rcubens

[rcubens]

As Angus rises with that expression of disdain written all across his features Reuben steps back and shrinks almost instinctively. The cigar didn’t help either, Angus looked like a mafioso who was about to fill Reuben’s shoes with wet cement. Where was this feeling of discomfort when he stood at the pulpit? Maybe then they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Reuben’s gaze flits all over the place, occasionally returning to Angus’ eyes and all the scrutiny they possessed.

In any lighter situation he would’ve told Angus’ it wasn’t fair to discipline him twice, let everyone else get their turn at the punching bag. The gravity of today’s gaff however, warranted it. He awaited Angus’ response in the silence of the courtyard. The only sounds being frogs and the continuous stream of water emitting from the fountain that was kind of making him need to pee.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. God where does he start? And how could he not joke? You’d have better luck cutting tension between them with a chainsaw than a knife— he needed to diffuse it somehow. “How much time have you got?” He teases, small smile threatening to break on his lips but almost as soon as the words are uttered his hands are up in mock defence. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— too easy,” His hand plays with the Windsor knot Bas tied too tightly. “I dunno’ I think I was trying to be a good Christian—” If the sky opened up above them and singed Reuben with a bolt of lightning he wouldn’t even blame them. He might be the least pious person on earth at this very moment. He meets Angus’ gaze to gauge whether or not he could be convinced.

“You know, always tell the truth and stuff? Airing of grievances. I mean I said Richard was a good guy! And I believe that, I just wanted him to know how I felt y’know? What am I saying, of course you don’t— I don’t think I’ve seen you telegraph a single emotion since 1994 I wouldn’t be surprised if you go home and sleep standing up like a robot,” he huffs, frustrated with the whole thing and turns away from Angus. He holds his face in his hands and gives his head a shake. “I’m sorry, that was mean- I didn’t mean that.”

He runs his hands through his curls and turns back to Angus once more. “I was feeling very alone up there. For the first time in the entirety of all my time on this planet, I was aware of how alone I was. Did I want to air my grievances? Yes but, more so I wanted someone, anyone— everyone to pay attention. To notice.” He raises his hands as if to say ‘there you have it’. It was selfish but, Reuben was selfish.

For all the masks he wore, the one that required Angus to keep his cool in the face of Reuben's shuffling feet slipped for a second once he felt tiny pebbles make contact with his dress pants. He took 12 whole hours for himself before they could drive away from D.C. on Saturday morning so he could get this suit drycleaned at the last minute. He shot the other man a deeply unimpressed look, held the cigar between his teeth to wipe his hands, and stood from where he sat. Angus didn't care to look up at someone as he spoke to them. It'd been a long while since he had to do that.

From Reuben, he expected a list of excuses right out the gate: the hot sun, a suffocating tie, the wall of faces staring up at him, a residual headache—on and on and on. Angus made his initial findings on Reuben's little speech clear, not an hour after it happened. Quick and quiet, he gave a succinct review. Uncouth. Discourteous. Embarrassing, in so many words. The attention the funeral brought on already left a prickling sensation dancing uncomfortably across the back of Angus' neck. Too many eyes, too many questions, too many faces he didn't quite recognize. He didn't need antics. But even after their talk in the kitchen the previous night, he shouldn't have let his guard down about Reuben.

Really, he should've demanded the right to proofread his damn eulogy.

But Reuben didn't say anything about the sun, his tie, anyone's face, or any kind of ache. He said something else entirely: I'm sorry I ruin things. Sighing heavily, Angus glanced down as he ashed his cigar, then lifted it again to his lips. Over many years, he worked hard on stifling his initial reactions: anger, harsh words, and flying fists. A plethora of what the fuck's nearly always spedran circles in his thoughts, and he was almost always on edge. But nothing had ever been as effective as hitting 30 and discovering that the most efficient way to diffuse anger was to remember just how exhausted you were. And Angus suddenly felt unimaginably tired.

"Why don't you tell me—in no uncertain terms—what was going through your mind?" he asked calmly, though it was far more akin to a command than a request. He felt responsible for Reuben, which inevitably meant picking invasively at his stunted psyche. "No jokes, no distractions. Just the truth."

#reuben ☞ angus #remember when i said i had nothing to say? #p.2 | post wake

[rcubens]

It was nice to not immediately receive an accosting. Some my fault Mickey for this but Reuben applauded it, mostly because he needed it. A gentle guiding hand did infinitely more for him than anything else. She'd make a great astronaut for the mission to Mars. When the aliens start tearing shit up, her reassurance would probably be the only thing to keep her crew alive.

