#there's a reason why we never post client's floor plans in detail | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blackspoon99 · 3 years ago

Text

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift.

---------------------------------

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

-----------------------------

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?”

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

----------------------------------------------------------------

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off.

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

--------------------------------------------------------

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

------------------------------------------------------

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall.

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.”

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though.

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlockxreader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #the sign of three

73 notes · View notes

lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Better Man. ( Taehyung x Oc)

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 ~ Its okay to want something to end and also be sad that its ending.

With infidelity, its never black and white.

There’s different kinds of infidelity and you can’t ever say which is worse. That depends entirely on the people involved and the values they hold dear. What may be a small indiscretion to someone, may well be an unforgivable act of betrayal to someone else.

And that’s fine. People aren’t one dimensional. We can’t all have the same perspective.

So infidelity is also never one dimensional.

Sometimes its a one night stand. Something done and forgotten. Discarded from the mind like the used condom in the motel room floor.

Sometimes its a dear friend who betrays you, your best friend who apparently always had a thing for your husband and felt perfectly fine making a move on him. That one stings . Because you lose two people. Two very important people at the same time.

Sometimes its a coworker, someone who stays by their side majority of the day. Who offers a sympathetic ear when your husband wants to relax.

Sometimes men just fall out of love and are too much of a coward to say it out loud, opting to cheat on you instead.

Sometimes, they are jealous, of your career, of your kid, or your friends. Too lazy to win your affection they go find satisfaction in some one else’s bed.

Sometimes it never even gets physical. Sometimes its just someone catfishing your husband or sending him nudes.

And sometimes, its an emotional connection. They actually fall deeply in love with someone else and I think, for most women, that would be the one that would sting the most.

With Taehyung, it had been a night of drinking. He had had one drink too many, had tumbled into bed with some trainee a decade younger and had broken our marriage vows.

Not really a very thought out or planned mistake. He hadn’t cheated with the intent to cheat. He had just been too drunk to know better.

So, why did I leave him?

Because it hadn’t been about the cheating.

It had been the drinking.

When we first met, Taehyung couldn’t hold his liquor. Not that it mattered because he didn’t like it all that much. Didn’t mind sipping juice when other’s nursed beers.

But as he grew older, as he grew more successful, he had started accepting drinks from producers and directors and fellow actors... Because, it was rude not to and Kim Taehyung was nothing if not the personification of politeness.

His tolerance hadn’t increased but his drinking had and that was a bad combo.

:”You need to stop doing this Tae. You can’t just come home black out drunk, every time you have an after party.... You’re going to hurt yourself or god forbid someone else... some day and I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to wreck your entire life over a stupid drink....”

It was a speech I had made way too many times. The words recycled and reframed, and rearranged to try and give them more weight , to help him realize how serious the issue was. To help him understand that what he was risking, it wasn’t just his reputation. It was his entire career, his life if he somehow got behind a wheel someday.

And Taehyung, who had won a bunch of Daesangs for his acting always convinced me that he understood what I was trying to say. That he understood the magnitude of my words and would heed them the next time.

So really, what people didn’t understand was that....

That evening, when he stood in front of me and said that he slept with another woman because he got drunk out of his mind, it wasn’t the sleeping with the girl that had bothered me. ( at least not that much. it hurt of course but it wasn’t that strong. it stemmed more from a place of “why didn’t you just ask someone to drive you home, you idiot.”.. rather than, “ how dare you sleep with another woman?” )

It was the got drunk out of my mind thing.

That was what I ended my marriage over.

That was it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The details were hashed out easily and I didn’t particularly protest or change anything. Taehyung suggested an equal division of assets and I quickly disagreed. I wasn’t exactly poor. I worked as the Head of Marketing in a successful conglomerate. I had no use for excessive amounts of money. After some debate we agreed on setting up a trust fund for Hoshi with the money. He could use it after he turned twenty five.

And then came the next part.

Compensation for physical / Mental Damage.

I felt like i was spiraling.

“None On my side. None.” Taehyung said quickly and I swallowed.

Ms Lee gave me an encouraging smile.

“You can be honest Mrs Kim. We’re trying to go for a clean break between the two of you without any resentment carrying over. So its best to be honest. If you feel you need recompense for any emotional distress or abuse Mr. Kim may have put you through, you’re free to tell me. I’ll make sure it goes into record.”

And this was why I hated the idea of getting divorce.

That entire dialogue had sounded so...so... terrible. So accusatory and ugly. It wasn’t at all the way I felt about my husband.

It was just hurt. Plain and simple hurt because he didn’t take me seriously. Because he didn’t think my words were worth listening to. It was hurt laced with fear because he was putting himself in danger with his reckless actions and I wanted him to stop. That’s all it was.

It was hurt.

Taehyung had hurt me but it wasn’t emotional distress. It sure as hell hadn’t been abuse.

“None for me either.” I said firmly, honest .

I glanced at my husband, trying to tell him that I wasn’t just saying it. That it was true. I really didn’t want him to pay me money for what had happened.

But, Taehyung wouldn’t meet my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung signed over full custody of Hoshi with a smile.

“I trust you. “ He said quietly, penning his initials carefully on the document.

I nodded, feeling a little like drowning.

We had a very comfortable way of doing things as far as our son was concerned. Taehyung got Hoshi anytime he had time off and also on weekends.

With a very shifting schedule it was hard for Taehyung to pin down exact dates so we had long decided we would make things easier for each other. He would call me a day or so in advance and i would drop him off at Taehyung’s penthouse or the company. Special days like birthdays were always celebrated in a neutral place with both parties attending.

Hoshi loved it because it was a pleasant surprise for him, when his dad swooped in out of nowhere and took him off to amusement parks or arcades or swimming. He loved Taehyung .

So the visitation rights were easy to sketch out.

It was nothing new but to have it all put down on paper and initialed and notarized....it just felt invasive. Some judge somewhere would read all about how my marriage had crumbled to ashes and would pass judgment on me and that just felt odd.

Like airing your dirty laundry. Like letting strangers into your bedroom.

And the worst part was this : I felt myself getting upset , anytime Ms. Lee gave the slightest negative connotation to Taehyung’s actions or responsibilities. Anytime she tried to imply that he couldn’t be neglectful as a father, I wanted to jump right up and defend him. To tell her that he was a better father than the ones who lived 24/7 with their kids and didn’t know a damn thing about them.

That even as my husband, he had been so good to me. Had treated me like his best friend, his confidante, his lover. Had never shied away from showing me how much he loved me. Had been the best husband in the whole entire world.

And I hated myself for it.

What was wrong with me?

