reposting for rebloggability

Another beauty I found browsing through Pinterest. Looks like a.. vanilla cake with strawberry buttercream, topped with a fresh rose, edible rose petals, crushed macarons and pistachios. Mmmmmmm - deliciously refreshing!

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I was asked to repost/make rebloggable the silly wee epilogue I wrote in the comments of To A Stranger, which is based on the Sherlock AU fic Performance in a Leading Role.

*

MmeLibrarian8:

That was absolutely so beautiful!! The poem recurring to give closure- sigh, and tears.

But seriously, Roland takes one look at Mark that evening and says,“ Go to him. You don’t get love like that and walk away. I respect your honoring what we have had, and I will cherish its memory. But Go to Him.”

Losyark:

Yeah, in my mind Roland comes back from the wine shop with something that will go with dinner, and something that is bubbly.

Mark isn’t sure why Roland bought bubbly, because Roland doesn’t like it. But Mark puts it in the fridge anyway.

Roland and Mark make dinner together (Roland picks up the smooshed rosehead and puts it in a blossom vase; Mark has a blossom case because Roland thought it was quirky and bought it for him at a thrift shop), and Mark clearly wants to talk about something. Mark says nothing, though, and they have dinner. Mark is chewing himself up inside and Roland is patient and waiting for him to gather the words and the breath and the courage.

While Mark does the dishes, Roland picks up the journal and flips through it a little. Clearly Mark isn’t going to be able to say it. It’s up to Roland, then. A slip of paper slides out of the book, and Roland reads it, then sets it down on the island, precisely under a hanging light where it is sure to be seen.

“He’s eloquent,” Roland says.

Mark starts, reaches out with a soapy hand to snatch the journal away, and stops himself halfway through. “I… that’s….”

“Mark, I know who he is,” Roland says. He closes the journal and leans on the island.

“You do?” Mark asks, guiltily.

“He’s the hydrangeas, isn’t he?”

“The hy… huh?”

Roland smiles sadly, turning the rose in the blossom vase so it will spread nicely. “He’s the hydrangeas. He’s the stumble in Jack Layton Park. He’s the knock on the door in your brother’s old building. He’s the pat on the gravestone of that woman who isn’t related to you every Sunday afternoon. He’s the way you turn your face away from Princess Margret when we walk down University. He’s the way you ignore your mother’s calls.”

Mark is stunned, all the breath knocked out of him. “Roland–”

“He’s Ben, isn’t he?”

“How do you know–?”

Roland’s smile gets wider, and sadder, even as the corners of his eyes crinkle up. “Sometimes you say his name. Instead of mine.”

Mark drops his dishtowel, he’s so mortified. “Roland, I’m sorry.”

Roland stands. “Don’t be.”

“Roland–”

“Look, Mark. I like you. I like you a lot. What we have, it’s good. It’s nice. But it’s nothing like what HE has.” He taps the cover of the journal.

“No, Roland, wait, I–”

“Mark.”

“What about you? It’s not fair to you for me to–”

Roland walks around the island and takes Mark’s face between his hands and kisses him quiet, slow and soft. “Shut up, you silly man,” he whispers against Mark’s mouth. “Mark Farthing, you care about other people entirely too much. Time to take care of YOURSELF.”

Mark nods, miserable, bites his lower lip and savors the taste of this last kiss.

“Now,” Roland says, stepping away. “There was a hotel card in the journal with his room number on it. Here, I’ve left it on the counter. There’s champagne in the fridge, and I know you have some of that ridiculous dark chocolate you like in your desk drawer. Go on.”

Mark nods again. “Thank you.”

“Thank YOU,” Roland says. “You’re a good man. Now got get your reward for being so. Ah!” he says, stopping Mark as he dives for the fridge. “Go change your shirt first. You have suds on your belly.” He turns Mark bodily and pushes him up the stairs.

When Mark disappears around the corner, Roland fetches his coat, and leans down to give Hightower a scritch.

“Bye bye, menace,” he says to the cat, and then steps out the door, steps down the street, and steps aside.

About The Muse ;;

A very long, very detailed ‘About the Muse’!

      { BASIC ;; }

Name:
Full name:
Nickname:
Birth Date:
Height:
Eye color:
Hair color:
Skin:
Gender:
Sex:
Species:
Sexuality:
Romance: 

      { FAMILY ;; }

Father:
Mother:
Spouse:
Sibling[s]:
Cousin[s]:
Grandfather:
Grandmother:
Pet[s]:
Other[s]:

Does your muse know their great grandparents?:

Does your muse have a good relationship with their sibling[s]?:

Does your muse have a good relationship with their parent[s]?:

       { FAVORITE ;; }

Food:
Fruit:
Vegetable:
Music [genre]:
Song:
Book [genre]:
Book:
Movie [genre]:
Movie:
Smells:
Color:
Feeling:
EX: touching silk
Time of Day:
Month:
Season:

       { SKILLS ;; }

Combat:
Survival: 
Coping:
[ With Emotions ]

       { TRAITS ;; }

List Five Positive-

  • EX: Joyful 

List Five Neutral -

  •  EX: Cautious

List Five Negative - 

  • EX: Manipulative

       { EVER… ;; }

Done drugs?:
Gotten high?:
Drank alcohol?:
Gotten drunk?:
Skipped school?:
Ran away?:
Been in a musical?:
Been to camp?:
Done something very stupid?:
Nearly gotten killed?:
Seen somebody die?:
Kill somebody?:
Nearly died for someone else?:
Have a best friend?:
Done something “ Extreme” ?: