the skin up to reach the other, tightly holding the cut together so it leaves less of a scar.

"Why are you helping me?" The question catches you off-guard, making you look him in the eye.

And you suddenly become very aware of how close you are. JJ isn't the goofy kid who always had a tooth missing and dirt on his clothes that you grew up with anymore. He's objectively gorgeous - there's a reason there's a seemingly endless amount of girls in the Chateau when he's around.

His bright ocean blue eyes lock with yours, and for a second, you understand. You understand all of those girls you judged and made fun of for falling for the blond's charm.

I mean look at him. How could they not?

And now is the worst moment to realise that.

You stand between his legs, bodies close, you're only wearing a thin lounge shirt and JJ's hands rest on his open legs, almost like he's fighting the instinct to put them on your waist.

You clear your throat, ripping your eyes away from his hypnotic gaze. He notices the shift, raising his eyebrow as you finally answer his question.

"I think I've already explained that."

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but, like, you don't have to do this. Ain't you meant to hate me?"

"I only hate you because you hated me first."

"I didn't."

"Did too."

"Whatever." He pauses, eyes following your every move as you brush hair out of your face, grabbing his jaw.

"Stop moving."

"It hurts."

"Cope."

You place another gluestrip on his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it again, making you curious. "What?"

"What, what?"

"You were gonna say something." You hook a finger under his chin, angling his face so you can see what you're doing better.

"No, I wasn't."

"Alright, fine - you weren't then."

The silence around you becomes more tense, and then JJ sighs. "I don't- I don't actually hate you."

You pause, looking at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"I mean, you're annoying as shit," he continues, "but... you're the only person that seems to be able to put up with my shit. So... yeah, yanno."

"So... you don't hate me?" You pull your hands away from his face, and he shakes his head, shrugging before running his fingers through his hair.

"No... you help around here - I mean, the Chateau would be trashed if you weren't around, and you help Pope out. And, I mean, he cares about you, for some reason, so you can't be all bad."

You scoff at this. "Yeah, yeah - you'll need some ice for that eye." He rolls his eyes in response as you return to the kitchen, bringing back a bag of frozen peas, which he presses to his eye as you finally sit down.

"It's cold."

"Is it really?"

"Ha ha." He fake laughs. "What were you even doing, anyway?"

"I watching TV and enjoying a peaceful evening."

"Sorry to ruin your evening." He says sarcastically.

"It ain't your fault." You respond, not quite sure where to go from here but you can't quite meet his eye either. It falls quiet again.

"...thank you."

He says it in such a whisper you think you're actually losing your mind at first. "What?"

"I, uh," he rubs his face. "I said thank you. You... you didn't have to do this. The others... When I- when..." He sighs. "Normally, they just leave me to it. They don't get it, they don't understand."

"They don't, not in the way you want them to, but they understand that you're going through something horrible. And they don't wanna make things worse. And you tell them to leave you alone and avoid talking about it - people can't help you if you don't let them, JJ." You say, your voice becoming softer as you finally look at him.

"You managed." He responds, watching you carefully. You don't really want to have this conversation either.

"Yeah, well, I'm stubborn." You joke, earning a snort and him dropping and shaking his head, his hands falling to his lap with the bag of peas.

"Yeah, you can say that again." He pauses. "Mind if I join you with your little marathon? I've got nothing better to do."

"What?" You scoff. "You want to willingly spend time together?"

"Yeah - fuck it, why not? It's been a shitty day, I'm not sure even your annoying-ass could make it worse."

"Ah, well, I'm sure I can find a way." JJ grins at your sarcastic comment, picking up the remote and flicking the TV back on. "Friends? Seriously?"

"What? It's good."

"Ehh, is it, though?"

"Just 'cause you have no taste."

"Rude. Well, what would you rather watch?"

"Uh, Two Guys and A Girl?" You blankly look at him. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"No-"

"'Course you don't."

"Just 'cause you're a film freak." You sneer.

"Just 'cause you're uncultured." He retorts, then sighs. "It's another nineties sit-com. Only has two seasons."

"That probably means it's bad."

"Shut up. Ryan Reynolds is in it."

"That doesn't mean it's good."

"Uhh, yeah, it does."

You continue your dumb bickering, even though you do ultimately continue watching friends - JJ even laughs at some of the bad jokes. It's... weirdly nice.

You're not sure if it's just because you've become painfully aware that you're attracted to him, or if you guys are just trauma bonding, but it's almost fun.

"Ross is such a dick. Rachel deserves better." You chuckle at his comment, rolling your eyes. Then, after a moment, you speak.

"Oh, Maybank?"

"Yeah?" He responds between mouthfuls of potatoe chips.

"You don't need to thank me."

He pauses, glancing at you. "Yeah, I know - but I still will."

You nod, a small smile on your lips. "Well, you're welcome then."

○□○□○□○□○

"Guys! Guys!" John B rushes out the Chateau the next day as Kie and Pope carry booze and cups for plans of a kegger that evening. "You gotta see this."

"Huh? See what?" Kie blinks at the boy as she climbs out of her car, adjusting the bag she's holding full of paper cups. She'd lectured Pope for trying to buy plastic ones, which had condemned her to having to carry them.

"What are you talking about?" Pope raises an eyebrow.

"Shhh! Keep your voices down!" John B whisper-yells, making them exchange puzzled looks. "Come on. Come on!" He summons them to follow him, in which they shrug at each other as they follow him inside.

"Dude, what's going on?" Pope hisses, his tone low as John B leads them into the living room area.

John B puts a finger to his lips, then points at the couch. Kie and Pope exchange another glance before walking around the sofa.

"Holy-" Kie starts before John B dramatically shushes her again.

On the couch, you and JJ remain. You're not sure when you fell asleep, but you did.

You're both still sat up, your head resting on JJ's shoulder, his arm loosely around yours as his head rests on top of yours. You're almost snuggled into the crook of his neck, your knees pulled up and slighting resting on the edge of his lap.

"Should we wake them up?" Pope asks. "Psst! Guys-"

Kie slaps his arm. "Don't you dare. They're gonna get along even less when they wake up - let's just enjoy the peace whilst it lasts."

John B smirks and nods. "Yeah, come on, let's head to the Boneyard and start setting things up. They'll catch up later."

The trio walk out as quietly as they can, leaving you two to your slumber.

Kie's right; when you both wake up, you're going to be embarrassed and probably angry at the other. But right now, you're blissfully unaware.

The bag of frozen peas defrosts on the table, and even though JJ is clearly hurt, he's been taken care of, and seems content.

Yeah, so, I'm providing content no one asked for. This is my blog, let me live.

Lmao, in all seriousness, I figured writing the start of a potential crush could be cute for a change and it's nice writing for another one of my favourite boys, who isn't Minho.

I know this isn't my demography, but I'm tryna make my masterlist look less empty.

Anyway, I hope at least one of you enjoyed this :))

#🌿 petri obx jj maybank #🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri writes obx #🍃 petri obx #obx imagine #obx x reader #obx netflix #obx #obx fic #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj x reader

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assiraphales · 6 months

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HELLO HI let me start this off by saying i love your posts so so much they are so silly

Anyways since opla season 2 has been confirmed, what are some things you REALLY want to see? Im genuinely curious

so i'm assuming they will start off with loguetown and end with alabasta. i'm hoping that since the first season was so successful netflix will order a FEW more episodes (ideally ten or more) but I have to stay realistic so I know every detail won't translate to screen

a lot of the anime loguetown arc was filler (zoro mopping the marine's floors, luffy running around lost and drinking milk at a bar, sanji entering a random cooking competition) and I know there's a few things they're unlikely to skip (zoro aquiring kitetsu & hopefully throwing the sword in the air to see if it'll chop his arm off, luffy on the executioner's platform, smoker) but i really they have time for

-nami n usopp bonding. especially the moment where usopp faced off against daddy the parent bc not only was nami there supporting him/willing to fight for him, but it also was a glimpse into his complicated relationship with his father. daddy the parent quit his job so he could spend more time with his daughter, while yasopp completely abandoned usopp. it was also so cute when they were fangirling over sanji together -i'm so excited to see inaki laughing with his head in the stocks seconds away from death I just know he's going to devour that scene -there probably won't be time but it would be funny if we see luffy n zoro on their lunch date with a combined zero dollars in their pocket and buggy ends up covering their bill without knowing who they were -i'm can't wait to see who they cast as smoker!!!! their casting has been honestly great so far so i'm looking forward to the reveal

laboon the giant whale. LABOON THE GIANT WHALE !!! I know in the grand scheme (at least from a standalone season perspective) he's not that important to the plot. but by god !!!! give us the depressed whale that luffy gives the will to live back to!!!! practical effects are very important to the one piece team I think they can figure it out

whiskey peak is going to be controversial but I hope luffy n zoro's fight goes EXACTLY like it does in the anime & manga (aka they're so in sync that they're punches are meeting in the middle and they're yelling in unison & five minutes later they're laughing about the prospect of meeting a warlord). this arc also requires the writers to let zoro have his funny guy routine because him hecking the agents is so good

while I don't know if we'll see zoro fighting a triceratops and saying "oh so u do three sword style too" we NEED to see him do his stupid pose in the wax. season ruined if not. (jk but its very high on my list)

chopper my wittle cutie. I know we'll see him no matter what but I'm banking on a puppet. i'm pretty sure its already confirmed that they're using practical effects for him, but I heard maybe prosthetics which could be a hit or a miss

nami and vivi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! karu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm truly on the edge of my seat to see how they'll handle zoro n sanji's rivalry considering they've made the decision to base it around their relationship with luffy. the girls WILL be fighting

similarly excited to see live action sanji fawning over not only nami but also his little meow meow luffy (fantastic change from the anime imo)

crocodile better be the greasiest motherfucker I hope he's absolutely vile. i can't wait to see him wearing a FUR lined coat in a desert

I also know they're going to go off with pell's character design

ACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#ok this is so long i'm so sorry lmaoooooooooo #one piece #opla #one piece live action

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ladyluscinia · 7 months

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BLACKHANDS GIRLIES WE ARE REALLY IN IT NOW!!!

(aka Lady's OFMD 2x01 - 2x03 BlackHands rambling)

Link to the general non-BlackHands thoughts.

Screaming. Whooping. Cheering. *Singsong voice* My fucked up pirate husbands had mutual love confessions while the main fucked up pirate husbands are "on a break" after admitting they made each other happy! AAAAHHHHHH!!! Can't murder-suicide the other half of yourself! I am winning!!!

ADJSKLDFSKJFKDL

Ok. Deep breaths. This will be rambling but coherently (<- lying)

---

Breakup Boat - Izzy's Version

Fuck, I said in my general thoughts post that the extremities of Edward's cruelty & Edward's suicidal pursuit were working well, and nowhere is that more noticeable than in what Edward and Izzy have going on.

So in the timeskip between S1 and S2 we find out Edward has been raiding ships at a breakneck pace, uncaringly trauma bonding his crew (R.I.P. Ivan), going hard on murder & booze & drugs, and tormenting Izzy to the point my guy is literally having a breakdown in front of the crew. He lost the 1st toe for threatening to resign and accidentally setting off a Stede-hurt timebomb, and Edward goes to take a 4th because Izzy doesn't convince his whole crew to happily dump their pay in the ocean. "Threaten me again" has become "Give me any excuse" it seems, and Izzy has been complying. 😬 Edward (casually): "Take your boot off." 😬 Earlier Edward offers him rhino horn, too, and Izzy just says "No, not right now" leading Edward to call him a "lightweight", so I'm thinking Edward hasn't had exclusive rights to substance abuse as a means of coping, either. (Note: the rhino horn itself does nothing, so the substance abuse is booze and any actual drugs he's gotten his hands on.)

Oh, and they didn't include the shot where Edward throws a knife at Izzy? Did it just get cut, or are we getting flashbacks with more conversation later?

Going to rewatch the end of 1x10, Izzy's "smile" at declaring Blackbeard was back lasts a fraction of a second and looks just like his "everything is totally fine I swear" grimace-smiles from the beginning of the episode, so I think it's pretty safe to say Izzy did not ask for this and hasn't thought everything was fine for a single second since.

The Breakup Boat atmosphere is definitely fucked.

