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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

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After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family.

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy.

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached.

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving.

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo.

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons.

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him.

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks.

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were: “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”

All he kept reiterating was: “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.”

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight.

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function.

The Birth

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing: “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.”

All Ethan did was chuckle.

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father.

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father. “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.

The surgery went off without a hitch.

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest.

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan.

The embodiment of their love.

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man.

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible.

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way.

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house.

Ethan would not let her lift a finger.

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite.

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come.

That in itself brought its own challenges.

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest.

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change.

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy.

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?” “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?” “I was an only child and look how I turned out.” “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased.

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca.

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily.

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips.

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride.

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age. “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything. “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance.

And Becca got her first push present.

The Last

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise.

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all.

Of course that meant something had to go wrong.

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor.

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien.

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact.

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up.

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day.

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home.

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong.

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions.

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.” “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.”

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.”

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca.

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.

“Don’t hate me...” “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face. She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.”

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.

Parenting

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch.

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy.

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s.

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born.

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach.

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover.

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?” “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.” “And we need to get supplies.”

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.

All of this was inevitable.

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

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@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

#Anonymous #asked #this was a lot of word vomit #did not edit at all #don't let this flop #reblog for the 3 kids ethan and becca need to support #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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The gang on their wedding days

[Been meaning to post this one for a while — since I’m applying to get married today, now seems like the time.]

Jake steps into the room like a child wandering into his parents’ dinner party. His bow tie is askew, seams of his jacket misaligned for all that it’s a custom-tailored tuxedo. If the buttons of his shirt aren’t one hole off from their intended placement, they still manage to convey that impression from across the room.

Rachel feels a rush of affection for him, her first best friend. The boy who’d run and fought and splashed through mud with her, back before adults started telling her to be careful of her dress and him to be careful of her. Only he could show up to his own wedding looking like he’s ready to be expelled at any moment. Only Jake.

And yes, she gets mushy at weddings. Sue her.

Tom steps up next to Jake, far more elegant in an off-the-rack suit. Some people actually got the fashionable genes in this family.

Rachel surges across the room. Tom gets a quick hug, and then she turns all her attention on Jake.

“You only have to look nice for the next three hours,” she tells him briskly.

“Three. Hours,” Jake repeats.

With expert motions she realigns his… everything, until at the very least the clothes are sitting the way the tailor intended. She tries to finger-comb his hair, thankful for the heels that put her at an inch above his height, but it’s obvious that he has also been running his hands through it and the style is hopelessly deformed.

“You can survive anything for three hours,” Rachel says as she does all this. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“But if I mess it up—”

“Then stop, go back, and do whatever it is over. We’re not exactly on a time pressure, here. Nobody’s gonna die if you trip at the altar or forget your lines.”

“Okay.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, deforming his jacket again. “Okay.”

She can see him starting to relax as he glances around, shoulders coming down. Cassie’s place isn’t quite like they remember — it’s been repaired since the war, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic expanded to nearly five times its original size — but it still feels as close to home as any place does.

“Have a glass of water,” Rachel says.

“But what if I have to pee during the ceremony?”

She rolls her eyes. “Babysit him,” she mouths at Tom.

Tom gives her a gesture in response that approximates What do you think I’ve BEEN doing? Whether he means the last four hours or the last twenty-six years is, really, a moot point.

Rachel leaves him to it, and charges off to go check on the others.

************

Marco leans against a tent pole, trying to roll one of the rings across his fingers the way Vegas poker players do with chips. So far it’s not going well.

“Canapé,” Ax is saying carefully. He attempts to lean next to Marco, nearly going all the way over. “Can-nap-peee?”

“Uh, no.” Marco catches the ring as it makes its third or fourth bid for freedom, stuffing it back into his pocket. “That…” He tilts his champagne flute to point. “…is a canopy. Or a chuppah, I guess. Canopee. Canapay is the little pastry thing you’ve already filched in bulk, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Ax says. And then, “This temperature and rate of precipitation is within optimal survival parameters for humans, is it not?”

“Nuh-uh, Ax-Man, I will not be pulled in by your smooth small-talk skills.”

“Did you not wish to make conversation?” Ax frowns. And then he stuffs another canapé in his mouth. “This is making conversation,” he adds through the mouthful.

Marco squints. “Is it, though?”

“It is indeed. Did you know that the rotating-wheel can opener was patented in 1870?”

Marco’s response to that one gets cut off when Rachel comes charging across the open tent space like a small freight train. Tobias is balanced on her shoulder, flaring slightly as she runs. She yanks the champagne flute out of his hand. Marco makes a squeak of protest, but Rachel just sets it firmly on a bussing tray and turns back to glare at him.

“What did we agree?” she asks sternly.

Marco rolls his eyes. “That I’d stay sober-ish for the toast, and not do anything too embarrassing.”

“You’re the best man. You have one job, Marco.”

“Excuse you, the best man’s one job was that banger of a bachelor-slash-ette party we did Wednesday night. Did you like the part where we all dived out of a helicopter and flew clear through the lower atmosphere to that rooftop bar? Because—”

“So you got the drinking out of your system. You promised.”

“Sober-ish, come on, it’s just one wine-spritzer-thing!”

Rachel turns away from him, looking Ax over. “You realize you’re going to have to demorph and remorph at some point before the ceremony, right?” she asks. “And that when you do, someone’s going to have to go through the whole kit and caboodle of getting you into that tux all over again?”

“Yes,” Ax says. “Yes, I do.”

She stares at him. He stares back, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while also chewing three jalapeño pastries at the same time.

«You should probably just listen to her,» Tobias suggests. «By the way, where’s your date? Not that I quake in fear for the wedding cake or anything, but, uh…»

“Menderash has been instructed not to eat anything on a human plate without seeking my opinion first,” Ax says, somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah,” Marco says. “So far he’s only eaten two earthworms, a candle, some decorative sand, and part of Collette’s bouquet. You two have nothing to worry about.”

“Part of Collette’s bouquet?” Rachel demands. “We can’t send a bridesmaid up the aisle without—”

“Already replaced it, I am on top of this.” Marco flips his hair back from his face. “I am a flower master.”

«So where is Menderash now?» Tobias asks.

“Helping Cassie’s mom,” Marco explains.

«And Cassie’s mom is…?»

“Delivering a baby cow.”

Rachel makes a noise like she’s choking on air. “Doesn’t Michelle have vet techs for that kind of thing? She’s supposed to be getting ready, not, not…”

“It’s cool,” Marco says. “She’s got her makeup on, her hair is done perfectly, she’s got an apron-thing to keep her dress nice and gloves over her nails, it was a breech birth so they needed a real doctor and Walter was busy supervising the caterers, she’s got Menderash and Steve helping her out—”

“She kidnapped Jake’s dad?” Rachel demands overtop the continuing babble.

“He said he had never delivered an offspring outside of his own species before, and expressed deep curiosity on the subject,” Ax offers. “Menderash is a certified medic with andalite training, so they should be well-equipped to assist.”

Marco makes jazz hands in the air. “It’s a free pre-dinner show! Cow birth. Better than icebreakers.”

There’s a very long pause. Rather than dignify that with a response, Rachel turns and stalks away.

Marco watches her go, halfway awed at her ability to navigate an open yard so well while not only wearing six-inch heels and a multi-layer floor-length dress, but also balancing an enormous updo on top of her head and a red-tailed hawk on her left shoulder.

“Is it just me, or did Jake and Cassie make a monster when they asked her to be maid of honor?” Marco says.

«You wanna take over her responsibilities, then?»

Of course Tobias heard that. Stupid hawk hearing.

“No thank you!” Marco yells after them.

Cassie, meanwhile, is currently picking her way across the open space under the tent, bunches of dress hiked up to above her knees. This last is, of course, the source of Rachel’s consternation.

“Here.” Rachel attempts to pull the wads of skirt out of Cassie’s hands and drop them back to the ground. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

Cassie stubbornly refuses to let go. “You told me not to let it drag on the ground. If I let it down, it’ll drag.”

“Cassie, Cassie. That is a hand-tailored Christian Dior gown that I commissioned to be custom-fitted to your measurements. There is no way that it is too long if you let it…”

Cassie drops the bunches of tulle. The end of the skirt falls all the way down, where the bottom two inches rest, unmistakably, on the muddy ground.

Rachel somehow manages to wince with her entire body while also not moving at all.

«It’s a look,» Tobias suggests, by way of consolation. «Kind of.»

“How…?” Rachel peers closer at Cassie. “Wait, where are your shoes?”

Cassie shrugs, embarrassed. “Uh, inside somewhere. I was having trouble balancing in them.”

“Well that’s why!” Rachel’s emphatic gesture almost dislodges Tobias. With years’ experience, he dodges her waving arm and retains his perch. “The dress was tailored to fit you with shoes on.”

“They were getting stuck in the grass—”

“They’re kitten heels!”

“Yeah, and they’re still heels.” Cassie looks stuck somewhere between amusement and embarrassment. “I don’t really do heels. Sorry.”

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says, as if to thin air.

«Nuh-uh, leave me out, I want no part in—»

“Remember me telling Cassie that we should really try the whole outfit on before the wedding?”

«Uh. Yes?»

“Do you also remember Cassie agreeing to it, and then the day of, haring off to go try and save a bunch of vultures instead? Remember how we tried to reschedule, and there was that ALF mission on the same day so she never showed? Remember that?”

Cassie clears her throat loudly. “I think it’s a very nice dress. It’s fluffy and also comfortable, and look!” She tucks her hands away. “It has pockets.”

«Vultures are actually fundamental for waste disposal in ecosystems all over the world, and the poisons used on livestock—»

“Do you think you could at least wear the shoes long enough to go up the aisle?” Rachel asks. “And maybe even for a few photos as well?”

“Uh. I’ll try.” Cassie hikes her skirt back up (Rachel full-body winces again) and starts picking her way across the lawn back toward the house.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to un-wrinkle it in time,” Rachel mutters.

«Yep. So you’re just going to have to live with it.»

“I hate living with it.”

«Wanna go check on whatever monstrosity of a replacement bouquet Marco probably inflicted on Collette?»

“Fine, fine.”

**************

Cassie walks up the aisle in a custom-tailored gown, an edelweiss and valerian flower crown, and slightly muddy Timberland work boots. The sole on the boots is apparently tall enough that the skirt does, not, in fact, drag on the ground or get tangled in her feet.

«Somewhere out there,» Tobias comments, «Christian Dior is crying into an overpriced silk handkerchief and doesn’t even know why.»

Marco has never more deeply felt the utter unfairness of Tobias being able to use thought-speak while human, because they’re currently standing at the front of the aisle and he can’t even respond.

But Rachel should still count this one as a win. The gown looks stunning on Cassie, lacy and princess-ruffled while also having the kind of practical cut that allows her freedom of movement. And, Marco notes with a smirk, freedom to wear her morphing leotard underneath; the purple spandex is just visible peeking out from underneath the white silk neckline. He’s got morphing clothes under his own tux — never leaves home without ‘em — so really, he can’t judge.

Plus, Michelle’s got her dress and just her dress on by now, and her locs are still tucked into their silver-beaded updo. Really, the cow birth was just a momentary inconvenience.

“Hi,” Jake whispers, when Cassie reaches him.

She grabs his hand. Then she stuffs her bouquet into one of his jacket pockets, and grabs his other hand. “Hi,” she whispers back.

“This is pretty exciting, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ax clears his throat delicately, and they stop talking.

“There is an Earth tradition,” Ax says to the entire assembly, “that the captain of any ship may perform a wedding ceremony at will.”

In the front row of seats, Michelle laces her fingers through Walter’s.

