#jolie writes

[jolieblack]

Something finally came to me! (I usually can’t write to prompts to save my life.)

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 24th: Imperfect

We've always done things the wrong way round.

We moved in together at a time when we knew no more than four or five facts about each other. Significant facts, granted, such as John being a war veteran and me having no patience with idiots, but neither of us could have claimed to have had anything even close to the full picture at the time. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if either of us had. Only on my really bad days, though.

I don’t have all that many of those any more, luckily. And when I do, I have plenty of good memories to help me pull myself up again. Take the ones of how we confessed our love to each other to a beautifully decorated room full of people in festive dress and in even more festive spirit, to much applause and cheering and well-wishing. Yes, you heard that plural right. Those are two separate memories, years apart and in two different places. I got to go first, and it wasn’t even me who was getting married at the time. That’s another thing that most couples would do differently. Coordinate it a bit better, at least.

The second time around, as a lot of you will remember well, it was John's turn to talk, and I‘d been told in no uncertain terms to keep my mouth shut and say nothing, not even to correct his grammar, till he was done. I can now attest that it is true that the groom never gets to have a say in anything at his own wedding. Someone got his late revenge there. And believe me, that doesn’t depend on whether it’s one groom or two. Yes, and I know there are still people out there even in this day and age who feel that it’s not normal to have two grooms at all. They can all go away and never show their ugly faces again where I can see them, or smell the foul breath of the bigoted filth they’re spouting. That’s not the wrong way around, that couldn’t be more right for both of us.

But we did other things the wrong way around, too. In most romantic stories, killing someone to save the person you love is usually the culmination of long mutual trust and dedication. It‘s supposed to be the crowning glory, the final sealing of a bond that has long been in the making. It’s not supposed to be the starting point. And John is usually the more patient of the two of us, but when it came to this, he could barely contain himself for 36 hours after our very first meeting before he did it. Ever heard of timing and pacing, Doctor, I hear you people wonder? And he’s supposed to be the one with the talent for good storytelling. The timing was good, though. The timing was excellent. There’s another 'what if' for you that is no fun to contemplate at all.

There is killing out of love, and - I have to say it, I can’t not, I‘d be lying by omission if I didn't - there's also dying out of love. I doubt, however, that there’s anyone out there who has ever put a more elaborate effort into pretending to die out of love than I have. As far as I‘m aware, that’s not really a romantic convention, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t started a trend. I honestly can’t recommend it. Effort is well and good, and I dare say the execution in my case was flawless, but I can’t deny there was a certain lack of forethought as to the emotional impact on both parties concerned. Don‘t try this at home, folks.

People also usually date first, then start cohabiting, then get married, then raise children together. Please don’t ask me to define at what time in our lives exactly John and I were dating and when we weren’t yet. To this day we have never been able to agree on a definition for this mysterious activity that emphatically, according to John, for whatever reason, does not encompass two people who like each other going out together and having fun. But it is an undisputed fact that we had been raising a child together for a good while before we got married. And we have been going out together and having fun for years uncounted now. Crime scenes never fail to work that particular magic on us. Oh wait, no, that was another example I had on my list for what most other couples do differently. Hang on, do I see a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard raise his hand in objection? Raising both hands, actually, showing us… what, seven fingers? Is that the number of couples working for the Metropolitan Police that you know personally who have met at crime scenes? Or are you reminding us of the number of times John and I were actually kicked off a crime scene because we were enjoying ourselves entirely too much, and were told not to come back till we could behave like adults? I could have sworn those were more than seven occasions, but I‘ll take your word for it.

Talking of raising a child together, I‘m sure Rosie will say a word or three about that herself later, but I have never understood why most of you had doubts about the practicability of that particular endeavour. Let me just tell you that a baby carrier is entirely compatible with a cashmere scarf, or didn’t you know cashmere can absorb up to a third of its own dry weight in liquid? And it got only easier from there when Rosie grew older and stopped affectionately drooling on whoever enjoyed the happy privilege of holding her and carrying her around. She hasn’t demanded being carried around in a good while now, and I don’t know what our poor old backs would say to that these days. But we were talking about happy memories, weren’t we, so there’s another. And at least in the metaphorical sense, I hope you know, Rosie, that you’ll be held and carried for as long as you want and need, as long as we both live. You were my daughter even before I was your father’s husband, and that has been one of the greatest honours bestowed on me in my life.

Because this is who we are, isn’t it, our crazy little family, where nothing is as you’d expect it to be. But we still wouldn’t have it any other way, topsy-turvy, weird, flawed and utterly imperfect, but also utterly us, unique, one of a kind. I don’t know if it was fate that threw us together, or if it really was just a whim on the part of the comfortable, corpulent, bespectacled gentleman sitting at this table over here, smirking with his trademark benevolence. But there’s a debt of gratitude to be paid there, and today is a good day to do it. In this at least, we’re doing the conventional thing, but who’s to say we’re not allowed to do that at least once in a quarter-century.

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family from far and wide, I give you: John Watson, the man of my life, the man at my side for over thirty years, and for exactly twenty-five years in the legal sense on this very day. Please raise your glasses with us to the next twenty-five. And for God’s sake stop snivelling like that, Mycroft. You’re embarrassing the whole room.

[jolie-goes-downton]

"When was this?" Thomas asks, turning the pages of the photo album on his lap. The garden in the background looks unfamiliar.

"Aunt Enid's seventieth birthday," Richard explains.

"Ah. And what are you smiling at in this one?"

