#this is not written to be engaging it is nearly 2 am

[silly-mode-cilia]

hi I like yelling silly little life updates into the silly little void so here we go

I'm leaving for my internship thing on Monday (slay) and my last three weeks have consisted of 1. Finals (best semester since i started college thank u curves and nice teachers for boosting me), 2. Socializing, 3. Medical appointments (my eyes have gotten worse but I'm good otherwise) and 4. Prepping for my trip

And. This past week. I have had a cold, of all things, which is not good timing because I'm trying to finalize and get stuff done and was not understanding why I couldn't focus AND I was on my period but now it's a bit better I have entered the "expelling fluids" phase where I feel fine but the symptoms persist. Chilling.

So trip prep has included setting up my new laptop because the other broke during finals week, the keyboard started malfunctioning and the repair date was past when I would leave so new laptop ended up being the only option (which is nice) but I have to manually set up all my bookmarks still because I forgot my Firefox sync password and that will take a couple hours probably (last I went through and organized them it took a whole day)

And then excessive amounts of laundry that are still not done, realizing I lack more than 1 field work outfit and having to go to REI too many times to finish the pack list. Although a closet clean out was done and I'm satisfied with where the personal style development is headed I like my clothes.

But that's done so now I just have to. Pack.

And then my travel request for a conference got approved (!!) When it was expected to take until like, July so now I'm trying to finalize and coordinate stuff earlier than expected! But that is welcome that is good.

And I also got accepted to Job B which doesn't actually pay but is very few hours so I'm doing the tutoring and the mentoring both and hopefully not going insane! Might drip volunteering if I need to which reminds me I need to email them! okay!

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 7

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Relationship drama, family teasing, parental/societal demands, light discussion of politics, handful of sex jokes, Marcus is a menace. Summary: A gesture you weren't expecting, a memorable phone call, an admission at dinner, a surprise for a friend, and one more grand gesture that you definitely *did* plan. Notes: A gif from Sabrina feels extremely appropriate for this chapter, and this one is even the outfit inspo for Birdie at a certain point. You'll see it 🧡 (Outfit inspo, but not in any way indicating her body type. Wear the clothes you love!)

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

The next few days fly by, as working on the Cameron/Wiley wedding takes up all of your spare time. The only thing you've managed to do on your second day off is to comb through their contracts and get things straightened out with their florist — an agonizing series of phone conversations that nearly ended with you going down to the shop in person — but it is finally the end of the day. You're going to make yourself eat something reasonable, which is to say not the fast food you're craving, and you're going to take your yoga mat down to the studio in Old Town for puppy yoga. It's the single greatest way to relax and destress apart from the phone calls you've been having with Marcus — three now — and while you're bummed that you won't be getting a call tonight, at least he was courteous enough to text you and let you know that he is working late on a new lead.

You've got your leggings and t-shirt on under a sweater dress and you're ready to sneak out the back of the inn with Agent Bailey when you get stopped in the lobby.

“I am sorry, there is a gentleman her to see you.” Malachi rolls his eyes. “A flower delivery. Says that he must deliver to you personally.” He sniffs, a little annoyed that he had not been left the blooms so he could be nosy about who they are from by reading the card affixed to the front. He huffs. “He must be one of those singing flower deliveries.

“So he didn’t give you the card to read?” You tease, knowing Malachi has a penchant for gossip. “It’s okay.” Looping your arm through his with a playful grin, you walk with him out to the lobby. “I’ll let you read it first.” The hope in the back of your mind is very real and present, though — thinking of the possibility that Marcus might have sent you a few buds while he’s away. Maybe as a thank you for helping Cameron, since he’s still in a relationship.

“That is the least that you can do.” He snorts sassily and is eagerly looking forward to finding out who had send you such a beautiful bouquet.

“Hi there.” Greeting the delivery man easily, you’re immediately distracted by the tall cut vase of stunning white flowers with greens strewn throughout to enhance the beauty of the arrangement. “They sent you with quite an armful, didn’t they? Let me take those for you.”

The delivery person is dressed sharply and he confirms your name with Malachi, since you are distracted with the flowers. Instead of handing them to you, he starts to sing. “Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time. And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on a line.”

The striking way your face falls immediately, draining of blood and leaving your eyes wide, leaving your throat dry right along with it. “I—um—thank you. Uh…thanks. That’s enough. You—you don’t have to sing anymore.” The way you had been desperately hoping Malachi was teasing about a singing delivery has been flushed down the drain, and you fish in your purse to tip the man so he can be on his way. “Oh god,” you mumble to yourself immediately, mortified and feeling like you’re about to throw up.

It’s not uncommon for someone to not wish for the song to be finished so when you tell him to stop, he sets the flowers down on the counter and accepts the tip. The transaction has been fulfilled in his eyes and he won’t insist the song be completed. “Have a nice day.” He tells you quickly.

“Thank you.” There’s no reason to be impolite to the man even though you feel like you’re going to be sick, and instantly you know that not even the cute little puppies at yoga are going to be able to cheer you up from this. “What the hell am I going to do with these?” The question is mostly rhetorical, even though Malachi is standing right next to you. “And why the hell would he send them?”

“Is it not alright for your boyfriend to send you flowers?” He scrunches his brow in confusion. “You love flowers.”

“Mal…” Lowering your voice, you grab the lapel of his jacket and drag Malachi behind the desk to make it look like you’re talking about something work related with the flowers acting as a shield between you two and the rest of the lobby. “I broke up with Sam earlier in the week,” you confide, as quietly as you possibly can.

His eyes widen in surprise and he folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance you have not told him before now. “What? Why? You love Sam.”

“It’s complicated.” Is the best excuse you can really give him in this exact moment, which feels weird and wrong, but the whole situation is so odd. “Only Sydney knows, so please don’t say anything? You know I prefer to keep my private life private.” Which is yet another reason that the singing telegram is not exactly your style.

“I do not know what to say.” While Malachi loves to know all the gossip and details, he does not share information. He claims he is more of a gatherer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him, exhaling a long and haggard breath. “Just…help me look for a card or something? Sam having the delivery guy sing ‘our song’ is a little pointed, but there might be a note too.”

“Of course.” He nods and he starts looking through the massive arrangement to find a card.

“Here it is.” Tucked deep into the arrangement between the most massive white carnations you’ve ever seen, is a card in Sam’s scrawling print. Not one to go back on your promise, you hand it to Malachi first, but you have a sinking sensation that you know what it will say.

Malachi opens the card and clears his throat to start reading. “My love, I know I have much to apologize for, but I will spend as much time as it takes to win your forgiveness. Love, Sam.” He reads out loud and looks up at you. “He is begging for forgiveness, Birdie.” Ticking an eyebrow up, he smirks. “Looks like Congressman Chase is trying very hard to win you back.”

“Apparently so.” Although you can’t say that you’re thrilled about it. “Where am I going to put these flowers? This thing is enormous.”

“Your office?” He asks. “Or make it a centerpiece for the family table.”

“Emily Post says never use fragrant flowers in a table arrangement so they don’t alter the scent of your food.” The factoid — learned from your grandmother — spills out of your mouth instantly and you sigh softly. “I’ll bring them upstairs. The side table in the living room has room, and I need to call him now anyway.” Privacy is better is the implication there.

“I will send Charlie up with them.” Charlie is boy who works afternoons carrying luggage and delivering tea and meals to the rooms. As well as working in the kitchen when another pair of hands is needed.

“You’re an angel, Mal. Thank you.” It still leaves you with a phone call to make, but that is up to just you no matter what else happens.

“Of course.” Malachi nods and quickly walks off to find the burly younger man. Knowing you wouldn’t want the flowers to be downstairs for long so no one would ask questions.

Turning around again is an option, but Charlie is bringing the flowers upstairs and you’re already dressed for yoga, so you slip out the back door in the vain hope that an hour of stretching with very cute puppies will help. You can call Sam and have an uncomfortable conversation later when you’re feeling more centered.

The puppies are just what you need. Scampering and yipping through the posed arms and legs of people might not seem like it would be relaxing, but it is. And short of hearing Marcus’s voice, it’s the most relaxing thing you can possibly think of right now. Hopefully it works.

**

Fridays are always busier than any other day. Getting through the work day and having a little time to decompress before going to family dinner is always a task, but tonight you’re having an evening cup of coffee in your living room while you hammer out the scheduling assignments for the wedding which is now only one week away. Everything is falling into place, thankfully, and you’re going to give your team a big thank you for hustling to get everything ready in time.

The incoming call isn’t a normal one, and Marcus hopes you don’t mind. He wants to show you something and hopes you like it.

If he could see the smile on your face when his photo pops up on your phone screen, he would know for sure that you don't mind at all. "Hey G-man." You greet him with a voice full of sunshine, and since it's a FaceTime call he can actually see the grin this time as well.

“Hey.” Marcus grins back at you, very pleased that you seem happy to see him. “I’m sorry to call you at such a weird time, but I’m somewhere I thought you would appreciate.”

"Don't ever be sorry to call." As if to prove it, you heft the notebooks off of your lap and sit back on the couch. "Where are you?"

“The Tower of London.” He turns the camera around to show you the area.

"No!" Immediately you're sitting up in your seat again, trying to inspect the image on your phone like you might be able to climb into it if you try hard enough. "God, I miss London! Have you gotten to poke around anywhere? That whole place is so cool and so haunted."

“I’ve been allowed back into the Jewel House.” He admits. “They said that it’s okay if I’m on a video call while I’m there. Do you want to see the jewels up close?”

"Did you seriously just ask a girly girl if she wants to see the Crown Jewels? Marcus Pike you are a dream." The few minutes you have before you need to leave will be perfectly spent just like this and you grab your coffee to sip while he moves around the space.

He snorts, thankful that the camera is off of him so you can’t see that he’s blushing. “Here we go.” There is a moment that he has to wait for the doors to be unlocked, but then it’s opened up and he steps into the Jewel House.

"Did you know the Black Prince's ruby in the Imperial State Crown isn't actually a ruby?" The excitement bubbles over you with the instinctive knowledge that Marcus won't judge you for it. Getting excited about history isn't a bad thing, after all.

"What is it?" He asks, glancing around to see if he can find the Imperial State Crown to show you up close. "Oh, there it is."

"It's a balas stone." When he starts walking up to it you practically squeak with excitement. "They say Henry V wore it in his helmet at the Battle of Agincourt. Like a good luck charm."

"A good luck charm, hum?" Marcus smiles as he pushes the phone's camera closer to you can see it under the bright lights of the room. "I need one of those." He huffs. "Been running out of luck lately."

"Dead end with the case?" You ask, genuine concern in your voice despite humming over the large gem. "I hope not. You're supposed to be back in a week for Cameron's wedding."

"Nah." He doesn't want to turn the conversation to things that will bring down the mood. "Professionally, things are great." He promises. "I'm going to spend the next few days wrapping up to turn over to Interpol and I'm hoping to be back two days before the wedding."

"So..." Biting your lip is a nervous tick that you never quite got rid of, but you're smiling into the camera regardless. "Does that mean I can give my parents your RSVP for my birthday when I go to dinner tonight? Since you know you're going to be back in time?"

“Yeah.” Marcus shifts the camera back around so you can see him nod. “I’ll be there. Sorry that I’ve been gone, it’s probably sitting in my mailbox. But tell your parents I’m happily accepting the invitation.”

“I’m happy to accept it on your behalf, but since they still insist the location has to be a surprised, you’ll have to check the card for that.” Once he’s back in frame, that smile on your face gets beaming all over again. “So are there any corners of that jewel house that we peasants don’t get to see and you do?”

“Yes.” Marcus smirks and turns the camera around. “Would you like to see the personal jewels?” He asks, walking over to another door.

“You’re kidding?” Another gasp and giggle comes out of you as you readjust on your couch. There’s only one last sip of coffee at the bottom of your cup but what he’s showing you is far more exciting than hazelnut creamer. “Yes please! Absolutely.”

“Okay, but I’ve been instructed that I cannot pick up or touch any of them. So….yeah.” He doesn’t know why he would say that, it’s not like you can come through the screen and pick up the jewels.

“Oh my god…” The room that he’s in is full of cases, shelving, and careful lighting that make the stored pieces glint and glitter. They wink at Marcus as he moves about the room, teasing you through the camera and making both of you gasp or giggle alternately. It’s just such an enormous measure of opulence that taking it in together is surreal.

“What do you think? Pretty amazing, right?” He’s a little giddy, and soft, sharing this with you, even if it’s through a screen. “The sheer monetary value of this room is more than every house I’ve ever owned.”

“Same,” you huff, and laugh when he throws you a doubtful look. “We don’t own the White House. We’re just borrowing it for a while.” You remind him with a grin. “And I don’t even live there!”

“Yeah, buuuuuut…” he flashes you a grin. “You can sleep in the Lincoln bedroom anytime you want. I bet your mom wouldn’t say no.”

“You probably could too.” A little poke at the screen is the closest you’re going to get to touching him, and you hate that fact. “After the State dinner, she probably likes you more than me.”

“Nahhhh.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re her daughter. She loves you unconditionally. Me? She just likes that I look good in a tux and can dance.” He reminds you. “Those are mutually exclusive things.”

“If you think she loves me unconditionally, remind me to tell you about the time I lost the fifth grade spelling bee to Maude Appleton,” you snort, nearly in giggles on the couch again. “I’m a disgrace to the family, Marcus. Truly.”

“The black sheep, huh? I can tell.” He rolls his eyes and cheekily sticks out his tongue at you. “You have a sitting President planning your birthday party.”

“One that she absolutely does not need to be throwing, and that you will be at.” The fact that he’s coming tickles you more than a little, and you grin like a moron for a moment longer before the alarm on your watch goes off. “Speaking of Madam President,” you huff a dramatic sigh and lift yourself off the couch. “That’s my cue. It’s Friday night dinner.”

“Go, enjoy your dinner with the President while I skulk around the Crown Jewels and dream of being King Marcus.” He jokes, smirking at you through the screen.

“Just remember, every king needs a queen.” The moniker First Princess flashes through your head again and your cheeks burn with it. “Or at least a Princess.”

You are moving to your door and Marcus is about to come back with slightly flirtatious comeback when he spots the gorgeously large bouquet of flowers on the table. A slap in the face reminder of who you are and despite that, you are taken. “Yeah.” The agreement is a little flat for the previous tone of the conversation. “Well, um, I better go. The President doesn’t need to be kept waiting.”

“She’s still just my mother.” The change in his tone doesn’t escape you but the reason does, and you furrow your eyebrows at the screen but swallow it down. He’s still dating Vanessa. Don’t make it weird. You remind yourself harshly. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s always how you sign off your calls now, and you know you sound hopeful but you don’t care one bit.

“Talk later.” He agrees and disconnects the call. Staring at his Home Screen for a moment before sighs. “You’re a fucking idiot, Pike.”He grumbles. “She’s dating a fucking congressman. She doesn’t want you.” When he gets back home, he needs to look at the dating apps again. Needing to forget about you and move on.

**

Friday night dinners are ritual, soothing, although June is eager to get this particular one over with so she can go out with the potential boyfriend she had met at the party last Friday. Nervous, she exudes that kind of boundless energy she had as a child, since she likes this guy so much it surprises her.

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight.” Your father observes with a wry smirk as the five of you sit down at the table together. He’s particularly excited about dinner tonight for purely food reasons, but he likes seeing his children happy and buzzing.

“I’m going to the movies.” She volunteers, knowing that the security detail would have already informed her parents anyway.

“With Kiley?” Alex assumes automatically, knowing that Junie’s best friend is a movie fanatic. “What are you guys going to see? I might tag along.”

“No!” She’s almost spitting out her refusal and then realizing that it sounds suspicious, she backs down. “I mean, I’m not going with Kiley. You can’t come.”

“If you’re not going with Kiley…” Alex’s eyes widen as he picks up his drink, not bothering to hide his growing smirk behind the glass at all. “Did you meet somebody, Junebug? Please tell me you are smart enough not to get bamboozled by a frat boy or a post grad.”

“Shut up.” She hisses, throwing her napkin at him. “It’s none of your business and I’m smarter than that.”

“So you did meet someone.” You join the smirking too, knowing that razzing your sister is all in good fun and that you and Alex would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. “What’s their name? How’d’ya meet? Give us the dirt, Junie.”

She narrows her eyes at you, feeling slightly betrayed by you essentially ganging up on her. “I met him at the party last weekend. His name is Bryan and before you say anything…” She holds up her hand. “He is in a fraternity but he was the DD for the party.”

“Sounds responsible.” Your father commends from one end of the table. “We just want to know you’re safe, Bug. That’s all.”

“Oh, no.” Alex shakes his head as the salad course hits the table. “We want dirt.”

“He may have passed the Secret Service’s background check, but not the older sibling one,” you agree with a nod.

“Oh my ggggggggoddddddd.” June groans, dropping her head into her hand and giving a moan of embarrassment. “I think he might be my soulmate, okay?” She huffs.

The room is dropped into a vacuum as all the air is sucked out of it. Four family members sit stunned before all hell breaks loose in excitement as everyone starts talking at once.

“Why do you think so, honey?”

“Junie, that’s wonderful!”

“Holy shit, are you serious?!”

“Are you excited? Did you ask him how he got the scar on his leg?”

“I haven’t seen that scar.” June admits, groaning slightly and now worried that she might have raised everyone’s hopes for nothing. “But it’s not like it’s obvious like your tattoo.” She snorts, throwing you an amused look. “Although Agent Pike didn’t seem to think it was dumb.”

Halfway to picking up your salad fork, you freeze all over again. “Why would you say that?” The carefully affected breezy tone in your voice doesn’t fool your family for a second, and your blood is pounding your ears out of sheer fear for your baby sister’s answer.

“Oh, we talked about it while we danced.” She confirms, unaware of the turmoil she is causing. “He’s really nice. He actually didn’t make fun of where you put your hummingbird like I do.”

“June Allegra…” There is as much warning in your voice as there is fear and worry, your eyes blowing wide as they narrow on her across the table. “You told Marcus about my tattoo?”

“Was it supposed to be some kind of secret?” She asks, startled by your reaction. “I didn’t— you’ve never really hidden it before. Are you— did I do something wrong?” She throws her parents a confused look.

“I hadn’t said anything yet,” you admit, feeling sick to your stomach at the realization that Marcus has known for an entire week that you are soulmates. Through the phone calls and the chats and the work you’re doing for his friend’s wedding. He’s known, but he’s still with Vanessa. “I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t…it hadn’t been confirmed…”

“Suspected what?” She’s still not grasped what you are talking about, but your mother and father exchange a very pointed glance with each other.

“Oh honey.” Your mother sighs.

June huffs. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Agent Pike is Birdie’s soulmate.” Alex’s voice isn’t nearly as teasing, more of a soft tone of understanding cutting through the tension in the room. “And you told him before she could.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure your sister quickly, but your heartbeat has leapt up into your throat. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Oh shiiiiiit.” Her eyes widen and she looks like she might cry. “Why— why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t you? You’re soulmates? What about Sam?”

“I broke up with Sam.” That admission is heavy enough on its own, knowing that letting the cat out of the bag with your family is now officially necessary. “Not…exclusively because of that. But it made me think about things. And…I hadn’t told Marcus yet because I wasn’t sure. Plus, he’s seeing someone else. And I didn’t want to complicate things for him.” June really does look like she’s about to cry, though, and you get up and circle the table to hug her. “You didn’t know, Junebug. It’s okay.”

“Oh shit.” It’s not often your mother curses, but she does now. “Sam got an invitation to your birthday, I wouldn’t have dreamed of not inviting him, but if you’ve broken up….”

“I still want to stay friends with him.” The clarification is obviously important since it does change expectations a bit. “And Marcus will be home from London in time to come to the party, so please just…I will let you guys know when I’ve talked to him, okay? If I don’t say anything to you directly will you all please assume I haven’t gotten to talk to him about it yet and not say anything?”

“Damn.” Alex whistles quietly. “I thought my soulmate status was complicated.” He snorts. “You’ve got me beat, big sis.

“Your soulmate status isn’t complicated, people are just bigoted,” you toss back, knowing that Alex and David have been crazy about each other forever. They just stay quiet about it to avoid unnecessary commentary on their personal lives. Which you give them a lot of credit for, honestly. “This is…a lot.”

“Yes it is.” Your father speaks up. “And only you can decide when the time is right to talk to Marcus about this.” He agrees. “You said he was also seeing someone?”

"Yeah..." As the five of you slowly start to eat, the sick to your stomach feeling is subsiding a little and you nod. "Um...Vanessa D'Amario? She's, uh...she's Sam's aide."

Your mother winces. “Also daughter to Judge D’Amario.” She tells the table. “Federal circuit and on the short list for Supreme Court.” She would never tell you to not follow your heart, but she does want to caution you. “Just be honest and let Marcus decide what he needs to do before you take any steps.”

"I just want him to be happy." It sounds cliched, but as soon as it's out of your mouth you know it's true. That the feeling that's nestled deep into your ribcage is new love and that it's real enough to make you both selfless and just a little stupid. "If that means staying with Vanessa, I'll just have to deal with it."

Alex shakes his head. “That man is a romantic.” He snorts. “He probably is waiting for the right moment. Some big gesture.”

"I don't know what's going to happen," you admit, stabbing a piece of apple and some cheese rather violently with your salad fork. "But what I do know is that for now, I'm excited about Junie maybe meeting someone she's interested in and my birthday happening in a week." Your eyes raise to your mother on one end of the table and you offer her a lopsided smile. "You might have to tell me where the party is after all, Mom. Unless you're going to have somebody else drive me."

“I can have Marcus bring you.” She offers with a small grin.

"I honestly think he would forget how to speak if you called him." It's an enormously sweet and endearing thought, trying to wrap your head around how Marcus might react to the sitting President calling him up to ask a favor.

Your father chuckles and reaches over to take your mother’s hand. “Well, she might talk him into it if she demands a dance with him. She was grumbling about not being able to dance with your escort herself after the State dinner.”

"There's going to be dancing?" You raise your eyebrow at your mother, no longer able to get any kind of read at all at what kind of party this is going to be.

“That entirely depends on the music that you choose.” She grins at you. “Doesn’t have to be ballroom dancing. I can still break a leg.”

"It's cut a rug," June huffs, still amazed that the woman who somehow uses turns of phrase just barely incorrectly convinced an entire country to make her President.

The President laughs, aware of what the phrase actually is, she just enjoys watching her children cringe at times. “Whatever.” She huffs, waving her hand. “Either way, Birdie’s party will be wonderful.”

“That’s how your tattoo came up!” June huffs. “Your nickname. Again, I’m sorry, Birdo.”

"You couldn't have known, Junebug. It's okay." At another point in your lives you might have been the right ages for you to hold it over her head, but not anymore. You and June have just under ten years separating your ages and that difference has united you in as many ways as it's separated you. "And I'm going to be honest, along with all the different songs from the years of my life? It's a lot of 80s dance music. I gave the list to Dad when I got here."

“Perfect.” Your mom winks at you, “I loved the 80s.”

"We know, Mom." Alex snorts, shaking his head as he eats his salad. "Just promise you won't do the Running Man or the Robot or anything."

“My Robot is amazing!” She protests with a laugh, knowing that while she can dance, she’s goofy with that move. “Okay, okay I’ll resist.” She huffs dramatically.

“We acknowledge and appreciate your sacrifice,” you tease, raising your glass to your mother in salute.

“As long as my accomplishments are acknowledged.” She teases back, smiling at the three of her children. Happy that all of them are on the way to knowing their soulmates, even if they don’t choose to be with them. “So how do you feel about the idea that Marcus Pike might be your soulmate?” She asks softly. “That’s the most important thing.”

The opportunity to think about your answer while tonight’s main course comes out is appreciated, and when it turns out to be your mother’s very favourite thing on the planet — chicken cordon bleu with roasted potatoes and broccoli — the softness on your father’s face at seeing her delight reminds you of the warm, tight feeling in your chest every time you hear Marcus laugh. It tingles its way up to your cheeks and you end up smiling just hearing his name. “He’s a good man,” you say finally. “I think I’m lucky.”

She watches you with a sense of pride. “Good.” She hums and lifts her glass of lemonade. “To Birdie and Junie.” She poses. “May their soulmates be worthy of the wonderful women they are.”

“Here here!” Your father’s addition may not be long in the way of words, but he sees your reaction, and the soft way you smile, and has a feeling that things will end up okay.

June smiles, still feeling guilty for letting the cat out of the bag, but honestly she wonders if Marcus is aware that you might be soulmates. He didn’t seem to react too much from what she can remember.

“So…” Your mother sits up tall at the table and looks between her three children at the table. “Am I allowed to do a little business at supper? Since I have all of you here?”

“Oh boy.” Alex immediately rolls his eyes. “I knew we weren’t getting a great meal and there not be strings.” It’s an old joke in the family about how no one eats for free.