“Although there is no legal precedent for this custom,” Ax continues, “it is nevertheless possible to become ordained as a wedding officiant if one just completes the proper applications.”

One of Jake’s great-aunts mutters something loudly about the lack of rabbi. Sarah leans over and kicks her in the ankle. Rachel beams her approval.

“Therefore, I am here to make official through human custom that which has already been forged through affection and respect.” Ax looks from Jake to Cassie and back. “The bond between warriors who have fought and faced death together can be neither lessened nor improved upon by mere ceremony. The honor shared between two such beings who have chosen to risk loving each other in spite of knowing the reality of loss is one that we recognize today. We can recognize it, but not sanctify it beyond the sanctity of what these two humans have already shared.”

Rachel lets out an audible sniffle. Marco does his best not to smirk at her. It’s not that sappy a speech.

“I have been assured that the bond between two humans who like each other far exceeds the bond between those who merely enjoy each other’s company,” Ax says.

And now Marco has to fight the urge to bang his head against the nearest support pole.

“I have witnessed this myself.” Ax stares around the room. “I have witnessed compromise and forgiveness, compassion and challenge between these two. I therefore believe it is correct and proper that this bond be formally recognized by the State of California. Is there anything you would wish to add?” he says to Jake and Cassie.

Cassie leans up on tip-toe. Jake bends to meet her.

She whispers her vows into his ear, not bothering to share with the rest of the gathering. After a moment, tears on his face, he leans in and whispers back.

Recognizing his cue, Marco grabs the rings and passes them over. They’re boring-looking, in his opinion, plain silicon bands without anything shiny. But they’re also easy to morph, easy to shovel manure while wearing, easy to wear without catching on anything. Very Cassie. Very Jake.

Speaking of which, the Timberlands prove to be a good call. When the time comes, Cassie stomps the shit out of that ceremonial glass.

**********

In a slight break with tradition, Rachel and Tobias are actually the first ones to go back down the aisle. Then Marco wheels Collette out, followed by Tom and Melissa, then Jake and Cassie go. That way, Rachel’s got time to sprint back over to the main tent and check on the banquet.

Most of the tables are arranged correctly, the centerpieces in place and the cards arrayed. Rachel does a mad sprint of the room, straightening decorations and confirming with the caterers that they got all the instructions about who needs what in their diet. Between the number of kosher eaters on Jake’s side and the number of vegetarians on Cassie’s, Rachel made the call to go all the way to a fully vegan buffet. That’s probably going to get some of the relatives complaining about kids these days and rabbit food, but there’s no pleasing everyone.

Rachel deftly switches a few of the placecards, thereby putting Jordan on point to deal with their great-aunt and grandmother who have both already overindulged at the open bar, muttering an apology as she does. She puts Tobias to work making sure the bows on the backs of chairs are straight, and rushes up to the long table at the front to confirm that the armless chair meant to accommodate Cassie’s bulky skirt is in the correct place.

D.J. is here, playlist at the ready. Dance floor is clear of grass. Weather’s holding, but tent covers are on standby.

Slightly sweaty, she rushes back out with a chair under each arm just in time to catch the guests coming across the lawn.

“Everyone except the parents, head off to the cocktail hour!” she calls. “Jake, Cassie, moms and dads, with me.”

While Marco’s date (a photographer named Dakota) sets up the camera, Rachel goes into a flurry of motion straightening bowties, adjusting hairdos, and touching up makeup. Steve’s got a spot of cow blood on his forehead, she discovers to her horror, and by the time she’s done scrubbing that off Jake’s managed to get his tuxedo jacket misaligned again. Finally she steps back, breathing hard, and nods to Dakota.

Everyone smiles. The camera goes off.

“Okay.” Rachel claps her hands loudly, because Jake and Cassie are looking ready to stand up and go join the reception. “That’s one down, just twenty-three to go.”

********

Rather than tossing her whole bouquet all at once, Cassie picks it apart and gives a single flower to every single guest she can find. When the bouquet itself runs out, she disassembles her flower crown and hands that out piece by piece until everyone’s got at least one blossom. It just seems fairer that way, she says when Rachel asks.

Several of the traditions, Rachel reflects, seem to be lost on Jake and Cassie. They cut the first piece of cake… and immediately hand it to Ax. And then they cut the second piece, and the third piece, and keep right on cutting slices of cake and handing them out to people until Rachel has to step in and wrest the knife away. She’s grateful that they refrain from any of the food-fighting nonsense, since both their wedding outfits are headed to a charity auction first thing tomorrow morning, but honestly. They’re supposed to eat the first two slices, not drop half a tier of cake into the black hole of hungry andalite.

Cake served, Marco clinks a fork against a glass. “Ladies, gentlemen, and proletariats!”

There’s a general murmur as people look around, trying to spot who’s speaking.

With a hand from Jake, Marco climbs bodily onto the banquet table. “Everyone!” he shouts, and now they’re all looking at him. At him, and at the champagne flute in his hand. “Jake and Cassie!”

It gets a polite round of applause.

“Gotta start at the beginning, right?” Marco looks around the room, grinning. “So there I am, some snot-nosed three-year-old, minding my own business. And this chubby, dorky-looking little white kid comes running up to me and is like…” He leans in. “‘You wanna be my best friend?’”

He grins at Jake, who is flushing bright red.

“I shit you not, that was his opening line. ‘You wanna be my best friend?’ So I’m like…” Marco pantomimes reeling back in shock. “I dunno man, seems like a lot of commitment to make to a total stranger. You want explore our options first, maybe get a prenup, see if we’re compatible? I mean, for all I know five years from now you’re gonna find some younger, hotter best friend and then there I’ll be out on my ear with nothing to show for it.”

There’s a smattering of laughter throughout the room. Marco visibly draws strength from it.

“But you know what?” Marco leans down to look around, smiling like he’s got a secret. “Little dork kept right on showing up to my house and letting me use his television and getting his mom to give me fluffer nutters, and next thing I know it turns out he really is my best friend. I think he was onto something.

“Anyway, you think that one was bad…” He raises his eyebrows. “Couple years later, there we are in first grade, and this girl in teeny-tiny first-grader overalls comes into the room like…”

Marco claps one hand over the top of his champagne flute and clamps the other under the base, and actually walks a few steps down the table with the determined air of a very small and klutzy version of Cassie.

“And her opening line is…” Marco raises the flute to his mouth like it’s a microphone, dropping his voice. “‘You wanna see my moth?’”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter. Cassie has a hand over her mouth, halfway doubled over in giggles at the memory.

“Now, us being minuscule and all, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that there was no double entendre going on here,” Marco says. “And I have to admit, no one has used that line on me since. So I say ‘sure,’ because I’m like six years old and this seems like a reasonable question. She lifts her hand up…”

Marco accompanies this with a pantomime of peering through his own fingers into his champagne.

He looks up. “And it’s not even a freaking moth!” he cries out. “Turns out, it’s just some little worm thing. So I tell her.” He puts on a snotty voice, mocking his younger self. “‘That’s not a moth, that’s just some little worm thing.’”

There’s a pause. Marco glances around the room. “See if you can tell where this story’s going.”

Marco and Cassie glance at each other. Cassie’s grinning smugly.

“She puts it in the classroom’s terrarium,” Marco drawls. “It turns into a rock. Two weeks later, rock cracks open and out pops a moth.”

The room cracks up again.

“So fast forward another few years, and she’s standing there holding this eight-eyed, venom-fanged thing. And she’s all like ‘just touch the spider, Marco. Don’t you want to be a spider, Marco? Isn’t it cute and fuzzy?’ As if she is completely unaware that she’s holding a giant-ass eight-legged freak.” Marco takes a sip for strength. “And right then, I look at Jake. And I’m thinking Jake, don’t ever let this girl go. Because if she doesn’t even think wolf spiders are ugly, then she’s got no idea about you. So here’s to Jake and Cassie. Made for each other, because no one else will have ‘em.”

Jake pokes Marco in the ankle, but he’s laughing as he does it.

“All right,” Marco says, “brace yourselves, and someone get some more tissues for my second mama, because I’m about to get sappy. I love you, Jean!” he calls. “I know we all gotta cry it out sometimes.”

She laughs and flaps a dismissive hand at him, but she’s also misty-eyed already.

“Dudes, I gotta be honest.” Marco is looking at Jake and Cassie. “I didn’t think we’d get here. I honestly did not believe, for a good long while there, that there were gonna be any weddings or graduations or driver’s licenses in any of our futures. Just seemed like a good idea not to bet on any of us having any futures, you know? Seemed like it might be the surest option.”

Cassie laces her fingers through Jake’s. Silently, her mouth pressed into a line, she nods.

“So, uh.” Marco sniffs, spinning back around and thrusting his champagne flute into the air. “Here’s to me being wrong, yeah?”

“To Marco being wrong!” Jake echoes, and tosses back his glass.

“To Marco being wrong!” the entire room calls back.

Marco jumps back down, Cassie and Jake catching him as he lands.

**********

After everyone but Menderash and Ax has finished eating, it’s Tom who becomes the next one to tink a fork against a glass for attention.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he tells the room, strolling slowly toward the head table. “I promised my brother there wouldn’t be a horah.” Tom stops, directly next to Cassie. “But what he didn’t know is that I’d already made a promise to my new sister-in-law that there would be. So what’s a guy to do?”

He snaps his fingers.

At this cue, several things happen at once. The DJ switches to “Hava Nagila.” Several people mob Jake at once. Tom grabs Cassie and lifts her bodily over his head, carrying her chair and all to the middle of the dance floor.

With a squeak of laughter, Cassie grabs the top of Tom’s head for balance. Jake is being hauled out next to her on a chair of his own, supported by Tobias and Menderash and Rachel and James. Marco and Ax are herding the rest of the gathering, shoving people into a circle and linking arms together as they go.

“I hate you!” Jake calls over the sound of the music and his own fit of giggles.

“Gotta keep the in-laws happy!” Tom yells back, unrepentant.

*********

“You sure you’ve got everything you need?” Rachel asks.

Cheyenne, the head caterer, gives her a double thumbs-up. The staff are tipped and most are ready to go, having divvied up the several extra schaeffers’ worth of falafel and butternut squash puree and other entrees that Rachel’d set aside for them. Melissa is set to take over tending bar from here, as planned, and she’s going to keep the groomsmen after for a few minutes for cleanup duty.

“Okay.” Rachel glances around at where the last of the countertops are getting a quick once-over with disinfectant. “Okay. If anything comes up…”

“I have your number.” Cheyenne smiles and nods.

Pushing back out of the room, Rachel heads for the gift table. Everything looks like it’s in good order, but she wants to make sure it all gets packed up properly and that none of the cards get lost in the kerfuffle. It’s mostly donation receipts, at Jake and Cassie’s request, but some of the traditionalists on both sides came with soup tureens or the like —

“Hey.” Jake catches her by the arm.

Rachel turns to look at him. “What’s wrong? Is it the great-aunts?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s all perfect.” He’s smiling shyly. “Thanks.”

“I need to check on the gifts,” Rachel says, because she’s a coward who doesn’t know how to do mushy conversations, especially not with Jake.

“The gifts are fine,” he says. “It’s all fine. Because you made it that way. So… thanks.”

When he pulls her into a hug, Rachel can’t resist straightening his hair one last time even as she returns the embrace. “You realize I do this for fun, right?” she asks, holding him at arm’s length and looking him in the eye. “Like, I could’ve hired a wedding planner, but honestly why bother?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything. All of it. Without you, Cassie and I wouldn’t even…”

Then, because this is all getting too honest, Rachel links her arm through his and drags him onto the dance floor for, he’s about to realize, their middle school gym class’s favorite godawful square dance.

*********

When she has do-si-doed Jake within an inch of his life, Rachel tosses him at Cassie. She pivots around and gives Tobias a flourishing courtesy; he returns it with an equally ridiculous bow.

