Fic: "I. Jones, Author"
Dec. 14th, 2009 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyusTitle: I. Jones, Author
Character: Ianto
Rating: R
Length: 1000 words
Summary: They show these places in the films, bigger and greater and everyone's happier, always.
Notes: Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
51stcenturyfox
Her name's Jody and she dreams of the world, like, outside her room, and her mam's flat, and away from the stupid boys in the street, and outside that town and somewhere far away. They show these places in the films, bigger and greater and everyone's happier, always.
When the bullet shatters her skull, she thinks something about someone, but the thought stops before neurons can connect again to complete it.
*
Ianto marks her down as casualty, a little stroke of the pen, a number in a computer form, filed away. He dumps the body in the bay. They make it look like a shooting, Torchwood does. He gets drunk later in a pub by himself and does target practice on a warehouse wall down in the harbour until the sirens announce the police.
Torchwood kills, he tells Jack the next morning.
Then he smiles and fabricates the news report like it's his creative outlet for the day.
*
They stand in brilliant white light, virginal, ecstatic, someone must have his cock out; Ianto knows he is hard and barely resists the urge to grab down. Science fiction tropes go through his head, but he hasn't wanted to shag anyone since Lisa, and he drags the flat of his hand over his trousers, pats his erection and mutters a fuck-off for good measure.
Jack's screaming his orgasm which is slightly mortifying, and Ianto doesn't want to think about how he's sucked him out of some misguided love and loneliness.
He writes poems for Lisa. Then he shoves them down the toilet and pisses on them.
It hurts, but he gets so angry sometimes.
*
Matt doesn't see the weevil until it has taken off the side of his head, splitting it to bones and leaking brain.
Ianto is too busy with Jack's cock in his hand, too slow with the stun gun and spray.
He takes the car that night and is halfway to London before he turns around. There's nothing in London but he doesn't have the despair to drive off some cliffs or into a tree.
And he hasn't written his Fuck you, I will shit on your guts to Jack yet.
And he's still waiting for the opportunity to do it, too.
*
Ianto hates cleaning up after people, his ma, his dad, the stories he doesn't tell anyone. He likes the smell of beer and alcohol sweat. Pathetic.
He's left his script, he's writing notes, and something is missing, Act Two and A Script in 21 Days, he's past that.
He still doesn't know his arc. He's not sure he has one. In the car that night he makes it to Hyde Park, parks in the middle of the street, gets out and just walks.
He takes the train back to Cardiff in the morning.
*
Jack catches him faking records, turning these stories of these lowlife kids into film script material, give them something glamorous that isn't single mother, runaway father. Something that isn't a statistic that spells risk for prison and depression and dead from alcohol in ten or twenty.
He calls Jody Emma, because it sounds more like Hollywood, and he gives her a story where she is a fucking hero and doesn't need someone in a coat and a gun and a flashy car to be two minutes too late and then not give a fuck.
Jack saves him that night from something something alien, and Ianto beats his fucking face in.
*
Church bells ring for mass; they wait, then gas the church, turn it into a mass grave of alien puppets. Ianto vomits into the bushes behind the line of tomb stones as Jack pulls out a human ("What was he doing there, ah, yes?") and there is a story for him, in Ianto's film. Not a villain, but maybe someone in the office building, someone who likes the girl, Tanja or Tara or Tessa, he can't remember, from last week. She smiles at him, he smiles at her, a bit of romance.
The gas has blown him up, skin stretched tight. "You'll be a star," Ianto tells him and smooths the hair from his forehead.
*
Daniel is 6'2", fit, blond, and the parasite clinging to his spine is sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong places.
Jack tells him he can be a hero now.
Ianto gives him the role of the sidekick to Kevin, was it, Kevin or Cole or Keith, he isn't quite sure, the man from the church, and they squabble. He writes it in his head.
Daniel screams, believing he dies a hero.
He dies in a puddle of piss and shit, like every single one of them, terrified and alone and betrayed by the promises of life.
*
They find something cute, Jack calls it Petsy and carries it around like a talisman. It's metal and Ianto claims allergies and claims ignorance when he finds it in Jack's bed, Petsy, nibbling on Jack's thigh with little metal fangs like Twilight vampires in glossy.
He wonders whether that will become a film. Twilight. He'd watch it.
Jack is asleep, maybe dead, and Ianto scribbles it on his skin, hastily, before Petsy let's go of Jack and finds something it can kill more permanently. He writes, I and tries to add more, thinks how it could be romantic and falters and stands and says something, and then he doesn't stay to watch as Petsy noms Jack, cock-first.
He goes to clean up.
Later Gwen shoots Petsy.
Petsy doesn't get a place in Ianto's script, because he already has Lisa there.
*
Her name's Jody and she dies from a bullet not even meant for her but for a zombie or a reptile or some invisible liquid lifeform that is, well, invisible.
And Ianto shot her. Accidentally.
She's the hero. Because people deserve to be heroes, even when they die in puddles of shit and piss or from alien farts.
People deserve to be heroes.
He called it I, playing on the pronunciation a little. It's on the title page. I, by Ianto Jones, and it's everything he could never be.