Now, personally, I'm still of the opinion we're not supposed to read this as a version of a domestic abuse arc (even with the intervention talk). (EDIT: clarifying thoughts and phrasing.) Because they still inject too much of it with humor and I can't imagine Edward comfortably coming out the other side at a happy ending if we frame it that way. Like there's black comedy and then there's "Wait, we're really just laughing this off?" I think horrific domestic abuse of your ex-situationship in a romance counts as the latter. But I do think it's revealed to be functioning as something adjacent - namely Edward's depression and suicidal tendencies have massively spiked post-Stede and he's actively seeking to a) confirm his own belief that he's unlovable, and b) get killed so everything stops hurting.

And Izzy? Izzy loves him and wants him alive. Worst thing Edward could hear right now.

Like oh my GOD IZZY LOVES HIM. As soon as Izzy hits his breaking point and realizes the crew have his back, he's emboldened to go stand up for them and himself to Edward. (He has been defending them already - the pre-intervention conversation open with him quietly alluding that they need a break - but this is more.) He ignores the boot order, ignores the threat, and finally asks the damn question:

"Who am I to you?"

This is where my linear coherency falls apart btw 🥴

---

Who KNOWS You?

"We've worked together for years. You know me better than anyone has ever known me, and I daresay the same is true for me about you. I have... love for you, Edward."

Oh fuck backstory implications oh FUCK.

Ok, I've already seen the posts doubling down on Izzy realizing he doesn't know Edward at all and I'm drawing my line in the sand. That's bullshit. That line there? That's straight truth.

To quote my own posts:

People will act like you are making bold and unsubstantiated claims if you say Izzy likes Edward as a person not just as Blackbeard, but I find the notion that “Blackbeard” as a human guy you live down the hall from is somehow substantially different / distant enough from the real Edward 24/7 that only liking Blackbeard is plausible to be a very bold claim.

(That conclusion comes from this post, but Izzy knowing Edward vs Stede knowing Edward was also a major point in my original overarching Edward Meta from Season 1.)

Of course Izzy knows Edward. He knows his talents and his weaknesses. He knows the shifts in his mood, his favorite foods to find in a hold, what tasks he used to pass off as often as possible. He talks about work with him because they live on a ship. Their state of dysfunction when we meet them doesn't negate that knowing.

Knowing each other so well actually made their dysfunction worse. Let them escalate more than two people less intimate could have managed, while also exacerbating their misjudgements into ruinous disasters. Izzy didn't know - probably in part didn't want to know - Edward was falling hard for Stede so fast. Edward didn't know or want to know that Izzy was reaching a breaking point for their relationship.

But still, crucially, Izzy did know Edward well enough to clock that something was fundamentally wrong in 1x10, and he knows what's wrong now. He knows Edward is hurting him and hurting the crew because Edward himself is hurting, and the whole point of this "I'm worried about you" talk is to try and fix it.

Unfortunately, Izzy has Stede so unspoken at the front of his mind that he accidentally quotes the man, and that sets Edward off on his interrogation / further terrorizing the crew Izzy is trying to stand up for. Which is why Izzy finally makes his choice to stop talking around the issue...

"The atmosphere on this ship is fucked. Everyone knows why." -> "Your feelings for Stede fucking Bonnet."

...and then Edward shoots his leg out. Not even looking at him.

Jump ahead. Edward says to Frenchie, "The new First Mate always kills the old First Mate. It's always been like that." - Has it though? Because that has some wild implications for Izzy murdering someone to secure his spot in Edward's circle of trust (...hot). And some interesting gaps for Edward if he was ever a first mate under Hornigold or anyone else. Or is this just him fucking with Frenchie because he knows "Trust is king. And queen. Trust is everything" is bullshit? Go, repression boy, go. Who am I talking about? Both. Both is good.

And then of course we get:

"Did you think I wouldn't know the smell of my rotting former First Mate?"

Knows him by the smell of blood and infection. By the avoidant look in his crew's eye. By the fact he doesn't know Izzy is dead. Their relationship is rot and ruin by his own hand but he would NEVER assume Izzy's dead until he knows.

"He was your friend," Jim spits in Edward's face.

Edward wakes up Izzy and even delirious, literal seconds after realizing he's down a leg, Izzy knows what Edward wants the moment he flips the gun. And he wants nothing to do with it.

He knows he can't. Won't. No matter how much Edward openly wants him to pull the trigger. (Edward knows him well enough to doubt, too. It's real convenient that his final staging has Izzy looking at the back of his head. No chance of his face giving anything away.)

Izzy's absolutely brutal in his assessment, trying to give some hurt back, but he's not wrong:

"Ohhhh. Oh, are you scared, Eddie? Too scared to do it yourself, eh? Go on, clean up your own fucking mess. I'm not doing it, I've been doing it all my fucking life. Fuck off."

All his fucking life.

I have to wonder... is this a conversation they've had before? Echoes of one? Izzy has a tactic here - dismissal. Refuse to play along with Edward's melodrama. Treat "I dreamt that you killed me" as though he's throwing a snit like a toddler. "Good for you" could have sounded like a question egging him on, but it comes out flat. A sarcastic sneer. Edward has always thought he'd go out with more of a bang. Loves a good fuckery. In his Purgatory he desperately wants Hornigold to recognize how unique and over the top his mutiny was. Not like those ordinary mutinies. Even his imagined death is being pitched over the highest bluff tied to a rock???

Izzy knows Edward is serious or he wouldn't be so fraught and sobbing as he laughs, but his words don't treat him as serious. Maybe a bit of derision has been effective at ruining the fantasy before? Suicide of a great leader is just so banal, you know? Quit daydreaming and pull off an impossible fix.

(Maybe "Fuck off" normally doesn't end the conversation, but starts the real one?)

Also "Eddie". First off of Izzy's lips at his cruelest, then Hornigold's. We heard it in S1 right before Edward committed to becoming the Kraken. At the time I thought he was bristling at the disrespect - "Eddie" is not "just Edward" - but maybe Frenchie stepped on a bigger landmine than we thought. Edward is so particular about names, and Izzy knows all the rules best, doesn't he?

Either way... This time the conversation ends with Edward leaving. "Farewell, old chum," he says without turning around. And when he hears the gunshot, he's not surprised.

Edward knows Izzy, too. Knows that the farewell may count as "closure" but Izzy is only going to take the ending one way. Izzy lifting the gun to his temple was the inevitable result of leaving that room. It takes seconds. Edward is still rising out of the stairwell when it happens.

We can't talk about knowing without touching on Purgatory, where Edward goes to know himself.

Lots of interesting stuff about Edward modeling his toxic spiral off of Hornigold as the fucked up example from his past. Probably where he picked up a lot of his piracy philosophy too. But the really juicy bit related to Izzy is the spectre of Hornigold confronting him about killing his dad and Edward's instinctive:

"I've never told anyone about that."

Hornigold calls him out for telling Stede, but it seems pretty likely that Stede is the only one he's ever had the conversation with.

However.

I still think Izzy knows. Hornigold even tells us how:

"A grown man covered in tattoos? Eh? With daddy issues?"

Edward didn't tell Izzy, and Izzy didn't ask for confirmation. But Edward will tell a whole crew of strangers about "the Kraken" killing his dad to win best ghost story. And that his dad was a dick. Izzy, who Edward loves and trusts and "outsources the big job" to, would not have much trouble connecting the dots between any version of that story / troubled childhood anecdotes / Edward's issues with killing / Edward's daddy issues.

I sincerely doubt "killed your abusive old man" is even an uncommon pirate backstory.

Izzy does know Edward - at his best and worst and everything in between. Knows him better than anyone. Suspects with certainty his darkest secret.

Izzy knows Edward, and Edward knows Izzy, and that's why everything fundamentally quakes for Edward in this self-destructive rampage when Izzy breaks their unspoken rule and tells him that he loves him.

---

Who LOVES You?

Jumping back to the (first!) literal, actual love confession we got, let's talk phrasing. Because yeah there's love there, but at the moment there's also a lot of other stuff.

"I have... love for you, Edward."

This is such a passive way of confessing, and there's the long pause as Izzy forces it out. People have attributed it to repression, or feeling ashamed of his love for Edward, or just not wanting to push it on him. I think "love" isn't a word they use out loud, so saying it is hard, but I also think Izzy's being passive because at the moment it does just feel like he "has" love. He doesn't want to actively feel it or offer it up right now, not with the complicated knot of anger and hurt and, tbh, probably some of his own depression. He "has" love because, despite everything, he still loves Edward.

And he does, is the thing! The whole goddamn reason Izzy is here, still trying to be a support for Edward is because he loves him. Literally anybody else would have left by now, or killed Edward, considering he's actively trying to push Izzy to the breaking point. And even at said point, when Izzy's finally standing up for himself, he offers Edward another chance to realize he's loved.

Edward starts dismissing him the moment he says the l-word, but Izzy continues:

"I'm worried about you - we all are. The atmosphere on this ship is completely poisoned. But if we could all just, maybe... talk it through?"

Izzy knows what's wrong and while he didn't originally think Stede was that important to Edward, he's put it together by now. And he's a huge fan of trying to talk through their problems, tries it multiple times even in the peak communication failure / stress powderkeg of S1, so of course he tries one last time to get Edward to accept he's not alone.

Instead, he accidentally invokes the ghost of Stede Bonnet and reminds Edward why he's doing all of this in the first place. Reminds him that he is unlovable while having the audacity to confess to loving him.

So Edward makes a big show of going out on deck, shoots Izzy in the leg, and tells Frenchie to get rid of him.

Frenchie doesn't, naturally.

And when Edward finds the crew saving the man who he just shot for daring to love him - because of course they are, he's their dick now - well... "He was your friend," Jim spits in his face, having just been thinking about their best friend (who they are more than a little bit in love with 👀).

How long do we think Edward stands there, looking at what he's wrought? How long does he sit at Izzy's bedside, looking at him "rather still" while he weighs if the missing leg proves his point where the toes didn't?

And you know Izzy's love is so bone deep and rooted in that it's unconditional by this point, because Edward did NOT prove his fucking point. Nothing he's done so far is enough to get the man who loves him to pull the fucking trigger. Down 3 toes and then a leg, asking first thing whether Edward was there for the other one, and STILL. STILL IZZY IS HEARTBROKEN AT THE REALIZATION THAT EDWARD IS READY TO END IT FOR REAL.

Still he won't pull the trigger himself. Not on Edward, at least.

And only after Izzy is gone can Edward return the words.

"I loved you. Best I could."

*screaming crying tearing at the walls*

He loved him.

HE LOVED HIM.

Edward's perspective of his relationships is fundamentally warped. Alongside his self-image. Probably has been for most of his life, going back to the self-hatred he ties to killing his dad. Stede leaving hurt him immensely (and predictably, Stede) in ways Stede will have to own up to, but it was Edward's own unaddressed issues - independent of Stede AND Izzy - that determined the appropriate response to that hurt was "realize that vulnerability and hope are lies and every dark voice in the back of your mind ever was telling the truth, actually."

Edward's conviction that nobody loves him and that he's not capable of successfully loving someone back is literally his depression talking. It is not rationally based in the reality of his life or relationships, Stede or otherwise. He may even have successfully beat back the sentiment for most of his life, with that getting harder and harder as time went on.

(He's expressed this kind of depressive-episode-driven warped view before, btw, and they explicitly parallel it in Purgatory just for me! The flashbacks of the bathtub scene while he attacks the spectre of Hornigold are my huge W in that episode. "It all boils down to this - you're afraid you're unlovable", said by the actual manifestation of Edward's suicidal self-hatred in Purgatory, is the new "That's why I don't have any friends." I think it's fair to question if he was a reliable narrator of his experiences back then, too. Jim and the crew certainly think he had at least one friend.)

Basically, "Best I could" now can mean a lot of things before. Young Izzy and Edward could have been much healthier than they are at present. Probably were, to be honest. It wasn't enough to save them from going sour, but it could explain why they've stuck together so long even as it has.

Izzy loves Edward. Edward loves Izzy.

LOVE LOSES. BUT LOVE WINS 😭😭😭

---

Kraken Era = Murder-Suicide, but Edward Wants to be the Murdered One

So, uh... *scrambling for notes* Where am I going with this? Fuck, I'm not even writing it linearly... OK!

Izzy KNOWS Edward - knows him going back ages, has seen his darkest and weakest moments - and even after 3 toes and a stress breakdown he still LOVES him enough to say it out loud (which I doubt these guys do, uh, ever). Which really throws a wrench in Edward's "Stede realized I'm inherently toxic and unlovable" theory, and prompts him to redouble his "prove to Izzy he doesn't love me" efforts by casually shooting him.

