(no subject)
I started a bite of my TW/SPN fic draft.
Since it's my first..foray into anything regarding SPN fanfiction, i attempted to make it as general as possible. But since it's a crossover with TW, it's got some Jack/Ianto innit.
No apologies fer that, actually.
After being so..none too gently nudged by one soullessginger , my brain went from wee!chester, to present day spn, to Torchwood involvement, to the Winchesters not even taking place in the damn storyline.
I think it's because i couldn't figure a plausible way for Jack to go to the US, or the brothers to go the UK without hurting my brain.
Somehow, Castiel slipped into my writing radar. Yay angel mojo. Then i was intrigued by the thought of Cas meeting up with Jack...two 'warriors,' so to speak. Plus Mr. Angel of the Lord dealing with Mr. I Can't Die Harkness. It's a bit Doctor Who-esque, i think...in the sense that for Castiel, everyone/thing has a time, and like the Doctor, Jack's immortality puzzles him.
I also had a draft in which somehow Jack saw Cas' true form, but since he can't die...Castiel's kinda just...this dude is still alive, and his eyes are burned out, but now he's healing.
But i feel that surpassed my abilities, description wise
Meh.
When Ianto arrived, Jack was already slumped against the wall of the darkened alley, neck turned at an impossible angle, throat slashed and gaping. Draped over Jack’s legs was the body of a Weevil, unconscious, though Ianto wasn’t sure for how long. Swallowing the bile that had formed in his throat, he approached his captain. Three years, and it never got any easier to see Jack mangled and lifeless. Ianto crouched, mindless of blood spatter, and brushed a kiss to Jack’s forehead.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured, thickly. “God, I hate when you wake up alone, but you’ll give me more hell if our new houseguest gets free reign, yeah?” he gestured to the Weevil, chuckling weakly. He bagged the creature, hoisting it up. Smaller, female- thank God. He didn’t think he could have managed an adult male on his own. “You should have waited for backup,” he sighed, glancing at his boss, taking in the tattered, bloodstained greatcoat. “You’ll owe me for the dry cleaning.” With that, he hauled the Hub’s latest addition to the SUV.
~
When Ianto returned, he wasn’t sure which was more surprising- the fact that Jack was still out for the count, or that he was not alone.
The man was in his thirties, kneeling at Jack’s side, a hand pressed to Jack’s forehead. His dark hair was tousled, as though he’d been mussing it with his hands, head bowed in a sense that Ianto could only describe as reverent, lips moving wordlessly. He was a smaller man than Jack or Ianto, though his tan trenchcoat gave him a slightly more intimidating appearance.
“Er, hello?” Ianto’s mind was racing, compiling an explanation for the well-meaning stranger who happened upon his temporarily deceased boss, and to the Retcon resting inconspicuously in his jacket pocket.
The man lifted his gaze to Ianto, eyes startlingly blue in the lamplight, solemn and searching. “I am sorry,” he stated without inflection. How the man could actually give the impression of absolute sincerity without so much a flicker of expression was beyond Ianto, but he managed it. “I was too late.”
As Ianto stepped forward, a lie and a reassuring word on his tongue, Jack surged into life with a tortured gasp, clutching at the man’s trenchcoat. His gaze focused on the man, registering, before a suggestive grin made its way to his face.
“Well,” Jack said, one brow raising in interest. “Hello there. You’re not Ianto.”
The aforementioned Welshman let out a relieved sigh he wasn’t aware he’d been holding since he arrived back on scene.
“I am not,” the man agreed, studying Jack with a straight face. “I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.”
Since it's my first..foray into anything regarding SPN fanfiction, i attempted to make it as general as possible. But since it's a crossover with TW, it's got some Jack/Ianto innit.
No apologies fer that, actually.
After being so..none too gently nudged by one soullessginger , my brain went from wee!chester, to present day spn, to Torchwood involvement, to the Winchesters not even taking place in the damn storyline.
I think it's because i couldn't figure a plausible way for Jack to go to the US, or the brothers to go the UK without hurting my brain.
Somehow, Castiel slipped into my writing radar. Yay angel mojo. Then i was intrigued by the thought of Cas meeting up with Jack...two 'warriors,' so to speak. Plus Mr. Angel of the Lord dealing with Mr. I Can't Die Harkness. It's a bit Doctor Who-esque, i think...in the sense that for Castiel, everyone/thing has a time, and like the Doctor, Jack's immortality puzzles him.
I also had a draft in which somehow Jack saw Cas' true form, but since he can't die...Castiel's kinda just...this dude is still alive, and his eyes are burned out, but now he's healing.
But i feel that surpassed my abilities, description wise
Meh.
When Ianto arrived, Jack was already slumped against the wall of the darkened alley, neck turned at an impossible angle, throat slashed and gaping. Draped over Jack’s legs was the body of a Weevil, unconscious, though Ianto wasn’t sure for how long. Swallowing the bile that had formed in his throat, he approached his captain. Three years, and it never got any easier to see Jack mangled and lifeless. Ianto crouched, mindless of blood spatter, and brushed a kiss to Jack’s forehead.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured, thickly. “God, I hate when you wake up alone, but you’ll give me more hell if our new houseguest gets free reign, yeah?” he gestured to the Weevil, chuckling weakly. He bagged the creature, hoisting it up. Smaller, female- thank God. He didn’t think he could have managed an adult male on his own. “You should have waited for backup,” he sighed, glancing at his boss, taking in the tattered, bloodstained greatcoat. “You’ll owe me for the dry cleaning.” With that, he hauled the Hub’s latest addition to the SUV.
~
When Ianto returned, he wasn’t sure which was more surprising- the fact that Jack was still out for the count, or that he was not alone.
The man was in his thirties, kneeling at Jack’s side, a hand pressed to Jack’s forehead. His dark hair was tousled, as though he’d been mussing it with his hands, head bowed in a sense that Ianto could only describe as reverent, lips moving wordlessly. He was a smaller man than Jack or Ianto, though his tan trenchcoat gave him a slightly more intimidating appearance.
“Er, hello?” Ianto’s mind was racing, compiling an explanation for the well-meaning stranger who happened upon his temporarily deceased boss, and to the Retcon resting inconspicuously in his jacket pocket.
The man lifted his gaze to Ianto, eyes startlingly blue in the lamplight, solemn and searching. “I am sorry,” he stated without inflection. How the man could actually give the impression of absolute sincerity without so much a flicker of expression was beyond Ianto, but he managed it. “I was too late.”
As Ianto stepped forward, a lie and a reassuring word on his tongue, Jack surged into life with a tortured gasp, clutching at the man’s trenchcoat. His gaze focused on the man, registering, before a suggestive grin made its way to his face.
“Well,” Jack said, one brow raising in interest. “Hello there. You’re not Ianto.”
The aforementioned Welshman let out a relieved sigh he wasn’t aware he’d been holding since he arrived back on scene.
“I am not,” the man agreed, studying Jack with a straight face. “I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord.”