#UPS is ostensibly calling me back because I yelled at their stupid phone tree loud enough that it gave me a hold time

[esseastri]

not me fighting both a hospital and UPS on the phone today like some kind of adult and trying really hard not to cry because confrontation and feeling stupid always make me cry

[mrs-han]

Forever

@mrs-mc-han: Hiiiiii! Can I please please please request an MC who is super loud an extroverted! She doesn’t mean to or really even notice. she tends to yell when excited and use a lot of hand motions and laugh loudly. and she was never aware of it until she heard one of Jumin’s employees gossiping in the bathroom at C&R and goes to Jumin in tear apologizing for making him seem unprofessional. If you do this I will be so happy🥺🥺I love your work! Thank you💕

~~~

Gurrrl! I went through three different drafts because none of them felt right! But I finally settled on one! Here we go!

~~~

"Ow!! Don't -!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Jumin carefully sat you up, his hand on your lower back. "I added too much pressure this time... I'm sorry, darling."

"No, don't apologize, Jumy... it's so nice of you to help me to begin with," you smiled forcibly, gripping his hand.

"It wounds me to see you in so much pain," Jumin sighed, his fingers lightly trailing over your shoulder blades. "How long do you need to rest?"

"Six weeks," you moaned, turning and burying your sulky face against Jumin's neck. "Which is impossible, by the way. What am I supposed to do for six weeks!"

"Rest, obviously," Jumin jested, poking your cheek.

"... Rest, obviously," you imitated. "I mean! What else am I gonna do? Huh? What, I can't do anything except rest?"

"Calm down," Jumin cooed, winding his arms around you. "I'll tell you what. How do you feel about coming to work with me, hm? It's remote, quiet, and you can stay in my office."

"And do nothing?" You pouted.

"I have plenty of board and card games that will keep you busy. Or, you can bring your tablet and play the games you have on there. What do you say?"

"That sounds like... a reason for you to spy on me," you smirked.

Jumin batted his eyelashes. "So what if it is?"

"That sounds like a plan," you giggled, kissing his cheek. "To coming with you to the office, not to the spying."

"Drats," Jumin said stoically, lifting you from the couch and placing you on the bed. "Did you take your medication, love?"

"I did," you blushed, realizing for the millionth time how lucky you were to be reminded. "Come here, hubby. Cuddle close."

~~~

The height of C&R's structure never failed to frighten you. You stood dumbfounded as Jumin gathered your things and grabbed your hand.

"Are you all right?" He smiled, tightening his hold.

"Did you guys expand somehow? The building looks ten times larger than when I was here last!" You smiled, throwing your arm out and flinching shortly after. "Ow! Ow..."

"Be careful," Jumin uttered, rubbing your back. "The building hasn't gotten any bigger... it seems my proposal for cat tree extension has been denied."

"You made a proposal for a cat tree extension?!" You laughed.

"Oh, look. I'm going to be late. Let's go," Jumin mumbled hastily, leading you delicately to the inside of the building.

The sights and the interior sounds were more or less the same since you had last visited. Hurried footsteps and the sound of passes that approved access mixed with the familiar smell of citrus - your senses were overtaken and overwhelmed.

"Why do you look so shocked? You were here just last week," Jumin chuckled, easing you past the security booths.

Before you could respond, you heard a familiar pair of heels making a beeline towards you. You turned and glowed as Jaehee, folders in hand, stopped and bowed towards Jumin.

"Mr. Han -"

"Jaehee!!"

She straightened and smiled as you crashed against her, hugging her. She tucked her folder under her arm and gave you a reassuring pat. "How have you been, MC? All Mr. Han talks about is how you injured your back."

"Even during meetings?! Jumin, shame on you!"

Jumin turned his head, hiding his flushed expression.

"Don't be too hard on him. It's a rarity to see how much he cares for someone other than his cat," Jaehee quipped under her breath.

"We're going," Jumin blurted, grabbing your arm and leading you to one of the many elevators.

"Yes, Mr. Han," Jaehee said quickly, fixing her glasses and her posture.

~~~

"What happened to your office?!" You shouted.

Jumin pursed his lips and blinked quickly. "I felt the need to redecorate."

You rushed into the office and threw your arms open. "Jumin, there are pictures of me everywhere!! OW!!"

"Don't strain yourself by yelling, darling."

Jaehee quickly closed Jumin's office door behind her. "Forgive my sudden intrusion towards this heartwarming conversation, but Mr. Han?"

"Ah, yes. The meeting."

"Jumin, you are -"

"Silly? Adorable? Quite the catch?" Jumin crooned, massaging your back.

You faltered and wrapped your arms firmly around him, giggling as he peppered kisses to your face.