Afterward, he finally makes his passive suicidal intents explicit when talking (practically sobbing, in truth) to Frenchie:

"Never going back to land. We're gonna sail, rob, raise hell forever and ever, without end."

He's set on it, now. Izzy's potential last act was to finally rip down the illusion, give name to the hurt Edward had been running from since he first put on his Kraken makeup. So he pushes his little wedding toppers out the window, cleans himself up, and goes out to wave every single red flag imaginable for poor Frenchie's locked box.

Except it wasn't Izzy's last act, now was it?

But that's fine for Edward. That actually works better. He wants the hopeless situation to end, but he doesn't want to pull the trigger himself or he would have done it by now. After everything, surely Izzy should be ready to murder-suicide him??? He can't still love him, not after Edward so effectively proved he's exactly as toxic as his self-loathing depressive episodes say he is. It's poetic.

Edward underestimates Izzy. Knows him with his head, but the depression makes him underestimate his heart.

Edward doesn't get a bullet through the head, be hears the gun go off and - well - that's one way to spin "not even Izzy loves me any more" into a true statement.

Edward wants to live slightly more than he wants everything to end. It's the only reason he's alive. Before Izzy said Stede's name he was floating high on denial like that bird who never lands, keeping his depression and his destruction as a blast radius more than a dagger. He was lurching in the direction of dying by combat or by crew mutiny or by simple self-destructive behaviors, but he avoided thinking about anything long enough to have intent.

After Izzy's desperate attempt to intervene, Edward can't hide from his own reasoning anymore. Or his hurt. Or his self-enforced hopelessness. And with that comes aims. He has his rough night and then starts the massive red flag upswing. Cleans up. Gets ready for the big finale. He pushes Izzy with the "closure" conversation, trying to find a pressure point that will get him killed to close off the narrative with a artful bow.

Murder-suicide sounds like a fix to his problems, but he still wants to live slightly more. He still can't turn the gun on himself. He aims to be the murdered one.

After Izzy is gone, though, by Edward's own actions? That's the last straw he needs to commit in full. Thanking Frenchie? Just another final goodbye to get his affairs in order. "Take the day off, brother. Go live." The moment Izzy dies they all become dead men walking.

Thank FUCK that Edward a) still would prefer it if they snapped and murdered him / something out of his control killed him (he still wants to live), and b) still wants to die dramatically. A different man would have walked right back to his cabin and not missed.

Sidebar to appreciate the breakup boat crew some more because I love them:

Fang: "So... do we think he's better?" Jim: "Fuck no!"

Edward is ready to be the murderer with his cannon pointed at the mast, but he stalls on damning the whole crew to a watery grave (r.i.p. half of them), gives Izzy time to wake up and drag himself out to protect said crew, and then finally gets what he's been after.

Edward's motivations are already perfectly clear, but just to really hammer it in - he thinks he just drove a man he loved to suicide, and then he demands the couple he found kissing fight to the death with the reasoning:

"All love dies, I'm just hastening the process."

Jim literally just learned last season that was bullshit, my guy. It makes sense they are the one who finally puts a stop to him.

(Except the cannonball doesn't hit. There's no head wound. And Edward is alive when they take him back to the secret room, laying him out respectfully instead of letting the waves take him too. They don't even know if they'll survive. They certainly don't have anywhere to take the body, or a working ship to get there. Maybe they didn't notice because they didn't want to notice.)

(AND EDWARD STILL WANTS TO LIVE)

Both Izzy and Edward try to die. Both of them do - maybe, in the bottom of their hearts - want to live just a tiny bit more. They shoot each other. They say OUT LOUD they love each other (though Edward I swear to fuck you better say that to Izzy's face ohmygod). They are on this journey together.

BOTH OF THEM LIVE. AND NOW THEY HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT.

(I feel like I wanted to add stuff about Stede & Izzy meeting again but like. I don't even know. Izzy doesn't even know. Is he protecting the crew? Deflecting? Edward's dignity (-ish)? Stede's good opinion of Edward? Dealing with his own massively fucked headspace? Ask me again on Friday. Fuck.)

My fucked up guys are in toxic fucked up LOVE!!!

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robin1729 · 9 days

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creation is wrong?

As someone who has always been into telling stories, I was obviously instantly fascinated with the idea of being an influencer. So, I started watching interviews of influencers I admire. And they talked about how to create a reel that grabs people's attention, that keeps them glued to the screen till the end, that makes them want to see more of your content.

And then, I saw a lot of the same influencers talk about how addictive social media has become, with its endless scroll and constant dopamine hits. And I was like, what do you mean? Aren't you part of the problem? You are the ones designing your reels specifically so that they give people that dopamine hit, so that they keep coming back for more.

So maybe some creation is wrong? Even shows today are made to be binged. Ten episodes released at a time, every episode ending with a cliffhanger, so you don't close the app, switch off the tv, shut down your laptop.

You could argue that people who are rotting in bed all day (not always a thing to look down upon; depression is real, people) will simply find something else to rot with. They'll binge watch movies, youtube, or a million other things we have now. Did people not rot in bed all day before the internet? They definitely did, right? Does that make it okay to make it easier for them to do that? To create with the explicit purpose of keeping them hooked to their screens?

You can always just throw up your hands, cite free will, and say "hey, creators will create, we are not forcing over-consumption on anyone." You could argue that I am doing the same thing right now. Maybe you, and yes I am talking to you now, my dear reader. Maybe you are doom-scrolling through Tumblr right now, and I am contributing to it. I did write a title that I thought was attention-grabbing. I am writing this post in a way that I think is the most interesting, hoping you'll read till the end. I could say, we definitely have way too much content available to us now, and you would simply reply "But isn't that a good thing? You can write, shoot a movie, make music from absolutely anywhere in the world, and if you are good (and sometimes even when you are not), there is a chance that people will see it! It's why you have an audience, albeit a very very small one, in like 4 days of making this account, Robin." Though I don't know why you would call me Robin, that is obviously not my real name.

I don't know what the answer is. We desperately want things to be either black or white, the world would be so much easier to understand then. But most of the time they're just grey. They have good things and bad things about them. And you can't really stop the world from going down a path, can you? So I guess you just roll with the punches.

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purrincess-chat · 1 year

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Can we just talk about the Adrinette angst this season though? Because while I am living for Adrien realizing his feelings for Marinette, I am also dying inside.

Adrien loves Marinette because he perceives that she is a good friend that listens to him and offers him support and tries to cheer him up when his hellstorm of a home life gets him down. She is someone he trusts and actively seeks when he needs someone to talk to about his depression and worries and fears and desires. Name another time in canon when something with his home life was bothering him, and he immediately told someone exactly what was going on and how it was making him feel? That moment in Passion where he bumps into Marinette and immediately tells her he's feeling down and why is huge for someone who otherwise just buried his feelings before and didn't talk about them to anyone except his kwami that no one else knows about and who isn't equipped to help him with human stuff. Adrien's relationship with Marinette means so much to him, and he thinks so highly of her, is so comfortable with her, and cares for her so deeply.

And that's why Marinette forcing herself to abandon her feelings and run away from him is so fucking heartbreaking.

Adrien's home life is so shit, even when he perceives it to be getting better, we know what the adults in his life are up to. He knows the people he loves are mysteriously sick and probably dying. He's been emotionally neglected and abused, psychologically controlled, isolated, lied to, used. And now he finally has a person that he feels like he's safe with, someone he can let his guard down with and confide in, and she's running away from him for seemingly no reason in his eyes??

And before anyone types up some paragraph, this is not salt directed at Marinette. Anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows I would never, so go ahead and hit that backspace because we the audience know why she is doing what she's doing. Marinette has her own share of trauma and guilt that she shouldn't have ever had to deal with. It's also not her job to coddle Adrien, so go ahead and shut the fuck up. I get it. But from a narrative perspective, the angst is just so perfectly heartbreaking, and I just want to hug them both because they love each other but are just dealing with so much shit outside of their control right now that it's impossible for them to be together. I'm really curious for the kwamis choice episodes bc we get to explore what would happen if they suddenly didn't have the weight of the world coming between them, and I'm screaming, crying, throwing up at the fluff possibilities but also knowing it will inevitably end bc they will have to go back to their responsibilities after having a taste of what could be, and I know it's going to destroy me emotionally. 😥😥💔

Anyway, these kids will be the death of me, and I am living for the day that they finally know each other's identities and kiss each other on the mouth knowing that information and knowing that they've been there by each other's side the whole time and how deeply they both love each other. This season is gonna fuck me up, and I'm going to say thank you. Anyway, that's all I just have a lot of feelings about them rn.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrienette

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problematicturtle · 1 year

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Ugh this episode:

The show is a masterclass in toxicity and abuse. Lestat, six years of love bombing. Six years. Finally breaking through with one small, perfect thing. Is it the vampire bond? Is it love? Can Louis still not say he loves Lestat? And why? Would that make that crawling sensation that he’s complicit in all the misery heaped upon him more real? Maybe it would.

When is a monster not s monster? Oh, when you love him.

But they are all monsters here: they care nothing for human life, nothing for someone like Antoinette. Poor Antoinette - even if she wanted to leave Lestat, leaving him would mean she’s outlived her usefulness, and Antoinette seems very much like she wants to not die. No one cares about her though. Not Claudia, not Louis, certainly not Lestat. She’s a pawn in the grand game of chess they’re playing. How perfectly awful to be her. At least Louis gets the dubious distinction of being the one Lestat actually loves. But what do you get for that love to he heaped relentlessly upon you.

He had a way about him. Oh, I’m sure he did.

Sam Reid is excellently cast, perfectly played. He’s charming and ruthless and vicious and soft and pretty and you understand why Louis keeps going back. Unable to handle Claudia’s sternness during the making up conversation: looking to Louis, how dare she? Louis not being able to meet his eyes because Louis won’t be able to make those demands. But also: Lestat finally relaying the cruelty of how it was he was made. What horrors he went through. Alone and victimized and made into a killer against his will: how did you end up here, Lestat, making prisoners of your own. Do we all end up like our makers? Maybe we do. How tragic for everyone involved, then.

Also the cloud gift, and asking if Lestat had anything to do with Paul’s death. That’s pretty hurtful to hear, I imagine, for a lover to hear that. But you did throw him off a cloud, Lestat. He should have died, the same way Paul died, falling. Does Louis think of Paul when he thinks of falling now, or of Lestat.

Claudia reacts to being caged with disdain and spite, and a plan to free herself. Louis retreats into his own cage and removes himself entirely from the situation.

Are you happy, Lestat? You get a shell of the man you claim to love. Louis dreams of falling, surely, your face looking down at him as he hits the ground.

Poor Claudia too. She isn’t allowed to leave, just like Antoinette. But Lestat doesn’t even give her a choice In that matter: hey, I checked in with that guy that raped you, man he really enjoyed it. Thinks of you often. How terrible for you, sweet Claudia. Disobey me and I will do worse.

Of all the awful little things in this episode, this hurt me so bad.

But also: Louis couldn’t pick an apple.

I mean, where is the lie.

Louis, you lay down in your misery and leave others to rescue you or suffer in defeat; Again, this is not a life, Louis. Depression is crippling, to be sure. Louis has lost everyone and everything, and is not made to be a vampire, this is true. But life doesn’t always give you want you want; it is what it is. Louis still wants Lestat, for all that he has done. Does his overwhelming love make you feel alive, Louis? Is this how you live with that decision you made in that church? But how much choice did Lestat give you in any of it, Louis?

How much choice does Lestat give anyone in his life.

Maybe Louis doesn’t want to say he loves you because you are not worthy of his love, Lestat. Maybe being casually cruel and a brat to the people you claim to care for isn’t the way to get the love you so desperately crave. Maybe telling the man you claim to love you will do what it takes to make the relationship work while refusing to end it with the woman he explicitly told you to end it with, and want him to find out about it because you can’t stand having limits set on your behavior, isn’t how you become someone worthy of love.

I want Lestat to burn. I also love him deeply, like Louis, and. I want them to be together forever.

So then, burn. And maybe in rebirth, maybe he can actually get his act together and be a vampire worthy of their love.

Also: young Daniel *and* present day Daniel / Louis, 100 percent would read. Daniel thirsty for Louis two minutes after they meet is I mean, you know. Not unexpected. Everyone wants Louis, is probably the main problem with Louis.

Rashid is a vampire, to no-one’s surprise.

#iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire spoilers #interview with the vampire

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ran-orimoto · 18 days

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Sometimes I watch this episode and I sit on it, on this scene in particular , think about it so hard because its simplicity holds such a … Subtly tragical tone I ended up catching on my second rewatch (of thousand). And, you know, on my third rewatch it kinda started hurting.

Looking back at the whole season and the way Junpei and Izumi have been written in their arcs and their resolution, I think Junpei eventually remains the loneliest of the lonely between them and it just sucks how Izumi got to open about her solitude to him, then she got support from everyone else and truly felt included in a family, whereas Junpei just had to put up with his struggles on his own, fighting against his own shadow throwing mean truths at him.

This scene in particular is really harsh on him and in my opinion it kinda needed a sort of continuation in the form of a parallelism. Junpei and Izumi are the Frontier relationship that got most amount of those, especially in the bridge from ep 4 to this episode. They got a very linear development always making it clear how they are different sides of the same coin, how they are a mirror to each other and can grow up thanks to looking at the most uncomfortable masks of themselves through each other. So, it’s absolutely a shame the writers allowed Izumi to get away with that.

“Don’t talk like you know!”

Izumi, you just don’t know anything about him.

Still, the most bittersweet and, again, extremely tragical detail is that back then, Junpei didn’t even know he was as lonely as her, either. He just lies down on the grass, staring at her while letting her viciously vent at him. He’s concerned about her outburst, but doesn’t really realize he’s as miserable as her, if not even more miserable, because tell me if it’s not just sad to be a kid believing to have thousand of friends around him, be totally blind about the greyness your life is actually dominated by. He can’t acknowledge the reason why he followed Izumi on the train in a first place was connected to how lonely he felt she was. As lonely as him.

You can laugh about this statement of mine but, seriously, they pulled a sort of Mr Gatsby character here.

On a brighter note, though, I also like wondering if what Izumi says in the very first drama isn’t a hint about how she eventually understood that as well. “You have got lot on your mind but like keeping it all inside”. Maybe, just maybe, she also came to feeling all the stuff he concealed behind his magical tricks.

Honestly, how depressing Junpei’s backstory is. We just got to see a little of it and it still hit home.

#junpei shibayama #izumi orimoto #junzumi #digimon frontier #junpei #izumi #you know the more Joseph made me notice these things the more I started realizing years ago I would have hated him #I feel Junpei’s story so deeply #all the consequences such a life had on him are so realistic it makes me suffer #the way the writers just built him in the subtlest way as possible is so annoying #I feel like they always treated Izumi much better but despite flashbacks over flashbacks she just fell flat #she could have been a story of so much more and yet it just stays there to me #oh yes Izumi rejected the girl who wanted to go to the toilet together #INSTEAD JUNPEI????#I will recall the rain scene and my heart will fall?????#I’m so down for what these two could have been so thank you Frontier for having given me a past time #analyses #gifs

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total-drama-takes-takes-2 · 6 months

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ttwt episode 3

“Last time, on Total Takes World Tour: we dropped off our contestants in Seoul, South Korea- literally! Though they survived the fall, not everyone survived the challenge- after losing half their players, Team Mojo was doomed from the start, and ultimately took the fall- leading to Frollo’s real fall, haha. Mal made some brand new enemies, and Bonnie showed off their soft side when they made buddies with Julia- aw. Who will be falling from altitude next? Will anyone survive today’s challenge? Find out now, on Total Takes: World Tour!”

The inside of first class is illuminated with light classical music, mood lighting, and the smell of fresh pain au chocolat. Kelly and Staci are lounging with their feet up and cucumbers over their eyes, Phillip is busy writing in a thick journal (while giving everyone sideways glances) and Bonnie is absent-mindedly toying with their Switch.

Max walks into the cabin holding a small bag. “Bathroom’s full. Is anyone here afraid of needles?” then, after a short pause. “Oh, right. I don’t care.”

He sits down next to Bonnie and rolls up his pant leg, then starts unpacking some medical supplies. The latter looks up from their switch curiously. “Whatcha got there?”

“Heroin,” he says plainly, lightly pinching his thigh with one hand and readying a needle with the other. It suddenly hits Bonnie and their face goes blank.

“Oh. I didn’t know, sorry,”

“It’s fine. Not like I’d be getting any more privacy in the Orwellian nightmare bathroom back there,” he says, not breaking a sweat as he finishes up the injection.

Kelly leans over the back of their seat. “I do patches,”

“Congratulations,”

---

Ass wakes up with a long stretch, groaning as they work the kinks out of their back from the bumpy and uncomfortable ride. The sound of merry chatting is like nails on a chalkboard to them as Joner and Sha-Mod discuss their upcoming album from across the cabin.

“I mean, we both have great ideas,” Joner says.

Sha-Mod nods. “Really great ideas,”

“But it’s not fair to make big decisions without McLovin,”

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I guess you’re right. Sucks that we can’t all be here,”

“Tell me about it,” Joner sighs, looking at his teammates. “You gotta promise not to get kicked off. I need you now more than ever, buddy.”

“I swear it! If we go down, we go down together,”

---

SHA-MOD: “Okay, Joner’s my friend and all, but… I’m starting to think maybe this time apart from each other, and MC is good. We’re all a little… What's the word… codeperous!”

From outside the bathroom, Max’s voice shouts “THAT IS NOT A WORD!”

---

Chris’ voice blares over the loudspeakers. “Goooood morning! All campers report to the galley in five for the deets on your next challenge,”

Economy class grumbles and starts unbuckling themselves for the depressing walk to the tiny eating area.

---

Chris is standing on the metal picnic table in the center of the room, wearing a viking hat and fake beard. “Welcome to Iceland! Land of the vikings and reduced alphabets!” Chris says. “In just a moment, we’ll be right over some of the most famous hot springs in the world, where I’ll give you the deets on your next challenge. Before then, I’d suggest buckling up- this landing’s gonna be bumpy!”

The teens look at each other and then rush towards the nearest seats, buckling in fast as the plane hits a massive wall of turbulence, shaking everyone like they’re inside a blender. Chris laughs with glee and the plane promptly lands.

Now dizzy and disoriented, the teens take a moment to collect themselves before unbuckling, but Chris is already five steps ahead of them. He throws open the doors and shouts, “HELLOOOOO, Iceland!” to crickets.

The plane sits atop an ice sheet in the middle of nowhere. “Um. Where are we?”

Chef walks up to the door behind him. “It’s Iceland,”

“No it isn’t!”

Chef looks across the empty ice sheet. “I see ice. I see land. Iceland,”

“Chef,” Chris sighs, massaging his temples. “Where are we on the map?”

“Big island thingy by Newfoundland,”

“Greenland! We’re in Greenland!” Chris shouts. “What can we even do in Greenland?!”

“That’s not my job,” Chef shrugs and disappears back to the pilot’s quarters. Chris groans. “Okay, okay. Does anyone here know anything about Greenland?”

Silence. The teens look between each other silently and Chris sighs. “Okay, fine. Everyone out. We’re gonna walk across the ice sheet til we find something,”

The entire group groans and follows Chris out into the cold. The wind is blowing snow across the sheet and everyone is shivering as the host zips up his parka and loudly sips from a Thermos. “Mmm. Hot chocolate really lifts my spirits,”

“I am going. To kill him,” Ass grumbles, wrapping their arms around themselves. “Or myself.”

“Ugh, don’t you dare leave me with Mal,” Courtney says, trudging along.

Near the back of the group, Mal rambles on happily about her favorite manga to Joner, who’s starting to look like a corpse.

The group suddenly stops, crashing into each other as Chris stops in front of them. “Here we go!”

The teens stand before a massive glacier face. “Didn’t think there were any of these left,” the host chuckles. “Okay, impromptu challenge. First team to scale that glacier gets hot chocolate dibs back on the plane.”

Without another word, the freezing teams rush by him and start climbing the slippery face of the massive glacier. Kelly climbs with an unseen precision and speed, outpacing all of the other competitors.

---

KELLY: “Fusion gymnastics really pay off,”

---

They reach the top of the glacier in minutes, and peer over the edge. “Come on, Team Friendship! We can do it!”

“Speak for yourself, you spider monkey freak!” Max shouts from the base.

“Spider monkeys are beautiful creatures!” Kelly yells back.

Nearby, Michela struggles on the slippery, icy surface- her hands won’t hold onto the sleek edges of ice, and her heavy boots keep pulling her down. As she loses her balance for what feels like the millionth time, someone grabs her arm and hoists her over a ledge.

“Try digging your heels in more,” Albert says. “And your hands. I did a campaign against oil drilling in Alaska, and did some climbing. while I was there”

She huffs. “Thank you,”

He salutes her and starts climbing upwards while Max watches in annoyance from nearby.

---

MAX: “I just want to point out, for the record, that he could be flirting with any other girl on the show, but he had to choose mine. There’s something wrong with that guy,"

---

“Dude, later,” Bonnie says as they climb past him. Max sighs and follows them up.

Albert reaches the top of the glacier and huffs, looking around. Kelly is a few yards away, still shouting down to their team. “Let’s go, guys! You’re doing great,”

He smiles and sits beside them. “Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine?”

“Hm?” Kelly looks up. “Oh- I try! We could all use a little push in the right direction, don’t you think? There’s no point to giving up.”

“You can’t win everything, though,”

“Not with that attitude,” they say, matter-of-factly. “Let’s go, team!”

Albert walks off to help Michela over the ledge and Kelly cheerily returns to their team, most of whom keep shouting back at them to be quiet.

Michela and Albert hoist Austin over the ledge and fall backwards as he collapses on top of them with a scream. Kelly’s attention is diverted to the scuffle, but they quickly turn away when they see who it is.

“Hey, baby, don’t be a stranger,” Austin says, noticing the avoidance. “Friends, right?”

Kelly looks back and clears their throat. “Yeah, I mean…. It’s been a while, that’s all,”

“Not too long for an old lover, eh, bird?” he nudges them and they giggle. Patrick makes it over the ledge and slips across the ice, crashing into Michela and Albert like bowling pins and sending them tumbling backwards again. “Well, best get back to the old ball and chain- the team that is!” he laughs at his own joke and walks off.

---

KELLY: “Sometimes I forget how much I liked Austin when we were together. I mean… we broke up for a reason, and-and I stand by that! But still…”

---

Phillip reaches the top and skids across the ice before coming to a stop in front of Michela and Albert, preventing them from being barreled over again. The first of Team Yaoi successfully makes it over the top and pulls Joner up with them. He and Courtney wheeze atop the ice for a few moments before brushing themselves off and peering over the edge.

Ass and Julia come next, followed by Mal, who’s been talking about Yuri on Ice for the past eighteen minutes.

“Someone either get me a pair of earmuffs or a shotgun,” Ass grumbles, pushing past Courtney as Mal babbles on.

While the team is distracted, Joner runs over to the edge and pulls Sha-Mod up, looking both ways for witnesses.

“Thanks, man,” he huffs. Joner shrugs.

Next up is Max and Bonnie. “Has anyone seen Staci?” The latter asks, looking from side to side.

“Right here, bozos,” Staci says, sitting in a makeshift ice throne. “I found some scrap metal and used it to make ice picks like, ages ago!”

Max rolls his eyes.

“Looks like you all made it up alive. Good on you!” Chris says. “While you were busy doing whatever, I went ahead and found a real challenge for you- ice fishing! A common pastime here in Greenland, the sport requires a fair bit of travel. The traditional method is dog sledding, but since we already did that in the original World Tour, you’ll be taking a different twist- building your own out of the materials provided!”

A large helicopter hovers overhead and dunks piles of junk on the top of the glacier, right before the teams. “After that, you’ll be choosing who gets to pull you! Meet you at the finish line!”

A ladder drops from the helicopter and Chris grabs it, waving goodbye as he flies off.

Staci turns back to the team. “This should be easy enough! We just need something to move on, some rope, and a body,”

“I see cardboard and diapers,” Bonnie says, pointing to the trash pile. “Where’d Chris get this stuff, anyway?”

“I’d assume some kind of current carries trash in the Atlantic up here,” Max says, tossing a tin can behind him. “But what do I know? Let’s ask the genius.”

They all turn to Staci, who shrugs. “How would I know? It doesn’t matter, anyway- we’ve got everything we need. Max, start collecting those cardboard boxes. Bonnie, get me something metal. Kelly, you’re on shoelace duty,” they salute. Staci continues. “Everyone else, start looking for some kind of adhesive and some kind of grease. Let’s go!”