"Oh, you'll like yours," she waves one hand at him, unbothered by her middle child's habitual sass. "I just wanted to let all of you know that someone from my office is going to be contacting each of you in the next month or so with some opportunities for good publicity. There are plenty of websites and magazines that want to talk to the three of you and different businesses that want to be associated with you. We're going through all of it before we approve requests, and I thought each of you should be allowed to have some say in each of your approvals." She meets eyes with each of you individually, knowing what the first question will be. "And I'm sorry, but no publicity is not an option. That's why we're curating each list carefully. To keep things controlled and try to avoid things coming at any of you from left field."

June is the least social out of all of you and it’s immediately apparent that she is not happy. “Whhhhhhhhhy?” she whines. “You’re President, not us. Go adopt a puppy or something.”

"That's actually on the list," she admits, chuckling at how on the nose some of the choices are for her kids. "Since animal rights and animal welfare are the things that you've always cared the most about, we thought you might be willing to partner with a local rescue and pick out a new dog for the family." There has been a lot of time and effort put into making sure that the things being presented to each of the kids is something they actually care about and something that is representative of who they are. Hopefully that makes things a little less overwhelming for each of the kids individually.

“Wait…really?” Her parents have been loving and wonderful but the busy lifestyle they had lead hadn’t been fair to an animal. At least for a long time. The last family pet had been a cat who had died of old age when June was eight. “Are you being serious? This isn’t a joke, right?”

"They'll be your responsibility to take care of, for the most part," your mother warns, but she's glad to see the way June lights up. "I'm sure Alex will help, and Birdie too, when your sister is around. But...we know we're asking a lot of your kids. So we thought you should get something out of it, too."

“You had to wait until I’m practically out of the house?” Alex huffs playfully.

“Four years in the White House with a puppy still sounds like a pretty good time,” your dad contends. From the way he’s smiling it looks like letting Junie get a puppy was probably his idea. Even more so when he adds: “And I have some thoughts about the name.”

“We are not naming it Scout.” Alex warns him, pointing his finger at his father.

“But it’s a good name!” Your father protests in response, sending everyone into intermediate laughter and sighs. It’s always what he wants to name pets. Even the baby bird Junie rescued from the park when she was five.

“But we need something more dignified for a White House pooch.” June insists, grinning at her dad.

“Don’t tell me. You want to name the dog after Eleanor Roosevelt or Susan B. Anthony?” Alex jokes. “Why don’t we meet the pup before we name them? They might turn out to be just as goofy as the rest of this family.”

“We should get a really dopey puppy and name him Goofy.” June snickers happily. She picks up her glass. “I want to adopt.” She insists. “And make sure they are spayed or neutered.”

“I think Junie might be enjoying her assignment after all,” you observe, flashing both of your parents an impressed smile. Whatever they have for you, you’ll take the responsibility of more spotlight onto your shoulders with as much grace as you can muster. While it’s not your favourite part of your mother’s victory, it’s a very real part of how things will work for the next few years. And you did willingly sign up — for lack of a better phrase — to be as helpful as you could be.

“Good.” The President watches over all of you with a small smile and nods back at you. She knew that it would be difficult at times, but you are all handling it with as much grace and aplomb as could be expected.

“In other news.” With things going fairly well after the shock early in dinner tonight, your father is glad for the change in tone. “I hope everyone has the White House Easter Egg Roll already on their calendar.”

“I’m finding the golden egg!” Alex declares with a laugh. “There better be big money in it this year.”

“There will be prizes for the kids, and a nice lunch.” It earns Alex a smirk from your father, though. Of course it does.

“Are we supposed to do anything besides dress appropriately and be proud of you at the podium while you make a small speech?” It’s a valid question, directly aimed at your mother, but the question you’re afraid to ask is whether or not this is something they would prefer the three of you have escorts for.

“I’ve decided to change things up a little this year.” The President admits with hopeful smile. “We are bringing in one of the local orphanages, I was hoping that you and any friends you want to bring, along with my staff, would pair up with a child for the egg hunt.”

“You’re going to piss off a lot of judges and legislators with that one.” And you don’t mind pointing it out to her. It’s often seen as a privilege of the position for high-ranking government employees to get that coveted invitation for their families to attend White House events. Letting ‘just anybody’ in is a mark for your mother to the public but possibly against her to a lot of other people. “I’ll be sure to bring a whole crew.”

“Fuck ‘em.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It is the People’s House. That includes children that haven’t found their forever home yet.”

“Besides,” June smirks, the admiration for her mother clear as day on her face. “What are they gonna do? She’s the President. You can’t impeach somebody for being nice.”

“They are really going to be pissed when we push the homeless initiative.” She has a list of things that she wants to tackle before she has to worry about re-election or leaving the office. Honestly, she wants her record in office to do the campaigning for her.

“And we’ll be even prouder.” There hasn’t really ever been a time when you haven’t been proud of your mother, but seeing the things she wants to accomplish while in office really does hammer it home for you. If the number of homeless and unemployed drops across the country like it did in Pennsylvania while she was governor, it will be enough to put her in history books all by itself.

“Thank you all for your help, your patience and everything you put with.” Right now, there isn’t a Secret Service Agent in sight, they all stay outside of the private residence, but she knows that it chaffs sometimes.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” you promise her, because despite being a family of sass and negotiation, the fact is that you’re all very close. The age gaps between you and your siblings have never mattered, and the bumps in the road that you’ve all weathered were manageable because you got over them together.

**

The invitation to your birthday is beautiful and Marcus smiles when he sees the theme. Finally home, there’s plenty of mail to open and things to do before he changes and runs over to the inn for the wedding rehearsal.

His cell phone is perpetually on his person, always ready to go at a moment’s notice, but he isn’t expecting any calls. He’s just concentrating on getting through his stack of mail and getting his head on straight when his phone goes off. The word Private across his phone screen isn’t necessarily unusual, but having just come home from a case, there is an uncomfortable possibility that this is work related.

“Special Agent Pike.” He tucks the phone under his chin as he sets the mail down, pulling out a notebook in case it’s someone about a case.

“Good afternoon, Agent.” The President’s voice is distinct and recognizable to anyone who has heard her speak as many times as a government agent has, but she introduces herself anyway. Arrogance isn’t a characteristic she typically has. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Marcus straightens immediately and wonders if something is wrong. “What may I help you with?” The President of the United States is calling him, he is going to do whatever she needs.

“I know you have an important night, so I won’t keep you.” She is well apprised of the wedding you are coordinating in just two days’ time. You’ll be missing family dinner for it, but your business and your integrity are important enough to take precedence. “But I’m afraid I have to ask a small favor of you, if I may? Are you Stateside again, Agent Pike?”

“Yes Ma’am, I am.” The fact that she knows he was out of the country means you talked about him with her, even if it was concerning the invitation to the party. It warms him in a way that it shouldn’t, given your relationship with Congressman Chase. He knows that whatever the favor, he will gladly do it. “Whatever you need, I’ll be happy to help.”

“It’s small,” she promises with a chuckle. Just as you had said — and as she had seen a little bit of at the State dinner — Marcus Pike is an earnest sort of man. “I was hoping you would be willing to pick Birdie up for her party on Saturday to bring her to the venue? The location is a surprise and I know she’d appreciate being able to ride in with you.” Instead of one of her siblings is the end of the sentence in her mind, but these days she’s fairly certain that you would pick Marcus Pike over almost anyone.

“Of course.” He agrees immediately, almost without thought, but he wonders why Sam isn’t bringing you. He opens his mouth to ask, but quickly shuts it before anything comes out, deciding he doesn’t want to know if there’s some birthday surprise involving the congressman. “What time do you want me to have her walk through the door?” He asks instead.

“Seven-thirty would be ideal.” The invitations say to arrive at seven, and she wants everyone assembled at the club before you get there. “She’s never been to the Statesman Club, I checked with Sydney. So she shouldn’t have any idea where you’re bringing her. And don’t let the half-hearted protests convince you of a thing. She loves a surprise.”

Marcus chuckles quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He promises. “Seven-thirty.” He repeats. “I’ll have her there on time. Will Agent Bailey follow us or ride with us?” He asks.

“She will follow.” In fact, as a mother, she made sure of that. The chance to give you and Marcus some time alone seemed important. “Hopefully nothing will be complicated, and everything should be fun. I do appreciate the favor, Agent. It won’t go unremembered.”

“I am happy to help.” He feels slightly strange about having the President feel indebted to him, not that he would use it for anything at all. “Sincerely.”

“Wonderful.” There’s a smile in her voice, but a finality as well. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun at the rehearsal dinner tonight and the wedding on Friday.”

He’s surprised she knows the plans, but why, he’s not sure. You are close to your mother and he doubts you don’t talk about your work. “Thank you Madame President.” He hums quietly. “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening. And thank you again.” The call clicks off with a pleasant tone, and the President smiles to herself on the other end, knowing you didn’t think she would actually go through with having Marcus bring you to your party.

Marcus just stares at the phone for a moment, feeling like that was a surreal moment. He’s certainly never had the President call him for a favor before. Chuckling to himself, he moves towards the bathroom, needing to shower before he gets dressed for the rehearsal.

**

The rehearsal dinner truly is the easiest part of this process. For you, at least. You’ve done large handfuls of them in the past to be a help to Juan, and the number of people at this particular rehearsal is going to be incredibly small. Cameron and her fiancé had asked for just a family style meal after the actual rehearsal and you had set up a round dinner table in the gazebo in the grounds for them to enjoy their night with a few friends and family in relative privacy. Per your usual protocol, everyone working the wedding will be in black tonight and for the ceremony on Friday, and you’ve set yourself into a long-sleeved black blouse and cigarette pants for tonight with a smart pair of flats to complete the Audrey Hepburn look. There was a lot of back and forth about it between you and Sydney and Juan, but now that you know Marcus knows about your soulmate status? You’ve got to talk to him tonight. You may even have a few surprises up your sleeve, since you had to change your plans for that grand, romantic gesture.

Marcus tries to make his outfit seem casual, a more tailored suit than he wears at work, no tie. Loafers instead of dress shoes. He shows up right as Cameron and Michael do. Smiling as they get out of their car and he hugs the bride, shaking the groom’s hand. “You survived.” He jokes.

“Thanks to you.” Cameron — Joyce outside of work and to her friends and family — happily hugs Marcus instead of shaking his hand. “I don’t know what you said to her but she has bent over backward to make this happen and we’re so grateful.”

“I just asked her for a favor.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “That’s all.”

“Well, then she’s an amazing friend and we’re grateful for that, too.” She’s absolutely beaming in her white floral sundress and happily ready for this week’s celebrations. As stressful as everything had been, it has also been wonderful to feel like the day isn’t in jeopardy after all. “How was the case?”

“Interesting, but I want to focus on you and Wiley.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. “I want to help with the costs. I know you guys got screwed having to pay twice.”

Cameron shakes her head adamantly, touched by the gesture even though it isn’t necessary. “We didn’t have to pay twice,” she tells him, acknowledging how remarkable that is. “I don’t really know what she did, but she hasn’t asked us for any money. The whole thing is just…it’s been a miracle.”

“Wow.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he wonders if you managed to get the other venue to cover the costs, but he knows in his heart, you just aren’t charging them. “Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re sure.”

“You’ve already helped us so much.” As a coworker and a boss, Marcus is fantastic. But as a friend? She will always be grateful for everything he’s done. Their long friendship has been through plenty of ups and downs, but this is above and beyond any call of duty that she could possibly think of. “Are you…still okay with walking me down the aisle?“

“I am looking forward to it…although…if you want someone else to do that, I understand.” Marcus hums as you walk outside to greet them.

“Joyce, Michael, you look fantastic. How are we feeling tonight?” You are nothing but professional smiles despite your own nerves for the various things that are set to happen tonight. Hopefully it will all be emotional in good ways only. “I’m glad you were able to get back in time, Marcus.”

“Me too.” He smiles politely, trying not to moon over how good you look. It makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms, although that’s not right. “Are we all set?”

“Just about.” There’s a tingling in your fingers and the nervous butterflies in your stomach bottom out, but things are as ready as they’re going to be. You’re not about to steal the thunder from this couple on such an important night, but Marcus looks so good in his more casual and stylish suit that you have to remind yourself that you can’t just drag him upstairs. “Let’s take a walk out to the back and I’ll just give you a few moments to say hi to everyone before we get in place for the rehearsal. Okay?”

“That sounds good.” She’s excited, of course she is, but she’s also very disappointed. Wishing that she had her family here. The upside is that Marcus and her other friends are the best kind of family she could ask for.

“We’ve set up a table out in the gazebo for dinner. It should fit all eleven of you just fine.” A slight smile touches your lips, knowing that the couple only told you to expect nine for the rehearsal. The first surprise of the night is waiting for them out in the garden.

Cameron frowns slightly, tilting her head as she catches the error. From what you’ve shown her, you don’t make mistakes. “Eleven?”

“Eleven.” Waving one beckoning hand, you head out to the garden with Marcus, Cameron, and Michael in tow.

There are big batches of raspberry iced tea ready for tonight and all the guests gathered in the garden have glasses already. A few people are chatting but mostly they are looking around, inspecting early flowers blossoming in the flower beds from the warm spring, and the large planters that have already been brought in to be part of the decor for the wedding. In amongst the guests — the joyful friends and select family members who had offered continuous support — are Agent Cameron’s parents.

“Mom? Dad?” Cameron’s tone is nearly disbelieving and that makes Marcus’s heart hurt.

Mr. Cameron unwinds his arm from around his nervous-looking wife’s waist and rubs his hands together. “I hope we aren’t crashing your party.” He wants to set her and Michael at ease that they aren’t here to cause trouble. “I got a call from your boss a few days ago.” He glances over at Marcus briefly before turning his attention back to his only daughter. “Who told me, in much more eloquent terms, that I was a horse’s ass and would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t support you and Wiley.” He explains. “Your mother and I….we would like to come to the wedding and if it’s possible, maybe I could give you away?” He hopes that she will let him but if not, he would understand.

“Really?” A grown woman of more than thirty years, Joyce Cameron tears up immediately and clutches her fiancé’s hand while staring — gob smacked — at both of her parents. The whole thing doesn’t even register for a few seconds before she looks over at Marcus with a watery smile. “I don’t know a lot of people who can say their boss saved their wedding, and this is so much more than just one day.” She turns to hug Marcus fiercely before walking the six steps across the lawn she needs to embrace both of her parents.

Michael hangs back, giving his fiancée her moment with her parents as he turns to look at Marcus in astonishment. “How?” He demands, making the older man shrug.

“I asked them if they would be proud of the union if you shared marks.” He tells him. “They said you were a good man, and I reminded them that is all they should want for their daughter. A good man. One who treats her like a queen. And she’s found that. In you.”

"I guess it took somebody from the outside." Wiley shrugs, though, watching his fiancée hug her parents with happy tears in her eyes. "She deserves this, Marcus. Thank you." He murmurs, before stepping up to shake his soon-to-be father-in-law's hand and leaving Marcus standing with you on the edge of the garden.

Marcus smiles, happy that he has been able to help Joyce again, even if it means that he’s lost out on walking her down the aisle. He will happily be relegated to just a guest in this case. After a minute or so of quiet where Marcus doesn't step away from you, you nudge his side playfully with your elbow. "It's good to see you in person again."

“Glad it’s not accompanied by screaming parents, disturbing the peace and police reports.” He snorts, turning and giving you a friendly grin. It’s all he can muster but hopefully it’s believable. “But at least I didn’t get thrown into the dungeon for trying to steal the jewels.”

"They were very meek and apologetic when they got here," you assure him. The maid of honor — a cousin, apparently — had been shocked to see them but things had gone okay after the initial surprise wore off. For now, it's only good things with this wedding party so you can turn your attention to Marcus. "It would've caused quite a scandal if I had to go over there and bail you out, so I'm also glad you didn't get into any scrapes across the pond. I don't know if my curtsy is good enough for groveling."

He laughs slightly and then looks back at the older couple talking with the younger one. The relief is staggering from both sides and he sighs happily. “Guess I’m out of the rehearsal.”

"No reason you can't stay." It probably comes out too quickly, but the last thing you want is for him to leave. Not when you have...things you want to say. "You're the hero of the night. Stay and have a little supper, at least. I'm sure they don't want you to go."

“I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.” He assures you. “Not when I can stay and bask in the happiness that my meddling worked.”

"Bask in it all you like. You earned it." Just like you're basking in this — just standing here beside him while the warmth of his presence washes over you like an exquisite sunset.

“Just like you.” Marcus turns towards you. “Are you not charging them? Or did the other place pony up some money?”

"I couldn't bear to charge them anything," you admit, shrugging your shoulders slightly. It's not something you're doing for the praise — it's something you're doing for the love of him as much or more than any other reason. "Derby Farms' lawyers are putting together compensations for all the clients who lost their dates and deposits and all...and it covered the expenses here. They already paid for their wedding once. And Sydney's food is better than what they serve anyway."

“So let me give you this.” He pulls the envelope out of his coat again. “To help. Because you just said they ‘are’ not they ‘have’.” He points out. “You have expenses.”

"You don't have to do anything, Marcus." Pressing the envelope gently back toward him, you just shake your head once so you don't draw any kind of attention from the happy wedding party or their officiant as he gets them all into order. "You asked me for a favor and I take that very seriously."

“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be paid.” He huffs, knowing that your time is precious and you have worked miracles with the short amount allotted.

"I know. But this is...it's more than just a few days of business. It's their happiness. And—" Your head tilts slightly, knowing that you didn't plan for this kind of timing but now you have a bit of extra time. "Do you...would you mind if we...talked? Just for a couple of minutes, since the rehearsal will go perfectly smoothly without either of us?"

Marcus feels his stomach flip and he swallows slightly, wondering why you want to talk to him. “Sure.” He says breezily.

You nod to the right, to where one of the small outbuildings that you use as a staging area has been staged for tonight, instead. Set up with twinkle lights and a little set of Bluetooth speakers and a small something for Marcus, you feel like you're visibly shaking as you walk to what used to be a shed and is now quite fixed up and neatly painted. The lights and music aren't on — not wanting to force a romantic mood on him in case he reacts poorly in any way to what you have to say — but privacy is good regardless.

"I...before anything else, I owe you an apology," you start, inhaling and exhaling deeply once the thin door has tapped shut behind you both.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His rebuttal is automatic, along with the frown on his face.

"Yes I do." The nerves are running through you like lightning strikes, but you wrote out all of what you wanted to say and if you get through half of it you'll be very proud of yourself. "I kept something from you. Something important. And I thought I had kept a lid on it until I was prepared to really explain why I kept quiet. But then I found out at family dinner last week that Junie had gone and spilled the beans on me at the State dinner and I just..." Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. "I should have told you that I suspected we were soulmates right away. And I didn't. So I'm sorry, I just hope you'll let me explain why."

Marcus freezes and he wants to walk away. Fear, true fear curling in his gut. The fear of being rejected by the person the universe had said was supposed to be his. To realize that he wasn’t good enough for anyone. “You don’t—” he shakes his head. “Please don’t. Not right before Cameron’s wedding.” He asks softly.

"I know." You hang your head in turn, the bravery evaporating from you far faster than the weeks it has taken you to build it all up. "You're seeing Vanessa. And that's part of why I kept things to myself. If you really—" Nearly hiccupping at the idea of full-on rejection when you had been dreaming of any other reaction, you nod dumbly and try not to look as crestfallen as you feel. "I'm sorry. I should have kept it to myself a while longer, I guess."

Marcus chuckles dryly, surprised that he can in a moment like this. “I went to her after the State dinner.” He admits, looking down at his loafers and wishing he was still in the wedding after all. “I needed to tell her that I— that it was— to end things.” He sighs and gives a self-amused smirk at the ground. “Only to get dumped before I could open my mouth.” He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “She apparently discovered who her soulmate was.”

"When it rains, it pours." Your laugh is hollow, still afraid, and you twist your arms behind your back nervously. "So...all the phone calls...all the times I swore to myself I wasn't going to flirt with you on the phone...we've both been single the whole time?"

“You’re dating Sam.” He murmurs, as if to remind you even though it’s odd you would say that. It is too much of a hope to have that you had ended things with him.

"I told you at the State dinner that I was ending things." Although it does, somehow for the very first time, occur to you that you didn't actually tell him you had done it. "I meant it. I broke up with him the next day."

“Why?” The question is quiet, although he would normally never pry, he needs to know.

"Do you want the complete or abridged list of reasons?" Attempting at humor falls short, and you find yourself swallowing down that fear mixed with bile that is threatening to bubble up your throat. "Well... whichever list you pick... this biggest reason is... is actually you." Inhale. Exhale. Try to remember everything you wrote down over the last week. "Because from the moment you walked in the front door of the inn, you took my breath away. And not just because you're handsome, although I admit that's undeniable. It's the way you seem to make things effortless. Easy conversations and god you have the most incredible laugh. It's like music. Everything about you has just built up and built up and... and somehow it isn't just oh, I like Marcus more than I like Sam. It's the way something inside me started tugging toward you right away and I didn't know what it was. All the cracks in the veneer I had built up of convincing myself that I was happy before... I've been happier being friends with you than I was in that entire relationship."

As the rambling boils over, the small speech you prepared is abandoned, and for better of your worse you find yourself laying your heart bare right there on the floor of the work shed. "I told myself I couldn't tell you that I was falling in love with you until I had made sure that I was doing it for the right reasons, but I don't even know what the right reasons are anymore. I just... know that my entire life I've felt like I was reaching for the moon. And every time you smile at me, it makes me feel like the moon is reaching for me, instead."

There’s a moment when his heart stops. Skips a beat or just falters from the emotions. Recognizing the line, it’s almost embarrassing how misty his eyes become. “You quoted Sabrina.” He murmurs, finally able to catch his breath and pure pleasure rushes through him when he realizes that this isn’t the ‘sorry we can’t’ speech he had been anticipating. “I didn’t want cause you problems.” He admits softly. “But I was – expecting this to be more of a reasons why you couldn’t be with me, speech. So you’ve surprised me.”

He smiles at you again. “From the moment I met you, I felt like I knew you. That you were someone precious to me.” He whispers. “And you are. Not just for the ridiculous tattoo we share—” he jokes, reaching for your hand. “But because of the woman you are. Hardworking, kind, smart, generous, beautiful – inside and out.”

His touch soothes and burns all at once, scorching you and making you feel lighter than air. All the grand, elaborate plans you made have gone out the window, and now it’s just you and Marcus standing together alone with your hearts in your throats. “Every realistic way I imagined this going…most of them ended in a polite denial or a reminder that you’re seeing someone,” you admit, exhaling a shaky breath. “I almost don’t know what to do now.”

“Neither do I.” Marcus can only laugh because he’s so hesitant right now. So sure you had wanted to just pretend he wasn’t your soulmate, he hadn’t even realized he had discounted the possibility you wanted the connection.

“I had a whole plan.” A fact which now makes your cheeks burn just as much as your hand is where he’s still holding it. “It was much more romantic than just spilling my guts to you all at once, I promise.”

“A plan?” He frowns slightly in confusion.

Not willing to take your hand back from him, you reach over with your free one and flip a few light switches — turning off the main lights in the small room and turning on the twinkling fairy lights instead. The small Bluetooth speaker crackles to life to begin playing Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose, and a small, cylindrical box nearby holds a single, ivory Eternity rose. Opening it now feels almost backward, but you still want Marcus to have the small token of your affection. “My first thought was honestly to whisk us both off to Paris for a weekend,” you admit, laughing at your own romanticism. “But when I reined myself in a little, I realized that all I really want is to spend time with you. So… Marcus Pike…” you hold out the wax treated rose just like a nervous high schooler and admit to yourself that that is how you feel right now. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

He’s been asked out before, he has. He’s been hit on in bars or through dating apps, but this feels significant, because no one has ever put a lot of thought or effort into doing something for him. “Maybe Paris next weekend.” He chuckles, taking the rose and reaching out to cup your face with it in his hand. “This weekend we have a wedding and a birthday party.” He hums softly. “And maybe the flea market on Sunday?” He would say a baseball game, but the season hasn’t started yet.

“I’d really like that.” With his hand there it’s nearly impossible not to lean into his palm, and the feeling of nearly shaking apart with excitement shoots through you again. “As long as…” The nerves return, but you swallow them down carefully. “You don’t mind being seen out with me? People tend to take notice these days… and there’s always a chance of being photographed. Well… you saw the papers after the dinner…”

“I don’t care if the whole world knows that I’m out with you.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I’ll be proud to stand beside you. Not because I want any kind of fame or recognition, but because I’m with you.” He smiles. “Although sunglasses and a baseball cap work wonders for making people second guess if you want anonymity.”

“We’ll have to give it a try.” You’re beaming at him, absolutely grinning from ear to ear, and the feeling of rightness in this moment is nearly overwhelming. “I would’ve told you all this two weeks ago if I’d known on that first phone call that we were both single already. But I’m glad we got to do this face to face instead.”

“Getting away was best.” Marcus admits softly. “I was having a hard time reminding myself that you weren’t available.”

Nuzzling your cheek into his hand is as easy as breathing, and you laugh softly. “I think if you had asked, I would have come running.”

