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The Ultimate Guide to Choosing Your November Birth Flower: Chrysanthemum vs. Peony
When it comes to selecting the perfect birth flower for November, two exquisite options stand out: the Chrysanthemum and the Peony. These blooms not only captivate with their beauty but also carry significant symbolism and meaning. In this comprehensive guide, we delve into the characteristics, symbolism, and cultural significance of each flower to help you make an informed decision.
Chrysanthemum: A Symbol of Purity and Longevity
Chrysanthemums, often referred to as "mums," are renowned for their vibrant colors and intricate petal patterns. Originating from China, these flowers have gained widespread popularity across the globe for their versatility and elegance.
Characteristics
Chrysanthemums come in a myriad of hues, ranging from warm oranges and yellows to cool whites and purples. Their petals can be arranged in various shapes, including daisy-like, pompon, and spider forms, adding to their allure and diversity.
Symbolism
Symbolizing purity and longevity, Chrysanthemums are often associated with honor, loyalty, and love. In many cultures, they are used to express admiration and gratitude, making them a popular choice for gifts and floral arrangements.
Cultural Significance
In Japan, Chrysanthemums hold immense cultural significance and are celebrated during the annual Festival of Happiness. They are also the official emblem of the Japanese Imperial Family, representing power, prestige, and longevity.
Peony: A Symbol of Prosperity and Romance
Peonies are revered for their opulent blooms and intoxicating fragrance. Originating from Asia, these majestic flowers have enchanted people for centuries with their exquisite beauty and timeless elegance.
Characteristics
Peonies boast large, lush blooms that come in a spectrum of colors, including soft pastels, bold reds, and pristine whites. Their delicate, ruffled petals exude a sense of luxury and romance, making them a favorite choice for weddings and special occasions.
Symbolism
Symbolizing prosperity, romance, and good fortune, Peonies have long been associated with love, wealth, and happiness. In Chinese culture, they are considered the "King of Flowers" and are often used to symbolize honor and nobility.
Cultural Significance
Peonies hold significant cultural importance in various societies, symbolizing beauty, grace, and elegance. In traditional Chinese medicine, Peony roots are used for their medicinal properties, believed to promote vitality and wellness.
Choosing Your Birth Flower
Considerations
When selecting your November birth flower, it's essential to consider factors such as personal preference, symbolism, and cultural significance. Both Chrysanthemums and Peonies offer unique qualities that can complement any occasion or setting.
Personal Preference
Consider which flower resonates with you on a personal level. Do you prefer the vibrant hues and intricate patterns of Chrysanthemums, or are you drawn to the opulent blooms and intoxicating fragrance of Peonies?
Symbolism and Meaning
Reflect on the symbolism and meaning associated with each flower. Are you drawn to the purity and longevity symbolized by Chrysanthemums, or do you resonate more with the prosperity and romance embodied by Peonies?
Occasion
Consider the occasion for which you're selecting the birth flower. Are you celebrating a milestone birthday, a wedding anniversary, or a special achievement? Choose a flower that complements the significance of the event.
Conclusion
In conclusion, both Chrysanthemums and Peonies are exceptional choices for celebrating the November birth month. Whether you're drawn to the elegance of Chrysanthemums or the romance of Peonies, each flower offers a unique blend of beauty, symbolism, and cultural significance. Ultimately, the decision comes down to personal preference and the message you wish to convey. Whichever flower you choose, it's sure to bring joy, beauty, and meaning to any occasion.
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feels like home - oneshot
Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Rating: M
Summary: When your work visa expires sooner than expected, your only option to stay in Washington is to get married. Marcus offers to be your husband until you get your green card. Neither of you expect that your marriage will end up being more real than intended.
Word count: 11,527
Notes: I was thinking about marriage of convenience in stories and the first character that came to mind for “marrying their friend to help them but then falls for them” was Marcus Miguel Pike. These two are kind of idiots, but they’re idiots in love. Much love and thanks to the wonderful @ezrasbirdie for beta-reading and holding my hand when this fic was giving me the hardest time. Title from long story short by Taylor Swift.
This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.
Comments/reblogs appreciated.
Warnings: Marriage of convenience, miscommunication, yearning, committing fraud, swearing, therapy, food mention, sharing a bed, friends to lovers, kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including female receiving oral), divorce mention.
masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)
Looking up from your menu, you look at the man sitting across from you. You really don’t have a connection to this man. Dan? Dean? You can’t even remember his name. Probably not a good sign about asking him to marry you.
“Are you guys ready to order?” asks the waitress who’s materialized from nowhere.
Daniel speaks before you can order the burger and fries. “I’ll have the steak, well done—” he misses the way your nose wrinkles. It’s a cheap diner, the consistency of the steak is already going to be that of a shoe — “and she’ll have the garden salad with house dressing.”
You have to force yourself not to gawk at him. Before you can correct the waitress, who looks bored out of her mind, she’s gone.
You’re starting to re-think this whole thing. Maybe being sent back to Canada on an expired work visa won’t be that bad.
“How much money did you say you make again?” Dieter asks. “Because I’m between jobs at the moment and I don’t think I can pay.”
You didn’t say how much you make. “No worries. I can cover it,” you offer your date what you hope is a polite smile. “I just need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.”
Don doesn’t seem to care.
Pulling your phone out of your purse, you text your best friend. I need you to call me in three minutes with a fake emergency.
Lily is usually attached to her phone, so you expect the three dots to come up almost immediately. They don’t. A minute goes by. Nothing.
Your phone dings after a minute. Sorry babe, I’m in an important zoom call for work! Try Marcus maybe?
With a groan, you throw your head back. The one person you didn’t want to bother in all of this. He doesn’t know anything about your current predicament. Nor does he know about your hare-brained idea to get around getting deported because you didn’t realize that your work visa is expiring in three months instead of thirteen months.
In your defense, it had been Lily’s idea. You just hadn’t had any better ideas. No worries, you reply. Going back to the messages page on your phone, you tap out a quick text, basically a replica of what you texted Lily.
The bubble of three dots pops up immediately. What’s up?
I’m on the worst date!!! I need an excuse to leave.
Marcus’s reply comes in quickly. On it. Play along.
It’s not the best exercise to employ, but you get the impression that Dylan won’t let you go, no matter how much you insist.
“Sorry about that,” you smile as you sit back in the booth with the fake flower and the plastic checkered tablecloth. “I got a call from my mom and she worries if I don’t answer.” Making a mental apology to your mom for kind of throwing her under the bus, you offer a grimace that you hope is convincing and make a note to call her later tonight.
“Ugh, tell me about it. My mom drives me up the wall. ‘When are you going to get a girlfriend? When are you going to get a job? When are you going to move out of my basement?’”
Right on cue, your phone rings. “So sorry, I have to take this,” you say, not even looking at the screen. You know it’s Marcus. “Hello?”
Marcus is so good at saving you from pickles like this. “Hey, I’m so sorry to call you like this but… my plane landed about forty-five minutes ago and I’m wondering when you’re coming to pick me up from the airport? Should I just keep waiting for you at baggage claim?”
Not quite what you were expecting but you play along. “Oh, shoot! I knew I was forgetting something. I am so sorry! I will be right there.” To your date you say “You don’t mind if I go pick up someone from the airport do you?” You don’t even wait to hear a response. “I’ll just grab the check and be on my way,” you tell Marcus. Once you hang up, you turn back to Dom. “I completely forgot that my brother was coming today. I thought it was tomorrow, but I promised him I would pick him up from the airport.”
The waitress comes over with a charred lump of meat that’s supposed to be a steak and a wilted, sad looking salad.
“I’m so sorry to do this but can I get mine boxed up and get the check?” you ask. She nods and gets you a box and the bill. You leave a few bills on the table and say goodbye to your date. “It was lovely to meet you,” you lie.
“Can we do this again?” he asks.
Absolutely not. “Gotta go!”
You make a mad dash for the exit, making sure to toss the salad into the garbage on your way to your car. Unmatching with David as you go.
- - - -
You make your way to Marcus’s condo, picking up a pizza on your way over. You’re hungry and you want to thank Marcus for getting you out of that.
At some point you will have to tell Marcus what’s going on, but you don’t want him to pull any strings or do anything like that to keep you here. You want to stay, you just don’t know how outside of marrying someone who is already an American citizen.
It’s not that you disliked living in Canada. It’s where you’re from, where you grew up. Your life is here, though. Your job, your friends. Marcus.
Balancing the bag of soft drinks on the pizza box, you press the buzzer for Marcus’s condo. A second later he buzzes you up.
“Thank you so much for saving me,” you say by way of greeting.
Marcus takes the box of pizza from you. “Not a problem. What was wrong with him?” he asks.
You follow him into the cozy condo that he’s made his own in the past two years that he’s been in Washington. Art prints cover the walls, a floor to ceiling bookshelf with stacks of books in no particular semblance of order covering a wide range of topics and genres in the corner. It’s cozy. Homey. From the first time you visited his place, you felt at home, at ease.
Flopping down on the plush couch that he’s had since his undergrad, you groan. “What wasn’t wrong with him?” you grouse. “It was every cliche in the book. He even ordered me a salad.”
Marcus Pike knows he’s made some blunders in his own love life in the past. Hell, they were such big blunders that he’s been in therapy since he arrived here to get to the root of it and ensure that he never makes the same mistakes in his love life again. But he would never, ever order a date’s meal for them. Especially not a salad. The only time he would make an order for someone, anyone, is if they’re in the bathroom when the server comes to take the order and he already knows what his date wants.
Dating’s been a wash for Marcus since coming to Washington. At first it was from the sting of Teresa’s actions and rejection, but since then, no one’s been able to spark his interest beyond a couple of dates and maybe a round in bed. But it’s been two years. And no one’s been able to catch his attention.
Well. No. That’s not fully true. His attention has been caught. But you haven’t picked up on it and he’s pretty sure that you just want to be his friend. Plus the fact that you were just on a date with another man kind of solidifies that too.
Marcus isn’t bitter about it. He knows how it is. The old him would have attempted to get with you, try whatever it took to get your attention. But he likes being your friend. Likes the easy rapport he has with you. And he doesn’t want to date someone he works with, even indirectly. Since you work in art restoration and conservation, you liaise with the art crimes unit quite often. That’s how you met. Marcus was new to the D.C. branch of the FBI and was in a new position. You met on his first job with the D.C. squad and just clicked right away. That had been two years ago. Since then, you’ve been thick as thieves.
“I thought you were going to give Tinder a rest for a while?” Marcus asks, grabbing some plates.
You shrug. “It was Lily’s idea.” You know you have to tell him. The fucking letter is still in your purse. It would be so easy to just tell him why you were on that date, why you’re more stressed out than he’s ever seen you be (and he has, especially on particularly tricky cases).
“Are you all right?” asks Marcus, almost as if on cue. He hands you a plate and you load it with two slices of pizza. “You seem a bit…” He shrugs. “...I don’t know. Under pressure? And not just from the date.” He sits down beside you, crossing his pajama pants-clad legs.
You don’t even know why you haven’t told him yet. It started out as you trying to figure out if you could extend it or apply for citizenship but those had both been denied pretty quickly. You know that Marcus would offer something and you don’t want him to feel obligated in any way. He’s sweet like that, always doing stuff for other people without complaint. You know he’s big on marriage and romance. You know he wants the real thing. Not some sham that would fool the government and only end in divorce once you get your green card.
“You know you can tell me anything,” Marcus reminds you.
