#me answering asks when unmedicated is just me reaching the end and realizing i went off on every tangent known to man

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

you might have been asked this question before but ive been curious for a while about what would have happened when gertrude was there when jon originally gave his statement? would anything change ?

Honestly she probably would have killed him.

Like, it feels mean to say? It would have been more out of mercy than anything.

If Jon had come to her with only a Leitner, she would have taken care of the Leitner and sent him home. She doesn't normally intervene on behalf of the Statement givers, but they also aren't usually eight, and it isn't unheard of for Gertrude to intervene for the random unlucky souls who cross her path. She intervened on behalf of Jack Barnabas, and she told the monster pig dude how to handle his problem. It's selective when she intervenes, but I think if it's just a little boy scared by a book, she would help.

The thing about Gertrude is that I don’t I think she is or ever has been heartless; I just think she’s brutally practical.

One of the most interesting tidbits about her is that she looked for Eric Delano for months after he went missing, but wasn’t close enough to know that he had quit ages before he actually died. She avenged Sarah’s death by seeking out someone she had never, ever let herself meet before that moment, but she did this right after sacrificing Michael without hesitation. She seemed genuinely fond of Gerry, but she still bound him to a book.

I think that, at the end of the day, it wouldn’t be that she wouldn’t want to save Jon. It would just be that she would realize that she couldn’t.

If he had just arrived with a Guest for Mr. Spider, I think Jon would have walked away remembering her fondly as the brusk but ultimately nice old lady who had her assistant make him a cup of tea and taught him how to burn a Leitner. But he didn’t just come because of A Guest for Mr. Spider. He came because of Tommy Bradstaff.

Gertrude’s shown to be more wary of the Web than pretty much any other entity. She got tricked by them way back when she defeated her first ritual, and I don’t think she forgets. I also don’t think she would have thought it was ever a good idea to voluntarily set herself in a competition with the Mother of Puppets. Jon's eight and scared and she'd want to help him, but she also would have immediately recognized that saving him comes with a very high price tag and a very low chance of success.

I do think Gertrude would have at least tried to think of a way to save him. I just think she would have ultimately come to the conclusion that there wasn’t one.

And it’s just practicality, right? That’s the big difference between her and Jon in nhthcth. It doesn’t matter how badly she wishes she could help; she’ll accept when she can’t. But when she can, she usually racks up a very big win. Jon will wildly intervene without even considering his chances. Like, there's a reason why the Eye led him to Danny Stoker that night--it's not conscious the way humans are or the spiders are, but even pavlov's dogs learned association, and the Eye seems to be capable of that kind of low-level consciousness. When Jon finds Eric Delano's statement in canon, it's because he listened to the tapes the Eye didn't want him to hear. That implies the Eye is at least partially able to make connections based on its own impulses and desires.

Jon's its special little boy who has been resolutely fucking starving himself for almost two decades. He went and joined the eldritch version of AA with Daisy in an attempt not to feed the Eye other than when absolutely strictly necessary, and the Eye's never been happy with his starvation diet. But the one sure-fire way to get Jon to forget his sense and start ripping statements out of avatars is to shove some poor schmuck being eaten in his line of sight.

It’s pretty directly stated in nhthcth that danny isn’t the first victim of another entity he’s tried to snatch, even if he’s never gotten as involved with a pair of victims as the stoker brothers. And honestly—he almost didn’t get super involved with them either. Like, when he was trying to duck out after the initial fight at the theatre, long term involvement would have only made it worse for them. Most of the time, the absolute best chances come from "hope that they've forgotten you existed and won't come back for round two. if that fails maybe just hop continents and it will be too inconvenient for them to track you down again. buy guns." There's a pretty high mortality rate with people who hang around him, and he's not exactly expecting these random male model brothers to manage this world long-term.

If Jon’s hadn’t straight up passed out, he would have called Daisy to come pick him up and bitched to her about fucked up clowns being a problem now. He’d feel vaguely mad at himself when nikola skinned both Danny and Tim, because it’d be just another case of him trying to help and just increasing the body count, which is what happens most of the time.

I think Mike described him like someone who kept putting half dead birds in boxes and feeling disappointed when he opened the lid and saw they’d croaked. It's not unheard of for the people he helps to make it, but it's also not exactly often either. And that’s not even really to say he’s any less powerful or capable than gertrude was—honestly, between him and Daisy? They’re sort of a powerhouse duo. Like, people are afraid of hunters. At one point Dekker says that he was going up against something that would require a hunter to kill, and that while he knew a few, he would never actually risk consulting one. Amateur lobotomy it is. And Daisy is the sort of hunter that can kill other hunters. Jon’s this absolute muppet of a human being rolling up to soul-rending horror like “this is Daisy :) she is my best friend :)” and then they turn around and the Avatar of Fucking Them Up is standing there breathing too heavy and blatantly fucking insane. It’s like if kermit the frog kept bringing the fucking terminator to social events.

And Jon isn’t exactly a slouch either. Like, he’s keeping himself as weak as he can, and he’s still strolling into other entities' domains, feeding on them, and just... walking away again. These are people who are extremely used to being the human equivalent of a great white shark, more powerful and deadly than anyone else in any room they're in, but they've got this extremely distressed looking twink curb stomping them when he has reached the absolute breaking point of his Victorian Fatigue. this man keeps coming into their homes and one-shotting them after weakening himself to the point of being on death's door. jon on his own makes other avatars twitchy, but the Jon and Daisy Buddy Cop is honestly kind of one that the other avatars are somewhat actively afraid of.

Like, they'll dunk on Jon (where daisy can't see), because he's jon and he's ridiculous and pathetic at all times, but people are secretly pretty careful to toe the line of shit jon will put up with. Mike will be smarmy with Jon because he knows Jon will let him get away with it, but he also knows that if he fucks around too hard jon will put him through a psychic paper shredder and daisy will bury his corpse in the woods. It's not a secret that Daisy and Jon are strolling around feeding on and blatantly fucking murdering things like them, but none of these self-serving assholes have managed to handle a pretty active threat to their longevity. that's more because they can't than because they won't.

And still, Gertrude is pretty universally regarded as a force of nature, but Jon's still getting told that a seven percent success rate is a bit generous.

Gertrude is Gertrude Robinson, and she's the baddest bitch around, and that has a huge bit to do with her success rate. But it would be a mistake to say that the number of battles she picked didn't have something to do with why she's more successful. Like--Gertrude's going for quantity over sentiment. She'll save the world, but the individual people in it? Those aren't the fights she has ever prioritized, at the end of the day.

Almost all of the statements Jon in canon recorded were from her tenure, and Jon's follow ups usually concluded with "and then they horribly died." Gertrude was casually eating a fucking sandwich in her office and watching while Jane Prentiss decided that she couldn't be saved and went off to cram her forearm in a spooky wasp nest. She didn't help Jane. She didn't explain what was happening. She didn't try to intervene. She ate her sandwich, and she let Jane leave, and I think that at least in part she would have agreed with Jane's assessment. There wasn't any saving her, and that's a judgment that always precludes Gertrude's help.

Gertrude wins as often as she does because she picks her battles carefully. She delivers maximum damage to maximum effect, and she doesn't spin her wheels on things she knows are a waste of resources. She came right on the heels of an archivist who died because he burned through his resources and his luck, and her tenure has been marked by her being smart enough to be cautious.

I think Jon would have given her his statement. I think she would have been nice to him. I think she would have allowed herself to feel sorry for him, and sorry that he was so young, and sorry that it was too late.

I think that she would have considered what the web could have planned for him, and she would have considered how painful a fate was waiting for him if he met the End the Spider probably had planned for him. And I think she would have decided it would be crueler to let him meet it.

Gertrude in nhthcth specifically has always had a weird, twisted mercy when it came to Jon. She never manipulated him, is the thing. Elias made sure that what he did to Jon had long past the point of no return by the time Gertrude ever caught wind of his existence. As far as she was ever concerned, Jon was beyond saving from the day they met, which meant there was no point in trying. She was never going to offer him the mercy of trying to help him.

But she could have played him and she didn't. And I think that's about the most merciful action that Gertrude Robinson would have been capable of.

She knows about Agnes, okay? better than anyone. she's been bodily hauling the world as they know it through a decade of apocalypse attempts. She took one look at Jon and realized that elias had made him to wear the watcher's crown, but also that she couldn't kill him without completely alienating her resources to stop much sooner apocalypses.

But she sort of knew from the day they met that she may have to one day kill him, if only to stop him from wearing the crown. It wasn't set in stone, but it was a very significant possibility.