Why was I still so fiercely protective of him, I wondered. I hated the idea of him being criticized by anyone for any of it.

And it made feel like such a hypocrite because if he was so amazing, why on earth were we here??

Why on earth were we getting a divorce if Kim Taehyung was husband and father of the fucking Year?!!

Was I making a mistake? Had I made a mistake?

It confused me. These feelings that just refused to go away. I would never act on them because therein lay the path to misery but why were they still there?

This desperate clawing urge to make sure he came out of this whole debacle as a good guy. To make sure no one would brand him as a cheater . Because they would. When the divorce went public, they would dig things up and they would know.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten to this point where , I could somehow forget everything that was wrong, simply because I wanted to focus on what felt wrong....

Technically I should be happy.

Taehyung did something unpardonable ( for me, at the time. Now I wasn’t so sure. Now I felt like I could forgive him for it but he hadn’t asked for forgiveness. What he’d asked for was a divorce. ) and I left him. We were separated . And now finally we were getting a divorce.

Divorce meant we could finally get out of this no man’s land of uncertainty where we had hung for two whole years and move on, from each other and finally give a label to where we stood. Exes. We were exes. We were done. It was over.

Hadn’t I just yelled about him about how I liked labels?

And yet,

This entire divorce felt so wrong. So unnecessary.

And in a moment of clarity, as I watched Ms Lee read he whole thing over again for our benefit, I realized why it felt wrong.

It felt wrong because Taehyung was the one who wanted it.

Why did Taehyung want it? What had made him want to end it, officially?

Was he seeing someone else? Was he considering seeing someone else? Did he want to start enjoying the single lifestyle again?

Did he finally take a good long look at our marriage and found nothing worth salvaging anymore?

My head ached.

I couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. And yet my heart broke at the thought of it.

Ms Lee finally gathered up all the documents and gave us a wide smile.

“I wish every client I had was this reasonable. You two are a delight .” she shook her head. “ Should we get a drink to celebrate a day well spent?”

I opened my mouth to accept when Taehyung said, “ Sure, but it would have to be a juice for me. I don’t drink.”

I felt my heart take a swoop, nosediving to my knees.

I stared at him, stunned speechless.

“Haven’t had a drink in two years Mia. I’m done with that shit.” He said softly.

I swallowed.

“I didn’t know that.” I felt miserable all of a sudden, the weight of what we had just done pressing down on my heart like a 200 pound stone,

His gaze held mine.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

We stood staring at each other in silence and Ms. Lee cleared her throat.

“Uh... I just got a text from my next client. Maybe raincheck on the drinks? “

I nodded , watching her leave. Thank you i wanted to say, but for what?

For ending my marriage of eight fucking years?

And how ridiculous that very thought was. ..... She hadn’t ended our marriage, I had.

“I have the next two days off.” He said casually.

“You can pick Hoshi up from my mom’s place. I need to head back to the office.” I muttered, choking a little on tears that had sprung out of nowhere. .

“Hey.” his fingers closed over my wrists tugging me gently and I let myself get pulled into his arms. I hugged him, feeling my tears soak through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” I choked out.

He stroked the back of my head gently.

“Me too. “ He pressed a kiss to my hair and it only made me feel worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Tae is 35, OC is 32

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #taehyung fanfics #bts fanfics #bts smut #bts fanfic

146 notes · View notes

fedeipox · 4 years ago

Text

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 6 (3/3)

Part 1 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/640021017292636160/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-6-13

Part 2 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/640495394492710912/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-6-23

Chapter 6 (3/3) - Gifts

Words: 3k

Molly was probably able to hide all those bad feelings from the other people in camp, but she couldn’t hide them from Emily: she was good with emotions, and in reading poetry. However, she had talked too much, again, and she felt mortified for how Molly had treated her. Walking around with the weight of regret on her chest, she ended up in front of her tent where Mary-Beth was still reading and Tilly was washing some clothes.

“Hello, girls. Do you need help, Tilly?”

“No, I’m almost done.”

“Is it still that book? The one with the man who wants to visit the moon?” she asked to Mary-Beth.

“Ah-ah” she affirmed.

Emily had soon found out that her books were boring and foolish, but she tried not to point it out to avoid insulting Mary-Beth. Besides, she had only three and she kept reading them again and again.

“How did the job go?” she asked to Emily.

“Good, I’ve made some money, so now I can buy you some other book. Something more interesting.”

“This one is not so bad. You have never wondered what goes on, on the moon?” “What should go on, on the moon? It’s a big cold rock.”

Mary-Beth widened her eyes.

“How do you know? You’ve been there?”

“No, of course not, but other people have.”

“You mean there’s folks living up there?”

Emily laughed, but then she saw Mary-Beth’s half hurt half curious face and decided to explain to her what apparently she didn’t know, that the moon couldn’t be colonized because there was no air and that men could only go up there with spaceships and space suits that allowed them to breathe.

“I’ve never heard of any of that” said Tilly.

“That’s because you have to wait until 1969 for that to happen.”

“So much time? We’ll probably never see that” replied a disconsolate Mary-Beth.

“But I can tell you everything about that, so it’s like you’ve lived that” Emily tried to cheer her up.

“Hey, what are you talking about?” asked Karen walking closer.

“The moon!” exclaimed Mary-Beth.

“Puff, again with your stupid fantasies?”

“It’s not a fantasy. Emily says we will walk on the moon one day.”

“Is that so? And how you expect to reach it? Riding a winged unicorn?”

Emily summoned all her patience and started explaining how Armstrong had been the first man to ever walk on the moon, how space rockets worked - without going into details that even she didn’t know, of course - and especially what gravity was, a new bizarre concept for the three girls.

“How the hell can you know all these things?” asked Karen who in spite of herself had started to get interested in what she was saying.

“I learned them, at school.”

“Are girls allowed to learn these things at school?” asked Tilly.

“Of course. We learn everything.”

“That sounds great. Can you bring me with you when you go back? The future looks so much better than now” said Mary-Beth.

Emily giggled but almost immediately she turned serious.

“If I’ll ever go back.”

...

The next morning Emily had an insistent itch on her head, and she perfectly knew the reason for that: a week, a week without a shower, a week without touching water. As she walked across the camp to reach Mr. Pearson’s kitchen and take some biscuits, scratching her head vigorously, she wondered how could those people live without washing everyday. It was humanly impossible.

“Morning, Miss Emily!” thundered Pearson with his big scratchy voice. Emily was getting used to it, he was a sort of morning alarm clock for her.

“Morning.”

“Some big plan for today?”

“Yes, washing” she murmured.

“Aah nothing better than a good bath.”