You smile at him. “I’m fine. Just…” The tell-tale sound of your mother’s ringtone interrupts you. “Can you get that for me, please?” you ask him. “It’s in my p—” You remember what else is in your purse just as Marcus is digging into it for you. His eyes land on the letter, the IMPORTANT stamp in bold red letters peeking out from where it’s folded.
“Not to snoop, but what’s this?” he asks.
It looks like your mom is going to voicemail.
- - - -
“So you know how I’m here on a work visa? A transfer from the National Gallery in Ottawa?” you ask.
Marcus nods. “Yes. You’ve been here for six years. What does that have to do with anything?”
Your phone dings with a text message from your mom. You quickly tap out a reply that you’re with Marcus and will call her back later. She sends a heart and a winky face emoji. “So I was under the impression that I still had a year on my work visa. I don’t.”
“How long do you have?” asks Marcus.
“Ninety days. Well, technically, eighty-three now. And I don’t know, maybe going back to Canada and applying for citizenship wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to happen. But my whole life is here. My job, my friends. Everything I’ve worked for.”
“Can you extend your visa? Or apply for citizenship?” Marcus offers.
You offer him a rueful expression. “I’ve already extended it as many times as I can. And I think I can only apply for citizenship if I’m married to an American citizen since my work is contract based. I tried putting a feeler out to Larissa to see if any permanent positions were coming up, but she was non-committal.”
Marcus doesn’t know enough about immigration or custom laws to refute that. It sounds accurate based on the one class he took way back in the day when he first signed up to be in the FBI. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Outside of marrying someone until I have my citizenship, I can’t think of anything. That’s why I’m back on Tinder. That’s why I was on that awful date tonight. To see if I can at least attempt to hack it.”
Marcus doesn’t know what to think. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have probably helped you in some way.”
“I was going to. It’s… weird, you know? I don’t want you to feel obligated to help me.”
“Oh, honey,” he says gently. “It’s not obligation with you. Never. I’m just sorry you’re going through this. We’ll figure it out.”
The mood of the evening dampened, you head home shortly after that, calling your mom on the car���s bluetooth. “I thought you were with Marcus,” she says after answering.
“No, I had to get going. I just crashed at his place after a bad date.”
Your mother sighs. “When are you going to realize that that man has it bad for you? Or admit to yourself and him that you have it bad for him?” She never misses a beat.
It’s your turn to sigh. “It would never work with Marcus. Not now. Not with…” You trail off, not wanting to worry your mom with your work visa woes.
“Not with what, honey?” she asks.
You chew your lip for a second. “Nothing. It’s complicated.” Eager to change the subject, you ask, “What’s new with you?”
Your mom tells you about what she’s been up to in the past couple of days since you last talked. Gossiping about family and the new couple that moved into the condo down the hall from her and their antics.
It’s always nice to talk to your mom. You wish that she would consider moving down to Washington because you miss her greatly. But she is stubborn and likes living in Ottawa. “Mom, I gotta go, I’m about to pull into the underground parking and you know how reception is down there for bluetooth.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you in a little bit.”
“I love you, Mom.”
You hang up shortly after and park your car. You sit there for a while, thinking about the whole ordeal of this evening. While things hadn’t become awkward with Marcus after your bombshell, you wouldn’t be surprised if things become awkward. You like Marcus, really and truly. But you also know that he is a romantic. He’s had some bad experiences in romance, a failed marriage and a broken engagement under his belt already. You don’t want him to help you in this, admittedly, hare-brained scheme you and Lily have cooked up, fueled mostly by wine and desperation. You know that if you had told him from the start, he would offer to marry you and you don’t want him to experience anything but the real deal. If there’s anyone that deserves real, true, genuine love and not a sham, it’s Marcus Miguel Pike.
Your phone dings with a text notification. It’s Marcus. Your heartbeat picks up. Your eyes glaze over the notification on your lock screen, not really allowing the words to sink in at first. He’s going to offer to marry you. Or pull some strings. Or tell you that he finds things awkward now.
Hey, sorry to cancel on you but I can’t make it to our weekly diner night tomorrow. I’ve just remembered that I’m visiting my dad in Texas for the weekend. Would love to reschedule for when I get back.
It’s not what you were expecting. Marcus is close with his dad and step-mom and he visits them as often as he can. He says it’s the one drawback of the transfer to Washington, not being able to see his dad and his step-mom as much as he would like to, especially now that his dad is in his mid-sixties.
Sure, that sounds fine. I’m free most nights next week except for Thursday when I have to work late and Wednesday when I’m doing girls night with Lily and Nikki. You press the blue arrow button to send the text and then almost immediately tap out another message. Are we okay, Marcus? I didn’t make things awkward did I?
Marcus replies. Of course we’re okay, honey. Everything’s good. How does Tuesday sound?
Sounds great. Have a good weekend in Texas.
- - - -
The weekend passes with little fanfare; you go on a semi-decent Tinder date on Saturday, but your heart’s not in it. Brad is a nice enough guy, but he spends the entire date talking about himself and his venture into cryptocurrency. As the night progresses his intentions of going home with you become more and more clear.
You split the bill and go home, alone. Tinder gets deleted for the time being.
Tuesday rolls around and it’s so busy you hardly have time to get home and change. Marcus texts you to say that he’ll pick you up which is a huge relief.
You still don’t have time to change, but you’re able to drop off your lunch bag and your work stuff, trading it in for your purse and a heavier jacket. Autumn has well and truly settled in.
Marcus is right on time, waiting for you when you come down at quarter to six. He’s still in his FBI get-up, tie and everything.
“Busy day for you, too?” you ask.
“Huh?” Marcus looks down at what he’s wearing, as if he’s forgotten. “Oh, yeah. New case, looks like it’ll be a doozy from the details we have so far.”
He merges into traffic and you talk about your weekends. Marcus is less chatty than he normally is. “Is everything okay, Marcus?” you ask. “You seem quiet tonight. Did you not have a good day?”
Marcus shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” He takes the next exit, not the usual way to the diner that you usually go to with him. At your look of confusion, he says, “We’re going somewhere different tonight.”
Somewhere different ends up being a higher-scale restaurant than you’re used to going to with him. “This is fancy,” you comment as you step into the restaurant. It’s dimly lit with candlelit tables and twinkly lights on the ceiling.
“Can I help you, sir?” asks the hostess.
“I have a reservation under Pike,” Marcus tells the young woman. She taps a few buttons on the tablet at her station before ushering you and Marcus to your table.
After taking your coat off and putting it on the back of your chair, you look at the menu as the waiter tells you the daily specials and soup of the day and pours you two glasses of water.
“This is really fancy, Marcus. Did you get a promotion?”
Marcus looks nervous but determined. “No. No promotion.”
“Then why—?”
He’s fiddling with something under the table. “I thought a lot about what we talked about on Thursday night when you were at my place. About your predicament and how the only feasible way you could stay.”
The waiter returns with a basket of bread. “Can I interest you two in a wine menu?”
Marcus nods. “Yes, please.”
A wine menu is pulled out from the waiter’s apron. “Do you need a minute to peruse the wine menu?”
“No, thank you. We’ll have a bottle of this one.” Marcus points to a vintage red halfway down the list. One of your favourites.
Taking the wine menu back, the waiter nods. “Very good.”
The two of you are left alone again for a few minutes. “You were thinking about what happened on Thursday?” you prompt.
Marcus nods. “Yeah. I thought about it a lot. As soon as you left, I knew what the answer to your problem was. That’s why I went to Texas. I needed to get something from Dad.”
Your heart leaps into your throat. “What’s the answer?” you ask.
“Marry me.”
You don’t have time to react because at that moment the wine is delivered to your table and you take that moment to order your meals as well. Marcus tells you that you can order anything you like. He’s paying and won’t hear any arguments.
The appetizers are brought out and you finally have a moment without interruptions. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Marcus.”
“You heard me just fine, honey.”
Your face goes warm and you are absolutely blaming it on the wine that you’ve only had one sip of. “Marcus, you don’t want to marry me,” you argue.
“Yes, I do,” he counters.
“I know you, Marcus. You want the real deal. Something that’s real and true and—and, you know, not a scam?” You lower your voice so no one can overhear you.
Marcus isn’t swayed. “You know that I’ve been married once and engaged another time. You know that I’m a romantic who wants to sweep a woman off her feet. I also know that I’m impulsive — something that I’m working on with my therapist — and I think with my heart instead of my head sometimes when it comes to things like that.”
“Exactly, Marcus. You deserve something that is true. I don’t think you’re going to get that by marrying me–”
He’s still not finished. “All of that is true. But I can’t think of anything better to do than to help my friend, someone I care for very much. I thought a lot about it and I want to do this for you. With you. You should be fake-married to someone who cares about you, someone that you know and care about.”
You refuse to cry at this gesture. “What about your job?” you ask. “If it gets out somehow that you helped commit fraud with me so that I can get my citizenship, you could not only lose your job, but go to jail. You’re a federal agent.”
Marcus shrugs. “I understand the risks. I want to help you. Plus, I like being engaged,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “So, will you,” he pulls a small black velvet box out from under the table, the one that he was fiddling with, says your name, “marry me?”
You have to admit that it’s the best option you have at the moment. You love Marcus and you are genuinely moved by what he’s doing to help you. Marcus is, in your opinion, husband material through and through. You don’t really have any other answer. “Yes. I will marry you, Marcus.”
- - - -
You know it’s not going to be a real marriage, that you’re only doing this so that you can stay in the States. Still, you can’t help but be over the moon at the prospect of marrying Marcus. He’s assured you multiple times that he’s okay with doing this and that he wants to do this with you.
There are absolutely going to be ground rules. Like who to tell and what to tell them. Only Lily and Nikki know that you need to do this so you give them firm instructions the next night to use their discretion and ask that if they are interviewed by immigration officers that they play it that you and Marcus are in love.
Something that isn’t a stretch for you.
Marcus thinks that you should move in with him into his condo before your courthouse wedding that’s scheduled three weeks from now. It was the earliest the two of you could get. You agree, especially since your lease is coming up for renewal soon. You tell your landlord early that you’re not renewing the lease and that you’re moving out. She doesn’t care, only glad that she is able to increase the rent for the next tenant.
It doesn’t take long to move your things into Marcus’s place. For the time being, you’re going to sleep in the guest room.
The plan is to stay married until you’ve had your citizenship for nine months and then you’re going to file for divorce. Marcus doesn’t seem worried about it affecting your friendship. This is a favour he’s doing you. A very, very big favour.
You end up telling your mother a slightly modified version of events. You’re having trouble with your work visa so Marcus is helping you out. “How is he helping you?” she asks.
“He’s offered to… sponsor my visa,” you settle on.
“That’s so nice of him to do.” She pauses. “Hang on. I thought only spouses or partners could do that?”
Your silence is worth a million words.
Your mom says your full name. “Marrying Marcus? So you can stay there?”
“It was his idea,” you say. “And it’s very generous of him.”
Your mother sighs. “It is, honey. But I’ve seen that show, 90 Day Fiance. It never works out.”
“I know, but that’s a show. This is real life. I know Marcus. I… care about him. And he cares about me. We’re going to make it work.” You won’t tell her that you’re getting a divorce as soon as you’re able to and it no longer looks suspect.
“I just wish I could be there for the wedding, sweetheart.”
You sigh. “I know, Mom. But as soon as we are able to, we’ll hold a reception.”
Settling in at Marcus’s place is easier than you thought it would be. He’s easy to be around. Your schedules are similar enough that you have breakfast and dinner together most nights. Not much has changed since he proposed to you.
Marcus has always been affectionate with the people he cares about. He only increases it a little bit. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek or your forehead. It’s easy. Simple. You like it.