Jumin hummed gently, his fingers curling over and into your hair. "I'll be back, my love. And when I come back, I'll give you the massage you deserve. Don't miss me too much."

"Impossible. I miss you already if only you knew -"

"Mr. Han," Jaehee spoke more pointedly.

"All right, all right." Jumin sighed, the stars in his eyes now replaced by businesslike determination.

"Be strong, my brave man," you grinned.

Jumin grabbed your hand, planted a firm kiss on your palm, and turned quickly, lest Jaehee fire another warning. You closed the door and bit hard at your lip as you observed Jumin's gallery.

Photos of you sleeping, smiling, holding Elizabeth the Third - even pictures of the highly publicized wedding day - were scattered with the finesse Jumin naturally possessed.

"I love you so much, you silly man," you said under your breath, running your fingers over his desk and finally settling yourself on his seat.

You managed to keep yourself busy for half an hour, drawing hearts on Jumin's notepad and playing a round or two of virtual Uno. Boredom was a hell of a demon, so you figured there was no harm in walking around.

Opening the door to his office, you peeked your head through and slid out. You were greeted with polite smiles and inclined heads as you walked through the floor, making you feel... oddly uncomfortable. No doubt, everyone was polite to you because they knew who you were - if you were to make one complaint, Jumin would take immediate action.

But you pushed your suspicions of trivial matters aside and smiled widely towards the ostensibly friendly employees.

Your brows furrowed, and your shoulders tensed the longer you were outside of Jumin's office. You understood what Jumin meant; that feeling of suffocation seemed to hover over your person and only caused more stress to your back as you unconsciously hunched.

You traveled to the café, desirous for some breathing air - there had to be some sense of normalcy where people ate. Still, heads turned as soon as your footfalls could be heard, and more disturbingly flashy smiles were shined your way.

Cramped and in agony, you retreated quickly to the nearest restroom, rubbed your neck, and yanked your phone out.

Hey, honey! Are you almost done?

Jumin usually answered you immediately, but his response still hadn't come your way. Pushing a stall door open, you slumped into the toilet seat and continued to try to work the knot on your back.

"Jumin, shame on you ~!"

Laughter reverberated through the restroom, and you froze in place.

"She's so tacky!"

"And so loud. Could you hear her from accounting?"

"Yes! No offense to Mr. Han, but the least he can do is put her in her place."

"Ha, no offense to Mr. Han, but he chose poorly. My daughter would be a much better candidate."

"Isn't your daughter twelve?"

"Well, Mr. Han does seem to go after those with a... childlike... disposition!"

Earsplitting laughter echoed through the room, through your ears. You pulled your knees to your chest and brought your hand to your mouth to muffle any outbursts of emotion.

"Considering how serious he is, you would assume! That he would choose a practical, serious woman!"

"Where is she from, again?"

"America, from how she behaves."

"That explains the lack of discipline."

You closed your eyes.

"How long would you give them?"

"Six months."

"Ji-Yu! That is far too generous! I give them! Three months!"

"Ladies, ladies. She can't live in a world as glamorous as Mr. Han's. They will divorce as quickly as they met. A country bumpkin will always return to the landfill they came from."

"Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Are you paying?"

Another bought of laughter resounded... then, silence. You stood slowly, legs shaking and back aching more than it had that morning.

You went from wanting full transparency to wanting the false reassurance of superficiality.