She couldn’t but agree, the only problem was: who she might have asked for a ride in town? Taking a couple of biscuits and with that question buzzing in her head she started walking around camp. Charles was her first choice, he was the one she trusted most there, so she went looking for him. Only after a couple of minutes of empty roaming she learned that he was out hunting, so her choice moved on Lenny.

“I’m on guard duty. I can’t leave my place.”

“Never mind, I’ll ask someone else.”

Javier? He was still asleep. He had had the guard turn that night. Uncle? He found an excuse not to lift his ass from the piece of shadow under which he was seated, drinking from his bottle. Dutch? Never. Bill? Emily wanted to bath in water, not in blood. In the end, she thought about Hosea. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb him, but she had no other choice, that was becoming a matter of life or death and she couldn’t delay it anymore.

“Morning, my dear” the man said when she reached him.

“Morning, Hosea” she murmured and left a slight kiss on his cheek, a habit she had taken in those days and to which Hosea still hadn’t become accustomed.

“How are you?” he asked a little embarrassed.

“Fine. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“What do you need?”

“I…” “Gentlemen, I’m going to Valentine for a little business.”

Emily turned around when she recognized Mr. Strauss’ voice and she fixed her eyes on the little man with the tiny glasses, walking quickly with his back bent and his ledger tightened to his chest.

She hadn’t even taken him in consideration, but after all, she didn’t mind with whom she was riding, she just needed someone who brought her to town and then back to camp. She turned again to look at Hosea and said a hasted “never mind” before she ran to Mr. Strauss.

“Good Morning, Mr. Strauss.”

“Morning, Miss Richardson.”

“You said you’re going to town. Do you mind taking me with you?”

“No, if you can keep the pace.”

“The pace? Y-you don’t… I thought you were taking a horse.” “I don’t ride horses, Miss, I walk. If that is a problem for you, you can go with someone else.”

“N-no no, it’s not a problem. I can walk.” “Good. Keep up the pace.” Without a wagon nor a horse, the little path that leaded out of the wood and on the main road seemed endless. Besides, Emily couldn’t fill the time with words because, let’s be honest, what kind of conversation could she have with Strauss? And only when they emerged from the trees she found the courage to ask him something.

“So, why don’t you ride horses?”

“I don’t like them.”

Emily raised her eyebrows in surprise. She had just found something in common with the person she thought to be the most different from her.

“Oh, well, you know, I don’t like horses, either. I can’t understand why they find them so interesting.”

“They’re easy and fast transportation.”

“Yes.”

Silence fell as they kept walking. Mr. Strauss had spoken the truth, he really had a fast pace, he almost ran with those short and skinny legs and Emily found it really difficult to keep up. For a second she wondered what was he going to do in town, but then she glanced at that ledger he tightened to his chest like a new born and realized that probably he was going there for some debts.

“Are you going to Valentine to recollect some money?”

“Lending.” “To whom?”

“I reckon you’re asking just to make conversation, but if you don’t mind I’d rather keep the names of my clients for myself.”

“Alright” Emily whispered and lowered her head. She was starting to regret her choice. Hosea would nave been a far better conversation partner.

“I know what you all think of me” said Mr. Strauss suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“You think that what I do is disgusting, but if you think about it, compared to what other people do, my job is not so terrible. After all I don’t kill, I don’t steal, I don’t do anything which is not inside the limits of the law.”

Emily kept looking at him with wide eyes asking herself where all that was coming from. She had never questioned his “profession”, she had never spoken about it, nor expressed a judgement to his person. How could she express a judgement on a money lender in a camp of criminals? And, how could the others in camp express a judgement on him? After all, Mr. Strauss was right, they were thieves and murderers, and if they really despised him for the usury, they were a bunch of hypocrites.

“I don’t think you do anything wrong Mr. Strauss. You lend people money and then ask it back with interests. You’re like a private bank.”

“I’m glad you are such an open minded type, Miss.”

“Who knows, maybe with your job you also help some people. If someone is in extreme need of money and you lend them some, you might save their lives.”

Mr. Strauss looked at her for a moment, a second really, before he fixed his eyes again on the road.

“I don’t understand you, Miss. You look perfectly sane but at the same time you insist on that deluded story of the time travel.”

Emily huffed. It was time to try and convince him too. And she tried, for all the way to Valentine she tried convincing Strauss that she wasn’t crazy, but she couldn’t. That man was so firm and attached to his principles that she had to give up.

They parted when they reached town, with the promise to meet again in front of the general store when they had finished to do what they had to do. Strauss walked down the main road while Emily aimed for the Hotel. Mary-Beth had told her she had to go there for a bath. She climbed the four steps of the porch and walked inside.

“Morning, Miss. How can I help you?” asked the man behind the counter.

“I’m here for a bath” she said with insecurity.

“I’ll have it arranged for you” he said and walked down the corridor to his right.

Emily took the opportunity to look around: the room was rather basic with no paintings on the walls nor carpets on the floor. After all, in a town like that, what kind of luxury could they have?

“They’re warming the water, Miss. If you want to sit down while you wait” said the man coming back from the corridor and pointing to a chair.

Emily sat on the green worn out cushion and waited patiently for the water to be warmed and in the mean time she wondered how they were doing it. Maybe making it boil on the fire before pouring it inside the bathtub, just like she had seen many times in the movies?

It was exactly what they were doing and she found it out only when they let her inside the candle lit room with no windows. The average large bathtub was in the centre, a sort of basin with a mirror stood right beside the door while on the back of the room there was a partition panel for clothes changing. On a little table beside the tub there was a big bar of creamy soap and a brownish sponge, which she was sure she wasn’t going to touch.

Emily looked around her carefully and then fixed her eyes on the piping hot water. For her all that was awful: wash in a copper bathtub, with a piece of soap that God knows how many people had touched, no towels, no carpets. But she had to do it or she was sure that in a couple of days she would have got fleas.

Slowly and unsurely she undressed herself and dipped in the water. The lack of other kinds of soaps made her understand that in 1899 people made no distinction between shampoo and body soap, so she took the bar on the table and melted it in the water and, in the end, the general feeling wasn’t as bad as she expected.

She made sure to wash her hair carefully, who knew when she had had the chance to wash them again, but she tried not to spend too much time just in case Strauss had got bored of waiting for her and had chosen to go away and leave her there. But when she finished, dressed up again in a hurry, quickly gave a look at herself in the mirror, ran outside the room, paid the man his twenty-five cents and walked out of the Hotel, she didn’t find him waiting out of the general store, and that meant he wasn’t done yet. She decided to cross the street and enter the store to have a look and maybe find something interesting. Now that she had her money, she could buy anything she wanted.