The team disperses, leaving the two others behind. Ass and Courtney watch them section off. “So, we’re screwed,” Ass says, unamused. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be dying of hypothermia.”

They walk off, leaving the team behind. “Can we please not fight?” Joner whimpers.

Courtney sighs and nods. “Joner’s right, we need to stick together,” they scan the horizon. “Someone find some… wood, or something. There’s gotta be something we can do!”

Joner and Julia look at each other (the latter rolling her eyes) and both cautiously walk off into the garbage.

---

COURTNEY: “Okay, so I’m not a perfect leader. So what? Someone has to keep this team together!”

---

“Look what I found, baby!” Austin glides back over to Team Mojo, who so far have only collected sheet metal. Michela looks at him, and the rest of the team raise their heads as he stops in front of them gracefully.

“Ice skates! Way to go!” Albert says. “We can attach them to the bottom of our sled.”

“There’s a whole line of them over there, baby!” Austin jabs his thumb backwards, then begins taking off the skates. “But they make me look really shagadelic, don’t they?”

Everyone looks at Michela for comment. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever,”

---

MICHELA: “Why am I ‘the girl’? I mean, I know why, but come on! Patrick is right there!”

---

Kelly sifts through the large pile of abandoned boots in the old shoe sector of the trash heap, pulling out shoelaces and humming to themselves. They crawl on their knees, ducking under alcoves in the garbage island. Their pockets are stuffed full of laces, and as they continue along the depressing manmade horror, they bump their head against something.

“Ow!” they exclaim, adjusting their vision after the bump knocked them dizzy.

“Oops- sorry, baby, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Austin says. “Here, let me help with that.” he pulls off his blazer, wraps a chunk of ice in it, and presses it against Kelly’s forehead. They smile gratefully and hold it to their head. “Thank you,”

---

KELLY: “Despite everything, he’s still a gentleman,” they pause for a few moments, then sigh. “Sometimes… I really miss him.”

---

“How’ve you been holding up? Groovy, I hope?” Austin asks, pulling another ice skate out of the snow.

Kelly shrugs. “Oh, you know. Good, bad, in between. Lonely, mostly,” they sigh.

Austin places a gentle hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that, baby,”

The two look at each other for a moment, both crouching on the ground in their little cave of ice and garbage. Austin slowly begins leaning in, and Kelly takes the cue and does the same, closing their eyes.

But Austin, instead of doing the expected, ducks to the left and nabs something behind Kelly. They fall forward and land face-first in the snow. “There you are, you little bugger,” he says, holding up another skate. “Well, fun chat! Later, baby!”

Austin gets up and walks off with his bundles of ice skates, leaving Kelly behind. They struggle for a moment before sitting up and backing out of the cave, their tongue attached to the blade of an ice skate that was embedded in the snow.

“Uh-oh,” they say with a heavy lisp.

Chris walks over to observe the scene. “Wow. What’re the chances,” he chuckles. The familiar ring of the musical bell sounds and Kelly mumbles.

“Now?”

Chris nods. “Now. But, uh- let’s get some backup singers, shall we?” he chuckles. “You seem a little tongue-tied.”

Kelly’s brow furrows at the annoying joke while Chris laughs at himself. Michela, Ass, and Courtney are shoved over by Chef, much to their collective annoyance.

“Ah, here we are. Take it away, ladies! And… things,” he squints before walking off.

“What happened?” Michela asks. Kelly grumbles as the bell rings again, almost passive-aggressively this time. “The strings of my heart are a tangled mess!”

“Oh, I love this one,” Courtney says, elbowing Ass to join in. “Ooh, mess!”

“It’s beating so hard, it’s jumping out of my chest!”

Michela begrudgingly joins in this time. “Ooh, chest!”

“I tried to start with a clean slate!”

“Ooh, slate!”

“I ended up stuck to a skate!”

“They got stuck, tried their luck, sucks to suck- stuck, stuck to a skate!”

“I was a fool, thought nothing had changed!”

“Ooh, changed!”

“Now I realize that was totally strange!”

“Ooh, strange!”

“He’s moved on, I’m still stuck in the past!”

“Ooh, past!”

“I probably should’ve just asked!”

“They got stuck, tried their luck, sucks to suck- stuck, stuck to a skate! Stuck, stuck, stuck to a skate!”

“Are we done now?” Michela asks. No one responds and she walks off.

“Um… help? Please?” Kelly asks.

Ass rolls their eyes. “Maybe next time you should think before throwing your lips at anyone who looks your way,”

Courtney holds up a finger. “But-”

“Come on,” Ass grabs their wrist and drags them away from Kelly.

---

ASS: “Strawberry Shortcake? Oh, please. They’re like a weird pet to me. I’ve got them completely wrapped around my finger,”

---

COURTNEY: “Ass is annoying, but they’re not a threat. Like a small, loud dog. I’ve got them under my thumb,”

---

“Um… what happened to you?” Max asks as Kelly walks back to the group, holding up the skate (still attached to their face). “You know what? I don't even want to know.”

“Oh my gosh, Kelly! Where did you find this?!” Staci says, holding the skate. “This is perfect!”

“Austhin,” they mumble. “They hath a bunch over there.” they jab their thumb back towards Team Mojo, who’s sheet metal sled is almost complete.

“Well, nevermind that. I made something even better. You guys are gonna love this,” Staci says, pulling out their sled- a futuristic, yet simple design. “The runner is made out of tin can lids for traction, with an automatic feature that’ll cover them with this metal slip when we need to go smooth. I reinforced the cardboard, and these shoelaces will work perfectly to hold everything together and make up the reins.”

Max rolls his eyes. Bonnie elbows him. “It looks great, Staci,”

They shrug. “Oh, it’s nothing,”

Ass watches Team Friendship’s sled come together and looks back to the Yaois, who’s contraption looks more like an unfinished Ikea product.

“We need to hurry things up,” they announce curtly. “We’re WAY behind.”

“Please, keep standing there and telling us how bad we’re doing. It’s SO helpful!” Courtney says, using a cable to tie together the miscellaneous wood and cardboard pieces they found.

“Guys, can we please not argue?” Joner pipes up from behind them. “It’s really not helpful.”

Ass rolls their eyes and walks off. “Whatever. I’m going to find more wood,”

Courtney grumbles to themselves and angrily tightens the cable to a suffocating degree. Julia sits next to Joner and shakes her head. “What a crowd, huh? If you’d ask me, you’re the glue holding us together, Joner,”

She pats his back and he shivers. “Um… okay. I’m going to go sit by Mal,”

Joner gets up and stiffly walks over to Mal, who’s busy trying to get a signal on her phone.

---

“Attention, construction crews! You have five more minutes before the race begins!” Chris’ voice blares over his megaphone as his helicopter hovers overhead.

“How’re we feeling?” Bonnie says, stepping back. “Do we need a steering function, or will our “sled dog” take that on?”

“Do we have time to add anything else?” Max asks.

“There’s always time for finishing touches!” Staci squeals, running over and dumping a bucket of glitter over the sled. Max sighs and massages his temples.

---

STACI: “What? Just because I’m an engineer doesn’t mean I can’t have fun,”

---

Team Friendship piles on the sled, getting covered in glitter in the process. Max looks like he’s about to kill someone, and Bonnie isn’t faring much better.

The three sleds- each of varying quality- line up in front of the opposite end of the glacier, where Chris is waiting.

“Um, someone’s going to come and clean all this extra trash up, right?” Albert asks, looking at the pile behind them.

“Suuuuuuure,” Chris grins. “Just be grateful you’re reusing, buddy. Your next challenge is simple- your designated ‘sled dog’ will pull you down the glacier to the frozen lake, where you’ll cut into the ice and fish out one of these!” He holds up a handful of mugs, each a color coordinating to the teams. “Once you have your mug, you can cross the finish line and receive your reward-”

The crowd Oohs.

“-Not going to the elimination ceremony!”

The crowd sulks again.

“As soon as you choose your sled dogs, you’re free to go!” Chris fires a flare into the sky and chuckles to himself before walking off as the teams turn to each other.

“I volunteer!” Phillip says. “My raw strength is deeper than what meets the eye…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Max says. “How about Skate Face? Not like they’ve done a lot today besides frenching a shoe.”

Kelly protests, jabbing their finger, but their words are unintelligible.

“I’ll do it if it means less glitter on me,” Bonnie says, climbing out of the back and circling around to the front, fastening the harness. “Don’t even think about whipping me.”

Across the ice, Michela fastens the harness around herself and gives a thumbs up to the team behind her. Ass and Courtney watch the other group fix themselves up and turn to theirs.

“I’ll do it,” Courtney says, raising a hand. “It’s only fair after my terrible leadership today.”

“No kidding,” Ass grumbles. “But I don’t think you’re really up for the task, no offense. Wait, actually- offense!”

“Like you’d do any better,”

“Watch me!”

“Okay, then why doesn’t Mal do it? She hasn’t done a single thing all day!” Courtney shouts.

“Um, not true! I’m Wattpadding,” Mal scoffs, offended. Ass rolls their eyes.

“Enough!” Joner shouts, catching everyone’s attention. “I’ve had ENOUGH of your fighting! I’ll do it, okay!” He gets up and walks around to the front of the sled. “Now are you done acting like children, or do you want a juice box and a cookie with that?!”

Courtney, Ass, and Mal stare blankly, then slowly shake their heads.

“That’s what I thought,” Joner says, fastening the harness around him. “If I hear a single peep out of you, I’m turning this whole sled around!”

Julia smiles and leans into Joner to whisper. “Imagine how much smoother we’d run if one of those guys were gone. Just saying!”

---

JULIA: “I need an ally. No way I’m trusting basket case 1, 2, or 3, plus- Joner is probably the weakest link on the team. He needs me,”

---

Joner looks away as he finishes fastening the ropes around his torso and shoulders. “Me and Sha-Mod are already kind of allies,”

“You have a cross-team alliance?” Julia says. “I’m impressed. But Sha-Mod can’t help you here, and trust me- if we lose, you’ll be next.”

He thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Fine, but just for today, and just in case we lose,”

“Whatever works for you!” Julia says merrily.

Joner starts off, shortly ahead of Bonnie and far behind Michela (as Team Mojo’s vote for sled dog was unanimous). He dashes right off the side of the glacier and the crowd in the back scream in terror as they drop down.

Bonnie watches the Yaois fall and turns back to Staci. “This better work!”

“Trust me!”

They sigh and start running, screaming as they go off the edge- as the serrated edges of the tin can runners dig into the ice, though, the fall is dramatically slowed and much safer.

By the time they reach the ground below, they soar past Team Yaoi, who are all buried waist-deep in snow.

“I can see Michela and the boys!” Bonnie yells. Staci starts up the mechanism to cover the runners, and they pick up speed, gliding past the Mojos.

Kelly makes fleeting eye contact with Austin as they pass, and then quickly looks away.

---

“Joner? JONER!” Julia shouts as the Yaois dig through the snow, searching for their missing sled dog.

“Maybe he ran away?” Mal asks, using her phone flashlight to very slowly melt the snow underfoot.

Julia rolls her eyes. “He’s not an actual dog,”

“Isn’t he, though?” Ass snickers. Courtney whacks them upside the head.

A faint groaning catches everyone’s attention and they turn to a massive pile of snow and rocks up ahead. Courtney approaches and winces. “Oh, that’s… not good,”

Joner is lying in the pile of rocks, bruised and battered. Courtney and Julia lift him up and carry him to the back of the sled, then turn to each other. “So… who’s gonna pull it now?”

---

“Come on, Bonnie!”

“You got it, Bonnie!”

Bonnie rolls their eyes. “Okay, I get it!” and they speed up.

“Mush, mush!” Patrick yells, using his blazer as a whip to goad on Michela, who’s looking less than amused. “Good doggie!”

“Can someone do something about him?” she yells. Albert looks cautiously at him, and he snickers. “Oh, I dare you,”

Albert curls his hand into a fist and punches Patrick’s lights out.

---

ALBERT: “When you work in a field like mine, you have to learn how to defend yourself eventually. I’ve been threatened, attacked, attacked with bricks, attacked with pillowcases full of dead birds, and stoned at least five times,” he pauses. “And yet, they still built that dam.”

---

Bonnie slows down at the mouth of a frozen lake, Michela shortly after. Each respective team unloads and runs to the ice, where three sets of fishing rods and saws are sitting.