There’s a lot of things that you like—love, even—about this arrangement.
You’ve had your visa extended by another ninety days since informing the correct people about your impending nuptials. Your application process has been expedited as well: Marcus denies having involvement, but you’re sure you remember him mentioning having a buddy in immigration and you’re convinced that Marcus called in a few favours. Usually it takes at least a year, but your caseworker informed you it should take no longer than six months. Marcus still blushes when you kiss him on the cheek when you find out the process will be accelerated.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you won’t be able to date or flirt with anyone?” you ask one night about a week before your wedding.
Marcus frowns. “No? In case you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t drowning in dating opportunities before we decided to do this.” He pauses. “I kind of… I don’t know, scare people off.”
You squeeze his hand. “It’s their loss, Marcus.”
He smiles ruefully. “I know I can come on too strong sometimes. It’s something that I’m working on.” The two of you sit in silence for a minute. He looks at you after a minute, a playful look in his eye. “Why? Are you bothered that you’ll be missing out on dating?”
You chortle. “Please. Like I was doing so well for myself before this.”
Marcus taps your knee with his free hand. “What a pair we make.”
Another minute goes by. “Marcus? You don’t scare me.”
- - - -
The day of your wedding dawns. You never anticipated having a November wedding, but then again, you never anticipated having this type of wedding either.
You and Marcus have breakfast together in his nook. It’s oddly domestic and you can’t quite pinpoint why. He woke up early and made pancakes and bacon and eggs. “We can’t get married on an empty stomach,” he explains as he sets your coffee mug in front of you.
You twist the engagement ring around and around in the car ride over. You’re wearing the nicest dress you have; Marcus is wearing one of his nicer suits. “This is what I was going to wear to the engagement party I was going to have with Teresa. Now, I mostly wear it for the few times I’m needed to testify in a hearing,” he told you when you discussed what the wardrobe for today would be.
You have no one to give you away, so Marcus’s dad, here to be one of the witnesses along with his wife, offers to give you away. It’s a sweet gesture. You’ve always liked Jeremy Pike, so you’re lucky to be his fake daughter-in-law.
Marcus’s step-mom, Rachel, takes pictures. As you’re walking up the aisle, you’re trembling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jeremy murmurs so that only you can hear. “You’re in good hands with my son.” You don’t know how much Jeremy Pike knows, but he’s right. You couldn’t have chosen a better husband, even if it is a fraudulent one. You catch Marcus’s soft brown eyes and the look on his face calms your jittery nerves. Taking a deep breath, you make it to where Marcus is waiting with the justice of the peace.
“You look beautiful,” Marcus whispers to you, his lips right at your ear. Your breath catches at the contact and also at the compliment. It’s not a real marriage, you remind yourself. You and Marcus, while about to become husband and wife, are not going to have a traditional husband-and-wife relationship outside of what is necessary to get you your citizenship. Nothing is changing except your relationship status. It doesn’t have to change. He doesn’t want it to. Otherwise, he would have said so.
But, says a little voice in your head, that doesn’t mean that things won’t change.
Having no idea where that thought came from, you take Marcus’s hand in yours and face the justice of the peace. His hand is strong in yours, but gentle. Always a steady hand to hold at any time, including and especially now. This is not brand new information, but it’s something that grounds you in this moment. The ceremony is not long. The justice of the peace says some words, has you and Marcus make your vows, exchange the rings (courtesy of Marcus’s grandparents), and sign the documents. It’s quick. No-fuss and to the point.
“By the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss each other.”
You don’t catch Marcus’s expression before his lips touch yours but Rachel is quick with her camera, taking a few pictures before, during, and after your kiss. You’ve never kissed Marcus on the lips. On the cheek, yes. You’ve also received forehead kisses from Marcus over the years, but this is a first for you. His lips are soft on yours. It’s a gentle kiss, just a peck more than anything else. You want more. It makes you feel warm, good.
Marcus rests his forehead against yours for a few seconds. He’s smiling, you’re smiling. You’re married. To the man that you love. Only problem is, it’s not a real marriage and will be over before it starts.
Jeremy and Rachel take you and Marcus out for lunch. You and Marcus have the day off and the next few days. You are not going to do anything out of the usual, but you’re going to spend more time together. Get into the pattern of being husband and wife.
When you and Marcus return home that evening, you make dinner together. Sit together at the dining room table and talk about whatever comes to mind. After doing the dishes together (Marcus washes, you dry), you sit on the couch and watch a Nicolas Cage movie on Netflix. It’s easy, comfortable. You snuggle in under the blankie that he’s had for years, the really warm one, and he puts his arm around you, holding you close to him.
Once the movie is over, you say goodnight and go to your separate rooms for bed.
- - - -
Two weeks later, you receive a notification from the immigration department, saying to expect the first of four visits from an officer soon.
“I guess this ends our sleeping in different beds,” says Marcus. The plan is to start sleeping in the same bed, Marcus’s bed, closer to when the officer comes so that it looks less conspicuous and so that you are totally comfortable with each other. That afternoon when you get home from work (Marcus is working late on a case), you return the guest bedroom to its original state and move all of your stuff into Marcus’s bedroom. All of your clothes fit in well with his in the dresser and the closet; it looks like Marcus already made room for your stuff.
You decide to become more affectionate with Marcus. Not that you weren’t already affectionate, but in a way so that it doesn’t seem so scripted when your case worker arrives in a few weeks.
Setting a framed picture of yourself and Marcus on the dresser, you go to make dinner and let your mind wander. Marcus arrives home just as you’re setting dinner in the oven. Pressing pause on Broken Bells, you greet him at the door. “Hey,” you say, drawing him in for a hug and a peck on the lips.
Marcus is surprised. The hug he’s used to, since you always greet him with that, but the kiss takes him off-guard. “Hey to you, too. What was that for?”
“Oh, um, I thought, since the case reviewer is coming soon, we should be more comfortable with each other and physical affection,” you explain.
Marcus tries to hide his disappointment. A part of him hoped that he was doing this because you are starting to reciprocate his feelings. But of course, it’s for the sake of authenticity. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense,” he replies, swallowing down his disappointment. “But I think we need more practice than just that,” he teases.
Your eyes twinkle. “I think that’s reasonable.”
Marcus kisses you again and you nearly float away, forgetting for a second that this is only for the purpose of appearances; he makes it feel so real. “How was your day?” you ask.
“Long. Do I have time to shower before dinner?” he asks.
You point at the timer on the oven. “Lots. Take your time.”
Half an hour later, Marcus freshly showered and in a grey sweatshirt and some pajama pants, you sit down for dinner. He looks cozy. “I should have helped you with dinner. I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you set his plate in front of him.
You kiss his cheek. “It’s fine. I like doing this sort of thing. And you had a long day at work.”
Marcus digs into his meal. “How was your day?” he asks.
After dinner, Marcus helps you with tidy-up despite your protestations that he should sit down. You can tell that he’s exhausted. “I want to help,” he argues, brooking no denial. So the two of you wash the dishes in companionable silence. It’s nice. You wash and he dries.
“Can I?” Marcus asks, gesturing to your face.
“Huh?” Marcus reaches out and wipes soap suds from your cheek, wiping them from his hand with the dish towel. Your face flushes warm. “Oh. Thanks,” you say.
“You’re welcome.” And then he kisses you again. This one doesn’t feel staged or scripted, like it’s for the purpose of appearances and fooling the right people. This one feels like he wants to kiss you. That he’s doing it simply for the sake of kissing you. It could be for practice, but you don’t think so. His lips are soft against yours. Gentle but with a hint of neediness. Perhaps the neediness is yours? You can’t tell. His stubble tickles at your skin in the best possible way. The dish towel falls from his hand as he brings both his hands to rest at your waist. Yours grasp at the fabric of his FBI shirt.
After about half a minute of kissing like this, Marcus pulls away. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes are still closed. You have a hard time reading his expression, even when his eyes open. The question of “why did you kiss me?” is on your tongue, ready to be asked. But you find that you don’t want to hear the answer if it is what you fear. And you don’t want to shake this feeling that his kiss has given you.
You feel warm and cherished and you want to do that again. Not for the sake of the charade. Just because. You’re just friends with him. You just happen to be married to him as well. But friends don’t kiss their friends the way you were kissing him just now, even if it is just for show.
Uh-oh. You’re in trouble.
When it comes time for bed, you get into your jammies as Marcus is brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom. You know what side of the bed is his, so you take the other side, reading a book as he finishes getting ready for bed.
You’re both adults. Who happen to be married to each other. You can share a bed with your husband. You are not going to overthink this at all. Just like how you’re not currently overthinking the kiss from earlier.
Marcus comes out from the bathroom as you’re finishing your chapter. You mark your page, put the book on the night table and look up at him. He looks…nervous? Good to know you’re not the only one who’s overthinking all of this.
After a second’s hesitation, Marcus gets into bed. “If this isn’t okay I can go to the guest room or the couch or—”
“Shut up, Marcus. We’re both adults. We’re married for chrissakes. It’s just sharing a bed. Just sleeping.” You sound more sure of yourself than you feel, but it must work since Marcus, after another minute of deliberation, gets into the bed.
It’s late, you’re both tired. Marcus sets his alarm for tomorrow morning, plugs in his phone and switches his bedside lamp off. You follow suit and you’re plunged into darkness. “Is this okay?” he asks after a minute.
“Yep,” you reply. “Goodnight.”
“Sleep well, honey.”
It takes a few minutes of getting used to, but the bed is so warm and comfy. It feels slept in unlike the bed in the guest bedroom. In the darkness, the only light coming from the clock radio’s time display, you can see Marcus’s sleeping silhouette. He’s a side sleeper, currently facing you.
You can do this. You can pull off being fake married to him. You can sleep in the same bed as your husband.
With that, you fall asleep.
- - - -
When you wake up the next morning, the light is dim. You can hear rain on the windows. You’re warm and feel like you’re cocooned. You’re on your side, facing the wall in the opposite direction of Marcus’s side of the bed. The thick duvet is warm and plush, but that’s not the primary source of your warmth. As you wake up, you realize that your back is pressed up to something firm. Something that feels suspiciously like Marcus’s chest. Marcus is still sound asleep. His arms are locked around your waist.
Oh. You ignore the thought of how easily and quickly you could get used to this. All of it, really. The way his legs are tangled with yours right now. The way he cares. How easy it was to fall into a routine with him. If this wasn’t fake, you could see a life with Marcus Pike like this. How easy it would be—how easy it is— to love and be married to Marcus Pike for real.
With that sobering thought, you wrangle free from his hold, gentle enough that he doesn’t wake. He snuffles in his sleep and rolls over. You grab a towel from the walk-in closet and go to the bathroom for a shower. There’s not a lot of time until Marcus’s alarm goes off. You’re quick, knowing that Marcus will need to use the bathroom soon. You’re just finishing up when his alarm goes off.
He’s bleary-eyed when you come out from the ensuite bathroom dressed and ready for the day. “Morning,” you say.
Marcus’s voice is sleepy. “Morning, sweetheart.” He’s rumpled and he has a major bedhead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through his soft-looking brown locks. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.
It was the best sleep you’ve gotten in ages. You nod. “Mmm-hmmm.”
Marcus yawns and stretches. The bedclothes are around his waist. As he stretches, his shirt rises up, showing off a sliver of tummy. You avert your gaze before you stare for too long. Get it together, you tell yourself.
“Um… I’m done in the bathroom if you need to use it,” you say awkwardly.
Marcus nods and he gets up from bed. If you’re not careful, you could get used to this a bit too much.