He follows in toe like a happy puppy. "Well you needed options— complement the shirt or the belt? Thick or thin? Bow or bolo? You know the usual things," he lists them off so easily but Reuben had bought all his Brooks Brothers ties at once in bulk so he'd never have to make a decision about a tie ever. "But I am grateful you did so, believe me."

one of the other wards would probably scold reuben for his lack of planning. she could hear alison or natalia already 'how do you come to a funeral without a tie?' and reuden was right, mrs. tristian would send down all of her wrath if things aren't perfect today, that includes each of their appearances. it was part of the reason she was so scared to see the old woman in her suit later that morning and was grateful she had natalia's word that she would protect her from that wrath. "well then, i have a few to share, come on," she said gesturing for him to follow her down the hall back to her room. "i don't know why i grabbed so many when i was packing but i guess it works out in the end."

#reuben ☞ mickey #i should not write these tired i go on weird tangents

[rcubens]

They bicker competitively like each counter is ranked by a table of judges à la American Idol. Reuben was snarky but Dante was always a step ahead— as it had always been. Reuben trailing behind and trying to keep up. Maybe it was good they went their separate ways, had they not, Reuben would’ve been pummelled to death in an underground cage match at the ripe age of twenty-two. Albeit a much cooler exit than whatever awaited him in the future.

At one point it was jealousy— like when Dante got invited to Reuben’s friends high school parties despite not attending the same school. Now it was reverence, he told people in sports bars that was his brother fighting on TV. Maybe there was still some underlying jealousy, stemming from how lame his grown-up life turned out. When Dante provokes him, he laughs and looks up at the ceiling whilst shaking his head. As if to ask a God, ‘can you believe this guy?’

An unheeding hand rises to the curls on the side of his head, tugging at a ringlet of blond. Dante probably had a point but Reuben sort of enjoyed how it looked. Soon he’d need to get one of those fuzzy headbands to push it out of his face. It made him look rugged. Boyishly rugged but nevertheless. “I wouldn’t be commenting on others; hair if I were you, Slim Shady.” He fires back.

Reuben looks back at Dante with a smile. Possibly his most earnest one yet, finally getting a once over on Dante. “Of course— I mean the first time was when I was a kid, my dad had the ambassador and his wife over for dinner. But, you know how the French love their cigarettes, we get invited to tons of events at their embassy,” he shrugs as though he was describing an occurrence as common as seeing the sun rise in the morning.

“But fuck you, you’re the real show off— running 6 miles out there like it’s nothing, and bagging broads.” Reuben lifts his shirt up to his chest with all the grace of someone showing their doctor a rash. “I mean this is built almost entirely from cigarettes and grilled cheeses,” He drops his t-shirt.

“How do I do that and don’t say some stupid shit like become a professional fighter,”

this inescapable violence, knowing that they both harbored the appetite for it. it was apart of the appeal, that slaughterhouse instict. eat or be eaten. slaughter or be slain. punches are hardly pulled but there are no deadly odds: nothing to be lost if not an inch of your pride. oh, how they loved to bring out the worst in eachother. " at least i'm upfront about it, " spoken candidly, though he acknowledges that the only true assholes knew how to hide it. he were merely a realist, if not a touch nihilistic. bruised lip is caught between teeth, he would have indulged the urge to bite down had there been no concern for furthering the inflamation. it's like proding a soft spot, something blushing where bile should have been. " wouldn't you like to know. " he aims to taunt, clenches and unclenches his jaw as if to allow his flaunt to take full effect. as if it were some divine priviledge to stand in the eye of this hurricane: to know dante for all of his tumult and to love him despite. it was better this way, not quite knowing one another. dante wasn't the kind of guy he should know anyway. they both look fucking fantastic on a good day, dante's just too contrary to admit it. he never was good at admitting things. " pft, you could stand to loose a little on the sides. " a beat, as if to acknowledge his own untoned bleached hair. at least he got a regular hair trim. he only mimicks reuben's tut in retortion, takes another swig from his water bottle. dante instinctually rolls his eyes at the mention, " now you're just showing off ... " of course this corporate jack-off had been dining with the grimiest elites he could get his hands on. though interest still piques, looking him over just quizzically enough to challenge the possible bluff. head tilts aside, " have you really had dinner with a french ambassador? "

#reuben ☞ dante #my eye twitched as i wrote bagging broads #sometimes frat boy reub escapes

[rcubens]

It was evident, even to someone as typically clueless as Reuben, that they were both dancing around something. A general air of flighty nervousness hovered around every movement and utterance. Not at all helped when Carmen reaches around him to close the door to her bedroom, which he misinterprets as a hug and narrowly recovers from in just the nick of time.