“Anyone know how to fish?”

On Mojo’s side, Albert begins sawing while Michela grabs the rod. “For the record,” he states. “I do not condone commercial fishing.”

“This isn’t commercial, nor is it fishing,” Michela says, dunking the fishing rod in the water the second the ice is cleared off.

Minutes later, Team Yaoi finally arrives, everyone but Joner pulling the sled behind them. “Let’s go!” Courtney shouts, dropping the ropes.

Ass grabs the saw and starts cutting the ice open while Julia readies the hook. Nearby, Michela shouts “Got something!” And pulls up an orange mug. “Let’s go!”

Team Mojo runs off, leaving behind Friendship and Yaoi, only one of which has gotten in the water yet. Max maneuvers the fishing rod around. “I’m not feeling anything,”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Phillip says. “I would know. I have a fishing encyclopedia.”

“So you know how to fish?” Staci asks.

He looks away and avoids the question for a few moments. “...No,”

“Why would you have a fishing encyclopedia if you don’t fish?” Bonnie questions, raising an eyebrow.

Phillip sighs. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be a man,”

“I got something!” Max yells, just as Courtney gets their lure in the water. He pulls out a lavender mug and Team Friendship cheers, getting up and running off.

“Hurry!” Julia snaps at Courtney.

“I can’t fish any faster!”

---

Team Mojo crosses the finish line and cheers.

“And Team Mojo has won the challenge!” Chris announces. “Nice going, guys. Enjoy some complementary winners hot chocolate.”

Chef rolls out a large metal beverage dispenser.

“But we only have one mug!” Michela protests.

“I know. Sharing is caring, guys!” Chris chuckles. The team groans.

Team Friendship pulls up next, panting. “We-we made it! Not latht!” Kelly says. The team cheers, and only seconds later does Team Yaoi pull forward, holding their mug and panting.

“No. NO!” Ass shouts, dropping to their knees as they see both teams have arrived before them. “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Courtney wheezes and collapses in the snow and Mal rolls her eyes. Julia looks around. “I feel like we forgot something,”

---

Sha-Mod pushes Joner back to the finish line in the shoddily-made sled, shaking his head.

---

“Team Yaoi, I’ll see you at the elimination ceremony tonight. The rest of you can enjoy a nice, toasty evening on the plane,” Chris grins. “Cause the engines are overheating and we can’t figure out why!”

---

Team Yaoi sits in the wooden bleachers at the elimination ceremony, wrapped in blankets and shivering.

“Team Yaoi- wow. You sucked. I can’t even think of a single nice thing to say about you!” Chris chuckles. “Your absolute hatred of each other led you to the pits- for some of you, literally!” he says, gesturing to Joner in a full-body cast. He groans. “But now it’s time to cast your votes and see who gets the boot for good,”

---

Courtney sits in the confessional and sighs. “As much as I want to get rid of Mal, and Ass… it’s cruel to keep Joner in the competition,”

---

Ass stamps out Courtney and flips their passport closed with a smile.

---

Joner mumbles erratically as he sits in his cast, trying to stretch out to reach the passports.

---

Mal stamps out Joner without even looking up from her phone.

---

“I know we’re supposed to be allies, but what use is someone who can’t even move his fingers?” Julia says, crossing her arms. “Can just one person I bet on make it to merge?” She stamps out Joner.

---

“Let’s see- Ass, Julia, and Mal- you’re safe,” Chris reads the votes aloud, tossing each player named a bag of pretzels. “And no surprise- Courtney, you’re safe, too. Sorry Joner. The good news is that there should be a hospital under us riiiiight about now.”

Chris tosses him a parachute, which Julia helps him put on. Ass rolls their eyes.

Joner mumbles something loudly, glaring at the team as he stands at the door. And without another word, he jumps out.

“Dramatic,” Chris chuckles.

---

Kelly sighs as they hold their hair dryer to their tongue, trying to unfreeze it from the harsh metal of the skate blade in the confessional. The door opens and someone jumps. “Sorry, didn’t realize someone was in here,”

“It’th fine,” Kelly says. “I didn’t lock it.”

“Still stuck to that thing?” Albert says, turning on the water tap and letting it run warm before gesturing for Kelly to try it out. They do and the blade immediately separates from their mouth.

“Finally!” They exclaim. “That could’ve saved me a few hours.”

He shrugs. “I do what I can. How’d you get stuck to that thing, anyway?”

“It’s a long story. Short version is that you should never assume someone’s going to kiss you,” Kelly sighs, shaking their head.

“Um... I don’t think I would. I think you’re a little too optimistic for your own good,” Albert comments, then leaves the bathroom.

Kelly sighs again, then closes the door to be alone.

#ttwt #total takes world tour

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 27 days

Text

I’m about halfway through the audiobook of The Holy Vible, the book that Elis James and John Robins published in 2018. It’s really varied, with each chapter being on an entirely different subject (they went with one chapter for each letter of the alphabet, which was a gimmick I thought I’d find annoying, but in fact find myself looking forward to seeing what they get into next every time they finish one). John wrote some of the chapters and Elis wrote others, but they both jump in on each other's chapters with little commentary.

A lot of it is, to be honest, not objectively great literature. Listening to Elis spend an entire chapter talk about how great his favourite band is is only interesting if you’ve listened to a lot of Elis James already, and you happen to really really enjoying hearing people tell you why they like their favourite thing so much. Luckily both those things are true of me so I’ve enjoyed this. I probably wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who’s not already really invested in their radio show.

Anyway, I’ve managed to hold off for a while on doing another post about how listening to John Robins is bringing up mental health-related stuff for me, but then I got to chapter L in this book, which they have rather convolutedly titled “Living – Grief Is” (because they couldn’t make “Grief Is Living” Chapter G, as they had to use G for Elis’ favourite band, Gorky's Zygotic Mynci). It’s a reference to episode 191 of their Radio X show, the time in October 2017 when John Robins came on the radio to explain how the night before, he got drunk alone in his house, ate ten bags of something called Space Raiders (I’ve Googled them, they’re like chips – crisps – I think), and decided he’d do some writing, but due to being too drunk just wrote the words “Grief is living” in a notebook and then found it in the morning next to the chips wrappers. This story caught on with listeners and led to a bunch of people emailing in with their stories of vaguely harrowing shit they’d done in the middle of the night after drinking too much.

I liked how many people connected with the story, because that’s pretty high up on my list of experiences I’ve had frequently but never tell anyone about (or wouldn’t have – now that I’m making an actual effort to stop drinking, I feel like I don’t have to try as hard to minimize how much I was drinking, and being freed of those mental gymnastics is one of the few upsides to what’s been a mostly shitty process so far). When I’m drinking I’ll hit a point where I’ll start feeling things more and think I need to share this, but also be conscious of how much I will fucking hate myself if I start sending anyone drunk messages (not that I never have done the drunk messaging thing – I used to do it a lot when I was young enough for it to be almost acceptable, like early twenties – but especially in the last five years or so, I’ve started getting so paralyzingly mortified at realizing that anyone could ever hear or read my drunk thoughts that I’ve started avoiding getting too drunk around other people and definitely avoiding sending any messages while drunk), so I’ll open a Word document and just type out whatever I’m thinking. And figure that if any of it makes sense in the morning, I can do something with it.

I also have the quite common habit of eating terrible food in the middle of the night while drunk, so that image – of waking up and finding wrappers from the shitty food you ate and something you wrote that’s harrowingly depressing but also cringe-inducingly stupid – is an experience I’ve had many times, leading me to immediately delete everything and throw everything in the garbage and try to forget I ever did that because I hate the person who did that. Somehow, waking up to find something I wrote in a Word doc about something that was making me sad – I somehow find that almost as mortifying as waking up to find I’d sent those thoughts to someone in a message, even though obviously writing stuff in a Word doc that I don’t send anywhere should be no big deal. But it’s always something I wrote about some emotional thing that’s there when I’m sober and that I try to be an adult and ignore, and then I see how horribly I laid it out when drunk, and I can’t stand to look at it. And obviously I also feel guilty for ordering Subway at 1 AM or whatever I did.

Like I said, pretty high on the list of things I have done regularly but don’t even let myself think about, much less share with anyone else. And it was kind of cool to hear John Robins recount a similar story, and then get all those other people writing in to say “Oh yeah I do that too.” I mean, obviously it’s a bad thing to do and all of those people should stop, and John Robins has stopped, and that’s good. But it is nice to hear it’s not just me. It’s up there with that one chapter from Michael Legge’s book, which described the specifics of a post-drinking morning in harrowing detail – for the most painfully accurate description of this that I’ve heard in comedy. And what do we look for in comedy, if not painfully accurate descriptions of substance abuse problems?

Anyway, John Robins named The Mental Health Chapter in his and Elis’ book Grief Is Living, because he explained that that story resonating with other people is an example of why it is worth sharing these things. I got to this chapter while on a break at work, listened to the first five minutes or so, quickly realized that this was far too emotionally heavy a thing to listen to while being at work, but by the time I worked that out it was too late, it had made me feel too many things. I did even really feel in a place to put on some other more lighthearted podcast, so I tried music instead, played the Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy album that was referenced in the chapter, which was a terrible way to try to make myself feel less emotional and more ready to work. The last session I had to run that day was a rather tough.

John Robins acknowledges early in the chapter that he feels awkward and a bit cringe-worthy doing a “Mental Health Chapter”, and I feel similarly about picking out “The Mental Health Chapter” as the one to make a Tumblr post about. Feels like it’s saying “This chapter is the really significant one in the book, because they Talk About Mental Health”, and I feel weird saying that. If it helps at all, this isn’t the first post I’ve written about that book. I actually wrote a really quite long post rebutting all of Elis’ points in Chapter F – Football, because he spends so long explaining why football is better than other sports and all he does is list things that can apply to any sport, football is not special because it has drama and excitement, that’s just what sports are, and listening to him explain the justification for Popular Team Sport Playing With a Ball And a Net Supremacy did make me feel a bit like I was back in high school having my objectively much bigger athletic accomplishments in a much less popular sport superseded on the announcements for the junior boys basketball team making the regional semi-finals or whatever. I wrote a long and detailed post explaining point-by-point why Elis’ argument is not specific to football and actually lots of other sports do that better, and then I looked at it, said “This is overly defensive high school bullshit”, and deleted it all without posting it.

So here’s my second post about the audiobook I’m listening to, and it is on The Mental Health Chapter, though I’m going to touch on the couple of chapters around it as well, because honestly the best cure for listening to something that makes you feel too many things is to write them down and say them into a void and then they’re gone and you can move on with your life.

When I got home from work, I re-listened to the first few minutes of that chapter, and I started transcribing as I listened because I thought I'd include some of it in this post. I didn't go in with a plan for how much to transcribe, and ended just continuing to write until I'd covered the whole introduction. So here's that:

When Elis and I began broadcasting together, it never occurred to me to be anything other than as honest with him on air as I was in person. If he asked me how I was, and I was sad, I would say so. If he asked me, “How was your week, John?” and I’d had a tough time, I might exclaim, “Awful!” before playing Green Day. It soon became clear that this wasn’t very common in the world of commercial radio. And, as a result, over the years, our Radio X show has contained many references to, stories about, correspondence concerning, all kinds of things one might place under the broad heading of mental health.

I must admit I’m even slightly uneasy using terms like “mental health”, or depression, maybe because I worry that other people – whether rightly or wrongly – might cringe, or tense up, or think, “Oh, this isn’t about me,” or, “I don’t want to hear someone being all open about stuff.” So thank the Lord for our old friend Elis James, who, with a common touch like no other, coined the term “the darkness of Robins”. Little did that man on the street know that not only was he predicting the title of the 2017 Perrier Award-winning show (sorry Fosters, if.com, lastminute.com – that’s what I’m calling it) – and, by extension, predicting that one day I would be crowned the funniest comedian on Earth (plus Australian support) – but he had found the only word I felt totally comfortable using to describe my vibe. (Note to self: potential game show title. Get Elis to pitch it to one of his TV friends?)

I was reluctant to write about darkness. I’m far more comfortable describing how it manifests itself, and then having a laugh about it. I would never want to suggest that my experience was in any way unique, or that my take on it was in any way authoritative. I think perhaps, what I feel most acutely is a fear that anyone suffering from any form of mental health problem may read what I write and think, “That’s not my experience. Maybe I’m even more unusual or alone or weird than I thought.” What I have learned is that the more subjectively one talks about such things – eg. “I ate ten bags of Space Raiders before writing ‘grief is living’ in a notebook” – the more people can see themselves in those stories. Yet, when you try to speak generally – eg. “Depression is like running up a hill through treacle” – you immediately exclude most people. Because our experience of mental health is as varied and individual as our experience of physical health. Just because I get pains in my left hamstring after long drives doesn’t mean your eczema isn’t real. (The sole downside of being one of the world’s most accomplished clutch balancers.)