After he’s showered, he comes into the kitchen where you’re making toast for yourself. “Let me drive you to work today,” he offers as you hand him a mug of coffee, made just the way he likes it. “Thank you,” he adds, kissing your cheek before taking a sip. You somehow make his coffee better than he does.
“Aren’t you going to be busy with the case? From the sounds of it you’ve got your hands full with it and I don’t want to take you away from your work if I don’t have to.” The idea is tempting, but you’d feel guilty if his work was slowed down because of you.
Marcus is unconcerned. “Nah. Most of what needs doing today is filing evidence and paperwork. And you don’t take me away from anything,” he assures you.
He’s just saying that to be nice, but it makes you feel better about it all the same. “All right, if you’re sure.”
It’s raining, which brings a dampness to the already cold November air, so you’re glad for the lift. Your car is a bit of a lemon, especially when it comes to heating. Meanwhile, Marcus’s FBI-issued SUV is relatively new and has almost, if not all, the bells and whistles; it makes for a warm ride over to the museum. He drops you off as close to the front door of the Smithsonian as possible. You clutch an umbrella in one hand, your purse in the other, hood already up. “Have a good day, sweetheart. I’ll see you later,” says Marcus.
“You too, Marcus.” Your hand is on the door handle, ready to get out, but something makes you turn back to face him. He has that tender look on his face and he leans in. You meet him in the middle.
It’s a quick, almost chaste kiss. If your hands weren’t full, you’d cup his cheek. He’s really committing to the bit.
“I’ll see you later,” you whisper when you force yourself to pull away. “Thanks for the lift.”
On your lunch, you get a phone call from the case worker for your immigration. There’s an opening in his schedule to bump up your preliminary meeting and subsequent meetings if that’s convenient for you and Marcus. “Um, sure. I think that we can get things organized for that as far as work goes. When are you thinking?” you ask.
“November 24. I know it’s only a few days from now and I apologize for the short notice. I can send a letter to your bosses if need be.”
Today is November 21. That only gives you two days, not counting today, to get ready. You clear your throat. “I–I think that can be manageable.”
The case worker—John, you think his name is—confirms it with you, gives you a window of time when to expect him and what to expect. “It’s just a preliminary meeting. Some basic questions and whatnot. Nothing to be worried about.”
Right. You thank him and call Marcus immediately after hanging up.
“Do you think you can get out of work on Thursday? I just got a call from the immigration agent. Says he has an opening for our preliminary meeting.”
Marcus pauses for a minute. “I think so. Yes. Let me just move some things around, re-assign some things and I should be good.”
“Okay. Thanks. How’s work today?” you ask.
He chuckles. “It’s fine. How about you?”
And that’s what starts your daily lunchtime phone calls with your husband. When he picks you up a few hours later, you’re chilled to the bone, both from the damp, cold day and the icy cold wind, as well as from working in the temperature controlled basement. Stepping into his car and into his world, warms you right up. Setting down your purse and wet umbrella, you greet him, cupping his cheek this time when he kisses you hello.
A savoury scent from the backseat greets you as well once Marcus sets the SUV into drive. “I picked up dinner on the way over. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like cooking and I just want to get under the blankets on the couch.”
It’s like he read your mind.
- - - -
“I think I’m in love with my wife.” Marcus sits back on the plush couch at his therapist’s office the next day after dropping you off at work again.
His therapist, Dr. Kate Solana, frowns. “You think you are?” she asks, pushing a lock of brown hair behind her ear. She’s a younger therapist than Marcus would have originally envisioned having for himself; he’s certain she’s younger than him. The first session, he thought that she looked more like a fitness instructor than a therapist. But she’s good at what she does. She’s helped Marcus change some of his ways of interacting with people for the better.
Marcus sighs. “You know why I married her.”
Dr. Solana nods. “Yes. To help her. But you were friends with her before marrying her.”
“Best friends,” Marcus clarifies.
Dr. Solana looks at her notes. “You said that you had an agreement that you would stay married until it no longer looked suspicious. Are you having second thoughts?” she asks.
He hesitates for a minute, thinking about his answer. “Not really? I’m still committed to the act. I just don’t think I can call it an act anymore. At least on my part.”
The therapist nods, contemplative. “What exactly is the problem?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee.
Marcus opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again after a minute. Still thinking of how to answer. “I know that I’m… too much sometimes. I come on too intensely.” He says it as a fact. He knows it’s true, knows it’s why his past relationships have failed. Why he’s had a failed marriage and a broken engagement. He can feel himself coming on too strongly with you, even if you think it’s for the purposes of acting natural when the immigration officer arrives on Thursday. It isn’t an act for him; he doesn’t think it ever has been. Dr. Solana doesn’t say anything, allowing him to think out loud and verbalize his feelings and his thoughts. “I don’t want that to happen with my wife. I don’t want to scare her off. I made an agreement with her and I intend to keep that promise. I’m just not sure how I’ll take it when it comes time to file for divorce. I thought, stupidly perhaps, that I could do it. That I could just pretend, but I can’t pretend. It’s never been pretend with her.”
There’s a long pause. “Are you saying that you want to tell her how you feel or…?”
Marcus sighs. “I don’t know how I could. She thinks it’s pretend. It’s an act for her. Surely it is. My wife is a person who takes what she wants. She would have told me how she felt already, wouldn’t she?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Solana waits a couple of seconds before she speaks. “The foundation for every relationship, romantic or otherwise, is communication and honesty. You can’t have trust without open, honest communication. My advice to you? Tell her how you really feel. It doesn’t have to be with some grand gesture or anything like that. It can be as simple as sitting her down and telling her that you have genuine feelings for her. Do you worry that she will reject you?”
“If she turns me down, the thing I would worry about the most is that we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Above all, what I want is for her to be in my life, in any capacity,” Marcus admits. And it’s in that moment that he knows that he truly loves you.
“Tell her that. Tell her the truth. It will only make things that much harder if you don’t. She might surprise you and feel the same way. It could be that she’s not telling you how she feels because she’s worried you’re just pretending.”
Marcus opens and shuts his mouth again. He hadn’t thought about it like that before.
The rest of the day goes by without any significance. He picks you up at five. Dr. Solana’s words of advice echo in his ears all day. He’s not going to tell you right now. Not with the immigration officer coming the day after tomorrow. Marcus knows you have a lot on your plate with that. He doesn’t want to add to the worry that you have.
He’ll tell you when the meetings with immigration are about to begin in just over twenty-four hours. He knows it’s prolonging everything, but he could see a life with you. Beyond just a green-card marriage. Marcus would do it again for you if asked. He’d do pretty much anything you ask him. Above all, he just wants you to be happy.
You lean your head on his shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” you ask, cutting through his ruminations.
“Huh?” Marcus blinks. “Just thinking, that’s all.”
Removing your head from his shoulder, you look at him. “Everything okay?”
Marcus smiles at you. Kisses your forehead. “Everything’s fine. Just a bit of a long day.”
It’s not a lie. He is fine. He did have a long day. He just hasn’t told you that he’s in love with you.
“You missed.”
He blinks. “What?” he asks.
“You missed,” you repeat, as if that clarifies things.
Marcus is about to ask what you mean when you press your lips to his. This one somehow feels different to the other kisses you’ve exchanged. Like you’re not pretending. Like you are kissing him for the sake of kissing him. It takes a few seconds for Marcus’s brain to catch up, for his lips to respond to yours.
Your husband can kiss. This isn’t one of those tender kisses, not one of those chaste ones. No, this one has heat and passion. His teeth graze your lips at one point, nibbling at them as he continues to kiss you. By the time you’ve broken apart for air, you’re practically sitting in his lap.
Letting out a bit of a shaky, breathy laugh, you joke, “We’re getting pretty good at this.”
Marcus’s grin is this side of devilish. “I think we need more practice.” And he kisses you again.
- - - -
Thursday morning dawns blearily. It’s cloudy and overcast, the sun refusing to come out from its grey shroud.
The condo is in tip-top shape. It looks lived in by both you and Marcus, like this is your home that you’ve shared for longer than three weeks. The case worker is arriving just before ten. Your nerves are on high alert.
Something’s changed with Marcus in the last few days. He’s still the same Marcus, but he seems more into committing to this act. You never knew he was such a good actor before this. Which doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen him act surprised at birthdays and such and he never gave off this Oscar worthy performance. This is a man who is an open book. Maybe he’s committed to this act because he knows that you have a lot to lose if the act isn’t bought.
It’s a bit heartbreaking you have to admit, knowing that this is all an act on his part. You’ve hoped that he would take the bait and realize that it isn’t an act for you. And maybe it never has been. You nearly broke down at girl’s night last night, lamenting to Nikki and Lily that your fake marriage is more real than you ever thought it would be, that you’re in love with your husband and he’s only pretending to be in love with you for the sake of your green card.
It’s a kindness he’s done for you, helping you obtain your green card like this. But you want it to be real so badly. You don’t want to get a divorce, but you know that Marcus will want one so he can be with someone he wants to be with.
“Just have sex with him!” suggested Nikki the night before. “That’ll definitely give him the hint that you want this to be a real marriage!”
You’d shaken your head. “No. That’s playing dirty, I feel like. Marcus, while he does deserve a good lay, needs to be told in an honest, upfront way. I just thought that he would not be so slow on the uptake, you know?” You sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t feel the way I thought he did. Maybe he’s just doing this so committed to better sell the story.”
Lily and Nikki both protested. They both argued that you just need to tell Marcus how you feel. “You always go after what you want. It’s a trait that I really admire in you. But I’m really confused as to why you’re not going after Marcus. Why you’re not telling him how you really feel and hiding behind this charade,” Lily said, not in an unkind way.
You’d taken a big, fortifying sip of your long island iced tea. “I’m just… scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared that I’m wrong about how he feels and that it’ll end the entire relationship, including our friendship.”
Nikki had placed her hand on yours, Lily following suit. “Or, he could feel the same way. And maybe he’s not telling you or taking the bait because he has the same worries that you’re having.”
When you’d arrived home later that night, Marcus was already in bed, reading a book. You’d quickly gotten ready for bed and curled up next to him, still slightly buzzed from your drink. Marcus kissed you on the forehead gently and tucked in next to you.
The buzzer distracts you from your reverie. “Ready?” asks Marcus.
You nod wordlessly.
Places, everyone.
The agent knocks on the door a few minutes later. You take Marcus’s hand in yours. Not so much for the act, but for reassurance. He twines your fingers together and offers a nod of encouragement before he opens the door.
“Agent Pike, Mrs. Pike, hello.” It’s the first time someone has referred to you as Mrs. Pike. You like it. “I’m John Turner, and I’m your assigned immigration officer.”
You and Marcus welcome him into the condo. You take agent Turner’s coat as Marcus offers him something to drink.
When you rejoin them, Turner is taking in the condo, a watchful, studious eye observing, trying to see if anything is amiss. There’s a folder tucked under his arm, presumably with your case information.
Marcus carries a tray into the living room with two cups of coffee for you and him and a glass of water for Agent Turner.
“So first things first,” says Turner as he sits on the chair opposite the love seat that you and Marcus sit down on, your entwined hands resting on your knee. “This isn’t an interrogation. Neither of you are in any sort of trouble. This is all standard stuff. Just to make sure everything’s accurate and as it should be so that you can get your citizenship. This is just the preliminary meeting. There will be an additional two meetings after this one, plus some discussion with the references you’ve provided,” he explains.
You nod. “Thanks so much for speeding up this process for us. It saves us both so much needless anxiety.”
“Of course. Shall we get to it?”
The questions start out basic. Full names, countries of origin, birthdates. Easy.