In chapter 24, Jon reached out to gertrude for absolutely any comfort possible, and she actually could have given it to him. She could have strung him along with false hope, or just given him a shoulder to cry on. Someone other than elias to love.

And she would have done that knowing that she was actively planning how to kill him when the time came. And she's definitely not above that kind of manipulation. Jon's extremely vulnerable when he comes to her, and he already thinks of her as a source of hope. Stringing him along and being his only source of comfort and support would give her an enormous advantage over him that she normally wouldn't ignore. But if he did die by her hands one day, as she knows he probably will, he'd finally go to his end after a very painful life being murdered by the only person that he thought loved him after he lost Gerry. Gertrude sort of uncharacteristically gave up that advantage to spare him from that final betrayal. She'd never sacrifice the world for him, she could have loved him like her own son and she would still kill him without hesitation, and she won't lie to herself about that fact either. It's a weird, twisted act of mercy to have it be turning the cold shoulder to a little boy begging for help, but in her mind, it was the most merciful option open to her.

And I kind of like the idea of Jonathan Sims in nhthcth always demanding the most painful acts of mercy of Gertrude that she's ever contemplated. Because the thing is, if she had been the one to take his Statement that day, she's almost definitely would have decided that Jon couldn't be saved. Not when the thing after him was the Web. And once she decides that, she has two options: let him meet the End waiting outside of those doors, or handle it herself.

And the thing is, her MO is to go for the former. It's not like she's mercy killing everyone who shows up and tells her of the fate worse than death that's most likely to befall them--hell, to take the risk of mercy killing is borderline out of character to her. If it were anyone else, she wouldn't have done it.

But Jon was eight. He was begging her for help that she couldn't give. And the Web has never been merciful. Either it was lying about wanting him for itself and he was going to be killed in the most slow, horrifying way possible, or it wasn't and he wasn't even going to get the mercy of death. Like, if a horrible, tragic fate is inevitable for him, Gertrude has to at least contemplate if there's an option that's more merciful than the rest.

Even giving him a less painful death is dangerous for Gertrude, but I think that's more of a price she'd be willing to contemplate. Like, killing another entity's victim is another way of snatching a meal from them. She had to at least entertain the risk that the Web would have some kind of retribution for it. But she would also entertain the fact that Jon's only sitting in the Archives because the Web let him get that far, that it wanted him to give its Statement to her, and ultimately decide that the risk is one she's willing to shoulder.

I think she would have made sure it didn't hurt. I think she would have made it quick, and made sure he didn't know it was happening. but I don't think she would have ever saved Jon the way he wanted to be saved.

If I’m being extremely generous (and self indulgent) and trying to come up with a world where she would go on a crusade to save him, and probably assuming some kind of off screen character arc that’s completely made her change her entire approach to life, I think she’d bring him to Agnes Montague.

If Jon could ever have a chance way back when he was eight, I think it would have been Agnes. Agnes is the direct opposite of the Web. She's the demigod messiah of the entity of Fucking Up All Your Life Plans. In canon, she's the one that Gertrude went to when she did need to go after the Web. If she had decided to try for him and needed to come up with an option to save him, she'd go to Agnes.

That being said, getting to that decision is just still really unlikely. For all of the above reasons and because of the difficulties Agnes poses. Even if they're in like, lesbian soul love, they've never met in person, and she doesn't really know if Agnes will help. It may attract the Lightless Flame's attention, and Jon may just end up burnt to death instead of filled with spiders. A lot of ways it could go wrong and give Jon a worse fate. It's the sort of Hail Mary play Gertrude never really did.

That line is in the summary because I thought it said everything about what the reader needed to know for Jon in nhthcth. (Also, I just thought it sounded nice.)

Jon in nhthcth is sort of defined by the fact that he has never gotten past who he was in the moment that James Wright locked him in Gertrude's office. It's one of the two cornerstones of everything he became.

The other cornerstone, of course, is Gerry.

Jon has spent his entire life trying to figure out a way that he could have been anything but what he is. It's been a decade and change, but he's never, ever been able to let go of what happened to him. And that feels at least a little off.

Maybe it's the idea that time heals all wounds, maybe it's the idea that Stockholm Syndrome should have kicked in eventually, maybe it's the evil god eating parts of his personality, maybe it's the idea that it's probably exhausting to eternally be struggling against a fate that you met when you were fucking eight. Even if he never becomes okay with what happened to him, he probably should have at least accepted it and moved on to some measure. Like, this has been his reality for almost his entire life. No matter how terrible it was, people usually adapt and acclimate to what happens to him.

One of the core traits of Jon in nhthcth was always supposed to be that Jon just didn't for some reason.

Like, Jon has not even passed the threshold of accepting what happened to him. It's all these years later, and he's desperately replaying what happened and trying to come up with the version that has him going home at the end. Even if you don't accept your current situation, you probably should have stopped trying to figure out what you could have done differently when you were eight, no matter how terrible what happened is.

At the end of the day, even with all he knows, Jon just has never understood why he couldn't have been saved.

He knows there's no Light Side at the end of the day. This isn't some big battle of Good Against Evil--it's just a series of Bad inconveniencing Other Bad because what Other Bad wants is not in the interest of what Bad wants. There's no ancient secret order battling the dark--there's just a lot of people stopping each other from ending the world because they want to be the ones to do it, and also like, Gertrude Robinson and her good-time buddy That One Random Priest. If you're looking for someone to save you in the TMA world, there just isn't really anyone.

And that's part of why Jon goes in after Danny Stoker. It's part of why he keeps undertaking the world's most half-assed rescue attempts. Trying to save Danny when his entire life has indicated that's impossible and probably going to make things worse is a deeply irrational thing to do. He probably should have learned when to walk away by now.

But a part of him is still eight, and a part of him has spent his entire life going over the worst thing that ever happened to him and trying to figure out the way to make it different.

It takes a specific sort of person to keep undertaking herculean efforts in a desperate, wild attempt to save people that he knows are as good as dead. And I think that sort of person once was someone who was as good as dead. He saves Danny Stoker because a part of him is still desperately trying to find the person who could have done the same for him.

In the end, he became the thing he once needed most in the world, which was a chance. I don't think he's realized that fact. And I don't know if he'd find it comforting if he did.

The other thing about that sentence is that it's completely and utterly pointless.

Like. It's been eighteen fucking years. At a certain point, you have to decide it doesn't matter anymore, and clinging to the question of whether someone could have saved you just doesn't help anything. But one of the other core traits of Jon in nhthcth was that he was someone who just simply did not care if what he was doing was practical or had any chances of succeeding.

He's designed to be so stubborn in it that it's almost ridiculous, and more than a little comical but it's honestly borderline sad to me. Here Jon is, making it his life's fucking mission to hold the title of World's Shittiest Employee. He is going to make his hostage situation inconvenient for everyone. He's not doing fucking paperwork; he's only here because elias kidnapped him. He can't get away, but he's going to be the absolute most unmanageable nightmare alive.

It does absolutely nothing to help him.

He doesn't think anyone in the Institute is ever going to help him. He doesn't think he's going to force Elias's hand into letting him go by racking up the most HR complaints in Institute history. It doesn't actually help him in any way to do the vast majority of what he does--it actively hurts him, actually. There's no one in the Institute who wants to help him, because they see him as a nuisance. When he causes Elias too much trouble, Elias punishes him for it. It'd be better from a consequentialist perspective to have settled into some kind of facade of normalcy, but he hasn't. Because playing along, going along with the facade as an Institute employee--he'd have to at least implicitly admit that what happened to him isn't relevant anymore. Sure, Elias kidnapped him and fed him to an ancient, primordial hunger from the dawn of civilization, but by god, he has his monthly staff meeting to get to, and that's too important to make a fuss about the first thing.

It's kind of sad, because while the Institute didn't know the entire picture, nineteen-year old Martin almost immediately said "wow, that blatantly unstable child sure does act like he's being severely abused." Elias had to feed him a story about an entirely different abuser to dodge the world's most needed CPS visit, and Martin still almost turned around and reported Elias literally the same afternoon. Yeah, Elias had a story for the institute to explain jon's Everything, but they really didn't have to buy it.

Like, willful ignorance absolutely played a role in it. Part of it was Elias was their boss and nobody wanted to be the one to accuse him of child abuse. It was easier to accept his lies at face value and not stick their neck out for him. Part of it was just that Jon's never been a very likable victim for them. He wasn't some tearful damsel they could swoop in and save--he smoked too much and was angry and loud about it. And once they made that initial decision to ignore their misgivings, the chances of anyone breaking that pattern got extremely low. No one wants to admit to themselves that they ignored a little kid in an extremely abusive household just because his abuser was their boss and they didn't like the kid all that much. Martin kind of hit Jon like a grenade when he first joined up and actually gave a shit if he was okay.

