The Sorrows of a Young W. or: When Jack Said "No."
Title: The Sorrows of a Young W. or: When Jack Said "No."
Characters: Jack, a writer who prefers to remain unnamed, Ianto and mentions of the others
Summary: Jack is fed up with the state of things as they are
Word Count: ~1200ish
Genre: crack, crack like whoa, don't expect much seriousness because you won't find any
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: expect excessive OOC-ness, apart from that Jack swears, a lot
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, Goethe or anyone. I fact I own nothing at all, I wish I would but I don't so please don't sue me *bats lashes*
Author's notes: Despite a couple of references to other and well loved pieces of Torchwood fanfiction this piece of satire is aimed at nobody in particular except for myself and my most recent troubles to produce proper Torchwood fic, the references are merely meant as tributes. I don't intend to offend anyone with this fic and apologise in advance if you should feel offended in any way, otherwise, enjoy! :3
Unfazed by the wind and the hammering rain, Jack stood on the edge of a random roof, projecting the dark silhouette of his unlimited amount of stoic manpain onto the glittering sea of lights that was Cardiff, his hunting ground, his territory, his home. Thick streaks of water trailed down their way over Jack's face and mingled with the tears Jack never allowed himself to cry in front of the team. In front of anybody else. But now that he was alone with himself, the world and his limitless sorrow he--
"No."
What? What do you mean "No."? I'm in the middle of a story here.
"You heard me: No. I don't wanna. Go and look for another idiot, I'm not doing this anymore."
Hey, why am I even listening to you? This is my story and I--
"WRONG! It's MY story, I'm wet and cold, I've got a shitload of emotional crap to deal with - AGAIN - I've got water in my nose, in my pants and God knows where. I've got enough! ENOUGH! You heard me???"
What are you complaining about? I was going to have Ianto putting you into a hot bath and then--
"THERE! There you go again. Once, only ONCE I want a proper bath with bubbles, candles, rubber duckies and annoying relaxation music."
Hey, you do have proper baths and showers and hottu---
"WRONG. I get tub-sex, shower-sex, sauna-sex and I don't know what else. I AM F***ING SORE FOR F***'S SAKE!!! What's the f***ing deal with you people? Only because I've got 51st century pheromones doesn't mean that I don't need to clean up or just wind off for a minute or that I've got to shag my way through the day 24/7. WHAT'S SO F***ING WRONG ABOUT AN AFTERNOON NAP???"
Whoow, relax, take a cookie. Calm down.
"You want me to eat a COOKIE??? I can't see anything sweet since you had me eating those two boxes of donuts, I get sick just thinking about sweets!"
Right, take a nap then, I don't mind.
"Yeah, only to have the world going down without me. Again."
I didn't--
"Shut up! It's my turn to talk. Do you have any idea why it is that Ianto is walking around the way he does lately?"
Erhm...no?
"Because you guys don't give him a break! First he's dead, then he's a Time Lord, then a Time Agent, then a telepath, then an emo, a psycho, a Cyberman, a ghost, an empath, immortal, a Vampire, a carpenter and then Alfred, butler extraordinaire. Do you have any idea how much time he's got to spend ironing alone just because of the huge amount of suits you put him into? Not to mention all those counselling sessions because of the resulting identity crisis he's going through every odd day."
Right. No suits for Ianto then?
"Gods beware! The only constant thing you let him keep were his suits, take that and he’ll totally lose it. Just let Owen iron them for him from time to time. He loves to iron stuff, it's just that you guys don't let him be domestic beside the sex and the snark, imagine how his flat would look if he wouldn't dust it every day. Do you know how upset he is that nobody had him knit in ages? Just recently I caught him bursting into tears over a pair of knitting needles."
...Uhm...Right...
"What?"
Nothing.
"Get on writing then!"
...Jack was dry, entirely dry, as dry as one could be without feeling itchy or uncomfortable and basked in the warmth of the first rays of sun falling on his face. With a long-drawn yawn he lazily stretched his sleep stiff limbs and slowly opened his eyes only to have them set on Ianto who was still asleep. Jack couldn't help smiling at the lovely sight his sleeping partner presented to him. The blanket had slid off his body in his sleep to reveal the fair skin which almost looked as if it was glowing in the early morning sun. Jack reached--
"I can't believe it."
What now? You're lazing, Ianto is having his break. What's the hell is wrong now?
"YOU."
What?
"You were going to let me do pervy stuff to Ianto again, don't you?"
Well, I--
"Hah! I knew it!"
I can't say that the thought didn't cross my mind bu--
"NO BUT'S I CAN'T HEAR YOUR F***ING BUT'S ANYMORE!!!"