“It is marvelous, how well they have adapted their balance to compensate for their lack of legs,” Menderash comments to Ax.

“Very true.” Ax leans next to him against the bar. They are currently sharing a delicious beverage Melissa has made for them, simply by unscrewing the lid from a nearly-empty jar of olives and handing over the remaining liquid.

It is true, some of the dancers are more talented than others. Michelle and Walter are synchronized with each other and the beat of the music, even if their choice of moves is not nearly as audacious as the spinning thing Marco and Dakota are doing. The bride and groom, meanwhile, are looking at their own feet and keep bumping into each other as they move. Between their relative unconcern with anyone but each other and the broad hem of Cassie’s dress, the other couples are giving them a wide berth.

“Do you wish to attempt such feats?” Ax asks, glancing at Menderash.

Menderash gives a full-body shudder. He flaps one hand in an andalite gesture that, if translated to English, would approximate fuck that.

Ax grins, drinking more olive juice.

“Have you done such a thing?” Menderash asks.

“Never for very long,” Ax says.

Jake and Cassie have given up on dancing entirely, descending into a giggle fit in the middle of the dance floor as they both attempt to disentangle Jake’s cuff link from the lace of Cassie’s hem. Rachel swirls by, briefly blocking their view. She’s switched partners. Dakota is doing their best to teach Tobias how to waltz while Marco and Rachel are now swing-dancing their way across the dance floor.

As both andalites watch in awe, Rachel spins Marco in a circle, swinging him out and then drawing him back close to her body. Marco pirouettes, throwing his head back so that his hair flares around his face, and then throws himself backwards. Rachel catches him neatly around the waist, dipping him nearly to the floor. Marco braces on her shoulders and she flings him upward with her whole body so that she actually lifts him off the floor for a second before gracefully sweeping him back down. They separate until just the tips of their fingers are touching, and then spin back together until Marco suddenly swoops under Rachel’s arm, coming up on the far side as she pivots around in time fro him to fall back against her.

Ax is reminded of the way they fight. There’s something almost joyful in their ferocity on the battlefield. There’s something almost frightening in their enthusiasm on the dancefloor. Neither of them seems to know how to do anything by half measure.

One by one the other clusters of dancers have stopped to watch as well. Jake and Cassie, now sitting hopelessly tangled up in each other, seem quite happy to have the spotlight stolen.

Rachel swoops an arm around Marco’s waist and slides into a back-and-forth tango step. Within two beats he’s caught on, falling into the same rhythm as her. When the tempo of the song changes he grabs her shoulder and nudges her into a circular waltz. They’re unrehearsed, and inexpert, but moving with such force and communicating so rapidly that it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” Menderash says softly, “I very much do not wish to attempt to dance.”

Ax smiles at him over the rim of the olive jar. It’s empty, and in the time it takes him to set it back on the bar and catch her eye, Melissa has replaced it with maraschino cherry liquid.

The song crescendos; Marco leans his full weight back as Rachel flings him into a long spiraling turn that ends with him sliding on his knees clear between her legs, popping up behind her just in time to brace as she tips backward into him. She spins once, twice, four times, then swings him into a dip so low that his hair brushes the floor.

As the song ends they freeze like that, chests heaving, hair damp with sweat.

They both seem to become aware at once that the whole room’s watching them. Marco opens his mouth to say something, when Rachel’s smile turns wicked. That’s the only warning he gets before she opens her arms and lets him drop. Marco squawks indignantly, throwing out both elbows to catch himself. He gets ahold of Rachel’s arm and tries to yank her down as well, but ends up pulling himself to his feet as well.

The whole room breaks out into clapping. Marco sweeps into a low bow. Rachel visibly considers pushing him over again before deciding against it. Instead she runs to try and rescue Cassie’s hand-sewn lace hem and Jake’s antique silver cufflinks from their respective owners’ incompetence.

*********

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says around a yawn.

«Uh-huh?»

Idly they watch as Tom waltzes Cassie’s grandmother around the dance floor. She’s 4’11” to his 6’4”, so it’s pretty hilarious to witness. But at least they’re not totally mismatched: each has a single sprig of valerian from Cassie’s bouquet tucked behind one ear.

She and Tobias are sitting on the ground at one corner of the dance floor. Rachel’s got her shoes off to massage her aching ankles, and Tobias is perched back on her shoulder. With clever motions of his beak he’s fishing the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into her hand as he slowly disassembles her updo.

“How do you feel about never, ever getting married?” Rachel asks.

Tobias drops another bobby pin into her hand. «Best idea you’ve had all year.»

#animorphs #animorphs ficlet #animorphs au #(sadly)#long post #weddings #jake/cassie #cake #alcohol mention #rachel berenson #is the canonically biggest cassie/jake shipper on the planet #do it for her #anonymous #asks

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thebookofus-depravity · 4 years

Text

Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus, Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything.

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable.

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow.

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity.

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run. It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom.

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned.

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional. Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did. They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you.

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you. Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food.

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years.

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart.

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night.

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man.

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends. You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly, you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds.

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members.

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious.

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone. You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend.

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it!

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist.

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet.

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from.

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae.

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit.

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language!

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves?

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?!

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think?

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed.

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you?

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.”

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter.

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues,

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh.

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?”

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it.

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop.

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.”

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town.

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon.

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid.

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time.

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him.

Sensing the realization in your eyes, he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter.

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off.

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.”

“I… what?”

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time.

“Pretty?”

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty.

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips.

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face.

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you.

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.”

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat?

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after.

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car.

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh!

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events.

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae?

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother.

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand.

“Jae, where are we?”

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.”

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives.

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae.

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol.

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself.

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this.

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment.

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.”

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man.

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage.

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest.

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him.

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates.

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit.

“Well he seemed lovely.”

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.”

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen?

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.”

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him.

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively.

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm.

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit.

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.”

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want?

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan.

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile.

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

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irondadgroupie · 5 years

Text

Bohemian Rhapsody: Chapter 3

A/N: I can’t believe how cruel @intoresus and I were with Peter.

“Mr. Stark!”

In the moment Dr. McKane said it, she knew she wouldn’t get a response. Being a medic meant she could differentiate monitor alarms in her sleep.

“He’s tachycardic, probably slipping straight into a PT.” This would be rarely more than the absolute worst-case-scenario for someone healthy, but with Stark’s previous heart conditions, he was at a higher risk, which meant they had to get the arrhythmia under control before it got out of hand.

“Get another round of beta-blocks and propofol and push it down immediately. Get him ready for cardioversion, quickly.”

The situation developed in a squared multicode, hard even for someone with certified trauma knowledge. It was a relief to at least see that Parker’s condition begin improving. His pulse was still too slow, but at least began stabilizing to a certain pace. They had means to support his heart speeding up. Right now, the main priority was keeping Mr. Starks’ from doing exactly that.

“Sergeant Rhodes, I have to ask you to stand back.”

“I was just-“ he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but McKane saw it: He’d separated Tony’s hand from Peter’s, and rightfully so. They wouldn’t do the kid any good by accidentally cardioverting him, too. However, she wasn’t as cold-hearted as her professionalism made her appear. That small gesture of reaching out for Parker’s hand - like he was drowning and it was his only saving, like it was all that kept him from sinking. His condition worsening parallel to Peter’s improving gave that metaphor an immense emotional touch.

“How’s Parker looking?”

“Pulse’s steady at 49, adequate breath sounds on both sides, oxygen stat’s at a solid 97%.”

She nodded, throwing a quick glance at the preparations done, eyeing especially the number of Tony Stark’s oxygen levels before turning back a final time.

“If you deem him stable enough for transport, get him up on a gurney and in the ambulance. Could you lend them your hand, Sergeant?”

Rhodey hated the sound of the doctor’s voice. It wasn’t a question, it was barely a suggestion, it was halfway order. He understood why she gave it. The two paramedics taking care of Peter were suited and trained enough to get him in the ambulance themselves, so this was only about not having him close when they were working on Tony. James wanted to stay, but his rational side knew better. Besides, he shouldn’t risk Tony ever finding out that he’d left Peter out of sight for more than a second, not for Tony himself, not for anyone. Tony had reached for the kid to offer comfort, because he needed to know the kid - his kid - was alright, and realizing that he wasn’t might’ve broken him for good. No matter when Tony would come to senses again, he’d beat himself up for not helping enough, for not being there when Peter needed him, so someone else had to. That someone just happened to be Rhodey.

“Sure.”

“We’re prepped.”

He tried to focus on the task at hand, listening to the orders given to him instead to those behind him.

“Set it to 100 joules.”

The machine began whirring and McKane added, “Do yourself some good Mr. Stark and make this easy for us.”

She checked that the area was clear, that no one was in touch with Tony’s skin before announcing that she’d deliver the shook.

“Clear.”

Rhodey squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying not to concentrate on a motionless and incubated Peter in front of him, or the scenery that he knew had happened behind his back a second ago: Tony’s chest and arms, now freed from the tight blanket wrapped around him, twitching slightly, heaving just a few millimeters before coming to a sudden rest again. The result was audible: Nothing had changed. On the contrary. It was hard to tell and tormenting to think of, but Rhodey could swear the beeps of the monitor came even faster than before. Not that he could distinguish two beeps from another anymore, they just seemed to blur into each other.

“Alright, same setting, try again.”

When the machines began to whir this time, Rhodey was up on his feet and at the side of Peter’s gurney, helping to move it forward. But his mind and ears were still back at the shore, still with Tony.

You have to make it Tones. If not for yourself, or me, then do it for Pepper. And Peter.

“Clear.” McKane sighed but found herself relaxing a few seconds after the second shock. This time, the electricity jolting trough the man’s body did finally seem to help. The monitor alarms vanished,

“Good decision.” She remarked before turning for the paramedics. “We give him a few minutes, hope his pulse settles below 100, then get him ready, too.

“How’s Parker looking?”

“49, still, and holding up. Oxygen stats looking good.” McKane smiled. For now, the most severe crises seemed to be overcome, and she hoped that would prove true, at least until they’d reach the compound, where they’d have more means to help care for both their patients.

“Get on the road, we’ll be following in just a minute.” A minute she’d spent making a final decision on how to judge her current patient’s condition. She didn’t like the instability in Mr. Starks vitals. Once his pulse calmed, the man’s oxygen stats began going wild. Physical stress was hard enough for a human body to deal with. The emotional pressure didn’t exactly help with that either.

“Alright, not taking any risks here. I want him intubated before we get on the road.”

None of the assessing paramedics raised an eyebrow at her decision, they all agreed on it being necessary.

Rhodey sat at Peter’s side in the ambulance, a hand on the kid’s shoulder, trying not to look into his face. It’d only be a horrible reminder that this usually hell of a healthy teenager wasn’t even able to properly breathe on his own. The conversations failed to bring his thoughts away from that.

“Parker’s getting increasingly non-responsive, pupils’ reactions sluggish.” One of the paramedics spoke into the communicator, the penlight still in his hand. They all knew what it meant without verbalizing it. Peter was drifting closer to a comatose state, without any of them being able to tell what exactly was causing it. But doing an MRI and a CT wasn’t possible in here.

“I’ve already arranged the transport. Helicopter’s waiting on us.” McKane’s voice sounded trough the speakers. Rhodey eyed Peter’s monitor, still showing several notifications, and although none of them were important enough to actually raise an alarm, it wasn’t hard to tell that his condition danced on the borderline between being manageable and dangerous. Besides, he could still hear the quick beeps of the other monitor at the end of the line.

“Is it wise?” He asked. “They are both very weak. Flying might prove to be too strenuous.” The paramedic’s facial expression gave no hints of a personal opinion away when he repeated it for the head medic.