Richard leans across for a better look. "My new niece, Julie. She was clinging to my leg at the time, demanding 'Up! Up!'" He chuckles. "When you're the youngest of five, you learn quickly how to hold your own."

"I can't believe how much I've missed while I was away," Thomas says quietly, thinking of the births, deaths and marriages both in York and at Downton he only heard of later and from afar.

But Richard is already turning to the next page. A little too quickly, maybe. "Oh, you'll meet her at Christmas. This is during Uncle Fred's interminable speech ahead of the birthday dinner, I think..."

"You look quite happy," Thomas says without thinking, then instantly feels ashamed. As if Richard had somehow been obliged to be miserable, too, just because Thomas had been. "I mean - "

"Of course I was happy. I'd just got a letter telling me when to be on the quay in Liverpool, to pick up a weary traveller and take him home. Look at this one, if you want proof of how happy exactly."

Thomas stares at the final picture from the birthday party. "Christ, are you saying you told them about it?"

But he has his answer already. Richard is grinning like a Cheshire Cat, exactly like he is in the photograph. "Can you blame me, Thomas?" he asks, his eyebrows dancing with delight. "Can you blame me?"

Thomas Barrow's Photo Album

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Also a late contribution to @barris-week-2022 for the Day 3 prompt: Fix-it!

[resqectable]

It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.

Angelina Jolie

[thoughtkick]

It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.

Angelina Jolie

[quotefeeling]

It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.

Angelina Jolie

[erosyrup]

J/B/M

—I am wild over her.

Reference pic below, though I'm sure all the gay ppl on this site has seen it before:

[perfectquote]

Different is good. When someone tells you that you are different, smile and hold your head up and be proud.

Angelina Jolie

[perfeqt]

It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.

Angelina Jolie

[perfectfeelings]

It’s better to have nobody than someone who is half there, or who doesn’t want to be there.

Angelina Jolie

[stay-close]

Different is good. When someone tells you that you are different, smile and hold your head up and be proud.

Angelina Jolie

[thehopefulquotes]

Every day we choose who we are by how we define ourselves.

Angelina Jolie

[jolieblack]

May Prompts 2024 by @calaisreno

May 29th: Hero

Hungerford Bridge

"John? Are you awake?"

"Nnnnnghhh?"

"Are you awake?"

"Ugh. Nah."

"I need you to be awake, John."

"Wassup?"

"I need you to – no, don't move your head like that. It's going to hurt."

"Ow!"

"See? Now, listen. I need you to sit up as soon as you can. But you have to move slowly."

"Wha'?"

"No sudden movement, and especially no uncontrolled flailing of your left arm or – Yeah, exactly! Christ. Settle down. That's it. Lean against the thwart."

"The wha'?"

"The thwart. The bench. The thing people sit on in a small boat."

"Wha' boat?"

"It would help if you opened your eyes, John."

"Wha's happened? Still dark…"

"Two forty-four a. m., approximately."

"Whassat noise?"

"Do you mean the waves lapping gently against the hull, or the ringing in your head from being knocked unconscious by a brute wielding a cricket bat?"

"Ah… don't remember that."

"I'd be surprised if you did. He caught you in the head on the backswing when you popped up behind him to take him down before he could hit me. I really appreciated the gesture, though. Not your fault you failed to grasp my clever – "

"Chris' sake, Sherlock, shut up and get outta my face, or I'll - "

"Warn me if you're going to be seasick, please. I'm sure we can coordinate a bout of emesis over the side, should the need arise."

"I said get outta – Argh!"

"No flailing, remember?"

"I'm not flailing, I'm – what the fuck is – "

"That would be your right wrist handcuffed to my left wrist. I was just going to explain that there's a perfectly valid reason for our close physical proximity, or me being in your face, as you please to call it."

"That's not your – "

"No, that's the rowlock."

"The what?"

“The rowlock. A metal contraption attached to the washstrake above the gunwale for the purpose of holding the oars in place. This one is unfortunately designed in a peculiar fashion that allows one half of a pair of handcuffs to be threaded through the opening in the middle, so as to – Don't pull, John. It's solid stainless steel and fibreglass. I tried, it's no use."

"We're chained to a boat?"

"We're chained to a boat that's afloat on the River Thames on the ebb tide, with neither oar nor engine to control or direct our progress downriver, on a cold night at a quarter to three in the morning. I might also mention the absence of any life jackets or radio equipment, but I suppose that goes without saying."

"Fuck."

“Accurate. Are you awake enough now so we can start doing something about the situation?"

(This got way too long for Tumblr. Please read the rest of the story here on AO3!)

[jolie-goes-downton]

Tea and Roses (You, For Me)

Downton Abbey | Barris

July 1967. Detective-Sergeant Felix Livingstone takes a trip to North Yorkshire that broadens his horizons in more than one way.

"Introduce yourself, if you like."
"My name is Richard Ellis, I'm a pensioner, a self-taught pastry maker, a semi-successful gardener, a member of the local village council, and I've been in love with the same man for forty years."

Tea, roses and domestic bliss. 🫖🌹💙

Read on AO3

Also a fit for the Day 4 prompt of @barris-week-2022 - Domesticity.

[surqrised]

Different is good. When someone tells you that you are different, smile and hold your head up and be proud.

Angelina Jolie

[thoughtkick]

Every day we choose who we are by how we define ourselves.

Angelina Jolie

[quotefeeling]

Different is good. When someone tells you that you are different, smile and hold your head up and be proud.

Angelina Jolie