Of course, this all means that Jon's spent the past decade or so being told by everyone who could see him hurting that his upset at the soul-crushing pain he was in was inconvenient to them and it's rude of him to be so loud about it, could he do that somewhere else, because it really doesn't matter. and he's still there saying "it does matter. it matters to me."

Just--doing pointless things because if he doesn't then they stop mattering and they have to matter somehow defines so much of what he does.

When he was a little boy, Gerry told him that the clothes you wore were meant to be things that make you feel like you, that were who you were or wanted to be, and Jon decided that the parts of him that he loved were made up of other people. It's been fourteen years since he told him that, and out of all the people he's tried to make himself with, Daisy is the only one he still has in his life. He wears the secondhand clothes of people who he lost without anyone else caring to preserve a self that people are actively trying to kill. The fact that he feels more like him when he wears Gerry's coat only matters to the extent that he lets it. He makes pointless interventions on behalf of people he knows he probably can't save, because if he doesn't, then he fact that they needed help to begin with didn't matter. It only mattered whether they could have been saved; needing to be saved doesn't factor in.

I basically wanted him to be the opposite of Basira. Basira was the world's most polite hostage in Season 3. Martin had to actually ask her if she was aware she was in a hostage situation. Her entire thing was that there was no point in getting upset at something you couldn't change--you either got on as best you could or you found a way to change it anyway. That's the exact opposite to nhthcth Jon's approach to life--the Web even pokes fun at him for it in chapter 9. A spider's prey thrashes itself to death trying to get out of its web. Jon's just--flailing like a fly struggling against a web. Gertrude always conserved her resources and energy for where it would matter most, but he exhausts himself on things he knows wouldn't succeed. It doesn't make any practical sense, but there's something viscerally human about it still.

And the last thing that sentence tells you about Jon is that he is someone who has to believe in the lightning strike.

The thing is? Jon knows about pretty much everything this post discussed. No one really knew Gertrude, but if there was someone who did, it was him. He's been hanging around her since he was a little kid. It's been stated that she personally tried to teach him to some degree, though, and we've seen that she's stated to his face that she would not have tried to save him if she had been the one to take his statement. She never really represented a chance at things having gone differently to begin with.

But he still thinks of her specifically when he tries to find the version of himself that isn't this. Because even if she was never really a chance, she was still the biggest chance he had.

Jon was eight. He knew jack all when this started, and he was going up against the most dangerous entity there was. He was never going to come up with a place to go to that wasn't the Magnus Institute, and he was never going to outsmart the Web on his own. Gertrude Robinson was the only one who he ever had a snowball's chance of crossing paths with who wasn't like, actively evil.

There's basically nil chance of her having had some kind of midlife crisis right before he showed up and deciding that this is the one she must save and damn the consequences. There's an even smaller chance of her actually pulling it off and saving him from the Web. But that was the biggest chance he had, and he can't help but cling to it.

Sometimes, you have to beat the odds. Sometimes, lightning strikes.

If you believe in the idea of the multiverse, and that everything that can happen will happen, there is a Jon out there in some far-off universe who walked into the Magnus Institute and met Gertrude Robinson instead of James Wright. There is a Gertrude Robinson who, against all odds, decided that Jon was worth the costs of saving him, who fought tooth and nail to save him and won. It's a fairytale he tells himself, but the idea of someone kind enough to put him in a car so they could drive all about, go on adventures, and find places with rain was also a fairytale he once heard, and it still happened. Gerry was his lightning strike.

And that's really the crux of it. In order for Jon to have loved Gerry the way he did, he had to be someone who would bank everything on odds that were a lot smaller than being struck by lightning. Jon needs to be the type of person who will believe in chances that barely exist, because if he doesn't, he could have never made he decisions he had to make to stay by Gerry's side.

Gerry Keay was not Gertrude Robinson, and he definitely was not anywhere near her caliber when he was the little boy who tried to take Jon and run. They live in a world that tears into your soul, that Marks you in a way that cannot be removed and that never, ever lets you go. It's monsters eating other monsters, and they were both very small and very damned from the get-out. The chances of Jon Sims and Gerry Keay saving each other were always so much smaller than the chances of Gertrude Robinson saving him, and he knew it. If he couldn't believe that there was at least a chance that Gertrude would have saved him, then he couldn't believe that he and Gerry ever had a chance of finding their way home.

We still don't know where Gerry is in 2013, why he isn't there, but we know that Daisy saw him with Jon in 2011, kicking each other under the table for making ill-timed jokes to a monster who wanted to kill them. They first ran in 1999. That's twelve years of betting everything on odds south of a lightning strike. It takes specific kinds of people to do that. It takes people who will take the worst odds possible because they're the only ones they have.

There's no power of love or friendship or hope in that universe, but I think Jon and Gerry wanted to believe that they could love each other to the point of survival. They were looking at a world where, in the whole span of human history, love had not made a lick of difference to the things they faced, and they were asking to be the exception. Wondering if Gertrude Robinson would have saved him... it's hardly the most improbable thing Jon's ever let himself believe.

[nekojitachan]

Hmm. So... the last week or two (two?) have been... interesting. Work go kablewy (that a word?) because of... things... (nothing bad for me, just... things... life is strange), head has been very owwiie, and have had some not very good days, to be honest.

But getting a lot of writing done! Including this - another part of the Raven!Andrew soulmate story that doesn’t exist.

Uhm, past sexual abuse is referenced, Nathaniel/Neil’s past is vaguely referenced/hinted at, Andrew’s past is vaguely referenced. Think that’s it for the warnings. Oh, and Andrew’s violent thoughts.

I should come up with a title for this at some point.

Oh, and rest of the story can be found here.

*******

Andrew stared at the visage on his laptop’s screen; the smile on Nathan Wesninski’s face was slightly smug as if he knew a secret that he wasn’t willing to share, his glacier blue eyes devoid of emotion. According to various internet searches, Nathan was a self-made man who owned several businesses in and around Baltimore, who gave regularly to charity, and had a wife and a son.

He also had persistent rumors of being connected to some unsavory individuals, but nothing that could be substantiated. Most people put it down to simple jealously – Wesninski was a man who’d built his own fortune, married his soulmate and had a talented son. People loved to find something wrong with a man so ‘blessed’.

Except he was somehow tied to the Moriyamas, whom Andrew was slowly learning weren’t entirely on the up and up, his lovely soulmate had a dead look in her eyes which Andrew knew all too well, and his son bore multiple scars, had a strong distrust of soulmates and was being treated as chattel.

‘Blessed’ wasn’t the first word which came to Andrew’s mind when he thought of Nathan Wesninski.

He closed the browser and forced himself to work on his class assignments; university wasn’t much of a challenge, but one of Tetsuji’s assistants checked to make sure he (and the rest of the Ravens) turned in their work and that they weren’t failing any classes.

There was almost half an hour of ‘study time’ left when he finished with assignments for the day (for the rest of the week, actually); he got up from his desk, which made Ben look at him. “You done already?” his partner asked, tone a bit envious.

Andrew nodded as he headed toward the door; Ben appeared surprised that he’d received some sort of answer and turned back to his statistics book with a slight smile.

There weren’t many people wandering about the Nest at that time since the players usually took advantage of any break they were given, so Andrew wasn’t surprised to not run into anyone along the way to the Black Hall nor to find Riko and Kevin all snug in their room. Kevin opened the door when he banged on it, expression confused when he saw Andrew smiling out in the hallway.

“Uhm, is everything all right?”

“I came to chat,” Andrew said as he shoved his way inside. “Not with you, #2.” He ignored Kevin calling him an asshole and strode toward Riko, who was reading an economics textbook. “With the man who can make things happen.” Or so the prick liked to think.

“Hmm, now that sounds interesting,” Riko drawled as he set the book aside and sat up straight. “What does white trash like you want? An early taste of Nathaniel?” He tsk’ed while waving his right index finger about as if chastising a naughty child. “Not until you live up to your end of the bargain on Friday.”

Andrew had to focus on Aaron, on keeping his brother safe, to prevent himself from bashing the bastard’s head in with the book on the bed. “It’s about the game on Friday,” he said as his grin widened, as he thought about using his racquet to eviscerate Riko and a good bit of his own team. “I want you to turn a blind eye to something for me during it.”

It was Riko’s turn to appear confused as he studied Andrew. “What? The refs can’t ignore you pulling something stupid out on court.”

“Not them.” Andrew reached into the right pocket of his track pants to pull out the bottle of his detested pills. “I’m going to play unmedicated,” he said as he gave the bottle a shake.

“That doesn’t sound like a good-“

“Why?” Riko asked as he cut off Kevin’s protest, his gaze intent on Andrew.

Andrew’s lips twitched even wider as he rattled the bottle some more. “Because it’ll make me play better, make me fight harder to win.” Because he wanted a few hours where he could feel his own emotions without the manic taint of the damn drugs, could be free of them, even if it was on an Exy court.

An Exy court with his soulmate nearby.

Riko studied him for a few seconds then grinned. “I’ll be disappointed if Rutgers scores a single point in the second half on Friday,” he said before he laid back down on his bed.

And Andrew would be disappointed if the prick didn’t get his throat crushed by a racquet to the neck during the game, but one couldn’t have everything, could they?

Taking that as a sign of both approval and dismissal, Andrew turned around to leave without saying another word. While he was in the Black Hall, he stopped by the break room there and snagged the good granola bars (chocolate chips) and a few energy drinks.

Moreau was back to full practice that day, but Andrew didn’t get a chance to talk to him; the backliner was never far from Nathaniel’s side, lately. Andrew suspected that last Friday night had something to do with it, especially when he was given virulent looks by the French bastard. He’d be offended by the obvious dislike, but he didn’t give a damn what Jean Moreau thought about him.

He didn’t give a damn about much, and wished he could include a certain redheaded backliner in that statement as well.

Still, while he spent too much effort studying the Scarlet Knights’ statistics and past games (any effort was too much), he noticed that the bruises on Nathaniel’s too pretty face were fading and that the rest of the Ravens (except Moreau) were giving the young backliner adequate space.

Hmm, it seemed that no one wanted to end up like Lev Federov.

Andrew also noticed the narrow looks Nathaniel cast his way from time to time, as if his soulmate was trying to figure him out. Every now and then he would grin widely at Nathaniel, which would make the redhead mutter something in French and stomp away with his dour shadow trailing along. There would be a pain, sharp and deep, inside of Andrew’s chest as he watched them leave together, until he reminded himself that Nathaniel was his soulmate, not Moreau’s.

Then he’d be so disgusted with himself he’d stalk off to the exercise room so he could hit a punching bag until the urge to destroy something finally eased.

Friday arrived, and Andrew made a game out of thinking up a different ways to kill everyone he saw wearing a #1 Ravens jersey as he went to his classes; he considered it a worthwhile mental exercise. He was distracted from imaging the guy in front of him two rows down in Biology class being slowly whittled away by razor sharp vegetable peelers when Aaron interrupted him by dropping into the seat next to him.

“Hey, real quick, hope you win tonight and Nicky sent this along for you in the monthly care package. Give him a call, okay?” He dropped a plain box in front of Andrew then left, headed to where his friends were seated.

Andrew frowned at the ‘care package’ since Nicky sent one to each of them (and why did he have to talk to the pest?), ready to throw it at his negligent brother until he picked it up and sensed the contents sloshing about inside. Finally, Aaron had come through for him; he slid the box into his backpack then proceeded to ignore the lecture.

He made sure to stash the two bottles of whiskey (cheap, but beggars weren’t about to complain) in his closet when he got back to his room and Ben was distracted, then joined the rest of the team for ‘game-prep’ (going over stats yet again, Tetsuji’s wonderful ‘win or be known forever as scum’ speech, endless warm-up and drills, and then the damn game).

He was half-tempted to drain one of the bottles dry first.

Instead, he clenched a hand around his bottle of pills before he took half a one, just enough to get him through the next couple hours, for the manic buzz in his veins to fade before the start of the game. He wished that he could flush all of them down the toilet, but he’d already tried in those first few months to go without them and failed miserably.

There was no coming off them while locked up in a bathroom for a few days, like he’d done with Aaron.

He didn’t feel the insidious, awful artificial euphoria begin to bleed away until well into the first quarter of the game, as he sat on the bench and watched the Ravens run the Scarlet Knights ragged out on the court. Rutgers might be one of the better ranked universities, but they were late in putting together an Exy team; they had a few good players, but not enough yet to be a serious contender.

Ivanova was able to keep the score low, especially when she had Hebig and Moreau helping her with defense. As much as it annoyed Andrew that the tall Frenchman was Nathaniel’s partner, the man was a good backliner and meshed well with the others, and was near perfect when Nathaniel was out on court with him.

Andrew had hoped that as the drug burned out, he’d be less fascinated with his soulmate, would realize how foolish he’d been to be drawn to him, to think that he could- to think anything about Nathaniel. Yet as he sat there, slightly numb but no longer filled with false emotions, he couldn’t help but be conscious of the lean figure dressed in black and red a few seats way on the bench… conscious of his presence and how the young man made him feel.

It was something so powerful yet fragile at the same time, such a protective, overwhelming urge, and it was all for Nathaniel.

Andrew was so fucked.

He sat off by himself during the halftime break, mentally reviewing how Rutgers had played during the first half, while Tetsuji berated players for their mistakes on court and reviewed plays for the last two quarters. Feeling the sensation of being watched, he glanced up to find Nathaniel gazing at him; his soulmate turned his head when Andrew met his eyes.

Riko clapped him on the shoulder before he stepped out on court and nearly got a racquet smashed down on his head. “Remember, shut the goal and he’s all yours.”

Andrew bit back on a retort that his memory was fine, mostly because he couldn’t help but add ‘unlike yours, you useless prick’.

Rutgers must have spent their break being yelled at, too, since they came back on court determined to redeem themselves, not that it did them any good. Andrew thought of Nathaniel bruised and held down, about him being a ‘reward’, then let his world narrow down to the ball and who had control of it. As that person approached his end of the court, his memory, usually a curse, pulled up their stats and playing style to help him prepare to defend the goal.

That was, if he needed to defend it; Loiseau and Bautista did a decent job of driving away the Rutgers players in the third quarter, then Moreau and Hebig took over for the last one. As always, Moreau put his size and strength to good use to block the opposing players from reaching the goal, and coordinated the defense with Hebig. Andrew didn’t exactly relax for the last part of the game, but he allowed himself a deep breath and the thought that his deal with Riko might not have been so insane after all.

That he could actually keep Nathaniel safe.

He was exhausted by the end of the game - exhausted, sore, covered in sweat and beginning to feel the first twinges of withdrawal, but he’d held up his end of the bargain: Rutgers hadn’t scored a single point in the second half. The crowd roared in victory as the final buzzer rang, and all he wanted was to go shower then find someplace quiet to curl up.

First he had to suffer through the stupid post-game handshake (touching all those people) then the locker room; at least Tetsuji saved the game review for the next day and everyone already knew that Riko and Kevin would do the post-game interviews. All he cared about was washing off the stink and some of the soreness with a bunch of hot water, and was one of the first in the large wash room.

When he came out, it was to find Riko talking to an upset Moreau (with no Nathaniel in sight); Riko flashed him a ‘thumbs up’ gesture before the prick sauntered away. Intent on reaching his locker so he could change, Andrew figured he’d deal with the backliner later and went to walk past him, only to lash out when Moreau grabbed his shoulder.

“Listen, if you touch him I’ll-“

Andrew spun around and fisted his hands into Moreau’s sweaty jersey then slammed him into the nearest wall; he had to yank on the material to pull the tall bastard down to somewhat face level. “Did I touch him last time?” he gritted out in a low voice so none of the Ravens gathering around them would overhear. “Did I?” When Moreau gave a reluctant shake of his head, Andrew tugged some more on the damp, black material. “I’m doing this so no one else gets him.”

Moreau appeared stunned by that claim, then quickly resumed scowling. “I will gut you if you hurt him.”

There was a slight bit less venom in the words that time, so Andrew took that to be a general warning for show.  He clicked his tongue as he pushed away from the backliner. “You’re spending the night in my room,” he called out as he walked over to his locker to get dressed, aware of the other Ravens staring at them.

For once ‘glad’ of the attention, he figured let them find out that Nathaniel was ‘his’ so he wouldn’t put up with anyone disagreeing on that front.

He was given a lot of sideway glances while he changed then walked out of the locker room, but no one said a word. He pushed aside the growing sense of nausea from withdrawal as his body clamored for another pill, for a hit of artificial mania, determined to face Nathaniel as himself.

When he reached Nathaniel’s room, he knocked twice then entered; Nathaniel sat on the bed in a defensive huddle, his arms wrapped around his long legs, dressed in one of Moreau’s jerseys and an impressive scowl on his face.