I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, or suffer from depression – I don’t think I do. However, I do feel dark at times, and my general outlook and baseline mood is often one of darkness. I felt a connection to the word when I first heard Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s masterpiece: I See a Darkness. It’s a flawless album, and the title track speaks to me very personally, as I’m sure it does to everyone who has heard it. Have a listen, and then a read of the lyrics. It’s not as bleak as it first sounds. It’s a song of honesty, friendship, and hope. But it’s still sad, mournful, and dark. I love that balance. There is light in the darkness, but also darkness in the light.

There’s an interview with Will Oldham – aka Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – on music website Pitchfork. It’s a characteristically stupid interview, where, hilariously, the interviewer begins by asking why Will Oldham doesn’t like interviews. And, having heard his reasons – nuance impossible, detail glossed over, interesting topics rushed or edited, complex topics not pursed – he then spends the rest of the interview proving Will’s point. There’s a great bit where he asks if Will Oldham has had much experience of karma. He answers, “Tons and tons.” To which the interviewer simply responds, “Johnny Cash played I See a Darkness on his last album. What was that like?” I mean, come on! Maybe dig a little deeper into the interesting thing he just said. It’s like that bit in Knowing Me, Knowing You where Alan Partridge asks the racing driver if he gets bored of the same old questions, before asking, “When did you first want to be a racing driver?” Anyway. If you don’t want to be annoyed, don’t go on Pitchfork.

But there’s one really cool thing Will Oldham says in the interview. He’s asked, “Do you think that you’re more depressed than most people?” Which, speaking as someone who has given a few interviews over the last year, is a really horrid question – and I’ve had some stinkers. (No, it’s not about her and she’s not seen the show and yes, we do speak.) There’s no way out of that question without A) your answer becoming the story – eg. “Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy has depression!”, or “Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s melancholic persona all a lie” – or, B) sounding self-important. Answering either yes or no would make him sound like he thinks he’s somehow special, and separates him from his audience. If you fudge it, it sounds like you don’t want to engage with depression or mental health. And, in fact, it’s impossible to answer, because how do you know how everyone else feels? Such a dumb, unanswerable question.

However, somehow, the brilliant Will Oldham finds the perfect answer: “Not today.” I absolutely love that answer. I love it so God damn much. Because in one exchange, something of the experience of mental health is captured, without anyone claiming ownership of what that experience is like. Everyone has mental health – both positive and negative experiences of it. And everyone’s experience is not only different, but different day to day. In that answer, we have a world where everyone is depressed and not depressed. We’re all experiencing emotions in different ways, at different times.

First of all, I need to acknowledge that in the first part of that, John Robins says much more clearly and precisely something I took way too long to try to explain in a post I made last month, after I listened to him and Elis on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast, about why I like their term “darkness” so much. I like that they don’t set out to explicitly “talk about mental health”; they just tell stories about their lives, and those stories often (this mainly applies to John) involve things that indicate deviation from the platonic ideal of a psychologically healthy person. In 2014, Elis James made an offhanded comment about how John should someday write a show called The Darkness of Robins, cataloguing all these deviations because clearly they resonate with people.

The term grew from there, John started referring to his issues with the vague term “darkness” (ie. “Pretty tired this morning because I couldn’t sleep last night, woke up at 2 AM with a case of the darkness”), listeners started writing in to say this show has helped them with “the darkness”, and nobody has to actually say the words “mental health”. And as John acknowledges in that chapter, that can be a good and a bad thing – maybe in some ways bad because properly naming mental health issues can be important, in some circumstances. But I don’t think a commercial digital indie radio show has to be one of those circumstances where that’s required. “Darkness” is a word that makes it so much easier. It’s a word that can be used to include people who have a whole range of different mental health diagnoses, or multiple diagnoses, and who don’t want to get into all the specifics but do want to be included. And it includes people who are undiagnosed, and people who wouldn’t be diagnosed because their issues don’t meet clinical diagnostic criteria, but they still lay awake feeling terrible and would like a word to describe that.

It’s also a word that strikes the perfect tone. Obviously naming a show “The Darkness of Robins” is ironically grandiose, and there’s something just slightly ironic about it every time they use that word. Obviously they’re being a bit intentionally silly by calling day-to-day psychological struggles something as dramatic as “darkness”. But it’s only a very small touch of irony – just enough irony to take the edge off and make you feel like you’re not formally Talking About Mental Health, but not so much irony that it starts mocking or minimizing the struggles.

I said basically all of that in a post I made last month, and now I’ve said it all again here, and I enjoyed listening to John Robins say pretty much the same thing, but say it much better than I have, and confirm that I was reading it right. They really did hit on a good thing with that word.

I also find that last bit of the above quote really interesting, about the impossible interview question. I’m pretty sure a really difficult part of life is figuring out what bits of your experience are normal and what you should assume is an exception. I’ve gone through phases where I was convinced that everyone’s basically depressed, I don’t think anyone identifies as being “normal” or “happy”. And I’ve gone through other phases where I’ve thought everyone except me is basically normal and I have nothing in common with anyone.

I think during most of my twenties, I leaned more toward the former way of thinking, possibly because I spent most of my time around people who all had something so wrong with them that they felt best when doing a sport where they could literally throw themselves at other people and either physically overpower them or be physically overpowered and being able to do this five or so times a week is all that kept them functioning. If you spend all your time around people like that, you start to think any issues you have are probably normal, everyone has issues, I’m no more messed up than anyone else. On the other hand, last year I started an in-person job for the first time in ages, and either my coworkers are a lot better than I am at being normal and functioning humans, or they’re a lot better than I am at pretending to be normal and functioning humans. I suspect it’s a bit of both.

One time in 2019, my best friend and I had been in an argument for a while about something that does not matter now, and I went over to his house and we ended up getting into it again. He told me this was upsetting, and if I hadn’t come over we’d have avoided all this and would have both have enjoyed our evenings much more, so there was no point to doing this. I said that as shitty as this was, if I’d stayed home, I’d have just spent all evening feeling bad about how we were fighting and worrying about the issue at hand, so for me, this was an improvement on if I’d just stayed home. And he told me “Well that’s the different between us, because my default state isn’t sad. If we didn’t have this argument, I’d have spent the evening feeling fine, because I don’t just feel bad all the time the way you do.” We resolved that fairly unimportant argument pretty quickly, but that sentiment’s stayed with me. Most people’s default state is not sad. It’s possible that I am, in fact, more depressed than most people. Most days.

Not knowing whether you’re “normal” compared to other people isn’t just an issue when it comes to issues of darkness, either. I’m in that cycle of “I’m pretty sure no one is like me” and “I’m pretty sure no one is special and everyone is pretty much the same” with everything. Like people who identify as being really nerdy – we joke about that, but surely we know everyone jokes about how very nerdy they are, so no one is really more nerdy than anyone else, right? Everyone has the thing that they’re a big nerd about, and they think it makes them different from other people, but it doesn’t, because everyone else also has a thing. I mostly thought that, but in fall 2022, I got stuck in a meeting at work where they had an “icebreaker game” of saying your name and a topic on which you could easily give a 30-minute speech. You didn’t have to give the speech or anything, you just had to say what topic you could easily do. There were eight people besides me in that meeting, and seven of them said this was a really difficult question and they struggled to think of anything. One person said Taylor Swift, and that is fine because I am a very non-judgemental person who has no opinion on that (the last clause of this sentence was of course sarcasm, though to be honest, I do genuinely have more respect for someone who could take for 30 minutes about a subject I think is stupid than I do for the people who didn’t have that strong an interest in anything). Maybe that’s a sign that my level of nerdiness does significantly set me apart from most people. Or maybe all those other people were just doing the same thing I was, which is going through the massive list in their minds of subjects they could explain for half and hour, and trying to find one that wouldn’t sound too weird or niche, and not coming up with anything. I hope it was the latter.

I’m thinking of that Daniel Kitson bit where he said you assume other people’s mentalities are basically the same as yours, but then you remember that some people hang their coats up on a train, and the illusion of shared experience shattered. I really like that one because it’s such a specific thing, but he did nail it. I cannot imagine hanging my coat up on a train. It’s such a small, insignificant thing, it’s not against my moral principles or anything – it’s just something it would never occur to me to do. And yet, I have been on trains and seen coats hung up on those little hooks. Some people just go through the world differently from me.

I think the smallest, least important thing in my life that gives me that feeling Kitson was describing – that “Oh shit, the baseline assumption I made that we approach life in basically the same way is incorrect” – is when someone recommends some media to me, and then lets me know what paid streaming site it’s on, as though that will have any bearing on how I watch and/or listen to it. I think the biggest, most important thing that gives me that feeling is that some people have children on purpose. Some people out there think “I find getting out of bed in the morning and tending to my responsibilities so easy that I could probably still do it even if you added a lot more noise and stress, as well as a huge number of additional responsibilities, and raised the stakes to the point where an innocent child's life depends on me getting it right every single day for many years, even at this higher level of difficulty.” They don't just think they're mentally and physically functional and will likely stay that way for the next eighteen years - they're so sure of this that they think it would be fine for a child's life to depend on it. The massive gulf between my mentality and the mentality of a person who could do that – the deep fundamental level on which that gulf exists – makes me sometimes think I don’t have any common experience with almost anyone. And then I listen to a story about someone getting drunk alone and writing something stupid like “Grief is living” in a notebook, and I say “Okay, there are some common experiences.”

The chapter before “L: Living – Grief Is” is “K: Keeping it Session”. This is John Robins’ expression that means sticking to session ales when drinking, which means under 4.5% (basically, weak beer). He goes into great detail about how this improves both the experience of drinking, and your life in general. It’s another thing I’ve described before on this blog, which is that it’s a sneaky thing that seems like it promotes responsible drinking, but actually it’s just a sign of a drinking problem, someone who loves the act of drinking alcohol so much that he’s found a way to make it last longer, because if each drink is weaker then you can have more of it, all else equal. That chapter made so much sense as I listened to it, and I was thinking, once again, that maybe I could try this as a way to satisfy alcohol cravings. Until I got to the very end of the chapter, which I’ve also transcribed:

Having banned spirits in my house from April 2017 – due to factors – the power of my moral hangovers has lessened. Yes, I still have the odd cloudy day that I have to write off, and spend ignoring the self-doubt and seeking emergency crying nooks in central London. (Unused studios at Radio X HQ are an absolute Godsend for any tearful digital DJ caught short welling up in public – for example, after watching the film Arrival at a central London cinema in Jan. 2017). But these days are rare. I have had to admit that spirits, rum especially, had a large part to play in the end of every relationship I’ve ever been in, numerous shame wells, and all my major career failures/plateaus, 2007-14. But I’ve now reached a happy medium where, by sticking to session ale and having the odd day off booze, marked in red Sharpie on my official Queen calendar, I’m genuinely able to enjoy my drinking and my life. So, go forth, dear friends. Spread your alcohol over longer nights, extended chats, and deeper nooks. Forgo wasteful units, erase shame from your mornings, and keep it session.

That bit reminded me that – oh right, this is all bullshit. That is a man who, since writing that, has admitted he had a significant alcohol addiction that was not, in fact, resolved in 2018. That man just explained to me, in 2018, that he has now figured out his drinking habits and is able to do it in a healthy and responsible way and it’s all fine. That’s just lying, I’ve done it too. I don’t know how many years in a row I’ve said “I think my drinking was reached problem levels last year, I’m glad I have it under control now.” Don’t take alcohol advice from people who are lying. (I mean, obviously cutting back is better than not cutting back and drinking weaker alcohol is better than drinking stronger alcohol. I just mean, if you’re having ten drinks in a night on a regular basis, there isn’t a way to make that a good idea, no matter how much I – and apparently John Robins – would like there to be. And if an alcoholic tells you there is a good way to do that, they're probably lying.)

Later in the Grief Is Living chapter, John Robins gets more into discussing how mental health problems manifest and what he’s learned about how to deal with them. To his credit he is very careful about this, he keeps saying he’s not an expert, his experiences will not necessarily apply to anyone else, and the vast majority of his actual advice consisted of referring people to experts, or relaying things he’s learned from experts.

