Prompts/Ideas

Look, I don't know where else to put this. I don't even know how to go about doing so. So here are some ideas I've had, that I've never gotten around to doing. Feel free to take one and run with it, just tell me and link me :)

(Please, please adopt a homeless plunny)

Impossible

The impossible man talks to the only one who will never judge him, never forget him. The only one who always listens.

Play Me Dear part 2

The second thing he was aware of when he woke up was that Jack had sedated him. He’d been so stunned by Jack’s words that he hadn’t even reacted when Jack raised some kind of gun and shot him – he had just gone blank, and then the world swam into blackness.

It was still blackness, actually. He opened his eyes, and that helped a little but the room was still mostly filled with darkness with a small sliver of light showing under the door. It was just enough for him to realise he wasn’t at the Hub or anywhere else he knew; everything was cold cement unless it was cold steel (okay so that did indicate the Hub but he knew every inch of that place, every inch, and there was nowhere there like this), and it gleamed.

Cement shouldn’t gleam, not unless it’s been repeatedly cleaned within an inch of its life, and he finally pinpointed the reason why he was so uneasy. After the warehouse, what he’d heard, what Jack had confessed to – well, the knowledge that he had a secret bunker that was so thoroughly cleaned raised issues he’d rather not think about, especially when he was the one trapped in it.

Strictly speaking he wasn’t tied down in any way. Now that he had established where exactly he was (or wasn’t), he tested his limbs and found he could move freely. The smell of new fabric reached his nostrils as the material creased around his knees and elbows, bending around his limbs as he levered himself upright. His hair was damp on the back of his neck, his wrists and head no longer hurt. He practically screamed ‘clean’ as much as the disturbingly gleaming room did. And he hadn’t been awake for any of it.

He wondered, briefly, if he would be feeling quite this calm if it had been anyone other than Jack who took him, who washed the blood off him and apparently replaced his blood-stained suit with a new one – all while he was asleep. Or sedated, or stunned, or whatever the term was for that particular weapon. Perhaps when he saw Jack again he’d ask what it was, where he’d gotten it – and of course, why they were here.

The scuff of a footstep outside the door had his head whipping around to see a shadow outside. Speak of the devil he thought irreverently, and braced himself for what would doubtless be an onslaught of light. Eyes shut tight against the glare, he waited for the light. So focussed on one sense, he almost missed the sound of the door opening in the darkness.

“It’s alright,” Jack’s voice said from the doorway, soothing in its familiar cadence. “You can open your eyes. Light will slowly return at a pace your eyes can automatically adjust to without pain. Sorry about the accommodations – I don’t have a lot of room here, and no beds. How are your wrists?”

Ianto opened his eyes mostly out of surprise, and found that the light under the door was in fact quite dim and low to the ground. In its pale reflections from cement and steel, he could just make out Jack’s shape – sans coat – leaning against the doorframe.

“The sort of place you only go to work, sir?” he asked, still unnerved by the gleaming cleanness of it.

Jack chuckled, and the low familiar tone set him at ease. “Exactly. Here, let’s get you standing.”

Jack’s silhouette strode over to him and extended its arms, and he automatically took the offered assistance. Jack easily pulled him to his feet, flush against his body so he could feel the muscles trembling with a tenseness that belied his Captain’s easy tone.

“Sir?” he asked, concern filling his tone. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s just...good to see you, Ianto,” Jack rumbled hesitantly, the sound carrying more through his chest to Ianto’s ears than from his lips. “It’s good to know you’re alive.”

“Yes sir, you retrieved me from those people,” Ianto reassured him, frowning when the muscles twitched again indicating he was thinking about something else. “Sir?”

He looked up into eyes filled with more pain than Jack had ever shown, more broken than Jack had ever seemed. He couldn’t stand seeing those emotions in the only man he would ever love, and reached up to kiss them away. Jack’s hands instantly tightened around his arms, roughly trying to pull him closer than they already were even as his lips melted around Ianto’s, soft movements drinking in everything Ianto had to give. The contrast of demand and submission showed him more than any expression or word could just how worried Jack had been. It was so quintessentially Jack – experienced lover, inexperienced at relationships.