“And you said you’re not like the others. Liar.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow at the amount of scorn and hatred directed his way right then, impressed despite himself. “All I did was walk through the door.”

“You made a fucking deal with Riko for me!” Nathaniel shouted as he unfurled enough to snatch up a book from his nightstand and throw it at Andrew; of course he had good aim, Andrew barely managed to bat it aside in time. “For every week!”

“Every week I manage to nearly shut down the goal,” Andrew confessed.

Nathaniel produced a ragged laugh as he tucked himself into the corner of his bed. “Yeah, now you take playing seriously, when it gets you something, huh? When you get to act like the mark on your arm means you own someone when it doesn’t, it doesn’t mean anything other than you’re an asshole and the Fates hate me and I wish I could just burn it off and have everyone leave me alone!” He’d started out yelling at Andrew but ended up practically tucked into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head, his tone one of misery.

A misery which Andrew understood, considering all the times he’d wished much the same about his soulmate mark, after all the grief Drake had caused him over it, after believing no one would want him because of Drake and the others. Then what did he find? A lovely young man bearing terrible scars on his body and soul who was so much like him that it hurt.

Andrew had hoped he wouldn’t feel anything as he stood before Nathaniel with the drug (temporarily) out of his system, but he’d been deluding himself on that front. The protective urge he’d experienced earlier returned so strongly that he moved before he became aware of it, was kneeling on the bed before he could tell himself to stop.

Nathaniel reacted to his presence immediately; he began to sit up, to move his arms (to lash out), but stilled when Andrew cupped the back of his neck, his blue eyes wide with a mix of panic and fear.

“Nothing but this,” Andrew assured him, angry at himself for causing that fear. “I swear. Okay? Yes or no?” He just wanted to calm Nathaniel down.

His soulmate was quiet for a couple seconds, enough to make him begin to pull away. “Yes,” Nathaniel breathed out, his expression now wary as if he waited to see what Andrew would do next. Despite the strain on his tired muscles from leaning forward, despite the urge to sink his fingers in Nathaniel’s thick hair, despite the growing sense of nausea and dizziness, Andrew remained still and focused on the slowing pulse beneath his thumb.

“Why are you here?” Nathaniel eventually asked as he continued to gaze up at Andrew. “What do you want?”

He ignored the second (dangerous) question. “If I’m here, the others aren’t.”

“Are you serious?” Nathaniel scoffed, then frowned when Andrew remained quiet. “You’re really going to try to shut down the goal every game then come here and only sleep, just to keep Riko from handing me off to the others?”

He didn’t need to sound so doubtful about everything; if Andrew was the sensitive type, he’d be offended right then.

“You don’t snore like Ben does,” Andrew drawled as he forced himself to let go of Nathaniel and move. As he walked away from his incredulous soulmate, he motioned toward Moreau’s bed. “Tell your partner to get a spare set of clean sheets for me so I don’t have to sleep in his smelly bed.”

It took some effort, but he managed to make it into the bathroom without walking into the door or tripping over his feet; once inside with the door closed, he fumbled for his pills and choked one down, then slumped against the sink with the water running until the nausea was under control. He hated having to take the damn medication again, but Nathaniel might object if he spent the night puking his guts out.

When he finally left the bathroom, it was to find Nathaniel beneath the covers and facing the wall, and what appeared to be a set of clean sheets folded on top of Moreau’s bed. Andrew only spent a moment regarding what he hoped was a peace offering of sorts before he worked quickly to strip and remake the bed, tired and more than willing to fall asleep.

Maybe it was from working so hard during the game, maybe it was because his soulmate was nearby, but Andrew slept without any nightmares that night. He woke up when Nathaniel rose early and left the room, then got half an hour more sleep before he had to get up for another ‘fun’ day at the Nest.

Moreau caught up to him later in the day, when he was fixing a coffee to take back to his room after their morning practice; the other Ravens in the break room (including Ben) were quick to leave, obviously expecting some sort of fight between the two of them.

Andrew gave him a grin as he hopped onto the counter to sit. “Got any croissants on ya, Valjean?”

Moreau sighed as he fetched two mugs from a cabinet. “Do you try to be so annoying or is it natural?”

Andrew gasped and clutched his free hand to his chest. “Me? Annoying? I guess I’ll have to really lay on the charm now.”

“God forbid,” Moreau muttered as he glanced toward the door as if to ensure they were alone. He was quiet as he made two cups of tea (hmm, who might the other be for?), then approached Andrew with due caution. “You’re protecting Nathaniel,” he said, his deep voice quiet and expression serious.

“Why would I do a thing like that?” Andrew asked as he kicked his feet back and forth, uncaring about the heels of his sneakers hitting the lower cabinets.

Moreau frowned then set the mugs down so he could tug on the left sleeve of his sweatshirt to reveal the fleur de lis and wave pattern of his own soul mark – the mark which was only revealed when he showered. “Because it’s what we do, we protect them.” His black eyebrows drew together as his frown deepened. “Well, most of us.”

Hmm, not people like Nathaniel’s father, maybe? But one thing at a time. “You know your soulmate,” Andrew accused as he held his mug of coffee beneath his chin, curious to see if Moreau would tell him the truth.

The backliner was quiet for a moment then nodded. “He plays Exy,” Moreau whispered with a gleam of fear in his eyes. “I can’t let Riko know.”

No, or Riko would use Moreau against the man, much like he’d used Nathaniel against Andrew (had he suspected they might be tied together because of their pasts?). “What does Riko have against you?” Andrew asked as he leaned forward. “You and Nathaniel? Who’s Nathan Wesninski, really?”

Moreau shook his head as he tugged down the sleeve of his shirt. “Not here,” he hissed out as he once again glanced toward the door. “That’s… not here.” He picked up the mugs and stared at Andrew as if searching for something, then nodded. “But if you’re serious about Nathaniel….”

“I want answers, so tell me where ‘not here’ is,” Andrew commanded as he poured his lousy coffee onto the floor while he held Moreau’s gaze.

Moreau nodded again as if answering an internal question. “Later. Riko and Kevin will be gone to play for their professional team, and Nathaniel to work on translations. I’ll let you know when to stop by.”

“Ooh, it’s a date,” Andrew drawled as he jumped to the floor and splashed coffee everywhere. “Just so you know, I don’t put out, I’m not that kind of guy.” He sauntered out of the break room to the sound of Moreau muttering in French.

They were going to be besties, he just knew it.

*******

Oh boy is Jean in for it now.

So... I’ve being going back and forth on this, but I’ve set up a discord channel (have had it for a while, actually). Don’t know if people would be interested in it as a place to get a look at fics, stuff in progress and things like that?

[absolutely-legit]

Number 1

Warnings: Angst, Completely false and unmedical protrayal of what could be considered Mental Health Problems. Maybe. It’s just angst.

~*~

Youngjae knows he fucked up. It’s evident in his posture, his face, his eyes. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn’t back off. He went too far and that’s unique. Youngjae never goes too far, not in this way. Jaebum doesn’t know how to react. He’s stunned beyond words, stunned into silence and he’s not alone. Everything is completely quiet.

Jaebum doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. Doesn’t know why. Why now. He should be glad, something in the back of his head whispers, that now at least he knows. It’s better if he knows, so he can do something, even if he doesn’t know what.

But then again, Youngjae never snaps. He never did before and Jaebum can’t help but wonder what happened. What has been so bad that he lost it. Or –and that thought is worse- how many things Jaebum has missed. How many signs did he not see so that it would come this far.

And he wonders, deep down and yet absolutely apparent.

If it is his fault.

Jinyoung is brave. He’s calm even if hanging on by a thread. He’s not the kind of person to snap either and Jaebum silently prays that he’ll keep it together.  That he’ll remember. That he’ll be able to see past it.

Jaebum has so many things to worry about, he can’t really think about how Jinyoung’s cheekbone is going to be blue and purple by tomorrow. Bruises heal, he tries to soothe himself, because he knows he should worry about that but he can’t.

He’s too occupied staring into Youngjae’s face, trying to decipher what’s going on, trying to remember what could have lead up to this. Because unless he knows, he can’t show an adequate response.

You should scold him, something in his mind nags at him and, yes, he should. But then there’s another part in him that says he should wrap Youngjae in a fluffy blanket and soothe him and pamper him and hug him tight and whisper.

Youngjae needs to be scolded, because he can’t just walk around and punch people. Not slap them, like he usually does when he’s excited or sometimes when he’s playfully upset. He can’t ball his hand into the fist and throw it into Jinyoung’s face out of nowhere so knuckles collide with skull in a painful noise and everybody is left in shock. Youngjae can’t do that, no matter how angry he is, but what if he has a reason? No matter the reason, nobody should retort to violence. But this is Youngjae after all and Youngjae has a reason and Jaebum is confused.