“When did the two of you start seeing each other?“ asks Agent Turner.
Marcus answers this question. “Five months ago.”
The immigration agent raises an eyebrow. “You got married after dating for four and a half months?”
You take this one. “Yes. We were going to wait to get married, but then I got the news about my visa expiring sooner than I thought and neither of us wanted to wait,” you explain. “And when you know, you know.” You look at Marcus affectionately. “I think I knew pretty early on.”
Marcus returns the smile. “I’ve been married and engaged before. It never felt the way it feels with her. There’s a clarity with her that didn’t exist with my ex-wife and ex-fiancée. I just want her to be happy, I would have gladly gone to Canada with her and joined the Canadian equivalent of the FBI if it meant I could be with her.”
You nod. “I know how it looks, Agent Turner. But I’m married to Marcus because I love him and didn’t want to be separated from him. It was his idea to get married so he could sponsor my citizenship application. My job is contract based and not permanent, so my boss couldn’t sponsor it. Being married to the man I love was the top priority. Him sponsoring my visa and citizenship is just an added benefit.”
Agent Turner scribbles down all that you are saying, his phone also recording everything that is being said. “I see. And what are your plans should you be accepted? Likewise if your application is rejected?”
You think for a second. “If I’m accepted and receive citizenship, I’ll continue what I’m doing now. Stay married to Marcus, do my work as an art restorer. If I’m rejected, I’ll go back to Canada.”
“With me,” adds Marcus. He doesn’t need to add more; you’d discussed it this morning, that his answer to this question would be simple and to the point. He feels the need to continue, however. “Truthfully, agent, I’d go anywhere if it meant being with her. She’s one of the best parts of my life. I can’t imagine a life without her. She makes me so happy and I love her more than I have loved anyone else. It feels like I have known her for years. To know her is to love her. And if she’s deported, there’s nothing that would stop me from following her to Canada. Yes, part of why I married her is so that she can stay here, her life is here now. But I married her because I wanted to. I love her. I want to spend my life with her.”
Your heart is about to burst with emotion and love for Marcus. He didn’t have to say all that. You just wish it was true.
All the same, you add, “Being married to Marcus is something that is just so wonderful. I’ve loved him for a long time. We’ve been friends for years, but being his wife is just so much sweeter because of it. I’m married to my best friend. He’s the love of my life and I’m just so lucky that I have him as my husband. He talked about how he would follow me anywhere to be with me and it’s the same for me. I’d go with him anywhere if it meant being together. Home is wherever he is.” You look at Marcus, the emotional look on your face hopefully saying everything that you can’t put into words.
Just because Marcus probably didn’t fully mean what he said, doesn’t mean you can’t mean what you say.
- - - -
The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. He’s there for about an hour total. When he leaves, your shoulders immediately relax; while Marcus was a calming influence during the meeting, you couldn’t help but be nervous and tense.
Marcus makes lunch in silence. You watch his back as he makes some sandwiches, the movement of his back muscles beneath his dress shirt. You can’t take it anymore. “Why did you say those things?” you ask.
Marcus turns, butter knife paused in midair between the bread and the jar of mayonnaise. “What things?” he asks.
“The things about following me anywhere and all that.”
Marcus pauses, his heart in his throat. “I said those things…” He takes a breath, sees you watching him intently. “I said those things because they are true.”
You gasp softly. “You did?”
He nods. “I did. I’m in love with you, I think I have been for a while. It just took a while for me to catch up.”
Your eyes narrow. “Is that why you offered to marry me?”
“Not entirely. I didn’t want you to get married to someone you didn’t know or like. My intentions were always platonic. But then… I don’t know. My heart and my brain caught up with each other. But I was just so worried that you didn’t feel the same. That this was still just an act for you.”
It takes a full sixty seconds to process what he’s said. Something finally clicks in your mind. And then you burst into laughter. At Marcus’s confused look, you explain, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I thought the same thing. Because here’s the thing. I’m in love with you. And I was worried that you were just committed to the bit.”
Marcus’s look turns from confusion to realization. “You love me?” He’s still in a bit of disbelief. “All this time I thought you were committed to the act, but you’ve been trying to show me that you want more.”
You nod, realizing the same thing about Marcus’s actions. “So, we’ve both been thinking that the other is under the impression that this was still an act when we’ve both wanted more?” you surmise.
Marcus chuckles. “That’s about the long and short of it, yeah.”
“God, we’re a bunch of obtuse idiots,” you quip before closing the ever shorter gap between you and Marcus. The contact between your mouths is instant and electric. The butter knife that Marcus was still grasping clatters to the floor as he greedily kisses you, his arms wrapping around you, wanting you—needing you—closer to him. He takes you into his arms, his lips never far, and hoists you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as you make out with him, sensual and sloppy and greedy. Your lipstick has transferred some to his lips. He doesn’t care. “Christ, honey, I’ve wanted you so bad for so long.”
You nod. “Me, too,” you gasp out. Marcus is pressed up enough against you that you can feel just how much he wants you, the effect you have on him. “I think we’ve waited long enough. I think it’s time we consummate this marriage. Make it real.”
Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice. Helping you down from the countertop, he leads you to the bedroom. (“As much as I want to fuck you on every surface in this house, our first time should be in our bed, honey,” he explains.)
He has you spread out on the bed. His shirt has been shucked off, his pants strewn across the room. You’ve seen him in just his swimsuit before, but in this context? Totally different. You’re practically salivating over the sight of your husband—your husband—like this, looking at you the way he is. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing kisses into every inch of skin he exposes as he helps you out of your sweater dress and leggings. “So fucking beautiful.” He kisses you on the lips with a toe-curling kiss. You haven’t even done that much yet and he already has you desperate. You grapple at his shoulders, sighing into the kiss.
“I love you,” you say in between kisses. “I love you.”
He kisses down your chest, taking extra time at the spot where your neck meets your chest, your breasts. His fingers toy with the hemline of your panties. You whine as he presses a kiss right above them. “I love you.”
The last layer of your clothing gone, Marcus goes straight to work, making you even more desperate. He’s generous and he’s methodical. He’s a giver.
It’s not very long before your husband has you reaching your first peak. Your fingers, which are twisted in his soft brown hair, tighten and he groans in pleasure. Satisfied with himself, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you.”
He doesn’t give you much time to recover, just enough time to grab a condom from the night table drawer. You are clean and on the pill but you’re still beyond words to tell him that. Next time.
Before you have fully processed what is happening, Marcus has buried himself inside you, inch by inch. He gives you a second to adjust (your latent suspicions about his size confirmed) and then he moves. “Marcus, oh my God,” you gasp, your voice reedy with need.
“T-take what you need,” he stutters, your hips snapping against his as you move together.
“You—you too,” you manage to stammer out.
Neither of you last long, all of the pent up feelings quickly coming to the surface. Your need for him supersedes everything else. Marcus stills and groans, kissing you through your collective high.
He’s still inside you as you both settle down. You kiss his shoulder, his neck then pull back, still breathless. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do that?” you ask once you’ve caught your breath a little.
Marcus shakes his head. “I have no idea. But we’re going to make up for missing out on it for so long. I promise, Mrs. Pike.” His eyes twinkle and you can see how happy he is to be able to call you that.
“I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Pike.” You kiss the tip of his nose.
Lunch goes forgotten until you stumble out of the bedroom a few rounds later to get something to eat and drink.
- - - -
Two years later…
“Honey, are we getting a divorce this year?” Marcus asks as he nips at your neck from behind you.
You reach back to touch his face. “Mmmm… I don’t think so. I’m too used to being married to you now. Maybe next year.”
Marcus spins you so that you’re facing him. He’s still warm and sweaty from what you were just doing a few minutes ago. “Mmmm…” he growls before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. “Me too.”
It isn’t long before you’re on top of him again; he’s still inside you so not much effort is needed. It’s been two years of absolute bliss. The rest of your application process went smoothly and it didn’t take long until you had received full citizenship (you and Marcus had been otherwise occupied when the phone call came). You took the last citizenship test needed and passed with flying colours.
Since then, you’ve left the Smithsonian and relocated to the Jeffersonian, acting as the official liaison to the FBI’s art department in a permanent position. Not long after receiving your green card, you and Marcus hosted a wedding reception where your mom finally got to meet your husband. It was there that Rachel finally gave you the wedding photos. The one she took of you and Marcus right before the kiss that made you husband and wife hangs in your bedroom, showing the mutual love and awe that you and Marcus share for each other long before either of you fully realized it.
Your honeymoon, taken a month after you received full citizenship, was nothing short of magical. Marcus took you to Mallorca and you spent two weeks soaking up the sun (that is, once you broke in the bed a few times together once you arrived at the villa you were renting).
You and Marcus are a team. A true husband and wife. Sure, you have problems every now and again, but it’s nothing that you can’t solve together. You’re a team, and nothing is hidden from each other, always on the same page as each other.
Divorce has become a running joke between you; it’s the last thing either of you wants. You’re happy together, you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together. He feels like home, he’s a steady, sturdy force in your life that you were missing up until marrying him. And you’re the same for him. You never thought it would end up this way, but you’re so glad and so lucky that it did. You are married to your best friend. Life can’t be sweeter than that.
The End
---
taglist in reblog.
#pedro pascal#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x f!reader#the mentalist#the mentalist fanfiction#marcus pike#marcus pike fanfiction#my fic#my writing#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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50+ random hcs about Sean because I have too much free time :
• One day Charmaine found a strange vase while looking for something in the garage. The next day Sean woke up to see flowers in his bong
• Sean owns a boat that he renamed "the Ocean's 12"
• Sean is the kind of guy who only celebrates Halloween to traumatize children with a real chainsaw
• He has never learned to tie his shoes, and doesn't plan to
• Sean has a lot of sleep disorders (including sleep apnea, insomnia, night terrors, confusional arousals...), so that's one of the reasons he drinks, so he can 'sleep' easily
• He suffers from bipolar disorder (type I), "The Guy Pillow", "the Casino", and "A Night Out With the Guys" were manic episodes, "Pine Barrens" a depressive episode
• The first kiss he shared with Laszlo was on a mechanical bull
• Sean and Charmaine attend couple therapy with the conclusion "put yourself in each other's shoes." Sean took the advice to the letter, wore one of his mom's dress, bought a cheap wig and stole makeup from Charmaine's purse. In the morning Charmaine woke up to see her husband dressed as a woman baking cookies and listening to the Spice Girls. 20 minutes later Charmaine changed into jeans, grabbed a bottle of wine and turned on the TV
• If Sean learns that vampires are real, he'll turn into a conspiracy theorist
• He has a scar from his liver transplant
• He secretly does drag when his wife's not at home, stealing her dresses, heels and make-up
• He owns glasses but never wears them, except when driving at night without passengers
• Sean is color blind, so he always chooses clothes with neutral colours or regular patterns (leopard, military), he is also dyslexic but not diagnosed
• He killed his father when he was a teenager (premeditated)
• Sean has a tribal tattoo on his right arm, 'Charmaine' on his left pec and 'Carpe Diem' written on his lower back
• As a child he was not allowed to watch cartoons so his childhood was forged with VHS of old movies. His favourite was Ocean Eleven 1960, it became his comfort film. He exploded with joy when he learned that there would be a remake (2001) It's also because his father forbade him to watch PBS, that today he only watches sports games and cartoons in front of the TV
• He has been fascinated by the occult and the supernatural since he was a teenager, his father considered it to be bullshit so Sean has always been discreet about it
• Sean gets frequent migraines so he uses essential oils, peppermint or CBD oil. He especially can't stand the smell of nail polish (and remover)
• He and Mikey slept together in college, mainly because they couldn't get any 'chicks'
• Sean lived in Canada for few years, so he knows some French
• He still can't identify the bushes that Laszlo has cut (the vaginas)
• He would never admit it but he loves to sew and crochet, yet he always asks his wife to put the thread in the needle because he can't do it and it makes him furious real quick
• Sean would like to grow a beard but Charmaine can't stand it because it scratches her when they kiss
• While Charmaine is a fucking danger in the kitchen, Sean is excellent, and his favorite dish to cook is lasagne. He uses his cooking skills to sell (edible) cookies in front of universities (it has a great success)
• He's had a string of odd jobs, but now he's the manager of a sex shop
yes I totally based this hc on this image :
• He wears matching underwear with Charmaine (leopard or zebra pattern)
• He has a terrible sense of hygiene; he doesn't brush his teeth because it's "too long", so he only uses mouthwash. To wash his body and hair, he borrows his wife's products, but in the past but he's already used white vinegar for washing himself because it's "more economical". And he only cuts his nails with a pair of scissors
• He has a birthmark on his ass
• He can make a "W" with his tongue
• Charmaine always prepares Sean's baths and makes sure the water is hot, even scalding, because Sean is traumatized by freezing baths (for the same reasons as Gregory in House MD)
• To this day, he's convinced that being pansexual means being attracted to "pans"
• When he was little, his mother forced him to learn the piano, he hated it, so he stopped after a year
• Every time Charmaine sees her husband watching wrestling on TV, she laughs at him saying it's soft porn, her husband's response is "you're not wrong."