Right *sighs*. The blanket had slid off Ianto's body in his sleep to reveal the slightest hint of chubs, caused by Jack's pampering coupled with the latest stretch of rift inactivity which didn't make him unattractive at all to Jack who was not going to do something pervy to Ianto on that morning. Instead he was satisfied to watch his sleeping and wonderfully adorable specimen of manwonder as he drooled on the pillow beneath his face--
"Stomach fat and drool...that's the best shot you could give?"
FINE! Jack was lazing around, Ianto was cute but not drooling and both were so not doing anything sexual even though they shared a bed, nothing was going on rift-wise and it was a Sunday morning and both most possibly had EMHO's hard enough to fence with but that's of course so not the deal of the humble author who happens to have nothing to do with the story at all but their problem to cope w--
"Actually, now that you're mentioning it, I do feel kind of horny. Could you please remove the chubs again? Ianto's a bit huffy when it comes down to love handles. Oh and no chopsticks, tongue spatulas, cuckoo clocks, cooking spoons, pens, thermometers, hair clasps, silk panties, high heels, lipstick, nail clippers, popsicles, lollipops, long johns -- "
That's it. I've had enough.
"--Wellies, duct tape, rope, transportation vehicles including bicycle bells, qigong balls, ---Hey! Where have you gone to? Writer? Wriiiter??"
"...Jack, did you upset the writer again? You know you're not supposed to do that."
"Me??? She put me on a windy roof again!"
"That's not too bad. She threw me off a bridge one time."
"In the rain."
"Without an umbrella I suppose. Spoils the dramatic effect."
"I think I just can't take it anymore, Ianto."
"Aww, come here Honeywobbles, let Papa Ianto take good care of you."
"Yannypooh!"
"Jay Bear!"
And so the characters got off to do what they liked: Ianto walked around simply being Ianto and drank tea just for the sake of it, Jack lazed around in, with and doing nothing and loved it, Gwen pampered and coddled Rhys whose throat had gotten sore from all the ranting, PC Andy got to wrestle a Weevil, Tosh finally had the technology free wellness day she had always dreamt of and Owen finally managed to knit the scarf he had been planning to knit for years.
In all these activities and a couple of more the frustrated and cookie-munching writer was so not involved, like, at all.
Well there's the crack-bunny!
*runs off to follow the mad bun*
(PS: Feedback would be much love for this silly fangirl)
Characters: Jack, a writer who prefers to remain unnamed, Ianto and mentions of the others
Summary: Jack is fed up with the state of things as they are
Word Count: ~1200ish
Genre: crack, crack like whoa, don't expect much seriousness because you won't find any
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: expect excessive OOC-ness, apart from that Jack swears, a lot
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, Goethe or anyone. I fact I own nothing at all, I wish I would but I don't so please don't sue me *bats lashes*
Author's notes: Despite a couple of references to other and well loved pieces of Torchwood fanfiction this piece of satire is aimed at nobody in particular except for myself and my most recent troubles to produce proper Torchwood fic, the references are merely meant as tributes. I don't intend to offend anyone with this fic and apologise in advance if you should feel offended in any way, otherwise, enjoy! :3
Unfazed by the wind and the hammering rain, Jack stood on the edge of a random roof, projecting the dark silhouette of his unlimited amount of stoic manpain onto the glittering sea of lights that was Cardiff, his hunting ground, his territory, his home. Thick streaks of water trailed down their way over Jack's face and mingled with the tears Jack never allowed himself to cry in front of the team. In front of anybody else. But now that he was alone with himself, the world and his limitless sorrow he--
"No."
What? What do you mean "No."? I'm in the middle of a story here.
"You heard me: No. I don't wanna. Go and look for another idiot, I'm not doing this anymore."
Hey, why am I even listening to you? This is my story and I--
"WRONG! It's MY story, I'm wet and cold, I've got a shitload of emotional crap to deal with - AGAIN - I've got water in my nose, in my pants and God knows where. I've got enough! ENOUGH! You heard me???"
What are you complaining about? I was going to have Ianto putting you into a hot bath and then--
"THERE! There you go again. Once, only ONCE I want a proper bath with bubbles, candles, rubber duckies and annoying relaxation music."
Hey, you do have proper baths and showers and hottu---
"WRONG. I get tub-sex, shower-sex, sauna-sex and I don't know what else. I AM F***ING SORE FOR F***'S SAKE!!! What's the f***ing deal with you people? Only because I've got 51st century pheromones doesn't mean that I don't need to clean up or just wind off for a minute or that I've got to shag my way through the day 24/7. WHAT'S SO F***ING WRONG ABOUT AN AFTERNOON NAP???"