“Hello there. Nice to see you again, Miss” said the owner when he recognized her.

“And you too, Mister. Do you have any books?”

“On the top shelf, up there” he said pointing a finger to the corner of the room.

He really hadn’t a big selection of books and most of them were unknown for Emily, but eventually she found what she was looking for.

“I’ll take this” she said leaving the little red book on the counter together with a couple of chocolate bars.

“Tess of the d’Ubervilles. What is this? Some kind of silly romantic novel?”

“No, it’s the story of a fallen woman who commits murder and in the end she’s hanged” she replied with a little annoyance. Did she look like someone who liked silly romantic novels?

“Well, not exactly the kind of reading for a lady” he laughed.

“But it perfectly represents the patriarchal repression that 19th century society had on women and the wrongs of a hierarchical mindset.” The man’s eyes widened and an imperceptible “oh” left his lips, but he hadn’t understood a word she had said.

“I-is that all?” he asked pointing at her purchases.

“Yes.”

She paid for the book and the chocolate and left the store. Right when she stepped outside she saw Mr. Strauss walking down the muddy street with a man following him and gesturing widely with his arms. Emily left the porch and reached the two of them, being careful not to walk too closer: the last thing she wanted was to stick her nose in Strauss’ affairs, but the two of them were talking so loudly she could perfectly hear them even if she had waited on the other side of the street.

“I have already told you Mr. Downes: you have a week.”

“B-but Mr. Strauss I have a family, I’m about to lose my house a-and…”

The man stopped to cough, bending on his knees and grasping Strauss’ arm who withdrew with a disgusted face.

“P-please, Mr. Strauss. I need some more time. Kindness… kindness will always be repaid. Be kind to me, please.” Strauss tightened his ledger to his chest and looked at the man with no trace of mercy on his face.

“You have one week” he repeated before he walked away.

With a sorry glance at the poor man, Emily reached Strauss and the two of them took the road back to camp.

“These cheap do-gooders are the worst. They believe that because they are benevolent with their neighbor everything is due to them. I have rules in my job, I expect everybody to follow them, with no exceptions.”

“Aren’t people who do good usually selfless?” asked Emily.

“I don’t get involved in matters of good and evil. That is a job for priests. All I care about is feed the mouths in camp, and the only thing I’m good at are numbers.”

Emily thought that he was a little harsh and insensible, but she couldn’t say he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the goal the problem, but the means.

“You could try and… give him some more time. He looked kind of desperate.”

“I can’t delay a payment. If something happens and we are forced to flee, I won’t be able to recollect the money. And two weeks are more than an appropriate amount of time to collect thirty-four dollars.”

Just like it had happened with Javier and Dutch, Emily couldn’t find anything to reply. That man had his way of doing things, all the reasons to do so and no intention to change his mind, which meant that argue with him was impossible.

The road back was made of scattered questions and long silences, but Emily didn’t mind too much. She was clean, she was smelling of soap, she had brought chocolate and she was in a great mood. Now, following Strauss’ fast pace wasn’t a problem anymore, on the contrary, it was Strauss turn to follow the girl, who was almost running.

“Alright, thank you for bringing me with you Mr. Strauss” she said when they got to camp.

“No trouble.”

Emily ran to her tent where Mary-Beth was reading, as always. Anyway, Emily was surprised to find Tilly reading too. Not that Tilly didn’t like reading, but she preferred to avoid Mary-Beth’s silly stories.

“You can put down that thing, my friend. I bought you this” said Emily showing her the new book.

“What is it about?” asked a surprised Mary-Beth taking the book and reading the title.

“Just read it. It’s a little different from what you’re used to, but it will make you understand some things. And there is a love story in the middle.”

“Have you read it?”

“A long time ago.”

“What do you mean ‘a little different’?” asked Tilly.

“It’s a little… dark sometimes.”

“Good, I like dark things. Can I read it too?”

“Sure, you can all read it. I reckon Karen will also like it” replied Emily opening one of the chocolate bars to take a piece.

“Karen doesn’t like romantic stories” said Mary-Beth.

“Who said it’s a romantic story? Chocolate?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some” replied Tilly stretching out a hand.

“You said there is a love story in the middle” stated Mary-Beth frowning.

“Ah-ah.”

“How… how can love not be romantic?”

“You’ll be surprised.”

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #molly o'shea #leopold strauss #tilly jackson #mary-beth gaskill

8 notes · View notes

banesapothecary · 5 years ago

Text

house don’t fall

written for ao3 user shfiftyfive for open fic night! (posting here now that works have been revealed)

read on ao3

David is in the kitchen—or what will be the kitchen, eventually—when he hears the crash. It sounds like wood and plaster hitting the floor, which is a sound he should be used to by now, but it sounded heavier than usual. His mind immediately flashes to worst case scenario.

“What was that?” he calls, hurrying into the main living room where Patrick and their contractor are supposed to be carefully taking down a wall. Patrick is sitting on the floor, covered in dust and surrounded by broken pieces of drywall. A man sized hole has appeared in the middle of the wall. David closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“Wanna try it?” Patrick asks, grinning up at him.

“Mm, nope. I’m good, thanks,” David answers. “Just be careful. You’re supposed to be breaking walls, not your bones.”

“That’s perfect, guys,” their producer, Ray, says. “Why don’t we film some confessionals and get a few more shots, and then we’ll get out of your way for the rest of demo.”

“Sounds good,” Patrick says.

David holds out his hand and helps Patrick to his feet as the camera crew shuffles outside. “Are you okay?” he asks, brushing some dust off his husband’s shoulder.

Patrick taps his chin, cupping David’s cheek as he looks up. “I’m okay,” he says with soft eyes. “I promise.” He leans in quickly to kiss the tip of David’s nose, and David has to look up at the exposed shiplap in the ceiling so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed before the cameras. Patrick’s warm hand trails from David’s cheek and down his arm until he intertwines their fingers.

“You’d better be,” he grumbles when he looks back at Patrick. “This business would go under too fast without you. Me and hammers are a bad idea.”

Patrick laughs, tugging him gently towards the door where their crew is waiting.

***

Talking directly to the camera has never been David’s favorite part, but watching Patrick talk to the camera definitely is. Especially on demo day.

Patrick’s face lights up as he speaks, talking about the walls they’re taking down and the cabinets being knocked off the wall. Patrick loves using his hands, loves getting right into the messier, harder aspects of renovating homes. He loves building something new from what they’ve broken.

But that’s not David’s cup of tea.

David prefers the design, planning out every meticulous detail so the home is perfect for its new family. He loves scrolling through Twitter and reading fans of the show’s reaction to his designs, or through Instagram and seeing how people tried to follow the designs in their own homes. He loves making things beautiful.