He smiles and gazes at you softly. “This is real? I’m not dreaming?” He jokes.

“If you’re dreaming, then we both are.” It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this giddiness, and even getting lost in his eyes at this moment feels like a gift.

“Sweetheart…” Marcus brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “May I kiss you?” Even if you are his soulmate, and want to be with him, you deserve to be asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you admit after a soft laugh. “I’m glad we’re already on the same page.”

“Good.” Marcus is stepping closer the second you say that. His other hand on your hip gently and he smirks slightly. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to kiss you during that dance.”

“About half as badly as I wanted to kiss you?” It’s good that you didn’t, of course. Not in front of so many people and while you were both still attached to others. But now? In privacy? Your heart is beating wildly out of time. “Please?”

Marcus is happy that his lips aren’t chapped, pressing them together and then parting them slightly. Watching you in wonder as he leans in.

The knock that comes just a second before your lips meet is probably the single most unwelcome interruption in history, and the disappointed sigh you let out when you hear your name called from the other side is practically a growl. "I'll be right there!" You call back, wishing you'd just hesitated slightly less and gotten to that kiss a touch faster.

He chuckles quietly and his own sigh of frustration is smothered. “Duty calls.”

"Hold that thought." You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and give him a gentle hug before turning around to shut off the electronics of your little surprise. He's still holding the rose bud with its trimmed stem, and you gently tuck it into his lapel with a smile. "I'll make it worth being interrupted, I promise."

“It’s okay, Birdie.” He uses your nickname for the first time. “You take care of what you need to.”

"If they're done it means it's time for dinner." It's still his friend's night, even if something has also happened here for you and for Marcus. "Come on." As much as you don't want to, you both have to go back out there. "Sydney made a ton of panzanella salad, giant pans of lasagna and these amazing parfaits of Madagascar vanilla panna cotta, raspberry jam, and pistachio brittle. I can't allow you to miss this dinner." It absolutely sucks to have to open the door, but you're practically beaming you're smiling so hard. "Sydney can't get over the fact that you were talking her up to José Andrés, by the way. I think you have a private chef for life."

“That sounds amazing.” He groans, having missed the last few meals due to traveling. “And I was only telling the truth.”

Coming out of the work shed, you see the wait staff starting to bring beer around to the table — as requested by the couple instead of wine or champagne with their casual rehearsal meal — and you nod toward the gazebo. “Go join your friends. I’m going to go check in in the kitchen and make sure Syd has everything under control.”

“Talk later?” He asks seriously, lifting a brow at you. There’s a lot to talk about obviously, but he does want to kiss you.

“If you want to stay late, I’m not going to be upset.” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you realize it could be taken as an overnight invitation, and while that wasn’t what you meant originally, you’re also not going to turn him away if he wants to stay the night. Apparently your old tendency to be fast-moving in potential relationships is back with gusto.

He smiles softly and nods, trying not to read into it, but he will be talking to you later.

Telling yourself you’re walking back to the main building at a reasonable pace, you know you’re racing when you bust in the back door and practically fling yourself into the kitchen as the waitstaff is bringing dinner out to the wedding party.

“There you are!” Sydney is rushing around, checking everything as she grins at you. “You disappeared on me.”

“Sorry.” In all honesty, you hadn’t expected things to go so well, and you were happily tucked away in a little vortex where time didn’t exist. “I lost track of time…talking to Marcus.”

“Oh!” She immediately stops and comes over to you. “How did it go?” She knows you’ve been worrying over possibly the most important conversation of your life.

Absolutely deadpan — or at least as close to it as you can get right now — you tilt your head at Sydney. "I'm firing your head server for interrupting us before he could kiss me."

“Done.” She snaps her fingers playfully. “Gone.” She insists. “Oh my god! He was going to kiss you! How did— so obviously he’s not upset, right? Unless it was going to be an angry kiss? But I don’t see Marcus being an angry kisser. Do you?” She’s rambling because she’s happy, ecstatic for you really. Now dreaming of a happily ever for you.

“It was definitely not angry.” Now that Syd is bubbling over too, you start giggling all over again. “We’re going to go out on Sunday, which means we’re spending like half the weekend together.”

“Half?” She snorts and shakes her head. “You mean all.” Holding up her hand she smirks. “Wedding Friday, you are going to attend and you know it.” She holds up one finger. “Then your birthday party.” She holds up another finger. “And now a date on Sunday.” She holds up three fingers altogether. “That’s all the days of the weekend, my love.”

"I will be working the wedding and seeing him for part of each day doesn’t mean he’ll want to see me all day." Even as primly as you try to present it, you know she's right, and the giggles boil over once again. "He's got the rose in his lapel and I can't wait for him to realize that it's the special kind that's been treated to last for years."

“And in return, he’s going to support you like you’ve never been supported before.” She snicker, beaming at you. Now that Sam is gone, she’s realizing how much more enthusiastic you are about the inn again. Like the zeal had been suppressed when you were with him. Or maybe planning this wedding is what has snapped you out of the funk.

“There was a dirty pun in there somewhere,” you observe, giving her a playful side eye. “Or maybe I just hope there was.”

She smirks and waggles her brows at you. “Are you needing a good romp, Birdie?” She asks playfully.

“Listen.” Wagging a finger at her, you blow out a breath and lower your voice, making sure no one else can hear you. “There nothing wrong with missionary. Nothing, as long as it’s done right. But a girl likes a little variety.”

“You mean you want your hair pulled while you’re railed from behind and he slaps your ass right above that dirty little tattoo and calls you his filthy, gorgeous little cum dumpster?” She winks wickedly at you.

Your deadpan expression comes back just long enough to tease her, and you put one hand on your best friend’s shoulder seriously. “Thanks for the insight into how my goddaughter was conceived.”

“You’re welcomed.” She snorts, laughing at herself. “I wel-cummed too!”

“Oh my Fuckin god.” Snorting, you turn away to grab your clipboard and try to compose yourself but are still laughing when you head for the door again. “Okay. I gotta back out there and pretend I’m not thinking about fucking that gorgeous man in the bathtub. Byyyyyeeee.”

“Byyyyyyyyeeee!” She afflicts the same tone you do and waves happily before diving back into making sure every dessert is perfect.

**

For a wedding that has been so fraught with stress, the rehearsal dinner goes perfectly. Dinner is delicious and by the end of the night, it’s obvious that Cameron and her soon-to-be husband are feeling both much more relaxed and more excited for their big day.

“Tonight is about you.” Marcus lifts his beer in a toast and smiles at them. “In two days, you will be married.” He chuckles. “And then I don’t want to see you in the office for two weeks.” He tells his agent fondly.

“She’ll be in good hands, I promise.” From the edge of the gazebo, you offer everyone a smile.

“You have planned everything perfectly.” Cameron smiles and stands quickly, walking over to hug you.

“It’s been my pleasure,” you assure her honestly, giving the very sweet bride a squeezing hug back. “I forgot how much I enjoy the hustle of wedding planning.”

“You have done such an amazing job. I would never know you didn’t do it all the time.” She promises you.

"I'm glad you're not upset to be stuck with second fiddle while Juan is out of town. I promise I consulted him every step of the way." The two of you exchange another hug as people start to get up from the table, all of them milling about and not quite ready to say good night. "You have a spa day tomorrow for your bachelorette right? Enjoy it."

“My mom is coming with me too.” For a moment, she looks like she’s going to cry again. Only happy tears though. “I can’t believe it.”

"Bask in that happiness, Joyce. You deserve it." Over the past two weeks it's become very routine for the two of you to check in with each other, and the text message thread you share has been as cram full of memes, music recommendations, and little affirmations as anything else. It's an unexpected start to a friendship, but a friendship nonetheless.

“I can’t believe Marcus called them.” Even hearing it from them again, she’s still in awe. Especially because they had changed their minds. “I just wish Michael’s parents would be here. That would make it perfect.”

"They might need a little more time to come around, but don't let that hold a cloud over your day." You squeeze her arms gently in both hands, prompting both of you to smile. "It's going to be a wonderful day no matter what. You get to marry the man you love. That's what matters."

“That is all that matters.” She smiles in that giddy, secretive way as her eyes automatically drift over to where her fiancé is talking with Marcus and her father. Looking a little more dreamy when she sees the man she will create a life with.

"Go on." Nudging her a little and grinning, you have to acknowledge that at least half your smile is for Marcus, but it's a private acknowledgement. "Have a fantastic day tomorrow and I'll see you Friday morning to start getting ready."

“I will.” She promises. “And when we come back, I want to take you and Sydney out to lunch. One that she doesn’t fix.”

"Deal. We'll want to hear all about the honeymoon anyway." As soon as you agree she's skittering off again, excitable and oh so ready to spend some time with her almost husband.

Somehow, Marcus has been talked into a round of golf with Cameron’s father and Michael tomorrow, although he’s not sure how that happened.

You don't butt in and don't eavesdrop, just quietly start clearing the table of dirty dishes and loading up trays with silverware and glasses to be brought back inside to clean. The party has already started slowly wandering across the lawn to the parking lot so you know it won't be too much longer before you can shut down and get upstairs. If Marcus is too tired after everything to want to talk tonight, you'll absolutely understand. It's not like you won't see him again in just two days' time.

Marcus says goodnight to everyone and looks around, finding another tray of dishes loaded up to take inside and he picks it up. Assuming you are already taking more back and he can help you clean up.

When he walks into the kitchen with a full tray to hand off to the dishwasher, your already bright smile gets impossibly bigger. “You’re a guest,” you remind him, lifting the tray from his hands and reveling in the tiniest touch of skin to skin regardless of how fleeting it is. “You don’t have to clean up.”

“And you shouldn’t have to do everything when I have two empty hands.” Marcus replies with a grin.

“As helpful as you are handsome.” Now that the line has been crossed — now that you can — flirting is probably going to bleed through into just about everything.

He doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that enthusiastic flirtation, so he just shrugs slightly, aware of how his cheeks are heating up. “I try.” Is all he can muster.

“Sorry,” you cringe for a second, realizing you might have stepped too far over that newly crossed line, and you bit your lip. “Too much?”

“No.” He shakes his head quickly, not wanting you to feel like you have done something wrong. “Not at all. It’s just—” he shrugs self-consciously again. “I liked it, a lot.”

“Okay.” The momentary pause with both of you smiling at each other like star struck idiots is broken by the sound of Sydney clearing her throat.

“Go,” she insists to you, even making a shooing motion with her hand. “We’ve got clean up. Go upstairs.”

“I— are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly, aware that Sydney is pregnant and has to be tired.

“I have tons of help.” Motioning around the kitchen before she shoos you again, Syd considers his concern for her an extra mark in his favor, but insists. “Seriously, go on. And don’t let her do any more work tonight. She’s been going nonstop without the benefit of a whole staff to help her.”

“I won’t.” Marcus promises, looking back at you. “I’ll make sure she does nothing but relax.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Sydney grins, throwing you a wink before turning back to the tray of things she was unloading.

He doesn’t know what all was said, but obviously there’s been a conversation between you and your best friend. “Do you want to buy a bottle of wine to take upstairs?” He suggests.

“Sounds perfect.” More than anything it implies that he wants to stay for a little while, and you’re very happy to hear that.

He figures that will let you relax; you can have some time to talk and then you can go to bed after he leaves. “Okay.” He smiles. “Any particular bottle you’re fond of?”

“I don’t know a whole lot about wine.” You had been trying to absorb whatever Sam had told you about a particular bottle or style, but it hadn’t been sticking well. “I’ve been sticking with sweeter wines, but if you have something you like I’d love to try it.”

“Sweet.” He decides it’s a perfect time to flirt back. “I’ll try to pick one that’s as sweet as you are.” He promises before he walks out of the kitchen to look at the wine rack.

"If you'll excuse me." Glancing over at Sydney, both of you grin at each other. "I'm going to go scream into a pillow about how cute that man is."

“Maybe you’ll scream into a pillow for a different reason.” She teases, throwing you another wicked wink. “Go get your soulmate, Tiger.”

While you absolutely would not mind, you don't think that's on the docket for tonight. Still, you smack a kiss on your best friend's cheek and head down the hallway to find Marcus coming out of the bottle room with a bottle of Riesling in hand. "Find something you approve of?"

“I think this will satisfy us both.” He hums, smiling at the sight of you. “Are you hungry? We could order something to be delivered.”

"I have the makings of an excellent charcuterie in my fridge upstairs, if you're interested?" While the wedding party ate, you picked minimally at a small bowl of salad and gotten some other things done, so a snack along with your wine sounds perfect. "If nothing there looks good to you, there are lots of places that deliver."

“I always love a good charcuterie.” Marcus admits, nodding easily. “As long as you are content. I notice you didn’t eat much and I’m sure you didn’t eat in the kitchen when you were running around.”

His caretaking tendencies are endearing, and since he had mentioned to you before that his ex wasn't a fan of them, you offer him a sincere smile. It's...sort of remarkable the way he notices things but you have to think that some of that comes out of his professional training. "You were supposed to be having fun, not keeping an eye on me," you chide gently as you walk together toward the elevator. Agent Bailey is keeping her distance but always present, trying to give you a bit of privacy while still doing her job.

“It’s hard not to notice a beautiful woman.” Marcus comes back easily. “Especially knowing what we know now, it’s impossible.” He isn’t going to rush you, not on the heels of a previous relationship, but he wants to get to know you. Learn more about his soulmate.

"That makes me feel slightly less self-conscious about always feeling like there's a magnet in my eyes whenever you're around," you admit. The elevator dings on the bottom floor, expelling two guests, and the three of you get in together once it's empty.

“I felt extremely guilty about how interested I was in you, from the very beginning.” He admits softly. “But I never would have said a word. That invitation to dinner was just a friendly invite.”

"That's all I took it as. And how I meant it when I accepted. It's just...that interest has always been there. For both of us, I guess." The ride to your apartment in the attic doesn't take long. It's only four floors, after all.

“Good. Soulmate or not, I don’t— cheating is not something I approve of or want to engage in.” He assures you. It’s not like being a soulmate would prevent cheating, there are still crappy human beings in the world.

"Cheating is really my biggest...I won't call it a trauma from earlier relationships, but definitely the issue that weighs most heavily on me. I absolutely do not and cannot condone it." The door to your apartment swings open easily and Agent Bailey steps inside to do her usual check of things before settling onto a chair by your door. Marcus has only been to your place once, but it's not exactly large so it's easy to see pretty much everything from the front entry. "My agents have free reign in my kitchen, also. Just...in case I never thought to mention that. I keep snacks they like on hand, and the coffee they like. Plus sometimes you might see a lunch bag or something on the bottom shelf. It's my home, but it's also their workplace, so I try to make sure they feel like they can be comfortable."

“That’s very nice of you.” He chuckles and glances at Agent Bailey. “I’m sure it’s appreciated. Sometimes eating during work is hard isn’t it?” She nods and he glances back at you. “Why don’t you go change into your comfy clothes and I’ll get everything?”

"There's platters and boards in the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator." On a more casual evening, you would have tipped your head back to kiss him, but something in your gut tells you that your first kiss with this man will be anything but casual and not to waste that little bit of magic. "I'll be right back."

“Take your time.” He smiles. “Agent Bailey can help if I need to find something.”

If it wasn’t the first time you’re spending time together like this, and if there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on hand, you might have gone into your room and found something slinky or lacy or otherwise revealing to put on. Slip into something a little more comfortable, as the movies always used to say. Instead, you trade your cigarette pants for a pair of yoga pants that you routinely sleep in, and trade the very tailored, carefully fitted blouse and push up bra for an old tank top that is soft on your skin and an oversized sweatshirt from Kings College, back when you were in London. The decision to wipe your makeup off and just be a bare, clean version of you is one you take very seriously. Some men expect their partners to be ‘on’ at all times and that isn’t you.

Marcus finds your kitchen to be small, but set up in a very easy to use kind of way. He follows your directions for the board, and opens the wine to let it breathe before diving into your fridge and small pantry to put together a board based off what you have. You were right, you have all the makings for an excellent board and he hums as he works.

It’s certainly less than ten minutes that you’re gone, but when you reappear again, Marcus has created a masterpiece of a board and fished two wine glasses out of your cupboard to boot. He looks so natural — standing there in your kitchen with his shirt collar hanging open and a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to twist slices of prosciutto into something resembling a knot or a flower — that it makes you downright emotional. In all the months you were with Sam, he had barely done more than fix you a cup of coffee.

Looking up when he senses movement, he beams at the sight of you all dressed down. Even more beautiful than you had been when he arrived. “How did you manage to do that?” He asks, abandoning the prosciutto to scoop up a wine glass and walk around the bar to bring it to you. “You look even better than you did when you walked into your room.”

“He prefers the casual look.” You beam at him, letting the heat in your cheeks burn the rest of your face as well. “Noted.”

“You are beautiful dressed up or dressed down.” He promises, smiling as he hands you the wine. “Go sit and I’ll bring the food over. The couch?”

“Perfect.” It seems like you’re saying that a lot, but your face is on fire with the compliment as you accept the wine glass from him and glance back at your living room. There are a few candles around just because you like the ambiance, and you quickly gather them to put out on your coffee table. When was the last time anyone had just…taken charge and spoiled you like this? Maybe years ago? Maybe never. It’s certainly not something Sam ever did — those situations always seemed to be you serving him and never about meeting in the middle or treating you. The realization stings, but only for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind.” It takes him a second to gather up the board, his wine and the bottle, but he manages it before he starts to walk over. “I found a little bag of chocolate candies and I love having chocolate with cheese.”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re perfectly right about those two together.” The board he sets down looks like it belongs on the cover of a cookbook or a food blog, and it looks like he found your nearly-done jar of blackberry jam too, because there is a ramekin of it on the board next to some of your favourite sesame crackers. “This is…” It’s perfect, but since you keep using that word, you search for another. “It’s such an indulgence, and a beautiful one, too.”

He’s never described himself as someone who preens, but he definitely wallows in your praise just a bit. “I took a charcuterie board making class.” He explains. “I thought it would be a good date. Food, learning, wine. The date didn’t work out, but I enjoyed the class.”

“And you clearly absorbed everything they taught you.” Shifting over on the couch, you take the wine bottle from him and set it on a thick coaster before inspecting the magic he’s made of all the bits and pieces from your kitchen. “Thank you for this. I know you must be tired from traveling and everything, but I’m glad we actually have a chance to talk.”

“You’ve been busy too.” He reminds you softly, leaning over and nudging your shoulder gently. “Putting on a wedding in two weeks’ time with little help.” He huffs slightly. “I hope you know that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I called you for a favor.”

“I know it’s not.” The first sip of the wine you take is sharp and fruity up front, mellowing on your tongue and warming you through just seconds later. “But you wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important to you, and…you’re important to me. So I wanted everything to be perfect.”

He can’t help but give a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, covering it up by taking his own sip of wine. “I appreciate it, so much. You can see why it was important. Cameron— I guess I need to start calling her Joyce— and Michael are such good people.

“I wanted you to know you could count on me,” you admit, sitting forward to compose your first little bite. “And I ended up making new friends in the process.”

“I think that is probably the best part.” Marcus smiles as you pick and poke until you get the bite you want on your cracker.

A sesame cracker with creamy Brie and a little dab of Calabrian chili jam — not traditional, but an experiment of Syd’s — is first and you practically giggle at how well it all goes together. Even the sweet wine seems to be perfect with the spicy jam. “So…” The beginning of something like this, not that you’ve ever sat down to have a methodical chat with your soulmate before, feels important and intimidating. “Do you mind if we sort of lay things out in the proverbial table? Just kind of be open with each other going into this?”

“I think that would be the best way to handle things.” Marcus admits, hoping that the way you’ve phrased that isn’t some kind of ominous prelude of what’s to come. You surely wouldn’t flirt with him and then crush his hopes? He picks up his own cracker and puts a slice of very sharp cheddar and a fig onto it with a smear of the blackberry jam on top.

“We’ve already talked about wanting kids.” That day at Eastern Market has stuck in your mind, although you couldn’t have known then that it would become such an important topic for you. “And I…I’m actually looking forward to being married. To have a partner who is my confidante and my friend and my support as well as being along for whatever fun and mischief might come up in our lives. I just…my family means the world to me and the fact that I couldn’t see a future with Sam where we were equal partners in an equal marriage was one of the major reasons I knew it wasn’t going to work out.”

Marcus chews his bite, understanding what you are meaning. “So you are asking if I can handle the political, social spotlight and put up with the interferences that it might cause in our personal lives?”

“Partially.” You nod and go back in to build another bite. Serious conversations somehow always make you hungry, so this was a good idea. “I’m also asking if your dream or your future includes a wife who stays at home with the kids, because that isn’t a version of me that I have ever found realistic.”

Marcus laughs, shaking his head and reaching out to pick up a candy, offering it to you instead of eating it himself. “No.” He snorts. “God no, I’ve never had any dreams of having a wife at home to cook and clean, bring me my slippers or anything of the sort.” He assures you. “My parents both worked, my father was constantly traveling. My mother would sometimes work late. We had my family, family friends, babysitters to help her when he was gone. I know that this inn is important to you.” He stresses carefully. “What you decide to do, that is what I would want you to do.”

The chocolate drop is such a small offering physically, but the warmth is spreads through you to accept is something you can’t really describe. Marcus just puts you so at ease, even with small gestures. “I saw my father give things up to help my mother achieve everything she ever wanted,” you tell him honestly. “And while I know he’s happy, it isn’t what he dreamed of. And I’ve just always wanted to find a way to make sure my partner and I could both have our dreams come true.”

“My own dreams are pretty simple.” He shrugs. “I want an equal partnership. Kids. A healthy family dynamic where sometimes I have to take off work because the kids are sick, or you have to take them to work because I’m out of town. I like compromises.”

“Compromises are good.” The chocolate melts slowly on your tongue, mixing with wine and making you smile again. “I like traditions, too. Mixing your family traditions with mine and then coming up with some new ones all our own.”

“And I understand that for the next three to seven years, your family is….well, prioritized, for lack of a better word, and I’m okay with that.” He knows that there will be press obligations and holidays where you need to be present. He wouldn’t begrudge you that.

“You don’t mind Friday night family dinners, or a Secret Service detail, or the fact that people are going to feel entitled to know things about us or have opinions about us?” Sam had said he didn’t mind. And sometimes you thought he even basked in it a little, but the reality is that he doesn’t like things he can’t control. You just hope Marcus is willing to be a little more flexible.

“Do I love the idea of people judging our lives when they don’t actually know the details?” Marcus shrugs slightly. “No, but at the same time, I understand that it will happen. I’m not going to be upset at you for it.” He glances back at Agent Bailey who is comfortably sitting in a chair and trying to not listen in on your conversation. “Your detail is a necessary evil. I would never want you to get rid of them. I know the types of threats your family can receive.”

“My Dad’s already gotten a few.” Of course your mother has, but as the first female President she had expected that and has just handed the pertinent materials over to the Secret Service. “He just says it’s proof that Mom is a strong leader that some people also feel strongly against her. But that doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He can agree with that. “But some think that the sin of the mother, in this case…” he picks up a grape and offers it to you. “Are you worried I will hate it, or love it?”

“The attention?” Without even thinking, the bite of cheese and prosciutto in your hand instantly becomes his in exchange for the grape, like a reflex. Sharing easily and just instinctively giving things back and forth without worry. “I’m terrified that you’ll start to resent it and resent me by association.”

“Never happen.” He can promise you that with absolute certainty. “I am the son of a therapist, remember?” He teases lightly, tapping your nose. “I talk when things bother me. I don’t hide from them.”

“I’m the daughter of two lawyers, one of whom turned politician.” It’s impossible not to nudge toward him, the endearing little boop to your nose making you smile like an idiot all over again. “We’ll talk about it, but as soon as you’ve given me your opening statement I’ll have a cross-examination, a motivational monologue, and an emotional closing argument ready to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You do realize that I’ve got quite a bit of experience on the stand, right?” He asks, picking up another cracker and recreating your first bite to hold out to you. He had enjoyed the way you moaned over it.

“And if I remember correctly, you said you also debated at the family dinner table.” This time you spread some of the goat cheese from the board onto a piece of baguette and top it with a chocolate drop for him to try. “So I think we’re going to be just fine and the communication front.”

“I don’t foresee any grand problems.” He agrees. “But if there are issues, we talk and work them out.”

“I completely agree,” you even nod as you hold the bite out for him to try.

He takes the bite out of your hand, just leaning forward and eating from your hand. “Oh that’s good!”

The casual intimacy of the gesture and the slightly cavewoman-esque feeling of feeding and giving life being connected aren’t exactly things you expected to mix so easily. But here you are squirming in your seat and trying not to set on fire with it. “Damn it, Marcus,” you laugh despite yourself.

“What?” The question is innocent enough, but Marcus has enough experience to know what he’s doing to you. The slight smirk twisting his lips giving him away.

“You’re a tease,” you huff, pouting at him animatedly.

“I’ve been called that before.” He admits, picking up another cracker and putting together another little morsel for you as a peace offering. “Do you not like that?”

