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What Am I Getting Myself Into?
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eldarwannabe.
The first five people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing (that I know). In return, theyhave to may choose to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.
(My ability level has not been officially measured, btw).
eldarwannabe.The first five people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing (that I know). In return, they
(My ability level has not been officially measured, btw).
no subject
Sorry, I'm really vague with these prompts lately. :)
Proposal
“I think it’s sweet.” Gwen shifts in the metal chair.
“I don’t think this is the time to talk about it,” Ianto grumbles. “And it isn’t sweet.”
He can’t undo the rope tied around his wrists or Gwen’s, can’t get enough leverage from his position. He’s more frustrated with his inability than he is with their situation, although that’s fairly annoying in its own right. Gwen seems to be struggling on her end, too.
“At least he didn’t injure himself like Rhys did. Although, I suppose it wouldn’t matter if he did, would it? I could help you pick things out. I’ve already got some ideas you can use; I’m thinking cream and gold for the invitations.”
He can hear the teasing note in her voice and at least now he can feel her fingers against his as they try to unravel the knots. A part of him knows what she’s doing, and is grateful for the distraction, but the rest of him doesn’t care.
“No one’s proposed to anyone. There was no actual proposal. And if we don’t get out of here soon, there isn’t going to be one!”
“Ianto!” Ah, of course Jack would choose this time to enact his dramatic rescue. Gwen is laughing almost hysterically, and Ianto’s glad he can’t see Jack’s face. “I didn’t know you cared!”
Re: Proposal
Thanks muchly! *hugs*
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Year One
The tip of Jack’s finger rests just below a name. His other hand is wrapped around the decanter. It’s almost empty, now.
“I thought she was dead,” he says, and Ianto’s about to protest that Lisa is dead, absolutely, when he remembers that her name had been on the left-hand side of the page, not the right where Jack’s finger points.
Jack continues, almost like Ianto’s not even there. “Rose Tyler. She lived, but she got sucked into a different dimension and she’s trapped. There’s nothing I can do to bring her back.”
Ianto’s grip tightens around his tumbler, the raised crystal cutting into his palm. It’s still almost full. He doesn’t know what to say, what comfort he can offer that won’t come out a petulant, “But at least she’s alive.” It wouldn’t be fair; how many people has Jack lost at this point? But he still feels the burn of indignation, the tightening of panicked fury, in his chest.
Jack finally looks at him directly; his eyes widen and his breath catches. “Ianto, I’m sor –”
“No,” he says and shakes his head. “Forget it. Cheers.”
He tosses back the rest of his whisky and closes his eyes.
Re: Year One
I liked the idea that Ianto has all this emotion about the event, but doesn't feel entitled to be honest about it.
no subject
Ianto/Tosh friendship fic, por favor!
Gift
He stretched his fingers in preparation to type his report. He glanced through the pages of notes he had taken during his interview with Tosh; she was handling this all better than he anticipated (better than you did, his inner voice mocked). He rolled his shoulders and his eyes fell on an old wooden case with glass doors.
It seemed out of place amidst the shiny grey metal technology. He stood and walked over to investigate.
Inside the case stood row after row of figures, some animal and some human. They were intricately carved, the red-brown of well worn wood or the creamy yellow of ivory.
“They’re netsuke,” he heard Tosh whisper and he turned to look at her. The throw from the sofa was draped around her shoulders and she was clutching the mug of brandied coffee he’d left her with.
“They’re beautiful,” he said and she nodded.
She moved forward and opened the case, and removed one of the figures, her small fingers careful and graceful. She held it up to the light.
“My grandfather carved this one.”
It was a snake, hooded like a cobra and coiled around itself. The ivory was smooth, but there were faint lines where the skin had been detailed. It was poised as though ready to strike at any moment. Tosh took Ianto’s hand and placed the figure in the center; it was heavy in his palm. He looked at her curiously.
“To keep the rats away,” she said, and closed his fingers around it.
Re: Gift
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