Hands settle on his hips as he nods. Given Richard’s age he doubts he would’ve gotten really worked up about much of anything. Past a certain age you just stopped caring about most everything and Richard certainly wasn’t cantankerous— or at least he wasn’t when Reuben saw him. Quite frankly he just looked exhausted. “No- I get that, that’s fair,” he says as though his words offer some consolation. He notes her cheeks flushing pink and he can feel his own cheeks doing the same.

With the door closed he feels trapped, like Carmen intended to get more out of him than she let on. His eyes squint ever so slightly, now suspicious of her motives. He takes a half-step back from her. Reuben didn’t want to tell anyone anymore than they needed to know in case they started insinuating things about him being the last to see Richard.

He pauses and inspects her expression. He trusts her— she trusted him enough to tell him directly that she moved out. He still preferred to keep this closer to his chest. “Recently…ish…maybe you already left, I’m not sure,” He says measuredly.

“Why are you asking?”

both in his voice and in his body language it was clear that reuben was rising to match her own panic, his hands gesticulating rather wildly as he attempts to back pedal. there's something about the rawness of his emotions that makes it harder to push down her own anxiety. maybe it just feels like permission to express the horrible tumult of emotions that had been churning in her chest since she'd read that god forsaken letter.

she stepped forward, leaning around reuben so she could pull the door shut behind him, now he had finally stepped inside her room. growing up in that house, she knew there was no such thing as real privacy when all sixteen of them are lurking about. but it helped to take some measures not to be overheard.

"we had a disagreement, a falling out i guess, that's why i left. he wasn't exactly very happy with me so he would have been within his rights to share, even if i didn't want people to know.

"a-and it's not as if it's a secret, it's just that i wanted to tell people myself. no one even knew until this morning but i'm sure everyone will know soon enough," she said, trying to figure out how on earth to express herself properly. how could she explain that she was scared of the way richard might have characterised her leaving - would he have shared the disappointment he'd made so clear to her? would he have told it as a tale of betrayal?

she felt like she was rambling, digging herself deeper into a hole the more she spoke. there was a difference between telling mickey, who veered on being too understanding, too sympathetic, and telling reuben, whose reaction she could not predict. feeling flustered, her cheeks pink, she blinked rapidly as he paused, truly taking in what she had said.

"i-i didn't know you had. but he was the only person who knew i'd left so i assumed if you knew then he must have told you..." the momentary confusion was a distraction from her own rising anxiety. it was true that reuben had been one of the wards who visited the least, and, as far as she was aware, did not keep up regular correspondence. if he had spoken to richard recently - very recently, by the sounds of things - then that was unusual. it also meant that she might not have been the last of the wards to see him.

"when did you speak to him?"

#reuben ☞ carmen #day 0

[rcubens]

His shoes were muddy. In a way that suggested he’d been meandering through the tall grass for too long. Scaring off garden snakes and rabbits along the tree line. This was the first time he’s been alone with the thought of Richard being gone for a long while. It was like he could feel the waves of emotion rise and fall in his chest— maybe he should get back into yoga, originally it was a ruse to stand behind Erin from accounting while she downward dogged in yoga pants but, the measured breaths were finally starting to pay off.

He’d been circling the grounds like an ant in ant mill since he peaced out of the ceremony earlier in the morning. Occasionally stopping at the garage or sneaking inside to see whether or not the crowd was thinning out. He had already received some of his verbal lashings but was sure more were to come and he needed time to lick his wounds. He wanted to shout that he was just a kid and had no practice for these sort of things but, that excuse didn’t even work when he was thirteen.

Death was the chance at forgiveness and new beginnings. Maybe this was the last everyone had seen of the ‘woe is me’ Reuben. Unlikely. He’d gather them all together tomorrow and formally apologize, and quit drinking, and run more than the half block to catch the bus without getting winded. He’d be a better person, the one everyone expected him to be. Or maybe he’d drown himself in the cloudy water of the fountain ’til Davis found him and his little muddy shoes the next morning.