The slight snicker and smirk you have for him is good natured, and it turns into a wry smile. “I like it better when I’m allowed to climb the offending teaser like a tree.”

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks and he would be lying if his body didn’t immediately react. “Yeah?” His voice is a little raspy choking out the word. “You’d like that, huh?”

“I’m not planning on rushing you,” you assure him, but you still put down your wine glass. “You did just get out of a relationship.”

“As did you.” He points out, leaning back and staring at you, trying to gauge your position on this.

“I did.” It’s nearly a standoff now, but not in a hostile way. Just in a way where you’re both wondering who will break first. “So I’m not saying we should sleep together right away, but I still really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be completely honest?” Marcus asks, almost a little ashamed of even having to admit this.

“I prefer it.”

Reaching for your hand, he chuckles slightly. “I really want to kiss you too. And more….but I just flew in less than an hour before I got here.” He reminds you. “I’m afraid that I would not be at my best if we did anything tonight and I would like to make a good impression the first time.”

“That’s completely fair.” And actually makes you laugh a little. Not because you’re laughing at him but because it’s so human. “So we’ll come to it when we’re ready. And when we’re well rested.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not interested, because I am.” He promises. “But I also don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of learning your body.”

“Well when you put it like that, I don’t want that either.” The smile curving your lips and cheeks is bright, though, and you set one hand gently on his knee. “If you need to go home, I’m not going to be offended.”

The hours that he’s been awake are starting to settle onto his shoulders and the half glass of wine makes him sleepy. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “I was supposed to be taking care of you and putting you to bed slightly wine drunk and relaxed.”

"I promise." A gentle squeeze of his leg is a small sign of affection, but a very real one. "You've taken care of me beautifully and this is the most relaxed I've felt in ages."

“Good.” He hums, pleased with that. It’s all he wants to do, to be a good partner and give you what you need.

"If you're already exhausted, you can crash here?" It comes out more like a question than you meant it to, but that's because you realize that you don't actually know how much he had to drink at dinner. Not that Marcus seems drunk to you at all, but everyone is affected by alcohol differently. And you don't want him on the road if he's sleepy and still a little tipsy.

Just the idea of it makes Marcus nearly yawn, sleep that much closer to being a reality. But he still has to protest slightly. “I don’t want to impose…”

"It's not imposing if I offer." You remind him, feeling the sweetness of the moment sort of float down over it like a warm blanket. "I can bring some spare blankets and pillows out here to the couch, or you can come snuggle up in bed with me. It's up to you." The fact is, it's late. And you have a wedding to put on in two days. So maybe it's not sleeping with him for the first time in the traditional sense, but it's definitely intimate in the kind of way that you want to be able to share with him. Either way, you still get to be near him.

“It’s a twenty-minute drive, but honestly I don’t know if I can make it.” He sighs. “I’ll sleep wherever you want me to. How does that sound?”

"I want you in my bed," you admit without apology. "But you deserve rest instead of a handsy girl cuddling next to you. So go use the bathroom and I'll clean up out here and grab you some blankets and a spare pillow. Do you have to go into the office tomorrow?"

Marcus huffs out a sleepy laugh, his battery rapidly draining now that he’s admitted how tired he is. “Worse.” He groans. “We have a seven AM tee time and then I have to go to the office.”

"Who are you golfing with at seven in the morning?" Lifting yourself up off the couch and starting to gather things up, you leave Marcus's wine glass with its last few sips for him to finish if he wants to. The current plan is to wrap this board up in some plastic and have the remains for lunch tomorrow.

“Michael and Joyce’s father.” He moans. “Michael asked me to join, thinking it would be a good buffer, given the fragile relationship.”

"It makes sense, but that's a hell of an early morning." When he follows you into the kitchen with both of your wine glasses, you smile at the padding sound of his shuffled steps. He's definitely tired. "So you golf, then?"

“Not particularly well.” Marcus snorts. “But I’ve had to learn since a lot of directors like to have meetings on a golf course.”

"My Dad used to take us mini golfing when we were kids." The two of you work slowly but in a good rhythm and get things put away easily. "Believe it or not, Junie is the one who really took to it. It's their bonding thing, and she goes putting as a stress relief thing. I vastly prefer yoga."

“I probably need yoga.” Marcus laughs. “But I normally just run.”

"You'd love my yoga class." You finish the last sip of your wine and set your glass on the side of the sink to be washed tomorrow. "I go to puppy yoga once a week."

“Puppy yoga?” That has Marcus both intrigued and confused, thinking that he’s tired enough to be having auditory hallucinations.

"A room full of grown ass adults doing gentle yoga poses with cute little puppies running around the room for the whole hour." When he hands over his glass you put it next to yours and take a quick inventory of things in the kitchen just to make sure that you're all set for the next day. "It's the most relaxing silliness you could possibly ask for."

“That sounds adorable.” He admits with a small smile. “And chaotic at times.”

"Best way to spend a Thursday night in the world." You reach out easily, rubbing Marcus's arm softly. "Go get ready for bed. I'll grab those blankets for you."

“I’m sorry.” He feels guilty, very guilty, that he can’t stay up all night talking to you. However, it’s technically five in the morning in London and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Just an hour or so, and then he couldn’t sleep on the plane. So he is just completely gassed.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Promising him that is easy, like promising the wind that you appreciate its breeze. "I get the feeling that you don't let a lot of people take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. So allow me to be the one person who gets that privilege. At least for now?"

“Can’t be disappointed when no one will if you don’t let them.” He’s so tired it pops out of his mouth without realizing he’s said it, his inner monologue gone.

The utter shock to your system is as much about the hurt in his voice as anything else, and in less than a heartbeat you're wrapping your arms around him to hug him more tightly than you probably mean to. This gentle, sweet, kind man just...put up his walls a lot closer to himself than most other people do to keep his heart guarded from the very worst hurts, and that makes you ache. "I'm sorry people have disappointed you before. But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Shit. “I didn’t mean to say that.” He sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t move away from the hug though, slightly leaning into it.

"I was going to do my best to take care of you anyway," you tell him, overwhelmed in the honesty of the moment. "The only difference is now you know I'm doing it. That's not so bad, right?"

“No.” He can’t deny you, not right now. “Thank you.” He murmurs quietly.

"Come on, honey." When his arms loosen after a few moments, you turn into his side to walk with him. "Let's get you ready to sleep."

“God, I’m sorry.” He snorts. “Think I’ve had…three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours?” It’s almost a question and he can’t quite calculate it.

"That's alright. I'm just glad I didn't send you out onto the road this tired." You never would have forgiven yourself if anything had happened to him, so you're doubly glad that he agreed to stay.

Getting ready for bed is relatively quick. You give him a spare toothbrush and he cleans up quickly for someone so tired. Eager to sleep. Two extra blankets and a spare pillow from your bed make the couch cozy enough, and you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to get comfortable. "Good night," you hum the words, finding his sleepy state endearingly cute but not wanting to tease him about it. "Soulmate."

“Goodnight.” The good thing about Marcus is he can sleep anywhere. Your couch is far superior to the one in his office and he’s almost asleep as his head settles into the pillow. “My beautiful soulmate.” His eyes are already closed. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” He whispers.

______

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My Masterlist!

[morganas-pendragons]

breathe | hunter

Hunter has been struggling with nightmares and guilt over not being able to save Crosshair from siding with the Empire. You are there to pick up the pieces.

AN: OKAY. So. Never in a million years did I think my funky little brain was going to be writing Bad Batch fanfiction again for the first time in like 2-3 years, but here we are. I've been obsessed with Season 3. I have particularly enjoyed Hunter and Crosshair in this season and have had ideas for both of them, so here I am.

Also, for those of you who have been around a while, this season has also gotten my brain rolling with ideas for Jedi!Skip (If you know you know) so if there's interest in that, I will definitely write for it.

Mando'a Translations:

Ad'ika - Little One

Me'suum'ika - Little Moon

Anyway, this is set before Crosshairs return in s3. Female reader.

***

It starts off as it always does with them. Suffering barricaded behind wary eyes, hidden underneath the surface and carefully tucked away to be left until they are alone.

They all do it. They all hide from their emotions, and when embraced, it is only in the quiet of solitude. Only when they are alone. Only when they are the ones able to be haunted by it. Not one of the clones in your charge will dare burden their brothers with their heartache.

Which is why you would have never known of Hunter's despair had it not been for Omega.

You were deep in sleep when little hands wrapped around your shoulders, frantically shaking you awake. "Shhh, ad'ika," You grumbled, throwing your arms over your eyes as Omega continued to shake you from where she knelt beside your cot. "We all need our beauty sleep-"

"No, no. Didn't you hear it? It's Hunter." Omega pleaded. You rose one arm to peer at the young clone through the dark. Even swathed in shadow, you could still make out the desperation written across her face. Whatever she'd seen had clearly scared her. "I think he's having a nightmare in the cockpit. I wasn't sleeping anyway. And when I tried to wake him up, he nearly punched me. I don't think he meant to."

Now fully alert, you allowed yourself to slip out of your tiny cot and follow Omega to the stairs that led to the cockpit of The Marauder. You could just barely see Hunter's dark hair over the pilot's seat.

The two of you had gotten along from the start. When you were assigned to the Bad Batch due to your unconventional means of engaging on the battlefield, The Council had essentially cleaned their hands of you and never bothered to breathe another order in your direction again. You'd preferred it that way.

Hunter had been hesitant to work with a Jedi at first. They all had. When Wrecker had finally been the one to get past your exterior, they all came to learn individual traits about you that each one gravitated to.

For Hunter, however... He was always drawn to the security you offered. Clones were never guaranteed safety. With you, though, he knew he would always find security in your embrace. Even when he believed he didn't deserve it.

Frowning, you swallowed the knot in your throat and laid a hand on Omega's shoulder. She was still staring intently at the cockpit. You knew how close she and Hunter were, especially after Tech's death, and you didn't want her to have to see him wake from the throes of a nightmare.

You opened your mouth to murmur to her when his frantic, broken cry of his brother's name rang out in the silence.

It wasn't Tech's.

"Ad'ika, go back to Wrecker. I'll take care of him."

Omega opened her mouth as if she were going to argue before turning on her heel and padding quietly to where Wrecker was fast asleep. You swallowed your fear and slowly approached the cockpit, the hems of your robes brushing against bare feet as you quietly padded forward until you stopped right behind Hunter.

You peered over the top of the pilot's seat and softened. Hunter was fast asleep, as you had anticipated, his neck and head bent at an awkward angle as his fingers tightly gripped the armrests of the chair. His knuckles were nearly white.

"No, no- Cross, please..." Your heart sank as he fought himself in his dream, fought the image of Crosshair walking away from you and joining the Empire. You wondered what event he was dreaming about. You could very easily slip into his dreams, but you'd promised them during the war you'd never do that unless you had to. "No, Cross!"

You were kneeling with your hand on his thigh by the time he woke up. You could have easily anticipated his next move: Lunging outward to attack an assailant and pin them effectively with his weight against the controls. You chose not to. You needed him this way to give him the comfort he was going to be seeking.

"Hunter." You whisper. Smooth, soft fingers glide through his hair to part it and allow you to see his eyes. He's staring right at you. Staring right at you with dark eyes so wide and fearful you almost wonder if he is seeing something you're not. That's probably the worst part. The clones are always anticipating what you, a Jedi, cannot see. It is usually devastating. "Me'suum'ika."

It's the roll of Mando'a off your tongue that finally coaxes him to properly look at you. The nickname had been given once you'd solidified your standing with him upon settling on Pabu. In the quiet night along the shoreline, Hunter had convinced you to sneak away from the others to spend some time with him alone.

You hummed quietly as Hunter settled over you, dark eyes gleaming against the moonlight above as he caged you with his body and planted his knee between your thighs. "You know," He murmured lowly as he tangled his fingers in the hair at your nape. The gravel of his voice sent shivers down your spine. "I think it's customary to kiss someone once you know they feel the same way about you."

You had only just uttered your heart's confession moments before. He'd been so afraid to admit he felt the same way. So afraid to let himself indulge in his desires, so afraid to admit he was deserving of them.

You rose one hand to rest it in the dip of his chest.

"I think I've got my endearment for you," You whisper, lips quirking upward as you raise yourself to hover mere inches from his mouth. Your breath trembles as it fans his face. He too is swallowing the fear, embracing the courage, and letting himself free fall into that desire he spent so long running from. "Little moon."

"Me'suum'ika," He repeated. You nodded and continued twirling his hair around your fingers, desperately trying to ignore how his body was pressing against yours in just the right way. "I always did like that name."

"I know you do," You whisper. It's only a second later when you catch a glistening flash of tears against his cheeks, and you're leaning upward to kiss them away. He shudders against you at that action and allows you to guide him back to sitting in the pilot's seat. "I know you."

Something flickered across his face as you slowly settled yourself in his lap. Whether or not it was guilt, or shame, or anger... You didn't know. But you'd give anything for him to find some peace in the midst of all this grief.

His breathing is still erratic just under where your hand lays in the dip of his chest. You watch his eyes unfocus as he struggled to ground himself and come fully out of the throes of whatever nightmare he'd endured.

You didn't dare ask him what that was. If it had to do with Crosshair, it was obviously enough for him to look wrecked. Like he hadn't done enough. He'd never felt like he'd done enough to save Crosshair to begin with. And now, with Tech gone...

Well. We all have to end up somewhere.

"I don't know what guilt you carry, or what anger," You guide his hands to your hips and hum quietly as you continue your ministrations of twirling your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered closed and leaned into the warmth of your touch, seeking it out as if it were the only thing that could possibly sate a need he couldn't quite identify. "Or your shame. What I do know is you. I know you. I know you, and your heart, and I know how loyal you are to who you love. How you protect what you love. What happened to Crosshair is not on you, Hunter. We all make our own choices. We are who determines how we end."

Autonomy. Also another new concept for clones.

Hunter swallowed the knot in his throat and leaned forward until his face was tucked against your chest. A long moment of uneasy silence passed before he decided to speak, "I can't get it out of my head. The image of him just standing there and watching us fly away. We failed him. I failed him. And then Tech..."

His voice faded into silence once again. As the leader, you understood carrying losses. You understood the pain of failure when it comes to not being able to protect what's yours. That's one of the things he's come to love about you. You understand him in a way that no one else has ever been able to do.

You tapped his temples once with your fingers. It was a silent question, one you only ever asked when you wanted him to let his guard down enough to help him. To comfort him.

He nodded. The moment he did, Hunter allowed the carefully constructed barricades keeping his emotions at bay to fall, and you swept in to steady him when they did.

Breathe, my love.

You securely wrapped your arms around him and pressed your chin to the top of his head. Underneath your hand, you felt his breathing steadily begin to slow.

He tipped his head back just enough to look up at you. Your fingers continue a downward descent, across the slopes and plains of his face, until they're brushing against the fullness of parted lips.

Hunter nods. It's all he can do. He is a man standing alone on an island, and you are the sanctuary he seeks.

Bathed in moonlight, the Sergeant surged upward and caught your lips with his own. Your hands now laid tangled together against his chest.

Just breathe.

[nothorses]

Aren't you the one with the weird ass misogyny kink

This is such a perfect example of how fucking stupid callout culture is, actually.

For context, nearly two years ago now, a few blogs known for picking fights & starting harassment campaigns picked a fight & started a harassment campaign against first one transmasc blogger, then a bunch of other transmascs they harassed about reblogging his post who either didn't respond to them, or who responded unfavorably.

I won't get into the nitty-gritty here, but I did elsewhere [1] [2] and so have a few other folks.

I wasn't the original person called out. I was tacked on after the fact because I didn't respond.

What I've been "called out" for since then is, essentially, a bunch of complete bullshit made up by people who are pissed off that I encouraged people to think critically about the callout posts they came across.

Even among those lies, my sex life, kinks, fetishes, whatever- none of it has ever come up. Because I don't engage with that online, I never have, and I never will, for exactly this reason.

Would you be surprised if I told you this wasn't the first time I'd been accused of the "crimes" that original person was accused of?

You probably shouldn't be! This shit happens all the time, and it's only a natural progression of the callout culture it all stems from: one person has some shit they said taken out of context and painted in a bad light by a vindictive and usually transphobic internet loser, everyone who doesn't publicly disavow them immediately and without question is guilty by association, and what reason do they have to defend this person anyway, except so they can get away with the same thing? They must be doing it too!

And this ask especially is phrased in such a blatantly manipulate way. There's no good way to answer this: either I say "yes, but" and people stop thinking or caring there, or I say "no, here's what really happened" and I look weak and dubious for defending myself at all. The accusation has been made, the question has been asked, and now everything I say is with the assumption that this is something I am responsible for proving or disproving.

It's stupid and pointless and it's all fucking made up. It's designed to run on instinctive disgust and outrage, and what better conduit is there for rage and disgust than trans people? Especially trans people who talk about being trans.

And even putting all that aside: who fucking cares?

Who cares if one dude gets off to some shit he, in real life, both suffers from and actively tries to combat? Why are you so concerned with the private sexual fantasies of one random internet stranger? Why is it so important to you that everyone in the world know what this one dude thinks is hot when acted out between two consenting adults?

Come off anon and tell me all your kinks, anon. Tell me every single thing you have ever been turned on by, everything you've masturbated to, and why. I want detailed notes. I want links to porn. If you've made art, written fanfic, roleplayed- I want to see it.

C'mon, if this should be publicly available knowledge, let's start with you. It shouldn't matter as long as none of it's weird or off-putting to anyone else, right? You don't need to hide anything, right? There's nothing there you'd be embarrassed about, nothing you'd rather keep private, right? So what's the hold-up, why haven't you done this already? Why are you on anon to begin with; what are you hiding?

If anyone's the "sex freak" or whatever, anon, it's you. Nobody fucking needs this information about anyone, especially if they aren't sexually involved with each other. It's a massive invasion of privacy, and much more importantly it is textbook sexual harassment.

Anyway. Hi, voc and w-oc. I should be more surprised to see you two in my inbox, but I guess yall are obsessive enough to respond to, literally, a couple of tags on one reblog containing undefined, contextless acronyms of your urls. Hope you talk to a therapist about that someday.

[dextixer]

There is no point in discussing Ironwood/Atlas in the fandom.

Since Volumes 7-8 the way that Ironwood and Atlas were written, their actions, whether they were justified or to what extent they were justified and the like have been discussed to death. There is no stone that has not been overturned, no statement that has not been made, no argument that has not been disected.

Regardless of ones stance on the subject, there is nothing left to discuss, the only thing left at best is sharing ones interpretation and opinions on it with people willing to engage with them. Or it would be, if there were actually such people left.

Around a week ago, against my own better judgement i once again engaged in an Ironwood discussion, something that i have mostly avoided for nearly a year, and i got just the right reminder as to why exactly there is no point in discussing it with members of the FNDM, and especially the fanatics.

They do not care about the show, how its told, what it told us. What they care about is to show how "moral" and "morally upstanding" they are by repeating the same mantra over and over. "Team RWBY are heroes, Ironwood is a fascist.", its both to show how morally "good" they are and also to protect the writing of a product that they love, because their beloved product possibly being deficient would be seen as a personal attack on their taste.

Lie and Lie again, if that doesnt work, lie once more

One of the most important factors in having any discussion is for both of the people talking to not only be truthful with one another but also agree upon some level of common ground that a disagreement comes from. In the case of RWBY, an Animated show, one has to agree with what is canon, what we can see in the story, from where on we can start arguing about interpretations. The problem however is that many people in the fandom, in regards to Ironwood especially, do not care about canon.

This being one of many examples. Since as far back as Volume 7, when we saw Ironwoods forces, everyone could look back to Volumes 2-3 and see that Ironwood brought 3 airships to Vale, a small detachment for the security of the festival.

Yet time and time again, RWBY fans refer to it as an "army", implying some kind of excessive force, in fact, some people in the past have went as far as saying that Ironwood was MILITARILY OCCUPYING Vale with his forces, i am not kidding.

But the most often directly lied about scene is of course the scene of Ironwood abandoning Mantle. In the show, after seeing the chess piece, he encounters a seer left behind in his office, this seer allows him to talk to Salem who pretty much tells him she is coming, which is then confirmed by the Ace Ops saying that the Grimm sensors have ceased working. That is canon. And yet, many a RWBY fan often pretends that Ironwood takes his decision after seeing the chess piece and "conveniently" ignore the chat that Ironwood has with Salem.

Fans of RWBY will not hesistate to lie about the canon itself to make their point, for people who claim to appreciate the shows writing, they will often directly ignore or even contradict it just so that they could hold true to their moral obligations.

But what happens when lying doesnt work?

Misdirect, Motte and Bailey and bad faith

When direct lying fails, RWBY fans will often take a different stance, instead of directly talking about canon, they will instead make the most bad faith assumptions and arguments imaginable.

This often takes form in Omissions or other less direct types of lies. Many times, it wont even be lies, but the most riddiculous arguments that they dont themselves believe.

For example, saying that soldiers helping to protect an event from terrorists is a stupid move.

In Volume 7, one of the earliest things we see happen is that Ironwoods forces are fighting against Grimm, the Sabyrs when they breach into Mantle, after which Penny shows up to assist in cleaning them up. And yet, fans of RWBY will say that these soldiers were not meant to protect people against Grimm, they were meant to abuse the citizens of Mantle.

The same goes for the curfew that also gets established in that same Volume. It is done explicitly for peoples protection. They instead say that its to control people, implying that the threat of Grimm isnt real? Which is exceedingly funny since COVID lockdowns happend near the same time, which were also curfews that meant to protect people.

Ironwood shooting Oscar is also a key part of such misdirections. Often times when RWBY fans talk about Ironwood shooting Oscar they refer to him as a "child" a "defenseless child", conveniently ignoring the Ozpin shaped hole in his brain.

This is yet another form this takes. Strawmanning and of course, the reference to "Ironwood runs away" argument, which they hold as true despite the show never stating it ever. They take Ironwood statement that Atlas will always stay out of Salems reach as a direct statement that Atlas will just rise and stay away. And not for example become a flying city which is also a possibility.

This is also another example of dishonest arguments. RWBY fans pretend that Ironwood is classist, that he only wanted to save the rich and leave everyone else to die. Despite the fact that Ironwood ordered Mantle to be evacuated into Atlas and only wanted to leave to save as many people as he could regardless of status. And yet, they have to pretend that he only cares about the "rich".

But the most often seen tendency among RWBY fans in regards to argument is something else.

Doulethink

Doublethink is acceptance of two contrary opinions being right at the same time due to ideological reasons. For example, decrying someone as weak when convenient and as strong at the same time.

And RWBY fans love this type of argumentation, especially with Ironwood.

As shown before in a picture, they pretend that Ironwood only cared about the rich. And yet they also argue that as a fascist he hates and controls the rich by how he treats Jacques.

They will both pretend that Ironwood is a sociopath who wants to control the world and at the same time will claim how sorry they feel about his PTSD and how he clearly should have been thrown out of the army due to it.

Ironwoods prosthetics both show how he suffered so much and should have been told to sit out due to his clear mental issues, yet at the same time those prosthetics prove and show how evil he is, how he wants to replace his body with metal because he wants to be an unthinking machine.

They will pretend to care about how Ironwood holds 2/5 seats on the Atlas council, decrying how UNDEMOCRATIC he is being, yet at the same time, when convenient they will constantly bring up how Ironwood did not ask for Ozpins persmission for his actions in V2-V3. They pretend that he usurped Ozpin despite Ironwood acting directly under Vales council.

As shown in this exchange. The cries for "democracy" quiet down all of a sudden when people take Ozpins side against Ironwood. Suddently, the opinion of the council doesnt matter, only Ozpin does. Oh and this is also an example of how they will change the topic once an argument is lost.

Oh, and of course, their favourite is in regards to team RWBY.

Who are at the same time both small teenagers who know no better and cannot be judged for their actions because they are smoll beans uwu.

And they are also literal jesus.

Because NOTHING says "we are being honest" when the protagonists are amazingly "weak" and "smoll" uwu beans whenever anyone criticizes them for making shit decisions for entire COUNTRIES which they CHOSE to do. And at the same time those protagonists are amazing badass girbossing jesus-like heroes who everyone should worship.

Ending word

I guess what im trying to say is that there is simply no point or hope in arguing about Ironwood, or hell, even arguing with RWBY fans in general unless you are in relatively neutral spaces with people who are willing to listen. They will lie, if they cant lie they will misdirect, and they will never be honest about their beliefs. Because their true beliefs are only "RWBY is good and what it attempts to say is correct". Nothing else matters. RWBY is good. Its messages (no matter how mangled they are) are good.

And to protect those beliefs RWBY fans will do ANYTHING. Because just like religious fanatics, they have faith, a belief, and nothing will stop them. If you oppose them, you are everything they think is evil. If you accept their words uncritically, then you are now a "friend".