"So stupid," you murmured.

~~~

"What's next on the agenda," Jumin demanded as he walked straight to his office.

"A meeting at 1430 with Amorepacific," Jaehee answered, easily keeping pace with her boss.

Jumin slid his sleeve up, checking his watch. "Good, I have time to eat lunch with my wife."

"Enjoy your time with her, Mr. Han, but please be in Boardroom D ten minutes before the meeting."

"Yes, yes, fine." Jumin pushed the door open and was greeted by your swollen red eyes and dripping nose.

"Welcome back," you sniffed, forcing a smile.

Jumin's nonchalant expression immediately shifted to one of anxiety. His brows creased, his eyes grew, and he flew to your side. "Darling, what... why are you crying?"

Your voice quivered. "Can I go home?"

"Talk to me," Jumin urged, grabbing your hands. "Is your back hurting you? Did anyone try to come in?"

"No, no... I just... I want to go home," you cried, pulling your hands from Jumin's and covering your face.

"All right... all right, darling," Jumin cooed, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. "I'm calling Driver Kim right now -"

"No," You blurted. "I want to go home. Where I came from."

Jumin paused... then quickly snapped into action, carefully grabbing your chin. "Speak to me. Darling? Why are you saying these things."

"Who am I kidding, Jumin? I can't... I'm not cut out for this life. I'm not cut out for you, you...! You deserve way better than me. You need a woman who's mature, demure, graceful... that isn't me, and you'd be much better off if -"

"Stop," Jumin boomed.

"You just told me to talk to you!" you babbled.

Jumin's anxious eyes eased. "Is that what this is about?"

You closed your eyes. "I heard a gaggle of women talking while I was hiding in the bathroom... Jumin, they're right."

"Are they?" Jumin asked.

"Well... yeah, I mean... they even attacked you, saying how interested you were in childlike women..."

Jumin wiped your tears with his thumbs. "Mmhm. Complete strangers weighing in on the depth of our relationship... it never occurred to me that I should take their opinions to heart."

You hiccupped. "All I'm saying, Jumin, is... I didn't realize how ridiculous I made you look... I didn't consider it."

"What is there to consider?" Jumin asked gently. "You would rather take their words to heart over how happy you make me when you smile? How fast you make my heart beat when I see how eager you are to explore different things? How, in a sea of millions, your eyes are the only ones I will ever look for?"

Your lip quivered.

"Others will have our opinions of us, but you will always be my wife. No matter what is said, I will always come to you. I want you to realize this, that you may finally lean on me... that you will irrevocably trust that my love for you is infinite.

"... Jumin!" You sobbed, tears streaming down your eyes. "You weren't supposed to make me cry more!"

Jumin roughly tugged you in and held you fiercely, kissing the top of your head. "No more talk of you leaving me... don't go anywhere. Stay by my side, and rest assured that I will stay by yours."

"Forever?" You squeaked.

"And ever," Jumin whispered vehemently. "Ah... your back -"

"Don't you dare pull away from me, Jumin," you half-joked.

"... Ha. I wouldn't dream of it, my dear. What do you say we grab some lunch, hm? Your choice."

"Sure... fifteen more minutes like this, first," you replied, your mouth pressed against Jumin's chest.

Jumin laughed and rested his cheek atop your head. "Excellent plan."

[mythomagically-delicious]

The Second Funeral

Dad didn’t cry at Grandpa’s funeral. Neither did mom. Grandma was ostensibly loud, but I never actually saw a tear. My uncle though. He was made of stone. I mean, at least the rest tried to look sad. But Uncle Stan stood in the back and his face was angrier than I’d ever seen it.

I was 22 when Grandpa Pines died. By that time we’d moved cross country and I was in my last year of undergrad. Computer Science was the hot new field and I was naturally interested in computers growing up. And all sorts of other gadgets. Dad started me with tin soldiers, but somehow I always ended up with the tinker toys.

My parents lived in South California. I went to school further north. My one uncle lived in Oregon, but he was closer than Mom and Dad. Grandma and Grandpa still lived in New Jersey. I got a phone call from Mom about the news. Told her thanks for calling and we discussed school for a bit before hanging up.

Didn’t bother me over much. I had a paper due in two days that bothered me more, to be honest. Grandpa Pines always made me feel like a disappointment when I was a kid, without even saying a word.

Plus, when I was 17, Dad had finally told me the story (as he knew it) behind Uncle Lee and Grandpa. It’s a good thing we’d already moved, or else I would’ve done something stupid. Like egg his house or bust up some of the shop. As it was, I had some buddies of mine from back home bust up his car. Key it, TP the shop, just punk stuff that’d been going on for years. All at once. Dad wasn’t too happy to hear I’d done that.

Uncle Stan, on the other hand, had offered me a high 5 ½.

(I’ll get to that later)

Anyway, Grandpa died when I was 22 and my first thought was if that meant I could push back my paper’s deadline because of a death in the family. (The professor was pretty tough, but a few fake tears and he broke down into a human being again. My professors are better with machines than people, mostly).

I called Uncle Stan the day I got the call after class. We talked about some of my homework for a while, and he even helped me get unstuck from this problem I’d been having in my upper level math for a while.

Then I asked if he’d heard the news. Uncle Stan is a guy who could talk even the most obnoxious know-it-all in circles, under any circumstances. I’d heard the stories and seen him in action, on occasion. But when I asked this, a part of him seemed to drop, and I heard him take a few quick breaths on the other end of the line before he answered with a shaky “Yes.”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I expected from him. Dad had told me most of the story between Uncle Lee, Uncle Stan, and Grandpa, but he’d only gotten it secondhand. When all that happened, I was almost two, being watched by Grandma the night it happened. It weirds me out to think that the last time I saw Uncle Lee alive, I’d barely been old enough to walk.