“I know.” McKane said. “But it is our best bet. I am worried about Parker's concussion, regular hospitals don't have the resources to treat people like him.”

Rhodey nodded, leaning back. He still wasn’t convinced that they weren’t putting unnecessary pressure on the two of them, but he hadn’t studied medicine for the better time of his life, so he wasn’t in a position to judge. He’d given his recommendation, the final choice was on McKane. All he could do was sit there and hope his presence gave at least Peter a little comfort.

Whether or not that proved to work was a question that remained unanswered. The kid‘s only movements were the regular heave of his chest, and those were a simple, unconscious reaction to the air forced into his lungs. But from experience, and from what Tony had told him (he talked about Peter a lot, basically like a parent documenting all minor developmental steps of their newborn child), he‘d learned that the kid needed a certain kind of physical affection to feel at ease. Which was hard to grant, given that he was wrapped in blankets and strapped on a gurney. All Rhodey could do in their current position was stroke the kids shoulder over three layers of blankets.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” He said, his voice surprisingly toneless. It was reasonable, given that after you met Peter Parker, you couldn’t help but embosom him. This was nothing you second-guessed, nothing you could consciously prevent. Seeing him like this was just utterly wrong, and it suddenly dammed him that he would have to call the boy’s aunt to inform her about what happened.

And Pepper? Tony’s spouse was currently on a business trip at the other end of the country, with god-knows how many meetings for her to attend. There was no doubt Tony would want her to stay exactly there, not intending to let the worry for him stop her from doing what she loved to do. Rhodey would’ve probably even agreed to that, but that was before his friend had drifted that close to a stress-induced heart-attack. Tony wouldn’t be able to deny it, he’d need her at his side, helping him to regain physical and mental balance. Not to mention what would happen if Pepper found out only after her return. He could handle Tony’s anger, he’d been familiar with his temper for long enough. But Pepper? That woman was another story entirely, and he didn’t want to pick a quarrel with her.

The first time Rhodey saw Tony again was when they loaded him onto the helicopter shortly after he’d helped getting Peter on there. The kid had scared them for an awfully long second, his heart skipping a few beats before returning to its initial pace. They took control of it with medications now, so Rhodey was free to have his heart sink into his stomach when he caught the first glance at his best friend.

“What-“

“It was a precaution.” McKane explained, easing his worries. “After all, the accident wasn’t exactly helping with his existing heart-condition. We took care of the stress-induced arrhythmia and got it under control, but I wanted to take a strain from his body until he’s gotten more stable.”

She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “As far as things are looking by now, I’m confident that they can extubate Stark as soon as the surgery is over. This is really just a precaution and in favor of the physicians on the compound.” With those last words she nodded her agreement for the preparing of the take-off before strapping herself in and allowing the paramedics to fill her in on Peter’s condition.

Rhodey sat down quietly, trying to come to terms with all of what he’d witnessed in the past half an hour.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that it was a sudden wail of alarm that snatched him out of the process.

“Alright, who’s crashing?”

“Parker’s slid into VF.” One of the paramedics announced, his movements quick and precise like a sickly perfect reflex when he loosened the straps of the gurney to free the kid’s chest from the blankets. Two hands, fingers interlocked, went down on an already bruised breastbone. The alarms went silent, tiny waves on screen replaced by huge curves. “Starting compressions.”

McKane closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself a deep breath in. It was a simple trick, but usually, it helped. Set the world on half the pace for some time, allowing her to keep track of everything necessary. Going through the H’s and T’s was unnecessary, they already knew the kid had suffered a moderate hypothermia and deep inside she’d been prepared that it could happen. The pressure of both the flight and the cold, even though he’d warmed up a little already, was just too much to handle simultaneously. That she’d seen it coming didn’t change a thing about the weight of responsibility of saving a teenager’s life.

“Keep going, I’ll prep a mg of epinephrine. Sergeant? I need you to hand the defibrillator over.”

Rhodey had been paralyzed from shock ever since the alarm had rang in his ears, like an awfully violent reminder of where he was: A medical helicopter filled with just too many people, right in between his best friend and the man’s mentee, protégé, son by heart. A kid that was now dancing on the small rope between life and death.

“Breathe.” What was meant to be a comment to the paramedic in charge of providing Peter air with the ambubag, snatched Rhodey back into reality. He turned around, reaching for the red case behind him and handing it over to McKane, avoiding looking at Peter. It didn’t work for long, as if the kid was a magnet, as if a cruel god wanted to torture him by forcing him to watch. The teenager’s hand twitched in a rhythm with the administered compressions, his stomach heaving in response to the hands forced down on his chest, forcing an unwilling heart to pump. None of that happened voluntarily. None of it was an initiated movement. All of it was forced from outside, and it felt wrong. The reality used to be different. Used to be Tony having to tell the kid to take it easy, with patrol, with training... But Tony wasn’t in his right spot either. Not making the usual sarcastic comments, not making fun of the kid in a lecturing, though mostly loving and protective way.

“Epi’s in, hold compressions for a second.” The alarms immediately began wailing again, indicating that Peter’s heart still twitched instead of beating. “Still v-fib, keep going.”

The paramedic was quick to restart with his work, starting the circle of movements again. Press. Twitch. Bulge. Raising only one hand when McKane moved forward to get the pads attached to Peter’s chest. The other hand kept doing compressions, providing a starving brain with oxygenated blood.

“Charging to 180 now, keep going.” The agreement came without words, just in the newfound intensity of compressions.

“Breathe.”

“We’re charged.” McKane remarked professionally. “Stay back.” A second passed.

“Clear. Come, on Parker, work with us.”

With the jolt of electricity, Peter’s entire body twitched, shoulders slightly moving inwards, his chest heaving half a centimeter for a nanosecond before coming to a rest again, accompanied by the sickening alarm sound of the heart monitor. The spikes didn’t return on the screen, neither did the previous waves.

McKane - a woman that had never understood the concept of religions, found herself praying. Praying that the flicker of electricity Peter’s heart still offered hadn’t vanished entirely, that he still gave them something to work with.

“There we go.” She couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath when the motionless line began heaving again. Still not in spikes, but at least not still. “Continue compressions.”

Rhodey noticed, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the paramedics had changed places. No surprise, given that squeezing a vital organ between two bones that weren’t meant to be shift was taxing on the rescuer. All his rationality - all his distance - had vanished, and he watched and listened with almost a blank mind to what was going on around him. The cracking when a rib finally gave in under the weight crushed upon it. The whine following the hold of the compressions for the third pulse check.

McKane’s muttered urges.

“Come on, you made it this far. Don’t give up on us just yet.”

Peter didn’t give a verbal answer.

His body did, and the monitor translated. “Still VF, but amplitude’s going down. Administering another mg epinephrine, hoping it keeps him with us. Charging pads to 200.” By now, they almost worked in empty silence. There were no more agreements needed. Even the switch happened smoothly without talking, and when the second shock went through Peter’s body, they all just watched the reflexive movement of the kid’s chest, hoping.

“Still nothing. Charging again.”

While McKane moved to have the unit charged, her colleague began hammering his hands into Pete’s chest again. “How far are we out?”

“Estimated time of arrival is two minutes from now.”

The doctor ignored the response.

“Clear.”

The third shock was as successful as the previous ones.

Rhodey could think about nothing but the time. Two minutes out meant that Peter’s heart had refused to work properly around six minutes ago. He could barely stop himself from calculating what that meant.

Come on Peter. Don’t do this.

“Wait.” McKane signed the performing emergency responder to hold compressions. The monitor seemed to scream again for even daring to stop, but the sound was different to the one before, and accompanied by slow but regular beeps coming from the background.

“That’s it. Almost.” All of the attending medics allowed themselves a short breather, appreciating the regular spikes on screen before focusing on the number. 36 BPM.

“Bradycardia. It’s undeniable now.” Strong, sharp, quick compressions were suddenly replaced by gentler, more timed ones, even before the decision came.

“Pass-time, we put him up for pacing before we loose that weak pulse again.” The required changes were done with a simple switch on the machine, and everyone just leaned back in anticipation. “Attempting capture at 55, let’s see how it goes.”

Peter’s fingers twitched again, and again, and that minimalistic body response to electricity became regular, the impulse giving the heart muscle the sign to contract.

“Pulse captured. I’ll try turning up to 70.”

The impulses came quicker now, and for the first time in what had felt like forever, no alarm was interrupting the silence in the helicopter. Just some little click’s of the defibrillating unit when it fulfilled it’s purpose.

“Doc, we’re ready to land now.”

“Permission granted.”

It wouldn’t make sense to wait. Peter’s condition wouldn’t stabilize within the next minutes, not before he was properly warmed up and treated, and the only place granting that possibility was the facility.

McKane was just glad that Mr. Stark had held up the entire flight.

And maybe all of them were too relieved to see an actual pulse on both screens to realize that the blood pressure on Peter’s was slowly but steadily gravitating downwards.

The helicopter landed and the unloading of patients began when the rotators had yet to stop spinning. Airwaves were strong and made the people protect their eyes. Peter was taken off first, his fragile condition stating he needed immediate care on an even ground.

“Let’s get them inside!” McKane screamed at the team that accepted the gurneys and gently helped them from the helicopter so their bodies would not be jostled unnecessarily. Automatic doors opened and soon they were all in the safety and warmth of the compound.

“We have operating room ready for Stark,” A nurse said as she pushed off Tony’s blanket to get a good look at the hand. The swelling had gone up during the flight.

“We need X-Rays for Stark’s hand and Peter’s ribs, he has been under two times now. Is MRI ready?” McKane walked fast in the narrow hallways.

“Yes, we can take Parker there immediately,” The nurse pushing Peter’s gurney along looked at the woman.

“Head-wound needs stitches,” a male nurse inspected the cut. “His healing is not working.”

“I would be shocked if the healing focused on tiny superficial imperfection rather than ensure his heart kept beating,” McKane dryly remarked as they came to crossroads. Left led to operating theatre and right to treatment rooms.

“Stark suffered from arrhythmia on the shore and has been tachycardic ever since. Mind that when you give him anesthesia.”

“He has good breath sounds,” a stethoscope was placed on Tony’s chest and Rhodey breathed out, at least some good news. Sure, they were both on their death beds but hey, at least his lungs were clean!

“Yes, intubation was just a precaution,” The man nodded. “Plane ride was a lot of stress from them both.”

“Parker drowned, has still some water in his lungs, we don’t know how long he was resuscitated after the crash or if his heart stopped, Stark has not been conscious enough for questioning.”

“What is Stark’s GCSE?”

“14. Parker’s was 9 before helicopter ride.”

“Seems about 6 now,” A nurse pinched Peter’s eyebrow to get a response to pain. “We need to rule out the possibility of brain bleed.”

“They’re also both hypothermic and need further warming up.”

A nurse arrived with two bags of warmed saline that were attached to Tony and Peter’s IVs.

“I think we should just stick with liquids until the surgery and tests are over. Let’s hope cold prevented their brains and hearts from gaining long-lasting damages.”

Tony’s hand was X-rayed and the radiologist winced at the picture.

“Yep, completely shattered, bones are all over the place.”

“But that can be fixed, right?” Rhodey asked nervously, Tony was right handed.

“Sure, but that might leave some scars. We can’t really tell if there is nerve damage until he wakes up and he can start physiotherapy.

Peter had two broken ribs, most were dislocated, only few lowest ones were intact. They medical staff could do nothing more than set the bones (that were luckily not threatening to puncture a lung), bind Peter’s chest and hope the boy would not need further chest compressions.

Then Peter and Tony parted ways. The man was wheeled to the operating theatre where he was attached to a ventilator and monitors. Now that the flight was over, his vitals were slowly starting to go up. Warm air and tranquility aided his condition and the surgery went by without complications.