He breaks down lifestyle things into categories that he tries to take care of for the sake of mental health – food, sleep, drink, exercise. And then goes into detail on each one, acknowledging that sometimes you can’t get it all right and sometimes people aren’t capable of following advice on this and sometimes it’s not enough, but it tends to help. He then added that while this doesn’t apply to him, the other big everyday lifestyle factor in mental health for half the population is menstruation, as a huge number of people find their mental health fluctuates significantly with that cycle. And then he talks about how many women he’s known who suffer horribly from this and how they try to manage it, and gives some advice about taking it to a doctor if it’s bad and demanding to see a specialist if you get brushed off or told there’s nothing they can do because it’s not right that women are expected to just “live with it” when there are medical treatments that can help with that.

This of course made me think of the routine in his 2014 Edinburgh show, about his girlfriend’s PMS/PMT. I wrote about this before too, how I do see where he was going with that. The routine is less bad than any one-sentence summary (like the one I just wrote) could make it sound, because he was clearly trying to be more nuanced than just “women be crazy on their periods”. He was approaching it with sympathy for how frustrating those feelings are for the woman experiencing them – but at the same time, he was also making a joke about how those symptoms look odd from the outside. Sara Pascoe did almost the same thing in her show LadsLadsLads – said she suffers from clinically bad PMT and then told some stories about times that led to getting emotional in ways that were amusingly disproportionate and that looks odd.

Obviously, the giant, glaring difference between the two situations is she gets to make that joke because it’s her experience. I guess it’s a double standard, but it seems fair enough given the trade-off of who has to actually live with it, that people who get periods are allowed to make the joke and people who don’t should be very, very careful if they try doing the same thing. John Robins was more careful than most cis men throughout the history of stand-up have been, when it comes to writing a “women be crazy on their periods” routine. But still, not careful enough. That routine is the bit of Robins stand-up that I think is least defensible (aside from that other bit about Sara Pascoe at the end of Darkness of Robins – it’s fine, she hasn’t seen the show and they do speak, it’s hopefully fine and he hopefully ran it past her), I cringed through it when I re-listened to his 2014 show recently and I think including it was a bad call. However, I do like that hearing this bit in the book confirmed the way I read that routine, which is that he doesn’t actually think the primary victims of people suffering from PMT are their male partners. That he was trying to talk about how it’s a genuine issue that people suffer from and that sucks for them, but also, we can make lighthearted fun about it! He just… didn’t do it nearly well enough to justify touching a subject that has such a terrible history of cis male stand-up comedians being dicks about that.

Anyway, I don’t want to get into detail here (or anywhere, talking about it makes me extremely uncomfortable and that sort of thing is why destigmatizing and normalizing discussions about it are good, ie. a cis man including it on a list of lifestyle factors that affect mental health because it’s a huge one even though it doesn’t apply to him – normalizing it through jokes in stand-up sets is also good, but probably best to leave that to the people who experience it), but the fact that I have this cycle every month has a significant detrimental effect on my mental and sometimes physical health, as well as in some ways my overall quality of life, and I appreciate hearing it mentioned so casually. To be honest, that’s another situation where I used to think I’m worse off than most people, but now think I’m not. Every person I’ve ever known well enough for them to have told me about their experience with that cycle has had horror stories that should not be normal, but given how common they are, I think that is normal. My ex-girlfriend had that issue described in the book, of doctors brushing off her terrible, abnormal symptoms because this is just what women are expected to go through. My mother had an emergency hysterectomy at age 48 after experiencing so much blood loss over so many years that it gave her permanent disability issues, and it took until that point for anything to get done because women bleeding a lot is assumed to be normal. It is a good thing to talk about and differentiate between common and normal, I think. Sorry about the tangent, I just figured I’ll package all my oversharing in this one post and then we can move on.

I need to get into another part from later in the Grief Is Living chapter of the book, when John Robins talks about the gambling addiction he used to have, and relays some things he learned from the Gambler’s Anonymous meetings he attended for a while. He explained: “I haven’t gambled since the sixth of December 2002. If you’d told me, on the fifth of December, 2002, that I would go sixteen years without gambling, I would have thrown up at the horror of that idea. Slash burst into tears, slash started gambling.” I wrote out that quote just because I found it helpful. Thinking about giving something up forever is overwhelming and impossible and will immediately make you turn to that thing just to cope with the thought of living without it forever. But you can do it a little at a time and someday it’ll add up.

I’m going transcribe one more quote from that chapter:

My point here is this: You are enough. You did something. Too often, we feel like we aren’t in control, aren’t capable of things. And it doesn’t matter whether it was writing a symphony or emptying the dishwasher, you did it. And hold onto that for dear life, because when it’s all you can do not to bang your had against the wall, or stay in bed all day, or drink into oblivion, emptying the dishwasher is a symphony. And it’s with these small, seemingly insignificant handholds that we can begin to pull ourselves out of the swamp.

I included that because it made me think of that blog he wrote for Chortle (which John and Elis' book described as "comedy's Bible/menu/tabloid", which I found quite funny), during the 2007 Edinburgh Festival, that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. I made fun of one particular entry in it, which I mostly stand by, because it was so fucking pointlessly intense in such a Classic Robins way. Firstly, he writes glowingly about a Phil Kay show he saw:

It does begin, however, with some of the most beautiful prose I’ve heard in a comedy show. So much so that I have to take out my notebook to write down the statement “the law of love says ‘you are enough’”. Unfortunately Phil sees me do this and takes me for a reviewer. “He might be a journalist” I look up “bang, you’ve missed a bit of the show” he says. I’m wearing headphones round my neck and he riffs on that for a while then moves on. But by now my face is burning and I become his point of focus after delivering set pieces. I feel terrible for the pressure he now seems to think he’s under when there is no need, “I’m not a reviewer Phil! I’m a fan! I’m a worshipper!” but I stay quiet, sit back, and enjoy his remarkable talent. I was going to give him a review, just for neatness, but I don’t think you can really review his shows, just him. He walks a line of personal confession that any self proclaimed storyteller, myself included, is simply miles away from. Of course it’s an intensely personal thing, but for me, as nice as it is to make badges, this style of comedy is where i find hope for the new wave, or whatever you want to call it. The amazing thing is that Phil’s been doing it for nearly 20 years.

So adorable, so annoying, so pointlessly intense, so pretentious but earnest, so sweet – a 25-year-old inexperienced comedian taking out a physical notebook during a show because he was so moved by the line “The law of love says you are enough” that he just had to write it down. But then, he writes about how the night unfolded later on:

After the Zone, which pretty much sold out and was really good, (a high point was Carl telling a woman with an annoying laugh ‘it’s like being heckled by the Lilt ladies’), we went to the Brooke’s Bar. It was rammed and hot. I met a person I’ve not met before, and it was he who made me realise that Phil Kay is not the only one off up here this year. I won’t mention his name because of what transpires later, but he’s like a cross between Chris Morris and Peter Cook circa ‘Derek and Clive get the horn’, drunk, breakdown era, vitriolic Peter Cook. He’s bounding about the bar vomiting all forms of obscenity out onto an unexpecting audience, save those who know him, who reliably inform me that this is normal behaviour. It’s ‘what’s the worst thing you can say to a stranger’ stuff, captivating as much as it is abhorrent. When it crosses the line into straightforward assault I keep my distance. But he reminds me of me, in a way. Not the assault, but the tractor beam of desperation to perform that throws you round a room of strangers and leads you to ruin their evening.

First of all, I need to acknowledge that this does not sound anything like Chris Morris. And I know Peter Cook had issues, but surely there’s a less dramatic simile than that, that John could have used to explain that some comedian was being a dick in a bar. Anyway, the story escalates very fast after that. Weirdly fast. The guy who is not Chris Morris or Peter Cook leaves, and then John and his friends leave, and they find the guy again in a chip show, where he's shouted verbal abuse at some locals and picked a fight with them.

He is chased out by 6 or 7 very rightly angry men, they knock him to the ground and begin to beat him. It’s the kind of thing you only imagine doing when you’re brain won’t sit still at night; “God, imagine if I shouted ‘Fuck you all’ at a funeral, or went to a Millwall game and called them all fags”. It’s not just social suicide, but increasingly physical suicide that I am watching. As the punches and kicks are thrown we wade in to stop the trouble, in the slightly awkward position of being totally sympathetic with the people who are kicking the shit out of him. One minute they were buying chips, the next being called “foreign cunts” and being told to “speak English” in their own country. He didn’t mean these things, but says them to achieve the desired effect: self destruction. As Burgess said, and never truer than now, “destruction’s our ode to joy”.

As we break it up, and shelter our colleague away from the gathering crowd, tears fall from his battered face, and now I properly see myself in his little boy lost eyes. I know that burning need to feel something, anything, other than what you’re feeling inside. In a former life I’d have put my fist through a door, or smashed a bottle or jumped through a shop window, something more controlled than letting half a dozen drunk Scots administer the punishment. “We need to get on top of this”, I say to him, and beating in my head is that statement, like a fucking beacon; “the law of love says ‘you are enough’” to be honest this guy is more than enough. But somehow I need to show him that like Phil suggests, he himself, is all he needs to do whatever he wants. That release, the blessed release that comes from being half killed by an angry mob can be found inside you, the law of love says so.

You definitely should not shout racist abuse at people who have graciously allowed thousands of annoying performers and tourists to take over their city for an entire month (though you also shouldn't beat people up in the street even if they deserve it, and if you see other people beating someone up in the street you should try to stop it if you can, even if they deserve it). And it's pretty fucking intense to quote the likes of Anthony Burgess to Phil Kay while describing the tear-stained face of a man who just picked a fight in a chip shop. I certainly wouldn't call it pointlessly intense this time - that situation got pretty fucking dramatic. But John Robins' narration also got pretty fucking dramatic, and I made of fun of that in another post a few weeks ago, and I mostly stand by that.

But I have to admit I did feel a bit bad after writing that, because of course I know exactly what he's talking about, I spent over ten years of my life unable to function unless I could go into a small room and physically throw myself against people until I knocked them down or they knocked me down and something hurt enough to stop me feeling anything else. And I realize that is also a pretty dramatic thing to write, it's the sort of thing I'd wake up to find written in a Word doc on my laptop next to a Subway wrapper and an almost empty whiskey bottle (which is, obviously, also a way to achieve that feeling of catharsis), but it is an experience I know well and is probably worth talking about. Maybe if more people wrote their feelings down in overly dramatic blog entries, fewer people would feel the need to go pick fights in the street.

And I thought of that old Chortle blog entry when I heard that line in The Mental Health Chapter of his audiobook written 11 years later: "My point here is this: You are enough." He remembered that line. Or he forgot it and it's a coincidence that he repeated it, that's probably more likely. But it did make me think I should be less of a dick about a twenty-five-year-old comedian contributing even more spelling errors to Chortle, while trying to express the way he connected to someone's emotional experience, in the hopes that it might turn out this one doesn't set him too far apart from other people. After all this, I really don't have grounds to make fun of someone else for doing that (although, in my defence, I at least keep my spelling errors/convoluted connections to an emotional experience on this website/gremlin network, and don't sully the highly respectable Bible/menu/tabloid of comedy with them).

Okay I'm done the dramatic parts now. The next chapter is "M: Mind Scenarios", which is much more lighthearted as it looks at the things he thinks about when trying to sleep, although that chapter does contain the line: "I find falling asleep sober so difficult that I’ve twice called NHS Direct because I thought I was having a heart attack," because it's John Robins, so even the fun little ones can get fairly dark. But that chapter is mainly not un-acknowledged alcoholism, it's mainly Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. That is not a joke, it's not something I'm taking out of context to make it sound weird. It's a very literal description of the chapter.

He explains to us that he likes to invent Sherlock Holmes mysteries while falling asleep, and then he spends quite a bit of time - a significant portion of the chapter - reading out an example. I kept waiting for there to be some twist or double meaning that would connect to other things from the book, but no, he just wanted to read us his Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. When he finished the Sherlock story, he didn't add any analysis or explanation of why he'd done that, he just immediately moved on to discussing the cognitive benefits of fantasizing about a nuclear apocalypse.

...Like I said, I'm enjoying the book, but I recommend it to people who are already on board with James and Robins and their whole thing, and I recommend it no one else. I'm having fun though. The vast majority of the book is much more fun than this post.

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