He’s insecure, because he has to make a decision and it has to be the right decision. The one that is best for everyone. And he won’t be able to do that. The realization seeps in slowly, while he stares at Youngjae’s face, guilty, but fired by a desperate determination. Jaebum knows he’ll go through with it if Jaebum decides to fight.

Finally, someone moves. It’s none of them, a staff member wets a towel and gently presses it to Jinyoung’s bruising cheek.

Jaebum stands up from his seat and holds his hand out in a peaceful manner. “Youngjae. Sweetie.” He speaks as gently as possible. “Come. Let me drive you home.” He wonders if Youngjae was coherent enough to wait for the fan meet to be over before he blew up. Or if it was a coincidence. To his immense luck Youngjae does not resist and his manager hands Jaebum the car keys on their way out.

Youngjae is quiet and calm and obedient as soon as it’s just the two of them. Jaebum thinks his decision was right. Thinks that it’s better this way. It’s better than if Youngjae hides. When he’s alone, instead of getting angry he gets lost. And when he gets lost. Sometimes he goes really far and Jaebum is afraid that one day Youngjae will be so lost, he won’t be able to find him anymore.

Youngjae thanks him politely when they arrive at his place and Jaebum only has a split second to react. He hisses in pain when the door collides with his foot that he shoves through the crack just in time before Youngjae can slam it shut in his face.

“Not like this, young man.” He scolds sternly, in his best ‘strict parent’ impression. Youngjae doesn’t laugh. His face is dark, his brows knitted. There’s a storm brewing. Maybe him hitting Jinyoung in the face was not the end of something but the beginning.

It’s obvious that Youngjae wants to say something. He makes a few noises, but he swallows them all back down and turns around. He lifts his foot off the ground and before Jaebum can react he lashes out with his foot, kicking the nearest potted plant off its stand and it shatters on the ground. He hears a frightened wincing noise somewhere in a corner and is glad that Coco is smart enough to hide away so she won’t get kicked also.

Youngjae paces. He walks here and there. He kicks at things and punches them and some things break and Jaebum is helpless. Aggression is such a novel emotion for Youngjae and it’s scary, but Jaebum doesn’t want to interrupt it, because if he does, he can imagine Youngjae spiraling downwards instead, falling down a pit Jaebum can’t reach him anymore.

So he stands and stares and waits.

It was wrong. But he only knows that when it’s too late. He wishes this was a story. Wishes it was a movie where he’ll accidentally make the right decision, where he knows how to do what. But it isn’t and he’s not a superhero and he tries, but he can’t make it right.

Youngjae breaks down in the middle of the living room. What Jaebum tried to avoid happened anyways, maybe worse and he could have stopped him from destroying his interior. He squats down next to him on the hard floor and pulls him into a hug, because this is a place he’s been to before.

Youngjae cries like an infant. Loud and obnoxious and maybe it’s because a little bit he’s just that. And Jaebum pets his hair and rocks him and knows that it doesn’t do anything good. He knows he’s not getting through, but he does it nonetheless.

He makes Youngjae get up. Pulls at him and tells him to come to his feet. He drags him to the bathroom, sits him down on the toilet and carefully begins wiping the Make-up off his face. He wipes tears, too but more follow and Jaebum’s own eyes sting and water.

He’s done this a few times. Brushing out the hairspray, pulling off his sweater. Putting Youngjae into his sleepwear and tucking him into bed. He knows it’s no good. He’s not even sure Youngjae notices what he’s doing.

“Are you gonna tell me what about Jinyoung made you angry?” He asks, fingers threading through Youngjae’s soft dark locks, head resting against the side of his thigh where he’s sitting against the headboard. Youngjae doesn’t answer.

“Jinyoung.” Jaebum says again to lure him out. “Have you seen his face?” He asks, faking a chuckle. “He looked like he’s been struck by lightning.” Youngjae stirs. “Funny.” He grumbles as fake as Jaebum’s amusement. Relief floods his being over the single word. “Thank god, you’re still here.” He mutters and asks himself whether he should’ve not said that.

That’s the thing. He doesn’t know what’s the right thing to say or what isn’t. He doesn’t know how to talk to Youngjae, he doesn’t know how to fix him. He’s not a goddamn magician. If he’s ever honest to himself he’d admit that Youngjae needs professional help, but then he’s fine long enough that Jaebum chases that thought to the back of his mind.

Youngjae snorts. “What for?” He asks, sarcastic enough to prove that he’s present. Maybe, Jaebum thinks as he remembers how long it has taken before to get to the point where Youngjae becomes spiteful, maybe punching isn’t so bad after all. Though, he doesn’t want to risk being so lenient with Youngjae that he can do whatever he pleases and blame it on his illness. If it is one. Jaebum isn’t a fucking psychiatrist.

“Why Jinyoung?” Jaebum asks, ignoring the previous question. “I hate him.” Youngjae simply states, wrapping cold, hard fingers neatly around his heart and pressing down. Not enough to crush it, but enough to hurt. Jaebum swallows thickly.

“Why?” He croaks quietly, soundless. He knows he shouldn’t press too much. He knows he can deal damage beyond repair if he handles this poorly, but in the past Youngjae’s dislike was usually directed towards “them” or “everyone”.

Youngjae sits up abruptly and Jaebum regrets the loss of warmth against his thigh, even though his pants are damp with late-spilled tears. Youngjae’s eyes have time to narrow for a little, having Jaebum’s heart miss a beat in fear of the returning anger. But he gets rescued by a cute little whimper and scratching and scuttling and a fluffy white fur ball springing onto the bed and nuzzling its wet nose against Youngjae’s hand. His posture relaxes, the knittings on his face ease.

“I’m sorry.” Youngjae mumbles and even though he doesn’t really make it clear if it’s directed towards him or Coco, Jaebum accepts the apology.

Jaebum takes the time Coco gave him to search his brain for an explanation. Eventually he speaks up, carefully.

“Does Jinyoung have something that you don’t?” He asks gently and witnesses a small nod, even though Youngjae doesn’t look up from where he’s petting Coco. The dog is the best thing that ever happened.

“Something you want?” Jaebum does his best to keep his voice soft and warm, not show the anxiety he feels. This time he gets more of a shrug than a nod. Poorly phrased.

“Something… he doesn’t deserve?” Youngjae twitches. “You deserve it more, don’t you?” He concludes to his own surprise. “’course I do.” Youngjae mumbles, gradually returning. Jaebum rummages through the last couple of weeks. He told himself over and over again that he will not let Youngjae’s condition influence his decisions concerning matters of the group and their music. If it is about that again?

“It was mine.” Youngjae explains before he can come to a conclusion. “The show, it was mine. It was the one thing I had and he takes it!!!” His dangerous voice has Coco jump off the bed and cower in fear. Something within Jaebum clicks. A faint memory of a beaming Youngjae years ago, relishing in praise. And a recent one, supposedly unimportant. A memory of how Youngjae was ‘sick’ when they had planned to watch the second episode of King of Masked singer together.

“He gets everything.” Youngjae spits and Jaebum notices that he will probably rile himself up enough to spill everything he kept inside. He braces for it, because he knows that there’s going to be a lot of bullshit in between. Because Youngjae will exaggerate to the point of ridicule, but he also knows that it is real when it feels real for Youngjae.

“He’s the actor already.” Youngjae turns towards him to look at him while he speaks, as if he needed to search for confirmation. “Why does he have to have everything?! It’s not fair. He can be in a drama and I am on the show and it’s NOT FAIR. I was on it and now he gets to be, but it was mine. I was there first!” He says it as if Jaebum didn’t know. “I’m never first.” Youngjae repeats that so often, the word ‘first’ gets stuck in Jaebum’s mind. “I never get to be first. I never get to be it. But he, he goes anywhere and gets to be in everything! It’s not fair Hyung!”

Jaebum sees the tears dwell up again, Youngjae’s eyes glassy and his nose runny. “I’m not first in the group. I’m not first in the family. I am nobody’s first choice, Hyung.” He grabs the blanket and throws it off the bed in such a childlike manner, Jaebum is startled for a moment. “He’s the first in handsome and the first in talent and the first in acting and in singing…. He gets to sing all the good parts and there’s never me who’s first, really!” Youngjae follows up with his whiny voice and Jaebum concentrates to not put it off because of that. Youngjae sometimes babbles, but there’s something and Jaebum knows it, he just has to find it. Peel off the layers and find the real threat.