He picks up his pace a little, like the fountain could be his repentance. The plan is foiled by some tall jerk who must’ve had the same idea and looked a little like Angus. Not that Reuben could really see, squinting through his blistering hangover and maybe the whiskey neat he’d snuck in when everyone was still out on the lawn. He slows once it’s obvious that it’s Angus and almost considers turning around. What happened to all the courage spurred by the reminiscence of a certain pair of yoga pants?

His face has splotches of red as his chest raggedly rises and falls. Hands in his pockets, he kicks some tiny pebbles like a kid who’s been asked to say sorry by a teacher but can’t get it out just yet. A frustrated little pout adorns his features as Angus refuses to look at him. Instead he’s directing Reuben’s attention to tiny, plump, stone babies, and waxing poetic with a fancy cigar. Reuben knew the gist of the fountain, but often wondered what kind of royal fuck up he’d have to commit that warranted a fountain to make up for it. Or maybe that was what real love did. It makes you commission three tiered fountains and dedicate poetry from lovesick old dead guys.

He kicks again, scuffing his shoes in the process and sending a dozen or so tiny rocks dancing across Angus’ shins. He wants to come up with a witty retort. Something smug to soften the forthcoming apology. “No puking yet, so..” Is all he can manage as he throws two thumbs up and a weary smile. He looks up to the cherubs, the one with the chipped nose seemingly motioning for him to continue. “I’m sorry I ruin things.” He mumbles, his eyes jutting down to meet Angus’ gaze for a second before returning to the statue for confirmation he did the right thing.

LOCATION: Woodrow House courtyard DATE: Sunday, September 4, 2005 (7:30 PM) Closed starter for @rcubens

For his birthday every year, Uncle Richard gifted Angus a lacquered box of 20 smokes shipped in from abroad. The Partagas Serie D No. 4 that Angus received for his 33rd were sent directly to him from someone in the UK at Uncle Richard's behest. They were a special-edition robusto that debuted in 2003 at Havana's annual cigar festival. Popular, carefully aged, and meticulously wrapped. They were beautiful. They always were.

There was an unspoken agreement that the next time Angus came by Woodrow House after this birthday, they would smoke a couple together. When he'd been there a few months ago, he'd been too much in a wired, anxious fervor to partake in the tradition. Quick to arrive, quick to leave. There were people who couldn't be kept waiting. But as the guests dwindled, Angus figured he might as well smoke one now. A gesture, or maybe a token. A goodbye, nevertheless. He knew he wouldn't receive another box in 19 days' time.

Seated on the edge of the fountain, he cut the cigar's cap then moistened it with his breath to avoid a tear. He preheated the cigar by placing the foot over his lighter, and spinning it slowly. The sun had started to set half an hour ago, only the thinning edge of orange-pink brightening the horizon. Autumn fast approached. Angus raised the cigar to his mouth to take the first puff and continued the well-practiced routine of lighters and 30-degree angles and rotation.

As he gently drew air into his mouth, his eyes flicked between the various cherubs that adorned the fountain—the last vestiges of warm light throwing their faces into soft shadows. As he let out the smoke, he watched it wind its way between them, gentle and airy. Angus took another solitary puff after a moment and heard the tell-tale crunch of another pair of feet on the pebbled stone that surrounded the fountain.

A quick peek revealed the arrival of Reuben. Angus looked back up at the statues.

"Purity, grace, and the innocence of the divine," he started, then pointed to where his gaze found itself fixated. "That's what those naked baby angels typically represent." Angus frowned up at them for a moment, bringing the cigar back up close to his mouth. It hung in the air as he thought. "Though if I were to be pedantic, I think these may be less Christiancentric putti. Perhaps cupids, given the occasion in which this was erected."

His expression cleared when he eventually looked back to Reuben. He heard the distant chirp of tree frogs, finally discernable as the crowd thinned. "How's the hangover?" he asked evenly, finally taking another puff.

#yeah disregard everything but the last like two paragraphs idk what i was on #this is so long please never write this much i don't think i'll have anything to say ever again #reuben ☞ angus #suicide mention tw #just in case

[rcubens]

DYNAMICS AS HELLSITE QUOTES: DANTE & REUBEN.

#this literally happened word for word truss me #blond reuben 😩 WE WON #yes..as in the sandwich | musings #jack & lem | w/ dante

[rcubens]

🕑 DAY 2 — 07:07, SUNDAY • 5 hours since the funeral ☏ @mustdies

He’s done a somewhat successful job of avoiding guests and the rest of the wards. Only occasionally being stopped for condolences before the person offering them realized he was the one who could stand to learn a little something about timing and courtesy.