Whoow, relax, take a cookie. Calm down.
"You want me to eat a COOKIE??? I can't see anything sweet since you had me eating those two boxes of donuts, I get sick just thinking about sweets!"
Right, take a nap then, I don't mind.
"Yeah, only to have the world going down without me. Again."
I didn't--
"Shut up! It's my turn to talk. Do you have any idea why it is that Ianto is walking around the way he does lately?"
Erhm...no?
"Because you guys don't give him a break! First he's dead, then he's a Time Lord, then a Time Agent, then a telepath, then an emo, a psycho, a Cyberman, a ghost, an empath, immortal, a Vampire, a carpenter and then Alfred, butler extraordinaire. Do you have any idea how much time he's got to spend ironing alone just because of the huge amount of suits you put him into? Not to mention all those counselling sessions because of the resulting identity crisis he's going through every odd day."
Right. No suits for Ianto then?
"Gods beware! The only constant thing you let him keep were his suits, take that and he’ll totally lose it. Just let Owen iron them for him from time to time. He loves to iron stuff, it's just that you guys don't let him be domestic beside the sex and the snark, imagine how his flat would look if he wouldn't dust it every day. Do you know how upset he is that nobody had him knit in ages? Just recently I caught him bursting into tears over a pair of knitting needles."
...Uhm...Right...
"What?"
Nothing.
"Get on writing then!"
...Jack was dry, entirely dry, as dry as one could be without feeling itchy or uncomfortable and basked in the warmth of the first rays of sun falling on his face. With a long-drawn yawn he lazily stretched his sleep stiff limbs and slowly opened his eyes only to have them set on Ianto who was still asleep. Jack couldn't help smiling at the lovely sight his sleeping partner presented to him. The blanket had slid off his body in his sleep to reveal the fair skin which almost looked as if it was glowing in the early morning sun. Jack reached--
"I can't believe it."
What now? You're lazing, Ianto is having his break. What's the hell is wrong now?
"YOU."
What?
"You were going to let me do pervy stuff to Ianto again, don't you?"
Well, I--
"Hah! I knew it!"
I can't say that the thought didn't cross my mind bu--
"NO BUT'S I CAN'T HEAR YOUR F***ING BUT'S ANYMORE!!!"
Right *sighs*. The blanket had slid off Ianto's body in his sleep to reveal the slightest hint of chubs, caused by Jack's pampering coupled with the latest stretch of rift inactivity which didn't make him unattractive at all to Jack who was not going to do something pervy to Ianto on that morning. Instead he was satisfied to watch his sleeping and wonderfully adorable specimen of manwonder as he drooled on the pillow beneath his face--
"Stomach fat and drool...that's the best shot you could give?"
FINE! Jack was lazing around, Ianto was cute but not drooling and both were so not doing anything sexual even though they shared a bed, nothing was going on rift-wise and it was a Sunday morning and both most possibly had EMHO's hard enough to fence with but that's of course so not the deal of the humble author who happens to have nothing to do with the story at all but their problem to cope w--
"Actually, now that you're mentioning it, I do feel kind of horny. Could you please remove the chubs again? Ianto's a bit huffy when it comes down to love handles. Oh and no chopsticks, tongue spatulas, cuckoo clocks, cooking spoons, pens, thermometers, hair clasps, silk panties, high heels, lipstick, nail clippers, popsicles, lollipops, long johns -- "
That's it. I've had enough.
"--Wellies, duct tape, rope, transportation vehicles including bicycle bells, qigong balls, ---Hey! Where have you gone to? Writer? Wriiiter??"
"...Jack, did you upset the writer again? You know you're not supposed to do that."
"Me??? She put me on a windy roof again!"
"That's not too bad. She threw me off a bridge one time."
"In the rain."
"Without an umbrella I suppose. Spoils the dramatic effect."
"I think I just can't take it anymore, Ianto."
"Aww, come here Honeywobbles, let Papa Ianto take good care of you."
"Yannypooh!"
"Jay Bear!"
And so the characters got off to do what they liked: Ianto walked around simply being Ianto and drank tea just for the sake of it, Jack lazed around in, with and doing nothing and loved it, Gwen pampered and coddled Rhys whose throat had gotten sore from all the ranting, PC Andy got to wrestle a Weevil, Tosh finally had the technology free wellness day she had always dreamt of and Owen finally managed to knit the scarf he had been planning to knit for years.
In all these activities and a couple of more the frustrated and cookie-munching writer was so not involved, like, at all.
Well there's the crack-bunny!
*runs off to follow the mad bun*
(PS: Feedback would be much love for this silly fangirl)