Mom had been at work, waitressing. Dad had been serving too, overseas somewhere. Here’s how Dad told me it happened:

My Grandpa Filbrick was a hard man, hard to please, hard to get a word out of, hard-pressed to show any emotion except anger. My dad was their first son. Older than Uncle Lee and Uncle Stan by almost ten years.

Grandpa had been hard on the tree of them, but he’d been the worst on his second children. Twins, unexpected, and ‘a burden from day one.’ Dad had heard Grandpa Filbrick saw a few too many things about Lee and Ford over the years, some while drunk, some stone cold sober. That’s just how Grandpa was.

Dad said Grandpa hadn’t paid a lick of attention to either of them unless they were making him look bad—or if they had the potential to make money. (Some of this is how Mom saw things too. Once they argued about who had the better perspective on it, all things considered. I’m not sure either of them won).

When my uncles were 17 (turning 18 that summer—I had just turned 2 that January) Uncle Ford was suddenly in the running for a full-ride scholarship to one of the best sci-tech colleges in the country. The principal told ‘em all it could be the opportunity to make them millions one day. Mom said from that moment on, Filbrick saw Ford as a talking dollar sign, and didn’t see Lee at all.

Something happened to Ford’s project—the one that would get him the full ride—and Lee was blamed. There was a huge fight at home, and only four people know exactly what was said, two of which are now dead. Filbrick kicked his son Lee out of the house, banning him from coming back until he could make up the millions he’d stolen when he’d supposedly ruined Ford’s project.

Ford didn’t help his brother. Too angry, he turned away when Lee called for help.

The real kicker in the story, though, is that Grandpa had already had a bag packed for Stan. He had just been waiting for the opportunity to do it. Dad said my Grandpa bragged about that one night after a few too many rounds at the local bar. Dad had come to pick him up and carried him half home, taxis all gone. Dad said he’d dumped him on the curb to let him find his own way after he’d said that. I would have punched him first. But I’m not really a fighter. I’m a big guy, but I’m no good at throwing that weight around.

Anyway, that’s most of the story. Uncle Lee took Grandpa’s words seriously, until ten years later he died in a car wreck on his way to talk to Uncle Stan.

That rally seemed to tear Uncle Stan up. That’s when he changed his family nickname from Ford to Stan. That’s all I’ve really known him as.

That’s Dad’s version. When I was 17, Dad told me all that. When I was 18, I’d gone up to Uncle Stan’s for a couple of weeks before school started. He gave me the story between the cracks. It was a hundred times worse coming from him.

He told me how Grandpa Filbrick had yelled and roughly handled Uncle Lee. He told me of the justified anger he’d felt at his brother. How his Pa’s reaction only egged him on. How he turned away when his brother needed him most. Then immediately threw up, sick with what he’d done.

But, how, over time, that anger and justification was continuously fed and fueled by his father. Filbrick kept the wound fresh. And Ford let that anger for his brother fester. The desire to prove himself fueled him through finishing college on time but with two extra degrees. How he came out here to continue studying.

It led only to dead ends and disappointments. He hadn’t talked to his father since his first year in Gravity Falls, when he made it clear he didn’t care about making money, he just wanted to study. Filbrick had practically disowned him as well, at that.

Apparently Grandpa’s greatest skill was alienating himself and everyone around him.

Uncle Stan told me how it felt, all those years. The guilt and anger warring within him for so long. He told me what it did to him when he lost Stanley when he was so close to seeing him again. He told me a lot of things that made me shudder and wipe a tear at. I couldn’t even dream of putting it all here. It’s too much.

So when I asked if Uncle Stan had heard the news, I wasn’t sure what to expect from him. I asked if he’d be going back for the funeral. He said he oughtta help his Ma pack away the shop. I hadn’t thought about that.

I asked if I could help. Uncle Stan wanted me to stay at school, not get distracted by old bones and dust. I agreed to stay at school if he agreed to let me visit after he got back. He laughed and joked about my flourishing skills as a negotiator, claiming all the credit. But he agreed and we moved on to lighter topics, talking about small nothings for another few minutes before I let him go.

Uncle Stan has come to mean a lot to me these last ten years. I met him when I was twelve. I hated to think he was up there alone during another bad time. Knowing our family’s history made it harder for me to just try and let him suffer through another death in the family by himself. But he’s a tough guy, and he hates showing what he thinks of as weakness in front of other people. He lets his guard down with me, sometimes, but it’s hard to crack through.

The funeral was rough, but afterwards when we were talking, most of the anger had melted off his face. I had to leave soon after to hop on a plane and get back in time for classes. But next time I saw him, there were a few reminders of Filbrick hanging around the Shack. Most noticeably, his old, weird fez. I helped out with tours and the gift shop, and took Unlce Stan out to the diner a few times. You can never really tell what Uncle Stan is thinking, but I think for the few days I spent with him, he was thinking about the good part of family, not the terrible kind his dad gave them.