He slithers up to his room, head down, sticking to quiet corridors and tight service staircases. There’s a surprising weightlessness within him. No trodding around like a kicked puppy which he used to be known for. Had he said all this to Richard when he came up a week ago maybe they could’ve sorted it out and he would’ve conjured up beautiful words for his eulogy and been everyone’s favourite boy. Perhaps, this was the way things were supposed to be. Who was Reuben if not the antithesis of his peers?

He stood in the centre of his room, drinking in the quiet. He looks to his suitcase and its contents strewn about, a pack of cigarettes sitting atop the heap— perks of the job. He crabs the pack before tossing wrinkly handfuls of his clothes into the open case. If he left now, maybe no one would notice he was gone and he would avoid all the painful explaining. The cigarettes are tossed between hands as he contemplates.

It’s down another set of cramped steps and halls before he’s at a small balcony facing the other side of the lawn. A frequented spot for smoking undetected. Cigarette between his lips, he dips to light it. His head turns slightly at the creak of the old doors.

“Want one? They’re testing new filters,” He asks, looking up at Dante from his spot on the stone floor of the balcony. A peace offering before the anticipation of violence.

#reuben ☞ dante #p.2 | post-wake

[rcubens]

It felt akin to learning how to tie your shoes. Staring down at your parent as they huffed and explained the rabbit goes through the hole and out the other side.

Except he was 29 and standing eye to eye with Sebastian who's enthusiasm was on the verge of hostility. If Reuben didn't know any better he'd think the other was trying to teach him a lesson...forcefully.

"I- do- I mean- uh- I left it in D.C." he manages, a hand slowly creeping up to loosen Sebastian's Windsor knot.

"I don't plan on taking it off," he jokes uneasily, attempting to slice through to tension with a metaphorical machete. It didn't feel as though it was working. "Is that a promise or a threat?" He asks, inadvertently swallowing hard.

Sebastian knew he was intimidating and it would be a lie if he said he didn't love it. What was there not to love about making others shiver only by standing still?

In Reuben's case, at least he had the justification that the tie could be used as a weapon. Sebastian identified that the younger man's nervousness was reflected in the pink hue of his cheeks and not in shivering. Maybe Reuben wasn't afraid of him after all, only shy. His words though, made the writer bloom a small smirk. He did enjoy being called 'Sir'.

With deft fingers, Sebastian knotted the tie, perhaps a little too tightly, and though he was ready, he did not let Reuben go. "How come you have no tie?" He asked, genuinely curious about why the other didn't come prepared. "Do not lose mine, it's not a gift." He paused for a moment and spoke again. "Losing my things comes with a punishment."

#reuben ☞ sebastian

[rcubens]

Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings originally published in 2004

#yes..as in the sandwich | musings #mfw i say my pseudo dad was a bad dad and then everyone thinks it was an inappropriate thing to say at a funeral: :-/

[rcubens]

🕑 DAY 1 — 08:55 11 hours since the eulogy

☏ open to all | @woodrowhub

Hair of the dog was said to be some sort of magical healing potion for moments like these. Though, maybe Reuben was too old for such fallacies. His hangover from the morning was boring into his head and maybe some of the anxiety from what the others would say about his Eulogy.

He knew he shouldn’t have said it— as he wrote it, it was as though the frustrated, attention starved kid within him, crawled its way out and grabbed his pen. It was embarrassing and cathartic all at the same time. No one would understand but, then again he wouldn’t expect them to. Reuben had a very unique circumstance. One that didn’t really require Richard for survival. In another his timeline, his aunt took him in as her own and in another he went to boarding school from 13 to 18 and became an upstanding citizen who dealt in mergers and acquisitions, made more money then he knew what to do with and had a beautiful wife and a picket fence and a dog.

Unfortunately, he was cursed with having too much and seeing it as not enough. At the funeral he heard stories of triumph, love and acceptance he never felt. He was jealous. Jealous that everyone had fond memories of Richard whilst his were shrouded by disinterest. When he left the cemetery he walked around the grounds for a bit and wondered if he could make it to the small airport and book the next flight to DC without saying a word to anybody.

Ultimately, he didn’t. Maybe he liked the pain. Everyone yelling at him, telling him how stupid and disrespectful his eulogy was after all Richard did for him. At least it still meant he was at the centre of the narrative. Reuben couldn’t exist in a world he wasn’t at the centre of— maybe this was a fault of his.

Nevertheless, he found himself alone in the kitchen. Sipping on whiskey. He twist the glass to hear the clank of ice against glass. His shoulders hung low and the general boyish glow had seeped out of him. He looked somewhere between 13 and 93. His eyes only lift as someone enters the kitchen.