“Let me love you,” Jack whispered against his lips, pleading – but he didn’t need to beg, Ianto would always give Jack this. Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease him first.

“But there isn’t a bed,” Ianto pointed out, flashing Jack a cheeky smile in the light he hadn’t even noticed brightening.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Jack grinned in return, but it looked more like the macabre smile of a skull and Ianto lost the will to continue to tease.

“Love me, Jack,” Ianto whispered, and surrendered.

Reborn

He'd always had a talent for surviving anything the world had to throw at him. The doctors had called him extraordinary as the ranks of their subjects dwindled and he remained alive. A miracle, they said, and poked and prodded him even more until he couldn't remember his name - he used the Roman numeral on his door. Until he couldn't remember where he came from, and made agony his hearthstone. We want to know your limits, they said as he screamed; we want to know how far the human body can go.

On a night of fire and pain and panic, they set in motion just how far he would go. They tried to erase all the evidence, but he refused to be erased - he would not fade with history and memory. Even though the darkness called so sweetly, he would not be swayed. Because these things that called themselves humans and heroes and saviours could not be allowed to continue the subjugation of His people.

So he waited, and planned, and waited until the rot was clear to all who cared to look, and then he made them look. Monster he may be, but he was the sword that would strike down those far worse, the shield to protect the innocent masses from reprisal. He wasn't innocent, never had been. Never would be. So he had died for the ideal, the idea of freedom.

He'd never died before, not quite. But in Evey's arms, handing over the decision to someone who was inside the system but had also been outside and could make the decision without vengeful hatred colouring their perspective, full of the bullets of Mister Creedy's most loyal - he gave in to the blackness.

And then he woke up. He remembered. In the clarity of the agony he was born in, he remembered all the other times he'd died for a cause that was just, for a people who could and would be so much more. He remembered the man who wasn't a man, the girl who had been Time, his loves and his losses. And this time he didn't cry, because by now he knew that's how it was, and he had made peace with his fate.

And in the rubble of Parliament House, an undying man who had been called many names and made someone else's his own started to climb out of the tomb of his own making into another new world.

Broken Perspective pt 4

Some people would call Jack Harkness a broken man - I couldn't tell you for sure, but he has every reason to be. After the Year That Never Was, there was only a handful of us who knew what had happened, who could talk to each other without sounding completely loony. Jack was one of us, and even if I was a bit on the outside...well, I heard things didn't I? Tish would wake up silently sobbing from the memories of what she saw done to him - silent because if she made a sound whatever it was would get worse, just for her. Not that she's the one who told me, because after all, I wasn't there, and because I wasn't there I was somehow apart even if my family was technically together again. But Jack's been over a few times, and left as soon as I showed up with a saucy grin and a wink of bright blue eyes - but my sister or my mum or even sometimes my dad will be drying tears. He's good at acting, is our Captain. I think the only one who'll ever know whether or not he's broken is himself.

Vichyssoise

I haven't been writing for a while, so I've decided to put up a little taster of a RP I did with a friend. Warnings for torture...yes, mainly for torture.

Broken Perspective pt 3

Some people would call Jack Harkness a broken man - and they'd be right. Isn't it wonderful? Captain Jack Harkness, constant of the universe, and he's in pieces on the floor. My floor. I'd laugh if it weren't so pitiful - no wait, I'm laughing anyway, it's hilarious! Humans weren't made to live for very long, and the Captain has been alive much longer than he should. Not a patch on Timelords of course, but nothing is. So the Captain has been stretched and prodded and died and loved and had them die...over and over again...and just between you and me? He was already broken when he came to me, too many friends in the ground and too many lies on his tongue. Oh yes, Jack's broken. I made sure of it.

Broken Perspective pt 2

Some people would call Jack Harkness a broken man - but I couldn't tell you if they're right. I probably should, right? I'm Jack's...something...so I should know? But I don't. No matter how much I think I know him, there's always something left, something that is so at odds with everything else I know, and I'm back where I started again. I've only barely scratched the surface, and however much he protests that's all there is, I know there's something deeper there - if only I could reach it. If you want to know if Jack's broken, you'll have to ask him. Good luck getting a straight answer.