• Despite his love of the ocean, he suffers from seasickness
• Sean's biggest fear is having the same baldness as his father, so he buys all kinds of miraculous products he's seen on TV to try and stem the problem
• While Charmaine is a shit at geography, Sean is pretty good
• For a short period of his adolescence he was Satanic, the only trace of which is the inverted pentagram he had scarified on his arm, which is why he always wears long sleeves, to hide his numerous self-inflicted scars
• To reach Sean you have to call him, he never replies to messages, if you're lucky he read, and if you're extra lucky he put an "👍" emoji
• When Sean goes to the bathroom, you don't see him again for at least 30 mins. Charmaine often wondered what Sean did to take so much time to shit, and he simply replied that it was his only moment of peace of the day
• Since he's a "man" he's not supposed to cry, so he only cries in front of movies (his love for the Ocean's trilogy is explained by the fact that it's the only time he allows himself to sob)
• He has a naturally artistic temperament : storytelling, crochet, painting etc...
• When he eats, he always starts with dessert because "the best comes first"
• At the beginning of their relationship, he and Charmaine had a little dog (Toy Poodle) named "Biscuit". One day, Sean almost killed the dog by sitting on it while being stoned (the Sopranos ref)
• He's an energy vampire (only Colin knows about it)
• During the pandemic curfew, he drank hydroalcoholic gel out of desperation because he had run out of beer at home
• He has a stuffed animal named "Badger", It was a bear but now he looks more like a rag, Charmaine almost threw it away by accident, Sean threatened to kill her if anything happened to the first love of his life. Franky has already ended up with a black eye for insulting Badger
• He is still a fan of the occult, tarot, gems energy and astrology etc...
• Every time he goes to the movies with Charmaine, he asks her to hide beer cans under her breasts. At first she thought it was absolutely stupid, but eventually Charmaine did it a few times. She never admitted to him that she could hide a bag of weed in her vagina if need be, for obvious reasons
• He hates IQ tests because the only time he took one online, he scored 89 and Charmaine 130
• If he's rich today, it's because he won a game show when he was 30
• Sean suffers from depersonalization/derealization
• He grew his hair to look like the Joker (and subconsciously Laszlo)
• Most of Sean's savings went into expensive jewelry that he bought for his wife to make up for it
• Behind his Ocean's Twelve memorabilia there's a secret room with absolutely everything needed to organize a casino heist : A notebook with personalized costume sketches for each of his friends + 11 extremely extensive custom-made costumes protected in covers, an entire library about robbery and action books, entire handmade maps of New Jersey and more precisely Atlantic City's casinos, an impressive collection of various weapons and safes to practice opening them, twenty years of research for the perfect heist, accumulated in notebooks and plastic sleeves, a notebook with all the formulas on how to make a bomb, and of course, the homemade bomb in the corner of the room, a huge table in the center with a video projector, a cupboard with other figures and goodies from the trilogy, and posters all around the room
• Sean is a kid mentally, and annoying his wife is his favorite pastime, his favorite activity, being upstairs and shouting Charmaine's name, if she answers, he doesn't answer, until she freaks out
• If someone knocks on the toilet while he's occupying it, he shits louder
• At the beach, every time Sean passes by a sand castle, Charmaine is forced to threaten him by whispering "Don't" because she knows that her husband wants to "accidentally" destroy the castle
• If Sean dies at some point, his unfinished business as a ghost is to kiss Laszlo
• He has very long feet, when he goes bowling with Mikey and Franky. They call him "Bozo", which is the nickname he chooses on the screen to play
• Sean suffers from sleep apnea, so he snores like a pig, and for the past few years he's had a CPAP machine
• In his teen, he sympathized with the Jersey Devil, but after the brain scramblies he forgot that he had become close to the creature
• Sean already asked Charmaine to do ASMR videos just to gain money
• He is stronger than Laszlo at chess
• He wrote plenty of Ocean's 11/12 fics on ao3. Charmaine corrects his spelling mistakes, and she's annoyed to see that her husband only writes sex scenes between men, she'd also like to see between women. His excuse : "I don't have a vagina, how the fuck I'm supposed to write the sensations of having one duh-"
• During a manic episode, he bought 6 Roomba to make an army of them
• He knows the Ocean Twelve lines by heart
• If Charmaine and Sean don't judge the clothing style of their neighbors it's because they probably had a goth period in their youth
• He is a reincarnation, just like Jeff/Gregor
• Jenna is the secret love child of the Rinaldi
• Although he and Charmaine have reconciled, they no longer sleep in the same room; because Sean has insomnia and gets up often to go out on the balcony and smoke his cigarette (which awakens Charmaine)
#wwdits#what we do in the shadows#wwdits sean#sean rinaldi#wwdits charmaine#charmaine rinaldi#wwdits hcs#wwdits hc#wwdits headcanon#wwdits headcanons#tw sex toys#tw abuse#kztpost
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It’s The Supreme’s World: We just live in it…
Some world building and character info for the Re-Verse and how it affects Marinette, Adrien, and Gabriel before we get into the next Kamikotized hero.
Peace was never an option… It was an ultimatum.
While World Peace Day is celebrated everywhere, truly, only Capital Cities are able to host the full splendor of such a magnificent event.
Paris is famous for never being outdone when it comes to this extravagant and cherished celebration:
Throughout the day, on every corner of the city, you could find a rare sight you would not see any other day of the year- flower carts.
Usually, flowers were too expensive for just anyone to purchase, so florists only sold the finest, most delicate and exotic flowers to appeal to the high class.
But on World Peace Day, cheap, less popular flowers were made available so even those of low income could enjoy the rare luxury of owning a real flower;
Perhaps it is a frivolous purchase, but even the most stingy of penny-pinchers could not resist the urge to loosen their purse strings when offered a single pink carnation for the ridiculously low price of only €20!
Flowers weren’t the only thing worth buying-
There were street vendors with international fare offering a variety of delights one would expect from a carnival or festival. Each seems so exotic when they come from a culture different than your own; takoyaki from Japan, bratwurst from Germany, frappe from Italy, Cotton Candy from the United States of America.
(Yup, spun sugar is originally a traditional american food invented in 1897 by American citizens William Morrison, and John C. Wharton, and it remained a unique American speciality until it was introduced at the 1904 World Fair. The irony? One of those dudes was a dentist.)
It is a culinary trip around the world without the cost of voyage.
Unless you were a vendor, of course.
While plenty were local, many more would venture from their homes to capital cities for World Peace Day, knowing they could make a larger profit than if they were to sell their goods at smaller towns.
Some even traveled from out of country, it was a huge investment for a single day, but one that would immensely pay off if they could convince customers that their goods were more authentic.
There was also a lavish parade with floats decorated in peace lilies, white poppies, hyacinth, cosmos, pincushion flowers, red peonies, and lavender, all carrying red banners with the symbol of The Supreme.
Marching bands play folk music, and talented performers in costumes from all over the world perform traditional dances.
It is a feast for the eyes seeing all the different cultures that were united for the sake of Peace.
Of course, the most beautiful sight (that you have to pay an admission fee for) is in the Jardin des Tuileries where all the metal sculptures and plastic foliage are removed to make room for impressive, imported floral displays;
Tudor roses from Britain, Quatre–temps from Canada, Dahlias from Mexico, Cattleya orchids from Brazil, Meihua from China, and naturally French Iris at the center… All countries in the world are represented by a display of their national flower, to symbolize how all nations came together under the guidance of The Supreme.
—
Roland Dupain loves World Peace Day more than Christmas!
Poverty had become common place after the Great war- the whole world seemed dull and grey. But the people endured to rebuild what had been lost. Roland Dupain’s grandfather had perished in the war, and his grandmother had to raise 2 sons on her own, one of which would marry Roland’s mother.
Then, WW2 began.
Both his father and his uncle went off to fight, following in their father’s footsteps.
5 months passed before Mrs. Dupain received word that Roland’s uncle had been killed in action.
A miserable year passed and the world descended into Hell-
Nazi’s invaded France and took control of Paris.
Parisians lived in fear and battled with hunger every day. A pregnant Mrs. Dupain cried herself to sleep, having lost all hope of ever seeing her husband alive again, resigning herself to her fate of having to bring a child into the world that would never know their father…
Then, the unthinkable happened;
The Axis Powers abruptly and unanimously surrendered!
Not to the Allies Forces…. No, something far greater and more powerful.
There was dancing in the streets! Peace at long last!
Tanks and weapons were disassembled, materials and rations that had been collected for the war efforts were donated back to the people, armies were permanently disbanded, and Roland’s father came home.
Oh, that euphoric feeling of relief and utter joy when Mrs. Roland leapt into her husband’s arms, weeping tears of joy.
No more war, no more bloodshed, no more hiding in fear, no more starving!
From now on, theirs was a world of everlasting peace!
ALL HAIL THE SUPREME!
2 months later, Roland Dupain was born, and every year until his father’s died from Tuberculosis, Roland was regaled with stories of the suffering caused during the War, and how The Supreme was their savior.
Ever since, Roland Dupain has celebrated Peace Day with fond memories and a sense of pride…
Which is why his greatest shame is his wife, Gina.
The same woman who hard the nerve to lecture him about about family values when he was ready to disown his son for marrying an outrageous woman who wouldn’t even take her husband’s last name and who had nonsense ideas about experimenting with time-trusted recipes, (flour from rice?? Peuh! That’s not how it’s done!).
Gina, with her big speech about how nothing was more important than family…
She brought disgrace to their family when she was arrested 2 years ago for civil disobedience and public disturbance!
Well, there was no way he was going to allow his granddaughter to go down a criminal path!
The world was tough but fair; so long as you work hard and follow all the rules, no questions, you won’t have any problems.
So simple!
Marinette needed to learn to how lucky she was to live in a world under The Supreme’s protection.
What better way to do that then helping her grandfather sell traditional Pain de campagne to tourists on World Peace Day?