“I know, I know— I fucked up, I’ve heard it from everyone, I’m sorry.”

#wrhq.start #if any of this is nonsensical i wrote it 3 aperol spritzes deep so i'm sorry #long post for ts #day 1

[rcubens]

Southern Hospitality

TASK 2— A Eulogy by Reuben Sharpe

So he had finally found a tie. Did it fit with his outfit? He wasn’t exactly sure and with the compounding weight of a White Russian hangover and an impending funeral, he couldn't care less. He was grateful that Angus had given him a heads up about the eulogy, he spent the entirety of his night restless staring at the ceiling of his second childhood bedroom trying to string a cohesive sentence together. Nothing sounded right, it was either too sappy, or too vindictive, or too guilt ridden. As Mrs. Tristan read out the order of proceedings to the small group he almost asked if he could be excused; the cue card in his jacket pocket burning a hole in his side.

Reuben wasn’t well versed in funerals— something he used to be grateful for but, currently regretted. The whole weekend had been an exercise in time-travel. The same rooms, the same halls, the same bickering and same ridiculous thing they called a family. And to Reuben it seemed as though nothing had changed. He wanted to remain there forever. Sell his DC condo, quit his job and just roll out of bed and into the kitchen where breakfast was already prepared. Walk around the grounds, drink the wine cellar dry, bother all of his siblings daily. In DC, he was an island— well, there was Angus but, still he was alone. A solo office, a one bedroom off Columbia, an only child.

Hyperaware of his own presence and looking to the other wards for guidance, like he was thirteen again. This time he walks through the cemetery without his mother by his side, but rather, in his breast pocket. He needed her strength today, thinking about her for the first time in a long time. Today, he might very well be orphaned. There are too many people here for his liking, people he doesn’t recognize. Rich philanthropists, local politicians and other old geezers that probably knew Richard back when his dad did. Red rimmed eyes dart around, maybe his aunt was here. Or perhaps she moved her practice back to Georgia, or maybe she was dead. Maybe Reuben was orphaned long before Richard left.

As he sat listening to the other eulogies, he’s fidgeting with his father’s cufflinks. The smooth gold beneath his fingers reminds him of his father. He’d know how to do this. How to wrap your venom in niceties, Southern hospitality or some bullshit. Before he knows it, someone is nudging him and motioning him to stand. Suddenly, his attention seeking efforts don’t feel so brave. It’s like that reoccurring dream you have when you’re walking down the hall of your high school stark naked and everyone’s laughing at you. His cheeks are hot, and he’s trying not cry, to not deceive these people into thinking he cares.

He stands at the pulpit, hands gripping the sides so tightly his knuckles are white. He can’t look out at this crowd and say the things he wants to say. He looks down at the worn wood as he slips his notes out of his pocket. Looking up for a beat through blond curls at Mrs. Tristan, her face says Reuben is on very thin ice…or maybe that’s what mourning looks like on someone who did all the work and received none of the credit.

He stands a little taller and takes a deep breath. “For those of you who may not know me, I’m Reuben Sharpe— my father was Senator Benedict Sharpe and my mother is Evangeline Louise Marston Sharpe, and after the death of my father I was brought here to Woodrow House.” He pauses to chew the inside of his cheek, which is raw from all the nerves of the past 48 hours.

“Richard Woodrow was not a good father—” a wave of anxious energy floods every vein in his body. But no one rushes to silence him or chalks it up to Reuben just being Reuben. Fortunately for him, there’s a captive audience. “A good father loves unconditionally— there’s no favouritism for the smartest, or the ones who could charm the birds out the trees or the one’s that mirror those he’s lost. No, a good father is there for them all, not his money or the people he hires to stand in but, the man himself.”

While it feels like an opportune moment to cry, Reuben feels the absence of feeling at all. Like he was slowly floating upwards like a rogue balloon that escaped the hands of a small child.

“But I don’t blame Mr.Woodrow, he wanted to do the right thing— shit, we all do. It’s not like they write a manual on how to raise 16 kids at once. He did the best he could and delegated all the harder tasks to Mrs. Tristan, whom I don’t think likes me very much right now but that’s nothing new—” he smiles sheepishly, mostly to himself.

“I spoke to Mr.Woodrow last week and said some things I don’t exactly regret but ,would take back if I knew it was the last time I’d ever see him. If I got to speak to him one last time, I think I’d say something along the lines of: thank you for being the next best thing. You did your best, and now I think I understand.”