[megamindsecretlair]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you for the tag @nerdieforpedro this was just the kick in the pants I needed to get more organized. LOL

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I started on Tumblr and I'm new to AO3 and have been too lazy to copy and paste all that LOL. I have 6 fics on AO3 and 65 on Tumblr, not counting individual series.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

I'm........a little embarrassed to say lol. But it is 500,516. Oh chilleee, why though lmfaooooo. Listen, something unlocked in me with these fics and all these wonderful responses to my writing, okay?! I missed my teenage angsty fanfic years and I'm speedrunning through it for now okay?! Okay, I'll go hide now.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I started with Marvel but I've somehow morphed into a blog for gorgeous, gorgeous Black men who don't get nearly enough love. A sprinkling of white men. And a dash of Pedro and hopefully, Oscar because Moon Knight is my whole heart and I need him biblically.

4. Top Five fics by kudos:

WHEW. Going through Tumblr for this was ROUGH. Ya'll lucky my brain had time today.

You Understand Me Now : This had the highest notes of all my fics. And I keep getting asks to do more similar to this. But what ya'll looking for in this one?????

Sprung : I am surprised!! Out of all my Tyrone fics, I did not expect this to be so high. It was my first request and my first shy girl fic. Special place in my heart frfr.

Mr. Black, Part 1 : Nothing is more fun than watching the notes trickle down the further along in the series it is lol. Further proof that I write these for ME. But anywhooooo, I think this collectively unlocked something in all of us lol.

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie? : Lissen, it was spooky month, it was a full moon, I was FERAL for Ghostfast smut okay??!! I am actually surprised this is so high up and it's not more Tyrone on this list LOL

Runaway Lover, Part 1 : I did not expect to turn this into a mini-series, but here we are LOL. I can't deny ya'll nothing! This definitely stretched some muscles for me and I enjoyed challenging myself. Probably one of the few fics I just let flow and stopped berating myself for how long it was.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely! I love engaging with people and every single comment fills me with so much joy. I make every effort to respond to comments!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

OOF, the most??? Probably.....Through the Fire with Franklin Saint. That one still hurts ME to this day LOL.

Through the Fire

7. What is the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

Jeez, all my endings are pretty happy?? I can't really single any one out for being the most happy. I like happy couples round here.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope (and I knocked on wood). Thankfully everyone has been really kind and sweet about my work. It overwhelms me every single time.

9. Do you write smut?

All day, every day. I am a whore disguised as a barely functioning member of society LOL. I am a whore trapped in a slut wrapped up in a floosy. I am the slutty version of a Matryoshka, or Russian nesting dolls lmfaoooo.

10. Craziest Crossover?

Hmmmm, I haven't done any crazy crossovers yet. I should remedy that. That sounds like hella fun.

11. Have you ever have a fic stolen?

Nope, thank the LORDT. (I knocked on wood) Not that I've seen and no one has told me that it's been stolen. I take comfort in knowing that I am but a tiny island in the sea that is Tumblr and ain't nobody trynna steal my silly little stories. This is not an invitation, don't be an ass and steal. I will give you advice, I will teach you to write, I will read over your writing, whatever. Stealing is some basic bitch shit.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, not that I know of. It'd be interesting to see someone try to translate nigga or half the shit I say LOL.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have not but that sounds interesting! I have a teensy *coughalotlikealotalot* control issue, so it'd be interesting to see if my writing style meshes well with someone else.

14. All time favorite ship?

OOOOOF, this is hard. I just don't vibe with a lot of ships. Because these writers always break them up anyway. I like SydCarmy and Kanthony at the moment.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I pretty much finish (shut up lol) all my fics. There's a lot that I want to write but nerves or time does not permit. I'd die to write some Frank Castle, Dean Winchester, Matthew Lillard, Benedict Bridgerton....basically the folks on my white men roster. But they get enough attention.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Strengths?????! You want me to praise myself?? Nerdie, how could you LOL. But ummm......I think I do well with dialogue and chemistry. I feel like each reader is uniquely situated for each fic. I can write a lot, like too much at times.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I SUCK at descriptions. Lordt, that's my weakest point. Always has been lol. I be like sheeit, idk, they in a room getting busy, what more do you want from me??? LOL

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I like it and I respect it from other writers. Lends an extra layer of authenticity. But I do personally dislike when the translations are at the bottom of the fic. I'm not scrolling back and forth and by the time I get to the end, I done forgot what the hell it was supposed to be lol.

19. First Fandom you wrote in?

Marvel. Started with Loki. My love, my precious love. He started it all for me.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

No, I shan't shut up about Once Upon a December LOL. It's my favorite dammit. It's a sweet, gothic, romance from Prince Bucky. Like he can be my prince any fuckin' day.

This was fun and definitely learned some things about myself lol.

No pressure tags: @umber-cinders @harmshake @multiversefanfics @just4shyt3z @j0kers-light @slippinninque

[cipheramnesia]

Today I am asking myself why do I like Terrifier and Terrifier 2. There doesn't have to be a reason for it, and I struggle to find any merit to them other than the dubious quality, inventiveness, and excess of the gore and violence. Maybe that's it, and probably that is literally all there is to the movies - fans all say as much. And if your only thoughts on Terrifier are "I hate that shitty movie," honestly that's fair, more than reasonable, but this post isn't for you so kindly skip along by.

But also the movies don't hit for me in the same way as a bloody rollercoaster ride movie does. For some reason I am unable to comprehend, my mind is insisting the movies are good on an artistic level - my brain insists there is artistic merit, although it steadfastly refuses to disclose what that might be. This isn't an endorsement, by the by, the Terrifier movies are extreme in a way apart from even the French Extremity movement or the whole torture trap Saw era from the USA.

Although in some ways that may be a part of what makes the movies something more than graphic violence alone. They are unpleasant in a way that is malicious - a naked cruelty which in a perverse way is a form of open honesty speaking to truth. There is no detachment from the violence, no easy way to disconnect from it as some sort of mechanical function or take it in as a part of a story. Art the Clown embodies such a totality of unrelenting and unchecked cruelty that it comes around as confusingly refreshing, because it is so rare for any media to be so graphically violent without attempting some framing of the harm - even if only as a plot point. It's masochistic to watch but in a more literal kink way. The Terrifier movies are a safe space to engage with senseless violence and cruelty, to experience the emotional impact of the idea of an uncaring world design only to cause pain, and then to be able to safely leave this mental space physically intact, better equipped for the real world which by nature is not nearly so malicious as Terrifier. Cathartic in the same way as it can be to get whipped or beaten, followed by care and caressing. Maybe.

All that under consideration, a throwaway line from a review has raised a second consideration for me: Are these movies camp? They are wildly exaggerated performances which incorporate large amounts of generally discarded pop culture on purpose. They deliberately incorporate the cheap aesthetics of low budget video nasties, grindhouse movies, and direct to video 80s horror. Everything about Art the Clown and his violent acts is severely over the top from his facial features to his makeup to his mannerisms which are those of a mime rather than a clown. I think it's arguable that the Terrifier movies go beyond simply utilizing a retro aesthetic into performing a kind of horror drag - dressing up in the clothes of the 70s-80s but elevating the content into a hyper-grotesque persona that's almost like everything the film censors and critics from that era thought such movies actually were. It's a movie that purposefully becomes the kind of monster conservatives always imagine about horror, just to throw that right in their face. It is, I think, very arguably camp in how much it is purposefully over the top and self-indulgent about what the vast majority of people would (often rightly) dismiss as artless trash.

Which leads me back around to asking myself if I truly believe what I've written, or if I'm merely trying to find an internal and artistic justification for liking violent and misogynistic horror flicks with nothing of else of substance.

[gumpistol]

:: SEMI-HIATUS NOTICE ::

as some may have already seen when i said something about it a few days back, due to some other health concerns, i am being taken off of my adhd medication for at least the next 1-2 months until i can get other health issues at a better place. i have no idea the full scope of how this will affect me, as this will be the first time in about five years that i'm not on any sort of medication. i.e. i could be in for a WILD ride folks.

i am certain of one thing though, writing, especially long-form, is going to be so much harder, and as a result slower, and possibly even non-existent. i struggled keeping up with rp writing A LOT prior to getting placed on meds, to the point of nearly giving up on it because i genuinely thought i could not do it.

that being said, until the end of June, my activity is going to be very low, and things i reply to are going to be purely based on where the dopamine wants to go. i don't want to try and force any writing, i don't want to fall back into the mindset of writing being something i dislike. i LOVE writing Luffy, i love writing my other OP muses, and i love that i've been able to feel excited about writing again for the first time in a long time. i really don't want to lose that, but i also understand that my health is struggling right now and it needs to be prioritized.

i have no doubt that my moots here will be understanding and patient with me, it's just a matter of me being patient with myself. but regardless, i just ask for some extra patience as more typos potentially happen, if my grammar gets a bit muddled, and if my writing is generally shorter since i won't be able to focus on the same threads for more than 15 minutes or so at a time. or i just have a sleep attack at my desk and pass out mid-writing. it's gonna be high school biology all over again lol.

on that note, any replies i do have written up to now will get typed up and added to the queue to trickle out over however long. i will still be present on the dash and engaging in shenanigans as much as possible, and i will also still be available in DMs for chatting and plotting, but i can't definitively say how well i will do with responding when my brain is being a spazz. who knows, maybe i'll actually do better at it! aha, no promises 

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

a/n: and here is chapter 2. there was a lot of fun that went into writing this chapter and it’s great to finally have it out to be read. enjoy any references you can spot because i had fun inserting them. we are all the reader and we are clearly on our willow park vibe. i was late to add it to the masterlist but irnbtv can also be read on AO3.

Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed); @etherisy, @crowbird​, @junephantom21​, @tanspostsblog​, @yaesflorist​, @d4y-dr3am3r​, @liesatemyocean, @masayanausuario, @xiaorby001​, @ghostlysyntaxed​, @personified-smol​, @jasontoddisfantastical​, @kurawooooooo, @yuii-v​, @joeyxsnow​, @levisbebe, @lemonlimesocks​, @celestialsiren​ , @ainescribe​,

Bold couldn’t be tagged.

chapter ii; finding your roots masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Dear Master Diluc,

Fuck offー

Dear Master Diluc,

We get on like water and oil; that is to say, Pyro and Dendro. Fire and Plants. You clearly represent the fire. Which, if you ever took the time of day to get to know me you’d know I fuckingー

Dear Master Diluc, 

What if we just broke off the engagement? 

No one would blame you for it. After all, to everyone else I’m just the Mad Dog of the [Surname] Duchy and a Crazy Bitch. I don’t want to just pull the misogyny card out all willy nilly but this world finds fault in a woman even if she isn’t 100% to blame in a relationship falling apart. Because I’m not.

You failed this relationship by willfully leading me on like I’m some sort of dog that you can give the carrot and stick treatment and I am tired ofー

Dear Master Diluc,

How else can I say it? 

You’re being let go. 

Your department’s being downsized. 

You’re part of an outplacement. 

We’re going in a different direction. 

I’m not picking up your optionー

Dear Master Diluc,

While it would be best to say this in person, I feel like it would be best done through the written word. 

Simply put, I don’t love you anymore. 

Firstly, you do not love me. You weren’t obligated to return any feelings I had for you and I do apologize if my actions ever made you uncomfortable. But it would have been easier discerning you only considered our engagement a political one and had no love for me you two-timing, ginger piece ofー

Okay. Me. I know we hate him, but we need to do this in a way that won’t get me killed afterwards. You had no clue if it was possible for Diluc to kill you directly in Hard Mode; you never made it that far, unfortunately. Still, it wasn’t worth the risk when his favorability was at -10% to start with. Even if he didn’t attack you directly, some sort of ridiculous event could transpire with you dying in the process whether by fork or broken neck. And we can’t mention him cheating, he hasn’t done it. Yet.

You grimaced, looking at your most recent attempts at trying to script a sound and reasonable breakup letter.

To the compost they went.

You had plenty of time to come up with something more amicable before you officially split from the main cast of Seraphim’s characters. As it turned out, avoiding them was quite easy when you were at rock bottom status and most didn’t want to invite you to social affairs because of it.

You always found it strange how the parents of characters such as these rarely cared about the things that went on in their lives but you were thankful the negligent parent trope applied even now. As long as you didn’t do anything too outrageous, the Duke saw it fit to leave you be. So you had wasted no time in shopping after the idea struck you that you were in serious need of test supplies.

Now it had been nearly a month since the luncheon and things were going well all things considered. Perhaps too well, hence why you didn’t let yourself rest completely. For the time being, avoiding the main cast was your priority. Even if you weren’t fearfully fighting for your life because of Hard Mode, you read plenty of villainess manhwa to know where things would go if you interacted with them.

All I’d do is accidentally seduce someone and end up in a harem a la Catarina Claes, you reasonably concluded your first night of constructing a plan to leave the kingdom. Therefore, like Zombieland’s Columbus, you had your own internalized set of rules for surviving the situation you landed yourself in.

No writing things down. Carnelia Easter thought she was safe because she was writing in Korean but then that hot evil dude decoded everything and figured out how she knew everything that was happening.

Speaking of Carnelia, I don’t know what type of villainess isekai trope I’m in so avoid the love interests and if they can’t be, be as platonic as possible. This’ll either go the usual accidental harem route or in the Carnelia route of everything I do being seen as shitty and evil for the longest and ending up in me dying because of misunderstandings. I should probably avoid banging anyone in the first place even if they aren’t a love interest. It’s giving ‘Fantasy Game set in the Slut Shaming Era’ in Teyvat.

No rescuing any beggars or injured animals. That trope is as plain as day and old as hell. They always end up being some hot dude with way more baggage than originally intended when the protag first brings them in.

If I somehow end up being a lucky Raeliana where some really high level priest wants to adopt me and take me away on a pilgrimage, take it. It’ll get me out of here faster, but… knowing my luck that definitely isn’t going to happen.

In the case of this being a situation where Lumine is some other reincarnated girl from my world who isn’t a girl’s girl, forget any plan I already have set in motion and abandon ship immediately. It will not be worth any trouble I get. She can have whatever love interest she is obsessed with and I’ll gladly skedaddle.

In the case I catch feelings for someone or the horny gets too strong, I guess it’s fine later down the line if I do end up meeting a nice person. Just as long as it isn’t a love interest. And after I’ve left this place. Fucking hell, where’s MY Caesar? Not the Villainess Divorce Caesar, the one that dies in JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Rest in Peace, my hunky beloved.

Excessive as they were, you knew these rules would keep you alive and on track. If only this was something like, I Reincarnated into the Heroine of My Favorite Otome Game and Seduced the Villainess. [First] I would have treated you right. With a sigh you stood up; you wasted enough of your paper trying to write a breakup letter and imagining being Lumine wouldn’t help your progress. Back to work I go.

The staff either thought you lost your mind or that perhaps you were returning to ‘your’ commoner roots, either way field cultivation was where you decided to direct the bulk of your attention.

Field one was for testing the extent of amplifying growth with Dendro.

Field two was for testing how long you could keep plants alive with Dendro.

Then there was field three, the Dendro-less control group.

Wherever you went, if you were going to make use of your newfound abilities to support yourself, you needed to know what all you could do. After all, you had plenty of questions and your endless supply of knowledge on Light and Abyssal magic from Normal Mode wasn’t going to help you answer them.

Maybe I should go to the Akademiya. The various books Lumine found in Normal Mode always proved themselves useful in the hidden gems Seraphim had to offer. Her research had always been geared towards her own magic, however, so most of the in-game books you read had to do with the topic. And I should really get some fertilizer for field three… Maybe I can get some at Pardis Dhyai? I could always go there to get herbs for potions but there’s bound to be other things there to purchase too.

But for now, the progress you were making was something to be satisfied with. Or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t find yourself caring considering you still had this high for the past month. I can do magic! 

A large portion of you is sure that any of the magic types of Seraphim would have been satisfactory for you.

Geo would have meant you were an earthbender like Toph.

You remembered your moody teenage days of being annoyed by the constant loop of Let It Go but it was too easy to imagine yourself belting out the lyrics and attempting to see if you could make icy-themed outfits like Elsa if you could use Cryo.

And the idea of literal lightning being at the beck and call of your fingertips gave you a power surge that made you shudder with cackles.

Yet there was something wholly satisfying with Dendro being the magic your transmigrated self was stuck with.

Lumine described Light magic like a warmth in her chest. A faint glow that became blinding light behind her eyelids until it burst forth. That light was pure and feathery, an energy silky to the touch.

For you, Dendro felt like life itself. Behind your eyelids was a forest of tall trees and grass unkempt but beautiful and your fingertips felt like blooms were sprouting from them. 

The easiest thing to make, you found, were leaves and grass. It was practically Dendro 101. A quick wave of your hand and a spray of leaves would strike in the direction you aimed in. When you first began experimenting with field one, you found that weeds seem to grow faster than your seeds did.

Specific plants required more specific mana instructions.

Roses felt like they were cloaked in perfume, earthy elegance exuding from them in waves.

Dandelions depended on the stage of life they were in; the flowers felt like they peppered your hands with its energy. Meanwhile seedheads felt light and wispy, ready to drift at a moment's notice.

Sunflowers were like the sun, bursting with inexplicable warmth. A humble leader.

Fruits were sweet and fluid, flexible in a way you couldn’t explain. Vegetables had a similar nuance, but the sweet was lacking.

You chalked these discoveries as simply needing to gather as much information as you could before you left. Yet not even you could deny that these discoveries were more so dependent on the child-like glee you had at the fact you were, in your own right, a mixture of Cornelia Hale, Winx Club’s Flora, Shiemi Moriyama and Willow Park. Oh my gosh this is so cool! Sorry Haylin, Sorry Irma, I’m all Team Plant right now.

You were giggling as you weeded your fields for your compost.

This magical stupid hierarchy doesn’t know what it’s talking about, you look at your work proudly. This is way cooler than anything else I could have been given. (You ignored the minute part of you that wanted to debate how this thought would have been the same regardless of your element.)

You wouldn’t let yourself get too distracted by magical antics; you still had many questions that needed to be answered.

The amplification of growth was easy enough once you began realizing the patterns. As for testing the durability your magic gave plants, that was still a work-in-progress. 

You look at your second field with your lips pursed. It was hard to tell if your magic was actually doing anything. So I definitely need to ask someone about that if I can’t get any direct answers from the books. You considered asking Alhaitham himself before pushing that idea aside entirely. Alhaitham isn’t even an Amurta researcher though, pretty sure he is in Haravatat. As such, he confided in Lumine that his magic didn’t serve any use for him in terms of research and was more so a benefit in physical altercations. And I should just avoid the Love Interests for now unless I actually have to interact with them.

It doesn’t help that you don’t think Alhaitham would enjoy talking to you in the slightest anyway. And I forgot that he’s a total recluse, he never shows up to things if he can avoid it. You glance to your third field, recalling your need for fertilizer. 

Tighnari would be safe to ask then, I think. 

He wasn’t a Love Interest, nor was he someone who had been exposed to the deplorable reputation you were the proud owner of.

You stood up, dusting your dirt-covered gloves on your trousers. A trip scheduled to Pardis Dhyai was just the thing then.

next chapter; ? masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

[shifuaang]

Conglomerate thoughts about Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3 under the cut. Please do not read if you don't want to be spoiled! TLDR: I loved it.

I suppose I should preface this by saying Guardians Vol. 2 is my favorite MCU movie and that I hold no real affinity towards installments outside of the Guardians in the Marvel Universe. I used to be a pretty active and engaged fan, but Endgame swiftly put a stopper on that. I was very worried about how this film was charged with the task of picking up the pieces of a fractured and, frankly, careless and poorly written conclusion to Phase 3.

Long story short, I should have never doubted Gunn.

Gunn did an expert job at navigating the perimeters that Endgame thrust on him, ensuring that the plot didn't linger on what happened without neglecting the catastrophic weight of Thanos's actions. Bringing alternate universe Gamora into the fold seemed like a monstrous and difficult task. I have expressed before how much I hated the idea of Quill chasing down someone who isn’t even ‘his’ Gamora and trying to win her back, but Gunn handled this with absolute grace, assuring that everyone stayed in-character in their reactions and interactions. There was no backpedaling or continuity with how the Guardians were written in Infinity War and Endgame as I feared there would be. Gunn picked up from where we left off in Vol. 2 while still allowing us space to mourn Gamora's loss. Rocket's trauma and character development was taken seriously again. Every member of the Guardians had a well crafted arc and was given the appropriate amount of time to explore said arc.

The animal and child abuse was hard to watch. It felt way more violent than anything we've ever seen in the MCU, but I'm almost glad that it was. I feel that loss and violence is almost glossed over in the superhero genre. We don't quite get the full scope of devastation and impact that villains have caused in their quest for domination, colonization, and perfection. We've been desensitized to death and torture to a degree. Even the snap™, which most would site as the most evidentiary form of brutality in the the MCU, did not hold nearly as much weight as the actions of the High Evolutionary. Thankfully the plot never seemed like a hit over the head with a message of EUGENICS BAD! It was more a tragic exploration in what eugenics can do to an individual, how it desecrates the environment, and how the quest for perfection is gratuitous and futile.

In spite of the heavy subject matter and darkness of the film, Gunn still maintained the thread of humor that we love from the Guardians. I laughed out loud more than a handful of times, and every laugh came at a point in the film where it was necessary. There were no quips or jabs there to deflect from the seriousness of what was occurring, just enough to give the audience time to breathe. I am so glad that Guardians Vol. 3 was the first MCU movie to get the green light in the 'fuck' department. I can think of no franchise more deserving, and the way it was used was perhaps the funniest joke in the whole film.

I could write an entire essay on Mantis's arc and her development and how much she means to me as a character, but maybe (probably) I will save that for another day. To keep things short, I appreciated her continued empathy and sense of humor in such a bleak situation and after such a hard life. I see so much of myself in her, and it's incredibly moving to have someone represent aspects of yourself that you thought would never be portrayed in the superhero genre because they are more difficult to express emotionally and cerebrally. She's so important and so brilliantly acted by Pom, and I adore how much agency and confidence she was allowed.

As for people who say they didn't like the ending because it 'destroyed' the found family aspect of the Guardians, I never got the impression that these characters weren't going to meet up again and that they stopped being family. There was no discussion on how they were 'bad' for each other or that they'd be better off individually, which is normally the consensus when groups split in media. Quill should spend the remaining time his grandfather has with him. Mantis should go explore herself and her independence after years of captivity and compliance. Drax and Nebula should rebuild, and create, and love on the new occupants of Knowhere, as they've been forced to spend most of their lives being destroyed and being destructive. Rocket and Groot should carry on the legacy of the Guardians, protectors of the universe. And Gamora has clearly established a loving family of her own with the Ravagers, which is what she deserves. Everyone's ending felt pertinent and cathartic, and we were left with a sense of hope and a twinkle of potential for what could come in the future.

Thank you, Gunn and the cast and crew of this film, for making me cry the hardest I have in a theater since Toy Story 3, and for ending my favorite MCU series so beautifully. I honestly couldn't have asked for a better conclusion.

We'll all fly away together, one last time, into the forever and beautiful sky. 🚀

[lokiinmediasideblog]

Loki + Odin=Marvel!Loki

This is part (2/3) of a series.

This is the most obvious "equation" out of the three, being that all Norse myth adaptations have an Odin and Loki (unlike say, the lesser known Skadi), so they both have high visibility.

Marvel's version of Loki (mostly referring to the comics but some of this applies to the MCU to some extent) is some weird mixture of myth!Loki, myth!Odin, and sometimes the Devil because Christians decided Loki was "the Norse devil" (by this, I mean original Earth-616 Loki being the "God of Evil" and referring to himself as "Satan" in his very first appearance (Venus comics)) that has until fairly recently become more Loki-like (i.e. reincarnation and onwards).

Odin and Loki are quite similar in the myths (They're both SHIFTY BASTARDS and partake in "female interests" to different extents). So it works out especially when Marvel's Loki is raised by Odin.

Marvel!Loki's similarities to Odin:

Myth!Loki is not a master sorcerer (that's myth!Odin) and is merely a shapeshifter. Myth!Loki can shapeshift themselves and others in the myths which is a common ability of the Jotnar. But is not shown to do seidr or seek it out. That's Odin. I am basing it from the Lokasenna where Odin and Loki are arguing over who's more "argr." Basically going "oh yea, well you're gayeyer" at each other. Calling each other slurs. Odin calls Loki argr for giving birth as a woman for "8 winters" and Loki calls Odin argr for practicing seidr and disguising as an old woman. Loki’s shape-shifting is not considered “seidr” and it’s just something Jotnar do all the time. Seidr pertains especifically to clairvoyance magic and rituals, according to Jackson Crawford's video on it.

In the comics, Loki sacrificed himself for himself (to reincarnate and try to break out of predictability). In the mythology, Odin sacrificed himself for himself by spearing himself and hanging from Yggdrassil for 9 days, to gain knowledge (see the runes for Galdr). In the MCU, Loki sacrifices himself for others multiple times to the point where it's a meme. But the thematic elements of self-sacrifice and resurrection are there, and his final sacrifice is associated with a tree.