“I’m always just there. Always behind. Always just one of the others. Never the one. I’m just… >>Oh and also, Youngjae.<<” It’s the part where he loses it. His voice breaks, he sobs. A tear rolls down Jaebum’s cheek, because he imagines the pain he must feel and it hurts almost physically. He knows it’s pointless, but he says it anyways. “It’s not true. You’re important…” Youngjae cuts him off, rudely shouting “Shut UP!”

He pulls up his nose and narrows his eyes. “This isn’t something you can talk away!” He spits. “This is facts. I always get what’s left over; I always AM what’s left over. Find something I’ve ever won, something I’ve ever been first in. There’s none. You can’t put this off as me just making it up, just feeling this way, because I can prove it.” His tears stop for a moment, but he’s visibly distressed. “Everyone has favorites I am noone’s!” He states matter-of-factly. “I am nobody’s first choice.” He says again, voice wavering. “I’m not your first choice.”

And over the pain in his voice and his hazel eyes brimming with tears and his quivering lips, swollen from crying Jaebum understands.

He thinks he can see in slow motion in his head how Jinyoung takes a blow to the face the very moment he leans in to giggly press a wet kiss to his cheek. Youngjae’s anxiety and insecurity is nothing new. It’s what pulls him down an endless hole of fear and depression that Jaebum doesn’t know how to cure.

But the anger. The anger is new and it’s burning and it’s triggered by something that Youngjae didn’t feel before. He’s feeling inappropriate, yes, but he also demands. He demands to be taken seriously. Demands to get whatever he feels he’s not getting.

And Jaebum thinks this is so much easier to deal with. A feeling so basic, so easy to understand.

Jealousy.

“You’re my number one.” He answers and leans in to brush his lips over Youngjae’s wet cheek.

“Prove it.” Youngjae chokes.

He’s very certain he will regret the consequences, but right now all he can think about is to finally make Youngjae feel better. Even if only this once.

He cradles his head and closes his eyes and their lips find each other in a tender kiss.

~*~

[wifeymomz]

PREGGO JOURNEY

We were instructed to take a pregnancy test 2 weeks after our insemination. Wifey was working the midnight shift, so she was on her way home. I woke up and had to use the restroom already so I couldn’t wait. I took the pregnancy test with wifey on the speaker and after a minute it had the + sign which meant we were pregnant!!! i screamed and started crying (of course). We couldn’t believe it! Was the test correct? Were we really pregnant? It was a Friday, so I couldn’t go into the lab until Monday where they would draw blood and check my HCG levels to confirm that I was pregnant. I can’t remember, but I believe I had to do this blood draw twice to make sure that the HCG levels were increasing, which they were!!! Looking back I wish we had told our parents in a special way, but we just called them to let them know we were pregnant. Of course both sides were excited since this would be their first grandchild. On a side note, this was new for both sides of our families so had to educate everyone on the process of how we got pregnant.

FIRST TRIMESTER: morning sickness/nausea galore! I was at work and I was craving french fries. One of my coworkers surprised me with McDonalds french fries (my fave at the time). For lunch, I had chicken and broccoli that I had warmed up. The smell of the broccoli started to make me feel nauseous which it normally didn’t so I couldn’t eat it. I started eating the fries which were delicious. We had a OT followed by a rehab meeting that afternoon and I drove to our other center in East Oakland. When I got there, I felt so nauseous I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Every time, I sat down and thought I was okay I ended up running to the bathroom several times to throw up. Unfortunately, this was how I let our rehab team know the news. For weeks, I relied on saltine crackers, ginger tea and ginger chews. I had them next to the bed, in the car and at work. Every morning, I ate a few saltine crackers to decrease my chance of getting nauseous which helped 50% of the time. I had to call off of work more often that I wanted. We had our 12 week appointment where we would have an ultrasound of the baby. To be honest, I was beyond nervous for this appointment because I had a few friends that had this appointment where they couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat. I always try to stay positive but also didn’t want to be disappointed if I had my hopes too high. Wifey and I went to this appointment and there was the baby! Our eyes watered as we looked at each other and the ultrasound. I had to take the glucose test (where you drink that sugary drink) to determine if I was diabetic since diabetes runs in my family. Luckily I got the results back and they were within normal limits. We shared the news with the rest of our families and friends during Thanksgiving. During this time, I mostly craved soups and spicy food plus it worked out since it was the fall/winter season.

SECOND TRIMESTER: nausea & horrible headaches continued until 20 weeks then all of a sudden it disappeared. I’ll never forget we had a thanksgiving potluck at work and all the smells made me nauseous. I tried to eat a little bit but I had such a horrible headache. I took tylenol and ended throwing it up. It was the end of the day and I still had to drive home in 45 minutes of traffic. I felt fine until I was 15 minutes from home and felt like throwing up. I found a plastic bag in my lunch bag and threw up while I was driving (should’ve pulled over). Then I realized the bag had a hole and stuffed the bag in a ziplock bag. What a mess. I almost made it home but had to throw up more and it ended up all over my lap (yuck). I tried calling wifey but she didn’t answer. I got into the house so pissed from embarrassment that I took ti out on her. She asked how i was doing and I screamed…DON’T LOOK AT ME. To this day, we both still laugh about it. I went straight to the shower and washed off. At our 20 week appointment, this is where we went in not only to find out the gender but where they look at the anatomy of the baby. Gosh this appointment was so uncomfortable because they had to poke and prod at different areas of my abdomen and try to make baby move to change positions. At one point, they asked me to use the restroom to see if that would help the baby move. Thank goodness it worked. She put the results in an envelope for us to give to my cousin, Lyss, for our gender reveal. Honestly, I would've waited until birth to find out baby’s gender but of course wifey wanted to know beforehand. The whole time everyone kept telling me I was having a boy, so I started to believe that. I asked wifey if she cared what we were having and she said no. We had picked out names beforehand for a boy and a girl. We waited until March to do our gender reveal just based on when my in-laws were back in town and the availability of the community room we wanted to reserve. Finally, March 7th came around and we found out we were having a girl. Bless my cousin, Lyss, who held onto this secret for so long!!!

At one of my appointments, I had to do the blood glucose test again which i think is pretty standard. The results showed that my blood glucose was slightly elevated! Wahhhh! That meant I had to do the 3 hour glucose test at the lab. I had to fast beforehand then had my blood drawn and at the one-, two-, and three-hour marks after I drank that sugary drink. It was torture being pregnant and hungry!  was already hungry to begin with because I had to fast then wait another 3 hours before I could eat while drinking those sugary drinks. I definitely didn’t feel good that’s for sure. After the test, I drove straight to Chipotle and got a burrito bowl and devoured it!  The results came back and one of my values were elevated so they referred me to a dietician. We reviewed that I should eat more protein and less carbs because carbs equals sugar.

Side note: One of my close friends gave birth around this time and told me her birth story and let’s just say it got me thinking.  Up until this point, I wasn’t sure what our birth plan would be but it made me think that I didn’t want the epidural and wanted to do unmedicated…

THIRD TRIMESTER

We went on our baby moon in Hawaii at 32 weeks. Flight was slightly tough since I couldn’t sit for long periods of time and needed to get up to either use the restroom or walk up and down the aisle. We definitely enjoyed ourselves by eating all the food and lounging at the beach (our favorite).This trimester, I was definitely bigger and more swollen especially in my hands and feet. I had to use a reacher to reach for clothes in the washing machine and wear compression stockings which were so hard to put on. I was still pretty active overall…walked everywhere, a little slower of course, and still did things around the house. Wifey would say, you’re so active, sometimes I forget you're pregnant haha. This trimester prepares you for a life of no sleep because I would try to find a comfortable position, then had to go to the bathroom multiple times then have a hard time falling asleep again. Plus this is when baby girl was the most active, kicking and rolling around in my tummy. To be honest, that’s the part I miss the most is feeling her movement inside me. Wifey loved it when she could feel baby girl kick and move; she’d always sing and play the ukulele for her and read to her.