Whatever tension he’d been holding had rapidly dissipated. If he didn’t get horizontal quickly, he might pass out. He raps his notes against the pulpit before stepping down and walking out of the ceremony.

#wrhq.task #i'd like to thank father john misty deftones grizzly bear and my 80s playlist for getting me through this #if no one else was gonna b a shithead u know reuben had to do it to em #This at one point was 1700 words long and i was like well maybe i should not do that #i'd like all threads from here on out to be ppl being mean to reub pls and thank u

[rcubens]

I know who you are. You're Fire and Ice, right? In the flesh.

#like its so reub #the reuben is off the charts with this look #i wanna kiss him so bad WHO SAID THAT!?!!? 🧐🤨 #oh camelot ! | visage #long post for ts

[rcubens]

Could Reuben grow out of the pulling pigtails stage? Sure, but what fun would that be? For someone who's far better at weaponizing words against him knowing that all it took was a simple flick of the nose or pulling one hair out of place to set her off was cathartic. Seeing as they were adults now themselves, there was no crying to Mrs. Tristan or worse Richard.

Despite her making a valid point, he rolls his eyes. "How on earth could you still be bitchy, It's a funeral,"

Natalia rolled her eyes. You'd think for a man of almost thirty, Reuben would have figured out how to be less of an irritating pest.

"Reuben!" She squeaked, an appalled look on her face at him messing up her hair. What a dick. That was going to take her at least 10 minutes to fix.

"I could have, but now I don't want to," she shot back in a manner more befitting of the teens they once were and not the adults they are now.

"How could you forget a tie anyway? It's a funeral," she reminded him harshly.

#reuben ☞ natalia #i love threads like these bc u get time to come up with comebacks for future arguments

[rcubens]

Of all the people to run into in the hallway he could've rattled off a dozen names that included the queen before he would've gotten to Sebastian. He had a cutting glance that made him feel so small. May be Richard wasn't gone at all but his spirit had somehow transferred over to Sebastian.

In the few beats of silence he can feel his cheeks quickly flushing red. Just when he was about to excuse himself and find someone else to beg for a tie, there's a strip of fabric around his neck. He won't lie there's a split second in which he thinks he's gonna' get choked out but before he knows it Sebastian is working away.

Reuben stumbles forward, eye's focused on Sebastian's fingers. "Yessir," he says quietly, hands staunchly at his side.

He was ready, or at least until that point, he thought he was, unless he changed his mind and his chosen outfit wouldn't suit the occasion anymore in the next hour. Something that had already happened twice, and it was only eight in the morning.

His day had already gotten off on the wrong foot, in fact, his morning felt as if his night had never ended and it was all a nightmare that would never end. Reuben and his predicament, on the other hand, were a dream he didn't know how it would end but it started in the middle of the hall.

Sebastian could think of at least a thousand things Reuben needed that morning, would need the next day, and needed ten years ago, but it was too late to fix any of the three. Still, a tie, or rather, a tie from Sebastian didn't seem to be on his imaginary list, but it was.

The older one looked at the other, there was no confusion in his gaze, just an emptiness that spoke of zero expectations and all of them fulfilled. Sebastian said no word and untied his own tie, giving no explanation nor signal of what his next move would be. In the blink of an eye, the tie was already around the blond's neck. Both ends of the cloth were in Sebastian's hands, abruptly he tugged on it, forcing Reuben to take a step closer to him. "Stay still."

#the casual reuben drag mid reply literally made me cackle ty #reuben ☞ sebastian #queued ↺

[rcubens]

Everything he really knew about Butcher was from their time at Woodrow together and was probably heavily outdated. Everything else he knew came through snippets shared by Angus when they occasionally saw each other. Though Butcher had changed very little since Reuben had last seen him. Still an effortless cool radiating from him and good looks.

He smiles at the greeting, as he would any good friend. Most of the childish jealousy dissipating. Most being the opportune word. "Aw man I swear I don't know the first thing about dressing myself so options mean nothing to me," He responds with a playful shrug. Despite what awaited them, there was a sort of air of nonchalance. As though they were getting ready for an entirely different, happier occasion. He liked to think this way.

They walked the halls towards Butcher's room. Reuben eyeing the ties as Butcher showcased them. He scrunched his nose up at the blood stain. "Do you moonlight as Jason Bourne or something?" He teases. "Yeah that makes sense, I'll try and go find them," He says with a light sigh. "Don't you think the blood would give me a little edge though?" He asks cheekily.