Loki in the myths is more of a Looney Tunes character sort of schemer. He schemes, cheats, and lies, but it's usually for a short-term goal such as saving his ass from all the wacky situations he ends up in through his fault or by being scapegoated. Not very Machiavellic. He's not plotting to rule take power. Though he may engage in malicious pranks and the occasional murder (Balder). Though aspects of this may still apply to Marvel!Loki.

Marvel comics Loki is associated with corvids. Magpies rather than ravens. But it's interesting his animal that carried a copy of his soul was also a corvid.

However, there are still plenty of similarities with myth!Loki.

Loki is a scapegoat. In mythology, Loki is the only one that receives punishment for misdeeds, and its always disproportionate (mouth sewn shut, horse impregnation, bound by the entrails of his son as a snake drips burning venom on his eyes, etc). This is similar to how the Thor Comics written before 2012-ish expect you not to find Loki sympathetic and add thought bubbles of Loki thinking evil things while being punished to show it was "deserved". He is portrayed as a sympathetic scapegoat and villain within the MCU.

Loki is an outsider. In mythology, he's one of two deities speculated to be associated with the Sámi people, and a Jotnar that was brought into the Aesir fold through a blood oath with Odin ("blood brothers). Some speculate Odin did this to try to prevent Ragnarok, plus Loki was his shifty buddy for a while. In Marvel, he's a Jotun that was adopted into Asgard.

Loki doesn't fit conventional Asgardian gender role standards. Despite Marvel's retcon, it was quite obvious Asgardians had gender expectations (e.g. Thor lashes out at being called "princess" and nearly starts a war over that insult, Sif being a shield maiden being a huge deal, Loki's magic being dismissed as "tricks" and less important than battle in deleted scenes (grain of salt bc deleted scene)).

Loki is closer to his mother. It has been state by John Lindow that Loki's use of a matronymic surname indicates an absent or inadequate father. In the MCU, his adoptive mother taught him magic and is the parent he's closer to. This is not the case in Marvel comics, where Frigga/Freyja (they can't make up their mind how to name her) rejected Loki (*Blood Brothers aka Loki (2004) was so influential to me*). And tried to force them into a villainous role post-reincarnation.

I think the MCU's Sif and Loki dynamic is weirdly similar to Loki and Skadi (and I elaborate on the previous post 1/3).

Loki causes Ragnarok in some way. In Marvel comics, Loki does still kill Balder and cause Ragnarok often. In the MCU, he technically also started Ragnarok, but it was to save the rest of the realms. In the mythology, after escaping his torturous punishment, he leads the armies of Hel against Asgard on a ship made of nails.

Odin and Loki are considered to be similar in both the MCU and the myths. In the mythology, they were considered to be so similar, it was speculated Loki may be a hypostasis of Odin by Folke Strom. In the MCU, Hela remarks how similar Loki is to Odin.

Lazy Citations:

Loki's Wikipedia article (last screenshot)

Jackson Crawford's video on seidr.

Laidoner, Triin. (2012) The Flying Noaidi of the North: Sámi Tradition Reflected in the Figure Loki Laufeyjarson in Old Norse Mythology. SCRIPTA ISLANDICA.

Previous post:

[oohnotvery]

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by the wonderfully kind and incredibly prolific author @baronessblixen. Thank you!

I am the_eternal_optimist on AO3. I know that confuses people!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

23, my favorite number

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

351,187. Wordy girl.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files exclusively.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Throwing Good After Bad (my baby, my love)

In These Silent Days

Loving Me Takes Patience (this is a surprise to me)

Next To You

Right on Time (really?!? I love all my stories ofc, but this might be my least favorite haha)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to. I really love engaging with the people who write kind things on my stories.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof. All of my stories are incredibly angsty, but all of them have sugar-sweet endings. Maybe Distraction, only because it might be my only fic that doesn't end with sex??

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them have happy endings. Perhaps Throwing Good After Bad has the happiest ending, just because it's is the angstiest, most violent, most difficult of my stories.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh yes. A lot, actually. When I was writing On Marriage about revival MSR, I received death threats for characterizing Mulder as depressed. Someone went to my personal social media accounts and started making fun of my child (a BABY) over this. It's why I got off of Twitter. I very nearly quit the fandom over it and some very kind people rallied to keep me going.

Other than that big one, I get the occasional rude comment. Honestly, they bother me a lot. I go back and forth about continuing to write fanfic because of it. We all write for free and for the love of the characters--why is someone being critical?? (That's where I'm currently at now, and why Edges of the Night is on hiatus. I just cannot with the negativity in my ask box all the time because people are mad the story isn't progressing the way they want it to).

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. I don't love writing smut and I find it the hardest part of writing. But I LOVE reading it and I love what it adds to a story.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

God I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm not sure. I don't think so.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd love to work with someone else :)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mulder and Scully

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Right now, maybe Edges of the Night? I will probably finish it because I have it fully outlined, but I dread having to deal with my ask box/messages if I keep writing it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm a pretty empathetic person. It's easy for me to get in peoples' heads and figure out their feelings. Writing and resolving angst is probably my biggest strength.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Phew. I find humor really, really hard. I'm not a funny person and I have a hard time making my characters funny. Mulder requires the occasional dose of humor, and that's always super tricky for me. Also smut.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Maybe!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

X-Files. Cold is the Night was my first fic ever, and I was 3 months postpartum then. It was such a nice experience getting out of the baby mindset for a while to write that.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

My loves, my babies. Probably Throwing Good After Bad, Cold is the Night (because it was my first), and Yours and Mine (This Is Our Time). The latter is a fave because it has two of my original characters in it, Gemma and Emry. I've written an original novel about them. They are my true babies.

I don't know who to tag!! @thursdayinspace if you want!!

[elwenyere]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

I was tagged by my beloved @frostbitebakery: thank you so much, my friend!!!

1.) How many works do you have on ao3

56

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

301,664 words

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

So far, the MCU, Star Wars, and Top Gun.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name (MCU, Sambucky)

Tactical Engagements (Star Wars, Codywan)

Citation Needed (MCU, Stony)

Helps to Relieve My Mind (MCU, Sambucky)

Good Soldiers (Star Wars, Codywan)

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, yes! Sometimes it takes me a little while to write back if things in real life are hectic, but eventually I do, because I love chatting with readers about what they noticed in a story and what I was thinking about/working on while writing.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have never written what I would call an unhappy ending. But sometimes what we know about the canon ending can still make the ending of a fic bittersweet, and that's true of a fair number of fics I've written. I think the two fics that leave canon angst most fully on the table are my MCU ficlet A Stitch in Time, which is about what else Steve might have done while returning those stones, and my wee Star Wars piece Yes, It Feels Like That, which is a moment with Leia's grief during ANH.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I swear: I used to write plenty of fics that were happy all the way through! That happens a lot less frequently now. But Right on Time is just about the happiest ending I could give to a post-war Codywan, and my Sambucky fic Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice is (to me) maybe the funniest fic I've written.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I've been very lucky with readers who are largely very generous.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I am a relative newcomer to writing smut, but I have dabbled, yes. I'm not sure what kind of smut it is. Feelings-forward, I guess?

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I think the only thing I've written that could come close to being classified as a crossover was my very first multi-chapter fic, Should You Choose to Accept It, which included characters from both the mainstream Avengers and Agents of SHIELD and mashed up the plots of Iron Man 3, CA: TWS, AOS Season One, and Mission Impossible 3.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes! The Stony identity porn/professor AU fic Citation Needed was a collaboration with the incredible @festiveferret, and it is the most fun I've had writing fic.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Cannot pick a favorite, but my first OTP was Mulder/Scully, and they will always have a special place in my heart.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

God what a painful question. 😅 I am a stubborn bastard, and I don't know if I've fully admitted defeat on any of my WIPs, even the ones I've neglected the most. But the WIP that's probably been waiting for my attention the longest is the sequel to my Stony fic Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did, which I cannot abandon or scrap for parts because I'm really attached to the bits that I have written, but which I haven't been able to make progress on for a long time. Bug me for snips about it if you like: I would love to be able to share what I have so far.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

A borderline aggressive amount of figurative language, narrative beats that feel layered, and I think I have a decent ear for dialogue.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm so, so, so inexpressibly slow, and I also build up increasing levels of anxiety about WIPs when I'm not getting outside perspectives about them, so I find it nearly impossible to write anything longer than 20k.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have experimented with this a little bit in the past, and I'm currently trying it again in a WIP in a language I'm not deeply familiar with, which is nerve-wracking. But I think it can be so effective when done well, and I'm excited to keep growing in that area.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Stony in the MCU: a missing-scene fic from Endgame

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love all my children equally, but my Codywan fic Recollection is probably the fic that felt most ambitious to me at the time that I wrote it: memory-related temporal shenanigans, surreal scene changes, some heavy psychic territory, and my very first smut scenes. I'm proud of how many new things I tried.

----

Open tags for anyone who would like to play!!! This was very fun: @ me with your answers if you'd like to join. <3<3<3

[vampyrsm]

hi! i've been reading cor unum on ao3 since you first published it and i just wanted to express how obsessed i am!! it's one of my all time favourite fics and i think about it nearly every waking moment. i recently reread it from the start to the most recent chapter and it really reinforced that your writing is phenomenal! the way you've woven the plot together is beautiful, the pacing is fantastic with it finding the perfect middle ground of fast paced action and softer, slower moments of character and relationship growth. the fight scenes are engaging and exciting but still easy to follow, the smut is delicious and beautiful in the fact we get to watch sukuna and reader grow even closer in the aftermath. the reader's corruption is written amazingly with each moment that sends her further into the darkness being perfectly emphasised without becoming over the top or glaringly obvious. the reader from chapter 1 and chapter 16 are so clearly the same character while obviously following completely different paths. your depiction of sukuna has to be my absolute favourite, with his brutality and nigh sadism coinciding wonderfully with his intelligent and poetic nature.

i've rambled on for way too long so i'll just say: thank you so much for creating such a phenomenal work!! you're a fantastic writer and i wish you health and happiness :))

ahh!! omg thank you so much <3

I'm glad that you've found such joy in my writing, it's definitely been a lot of fun so far to write for Sukuna and a reader who isn't ... soft, lol for the lack of a better word.

I think the next few chapters may shake your belief in the fact reader hasn't indulged in her darkness too much to become obvious BUT it's all within good reason!! And it's only for a brief moment (like 1-2 chapters, 3 at a push if I write too much) but it'll all be explained properly soon so you'll be able to tell me if I did go too far or not LOL

Thank you so much for reading (and re-reading!!), I appreciate you and your kind words more than you know. Thank you so so much, I hope you have an amazing rest of your weekend <3

[amywritesthings]

good morning, friends! i just wanted to pop on here really fast to clear up some confusion from my inbox/some replies i've received. i hope this does not come off as rude or upsets anyone who may have asked, but i just need this off of my chest.

i am not abandoning silver underground. the outline is written, the ending is finalized, and we have about 10 chapters to go. i finally posted my first piece of writing in nearly 2 months and it was something new, so i can see why people are confused.

that being said, please be respectful that i am enjoying my hobby and exploring new ideas! i do not get paid to write 70K words in under 6 months. all of my work comes from my own free time.

i write all of this out of love and excitement and fixation. i do recognize just how crappy it can be to be waiting for an update and not get it when an author returns -- believe me, i have GAD and the fear of disappointing strangers is constantly on my mind lol. between the last couple of chapters of SU not performing as great a la comments/reblogs in comparison to the earlier chapters, a lot of life events and obligations irl squashing my creativity, and my own mental health, i struggled plenty with knocking out 5-8k chapters a week or biweekly.

i am so proud that i wrote a novels' worth of free story between march and september. i've written ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND WORDS this year alone! and i have managed to keep a social life, career, romantic relationship, etc. it's such a mind-boggling achievement, and i'm damn impressed with myself for doing so.

but please be respectful when you ask about my other works. i know most of you started out only caring about my mando content. that's fine! then it was eddie munson, then the last of us. then it was attack on titan -- and maybe baldur's gate 3 isn't your thing! i've been known to jump fandoms as my fixations wane and grow, and i do not mind updating people about if i'm working on something or not, but all i ask is to not harass or shame me for not updating a certain work in a timely fashion because...

well, because i don't owe anyone anything. this is my hobby. i am compensated through reblogs, comments, inbox messages, and engagement -- and then i get up in the morning to work my normal job, lol. i'll write what strikes me and return to works when the inspiration hits.

thank you to EVERYONE who has contributed to engaging with my work in some form. you are the best. the reblogs seriously make me emotional. the inbox messages and comments on ao3 make me WANT to write. i am so grateful for every soul that clicks on my content and touches it in some way or another.

if you read all of this -- go do some stretches and drink some water lol

xo amy

[wardenparker]

Starting Over - Chapter 11

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Recently arrived in Texas and only slightly removed from his divorce, Marcus finds himself smitten with the women at the housewares store that is helping him furnish his new Austin condo. It becomes a more complicated situation than he could have expected, but Marcus has never been one to shy away from a challenge when love is on the line. ✨This fic takes place *before* the events of The Mentalist.✨  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 14k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this fic will include divorce, past abusive relationships, deceased mothers, father issues/family trauma, unplanned pregnancy.* Cursing and food mentions, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader, discussion of divorce and adultery, *false* domestic abuse allegations, angst and anger, lots of drama. Summary: An initially unwelcome visitor turns out to be the answer to your biggest problem, but it won’t happen quietly or easily. Notes: We have one more chapter and an epilogue after this! Thank you all so, so much for coming on this journey with us 💖 This story has been such a labor of love for us and we have loved having all of you with us every week!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

On the first day this week that Amanda hasn’t been at work with you, things are a little easier and the weight on your shoulders is a little less. There have been a few enthusiastic comments about how everyone seems to like her that you have just smiled and nodded during, not wanting to be the one to point out that she’ll show her true colours soon enough. She always does. But for now, you’re out on the sales floor with your team, fluffing pillows and straightening in between helping customers and assisting with customer service issues. It’s just a normal day and thank god for that.

Walking into the store, Andrew Packard looks around, taking in the scene. It hadn’t been hard to get a complete background history on you and where you work. He even has a recent picture, so he knows what you look like. His heart hurts, knowing he might not have ever known beyond social media since his son wants nothing to do with him. However, he wants to know you. To meet you without prejudice and he needs to help Marcus get out of this mess. Several people look up, but he spots you and starts making his way towards where you are fiddling with displays without being too obvious that you are his target.

“Is there anything I can help you with today, sir?” There’s something familiar about the tall older man with the salt-and-pepper hair that you can’t quite put your finger on, so you brush it away and give him a beaming smile. He’s probably just an infrequent repeat customer or he loosely resembles some actor on a tv show. Either way, you slide the pillow that was in your hands back onto the shelf and turn to give him your full attention.

In person, Andrew is immediately aware of what had drawn his son in. You – despite being perfectly professional – radiate warmth and kindness. It’s not just an act for you. Nearly sixty-five years on this earth and most of it working to maintain a changing company, he’s well versed in reading people. “Yes, I—” He gives a look around the store. “I am looking for a wedding present.” He decides.

“Oh, fantastic!” Fiddling with your own engagement ring a little makes your smile grow, and you’re still trying to figure out why this man looks so familiar to you. “Does the couple have a registry with us? If they don’t that’s okay, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about them instead.” After years and years with the company, you’re fairly decent at reading relationships from your customers, and this guy feels like an emotionally distant relative if ever there was one. Probably a workaholic. He’ll either be stingy because he doesn’t know them well or overspend out of guilt - you just can’t tell which yet.

“I don’t actually know.” Andrew admits, reaching up and scrubbing at the back of his neck. He’s not dressed in his normal business suits, having decided that this would be better as a causal thing, and it’s almost as if he’s missing a vital piece of armor. “I must admit that I don’t have the closest relationship with them.”

“That’s okay.” Nailed it, you give yourself a mental pat on the back and give your customer an encouraging nod. “Do you prefer to give functional gifts or indulgent ones?” Leading him toward the housewares department, you’re fairly confident that you can help this guy pick out a nice gift with ease. You’ve done it hundreds of times before, after all.

“Functionally indulgent?” Andrew jokes, enjoying the way that you are treating him as if he were no different from anyone else. Something that would not happen if you knew his name, he is sure. “Something that they wouldn’t be able to just throw away.”

“Sounds like some quality cookware or maybe a machine?” You wonder if he has any idea at all if this couple he’s buying for cooks for fun. “Not just a set of champagne glasses that will sit in the cupboard.”

“Machine.” Andrew decides. “Something that someone would want and not buy for themselves?” He turns to you. “What would you want but never buy for yourself?”

It’s actually a question that you get more often than one would think. Customers use you and your coworkers as sounding boards for their ideas and ask for your advice all the time. Sometimes you’re dead honest about it, sometimes you’ll point people towards your favourite gadget, and sometimes you try to steer the customer toward an ‘old reliable’ style purchase. Nobody ever got mad at getting a KitchenAid mixer as a wedding gift, right? There’s something about this particular man that edges you toward dead honesty, though, and you chuckle a little. “For me personally? I’ve worked here long enough to have bought myself most of the kitchen toys that I truly want,” you admit. “The thing that’s been calling my name lately and that I think I’m going to start saving my pennies for, is one of our new pizza ovens. I just can’t think of anything more fun than turning pizza night into something fun and personal, especially if you’ve got a growing family.” If it sounds like a sales pitch, it’s only because you’ve been hyping yourself up for a few weeks now. The price tag on these suckers is extremely high but you know that you and Marcus would love it.

“Really?” Andrew raises a brow and is impressed by the way you pitch it. “Would you show me the one you are saving for? I’m sure you want the one with all the bells and whistles.”

“It’s actually kind of basic.” The outdoor entertaining and barbecue display on your sales floor is fairly big considering you’re in Texas and people cook outside all year long, but you show him the specific display with the pizza oven set up to be inspected by curious customers and all the various manufacturer-branded accoutrements like a cookbook, pizza peel, digital thermometer, and heavy duty pot holders. “My fiancé and I like to cook together, and pizza is definitely one of our favourites.” Even talking about Marcus to a perfect stranger makes you beam a little, and your thumb moves to play with your engagement ring again unconsciously. “And you can see from the price tag that it is a bit of a splurge. But this is top of the line.”

Andrew softens at that tiny morsel of information. It’s nice to know that his love of pizza had never waned. “That’s nice that you enjoy cooking together.” He hums, and nods. “Will you show me a bit about this?”

“Oh, of course!” The ins and outs of the machine are fairly easy to explain, and you end up pulling out the cookbook to show your curious customer a few recipes that you’ve been particularly enamored with and then getting into other things you can cook in a pizza oven besides just pizza. “We made this dip last week,” you flip open the book to the desserts section where it displays a very basic recipe for a cast iron skillet full of chocolate and peanut butter then covered in a layer of marshmallows, meant to be eaten with pretzels or Graham crackers. “We made it in our standard oven so of course it took longer than doing it in the pizza oven, but it was amazing.” Sharing personal stories is part of how you make your biggest sales, you’ll never deny that, and it’s been effortless since you met Marcus. Anything he loves, you’re more than happy to talk about.

“For you or for your fiancé?” He asks with a grin, remembering the times he wound take Marcus to the beach and build a fire in the sand to make s’mores. Back before he started to hate Andrew, of course.

“We’re both s’mores addicts.” You admit with a laugh. “It’s nice to have simple things to share.” The Pike-ette had also appreciated it, seemingly forgoing your usual bout of nighttime morning sickness as a thank you for chocolate and peanut butter.

Andrew smiles, not mentioning how you have reaches down to stroke your belly several times. It was an action that Marcus’s mother had frequently done while she was carrying him. It makes his heart clench, remembering the amazing woman that he had honestly loved. He knows Marcus doesn’t believe that, but he had. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself.” He admits. “Stuffing strawberries with chocolate and dipping into the marshmallow stuff before roasting is my favorite.”

“That sounds amazing.” Your eyes widen almost comically before you can catch yourself. “I, uh…” it really does make you laugh, the way you nearly groaned at the sound of it, and you shrug. “Chocolate has been a pregnancy craving. I’m lucky it’s nothing too weird. But that sounds fantastic.”

Andrew pretends surprise, glancing down at your stomach, the one holding his grandchild and beams. “Congratulations.” He murmurs. “My wife –” he’s not talking about the woman he’s been married to, but Marcus’s mother, “she craved sweet and salty.” He laughs. “There was one day she wanted soft pretzels dipped in chocolate!”

“She’s a very smart woman.” Nodding sagely makes you grin again, and you glance down at your own belly under your loose shirt. You’ve gotten a little off point with this customer but that’s okay, it happens from time to time. “Don’t mind me. It’s new, still, so I get a little excited. Did you have any other questions about the oven, or want to take a look at other gift options?”

“No, I think that this is it.” Andrew tells you with a smile, happy to have gotten a chance to talk to you like this.

------

Marcus opens the door to the store, frazzled and honestly upset. Doing his best not to show it, he walks up to the counter and asks the associate there, someone that he remembers seeing a few times in here before, to page you.

The voice in your ear is very clear, snapping you back into reality with a harsh kick to your backside. It had been such a nice day before now. ’Hey boss, your fiancé is here and he looks upset’. You turn to your customer with a forced smile. “I’m sorry, would you excuse me for just a moment? I’m being paged, but I will have that pizza oven brought to the front counter for you. Excuse me.” You don’t even wait for him to reply, just turn and make the least frantic-looking dash to the front counter that you can manage. Marcus looks more upset than you think you’ve ever seen, and your arms go around him instantly. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Marcus nearly cries when he sees you, reaching out and holding tight to you, as if you are his life preserver in a roiling ocean. “I— I’ve been sent home.” He murmurs in your ear. “Pending an internal investigation into accusations of domestic violence.” Turning in his gun and badge to the sympathetic but resolute director had been humiliating and soul crushing.

“What?!” You reel backward, searching his face for any trace that this is some kind of horrible joke. This has Amanda’s vengeance written all over it, you just can’t figure out how she intends to make those accusations stick. “That’s completely insane. Oh my— Jesus, baby, I’m so sorry.” You cling to him in that moment, willing yourself not to get angry on the sales floor in view of dozens of other people. “She’s not here, but I don’t know if she’s at home. Do you want to sit at my desk for a little while? I can see if I can leave early since I’m not the only manager here.”

His eyes close and he gives a pathetic nod, knowing that if she is there, he might actually do what she accused him of. “I—” his eyes open and shift behind you, his face immediately turning into a scowl. “What the hell is he doing here?” He demands, dropping his hands from your waist and stepping back.

“Who?” He is instantly on his guard again and you look behind you to follow his eyes but only find your customer standing a few feet away. “I was just working with a customer…?”

“Marcus, I—” Andrew steps forward, knowing that this could very well be the worst thing that could have happened, especially since he knows that particular look on his son’s face.

Marcus gives a small, dry chuckle. “That’s not a customer.” He tells you. “That, unfortunately, is my father.”

“Shit.” Shutting your eyes is more of an act of resignation than anything else, chastising yourself for being chatty and offering up information about your life to a stranger. Normally it’s a great way to make a sale. Today? Today it accidentally gave too much away, you fear. “I didn’t know,” you murmur to Marcus, just praying he believes you. You had never bothered to look up Andrew Packard’s photo. Why would you, when Marcus wants nothing to do with him? “You two, come with me.” Though you can’t bring them both back to your office - company rules - you can certainly force them back into your store’s habitually abandoned bath section so as not to be overheard.

Marcus follows, back straight and Andrew sighs before he too, follows. He had hoped this wouldn’t happen, but now there was nothing else to be done but face the music.

“You looked me up, I take it?” The question for Andrew is maybe harsher than it deserves, but considering the way he was just playing the jolly stranger with you, you’re not feeling to excited about meeting the man who is technically your father-in-law. “Did morbid curiosity bring you out from California?”

“No.” Andrew shakes his head and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. “I came because of the disturbing conversation and texts I received from Amanda.” He admits, opening the phone and handing it to you. “Deciding to meet you without you knowing who I was is wrong, but I wanted to see an unguarded version of the woman my son loves.”

“I hope it was worth it.” None too pleased with being deceived, you look down at the army of text messages he had received from Amanda for the last few days and have to appreciate his curt replies. As little love as Marcus has for his father - understandably - it’s clear that Andrew Packard isn’t mucking around in Amanda’s bullshit. “Shit…” The pictures are what get to you, and you hand the phone to Marcus. “When she left the house on Monday night, I guess she was busy learning how to give herself make-up bruises.”

Marcus looks at the photos that had been send to his father and blanches, instantly knowing that this issue just got even worse. “I swear I never—”

“If I know one thing,” Andrew interrupts Marcus. “It’s that my son did not put bruises on that woman.” He hesitates for a moment but reaches out and clasps Marcus’s shoulder. “You aren’t that kind of man.”

“I’m going to take a half a vacation day so we can go home and figure out what to do about all of this.” Looking between the two men, it’s a little startling that you didn’t recognize the resemblance before. Marcus has his father’s profile and hair almost exactly. “If I leave you two alone for a few minutes to speak to my manager, do you promise to behave?” The question is really more for his father, you know Marcus would never cause a fuss in your store.