It was a tradition started by his father, that he had carried on and tried to continue with his own son (until that wife of his put crazy ideas in his head like how pain au chocolat would be more popular.) but now, he would continue this tradition with Marinette- she would become part of a proud history, develop a sense of service, and most importantly, stay on the straight and narrow!
Children need discipline, after all!
She would thank him, one day.
-Marinette strongly disagrees.
Up until she was 11 years old, for Marinette Dupain-Cheng, World Peace Day was all about yummy treats, exciting parades, and pretty flowers.
While her parents sold pastries, her Nonna would take her strolling around the city to enjoy the excitement!
Then, just a few months before she turned 12, Nonna was sentenced to 8 years in a penitentiary labor camp.
Now, World Peace Day was about carrying baskets of rye sourdough bread, lectures on how things were and were not done, and the same old stories Grandpa Roland had already told her hundreds of times before, all while watching everyone get to have fun.
It was like having detention outside of school!
The worst part was the elderly tourists who would gush over her and pinch her cheeks for ‘being such a good girl who helps out her grandfather!’
Apparently being a “good girl” didn’t entitle her to personal space.
Seriously, why did people feel entitled to put their hands on her just because she was a kid?
Mom and Dad were no help; her Mom believed this was important quality time with her grandfather that she’ll appreciate someday when she’s older.
Dad’s opinion was, as always, that her mother was right.
You know what’d she’d really appreciate?
Getting to celebrate World Peace day instead of lugging around crusty bread made from overly fermented yeast! It was like her grandfather had an allergy to delicious food and having fun!
Grandpa Roland claimed World Peace Day was his favorite holiday, yet he spent the whole day either selling bread or complaining about how other people were selling bread wrong, how people dressed was wrong, or how people looked at their phones while walking around was wrong!
No one seemed to know how anything was “done,” save for him, and honestly? Marinette was 100% done with all of it.
—
For Adrien, World Peace Day is now the one time the city doesn’t stink in the literal sense.
The amount of actual flowers should help offset the stench of chemical fumes.
But he didn’t use to think that way…
World Peace Day used to make him happy, because it made his mother happy.
When he was little, his mother would giggle at the spectacle of Adrien-tallest in the world, as he sat atop his father’s shoulders for the best view of the parade in all of Paris.
Her smile was even sweeter than the sticky residue she tried in vain to wipe from his cheeks because Père didn’t hesitate to buy him every sugary treat that caught his eye.
Her voice was like a song as she pointed out and named each and every flower in Jardin des Tuileries to him, and as much as he wanted to pay attention, it was a hypnotic lullaby paired with a sugar crash that left him in a sleepy daze in his father’s warm embrace as he was carried home, his last conscious thoughts his mother’s kiss upon his forehead as his blanket was tucked tight around him.
As he got big enough to walk without being carried, he toured the celebrations with his parents each holding his hands in theirs.
Father still had his sweet tooth, despite mère playfully scolding him, reminding him of the lecture Adrien would get from the dentiste.
He was old enough to listen to her name all the flowers now, but too excited about the exotic music and the foreign dancers to really pay attention to what she said.
Though he did hear, and make a face, at his father’s mushy declaration that mère was the most beautiful rose in the world.
He never really noticed that mother’s grip on his hand was starting to weaken.
Years passed and he was too busy checking that the path ahead was clear of bumps and dips to notice any candy vendors or dances. His father was also more focused on pushing mother’s wheelchair than enjoying the parade.
Mother’s tone was still cheerful as she admired the flowers, but Adrien was too worried about whether the outdoor air was making her cough worse, her words went in one ear and out the other.
Last year she had been too weak to get out of bed. She had been too exhausted to watch the entirety of the parade on TV- visiting Jardin des Tuileries was out of the question.
Adrien would have given ANYTHING to listen to her list off the different flowers, he swore he would commit each one to memory.
Now….
Was there really any point?
He’d seen all the dances dozens of times, the music was also pretty boring.
There was nothing special about the food vendors, and too much sugar was terrible for your skin anyway.
He honestly didn’t care about flowers.
World Peace Day was just another over-rated holiday that people obsessed over to temporarily forget the mediocrity of their dreary lives.
What a joke.
—
For a young Gabi Grassette, son of a pommes frites vendor, World peace day meant sweets; Barbe à papa, English toffees, Mexican chocolates, and Polkagris!
Their family didn’t have a lot, but on this most special of days, his Papa would allow him some spending money to enjoy what the world had to offer~
At 8 years old, he was practically grown up, and able to walk up and down the street by himself.
It was the first World Peace Day he had a clear memory of, it was also the first time he saw a real flower up close.
Back then, he hadn’t really understood what his parents meant; things were either “real” or “imaginary”, weren’t they?
He was able to touch the plastic flowers his mother decorated their kitchen window with, and last week in L'Ecole Primaire his teacher taught him how to fold fleurs de papier. Those were plenty real enough!
Why would adults waste euros on something silly like flowers when they could buy candy instead?
Gabi couldn’t believe he was already so much smarter than everybody else! That was probably why he was allowed to enjoy the celebration by himself unlike other children who still needed adults to watch them.
That was until he stumbled across “it”.
A single blossom that had fallen off a parade float, carried off by a gentle breeze, only to land delicately at his feet.
It was so much more fragile than he’d imagined;
The petals were just as thin as paper, yet surprisingly soft to the touch.
Its center was fuzzy? A scent not unlike the perfume he was used to, but not the same either- it was both more airy yet more bold, but like a passing whisper- there was no strange undertone to remind him of cleaning sprays.
The stem was flexible, to a point. It was smooth with a certain give. If he pressed a fingernail to it, it tore a little, but instead of revealing wire inside, it was just more green- a sticky green.
The leaves had… creases? The lines weren’t painted on, they were embedded in the leaf itself almost like…. like… veins.
Veins, as if it were….
Alive.
This tiny thing in his hands wasn’t made in a classroom or a factory… it was ALIVE.
He had been told that flowers and other plants were things that grew from the ground, but he had never fully understood what that truly meant until now.
Flowers, REAL flowers, were delicate, fragrant, colorful, and ALIVE and it was the most amazing thing Gabi had ever seen!!!
But, why was something so precious only celebrated one day of the year?
Why were there so few?
Why didn’t the adults grow them everywhere? Why did they have to settle for paper or plastic ones when real ones were so much better?
It wasn’t the first time he, or any child for that matter, had questioned why the world was the way that it was, but for Gabi, it was the first time he had questioned why no one was trying to make the world better.
While his childhood had given him the blissful ignorance of believing that a certain holiday was all about delicious treats and beautiful flowers, with adulthood came the wisdom of understanding that World Peace Day was supposed to symbolize the end of the violent history of the world that would never again be repeated.
But only the enlightened were able to realize what World Peace Day was really about;
Worshipping The Supreme.
Some speculated that The Supreme was a small group of the world’s greatest minds.
Others suggested The Supreme was a single individual, appointed by the Divine Almighty to lead the world to salvation.
A remaining few even dared to imagine The Supreme as God himself; righting the wrongs of humanity and guiding them to the perfect world they could have been before the Tower of Babel.
Perhaps that last one wasn’t too far fetched-
After all, the way all the World Leaders agreed to surrender their power after WW2 without hesitation was almost as if they were compelled by some supernatural force…
In order to ensure everlasting peace for generations to come,The Supreme reshaped the nations of the world;
Monarchies were archaic- being able to trace your incestuous genealogy back to the dark ages didn’t qualify you to have any sort of authority.
Elections were flawed and allowed money, baseless propaganda, and empty promises, to fool voters and keep the greedy and corrupt in power.
That’s why wars over natural resources, religious superiority, or ethnic cleansing used to be commonplace throughout history- the wrong people were put in charge of governing the masses.
Only exceptional individuals who will uphold the ideals of a utopian society should be given that kind of power.
Mayors, Governors, Senators, and Prime Ministers/Presidents were replaced with High Officials, Grand Officials, Executive Officials, and Executive Administrators…
All of which were selected by The Supreme, and who answered only to The Supreme.
Only The Supreme could decide what those “utopian ideals” were, and no one else had any say.
Once, Gabi had been foolish enough to believe that was what was best.
After reinventing himself, from his name to the people he associated with, becoming a member of high society allowed to walk amongst the rich, the powerful, and the celebrity elite, Gabriel Agreste was finally able to see past all the bureaucratic smoke and mirrors.
No one truly had the best interests for the whole of humanity at heart.
Those with authority obeyed The Supreme out of fear and a lust for power.
Connections with the rich and influential were shallow at best; today you were friends and colleagues, but tomorrow they may very well stab you in the back to turn a profit.
In the end, the power to decide what was justifiably right or criminally wrong belonged to The Supreme, and their word was absolute.
If there was anything to take away from that, it was that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
#miraculous paris#miraculous ladybug#miraculous fandom#miraculous world#shadybug#claw noir#griffe noire#toxinelle#adrien agreste#gabriel agreste#marinette dupain cheng#the supreme#emelie agreste#Re-verse
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Oi!
Anon forgot that Grrm quote talking about the girls names! "Flowery Sansa to the sharp, like-a-knife Arya, or something"
How are we supposed to make a connection to flowers/Bael/Arya if there's only one or two mentions of flowers in her chapters?? and the Bael part is more of a knockoff? A cheap imitation??
HOOOWWW
Yes, Anon!
These are the quotes:
The names Arya and Sansa are meant to represent the polar opposites of their characters, Arya being a hard sounding name, Sansa a softer more pretty name, etc.
[Source]
Arya, I say it ar-ya, two syllables, not three, not a-ri-a, like an operatic thing, but Arya, very sharp. I wanted something that was like a knife, that was sharp and hard sound, to be a contrast to the flowery Sansa.
[Source]
Also, let's not forget that Sansa is profoundly associated with the story and songs about Florian and Jonquil, both names linked with flowers:
Florian is a male given name borrowed from the ancient Roman name Florianus. The name is derived from Florus, from Latin flōrus (originally "yellow, blond", later "flowering"), related to flāvus ("yellow, blond"); compare also Romanian flor ("blond, with blond hair"). In spite of that, by popular etymology, it is often linked to flōs ("flower"; genitive singular flōris).
Narcissus jonquilla, commonly known as jonquil or rush daffodil, is a bulbous flowering plant, a species of the genus Narcissus (daffodil) that is native to Spain and Portugal but has now become naturalised in many other regions: France, Italy, Turkey, the former Yugoslavia, Madeira, British Columbia in Canada, Utah, Illinois, Minnesota, Ohio, and the southeastern United States from Texas to Maryland.
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The Eccentric Recluse
Here is the link to this week's brand new video!!
https://youtu.be/PTG8pAIt65Q
Let's start this one out by taking a look at some exterior photos taken during the overgrown summer months!!
Born in 1951 and of Polish descent, Jeff really enjoyed working with his hands, he enjoyed automotive repair, woodworking and metal work. This is evidenced most clearly in this home that we are exploring today. You can see some of the work he has done both inside and outside of the home. There are little details everywhere, from the woodwork, to the decorative angels, the metal work on the fireplace to the railings outside the home that have little metal flowers inside. Built in the Tudor style with a very strong medieval vibe to it, I suspect that he may have built the entire home himself or at least added onto the home significantly over the years while he was living there. The details in this home did not stop at the visible and decorative, he also created some things for function as well. Throughout the home, almost every light fixture was on a motion sensor. There were also those cheap dollar store battery operated lights stuck to the walls in random places, some of which were still working during the explore! He had built large speakers into the walls and the ceiling throughout the living room, I didn't even notice these during the initial video explore, but they were everywhere. Many of the windows also had bars over them, much like the type you would see on city homes in a bad area.