Peter was taken to a room where a large MRI machine stood. Rhodey followed him because if he didn’t and Tony found out, he would be dead meat. He watched from behind the glass as the boy was lifted from the hospital bed to a stretcher for testing.

Awareness level of 6 did not sound good. He was not an expert but knew it was below the threshold of comatose state. His heart tried to offer optimistic possibilities: it was just caused by the cold, there was a treatable hemorrhage or too much pressure in the brain. Those were common causes that could be taken care of with medications, surgeries and rest.

The monitor turned on and a doctor started to look through the images of Peter’s brain.

It turned out he had less time for that than he hoped.

“BP’s going down.” The radiologist remarked, scanning the images even quicker now. “There’s no brain bleed to cause it. Temperature is almost back fine. He’s bleeding somewhere else, we have to get him out of there.” Both the nurse and the radiologists left the room in a hurry, and yet again, Rhodey was left in no spot to assist.

“Prep a unit of Midodrine. Having him go into a hypovolemic shock is the worst-case scenario now.”

The seconds needed to have the machine release the stretcher felt like hours, but they immediately started working on the boy.

“Pupils are still sluggish and slightly dilated but neither is blown.”

“Midodrine’s in.” They began carefully palpating Peter’s entire body before the radiologist slowed to a halt.

“Abdomen’s stiff. Stomach must’ve been bleeding for a while. We have to get him to the OR, now. We’ll get the pMRI ready later.”

Peter was quickly lifted back on the bed, and was wheeled out under excruciating alarms of the vital monitor indicating that his blood pressure was falling even further.

Rhodey doubted it had taken longer than three minutes, but it felt like a gruesome eternity.

#bohemian rhapsody #fanfiction #whump #irondad

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bnems · 5 years

Text

7:10 am; BucketList🏝🗽✈️

Morning friends. 😇

I’m assuming all of you have or have heard of a bucketlist. It’s a list of things you wish to do or to achieve in your lifetime. On my way to work this morning, I thought...why don’t I actually type out my bucketlist. That way, I can refer back to it overtime & see if I ever get to accomplish these fun & exciting things. So with that being said...let’s get started♥️

• Travel outside of the country. (Would love to visit France, Italy, England, Ireland, & Amsterdam)🛫

• Visit all 50 states.🌍

• Vegas trip with my girls! (& while I’m there since I’m a total nerd, explore the area surrounding Area 51 👽👽)

• Play with a baby lion or tiger, either will do.🦁🐯

• Take an Alaskan Cruise & go whale watching!!🐳

• Drink really expensive wine in Napa Valley🍷🍇

• Take my parents on a nice vacation as a way to thank them for all they have done for me.👏🏼

• “Attempt” to surf & ski .🏄🏼‍♀️⛷ (key word attempt)

• Go on a float trip with a big group of friends.⚓️

• Visit NYC during Christmas time.🗽

• Learn how to make the BEST homemade apple pie.🍏🥧🍎

• Become a puppy foster parent.🐶🐶

• Become a mom.👶🏼🍼

• Visit the Gentle Barn in Missouri and cuddle a cow...because cows are FREAKING precious.🐮

• Learn how to properly shoot a gun & use a bow & arrow and then hunt!🦌

• RUN a 5k🎗🏃🏼‍♀️

• Learn how to golf...🏌🏼‍♀️

• Get my very own espresso machine & learn how to make the best cup of coffee...ever.☕️

• Be part of a missionary trip & go across the world to help those in need.💒

• Take a ride in a helicopter.🚁

• Take the train to Chicago. 🚂

• Become a Certified Lactation Consultant.🤱🏼👼🏼

• Adopt a family for Christmas & make all their holiday dreams & wishes come true!!🎄

• Buy my dream car...to be specific a blacked out Jeep.🖤🖤

The list could go on and on but for now, this is a pretty good start!👏🏼 I hope my future allows me to check off all things on my bucketlist & more.

7:47 am-Time for my Fall Meeting! As a RN, a fall is one of your #1 fears. Remember, always tell your patients...CALL, DONT FALL!!!

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atimefordragons · 4 years

Photo

100 Intelligence, 0 Wisdom || EHS

☾♔; June 17, 2020 ☾♔; 12:26am ☾♔; sotd: Tuhje Dekha To (DDLJ) ☾♔; cotd: Dick Grayson ☾♔; Elite Highschool ☾♔; Side/NPC Profiles

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: lol, a summary of all 5 Sheremetev kids

----------->UPDATE: description abandoned. The group was shutdown and I've been kicked from the discord, so there's no point in finishing this set. I'll just make a new one when I inevitably recycle the characters.

Most of their profiles were done anyway, but whatever, I’m not putting any more effort into something I’m not involved in anymore.

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【𝕀ℕ𝕊ℙ𝕆 ℂℝ𝔼𝔻】@ maybones

As always, lolz. Soz for always using you as inspo, but you are the unrivaled Queen of Talent and Set making.

Was specifically inspired by this set: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2523719 And as always, failed in mimicking it.

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I have made a new version of Tuhje Dekha To: Tuhje Dekha Toh ye jana sanam Main tuhje nufrat karti, kuti kamini

Loose Translation: When I saw you beloved, I knew That I despise you, you fucking bitch

(kuti kamini doesn’t literally mean fucking bitch, but that’s the emotional weight, or inflection or whatever behind it tbh - it doesn’t mean bitch though, like, from a literal translation, it kinda means bitch, bitch, since kuti and kamini both mean bitch)

Lol, ya, it doesn’t really flow with the music, but whatever. I’m fucking pissed and TDT was stuck in my head, so the lyrics went from love to rage.

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𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

The Sheremetev’s are a unique bunch of siblings, in that not a single one is biologically related to another. All, but the youngest were adopted by Ivan Borisovich Sheremetev, his youngest, and only biological, child eventually passing into his custody. They’re a family of 7, Ivan, their father, Feodor Brezhnev, their butler/emotional grandfather, Rodya, the big brother, Adya, Emil, and Shion, the NOT triplets, and Erasyl, the brat- I mean baby. Because they’re not his biological children, they’re often labelled as charity cases, though they can pretty much brush it off at this point. Since Ivan does not make a blood distinction between his kids, Erasyl is often thought to have been adopted too. Are they just the batfam repackaged as Russian bourgeoisie? lol, yeah.

The House of Sheremetev are former Russian nobility, and in the age of the Empire, were amongst the wealthiest and most influential families in Imperial Russia. They held many high commanding ranks in the Russian military, governorships and were given title of "Count" (Граф graf), which in Russian society was the third highest, the first obviously being the rank of Tsar, followed by Prince (Князь knyaz) - a Russian prince was not necessarily royalty, but more equivalent to a western Duke. Notable Sheremetev's include Yelena Sheremeteva, who was the third and final wife of Tsarevich Ivan Ivanovich (1554–1581), the son of Ivan IV (better known to history as Ivan the Terrible), and Fedor Sheremetev, cousin of Tsar Mikhail I and head of government in 1613–18 and 1642–46.

During the revolution, the line that led to the current Sheremetev's stayed in Russia. A handful were executed, but one became a party man and ardent supporter of the regime. By the time of the union’s collapse, numerous members of the Sheremetev family had served in the government, military, and KGB throughout the existence of the Union. Boris Sheremetev, father of Ivan, was a member of the Council of Ministers when it was dissolved in 1991, and Anastasia Sheremeteva, Ivan’s mother, was a high ranking member of the KGB. During the upheavel of the economic shift from communist to capitalist, and mass privatization of the Russian and post-Soviet state economies, both Sheremetev parents were killed in highly suspicious circumstances. Their murders remain unsolved, though were blamed on Bratva’s. The Sheremetev’s had already taken part in Gorbachev’s attempt to create a mixed socialist economy, and during the post-Soviet transition period, they bought numerous government contracts and assets, primarily in the arms, oil, and energy industries, quickly establishing themselves as Oligarchs in the new world order. In the modern day, all Sheremetev assets are controlled under the banner of Sheremetev Enterprises (Шереме́тевы Компании Sheremetev Kompanii), often shortened to SKomp. Due to the industries, and their closely maintained friendship with the Russian government, the Sheremetev family is amongst one of the wealthiest in Russia and the world at large.

Ivan Sheremetev, current head of the family and their business, is the only child of Boris and Anastasia. Their respective jobs already came with a level of paranoia and strict safety measures in the family, but their deaths made Ivan far more cautious and obsessive. Ivan was a teenager when his parents died (somewhere between 15-18) and he’s basically become a doomsday prepper, but instead of a Zombie invasion or whatever, he’s more concerned that some goon will invade his house. Bitch has the most insane and overkill security system in the world, plus he does all that martial arts and marvel superhero training. And then he went and had kids, and somehow managed to become even more hypervigilant, makes them all take at least one “bad bitch, kick your ass” type class (judo, krav maga, etc). He rarely drinks in public, fucking nerd even drank gingerale and pretended it was alcohol so he could keep his wits about him. He used to masquerade as a party boy to keep people disarmed around him, but after adopting children, especially once he had the non-triplets, he just acts as the truth; tired father. 100% uses them as an excuse to avoid parties and the media (lol, he’s just a brooding loner type who has maybe 12 friends, and 5 of those are his kids). Ivan is bad at expressing emotions, but genuinely loves his kids, and is simultaneously the most laid back and most helicopter parent ever. The kids are out late? It’s okay, I trust them, and they’ll call if something bad happens. One of them fell off the monkeybars on the school playground? I AM SUING THEM FOR CHILD ENDANGERMENT!

𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐕 ➤AGE: 18 ➤BIRTHPLACE: Yakutsk, Russia ➤RESIDENCE: St. Petersburg, Russia ➤BIRTHDAY: March 21 ➤FACE CLAIM: Simon Nessman

➤PERSONALITY OVERVIEW: Overall, he’s a pretty decent guy. Big, big brother energy, also has a lot of dad energy, and is a mother hen. The type of guy that says “you kids these days”, even though he’s barely a year older. Rather sarcastic, but it’s mostly playful, loves a pun. Is pretty and petty, kind of a hoe, we got a male Anto here. Somersaults and does splits and other flippy shit completely randomly while walking, just ‘cause he can. He’s extra like that. Loves to tease his younger siblings, and will purposefully embarrass them, he will yell across campus to do so, “HEY ERASYL, REMEMBER HOW YOU GOT SCARED BY THE CAT LAST WEEK AND SNUCK INTO MY ROOM!” Has also yelled relationship advice and dating tips. Also more explicit tips. Despite his embarrassing tendencies, hoe nature, and general playfulness, apart from Feodor (the butler), Rodya is the certified adult™️ of the family, when any of the other Sheremetev kids have a problem, they all go directly to him, skipping over Ivan, who also goes to Rodya when he’s got a problem (but has great difficulty owning up to the problem too). Because of their emotionally stunted father, Rodya has become the emotional support of the family, though he certainly wasn’t always good at it. By the time Ivan brought Emil into the family, Rodya (around 13 at the time) quickly grew up to help the traumatized Emil adjust to the new family (lol, they’re all traumatized), and changed his previously dismissive and rude behaviour towards Adya. Because he took over what should’ve fallen to the parent, Rodya has a lot of buried issues himself, particularly a temper, which flares up whenever any of his family or friends are being attacked in some way. Insulting one of my brat’s? Lol, let me teach you what gravel tastes like. Rodya seems like the best behaved of them all, he’s outwardly the most polite and charming Sheremetev, but he’s the most dangerous and vicious of them all.