Demo day is necessary to get to the design and Patrick loves it, so David won’t complain. He hates, though. David hates knowing something could go wrong, like a beam falling and hitting Patrick or Patrick breaking a bone or seven crashing through a wall.

But he knows Patrick is fine, knows he’ll be fine.

So David smiles for the camera, and it isn’t a fake one because it’s impossible not to smile when Patrick is excited about anything. His husband’s face is like sunshine when he’s happy, and god does David love the sun.

He lets Patrick get in a few teasing jabs as they talk to the camera, and he gets in a few of his own. David rolls his eyes when Patrick attempts to flip a hammer in the air and catch it, but his heart beats erratically at the sight.

“Okay,” David says as soon as the cameras are off them. “You finish up here. I’m gonna go before I have an aneurysm. Please be safe.”

“Always am,” Patrick says, catching him in a quick kiss before heading back inside the house.

“Are you, though?” David is unable to resist calling back.

***

Demo and the renovations moves along right on schedule and before they know it, David’s putting the final touches on the house. David is thrilled. Design day is his demo day.

David stares up at the house from the driveway, admiring the work they’d done. The home they’re working on is beautiful. They’d painted the brick facade white with stark black trim. The front porch wraps around to the large backyard. There’s no denying that Patrick and their crew had done an amazing job.

“Little help over here, David?”

He turns, smirking as Patrick and one of their crew members attempt to get a couch off of the moving truck. “I like the view better over here.”

Patrick glares. “There won’t be much of a view if this couch flattens me.”

“You know I don’t like getting sweaty,” David complains, but he goes to lift a corner of the couch.

“Not what it seemed like last night,” Patrick smirks as they lower the couch out of the truck and begin maneuvering it towards the front door.

“Let’s keep things PG around the cameras, okay guys?” Ray says loudly as they carry the couch inside. “We don’t want to get too raunchy for the viewers, and—”

“Okay, yep. Yeah, we got it, Ray,” David says quickly.

The couch is heavier than David wants to die from the embarrassment, so he nods towards the open concept living room. “This goes in here,” he says, helping steer the couch to its new spot against the wall. He isn’t too worried about where in the room the couch goes. He knows it’ll move at least a dozen times while there are still members of the crew onsite to help. Patrick knows it, too. David can tell from his smirk, and he rolls his eyes in response.

Patrick steps closer and places his hands on David’s biceps, rubbing up and down gently to alleviate the strain. David falls a little bit more in love as he does. “That’s all the heavy furniture, so I’ll get out of your way,” Patrick says, pressing a quick kiss to David’s lips. “I’ll see you at home tonight. Or tomorrow morning,” he adds with a teasing smile.

David rolls his eyes at that. It’s no secret he gets caught up during the decorating, but he can’t help it. He has to make everything perfect. It’s what their clients deserve: the perfect, beautiful home. David can’t help but want to give that to people, especially when he has so much inspiration from his own.

“Love you,” Patrick whispers so it’s just for David. He leans in for another kiss—David’s cheek this time.

“I love you,” David whispers back. Louder, he says, “I promise I’ll try to get home at a reasonable hour. You know how I get.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, eyes full of warmth. “I do.”

***

David really, really meant it when he said he’d try to be home early. And he did try.

It just didn’t work.

His feet are starting to ache from how many times he’s paced between the living room and the kitchen, the laundry room and the master bedroom. He’s reorganized the potted plants he’d had brought in at least a dozen times, and the couch in the living room had moved a couple dozen since they’d first brought it into the home.

Even Ray looks tired now, sitting in one of the new chairs David had picked for the space with drooping eyelids. The cameras are still on David, though, watching his every move.

The thing is, David loves this part. He loves designing the houses and putting in all the little intimate details. And he loves their show, loves creating something with Patrick and sharing the beauty and their love with the world.

But he hates being alone on camera.

He knows its a necessity for their line of work, but it makes his skin crawl, especially when he feels like there’s still so much to do.

He nearly jumps when the front door opens, but really, he should’ve expected this. David whips around, raising an eyebrow as Patrick grins at him from the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” David asks.

“Well, someone said they’d be home early,” Patrick says.

“Did I, though?”

“And,” Patrick continues, ignoring David’s interruption, “I thought the responsible thing to do would be to check on my husband.” He meets David in front of the couch, kissing his cheek and intertwining their fingers. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” David whispers, already feeling the tension draining from his shoulders.

“Long night?” Patrick asks.

David nods, sighing as Patrick drops a kiss to his shoulder. He leans into his husband’s side for a moment, eyes closed.

He opens them when he hears another set of footsteps on the porch. David’s eyes flick back to the doorway. “You brought Stevie.”

His best friend grinned at him. “I have pizza,” she says, holding up a box for David to see.

“You brought Stevie!” David says again, smiling this time. He grabs the box from her as she approaches and nods towards the kitchen. They sit at the counter, on the wrought iron stools David had picked out. Patrick sits next him, shoulder bumping into David’s every so often and making him smile.

“The house is beautiful,” Patrick says quietly while they eat. “You’re amazing.”

Warmth fills David as he smiles, and all the stress from before over potted plants disappears entirely. “Thank you,” he says, resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder for a moment.

Stevie wretches next to them. “I don’t know how America can stand to watch you two lovebirds make googly eyes at each other all the time.”

Patrick smiles a lopsided grin. “They know a good thing when they see it.”

David lets out a happy laugh. A good thing. That’s exactly what they are, he thinks as they clean up the pizza box and finally lock up the house for the night.

Tomorrow, they’ll reveal the house to its family. But for now, they go home to their own beautiful house—their own beautiful life—with their hands still clasped together.

***

David takes it back. Design day holds a special place in his heart, but reveal day is his true favorite.

Reveal day is the day their hard work comes to fruition, the day a family gets to see their new home for the first time. There’s something magical about it, something so incredibly beautiful that even on the days David can’t stand the thought of being on camera, it’s all worth it.

He looks over at Patrick as they wait for the couple who’d purchased this home to arrive and knows he wouldn’t change a single thing about their lives. Not even the cameras, if it meant more people got to share this beautiful moment.

A silver Honda pulls up to the curb just down the street. David grins.

“Ready to do this?” Patrick asks.

David slips his hand into Patrick’s as they walk towards the car. “Always,” he says.

The couple loves the house. David can tell as soon as they move the tarp blocking their view. Their eyes go wide with delight, and they practically run to the front door to see inside. David beams, incredibly happy and pleased that they love it as much as he and Patrick love what they did with the home.