The son of a mechanical engineer who worked for Air Canada, he was a draftsman by trade and it is no surprise to see the world that he created and surrounded himself with. Jeff was never married and he apparently, according to neighbours, passed away in this very home in 2015. He was only 64 years old.
The house was an absolute pleasure to explore but at the same time with the bars over the windows and the dim and dyeing dollar store lights turning on and off, it left me feeling a bit uneasy, almost like Jeff may return at any moment. Or maybe that he was still somehow watching over the house.
In 2021 the house and property were sold at auction to cover the property taxes owed. Since then, in late 2022, the new owners have cleared away a lot of the overgrowth, the cars are gone and it looks as though they have gutted the inside. Only time will tell if this house is completely demolished or if the new owners decide to save it!
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which ahl team would you most like to relocate to california? 2. what is your favorite live music experience you've ever had? 3. what is your go-to style of shoe?
these are so juicy omg thank you.
oh god. here's the thing, california has too many ahl teams and they're all better than my team so i want them all to get lost in the san joaquin valley forever. HOWEVER i think it is a true shame the wranglers moved up to calgary and i want them back here!! reasons: 1) the stockton heat were san jose's main rivalry. now we have the tucson roadrunners. i am tired of losing to the roadrunners after a third of my team goes down in consecutive 10 minute majors. at least with the stockton heat it was like, even if we lose, we're still morally superior, bc we are not in stockton. like how am i supposed to feel superior to tucson. tucson fucken rules. MORE IMPORTANTLY 2) it really makes me mad when minor league hockey teams fuck off to canada bc i feel like it does SO much for the game in america to have cheap local hockey where the players are accessible and often very enmeshed with the fanbase and the city! canada already has so many hockey teams! mind your business canada!!! one time i was talking to a guy at a cuda game and he was telling me like, yeah, my daughter's favorite player was [some random 3rd liner that predates me] and she was devastated when he got traded to the heat and cried, so i took her up to stockton to see him and he was so happy to see her. (she was 8 years old when i was talking to the man, so i think she was pretty significantly younger.) like...i'm sorry but that's so nice, man. you don't get that kind of fan connection with major league teams. california having an assload of minor league hockey teams presents a real opportunity for growing the game in this state! and the thing about having so many ahl teams in california is you can go on little roadtrips if you so wish! if your 6 year old daughter's favorite 4th liner gets traded, you can take a day trip up to stockton and see him and make her day AND make his day! god. no more hockey teams for canada!! you guys need to get into baseball!!!
oh man...this sucks so much bc it involves ryan adams. but one of my favorite concert experiences was going alone to a ryan adams & the cardinals concert in san francisco. they played so many of my favorite songs, the crowd was so friendly and welcoming to me (demographics of a cards concert at the time: 35-65yo white male. me at the time: 21yo mixed race girl), the band laughed at me for singing and dancing along to "easy plateau", and the concert was something like...god maybe 3-4 hours long and i just really sank into the music and the experience. my sister and i were living with our dad at the time and he was never home, and i got a call from her around 12am like, did you die. and i had to call her back after the concert at 1am like no, sorry, this band just has a deep back catalog. anyway it sucks to have lost the shine of that wonderful concert experience bc ryan adams is such a piece of shit, but it does stand out as a particularly special concert experience. it was one of the last shows i went to where i just truly felt like every part of it was for me.
i recently discovered vans slip-ons. why was i wasting so much time with converse when i could be wear vans. my favorite vans slip-ons have flowers on them but i also have a pair of blue and a pair of green. i have recently become a monster who doesn't always wear socks, so it's a true dirtbag california look. beryl gave me a pair of their docs and a pair of their red wings boots so i look like a real badass in the winter, but honestly for 7 months of the year at this point i'm just rocking vans.
thank you for asking my friend!!
#every day i get closer and closer to starting that california hockey podcast that is just celebrating california ahl hockey#the only thing stopping me at this point is that i simply do not think the world needs more men talking about hockey on podcasts#even if my male hockey podcast would be better than all the other's men's hockey podcasts#bc it would a) have a hard 15 min limit and b) be JOYFUL and full of LOVE and RESPECTING OTHER PEOPLE'S JOURNEYS#but again: i do not wish to add my voice to the hockey podcasting scene. the last thing we need is more MEN. TALKING.#cage replies#hopetorun#shout out to men i love y'all but we need to stop starting podcasts :/
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Days 1-4 in Düsseldorf
The final chunk of our vacation was visiting my Father-in-law.
On Wednesday we got up very early, checked out of the hotel, took the train to the airport, paid an extra $90 for having overweight luggage (the only airline that flies nonstop between Rome and Düsseldorf is a "low-cost" airline with cheap tickets but you have to pay for literally everything else, so the flights aren't actually cheap at all, and they have very stringent weight restrictions that are much lower than the limits for our international flights), and got to our gate smoothly. Our flight was a bit delayed, but otherwise uneventful; I had a nice view of the Alps, and a small floofy dog was seated behind me.
Father-in-law picked us up at the airport and we spent the afternoon mainly doing laundry and grocery shopping. I also sat in the beautiful back garden (we were in the suburbs) and did some birdwatching. I saw a few carrion crows, a Eurasian greenfinch, a blue tit, and several very vocal Eurasian blackbirds. There were also several different butterflies and some dragonflies.
After dinner, we watched the evening primroses opening, which was more fun than it sounds like, and then ate redcurrants with sugar and whipped cream.
It was a lovely temperature outside but a little too hot in the house! I also had a lot of foot pain, which seems to have been a major flareup of plantar fasciitis due to not doing my usual daily stretches.
On Day 2 in Germany, we drove to Wuppertal. I was disappointed that we didn't get to ride the Schwebebahn (a hanging monorail train), but we did visit a beautiful sculpture park. It's very large so we didn't see the whole thing, but it was very foresty and the sculptures were well integrated into the environment. I was, however, struggling a bit to walk because of foot pain. It was also rather cooler than I expected; I actually wished I'd brought a neckwarmer and raincoat, particularly since it actually did start raining near the end! On the drive we passed the Pina Bausch Center which I was pleased to see. (She was a really important choreographer.)
In the evening we had an Ineptitude in the Kitchen incident, wherein we tried to make a veggie frittata, but due to inexperience with induction stoves, we had set the heat too high so we had to turn it into a scramble, and even then it was slightly burned. Ah well, it was still edible.
Luckily I was able to use a spiky wooden foot-massage tool thing, which really helped the plantar fasciitis a lot.
On Day 3, my foot was considerably better. I saw a great tit in the backyard! (For non-birdwatchers, that probably sounds weird. In the US, birds in that family are called chickadees, I think. They are very cute.) We spent the late morning/early afternoon in Düsseldorf, where we looked unsuccessfully for shoes but did buy a few other things to take home, as well as birdwatching without binoculars by the canal (apparently Canada geese are everywhere, but we also saw Eurasian coots and moorhens, black-headed gulls, and some mallards) and eating a nice healthy lunch in a cafe.
Then we dropped things off at home, and Father-in-law took us first to a cloister (where I had a glimpse of a rose-ringed parakeet), but the garden was already closed, so then we went to a castle instead: Schloss Dyck. The gardens there were great: flowers, foods, bamboo! There were two moats and a lake, and many birds. Among other things, I saw a white wagtail, a common chaffinch, Eurasian goldfinches, a graylag goose, and common house-martins. We didn't go into the castle itself, which was painted yellow. But we did buy some produce grown there: apricots, plums, and red gooseberries.
Went back home and had another Ineptitude in the Kitchen incident: after frying some leftover potatoes, I forgot to pour out the hot oil before trying to add leftover vegetables to the pan to reheat them, thus spattering hot oil all over the place. Ah well. We ate the gooseberries with vanilla ice cream for dessert.
Day 4 was rainy, on and off. We visited Wife's godparents. Her godfather is a hoot and possibly a formative influence on her sense of humor. Wife had to translate everything for me. After that we visited her aunt, who is definitely getting a bit frail, and is now both hearing- and vision-impaired.
Then we went home to pack! And today Father-in-law dropped us off at the airport. We flew our first leg uneventfully, and I've been posting from the airport in Frankfurt, as our second flight is delayed by 3.5 hours.
#personal#travel#food#even though there is no picture of food here#ineptitude in the kitchen#birdwatching
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What You Need to Know Before Buying a Weed Vape Pen in Canada
As the legalization of marijuana continues to sweep across Canada, there has been a surge in the popularity of weed vape pens. These handy devices offer a discreet and convenient way to consume cannabis, making them a top choice for many Canadians. However, before you rush to purchase a weed vape pen in Canada, there is a few things you need to know to ensure you make the best decision possible.
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Exploring the Convenience and Legality of Canadian Online Dispensaries
Navigating the World of Online Cannabis Retail in Canada
In recent years, Canada has emerged as a global leader in cannabis legalization, with a robust framework for both medical and recreational use. One significant aspect of this evolving landscape is the rise of Canadian online dispensaries, offering consumers a convenient and accessible way to purchase cannabis products. However, navigating the realm of online dispensaries requires an understanding of the legalities, quality standards, and safety measures in place.
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The Ultimate Guide to Growing Roses for Stunning Petals
Roses have an undeniable charm, but growing them can be a daunting task for many. Fear not! This ultimate guide is your compass to cultivating roses with breathtaking petals, whether you're a seasoned gardener or just starting your green journey.
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Discover the New Tranquil World of Herbs at Serenity Universe
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The Eccentric Recluse
You can find the video here!!
https://youtu.be/PTG8pAIt65Q
For this post, let's take a look at the owner's bedroom where he turned his bed into a fort, as well as some of his workshop rooms!!
We are halfway through this week's location, are you guys getting bored of it yet? Let me know in the comments!
Born in 1951 and of Polish descent, Jeff really enjoyed working with his hands, he enjoyed automotive repair, woodworking and metal work. This is evidenced most clearly in this home that we are exploring today. You can see some of the work he has done both inside and outside of the home. There are little details everywhere, from the woodwork, to the decorative angels, the metal work on the fireplace to the railings outside the home that have little metal flowers inside. Built in the Tudor style with a very strong medieval vibe to it, I suspect that he may have built the entire home himself or at least added onto the home significantly over the years while he was living there. The details in this home did not stop at the visible and decorative, he also created some things for function as well. Throughout the home, almost every light fixture was on a motion sensor. There were also those cheap dollar store battery operated lights stuck to the walls in random places, some of which were still working during the explore! He had built large speakers into the walls and the ceiling throughout the living room, I didn't even notice these during the initial video explore, but they were everywhere. Many of the windows also had bars over them, much like the type you would see on city homes in a bad area.
The son of a mechanical engineer who worked for Air Canada, he was a draftsman by trade and it is no surprise to see the world that he created and surrounded himself with. Jeff was never married and he apparently, according to neighbours, passed away in this very home in 2015. He was only 64 years old.
The house was an absolute pleasure to explore but at the same time with the bars over the windows and the dim and dyeing dollar store lights turning on and off, it left me feeling a bit uneasy, almost like Jeff may return at any moment. Or maybe that he was still somehow watching over the house.
In 2021 the house and property were sold at auction to cover the property taxes owed. Since then, in late 2022, the new owners have cleared away a lot of the overgrowth, the cars are gone and it looks as though they have gutted the inside. Only time will tell if this house is completely demolished or if the new owners decide to save it!
#abandoned#abandoned buildings#abandoned places#abandoned homes#abandoned houses#abandoned time capsule#Time Capsules#bando#bandos#forgotten#forgotten buildings#forgotten places#urbex#urban exploration#urban exploring
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