➤LIKES: Cereal (is possibly addicted to it??? Can eat it for any meal and as a snack, it is genuinely a concern), Tequila (this wasn’t intentional, but I’ve been going through dick grayson memes for inspiration, and I vote Rodya as Anto’s best friend, the Princess can suck it), he a Gucci boy, winter, ice skating, eurovision, Frozen and disney movies in general, will belt those songs out at any time of the day or night, but Frozen has a special place in his heart ➤DISLIKES: Brooding people (got enough of that in his family), clowns, lazy fashion (black suit, white shirt again? Fucking try my dude), teen language constantly evolving (what happened to thristing? wtf is simping?), overpowering scents (like axe, that shit gross yo, have some class) ➤HOBBIES: Gymnastics and acrobatics (has no interest in joining a circus, but it helps him feel close to his parents), boxing (needs to beat up anyone that might threaten his family), karate (black belt), coding/hacking, frolicking (lol, is that a hobby? Hanging out with the friends and the “kids” - his sibs)

➤RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHERS: Rodion gets along best with everyone else in the family, and is pretty much the lightning rod guiding them all back together. He’s grandpa’s (Feodor) sassy lil baby boy forever, and the only other person to sometimes have a brain cell, he’s dad’s (Ivan) pride and joy, not to mention emotional rock. Rodya feels so that Ivan doesn’t have to. He keeps Adya in check, is Emil’s idol, Shion’s best bro, and Erasyl’s actual dad (not really, but he parents Erasyl more than Ivan, so). When asked who’s their favourite member of the family, every Sheremetev without hesitation will answer Rodion (for himself, he’ll refuse to answer, he’s nice like that).

➤SHORT BIO: The first, and the favourite; Rodion was born as Rodion Petyrovich Kirilov, his parents, Petyr and Masha, were members of a contemporary circus (a la cirque du soleil, but smallers, and in Russia), as a rarity in the contemporary circus, the Kirilov’s were a circus family, but that’s more of an arguable point, since Petyr and Masha were individually trained, and they were only beginning to pass on their skills, etc to Rodion when the thing™️ happened. When he was 5, Rodion’s parents were killed in what seemed to be an act gone wrong (though in truth a jealous member of the circus messed with the rigging, causing them to plummet to their deaths). Ivan Sheremetev just happened to have been attending that very show, and also just happened to witness the murderer in the act, and relayed his information to the police. As an orphan himself, though he was much older than Rodya when his parents died, Ivan empathized with the young child, and adopted him on pretty much impulse. Because he is so much dumber than he seems (he eats burgers with a knife and fork), he was able to win over young Rodya due to being “funny”, and they established their own little family, Rodya quickly picking up Feodor’s sassy remarks, and becoming a little darling by Ivan’s side at fancy Russian events.

When Adrian was brought into the family, Rodya was far from the best big brother he is now. Adya came into the family with Rodya was 11 (Adya himself was 10), so for 6 years, he was the only child in Ivan and Feodor’s care, and was certainly spoiled by the two. Adya’s arrival sparked First Child Syndrome in Rodya, who absolutely detested having to share the limelight now with another kid. He was incredibly rude to Adya, and repeatedly referred to him as a replacement, which resulted in Adya lashing out and running away a few times as well. He’s really not proud of this, not to mention, he’s definitely where Adya learned that replacement insult from, and subsequently used on Emil. He eventually got over it mostly on his own, though got a nice little pep talk from Feodor about how all three (Rodya, Adya, and Ivan) are just lost children who need to find a family, and Rodya begrudgingly began extending an olive branch to Adya and trying to get along with him, even being the one to bring him back to the manor a couple of times. He was much better prepared when Emil arrived 2 years later and smoothly transitioned into the “Best Big Brother” mantle he has now, and continued being the best bro when Shion and Erasyl arrived, though the younger ones started having issues with not being the new baby anymore (lmao, welcome to the club you dorks). The day Rodion left for EHS was hilariously emotional, they were all crying ‘cause they didn’t want him to go, which in turn made him cry too. The other kids didn’t talk to Ivan for a week ‘cause he sent big brother away (overdramatic much, they’d be joining him in a year, two for Erasyl, anyway).

𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐕 ➤AGE: 17 ➤BIRTHPLACE: Moscow, Russia ➤RESIDENCE: St. Petersburg, Russia ➤BIRTHDAY: August 16 ➤FACE CLAIM: Sean O’Pry

➤PERSONALITY OVERVIEW: (1) angry boi. He’s so petty and broken, and like, just needs love? He had a less than stellar relationship with his birth parents, and does not easily trust people. Adrian struggles the most with being called a “charity case”, it’s not really the insult that bothers him, but the implication that he isn’t loved by his dad, because he can’t fully trust that Ivan genuinely loves him as his son (plus Ivan isn’t exactly a share-my-feelings type, so that’s no help). Adya is quick to throw a punch, and has no patience, at all. If something is bothering him, he reacts immediately, usually with anger. On the flip side, he’s also really sweet and a nerd. Like that trope of “Bad boy who picks up cats in the rain”, that’s him, to a T! He loves literature and can recite Shakespeare from memory alone (lol, and has the nerve to call Emil a nerd), and is generally rather prickly, but if you can shave down those spikes, you’ve got a friend for life in him. ➤LIKES: Poetry, plays, literature, shakespeare, history, mythology, tolstoy, dostoyevsky, the beach, whiskey ➤DISLIKES: clowns, drugs (just say no), cops (acab), fire (he’s a tad pyrophobic), enclosed spaces (also claustrophobic), being told what to do (not a fan of being controlled) ➤HOBBIES: Reading, studying (he’s such a nerd), weight-lifting (does that count as a hobby?), mixed martial arts, napping, homework (lol, lil mr. bad boy here is top of the class), drama club (backstage stuff and directing, also script) ➤RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHERS: It's complicated. When he first arrived to the Manor, he had a very teasing, bratty relationship with Rodya (he teased his new big brother, 'cause lol, dad loves me more now, you weren't enough), which Rodya did not like, but underwent the same crisis when Ivan brought Emil home and was much worse about. He has trust issues and has run away from home numerous times, but most of the time he went back on his own, or was quickly found by Ivan (and later Rodya). He deeply loves his family, but struggles with admitting it, and is fearful that they do not love him. He gets along the least with Emil, who was adopted 2 years after him, and frequently, to this day, calls him a replacement (something he picked up from Rodya). As both are aggressive types, he technically gets along the best with Erasyl, often teaming up to pull off shenanigans and teenage rebellion, but they constantly argue, and each views the other as the “stupid” one in their duo (lol, you’re both dumb). They’re also both super scared of Shion (she beat him up for talking shit). His relationship with Ivan is the most complicated, because he wants Ivan’s love and approval, but also refuses to admit that, though he does have it (even though Ivan struggles with admitting it too - they’re all so dumb).

➤SHORT BIO: The second one and resident “bad boy” (LOL, he’s so not), Adrian was born to Andrei and Olga Petrov, a regular working class family. Olga left them when Adya was 2, and Andrei subsequently remarried to a woman named Alina. Alina was a drug addict, as well as a drug dealer (she specialized in Heroin), which is how she and Andrei met. Both were addicts and frequently abused Adrian while high, when in withdrawal, and when completely sober. He was routinely locked out of their apartment and left to sleep outside in the freezing cold. Because of his upbringing, Adrian has had to learn to fend for himself, often resorting to petty crime just to survive. It’s how he met Ivan, as he was trying to steal the wheels off of Ivan’s fancy ass car to sell, but was discovered, and instead of trying to run, idiot decided I’m just gonna attack this guy. Ivan instead, decided to take Adrian in, easily getting custody of him from his birth parents and eventually formalizing the adoption. For this, Adrian is eternally grateful, and hasn’t seen his parents since the night Ivan caught him trying to jack his wheels (or however you say it).

The young Adrian was prone to tantrums, and often ran away from home, but was calmed down and brought back each time, usually by Ivan, a few times by Rodya, and sometimes he would come back on his own. The introduction of Emil in the family was a shocker for him, and made him feel as if he wasn’t enough, ‘cause who needs 3 kids? Not to mention, Emil, unlike himself and Rodya, came from upper society, so he felt a lot of inadequacy, which he dealt with by lashing out. He still dislikes Emil the most, even with Erasyl’s shouts about being the “blood son”. On the plus side, at least he mostly gets along with Rodya now. Technically speaking, Adrian is the youngest of the not-triplets (himself, Emil, and Shion), but having been adopted second acts as the oldest, and gets away with it due to his aggressive and independent nature.

𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐕 ➤AGE: 17 ➤BIRTHPLACE: Greiz, Germany ➤RESIDENCE: St. Petersburg, Russia ➤BIRTHDAY: July 19 ➤FACE CLAIM: Louis Hofmann

➤PERSONALITY OVERVIEW: A very good boy, he is just the fucking sweetest, he could give you diabetes. But he is a Sheremetev sibling, and thus also is PETTY AF! He fucking logs every wrong another sibling has ever committed against him in a digital diary, and has the receipts when he complains to one of the “adults” (aka Rodion mostly, sometimes Feodor or Ivan). Emil is the “smart” one (lol, he’s got an IQ of 187, but will also blindly accept anything Rodya says as fact), and so he uses his brains to psychological torture Adya and Erasyl when they get on his nerves. He’s utterly savage when it comes to a comeback or witty comment, and can be impatient when it comes to letting someone else be in charge of technology (dies inside every time someone types www into the address bar). He makes a conscious effort to model himself after Rodya (apart from Rodya’s hoe-ing), to emulate that nice, caring, dependable thing that Rodya has, and was a super adorable mini-me when they were younger. Has insomnia, from a mix of nightmares from repressed trauma, and staying up online at all hours of the day and night like a typical zillenial. Runs on caffeine and candy.

➤LIKES: Technology, he a computer geek, rococo, baroque, champagne, pastels, sunlight, summer, acrobatics, the circus, von gogh, monet ➤DISLIKES: slow wifi connections, laggy computers (like excuse you windows, but I need those 4 browsers with 50+ tabs each, you know me, figure it out), blood, erasyl ➤HOBBIES: computer engineering (is that a hobby, or just like a life goal? The latter probs), coding, tattling on adrian and erasyl, planning elaborate ways to get back at adrian and erasyl

➤RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHERS: In general, he gets along with his siblings, with two glaring exceptions; Adrian and Erasyl, both of whom view him as an unwelcome replacement, well, for Erasyl, he’s a placeholder (which, I mean, calm down, we all know who dad’s favourite is - Rodya). Emil gets along the best with Rodya, whose parents he saw perform live once before their deaths, upon his arrival to the Sheremetev manor, witnessed Rodya pulling off a similar stunt on the banister (which gave poor Ivan a heart attack) and immediately became obsessed. Because they both had a strong brotherly bond with Rodya from pretty much the get go, Emil and Erasyl argue over Rodya the most. Aside from Rodya, Emil and Shion are rather close, though she doesn’t open up much, the two often team up against Adya and Erasyl.

➤SHORT BIO: Born to Heinrich XXVIII, Prince Reuss of Greiz and Elsa von Hohenberg, the last scions of the Elder Line of the House of Reuss, and born as Heinrich XXIX, Emil is the heir to the Principality of Reuss-Greiz, which was technically inherited by his cousin, Prince Heinrich of the Junior Reuss line (they’ll all named Heinrich in the honour of the Emperor who enobled them - lame). His parents were killed when he was 12; his death was subsequently faked alongside theirs and he was taken in by Ivan, a friend of his parents, for his protection. Emil witnessed his parents' murders and was covered in their blood when he was found by the guards, the incident clearly left him traumatized, and for the most part has shut out the memory, though he still has nightmares about it, which contributes to his insomnia.