Luckily Kaiser offered classes for free so of course I took all of them from breastfeeding to postpartum care to birth preparation (where they discussed the different options for pain management). At this point, I was set on an unmedicated birth. I didn’t want the epidural because I wanted to be able to move around when I needed to and I didn’t want the other pain medications because I didn’t want it to cross the placenta and affect the baby, but they did discuss nitrous oxide which was a gas that I might consider. They had us practice various positions and strategies to manage the contractions too. I remember they had us put a clothespin on the skin of our forearm and try to breath through the discomfort for one minute. At home, we practiced with an ice cube (a tip I got from someone on facebook). I would hold the ice cube in my hand for one minute while trying to breathe and wifey would try the different positions we learned in class. I also did a tour of the hospital twice (Kaiser Walnut Creek)…once with my MIL because they had the midwives present for Q&A since and she was available to come with me and another time with wifey when she had a day off. During this tour, they showed us “room 7” which was the only room with a tub. They had mentioned it is first come first serve and women with unmedicated birth plans take priority. Luckily at this hospital, the midwives are assigned unless the birthing person prefers not to have a midwife or they have complications that require an OB. Our ultimate goal: have a midwife and be in room 7

I took the month off before babygirl’s due date to be at home, rest (I was getting much more tired from the commute to and from work and hated being in the car that long), nest (get everything ready) and spend time with wifey since it would be our last month of just the two of us.

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Wow, huh, I guess I’m actually getting kin memories for David! Memory dump after the cut, and it’s really lengthy.

That summer actually was my very first summer as a camp counselor, and the end of it was very difficult for me. I didn’t even realize it was coming to an end, until the second to last day. Gwen had probably realized I was clueless, because she had helped the campers getting ready to leave without telling me. I think… Everyone in the camp could tell I didn’t realize how fast time had gone.

I realized during breakfast time of the second to last day. While the quartermaster was serving up everyone’s breakfast, I read the schedule out loud for everyone, as always, and I saw, in Gwen’s handwriting, something along the lines of “departure preparations”. I read these words, several times, as if I didn’t understand them. And by the time everyone had caught on, I had broken into tears.

All the campers gathered around me in a group hug and I just couldn’t stop crying. It was one of those silent, hiccuping kind of crying, I was just staring into the distance and holding whichever kid was closest to my reach at the moment as tight as I could. Then I heard someone cough, the way someone would cough to catch someone else’s attention, and I looked in that direction, and saw it was Max. And I realized he hadn’t hugged me like the rest of the campers had? I wasn’t even particularly upset about that, because at that point I had understood that displays of affection were NOT Max’s thing. And yet, he coughed, and when he did everyone kind of stepped away from me, and he walked up to me, I was on my knees on the ground of the dining hall at that point. He stopped and we were eye to eye, and he was just scowling, and my silent sobs had stopped at that point? Then he just. He just opened his arms and wrapped them around me and burrowed his face in my chest and I just lost it. I was a sobbing mess and I held him so tight, and after a few seconds it was back to the group-hugging.

When I calmed down and came back to my senses the kids were making fun of me now. Well, not really, it was just playful teasing? Telling me things like “Really David? Did you not think about the end of the camp? Did it not hit you that we would all have to leave eventually? Did you not realize the temperature out dropping?” (I actually remember someone pointing out “Space Kid’s helmet gets all foggy in the evening now, how could you NOT realize summer is almost over?”)

They kind of had to push me around through the day so I could be active. I particularly recall Nikki taking my hand and leading me around because she couldn’t figure out how to close her suitcase, and it was because she had rolled all her clothes into a ball, and she didn’t actually know how to fold her clothes? So I taught her how to do it properly, and we managed to get all her stuff in and close the luggage without any trouble.

That day ended with a bonfire, and nobody actually went back to their tent that night. We all slept under the stars. I had a very light sleep and kept waking up, so I took care of keeping the fire alive, and putting more blankets on the campers who looked cold. Neil ended up with a mountain of blankets over him. Just, over a dozen blankets superposed.

The campers left early the morning after, and it took me all my willpower to not cry again as I watched them climb in the bus with the quartermaster and wave Gwen and I goodbye. My heart was at the bottom of my stomach, and the hand that wasn't used to wave back at them was held by Gwen – and she just squeezed it very tight every time I would shudder or show any signs of being about to cry. The goodbyes…. Lasted very long. Some of the kids were crying too, and I had to force myself to smile at them and reassure them. Tell them that we’d probably meet again! And they should definitely ask their parents to send them to camp again next summer. Camp Campbell probably wouldn’t exist anymore by then, but… I wasn’t going to tell them about that, right?

When the bus drove off, I just watched them. And when they were out of sight, I was still staring at the spot where I last saw them. I didn’t even notice I was crying again? But I was. And, Gwen too, apparently. Because what made me snap out of him was noticing her rubbing at her face from the corner of my eyes, and when I looked at her, her eyes were red and puffy.

I just patted her shoulder and we went off to clean up the camp. We stayed silent at first, but whenever one of us would find anything that reminded us of something that had happened during the summer, they’d call the other to show it and then we’d start talking about what happened and laughing about it.

A lot happened during the course of a summer, huh.

Halfway through the day, my phone went off with a text sound. I never had it on me during camp, but since the kids were away, and Mr Campbell couldn’t be there to scold me about it, who cared right?

I opened the text and found a message that said “So how are you holding up, David?”. Before I could answer, there was a second message, with a picture this time. A picture of Max, Neil, and Nikki, smiling and making faces at the camera, and I choked a sob. A third message said “This is Max btw”. When I asked him how he got my number, he explained that he had written it down when he had stolen it. Then, when I asked whose number it was, how he got a phone for himself, he explained that he used the bit of pocket money he still had for himself to buy a prepaid phone. Well, Nikki and Neil cashed in to help him get the phone, and he got himself some credit.

From that point on we regularly talked by texts. He wasn’t keen on phone calls, which I didn’t understand at first. I started paying for his credit, too, so he wouldn’t ruin himself with these expenses. He kept me up to date on his everyday life, but never mentioned his parents. Ever.

One day, several months after the end of the summer, I got a letter in the mail, but there was no sender’s address or information on the enveloppe. The handwriting for my name and address looked familiar, tho. I opened it, and was shocked when I realized it was from Daniel. It was an apology letter. He explained that, at the time where he had applied to be co-counselor, he was suffering from sever, unmedicated an undiagnosed psychosis, and after being sent to the hospital for his poisoning, he got sent to a mental institue to start an intensive therapy. He said he was medicated now, and that he was much more stable, though sometimes he did relapse in the form of extreme depressive episodes where he got self destructive instead of trying to take it out on other people. At the end of his letter, he gave me the address off his mental institute, in case I wanted to write him back. He also explicitly said that he wasn’t actually expecting an answer. “Still. Just in case.”

Quite obviously, my immediate reaction was to text Max about it. It went like this,

“You’re not planning to write him back are you” “Actually I was thinking about directly paying him a visit at his hospital?” “Are you fucking KIDDING ME” “I’m not! I hear those places get awfully lonely. Even more than regular hospitals!” “David this is the guy that tried to kill you. THIS IS THE GUY THAT TRIED TO KILL US ALL” “He said he was ill!” “He could just be LYING SO YOU’D DO EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE PLANNING TO DO” “I’m sure he’s not! His letter sounds very sincere” “You’re going to do it either way aren’t you” “That, I am!” “Fuck you David. Fuck you and fuck your gullible self. Don’t text me when you’ll be on the verge of death after he’ll have stabbed you in the neck. Bye”

Quite obviously, I didn’t listen to Max, and drove to Daniel’s hospital to visit him the following him. I had gotten him flowers, a primarily white bouquet that wished him a good recovery in the language of flowers. I recalled him being a very talented violin player, so I had grabbed my ukulele (I did play the ukulele instead of the guitar) as well, hoping he still had an interest in music.

I found him in his room, sitting on top of his bed and reading a book. He was surprised to see me, to say the least. He looked… Pale. Sickly pale. He had probably lost a few pounds. I imagined that was what severe poisoning did to someone.

We spent a lot of time chatting. He spent a lot of time apologizing. I noticed that the mannerism the kids had told me about, that I hadn’t noticed at the time, but had scared them (justly), was mostly gone. He would still crack his neck, sometimes. It looked like a nervous habit.

He noticed I had brought my ukulele, and I explained that if he wanted to, we could play together again, unless that was a bad memory for him and he would rather avoid that, in which case I was sorry, I should have thought this through a little more, that was rude of me and- he interrupted me saying that he would have loved, but he couldn’t. I asked if it was because he didn’t have his violin in the hospital. He said yes, partially, but also because even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to play. Then he held out his hands for the first time, and I hadn’t even noticed he was always holding them together and keeping them close to his body. They were shaking, very hard. He said it was the medication. But he preferred being stable, even if it meant he could possibly never play again. I told him I could play for him, if he wanted. Sure, an ukulele and a violin weren’t made for the same kind of melodies, so it wouldn’t be quite the same. He just smiled.

I started visiting him regularly after that, and Max ended up acknowledging after a while that I probably was right. If I had been one on one with him so often, he probably was sincere about not wanting to murder me anymore.

Holy macaroni, this post is obnoxiously long.