Hands settle on his hips and he bites the flesh on the inside of his cheek. His eyes meet Butcher's gaze, a little weary.

"As good as anyone can be, I think— I mean I forgot a tie for a funeral. What does that tell ya"

Butcher's been on a sort of auto-pilot. Going through the motions after failing to get any decent sleep. He drank an energy drink first, had a small breakfast, took a warm relatively long shower. He sat on the edge of the bed. Zoned out, for roughly fifteen minutes before snapping out of it to put on his one and only suit. Angus picked out this one, so it had to have been decent. Butcher wouldn't know. He knew nothing about suits. About fashion, about dress shoes or ties. But he made up for it in sports gear, sports clothes, different types of helmets, sneakers, bats and bikes and, well, you get the gist.

As he walked down the hall to Talia's room, needing the usual help with the tie, he ran into Reuben who, just so happens, needed help with the same. "Hey man..." he's not seen him in a while. It felt strange...having everyone back in the same place again. And although it felt good to be back, and he'd grown and changed much since he'd left -- every time he was back here, every time he saw the other wards, it was as if his mind slipped back through time, and it felt like he'd never left.

"Bet ya Mick would have more options than me but, sure come on..." he'd throw an arm around him, but the height difference would not allow it so, he nudged him with a shoulder and lead the way. "Here we go." he takes out two more ties out of his travel bag, one curtesy of Talia and the other of Darcy. They knew he sucked at classy attire so, they took it upon themselves to provide something that would work on most suits. "This one has a...a ketchup stain....or maybe blood..." he'll put that one down and offer the one that's left. "You know...Angus or Seb might have a suitcase of ties each if you'd rather look 'em up." he feels shitty not to be of more help but, alas.

"How you doin' Reubs, all things considered?"

#reuben ☞ butcher #the only thing i hear is “how am i doing?” “not great bob!” from mad men #queued ↺

[rcubens]

Thirteen year old Reuben had no idea he could hate a child so much but Natalia broke barriers for him. She had an innate ability to undermine him at every turn that somehow still gripped Reuben sixteen years later.

"Would I be asking you if I asked him?" He retorts and mocks her tone.

He reaches and tugs a hair out of place for maximum annoyance.

"So can you get me a tie or not?"

Natalia made a face, just barely managing to contain her irritation at Reuben's carelessness — and forgetfulness too when he made his reason for barging out into the hall like a barbarian known. She wanted to say 'you also need toner'. The quip came to her quickly and was begging to leave her mouth but she restrained herself.

Today was about Richard. She wasn't going fall into old habits even if it was clear by her near instantaneous reaction toward him that they died hard.

"Have you asked Angus? She queried pointedly, smoothening down the front of her dress.

What she really wanted to ask Reuben was if he was going through a quarter-life crisis, but she was an adult and planned to carry herself as such today.

#it's giving younger brother honestly #reuben ☞ natalia #queued ↺

[rcubens]

Mickey would be the closest Reuben would ever get to having a younger sister. Not ever one to play the role of over-protective asshole he just genuinely found a sense of comfort in hanging out with her. Maybe it was because she didn't speak much English in their first year together but it allowed Reuben to talk ad nauseam about anything and everything and overtime grew to conversations rather than monologues.

It was nice to see that the height difference hadn't changed all that much either. "Hey MJ- you know what right now, I don't really care what they look like I'm just afraid to turn up without one and feel Ms.Tristan's wrath so if you're sharing— I'm taking."

when mickey woke up that morning, the usual sadness she's felt since receiving the letter hung over her, but the closer she got to the funeral and finally saying goodbye to richard, the harder it got to push that sadness away. she showered and spent most of the time in the hot water crying. she figured if it was in the privacy of her bathroom, she could play it off like she wasn't actually doing it. she's supposed to be the happy one, at least that's what she thought.

she stepped out of her room in a pair of pants and an undershirt, wanting to get some cold water from the kitchen before finishing getting ready. her body felt drained and she would need all her strength for that night. though, she only made it half way down the hall when someone bumped into her, looking up to see reuben. "oh hey," she said, "i have a couple, but i don't know if they're what you're looking for." sure, mickey liked to dress masculine, she had her suit ironed and hanging ready for that evening, but she was sure reuben would probably prefer something from one of men, like angus or sebastian.

#reuben ☞ mickey #i like to think the mj reuben is drawing a comparison to is michael jordan #queued ↺