When he was first brought to the Sheremetev manor, Emil was very withdrawn and solitary, often staying by himself in his room (with the doors and windows locked) or sticking by Ivan’s side. He was slowly brought out of his shell by Rodya, though this immediately sparked jealousy and insecurity in Adya, beginning their “rivalry”.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐀 ➤AGE: 17 ➤BIRTHPLACE: Susaki, Japan ➤RESIDENCE: St. Petersburg, Russia ➤BIRTHDAY: January 26 ➤FACE CLAIM: Dilraba Dilmurat

➤PERSONALITY OVERVIEW: Seems like a brooding, silent, lowkey scary type, but really she’s just introverted. Doesn’t interact if she doesn’t know someone and/or it’s unnecessary. When she talks, she’s savage and witty (lol, despite them not being blood related, that’s a trait all the Sheremetev’s have). She’s honestly super dorky, loves shit like Naruto and One Piece and Batman cartoons (has declared she IS batman). Shion loves messing with people and will always make up shit to throw people off, she loves the whole concept of being the mysterious loner type, and there’s equal chance she’s saying a true fact about herself, or it’s another joke to fuck with you. ➤LIKES: Messing with her brothers, dark colours, ➤DISLIKES: ➤HOBBIES: ➤RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHERS: Quiet. Because she’s generally rather reserved, it’s not quite evident upfront how close or distant she is to her family, since she’s physically generally off doing her own thing, however, like her other brothers, she is close to Rodya, and tends to hang out with him when she has nothing else to do (she be the designated driver for the hoes - she could drive since she was like 12, yes, she had to heels and creative methods to reach the pedals, but she could drive).

➤SHORT BIO: Born as Orihara Shion, Shion is the daughter of Orihara Chinatsu, the former third generation leader of Sesshō-Kai (殺生会), a Yakuza based in Kōchi, her father is unknown, but is or was presumably a member of her family’s Yakuza. From the moment she was born, Shion was separated from her mother and raised in secrecy for her protection, as well as education, as per Chinatsu’s instructions, she was being raised to one day take over the Yakuza.

Technically speaking, she is the oldest of the “triplets”, but is treated as the youngest of the three, having been adopted last, and she’s pretty okay with it. Got to be doted on as the baby before the brat (Erasyl) arrived.

adopted when she was 13 (dick 14, and the other two 13 as well)

𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐘𝐋 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐕 ➤AGE: 15 ➤BIRTHPLACE: Almaty, Kazakhstan ➤RESIDENCE: St. Petersburg, Russia ➤BIRTHDAY: August 9 ➤FACE CLAIM: Bright Vachirawit

➤PERSONALITY OVERVIEW: ➤LIKES: ➤DISLIKES: ➤HOBBIES: ➤RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHERS: Terrible. He’s very insecure about his father’s affections and always gets into fights with the others, particularly Emil and Adya. He’s scared of Shion, because the one time he managed to anger her, she threw him off a balcony (he’s fine, just traumatized - technically, Rodya once beat him too, but that was to teach him a lesson, Shion was straight up trying to kill him). Erasyl gets along the best with Rodya and is very possessive of him, especially since Rodya tends to pamper him and treat him like a child. Very quickly gets jealous when Rodya spends time with the others, especially Emil (You can have father, but Rodya is mine <- has actually said that, out loud).

➤SHORT BIO: The baby, Erasyl is the only biological child of Ivan

the only biological child (15), a brat, was a real bitch to them all, but started respecting dick when he beat him, and is now super attached to him

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀

➤MOODBOARD: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2594157 ➤SCHOOL WARDROBE/AESTHETICS: https://urstyle.fashion/collections/115802 ➤PLAYLIST:

#high fashion layout #urstyle #mine #elite highschool #rodion sheremetev #adrian sheremetev #emil sheremetev #shion sheremeteva #erasyl sheremetev #chara profile #incomplete

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reubenhernandez · 4 years

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2019 A Decade in Review

One of the single most defining moments of the past decade was when I quit my job, started my own company, and moved to NYC. It was one of the most difficult and best decisions I have ever made. That was nearly 10 years ago, and it has led me to numerous opportunities that I had only dreamed of such as landing in Antarctica, photographing great white sharks breach, and seeing the aurora borealis dance above me and light up the Arctic sky. That decision also led me to meeting my wife Lisa in my Brooklyn neighborhood and to becoming a father to Leuca last year, which has been a wonderful and beautiful journey.

It’s difficult to summarize an entire decade, so I will share some of my favorite experiences and work over the last ten years.

Landing in Antarctica was a really big deal for me. I had dreamed of visiting Antarctica ever since I was in fourth grade and Antarctica also marked my seventh and final continent. It is transcendent and truly like no place on earth. This is one of many images I photographed as photographer in residence onboard an expedition ship. Dreams do come true. That’s what I would tell my childhood self.

This photograph was taken in False Bay, South Africa and speaks for itself. This happened in about a split second so you can imagine how challenging of a photograph this was to capture. The is one of the images I am most proud of and I still can’t believe I got the shot. I was freaking out afterwards. Sharks are awesome creatures and I’ve always wanted to see a great white shark breach.

In 2014 I had the opportunity to be a photographer in residence onboard an expedition ship in Svalbard, Arctic Norway. We spotted these polar bears from our ship from about 300 meters and our expedition leader decided that we would jump in zodiacs to get a closer look. The seawater was torrential and we were getting absolutely soaked by the waves smashing against the front of our zodiacs as we raced towards the polar bears. Luckily the bears remained and we got to observe them closer from our zodiacs. This was also a challenging photograph to capture with a long lens on a zodiac that was rocking up and down. I have a print of this photograph in my daughter Leuca’s room, and it definitely has a new meaning for me being a parent.

On my way to Antarctica I spent some time in the Atacama Desert in northern Chile in hopes of photographing the Milky Way. It was quite an adventure to say the least. I spent a few weeks waiting for the rain and full moon to pass as I foolishly didn’t check the phases of the moon beforehand. The Atacama Desert is supposed to be one of the driest places on earth so I was surprised by the rain. I woke up each morning at about 3 am and rode my bike alone out into the desert. It was a bit unnerving and extremely desolate and dark. It was also humbling and peaceful to see so many stars and stand beneath billions of galaxies. This is a self portrait I captured underneath the Milky Way.

Last year I was commissioned by BBC Travel to do a photo and video story for their To the Ends of the Earth series. I had the opportunity to visit Supai, the only US town that receives its mail by mule train and is only accessible by hiking eight miles into the Grand Canyon or by helicopter. I hiked more than 20 miles off the grid carrying 40 - 50 lbs of photo and video gear, food, and camping supplies for this story. It was an adventure to say the least, and the Havasupai Falls are one of the most beautiful natural wonders I have ever seen. Check out the full story and interview with tribal elder Rex Tilusi here.

vimeo

I directed Bono in the above Red Nose Day celebrity PSA. Spike Jonze showed up and thanked me for allowing him to help out. It was pretty wild meeting Bono and Spike, two creative forces I have looked up to.

vimeo

Maddie, my narrative directorial debut, had its online premiere earlier this year on Film Shortage after screening at several film festivals and winning a few awards. You can watch the film above (TRT: 11 min). I love the collaborative process of making films and have had the pleasure of working with some incredibly talented casts and crews. I’ve since directed two other narrative short films and joined the Filmshop collective, where we workshop works in progress, foster collaboration, and help bring each other’s projects to life.

I’m grateful to be in my 10th year of business, creating work that I believe is meaningful both personally and professionally. This year I’m proud to be certified as a NYC minority-owned business enterprise. 2020 and beyond will be a new and exciting chapter for Reuben Hernandez Studios. Thank you to all of my clients, friends, family, and collaborators that have supported and believed in me over the last decade. I wouldn’t be here without you. My daughter Leuca is growing up so fast I can hardly believe it. Yesterday she turned 15 months old. She brings us so much love and joy and is an absolute beast. She’s been doing baby parkour and ran laps around the airplane last week. She keeps us on our toes and never ceases to amaze us. Leuca has given me a new purpose.

A year ago I wrote “Going forward I'll have to live a more structured life to prioritize my time between family, work, personal projects, and exercise/dance/self-care.” I think I did a pretty good job over the past year. I’ve come a long way and I know there’s always room for improvement. We had a family vacation planned earlier this year that I had to cut short for a job in LA. I know it was the right decision and I’m learning how to make sacrifices and that often times things just do not go as planned. I’m relearning how important family is. My dad hasn’t been doing very well and I’m happy that Leuca got a chance to meet him and see him a few times this year. It’s important for Leuca to know her family history and where she came from. My dad’s illness has brought my family closer together in unexpected ways. I want to continue to cherish each moment I spend with Leuca and my family and love them as much as I can. It’s past 1 am and I actually have to film a job on NYE so I best be going. If you made it this far, thanks for following along. Wishing you love, peace, and Happy New Year. See you in 2020! All My Best, Reuben

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kiss-my-freckle · 7 years

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Keen vs. Bond

Liz’s feelings about Tom being a spy.

This is sure to be a bit lengthy, as I’ll be weaving in and out of both deleted and on-screen scenes, and including random & not-so random images as I go.

Because body language is important.

Liz speaks to us in the pilot about her plans to rewrite the past by having kids of her own. Something I believe she was having second thoughts about before the helicopter even flew over her front steps. Given Red didn't know Owen Mallory's story, I'd say Liz came to the decision not to adopt on her own. Because kids shouldn't be used to rewrite the past just as much as they shouldn't be used to smile for a couple's Christmas card.

"I’m board certified in forensic psychology, and yet I operate under the delusion that I can rewrite my past by having kids of my own."

I wouldn't so much consider Liz's rewriting her past through Agnes as much as she's trying to give her a life different than her own. With little to no memory of her own past, Liz takes video footage of Agnes in their safehouse, of Baz waving a big smiling hello. A bit of memory that her daughter will one day be able to see for herself, a memory that won't be hidden in her subconscious because it was blocked.

"If I go through with this, you will be my only link to my past. I lost Sam. I lost my mother. And I’ll lose Kirk. And whatever you want to call him, he was married to my mother. He raised me as a child. And he’s willing to do what you are not- tell me about who I am."

Just as much, Liz plans to give her daughter what she didn't have. Growing up as an adopted child, not knowing the truth of her parents. She wants to give Agnes a family, moreso- two parents who love one another. So Liz pushes for a shotgun wedding, hoping to be married before Agnes is born. Though she wants it done fast, she wants it done right, and in her mind- this is right.

"I am attempting to build a life with the father of my child. A normal life with two parents who love one another. With everything you know about me, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how important that is to me? To my child?"

Liz also wants a normal life for her and Agnes, something spoken of often in this show, but more notably in The Djinn. Because having your mother killing a spy in your own kitchen while you're asleep upstairs isn't what anyone would consider normal.

"It’s been the same thing for as long as I can remember. I’m walking in a park with my husband. In between us is our little girl. I’m holding her hand in mine... and I never let go."

I'm just gonna jump ahead to season three, since that's where it really starts for this particular post. Even better, let's start with the fact that Liz fell in love with Tom Keen, a man that never even existed, as Red stated in The Pavlovich Brothers and Liz stated in Lord Baltimore.

Liz: He’s gone. My husband is gone. Red: Your husband never existed.

Attorney: The judge signed it. May be of little solace, but he granted your application for the annulment. As far as the District of Columbia is concerned, you were never married to Thomas Keen. It’s none of my business, but I noticed you’re keeping his name. Liz: My husband - was an impostor, a fake. Keen was never his name.

Liz never fell in love with Tom Bond, and Tom knows this. Looking at his proposal in Mr. Gregory Devry, and his choice to look for a teaching job in The Vehm was a huge indicator. Tom was trying to become the man that Liz did fall in love with.

Tom: I got to check out the campus in uh, Boston, so I’ll clean this up before I go. Liz: Okay. A teacher? Tom: There was a lot about our old life that I really liked, including you.