Play Me Dear

This one is for @TLorie. It's uhm...a bit graphic, so not for the faint-hearted. Or those opposed to slash.

Reminiscence

I remember Earth-That-Was.

I remember its shining cities, glass towers like desperate fingers stretching for the sky.
I remember its powerful planes, white gulls made of cold metal soaring high over earth and water alike.
I remember its monuments, inspirations of engineering and emotion that were meant to last into the annals of eternity.
I remember its natural wonders, wrought by no hand of man but the pure creation and intricate workings of the Earth itself, masterpieces of Mother Nature.

I remember how beautiful it was.

Broken Perspective pt 1

Some people would call Jack Harkness a broken man - but I know better. I've seen him grow from a disillusioned conman into a defender of Earth, through trials most people couldn't imagine. He's survived, and thrived, and built an institution which will protect the human race until it is ready to protect itself. As much as I disapprove of their methods at times, saving the Earth...who can argue with that? Well, the Master. And the Sontarans. Maybe the Nestine... Daleks... Cybermen... Sycorax... Raknoss... Ice Warriors... Okay so a lot of people would argue about that, but it's not like it's their planet is it? Oh, well, no, it's not mine either technically, but I like to think of myself as a sort of honorary Earthling...Earthman? Earthian? What is the correct term for someone from Earth who isn't human anyway? No, never mind, not the point. What was the point again? Oh yes! Jack. No, Jack isn't a broken man, of course not. Why would you even suggest it?

Duty to the Dead pt 2

Jack stared at the piece of paper on his desk, luxury stationery soaking up the blue ink of his signature. His eyes felt like burned holes in his skull, exhausted from too much to do and not enough people to do it any more. There hadn't been enough people for a while now, not really, it was a tight ship when Tosh and Owen were still alive, and since Gray...

He swallowed, that ancient hurt as fresh as the day he had let go of his brother's hand and let him be taken by Them. (Could it be called ancient when it hadn't happened yet in linear time? By subjective time it was nearly two centuries ago, but it technically wouldn't happen for over three thousand years...) He couldn't think of him, not now - there was no time to sort out the Hub with Torchwood overseeing the return of the children, no time to see if anything had survived the explosion. Or the scavenging done after.

Time. He had hoped for more time, even with the job they had. Even with the Doctor and the Daleks and the Weevils and all the other shit they dealt with and defeated and saved the Earth again and again and again... But he'd forgotten, in those final days, that the rules were different for everyone else. He'd forgotten that Ianto was mortal like everyone else, fragile like everyone else; forgotten that Ianto Jones, for all his efficiency and capability was only human. So he'd taken him into the heart of the enemy's camp, spoken proud words in a reckless bluff, and it had taken Ianto Jones away from him - just like that.

His eyes had found the sheet of paper again, rereading that first sentence over and over again. Regret to inform you, Ianto Jones is dead. And with him the last of Captain Jack Harkness's ties to Earth.

Jack's eyes burned in their sockets, but he didn't shed a tear. Captain Jack Harkness wasn't human enough to cry.

Duty to the Dead pt 1

Dear Mr & Mrs Davies,

I regret to have to inform you that your brother, Ianto Jones, died during the recent incident with the alien lifeform known as the '456'. He was present at the confrontation in Thames House, and perished in the retaliation of the '456' which resulted in the deaths of all Thames House's occupants.

Although Ianto was not permitted to talk about his work, I want you to know that he was a highly valued and trusted member of my team, and his loss is a great blow to us all. He has saved us more times than anyone could ever know, and the world will never be the same without him. I know that my life has been the richer for knowing him, and that I will never find another man his equal.

Unfortunately due to the continued sensitive nature of our work, many of his possessions cannot be released. Either myself or my second in command Gwen Cooper will be in touch regarding the handover of what items can be disbursed. In the wake of this incident, I offer you and your family our assistance with anything you might require. Please don't hesitate to call on us. It's the least we can do.

Yours sincerely,
Capt Jack Harkness
Torchwood