They move through the house slowly, the couple noticing and commenting on every little detail David had stressed over the night before.

This.

This is David’s favorite part, watching the families and couples fall in love with their homes. Watching them fall in love with the life they’re going to have there.

As the couple moves through the living room to get a better view of the kitchen, Patrick stays rooted in place, his eyes on David and his lips in a fond smile.

David blushes. He can’t help it. A quick glance around the room tells him all the cameras are focused on the couple for the moment. “What?” he asks softly.

Patrick shakes his head and whispers, “Later.”

David could only assume “later” meant when the cameras were gone, when they were in their own home, when they were in their own beautiful life. Patrick moves past him to tell the couple about the work they did in the kitchen, all of the minute details. He drops a quick kiss to David’s cheek as he passes and David smiles again.

Here they are, he thinks, dedicating their lives to trying to create the perfect home for someone, when something as small and simple as a kiss on the cheek already feels like just that. Patrick meets his eyes from the kitchen, smiling again. Yes, David thinks. Home.

#david x patrick fic #david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #schitt's creek #patrick brewer is gay

20 notes · View notes

ebaeschnbliah · 6 years ago

Photo

DISTRACTIONS & CONSEQUENCES

Exploring the deeper meaning of ASIB has always been a joy and an exiting experience. No matter if it’s about the Strange Similarities this episode shares with HLV, or the intriguing question why Sherlock plays Irene’s theme in TFP when prompted by Eurus to ‘play himself’ (Explosive, it’s more me Oh, have you had sex?). Also the recuring Christmas theme in every series and Mycroft’s Bond Air plan, that doesn’t appear very ‘Neat’ at all after taking just a slightly closer look. When I wrote The Importance of Little Things Boomerang and the other posts mentioned above, I didn’t dwell on a detailed metaphorical reading of the somewhat strange boomerang case, which initiates the appearance of ‘the woman’. @sarahthecoat added a short and very good summary of the already existing theory on this post. It was this comment which reminded me that I still hadn’t written down my own version of he boomerang case in ASIB.

Playing around with the idea of a much further extended mind palace scenario than that from the shooting in CAM Tower onwards (EMP Master Post 2016), those ideas inevitably led to slightly different interpretations of events than some of the already existing ones. (EEMP=Extraordinary Extendend Mind Palace, I called it back then, jokingly. Links are included in this post),

Characters created by Sherlock’s imagination, to play a role on his mind stage, aren’t autonomous individuals who can act of their own free will. Instead, they would represent different aspects of Sherlock’s personality, his views, fears, desires, expectations and experiences, his memory, etc. The way they look, speak and act would be designed by Sherlock, precisely to play their role in the experiments/scenarios appointed to them. Approaching Sherlock BBC from this angle, the story appears in a different light …. like a holographic postcard, where the motive displayed on it, changes with the slightest movement. Most importantly, it changes the central question from HOW to WHY something happens. And it also raises the question of ... WHAT could be the actual meaning behind choices regarding character behaviour, names, places, dialogues and so on, inside those scenarios. What’s the real meaning of all those little stories told in the coded language of Shelrock’s mind?

Based on this idea, the boomerang case, the story of Phil with his backfiring car and the Hiker with the bashed-in head, in context with the main storyline of the associated episode, changes as well.

For anyone who is interested in a different reading, this theory is …. alternatively below the cut …. :)

The boomerang case of A Scandal in Belgravia is presented in four sequences:

The first part is placed near the beginning of the episode. Phil’s POV of the event is shown almost exclusively by visuals without dialogue. This sequence merges seamlessly into ...

... the second part, which is about John, his investigation on the crime scene and his report to Sherlock via WiFi before he and Sherlock, separately, get whisked away to Buckingham Palace, ordered by Mycroft Holmes.

In the third part Sherlock explains the event to Irene at her place. Before Sherlock can finish his explanation he gets interuppted, first by the fire alarm, initiated by John, then by the American agents who want to confiscate Irene’s camera phone.

Directly afterwards Sherlock gets injected with drugs from Irene’s syringe. He imagines how Irene gives the final explanation and reveals the solution of the boomerang case.

This fourth sequence contains, what Sherlock would call ‘a special feature of interest’. The Hiker, distracted by the sound of an ‘explosion’, is hit by his returning boomerang. While the man is shown falling backwards and out of the picture, the scene, just for a second, jumps also backwards in time to the very moment where Sherlock falls to the floor in Irene’s bedroom, due to the influence of her 'chemistry’. Then the scene continues with the Hiker still falling backwards out of the picture.

In the third sequence, while Sherlock describes the event, the camera circles round himself and the Hiker in a very explicit way. One man vanishes behind the other alternately.

Additionally there are also a certain similarities when it comes to

men lying on the ground with bashed-in heads (red and blue)

characters wearing red jackets (x)

characters wearing specific headgears

All of this strongly suggests that the Hiker, like Mary, is a mirror for Sherlock. Phil, the driver of the unmoving car, on the other hand, appears to be more connected to John, at least on a first glance. He wears similar clothing. ‘Ghost’ John can be seen sitting behind him on the sofa, while the man tells his story, placed in the clients chair in the middle of the living room. This leaves the question why John isn’t shown sitting in his own chair if he is present at the time and not in Dublin. Later, during the Wi-Fi conversation from the crime scene, Phil sits in John’s chair while Sherlock seems to have just woken up.

“Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy “ … this is how Sherlock describes Phil. As I mentioned in ‘Importance of Little Things’ those characteristics can also be attributed either directly to Sherlock himself or indirectly to some of his ‘mirrors’.

morbidly obese - Mycroft, who represents Sherlock’s brain department for logic and reason, appears exactly like that in TAB

halitosis - foul things coming out of ones mouth, could easily be a metaphor for ‘you alway say such horrible things’. Furthermore, halitosis is also mentioned associated with Mr. Howard Shilcott, the train guy from TEH, the one with the silly (ear) hat who is sentimental, maybe isolated but doesn’t mind being different.

internet porn addict - computer language metaphors aren’t uncommon in this story. Sherlock compares his brain to a hard drive. Jim calls himself ‘virus in the data’ and Mycroft shares that opinion. Brains consist of billions of neurons, interconnected with each other, communicating with each other, carrying trains of signal pulses and informations … very much like the internet. Metaphorically, an internet porn adict could be someone who deals with sexual desires ‘virtually’ inside his head and not with the body.

untreated heart condition - this description mustn’t necessariy be aimed at a real pathological condition of said organ. Heart metaphors are very often used to paint vivid pictures of the emotional state of a person. Hearts can suffer, can be neglected, they can break, turn to stone, freeze, burn, melt, do a somersault, sing with joy … and so on

low self-esteem - in TSOT Sherlock describs himself … ‘I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet’ … ‘I never expected to be anybody’s best friend’ No further words needed, I guess.