Before their wedding, he spoke of giving up the spy life, adding to this goal of his, to become the man that she fell in love with.

"Look, what I want you to know, is that it happened because I made it clear that I’m out. I’m done with those people and that life."

Always claiming to want that normal life, which Tom started speaking of back in Leonard Caul's episode. Again, adding to his goal of becoming the man Liz fell in love with, wanting that normal life just as Liz wants.

Liz: I thought you’d be gone. Tom: That was the plan. Then I thought maybe if I stayed, I’d have a shot at a normal life.

Liz never did fall in love with Tom Bond, but I believe she expected Tom to change, to give up that life because he fed her his desire to do that throughout the show. And so... I feel she was looking forward to actually having Tom Keen in her life without that other part of him- the Tom Bond who tore her open.

His little spiel in Natalie Luca-

Liz: I know this family is the most important thing to you. But it’s not gonna work if you can’t be who you are. I guess... I’m just scared. Tom: Of what? Liz: I’m not gonna love that person. Tom: Do you love me? Liz: Yes. Tom: Then you love that person. Because that’s who I am.

So after having sold her the fantasy that she’d be in a relationship with Tom Keen without the Tom Bond- as he claimed he’d give up “that life” many times, he's basically telling her that if she loves him, then she loves Tom Bond because that's who he is. Tom has gotta be kidding with this bullshit. It could pertain to any bit of who a person is, whether they be a spy or a serial killer, or a racist for that matter. If one claims it's a part of who they are and you're supposed to love that side of them because you love them... that's ignorant thinking. This was a closet-spy she didn’t fall in love with, who sold her the idea that he’d change but never did, and is now telling her that she loves the spy he is if she loves him.

Nonsense.

Liz fell in love with a 4th grade teacher, which Tom is not.

“They made me believe you were a monster.”

“Tom teaches 4th grade. He’s overworked and underpaid and still wakes up every morning with a smile on his face. You know why? Because he knows nothing of the terrible world you and I live in. End of story.”

"The Neo-Nazi? ‘Cause that doesn’t really do it for me."

"I prefer the bookish teacher."

"When was this? When you were a skinhead? One of Berlin’s thugs? ‘Cause I’m guessing it wasn’t an elementary-school teacher."

I'm cracking up laughing at how people have interpreted the deleted scenes, so I'm gonna get to them now as I move along. I'll be adding that deleted scene I put to gif from season three while I'm at it. And it's not just the deleted scenes, but the "warnings" Red gave Liz, both in season three and season four. Even to some of the dialogue out of Liz's own mouth. Because every bit of it weaves through everything I've mentioned above. Specific to Red's warnings in Drexel, before the wedding in Mr. Solomon, as well as what he said in Natalie Luca. As I've said many times, Red is not and will not be wrong about Tom. When they hand you this much crap in deleted scenes as they do on-screen scenes, you gotta know what's coming.

From Drexel-

Liz: Don’t you get it? The only reason Tom did what he did is because he had to do something desperate to get away from this. Red: You made yourself clear this morning, Elizabeth. You can blame me if you like. Liz: Damn right, I blame you. If he dies... Red: If he dies, it’s because he put himself in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. He did this, not me. And that robbery the police want to ask him about- diamonds. He was part of a team that stole tens of millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds. A team I hear included his ex-girlfriend Gina Zanetakos. He’s reckless, dangerous. He’s not worthy of being your husband, and he sure as hell is not worthy of raising that child.

Here, Liz tried to blame Red for Tom's situation. If he dies, it's Red's fault for Tom attempting to get away from him. Similar to her blaming Red in Natalie Luca. Because apparently, everything is Red's fault. So, to that deleted scene in season three-

"But, you're an adult, so make your own choices."

From Mr. Solomon-

Red: No, Lizzy. I’m here to ask you, to implore you, please, don’t do this. I’m telling you, no matter what you believe, Tom is not the man you think he is. Liz: You’re wrong. You don’t know him. Red: He’s a criminal. Liz: No. He’s changed. Red: Men like Tom don’t change. You’re attempting to build a life with a man who is fundamentally dishonest.

And I'm cracking up laughing at this one. So apparently, Tom is no longer a criminal- even though he just committed a major diamond heist a couple episodes prior, and had the cops at his hospital bed, hoping to put him behind bars after his release.

The Forecaster-

"This is exactly where they belong."

Coming from the same woman who said, "They’re not just passports. You put them in a box under the floor in our home. They represent everything I’m trying to forget."

"David… Lucas, and… Kaya. I used to be scared of those guys. Not anymore."

Coming from the same woman who had a nightmare about her own husband choking her to death in The Courier.

From Natalie Luca-

Liz: You know, Tom and I were just starting to find some semblance of normalcy. And you had to just sweep in, drag him back down your rabbit hole. There must be dozens of contract operatives just like him. Why him? Red: Tom is very good at what he does. It defines him. He can no sooner choose to stop than a great white shark can choose to stop swimming and eating. He will do what he does.

Again, Liz blaming Red. But as I've said, he's right about Tom. The man is a spy, and I don't need to put the many scenes in here that feed it, since he admits it to Liz himself- how much he needs to be a spy. What's more interesting, is Liz's dialogue here, so I'll be coming back to this bit.

Liz: How’d it go? Tom: Honestly, it was great. I was thinking about what you said, about why I needed that. Truth is, I still don’t know. But what I do know, is that this family’s the most important thing in my life. I don’t wanna lose it. Liz: We just arrested a woman who would’ve done anything to stay with the person she loved, but she lost him anyway. Tom: I’m not going anywhere. Liz: That’s not what I meant. From the beginning, we’ve been fighting secrets and agendas and psychotic homicidal killers coming between us. And for the first time, we’re together, and we’ve got no one to fight. But it still feels- Tom: Like we’re coming apart? Liz: I know this family is the most important thing to you. But it’s not gonna work if you can’t be who you are.

Yeah, it's coming apart because Liz never fell in love with Tom Bond.

Deleted scene from season three-

Tom: I can do this! Red: Do what? Complete this mission and come back alive? Maybe you can, maybe you can't. Or do you mean- Complete this mission alive, come back and raise your daughter as if you're a real parent? Her only parent. Because that, I know you can't do.

My interpretation of this scene is simple. Red is flat out insulting Tom, telling him he's not a real parent, that he's no Sam Milhoan. He can't complete this mission alive, come back and raise his daughter as if he's a real parent because... well... the spy life defines him. Once he finishes one job, he goes out looking for another. It's what he does.

“I've always found it enormously empowering, the knowledge that whatever path I chose, it didn't really matter where it led, and it didn't really matter if I ever came back. You don't have that power. You have a child. But, you're an adult, so make your own choices. Just know, that if you're gone, I'll be watching your daughter.”

My interpretation for this one. Red speaks of it not mattering in his case because his daughter was being raised by Sam Milhoan. He didn't have to worry about Liz because he trusted the man raising her. But for Tom, it's different. Red isn't ignorant to his feelings of him, so he tells him that if he's gone, he'll be watching Agnes.

Deleted scene from season four-

Tom: So, you work with him, but I can't? Liz: It isn't the same, and you know it. Tom: No, I don't know that. Liz: The work I do with Reddington is... legal. It's part of my job at the FBI. What he's asking you to do is against the law. Tom: Liz, he's asking me to find a criminal, alright? He asks you to find criminals all the time. Liz: If you go through with this, you'll go to jail. Is that a risk you're willing to take? Tom: Liz, I love our daughter. And I love you. But this is what I do. And I'm good at it, and I love that too. Besides, you're the only adult I've spoken to in the past two weeks.... besides the Diaper Genie, and he's kind of stiff. Liz: It isn't funny. Tom: I can sing "Wheels on the Bus" backwards. Okay? The driver goes "Move on back." The people go up and down. The babies go "Wah, wah, wah." And it's just... it's not good for anybody's mental health. Liz, I need to do this. And I'm asking you to respect that.

Here, Tom speaks as if he needs the spy life in order to have a real life, in order to spend time with adults other than the Diaper Genie. As if normal grown adults don't hang out with other normal grown adults. Apparently, one has to be out committing criminal acts or playing spy in order to have conversations with other grown adults. And I'm laughing at this idea people have that the only issue Liz has with Tom being a spy, is in the legalities of it. If it were that simple, then she could simply talk to Cooper about using him as a CI like Red is, but she doesn't because that's only part of it. But I'll get back to the legalities of this once I hit the next scene. And Tom, lmao... he's telling a clinical psychologist what's bad for one's mental health, as if she doesn't know about this herself. But what a fun time Tom is having trying to manipulate Liz into agreeing and accepting his spy life.

Deleted scene from season four-

Tom: The truth is... it felt good. I felt... useful again. Liz: You don't think you're useful? To our family? To our daughter? Tom: I thought we were gonna get away. From Reddington, from all of this, and we.... we didn't. And that's fine, but... now we're living in this world where there's room for Mr. Mom, but not for me. Liz: That's not fair. Tom: Maybe not, but it's how I feel.

This scene bothers me. Truth is, if being a spy is part of who he is, then it wouldn't matter if Red is in their lives or not. Had they made it in Cuba without issue, he'd be a spy in Cuba right now. Sure, Tom is pissed that they never got away from Red, but he's fine with it now because it gives him an excuse. So yeah.. he's pushing this... "you work with him, so I should be able to work with him" crap. Tom can't stand being near the life without being in it. It's like a drug addict trying to go clean while being surrounded by drug addicts who aren't. Oh, look... he’s walking away from her as he did back in season one, when she changed her mind about the adoption. Tom’s response when he doesn’t get the response he wants.

And even more to this scene, since it adds to the legalities of the previous one.

"Against the law" means it's a criminal act. "Going to jail" happens when one commits a criminal act. This is what Tom wants to do for Red, what he's begging Liz to respect. Here, Tom is committing a criminal act. Again, pointing to the truth Red gave Liz before the wedding, since viewers are a lot like Liz- they have a hard time accepting truth.

Red: He’s a criminal. Liz: No. He’s changed. Red: Men like Tom don’t change. You’re attempting to build a life with a man who is fundamentally dishonest.

Red proving himself right about Tom over and over and over in deleted scene and on-screen.

Back to Liz’s Djinn fantasy-

In season three, we had Tom pulling a diamond heist that almost got him killed, and would've put him in prison had it not been for Red.

Again, Red’s dialogue from the deleted scene-

Again, Liz's dialogue from the deleted scene-

"What he's asking you to do is against the law." "If you go through with this, you'll go to jail. Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

Tom felt the risk worth taking, as he went on his mission for Red in Natalie Luca. Tom got arrested for assaulting a drug dealer in the season four deleted scene.

Again, Liz’s own dialogue in Natalie Luca-

Liz: You know, Tom and I were just starting to find some semblance of normalcy. And you had to just sweep in, drag him back down your rabbit hole.

....where she’s basically saying it herself... that the spy life isn’t normal.

Liz is at that point where she's realizing the truth of her relationship with Tom, of this "normal life" she believed she was going to have with him. In order to give Agnes two parents that love one another, she has to accept Tom being a spy. But to accept Tom being a spy, she has to accept the fact that she won't have her Djinn fantasy. As I've said before, she's sacrificing her Djinn fantasy because she can't have both. She can't have Tom Bond and that normal life. Not that having Tom Bond is going to give her that normal life anyway. She wants Agnes to grow up with two parents that love one another, and if she were to accept Tom's spy life, she'd be accepting the fact that Agnes' father could end up dead or in prison. So she wouldn’t just be sacrificing her own Djinn fantasy, she’d also be sacrificing the normal life she wanted for Agnes to grow up in... far different than her own.

That’s truth.

#Anti-Tom Keen #Anti-Keen2

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