Andrew is slightly insulted by the question, but he nods. “I’m here to help get this witch out of your hair.” He promises you and Marcus. He’s done his research and spoken with his lawyers.

“I’ll be right back.” Reaching to squeeze Marcus’s hand tightly, you offer him the most reassuring smile that you can and hustle for the Employees Only door that leads to your office. Though your manager isn’t pleased about losing coverage, he agrees to let you go for the rest of the day using a little vacation time and you grab your things from your desk before bolting back out to the sales floor. Marcus and his father are right where you left them, barely speaking but occasionally nodding to one another. “Okay.” You slip your arm around Marcus’s waist when you reappear. “Let’s go home.”

Marcus turns to his father. “Did you rent a car or have someone bring you from the airport?” He asks, honestly unsure of why he is here. He didn’t ask for him to come and he doesn’t know how he could possibly help unless he offers to pay Amanda off and he’s not going to let him do that.

“I rented a car,” Andrew smooths one hand down his shirt before stuffing it in his pocket. Without his suit as armor and here with his son, he would never admit it out loud, but he feels a little insecure. “And already checked into a hotel. I didn’t think you would want me staying with you.”

“At this point I would welcome it if it meant Amanda wasn’t in my spare room.” Marcus huffs, his hand on your back as he starts guiding you towards the door.

“Let’s see if we can’t achieve that for you.” He offers, knowing full well that his son will be skeptical of any help he intends to provide. At this point, though, it’s very clear that Marcus needs someone with a bit more bite in his corner.

“You might as well know, since you are here, that Amanda contacted the FBI too.” Marcus tells Andrew as the three of you leave the store and start walking out to the parking lot. “What she doesn’t know is that I’ve got cameras in the house. So, the entire thing was on video.”

“You’ve been recording your home?” Andrew looks suitably impressed, not having thought that Marcus would go that far to gather evidence. But it’s a good thing that he has. “This might be less difficult than I thought, if you have footage of whatever happened at home during the time she claims you hit her.”

“I do.” Marcus nods and he sighs, tugging you just a bit closer to him, his hand tightening his hold on you. “Plus, evidence where she threatened to kill my pregnant girlfriend on the stairs.” He hadn’t said anything to you, but he had been enraged when he watched the video. It had taken every ounce of undercover training not to reveal that he knew that.

“I—” You sigh, looking down at your feet as you cross the pavement as you walk. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to worry. She was just extra pissy because we were about to leave for the trip and I…” Taking a deep breath, you shake your head in resignation. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus leans in and kisses your cheek. “I just hate the thought of her trying something.” He had turned the video over to his lawyers but hadn’t heard anything about it yet.

“We’re okay.” That’s something you can promise him absolutely. You and the baby are just fine, aside from the stress of Amanda’s brand-new accusations. “Looks like we’ll have a little caravan,” you observe, seeing Marcus’s car parked beside yours in the lot and Andrew pulling out a key that clearly matches the luxury SUV parked two spaces over.

“Amanda is at the house.” Marcus groans, rolling his eyes. “Are we— what is our plan?” He’s talking to you, but he’s also curious as to why his father is here. At this point, he’s just exhausted and unwilling to fight.

“We can go to my old place.” Naomi insisted that you keep your key for emergencies, and Marcus had made her one for his place for the same reason. “Just so we can have a chance to make a plan before dealing with her?”

Marcus nods and looks over at his father. “I’m sure you have the address.” He tells the older man before he opens the door for you to get into your car.

“I’ll text Naomi that we’re taking over her living room.” Leaning over the car door, you give Marcus a quick kiss before getting behind the wheel. Your best friend and her now live-in boyfriend are both at work, so you won’t be interrupting anyone. It’s just good that you have somewhere else to talk.

Marcus closes the door and turns to look at his dad for a moment. Wanting to say something and even opening his mouth before he shakes his head and turns to go get into his own car.

“I really am here to help, Marcus.” Andrew places his hand on his son’s car door, hoping the younger man won’t just slam his fingers unrepentantly. “I know asking for your trust is a lot, but you’re still my son.” Even as much as Marcus despises that fact, it is true. “Will you give me the benefit of the doubt just for a little while?”

Marcus wants to, just for a moment. But instead he snorts. “Andrew, the last benefit of a doubt I gave you was the day that you told me that it would be easier to pay someone to live with me after my mother died.” His jaw clenches and he shakes his head. “So please forgive me if I don’t exactly trust your version of ‘help’.”

“I have a lot to make up for, Marcus.” He knows that. He feels it in his bones every day, and the older he gets the more he aches with it. “I know that. That’s why I’m here. If—” He sighs, a gruff sound despite himself. “If not for you, then just hear me out for your child’s sake.”

“I’ll be honest,” Marcus knows that you are watching the tense exchange, but he wants to let the man who sired him know exactly where he stands. “The only reason I’m willing to even entertain you being here is because I don’t want the woman I love giving birth to my child before I can marry her.”

“I know that.” Andrew doesn’t doubt that the hatred Marcus has for the way he was raised has informed a great many of his choices when it comes to you, and he nods solemnly. “I know that’s what you want, and I really am trying to help you achieve it. Otherwise I would have just told Amanda to stop contacting me and kept my nose out of it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you cared enough to come.” He admits. “Business trip?” There is a bite of animosity in the question, the excuse he used when he was with them and away from his ‘real family’.

Andrew sighs, knowing he deserves the question, but squares his shoulders as he shakes his head. “No.” He tells his son flatly. “I told your stepmother exactly where I was going and why.” The shock on Marcus’s face is immediate, and warranted, and Andrew just nods again. “I have a lot to make up for, Marcus. I know that. But I do want to try.”

He couldn’t say anything if he wanted to. Instead, he just nods at his father and gets into his car. Honestly not sure if the damage that had been done years ago could ever be repaired, but there was a more pressing matter to deal with right now.

Once you’re back at the house, you could nearly cry out of sheer relief to see Amanda’s car absent from the driveway. Whatever she’s doing on her day off, she’s not at home and that is going to make things much easier. You and Marcus pull your cars into the garage leaving Andrew to park in the driveway, and you envelope your fiancé in the biggest, tightest hug when you both climb out of your cars behind the closed garage door.

“I can’t believe he is here.” Marcus would never admit it to Andrew, but he’s nervous. Nervous that the life he’s built with you will be looked down on by the man who he had been at odds with for so long.

“He seems to actually want to help.” You could hear what they were saying to each other even with your car door closed and to an outside observer – not knowing their dynamic more intimately – it seemed encouraging. “Maybe we can hear him out? Just listen to what he has to say?”

Marcus blows a raspberry and sighs. “I can’t make any promises.” He murmurs, hugging you tightly before letting you go. “He’s spent years perfecting the art of lying.”

“I know.” Nodding against his chest, you leave a kiss over Marcus’s heart. “But I think we might need all the help we can get.”

“I just – domestic violence?” He sounds shocked, bewildered. Because he is. “Why does she hate me so much?”

“You have something she wants.” Unfortunately, it really is that simple. As disgusting as it is. “Apparently there really is no low she won’t stoop to.”

“I hate her.” Marcus admits quietly, voicing that for the first time ever. “I think I hate her worse than – than anyone. Ever.”

“I do, too.” Giving him another tight hug, you lean back and look him in the eyes. “But we are going to get through this. You’re going to be able to go back to work with your head held high, I’m going to get her the hell out of my store, and she’s going to go back to Portland with her tail between her legs and nothing to show for her efforts but a whole lot of wasted time and money. We are going to be okay.” You’re not sure how, but you know that what you aren’t willing to do is give up.

He wants to believe that. “We better get inside and open the door for Andrew.” He tells you. “Find out what he thinks he can do.”

Marcus’s home is small by the standards Andrew is used to, but the condominium is well decorated and neatly furnished with a feminine touch that he can only assume is yours. The art on the walls, though, he knows Marcus must have chosen. It stung when his son had elected not to pursue the family business, but at the time he had been convinced that the boy’s madness was temporary and that he would come around. Now, however? Now he looked for Special Agent Marcus Pike’s name in police reports and federal cases with pride. Not that his son would ever believe it if he said so. “You’ve made a house a home.” He observes, looking around the living room after you let him inside. “It’s very nice.”

“All her doing.” Marcus will readily admit. “She helped me pick out everything. Best furniture shopping day of my life.” There is that stupid, small surge of pride when it receives the Andrew Packard seal of approval. Marcus hates that he likes it so much.

“Best day of my life, period.” You beam at Marcus from across the room, already headed to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone. “Except for maybe the day you proposed. That one might take first place now.”

“Then it will the day we get married.” Marcus predicts. “And the birth of the Pike-ette.”

“Pike-ette?” Andrew’s head cocks in amusement from where he had been inspecting a framed photo of the two of you on the wall.

“It’s our nickname for the baby.” Since Marcus is the one who mentioned it first, you don’t see any real harm in explaining its meaning. “Lemonade okay for everyone?”

“That’s perfect.” Andrew doesn’t say that you shouldn’t bother, it would be ignored as it seems you like to entertain. “Thank you.”

Reappearing a moment later with a pitcher of the raspberry lemonade from the Chestnut House Inn and three glasses on a tray, you set them down on the coffee table in the middle of the living room and nervously smooth your sweaty palms down your sides in an attempt to be discreet.

“Do you know the sex yet?” Andrew asks, nodding slightly toward your middle. The shirt you’re wearing hides any little bit that you might be showing, but he can’t for the life of him remember how far along you have to be before you can find out. He might not have ever known, come to think of it.

“Not yet.” You pour out a glass for each of you before you sit back with your drink in hand. “We have a few more weeks to go before we can find out for sure.” The name list definitely doesn’t reflect that, though. You and Marcus walked away from your weekend in DC with some new favourites.

“Do you know why Amanda contacted you?” Marcus asks, jumping right into the meat of one of his larger questions. “Did she ask for money to go away? Because I don’t want you to give her a dime.”

"The only thing I plan on giving her is a ride to the airport to get her out of your hair." Obviously the time for small talk is over, but Andrew appreciates the fact that you are willing to give him any kind of morsel of information about your lives. The fact that he has not been there for so much of Marcus's life is a source of not inconsiderable shame as he gets older. "She contacted me for sympathy. She intends to make an ally of me, thinking I might take her side when the divorce goes to court." He shrugs his shoulders a little and clasps his hands in his lap as he sits in the armchair across from the couch. "Which will never happen."

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Marcus snorts, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. “I want to know why the lawyers are dragging their feet.” He huffs. “I’ve given them days of video from the house.”

"I have every intention of having her packed and on her way back to Portland by the time I leave." There isn't likely to be much more of a welcome for him in this house than there has been for the first Mrs. Marcus Pike, and Andrew knows that. Sitting back in the comfortable chair, he surveys the two of you for a moment before directing his attention at Marcus. "What she wants is the trust. We know this. She hasn't exactly been coy about it. But what neither you nor she knew before now is that that trust is what is called a revocable living trust. It is not simply something that I set up when you were born and put money into to forget that it existed." He softens slightly when Marcus doesn't bite back at him. "It is a living and growing entity. I have added to it over the years. Possessions and heirlooms as well as money. Some of...some of your mother's things, as well as a few Packard family pieces that I wanted to make sure went to your family. But because of the nature of a living trust, it also means that I – as the grantor – can change the parameters of the trust. In other words, I can make sure the trust is iron-clad against Amanda."

“I— why didn’t I know that?” Marcus chokes out after a moment, shocked that Andrew had been adding to it. And that there were some of his mother’s things in trust. “I thought you got rid of her things.” He admits quietly. When he had come back to visit from his first semester of college, there had been a strange family living in the house he had grown up in. He had assumed his father had sold the house. He had gone back to his college apartment and never really spoken about it. Just denying any visit Andrew had wanted to make.

"If I told you honestly that losing your mother hurt too much to talk about for many years, would you actually believe me?" He knows what his son thinks of him, and decades of retrospect have forced him to admit that he deserves some degree of the treatment that he has been given. "I know that I handled things poorly, but the things she loved and treasured most were kept for you. They're in an atmosphere and temperature controlled storage pod in California that you'll be given access to soon. It can just be shipped here if that's what you want. You don't have to come out there or see me again to have it all."

“You were good to her.” Marcus begrudgingly admits. His mother had died believing that Andrew had loved her, despite Marcus’s belief to the contrary.

"She was the love of my life." He admits that freely now, and can only hope that Marcus believes it. Andrew Packard has never been a man who believes in tears or sentimentality when it comes to most of his life, but change is inescapable. He just wishes the change had been sooner, and for the better. "And I regret the way I handled everything. Especially when it comes to you."

There is a bitterness to Marcus’s smile, a small huff of amazement. “You mean that it’s not a good idea to basically abandon a teenager who just lost their only stable parent to live by themselves with someone you paid because it was more convenient for you?” Okay, it might have come out extremely sarcastic, but right now, he doesn’t care. Andrew might have loved his mother, but he hadn’t shown Marcus much compassion after she had died.

"Marcus, I don't expect you to forgive me." Though it's what he wants – what he wishes for – he doesn't consider it a realistic option. There are too many years' worth of bad blood, and Marcus inherited Andrew's stubbornness. "But I am the person who can fix this for you, if you let me."

“God, you can never just admit that you were wrong.” Marcus shakes his head. “It’s ‘I regret the way I handled things’ or ‘there is a reason I did that’. Never just saying ‘sorry, I fucked up’.” Marcus holds his hand up and stops Andrew when he goes to say something. “How does dear ol’ dad plan on fixing things for me? Do tell.”

"Goddamnit, Marcus, I was wrong." Andrew shakes his head, not having wanted to cause an argument in front of his son's pregnant fiancée. There seems to be no way to avoid it, though, and he wipes one hand down his face like it might do anything at all to calm him. "I'm a miserable old man with three children who despise me and a wife who prevented me from marrying the woman I loved because of money, and I don't want you to turn out like me!"

“You could have divorced her.” Marcus scoffs, leaning in and narrowing his eyes. “Like I’m desperately trying to do so I can marry the woman I love. But you didn’t. You treated us like the dirty little secrets we were. Only to be given attention when your real family could spare the time!” The news that his father’s daughters wanted nothing to do with Andrew surprised him. He had never viewed them as sisters, but they had always been the golden heirs to the Packard empire and treated as such.

"I signed a prenup." Back then it hadn't been something anyone talked about. It was business only, when he had agreed to marry the wealthy socialite who would provide him the opportunities, finances, and place in society that he needed to get his business really moving. Andrew exhales deeply, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before going on so he doesn't shout. "The new technology that our company was working on was built on Jeannie's father's designs. If I divorced her, I lost everything that I had ever worked toward. The entire future of the Packard brand." He pauses again, trying to pretend he doesn't see the way you're staring at him in shock. "There was...there was a clause in the agreement that allowed Jeannie and me each one affair. Whatever children came from the affair would be taken care of. Provided for. I could give your mother money and put a roof over your head and food on your table, but if I tried to divorce Jeannie it would all be gone. I—” It makes him ache, the decision that he made, but he can't undo it now. It's far too late for that. "I should have done it anyway. I should have left and rebuilt my life with you and your mother. But I was afraid, and I made the wrong decision." When he looks at Marcus again, it's all he can do not to choke on the words. "I was wrong, Marcus. And I don't expect you to forgive me. Or even believe how sorry I am. But if I could take back the decisions I made, I would."

Marcus is struck dumb for a moment. Learning things that he had never known, information he had never been privy to. Information that might have helped him see his father in a different light. Or at least eased some of the anger he had towards him. “And when mom died?” He whispers. “Living with you wasn’t an option? Because of the agreement?” Being abandoned after her death had really been the nail in the coffin. He hadn’t really cared for his father beforehand, but that act had cemented the idea that Marcus was just a byproduct of an affair and not really important to Andrew for him.

"It would have been a violation of the prenup." Andrew nods slowly, glad to see Marcus is actually absorbing the information instead of letting it wash over him as another thing out of his father's mouth to be ignored. "Jeannie has a third daughter living in New York. She's...a lawyer, I think. The father was one of my business associates for many years, and I held my tongue because the same rules that let them sneak off on their business trips also let me take time away to see you and your mother."

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Marcus climbs to his feet and paces around a small area in front of the coffee table. “And mom – she – she knew about all of this, didn’t she?” He asks his father, looking over at him as he paces with his hand on his hip and his other rubbing his temple.

"We agreed that it was too complicated to explain to you when you were younger." He huffs a little at that, rubbing the side of his head in exactly the same way as his son without realizing it. "She wanted to protect you, and I wanted to protect myself. She—would joke that she was too good for me, and that was why I couldn't leave Jeannie." Even the smallest memory is enough to have him choked up now, but he shakes it away.

“You should have told me.” Marcus declares. “Especially after—” he shakes his head, remembering all the hateful things he had said, thought about this man. “After I didn’t want to see you anymore.”

"Yes. I should have." He can agree to that, at the very least. "And I'm sorry that I didn't."

“Jesus.” Marcus closes his eyes, biting his lip as he feels his own guilt welling up. “I owe you an apology.” He’s enough of an adult, and nuanced enough to understand that the situation had been far more complicated than a rich man keeping a mistress and a bastard child on the side of his perfect family. He was a man who admitted his mistakes. Opening his eyes, they lock onto his father. “I’m sorry.”

Locked in silence on the sofa, you can only watch as Andrew Packard puts his hand out to his only son, only for Marcus to actually take a step forward to hug his father. You don't actually know if they've ever shared a moment before – surely it hasn't been since Marcus was a child if they ever have.

"You had every right to be angry." Andrew murmurs, one hand gently patting Marcus's shoulder as the two men separate. "But I'm here now to help. Hopefully you can believe that now."

Marcus takes a moment, emotions thick but he nods. “I- what are you going to do?” He asks gently. “What can you do?”

"I can change the wording of the beneficiary of the trust." When the two men sit back down, Andrew picks up his glass of lemonade, glad for the chance to do anything other than cry in front of his grown child. "Instead of simply saying that it is payable to you upon such and such conditions, I can tie it up so that it is payable to both you and your fiancée specifically – using her legal name, of course – upon the birth of your first child. And that any attempt to distribute the contents of the trust to anyone besides the two of you and your child will result in the immediate dissolvement of the trust. Of course, it means you literally cannot use the money for anything except yourselves and your family, but that's a problem for another time."

Marcus immediately frowns, his immediate refusal on the tip of his tongue. The insistence that he would never use the money ingrained in him. Instead, he bites off the urge and turns to you, wanting your input. “Babe?” He asks before he turns back to his father. “What is the trust worth?” He asks, never having paid too much attention to it at all and the idea that his father had kept adding to it make him wonder.

"Currently?" Andrew flips open an app on his phone and hums for a moment while something loads before looking back up at his son. "A little less than thirty-five million, plus your mother's things and a few family heirlooms that probably add up to another two or so million between them."

"Jesus." You shake your head a little. Absorbing everything has been a little bit of a hustle, but you're keeping up as best you can. "If you tie the trust up like this, can we still use it for things like buying a house or putting the kids through school? I mean that's what it was originally intended for, right?"

"Correct." Andrew nods, glad to see that you're sharp enough to keep up. "You'll be able to use it to make payments by cashing assets or moving funds into your personal account, and then using it as you see fit. But you will not be able to do things like sign a portion of the assets over to say...your child's spouse when they marry. You would have to set up an entirely separate trust for that."

Marcus swallows and searches his father’s face. “Why— why do you want me to have Packard heirlooms?” He asks. “I’m not a Packard. Shouldn’t they belong to your daughters?” He’s not trying to be cruel; he’s wanting to know why it’s important he receive those things.

"There are plenty of things that went to your sisters." He knows that Marcus has never thought of Elaine and Ariella as family, but they are. They are his blood, if only by half. "But despite the fact that I could not give you my name, you are a Packard by blood. And there are some things that I wanted you to have for that reason." There is a list, of course, all things like this have very detailed lists. "In your case, there are a few paintings, a few pieces of jewelry, and a furnished house."

“A house?” Marcus looks over at you and sees how wide your eyes have gotten. He doesn’t know why that surprises him, but it does.

"If you choose to sell it, that's up to you." He can't quite admit that it would break his heart a little, but given the strain in his relationship with Marcus, he would understand if the sentimentality meant little to him. "But when you decided to go into the FBI, I added it to your assets. A home already waiting for you in Washington seemed helpful." He sips his drink again, actually finding that he likes it and isn't just drinking it to be polite. "It's the house I grew up in. Your grandfather bought it from the original owners in the 1930s and I've been renting it to a family for the last ten years or so. Their youngest is in college now and I doubt they'll want to stay much longer."

Marcus can’t help but laugh. “She wants to go to Washington.” He tells his father, pointing at you. “I proposed there.” It’s oddly touching that he had been given consideration and well, a house in Washington. It would help if he did transfer there.

"Oh?" Andrew raises an eyebrow at you.

"I—" You fluster slightly, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. "It's my favourite place," you admit with a shrug. "I went to college there and there's this inn I love, and...and that's there Marcus took me last weekend. They made us a picnic and he proposed on the Mall."

"Well," Andrew can't help but smile. "I hope you choose not to sell, then. It's in Georgetown. I can— I can have the trustees send over photos of the house, if you want."

Marcus nods. “For now, we are here in Austin, but I have a feeling D.C. will be our home before too long.” He admits with an indulgent smile towards you.

"Does this mean that you're willing to let me help, then?" In his view, it would be foolish and stubborn not to accept his offer to change the terms of the trust – and technically Marcus couldn't stop Andrew if this is what he decided to do. But Andrew Packard had promised himself that he was done bullying and steamrolling his son.

Marcus sighs, reaching for your hand. The little squeeze of encouragement is all he needs before he’s looking back at his father. “Yes.” Marcus nods. “I would appreciate your help.” He bites his lip. “Dad.”

Leaning over, you press a kiss to Marcus's cheek and rest your head temporarily on his shoulder before you blow out a sigh. "I can't believe there's an end in sight."

"Oh, I think it will be a very quick ending." Andrew nods to Marcus, well aware of the haze in his eyes at actually having his grown son call him Dad without sarcasm. "I'll be happy to sign a statement for the Bureau swearing absolute knowledge that the domestic violence allegations are false, if Amanda retracting her accusation isn't good enough on its own."

“That won’t be necessary.” Marcus shakes his head, knowing that there is no way that Andrew would honestly know that. “I have all of the video. It’s not pretty, but the only thing I did was yell and throw a cup at a wall. Nowhere near her. And it has audio.”

“Good, then.” Andrew blows out a breath with the air of a man who has had the weight of the world lifted from one shoulder but the woes of a lifetime still pressing on the other. “I’ll call the trustees and have the wording updated immediately.”

“We’ll give you some privacy.” It’s not as though the condo has an office or study you can let him use, so you nod to Marcus in the direction of the kitchen, thinking he might need a chance to breathe as well. The last hour has given him a hell of a lot to think about.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Marcus stands and quickly follows you to the kitchen and the moment he’s out of sight from his father, his knees nearly buckle as he sags against the counter. “Fuck.” He manages.

“How are you holding up, baby?” Your arms are around him instantly, encouraging him to use you for support and comfort as much as he possibly can. The man just had his entire perception of his father knocked on its axis and it can’t be easy to handle.

“I— I don’t know.” He admits, burying his face in your neck and closing his eyes. His breathing is labored and almost panicked. “I— he – it was –” He chokes out a sob and the tears that he had held back since he was a boy, the hurt and the pain at feeling unimportant by the man who had fathered him comes pouring out.

“Oh, honey…” It’s all you can really do not to cry with him, with the volatility of the moment so pervasive in the air. But you gently rub one hand in circles on his back, softly encouraging him to let all of it out. “That was…a lot of information…”

Marcus isn’t ashamed to cry. He’s never been one to believe that to ‘be a man’ meant that he couldn’t express real emotions. He knows that it’s healthy. Right now he’s crying for himself - all the anger and hate he had carried for Andrew, for his mom - who had loved a man who was caught in a situation with no good ending. For his dad - who had loved them and been unable to fully show it. “I— I d-d-didn’t know.”

“I know, love.” With one hand traveling in his back, your other holds him tight against you while he lets out every ounce of frustration and confusion he has. “You couldn’t have.”

Several more long minutes go by until the tears slow down and stop. Your shirt is soaked, but he knows you don’t care. Quieting down and finally just clinging to you, Marcus reevaluates his life, his entire perspective and knows that you are what is keeping him from going insane right now.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Now, more than ever, you can honestly say that with confidence. There is a reason to say it. And even though the source is highly unlikely, you aren’t worried that it will fall through or backfire. This is Marcus’s father atoning for his own sins, and if that is what it takes to end this nightmare, you welcome it.

“I was starting to worry.” Marcus admits with a harsh chuckle. “Was afraid that it wouldn’t happen before you were giving birth.”