Character: Ianto
Rating: R
Length: 1000 words
Summary: They show these places in the films, bigger and greater and everyone's happier, always.
Notes: Beta'd by
51stcenturyfoxHer name's Jody and she dreams of the world, like, outside her room, and her mam's flat, and away from the stupid boys in the street, and outside that town and somewhere far away. They show these places in the films, bigger and greater and everyone's happier, always.
When the bullet shatters her skull, she thinks something about someone, but the thought stops before neurons can connect again to complete it.
*
Ianto marks her down as casualty, a little stroke of the pen, a number in a computer form, filed away. He dumps the body in the bay. They make it look like a shooting, Torchwood does. He gets drunk later in a pub by himself and does target practice on a warehouse wall down in the harbour until the sirens announce the police.
Torchwood kills, he tells Jack the next morning.
Then he smiles and fabricates the news report like it's his creative outlet for the day.
*
They stand in brilliant white light, virginal, ecstatic, someone must have his cock out; Ianto knows he is hard and barely resists the urge to grab down. Science fiction tropes go through his head, but he hasn't wanted to shag anyone since Lisa, and he drags the flat of his hand over his trousers, pats his erection and mutters a fuck-off for good measure.
Jack's screaming his orgasm which is slightly mortifying, and Ianto doesn't want to think about how he's sucked him out of some misguided love and loneliness.
He writes poems for Lisa. Then he shoves them down the toilet and pisses on them.
It hurts, but he gets so angry sometimes.
*
Matt doesn't see the weevil until it has taken off the side of his head, splitting it to bones and leaking brain.
Ianto is too busy with Jack's cock in his hand, too slow with the stun gun and spray.
He takes the car that night and is halfway to London before he turns around. There's nothing in London but he doesn't have the despair to drive off some cliffs or into a tree.
And he hasn't written his Fuck you, I will shit on your guts to Jack yet.
And he's still waiting for the opportunity to do it, too.
*
Ianto hates cleaning up after people, his ma, his dad, the stories he doesn't tell anyone. He likes the smell of beer and alcohol sweat. Pathetic.
He's left his script, he's writing notes, and something is missing, Act Two and A Script in 21 Days, he's past that.
He still doesn't know his arc. He's not sure he has one. In the car that night he makes it to Hyde Park, parks in the middle of the street, gets out and just walks.
He takes the train back to Cardiff in the morning.
*
Jack catches him faking records, turning these stories of these lowlife kids into film script material, give them something glamorous that isn't single mother, runaway father. Something that isn't a statistic that spells risk for prison and depression and dead from alcohol in ten or twenty.
He calls Jody Emma, because it sounds more like Hollywood, and he gives her a story where she is a fucking hero and doesn't need someone in a coat and a gun and a flashy car to be two minutes too late and then not give a fuck.
Jack saves him that night from something something alien, and Ianto beats his fucking face in.
*
Church bells ring for mass; they wait, then gas the church, turn it into a mass grave of alien puppets. Ianto vomits into the bushes behind the line of tomb stones as Jack pulls out a human ("What was he doing there, ah, yes?") and there is a story for him, in Ianto's film. Not a villain, but maybe someone in the office building, someone who likes the girl, Tanja or Tara or Tessa, he can't remember, from last week. She smiles at him, he smiles at her, a bit of romance.
The gas has blown him up, skin stretched tight. "You'll be a star," Ianto tells him and smooths the hair from his forehead.
*
Daniel is 6'2", fit, blond, and the parasite clinging to his spine is sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong places.
Jack tells him he can be a hero now.
Ianto gives him the role of the sidekick to Kevin, was it, Kevin or Cole or Keith, he isn't quite sure, the man from the church, and they squabble. He writes it in his head.
Daniel screams, believing he dies a hero.
He dies in a puddle of piss and shit, like every single one of them, terrified and alone and betrayed by the promises of life.
*
They find something cute, Jack calls it Petsy and carries it around like a talisman. It's metal and Ianto claims allergies and claims ignorance when he finds it in Jack's bed, Petsy, nibbling on Jack's thigh with little metal fangs like Twilight vampires in glossy.
He wonders whether that will become a film. Twilight. He'd watch it.
Jack is asleep, maybe dead, and Ianto scribbles it on his skin, hastily, before Petsy let's go of Jack and finds something it can kill more permanently. He writes, I and tries to add more, thinks how it could be romantic and falters and stands and says something, and then he doesn't stay to watch as Petsy noms Jack, cock-first.
He goes to clean up.
Later Gwen shoots Petsy.
Petsy doesn't get a place in Ianto's script, because he already has Lisa there.
*
Her name's Jody and she dies from a bullet not even meant for her but for a zombie or a reptile or some invisible liquid lifeform that is, well, invisible.
And Ianto shot her. Accidentally.
She's the hero. Because people deserve to be heroes, even when they die in puddles of shit and piss or from alien farts.
People deserve to be heroes.
He called it I, playing on the pronunciation a little. It's on the title page. I, by Ianto Jones, and it's everything he could never be.
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 01:52 pm (UTC)So anyway, that's my ramble on my own fiction.
Thanks for your comment, I do appreciate it.