tiny IQ - only some statements which compare Sherlock to an idiot (there exist a lot more) … ‘I used to think I was an idiot’ (Sherlock, TEH), ‘I’ve been an idiot – a blind idiot!’ (Sherlock, TEH), ‘I’m an idiot. I know nothing’ (Sherlock, TST), ‘You always were the slow one …. the idiot’ (Mycroft, TFP) and finally Sherlock about Phil, the man this description is aimed at: ‘He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?’

limited life expectancy - Mycroft again, the brain department for logic and reason. In TAB Sherlock and Mycroft are betting on big brother’s life expectancy, which both brothers assume to be not very long: ‘Three years flat if you eat that plum pudding’ … ‘Done’

If Phil with his unmoving car is indeed a mirror for Sherlock, like the Hiker, why is he visually connected so closely to John? Maybe because Phil represents the object of Sherlock’s investigations and deductions.

Phil, the driver of the transport that lies dormant

A little later in this episode Sherlock observes how John meets Irene at Battersea, the disused Power Station. An unmoving car and a disused power station ... are this two different metaphors for the same thing?

A disused power station, a car that doesn’t move = a body whose sexual urges lie dormant. Repressed desires, emotions behind elephant glass ... ‘ignored, patronised, disregarded, not allowed so much as a vote’. And the brain demands ‘you will stay out of this’ and warns ‘don’t get involved’. But the same brain also forces Sherlock to investigate ‘the woman’ and later releases ‘the criminal mastermind’. And in TAB this brain proclaims very clearly ‘We must lose this war because they are right and we are wrong’. Janus-faced indeed. Or maybe just a massively conflicted mind, torn in two, like the family pictures at the walls of the grey chamber in TFP.

Who’s John Watson on Sherlock’s mind stage?

John Watson - acting as a character on Sherlock’s mind stage - is hard to pin down. He seems to represent several aspects at the same time and he is definitely the main focus of Sherlock’s investigations.

In ASIP Sherlock confirms John’s question that he’s filling in for his skull - the one Sherlock calls ‘friend’. The skull is an imortant part of the body. Made of strong bone, it encloses the brain and protects it. Interestingly, broken up skulls - bashed-in or penetrated by bullets - are a rather important theme of this story. Maybe something imprisoned by inflexible bone wants to break free … an idea, a dream, a desire ….

John, ‘good old doctor Watson, the one fixed (inflerxible) point in a changing age’ is strongly connected to mirrors for love and emotions. As his counterpart, he is also connected to Jim Moriarty, Mr. Sex …. ‘John or James, James or John … the more is less’. John seems to be Jim’s main target in the game the criminal mastermind plays with Sherlock. And the painting of the Reichenbach Falls is declared as ‘William Turner’s masterpiece’ (Reichenbach=Rich Brook, William=William Sherlock Scott Holmes, turn(er)=turn round/change direction)

John - the eternal friend - is the incarnation of PHILIA (love between friends). But in this adaptation of the great detective, PHILIA is mingled with EROS (intimate love, sexual passion) right from the start. In PILOT & ASIP, when Anteros, the god of requited love, rises behind the episode title and a dog starts barking in the middle of the night. (More detailed explanations and musings on this topic - the evolution from friend to lover - can be found in ‘The Big Question’, ‘Solutions or Choices’, ‘Shoes for the Hound’ and ‘Sekhmet’

Skull, body, heart, protector, emotions, desire, friendship, love ... but also the fear to lose friendship and love, in case the ‘fixed point’ changes …. all those terms can be assigned to the John-character on Sherlock’s mind stage and his mirrors.

Out in the middle of nowhere ...

When the curtain rises for the boomerang case, the stage is set somewhere in the countryside. There’s a shallow valley and soft hills, thickly covered by woodland. A lush green meadow leads gently sloping down to a river or maybe a lake. There’s also a small brook which meanders through the wetland and flows forth into the greater water. Not far away a street runs along the margin ot the forest.

The main characters of the play are:

the Hiker in a bright red jacket, who busies himself with his boomerang beside the small brook

Phil, who tries to restart his unmoving car on the street nearby

It’s not explained how long Phil is working on his problem at the time the scene starts, but when the audience first sees him leaving the car to take a look at the engine, the bonnet is already open. So, most propably this is not his first attempt to restart the car.

The surrounding area is still and quiet. No significant background noises can be heard. Though both men stand in shouting distance to each other, there is no contact between them. The Hiker has turned his back to the street. He either really hasn’t noticed Phil and his unmoving car or he has, but simply doesn’t care. Phil on the other hand is aware of the Hiker on the meadow. For a moment it looks like he considers calling the man for assistence but then Phil apparently dismisses that idea again.

Instead Phil makes another attemt to restart his car.This time it backfires and the sound of the explosion splits the silence. The Hiker, distracted by the sudden noise, turns round and looks back to the street. At this moment the boomerang comes flying back, hits his head and kills him instantly. When Phil gets out of the car and looks down the meadow, he sees the Hiker in the red jacket lying motionless on the ground next to the small brook.

The Hiker and Phil ... Sherlock’s MIND and BODY

The Hiker - the MIND who plays with an idea

Viewing the Hiker as a mirror for Sherlock, his bright red jacket connects the character also to Mary, the facade. This makes him the man with his facade still intact but already curious about ... something. The Hiker wears a checkered shirt, which otherwise is closely attributed to John, while he palys with the boomerang.

If someone returns from foreign travel with a boomerang, one can assume that this person is meant to have been in Australia. Compared to Great Britain, Australia lies very far in the East. The East is strongly connected to Eurus, the East Wind, who represents Sherlock’s emotional side and is also strongly linked to buried/deleted memories and the Holmes family history.

The Hiker who traveled far to the East and brought back a small, fascinating but dangerous item, would then represent Sherlock, who went deep down into his mind palace. He retrieved something from the past, something he had ‘deleted’ a long time ago. Maybe something related to emotions and love. Sherlock/the Hiker takes that memory back into the present and starts playing with it …. he lets a seemingly harmless idea fly ….

Phil - the desire of a BODY whose sexuell transport lies dormant

Viewing Phil also as a mirror for Sherlock, that man and his unmoving car would represent an aspect of Sherlock, which is consciously or unconsciously dealing with investigations and deductions about the ‘John-Problem’. Phil too, wears a checkered shirt which links him even further to John. Obeseness stems from too much eating. Some time ago I read and reblogged a very intersting meta about eating as a metaphor for desire. Sadly I can’t find it again and credit the autor. If someone has a link, please add it, that would be great. In my opinion the food=desire methaphor is brilliant and fits perfectly. Phil, the carnal desire of Sherlock’s BODY, eats too much/stuffs himself with desire and is therefore obese ... he is filled with desire to bursting … just like the BRAIN in TAB.