“I, um…” Wiping his damp cheeks, you press a kiss to Marcus’s forehead and shrug, like you’re not sure what else to say. “I think he’s at least earned himself an invitation to the wedding, don’t you?” Even if things are never more than polite between him and his father, you would hate for there to never be an olive branch.

Marcus huffs out a laugh and leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Yeah.” He breathes out. “I think he can come to the wedding.”

“I’m so glad that some of your mother’s things were saved.” A kiss to his cheek this time, as the last of his tears dry and he starts to breathe normally again. You fully understand how precious his mother was to him, and to not have lost all of those memories of her is an unlooked for blessing.

“I am too.” He admits softly. “I always regretted not taking the photo albums with me when I went to college.”

“We should ask if they’re in storage.” Andrew had been vague on which things belonging to Marcus’s mother were included in the trust, and you don’t want Marcus to be disappointed if something isn’t there.

“We can do that.” Marcus nods, imagining being able to see pictures of his mom again. He had only had a few that he had brought with him when he had left. They were precious to him, but only wallet sized.

“I love you.” Whispered as it is, just for him, it still lights you up in a way that nothing else really does. “I’m so sorry that today has been hard – that the last few months have been hard – but I love you and everything’s going to be okay.”

“I love you too.” Marcus whispered, cupping your cheek and leaning in to kiss you softly. “It’s going to be okay.” He breathes out like he’s actually believing it for the first time. Because the end is finally in sight. “We are going to get through this. I’m so fucking lucky to have found you.”

“I didn’t do a thing.” Your hands on his arms squeeze softly and you give him a lopsided grin. “Except accidentally tell your father about our s’mores dip and get a really good idea for chocolate and marshmallow covered strawberries in return.”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he bites his lip, smiling slightly. “I had forgotten about those.” He murmurs softly.

“I think we’re going to have to make some.” The smile on his face is everything, and you could just melt at how nostalgic he looks. “For the baby. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Marcus squeezes your hip and straightens. Letting go of you so he can walk over to the sink and wash his face from crying.

“What do you say to me making dinner for everyone?” It seems like the kindest gesture you can put forward, even if you’re not quite the gourmet cook that Andrew used to. A family meal meant everything to you growing up and it still does now. “Maybe we can talk a little bit more with your dad before the Wicked Witch comes home?”

“That –” Marcus is about to agree when Andrew walks into the kitchen, his phone sliding into his pocket. Turning to him, he wonders if it might just be that easy to get rid of Amanda.

“Everything’s being processed now.” Andrew tells you both, actually smiling a little. Amanda has made life hell for his son and he’s happy to make it hell for her in return. “The paperwork will be finished and filed before the end of business today.”

“God, just like that?” Marcus shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve been trying for months to get her to just sign the damn papers. That I’m not giving her that trust.”

“She’ll have no reason not to sign now.” He notes the redness to Marcus’s eyes and the damp patch on your shirt but says nothing. It isn’t as though there is a door to your kitchen that could have kept him from hearing his son cry. “I’m—” he huffs a little, not used to the words or sure if they’ll be welcome. “I’m proud of you for not giving in to her, Marcus. A lesser man would have.”

“It wasn’t mine to give.” Marcus gives a small shrug. “Technically the money isn’t mine at all. I haven’t had a child, and I’m not the right age yet. I honestly never planned on touching it.” He admits, looking his father in the eyes.

“Well.” The older man rocks on his heels for a moment, steadying himself when he hears the front door open. “Hopefully it won’t be a sore subject for you any longer.”

“Shit.” Marcus wishes there were a few more minutes before she crawled in from the bowels of hell, but of course that couldn’t be the case. He turns to watch as Amanda walks through the door.

“Amanda.” Stepping out of the archway that leads into the kitchen, Andrew’s eyes narrow on her like a hawk spotting prey. “What remarkable timing you have. We were just talking about you.”

“Andrew!” Her eyes widen slightly, immediately adopting an innocent expression as she looks at him, barely noticing Marcus behind him as all three of you come into the living room. “I didn’t expect— you came all this way to make sure I was safe?” She simpers slightly, clutching her chest and finally looking at Marcus, smug when she notices his red rimmed eyes. “I am grateful to have the best father-in-law.”

There is a split second where you could swear that Andrew nods at you and Marcus, before he steps forward with a sympathetic coo in his voice. “Poor thing,” he intones, reaching like he’s going to cup Amanda’s cheek where the false make-up black eye hampers her usual flawless complexion. Instead of showing tenderness, though, the second she is in reach he swipes his thumb through the layers of foundation and color under her eye, smudging the make-up irreparably and holding up the digit to her gaze. “I came to make sure that you recant your story, sign the divorce papers, and leave. It’s a shame that you chose to prey on my son. Maybe you’ll choose a wiser target next time.”

Amanda gasps, jerking back with her eyes shooting daggers at Andrew. “How dare you touch me!” She screeches.

“Upset that I smudged your makeover?” He shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

She looks around at the three angry faces. “Good luck proving this.” She sneers, tossing her head defiantly and pointing at her eye, “I’ve already made reports. The ball is rolling and there’s nothing saying that the bruises don’t ‘heal’ by the time everything is investigated.”

"I would say that the camera footage of the actual incident, as well as you admitting to me in this moment that the bruise is false – also on camera – should do a great deal to convince the Austin police department as well as the internal review board at the FBI that the report was falsified." Andrew sneers right back at her, wondering how a little viper like her ever managed to fool his son. "But you've forgotten one very important fact while you have been running around conducting your circus, Amanda. Marcus isn't in charge of the trust until the baby is born. I am."

Amanda narrows her eyes for a split second, having forgotten that part. “So what?” She asks. “The trust has been done for years. You can’t take money out of it.”

"Incorrect." He's so pleased with the fact that she's wrong that he practically chuckles, making the sound that follows the word a little foreboding. "The trust has existed for years. But it is a living, growing entity. Or it was, until about four minutes ago. Now it is set in stone. Accessible only by Marcus and his fiancée. Any attempt to sign over as much as a penny to any person besides their children will result in the immediate dissolvement of the entire trust."

Realization and fury fill Amanda’s eyes and she lets out a scream that is shrill enough that Marcus flinches in pain. “See if I fucking divorce you now!” She screams. “I’ll make sure your child is a bastard – just like you!”

"That's fine." Marcus and Andrew's heads both whip around to look at you in disbelief when you open your mouth, hearing those words come out. "This isn't Victorian England. Legitimacy doesn't mean anything, because our child is loved and wanted. Just like Marcus."

Marcus swallows and nods. “Our baby is wanted.” He tells Amanda.

Andrew nods, disgusted with the way she would try to emotionally manipulate his son. “Marcus was planned.” He informs her, much to Marcus’s shock. “I know that my son labored under the misconception that he was the byproduct of an affair, but he was not. His mother and I knew the exact date he was conceived.”

“Staying married won’t entitle you to a thing.” You tell Amanda point blank, sounding much braver than you feel. “You’ll just be lonely and miserable without any chance of being able to restart your life because you’ll have dug your heels too hard into ours.”

“I’ve wasted too much money on this to walk away empty-handed.” Amanda looks over pointedly at Andrew.

“What a shame.” Andrew laments dramatically. “Nothing is all you’re getting.”

Growling in frustration, Amanda throws her hands up and whirls around. “You’ve not won!”

“I will make you one deal.” Andrew offers, after a chilling pause. “Pack up your things, call your job and quit, and I’ll drive you myself to the Four Seasons Austin to spend your last week bothering my son staying in a luxury hotel. I’ll drive you to the lawyer’s office and to the police department myself tomorrow so that everything can be handled properly. As soon as you have dotted your last ‘i’, I will put you on a one-way flight back to Portland and you will never contact any of us again.” The business side of Andrew Packard is chilling, knowing no compassion or compromise as he stares her down in the living room. “This offer will be made only once. If you take it, we will not file a restraining order.”

Amanda clenches her jaw, looking from Marcus to you and the back to Andrew. “Fine.” She spits. “The decor is ugly and uncomfortable anyway.” She sniffs, glaring at you and Marcus. “You both deserve one another.”

Watching her storm upstairs is like watching a thunder cloud move independently through the skies, and Andrew’s eyes follow her with concern. “One of you should come with me to watch her pack. To make sure she doesn’t take any of your things.”

“I’ll do it.” Marcus volunteers, turning to you and pulling you against him. “I don’t want her to actually try to push you down the stairs in retaliation.”

“Agreed.” Andrew sets one hand gently on your shoulder. “Why don’t you decide where you and the Pike-ette would like to have dinner tonight. A celebration. My treat.”

Marcus looks at you when you turn your eyes on him, nodding slightly. “That sounds good.” He says. “Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’ll do a last purge of the kitchen while she packs.” Being able to toss out one last batch of all off those foods that have been making your life that much more miserable will be incredibly cathartic.

“Okay baby.” Marcus nods and kisses your forehead. “We are getting rid of her.”

“We can pick a wedding date.” Did you mean what you said earlier about still being with Marcus and loving your baby if you were never able to be married? Of course. But without Amanda standing in your way, the path to happiness lies open and waiting for you.

“Yes, we can.” Marcus beams at you, his grin wide and happy. “You decide if you want the wedding before the baby is born and talk to the inn and see when we can do it.”

“I’ll email Alana and see what dates they have available.” You rope your arms around his neck to press an earnest kiss to his lips. “Go on. I’ll be right here when she’s done.”

Marcus smiles and keeps smiling as he and Andrew make their way upstairs. Hearing her slam around in the room she has been squatting in. “I refused to put furniture in the spare room.” Marcus admits as they walk up the stairs. “So she had to sleep on an air mattress.”

“Will it be the nursery now?” Andrew distinctly remembers painting the nursery walls in the little house where Marcus grew up, loving the shade of blue they chose and how it seemed to radiate happiness when the sun hit it just right.

“Yes.” Marcus nods quickly, unable to keep from grinning at the prospect of finally being able to prepare for the baby. “Everything we’ve bought so far has been stuffed in our room. Afraid she would destroy it.” Marcus steps up on the landing and turns around to look back down at his father. “We’re planning on having four.”

“Four?” Andrew chuckles at his son’s enthusiasm, but slaps him on the shoulder in that sort of ingrained act of encouragement that all fathers show. “Do you have names yet?”

Marcus laughs and, if possible, his grin gets even wider. While he wouldn’t say everything with his father was fixed, he wasn’t going to continue to shut the man out. “We’ve got a notebook of names.” He bites his lip and asks, “who chose Marcus?”

“Your mother did.” They stand at the top of the staircase, sentinels making sure that Amanda keeps packing every second that she’s in that room. “I liked Mark, but she thought Marcus sounded better.”

“What you said – downstairs…” Marcus shuffles slightly and glances back at his father. “About being planned…was that for her sake or was that true?”

“That was true.” Andrew’s head bobs on a resigned sigh. “We talked about it so much – what it could be like to have a real family – until ultimately we decided that having you was more important than whether or not we were married.”

Marcus sighs, echoing his father almost exactly. "I wish I had been told all of this." He murmurs quietly, frowning when he remembers something else that Andrew had said. "You said all your children hate you." He reminds him. "What's the deal with that?"

“We were going to tell you…” he knows it isn’t enough, but it’s the truth. “When you turned eighteen. When your mother died before that I couldn’t—” He couldn’t bring himself to sully the perfect memory that Marcus had of the woman who cherished him more than the world. “I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself. But the girls? They…” He shrugs, not quite knowing what to say on that account. If he was ever looking for proof that he was a lousy father, it lay in the fact that none of his children wanted anything to do with him. “I focused my entire life on provided for my kids. When that’s your focus, you forget to be there for things like dance recitals and homecoming games. They become less important in your mind, but they’re not, Marcus. Don’t ever miss out on what is important to those four kids of yours once they’ve arrived. Because while you’re busy looking at the broader strokes, the little things are already cemented in their minds.”

"I'm not." Marcus promises, knowing for a fact that his relationship with his children will be far different from the one he had with his father. Although he can acknowledge that it's also because of his own attitude towards Andrew that caused the rift and the stoic man's refusal to bend the rules that apparently his parents had put in place when he was young concerning the knowledge of what was going on behind the scenes. "I plan on being a very hands-on dad." He sighs when he hears another slam inside the bedroom and glances towards the closed door. "Although I'm pretty sure that the kids will be spoiled by their grandfather when he comes to visit."

“What’s her father like?” Andrew can’t deny the sting that comes from knowing that your father will be allowed to have a relationship with his grandchildren when he will not – but he burned this bridge a long time ago. He knows that now. And Marcus may have apologized for his harsh attitude over the years, but it was far from displaced.

"I— I've never met him actually." Marcus admits sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He's a farmer in upper New York." He chuckles after a moment, realizing that his father didn't understand what he had been trying to subtly say. "So I'm anticipating vacations to the farm more than he would come to them." He shrugs and looks at the man who really does embody what Marcus can expect to look like in another thirty-five years. "Their other grandfather would be the one that travels a lot."

“Oh.” Andrew nearly stumbles, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he moves to lean on the railing at the top of the stairs. “Any time, Marcus.” He promises, without hesitation. “Say the word and I’ll be there.”

"Well, first we have to get through the wedding." Marcus tells him casually. "It'll be in Washington D.C. That little inn where we stayed. She's in love with it and honestly? I am too." He opens up, offering his father details that he never would have before. He doesn't know if his father cares about information like that, but it's his way to extend an olive branch. "And then there's the birth of the baby. Have to be there for it."

“What’s the inn?” Marcus hasn’t willingly opened up to him like this in nearly twenty years and Andrew will be damned if he doesn’t grab the opportunity to learn all he can when his son is willing to share. “She strikes me as the homey and historical type.” He had gotten a few glances at your ring in the last few hours, too, and was impressed to see that you had chosen style over carat number - the opposite of what Amanda wore.

“She is.” Marcus grins, proud of you and everything to do with you. “The Chestnut House Inn.” He tells his dad, hearing another muffled curse from the closed door of the spare room. “Coincidentally in Georgetown too.”

Andrew hums for a moment, thinking intently, before he nods. “Big old converted mansion, right? They used to have dances there and your grandparents liked their restaurant a lot.” He chuckles, shaking his head at the coincidence. “It’s maybe two blocks from the house. You’ll be able to go and visit any time you like. I think they stopped doing afternoon teas in the summer, but my mother loved those.”

“If it was ever on the market, she would want to buy it in a heartbeat.” Marcus can’t believe that Andrew knows about the inn. “She majored in hospitality.”

“Really?” That surprises him. That you’re not working in the field you had wanted to. But times are tough even for the well connected, in terms of the job market. “For the right price, I think the current owner could be persuaded to part with it, don’t you?” It would take almost no work at all to find out who owns the place and if they’re inclined to sell. He could have the information from his business manager in under an hour.

Marcus shrugs, having left the majority of his own business dealings and investments alone. Maybe just a bit of a thumbing towards his father since business had been his entire life. “I honestly don’t have a clue what something like that would cost.”

“It depends on how well it’s doing and how satisfied the owner is with their staff, usually.” Andrew’s phone is out and in his hand, quick keystrokes getting him the information he needs, until a moment later he’s nearly laughing in disbelief. “You know,” he looks up at Marcus. “If you think she would really be interested, and be good at it? I know the current owner. He’s a son of a bitch, and a greedy one. He would sell if there was a profit to be had.”

Marcus knows you will be fantastic at it. “She isn’t the problem.” Marcus tells Andrew. “She would be amazing at it. But I don’t have that kind of money and I don’t know if, or when, we will be in D.C.”

“I have that kind of money.” Andrew reminds him, not shy about the fact that he would want to be the one to do this. “If and when you get word about DC? You just let me know. It would be a hell of a surprise for her, if you wanted it to be.”

“I’ll let you know.” He doesn’t want his father to expend hundreds of thousands of dollars on his behalf, even if it wouldn’t personally hurt his wallet.

“Do.” Andrew nods. He’ll buy the property anyway, keeping the staff in place, and gift it to you and Marcus on the correct occasion. It’s no less than what the current owner is doing, he’s sure, and he’s a better businessman than his so-called friend. But he doesn’t want to lose the thread he has with Marcus, so he quickly picks up the conversation again. “Have you talked about the honeymoon yet?”

“Vague ideas.” Marcus admits. “It’s been hard to plan when we couldn’t set a date. Somewhere private. Maybe a tropical island.”

“You’re welcome to use our place in the Caymans.” Glancing over at his son, Andrew is perhaps extra aware of the privileges that he can offer if Marcus is willing to let him into his life. Not that he ever forced his son to struggle – he actively worked to provide for him – but the advantages are definitely exaggerated right now. He wants to give Marcus, and you and the baby, the world.

Marcus frowns and furrows his brow. “The Caymans…” he tilts his head. “That vacation to the beach when I was seven? Eight? Was that?”

“That was the Caymans.” Andrew nods, pleased that Marcus at least has some good memories of him left.

“That was a good vacation.” Marcus muses. “You helped me make sandcastles and you and mom would stay up late and dance.” He remembers watching when he was supposed to be asleep.

“I loved her.” Andrew murmurs, turning his eyes on his son again. “As well as I knew how. And we—we both love you so much. She would be so proud of you.”

“I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on.” Marcus murmurs, feeling warmer. “Do you—” he hesitates for a moment. “The photo albums she had, do you have them in storage?” He asks quietly.

“I have them, but not in storage.” The albums that Rachel had kept so meticulously to document Marcus’s early years occupy a shelf in the safe of Andrew’s home office, where they have sat for years, waiting to become part of what is effectively Marcus’s inheritance. “They’re yours when you want them.”

“Where are they?” His answer is suddenly very important to Marcus. He’s had a lot of judgements against his father, but he needs to know this.

“My safe.” Andrew barely glances at the door to the spare room when a storm of frustration is heard from inside. “In my office at home. They’re yours, of course, but I—I’ve appreciated being able to see your mother from time to time over the years.”

Marcus chokes up slightly and blinks rapidly, realizing how much that Andrew must have missed her and being denied the child that he created with her must have twisted the knife deeper. “Maybe we can make copies?” He offers. “So we can both have the memories of her?”

It takes a moment, but Andrew manages to hold back an overly emotional reaction, nodding instead. But a crack in his voice gives him away anyway. “I—I’ll keep the digital copies. You should have the albums.”

“Whatever you think is best.” Marcus tells him right as the door to the bedroom opens and Amanda curls her lips at the two men. “This is touching and all, but someone needs to help me with my bags.”

While it would be delightful to force the woman to make several trips on her own, Andrew wants her out of Marcus’s hair pronto. “Come on,” he huffs, all but rolling his eyes when he sees three more bags sitting on the mattress in the spare room. “The sooner you’re out of here, the happier everyone involved will be.”

She snorts and huffs as she shoulders her purse and levels a withering look at Marcus. “It’s a good thing, I guess.” She tells him. “You were horrible in bed and boring.”

“Oh now see, Amanda, that’s just not true.” At the bottom of the stairs, you’re standing with a trash bag full of her awful foods all tied up and ready to send away with her. “Because I’ve fucked both of you, and you were worse by far.” Thrusting the bag into her hand as she practically stumbles down the last step to you, you just smile brightly. The eager, victorious, unwavering smile of a woman who is finally going to be free of torment to live the life that makes her happy. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

“Fuck all of you.” She hisses, looking like she might attack you for a moment before she stalks to the front door and flings it open. “Let’s go!”

“Bye bye now!” The sound of the door shutting behind her might be the best thing you’ve heard since Marcus asked you to marry him, and you practically slump in on yourself watching her go. Andrew calls out a promise to come back soon and then it’s nothing but blissful, magical silence inside your house.

“Holy shit.” Marcus slumps down and closes his eyes. “I can’t believe that it might actually be over.”

“There’s still paperwork to sign and making sure she retracts her statement to the police, but at least she’s not in the house.” Wrapping both arms around Marcus, you bring him tight to your chest and press a kiss to his hairline. “And we gotta make sure she quits her job, so I can have my work back.”

“She’s quit.” Marcus chuckles and presses a kiss to your hairline. “My father will make sure of it.” For the first time since he had woken up to the banging on the door, he feels like he can breathe.

“How are you feeling about having him around a little?” For such an enormous arrival outside of thin air today, Andrew Packard has certainly made an impression. And not the one you thought he would.

“I don’t…hate it.” Marcus admits quietly. “Surprisingly.” He rubs your back and decides to tell you. “I may have told him that he needed to be around for his four soon-to-be grandkids.”

That surprises you probably as much as it surprised him to say it, but you melt a little in his arms and let one hand cradle the underside of your belly. “I’m proud of you, love. It’s not easy to except help from someone you’re at odds with, and you did far more than just accept today.”

“I— learning the specifics of their entire…thing – it changed a lot of things for me.” He tells you quietly. “Especially since we’ve been in our own situation.”

“Maybe we can learn a little more while your father is still here?” Tangled around each other, the tension of the last few months loosens from your joints and starts to drip from your shoulders. “He did something enormous for us today. It would be nice if we could keep building good memories.”

“I can’t believe that he did this.” He sighs out. “I can’t be upset at him for coming. He did something amazing for us. And he has the photo albums.”

“Your mom’s albums?” He’s mentioned them more than a few times - how he wishes he had those photographs from his childhood to share with you and with your kids. “Seriously?”

“They aren’t in storage.” Marcus whispers. “He’s got them in his personal safe.”

“Would he let us make copies?” You know how much it would mean to Marcus to have memories of his mother back again, and you would do anything to help him make that happen. “I can make a digital replica for us to keep.”

“The photo albums are mine.” Marcus whispers, still amazed that his father had said that. “He wants to make a digital copy for himself. And let me keep the originals.”

“Oh, honey.” You’ll blame the tears in your eyes on pregnancy hormones, but either way you squeeze Marcus tight to your side. “That’s amazing. You’ll be able to see her whenever you want now.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and leans in to kiss you again. “I think this is going to be good for both of us. I’m going to try. To at least be polite, but I’m going to try.”

“I think it could be really good.” You won’t push, of course. You have never pushed Marcus. But it seems clear to you that Andrew wants a relationship with his son and is willing to put in a hell of a lot of work to make that happen. Humming softly when he kisses you again, you grin against his lips. “Alana is sending me a list of available dates for the rest of the year. We could have a wedding date picked out before we even go to bed tonight.”

“I invited him.” He announces. “Or maybe he doesn’t realize I did, but I mean to.” Inviting him to a wedding he had helped move up was the least he could do.

“We’ll make sure he gets a real invitation sent through the mail and everything.” It’s too much to ask if he might want to try to talk to his sisters, and today has already been a bit overwhelming, so you leave that out of the conversation for now. “Out of everything…I can’t believe he’s just…giving us a house…”

He can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what you are impressed with?” He can’t help but swing you around slightly and kiss you again, so fucking happy that the end is in sight.

“I’m taking it in one thing at a time!” You defend, laughing in his arms as he reels you in again to crush tightly against his chest. “I don’t even know how to process a number like thirty-five million, and it’s not going to really hit me that she’s gone until we wake up in the morning to no loud noises and no awful smells. So yes, I zeroed in on the house.”

“So you love me for my money?” Marcus teases, winking at you even though he’s shooting you a playful pout. “Although my father is impressed with you, adding you to the trust.”

“Marcus Pike, I would love you with nothing but dirt under your fingernails.” After all, you are a farm girl. “I would marry you with no ring and no roof and barely the clothes on our backs. I will work every day of my life to help provide for our family and make our lives happy.” Squeezing his hand in yours, your smile turns teasing. “But it’s a lot easier to plan for four babies when we know we won’t be struggling to feed them.”

“No. We won’t be struggling to feed them.” Marcus smiles and rubs your stomach with his free hand. “Especially since he just also maneuvered us into using the trust.” He chuckles. “Crafty bastard.”

“It’s a change we’ll reckon with.” Especially if he and his father are going to repair their relationship, which seems likely in light of today. “If using the trust means gaining your memories of your mother, then I’m all for it.”

“I can’t believe this.” Marcus shakes his head. “This is not what I expected to happen when I walked into your work today.”

“And thank god for that.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “Because the day we almost had was going to be hell.”

He basks in the silence for a moment before he flashes you a sly smile. “Want to go deflate the air mattress?” He chuckles sinisterly. “Although I hate wasting things, I feel like it’s contaminated and should be thrown out.”

“We’ll find somewhere to donate it.” Waste isn’t in either of your vocabularies when you can help it, but you’re not keen to keep the bed Amanda had been sleeping on, either.

“We can clean it up and start setting it up for the baby.” Marcus rubs your stomach again and sighs, relieved by being able to actually do something rather than dream. “I’ll go get the cleaning stuff, you can just watch or start stripping the air mattress. You know she didn’t.”

“We’ll get everything cleaned up and we’ll paint first thing. Get the room feeling completely different then when she was in it.” Popping up, you lean over to kiss Marcus before heading for the stairs. “It’s gonna be great.”

Marcus watches you, just admiring the way that you are buoyed by the change in circumstances. The pep in your step a delightful thing to see and he hopes that there is nothing but smooth sailing from now on. You are right, it's gonna be great.

______

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