The Hiker has turned his back on Phil. He doesn’t even see the desperate man beside his car. Sherlock’s MIND, dismisses the desires of the BODY as unimportant and at best sencondary. Who needs that annoying ‘transport’, when one can ‘hike’ with the MIND wherever one wants and let the ideas fly? The brain is what counts, logic and reason … cases and mysteries are solved by the MIND … the desires of the BODY, who repeatedly tries to restart the transport, are just distractions which can/should be ignored and neglected. Especially when one has just unearthed a fascinting little memory from a long time ago …

Different aspects of Sherlock are dealing with related cases at the same time. One case lies in the past, the other one in the present. They overlap ... and this leads to consequences:

a car backfires and the sound of an explosion splits the silence = a BODY reacts and explodes/has an orgasm

a head gets bashed-in = ‘la petite mort’ of the BRAIN

The best thing about this interpretation is, that an almost similar scene, in a different setting, is played out a second time simultaneously during the Irene Adler case.

The repetition of a hit

Fascinated and very pleased with himself, Sherlock plays with a little item he has just retrieved from a secured and guarded place. He lets the thing fly through the air and catches it again, a bit like someone would do with a boomerang. This time though, it’s a camera phone packed full with ‘scandalous’ informations. Sherlock underestimates the danger he is in and most of all, he underestimates the opponent he is faced with.

Carelessly and maybe even provokingly he turns his back at Irene. The next second Sherlock is hit by a syringe full of chemistry … the chemistry of sex. Sherlock falls to the floor of Irene’s bedroom ... beaten by Mrs. Sex.

As mentioned above, in the final explanation of the boomerang case, the fall of the Hiker beside the small brook on the meadow, closely frames the fall of Sherlock in Irene’s bedroom … they actually become one fall. What lies closer at hand than to assume that both cases are actually about the same topic?

Sherlock’s experience of a sudden, unexpected orgasm … triggered by awakening emotions, while playing with a memory from the past.

A full list of the ‘cast’ involved in the boomerang case

The Hiker and his boomerang - Sherlock’s mind plays with an idea, with a once deleted but now revived memory

Phil and his unmoving car - Sherlock’s carnal desire, affected by the ‘John-Problem’, awakens and tries to start his sex drive

the colour green - it’s the colour of HOPE, rebirth and harmony (X) it’s also the colour assigned to John in the PILOT and ASIP. (X)

the river/lake - a lot of water means a lot of emotions, ‘deep waters, all your life’. Eurus represents emotions, the past and deleted memories

the small brook next to which the Hiker dies - Rich Brook, the storyteller who is also Jim Moriarty, Mr. Sex. RichBrook translates into Reichenbach, an event that is linked to the music of J.S. Bach

the ‘object’ on the meadow - (more on this in The Cabin on the Meadow)

Viewing Series One as prelude for the whole story, where the three episodes serve as introduction (ASIP), user manual (TBB) and chapter list (TGG), the actual story told in Sherlock BBC would then start with A Scandal in Belgravia.

“Don’t be alarmed ….. it’s to do with sex“

Mycroft’s statement, when he introduces Sherlock to the Irene Adler case, describes the whole episode in a nutshell. Sherlock’s RATIO tells himself (and the audience) what this case, this episode actually is about:

The emotional and sexual awakening of the character Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock’s appearance, when he starts his investigation of the boomerang case, is the most fitting outfit to present a metaphorical scenario for an awakening of this kind. Clothed in a pristine, white sheet (virginity), completely naked (newborn) beneath it and heartily yawning. Sherlock enters the ‘stage’ of 221b Baker Street, as if he had just woken up from a very long sleep. Just like Snow White slept in her coffin of glass before she woke to a new and exciting life (Sherlock in ASIP).

“Noises are important ... noises can tell you everything"

A car backfires, innitiated by Phil. There’s the loud noise of an explosion. Distracted, the Hiker turns and as a consequence, his head is hit and bashed-in.

A fire alarm goes off, innitiated by John. Mr. Archer (the ‘bowman’, Cupid) gets the order to shoot John in the head.

The most significant noises of this episode are the orgasmic sighs Sherlock’s phone makes every time the text alert gets activated by Mrs. Sex … 59 in total.

The noises are the most important factor on all three occasions … the explosion, the alarm, the orgasmic sigh ….

At the end of the episode Sherlock lets Irene’s phone fly again. He catches it, takes a thoughtfull look at the little thing and tucks it away in the drawer. Then Sherlock looks out of the window, while rain pours down the glass pane in front of his face.

Fiftynine orgasmic sighs have been ignored (59 calls will be ignored in TST before little Rosy is born). The phone and with it the sexual desires get tucked away in a drawer. Sherlock, detached and secure behind a wall of glass, contemplates the pouring rain/emotions. His RATIO always carries an umbrella to avoid getting wet/affected by emotions. But his RATIO also seems to be in need of a cigarette after that case. A substitute drug/chemistry instead of the ‘real thing’, the ‘natural high’ which he denies himself stubbornly? Meanwhile the ‘eternal friend’ is already soaked wet with rain. The matter of the ‘fixed point in a changing age’ has already become a highly emotional one for Sherlock, it seems. Looks very much like the first stage of drowning.

In the next episode the HOUND will be unleashed, immediately followed by Mr. Sex ….. ‘Honey, you should see me in a crown’ …. who smashes the impenetrable glass case and reaches for the Crown Jewels. (When the man with the key becomes king)

May, 2019

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

#distractions and consequences #the boomerang case #Phil and the hiker #the backfiring car #metaphorical reading #alternate version #la petite mort

109 notes · View notes

whywhawho · 5 years ago

Text

Glitz Style Awards 2019 Red Carpet Review: Best Dressed List

The Official Red Carpet Review

Red carpet reviews in Ghana have been on uprise and it is a trend that excites me. Writers are now criticizing what people wear on the red carpet and this is a useful tool to help designers to see their creations from a different perspective. Let us hold each other accountable and that's how we will grow the fashion industry in Ghana industry.

The Glitz Style Awards is an annual award show created to honor people in the entertainment industry for the strides they have made in fashion. We are here for fashion or lack there off that was served on the red carpet and I know you can’t wait to see what we think of everyone’s ensemble.

Welcome to KFV's best dressed list.

In no particular order