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*crickets chirp*
Awright, lads, now I'm very conscious of the fact that this year I have no pre-prepared (is that a tautology?) mathoms to post, which is a bit of a break in tradition for me. And there's not really any way I'm going to get my epic crackfic finished, beta read and britpicked in the next 8 hours.
So! I would like to take some prompts in order to ramble ficcishly in comments.
My current fandom is Torchwood with a side of New Who, please prompt me in that direction. I may consider crossovers with other shows/books/texts I'm familiar with. Scenario prompts work best for me, the sillier the better. (And those who are familiar with the epic crackfic, you're not allowed to request anything you know is already going into that.)
Right! *rubs hands together* Let's see how that goes?
ETA:
All ficlets from this are now posted here.
So! I would like to take some prompts in order to ramble ficcishly in comments.
My current fandom is Torchwood with a side of New Who, please prompt me in that direction. I may consider crossovers with other shows/books/texts I'm familiar with. Scenario prompts work best for me, the sillier the better. (And those who are familiar with the epic crackfic, you're not allowed to request anything you know is already going into that.)
Right! *rubs hands together* Let's see how that goes?
ETA:
All ficlets from this are now posted here.
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(although I was initially thinking I'd like a Face of Boe/Ianto Jones futurefic/AU romance where, like, Ianto only visits occasionally because he's busy being a Companion or a Time Lord or future-Torchwooding or something, and they have this really sweet and mannered long-long-term relationship because Ianto has an extended lifetime for some reason AND/OR the aforementioned timetravel, and that this long-distance relationship involved telepathy or epistles with old-fashioned fountain pens and ink, and Ianto still wears pinstripes even though they're terribly out of fashion, and possibly there would be mention of some time when the Face of Boe did not actually live in the jar but was free to roam space or fold space or swim around water planets or whatever it is he did before then [and the The Face's identity and history would be at your discretion and according to your personal preference]
...but then I realized that was probably hemming you in a bit much.)
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So here's something ridiculous instead of lovely (spanned over 2 comments!!) ;D
Ianto picks his way through the slushy field and the consistency of the wet muck underfoot changes as he progresses, going from watery mud to a more gelatinous substance that coats his shoes, clear and shiny, making obscene noises as he pulls his feet out of its grip with every step.
There are similar sounds coming from behind him, and Ianto doesn't risk taking his eyes off the ground ahead of him as Owen makes a noise of intense disgust. As Ianto's pace slows further, Owen comes around to flank him--now they're practically wading through the viscous fluid that oozes gradually out from its point of origin. The clear semi-liquid holds chunks of what appears to be glass or perspex, and Ianto avoids touching them.
Owen snaps on his gloves and they both take a couple more slow, ponderous, sucking steps towards the body at the epicentre. At least, Ianto assumes it's a body--it looks sort of fleshy, and appears to have limbs although it's certainly not bipedal. Not that all aliens, or bodies for that matter, are bipedal, of course not. But this mass of wrinkly flesh, draped in limp tendrils, certainly doesn't match any species he can recall entering or reading of in the Archives.
"Looks like it was some sort of tank," Owen says, scowling in concentration and trying to find the path-of-least-slime towards the body. He nods down at the broken pieces of what must have been containing both the creature and its... brine? "Pet?"
Ianto presses his lips together in consideration. "Not exactly cute and cuddly, is it?"
Owen huffs briefly in amusement, but he doesn't look up at Ianto, instead leaning over as he peers closer at the thing--"Oi," he says abruptly. "I think it's still alive!"
Ianto sighs, trying not to feel disappointed--it's so much easier to transport and care for a corpse, after all, and struggles through the clear sludge to share Owen's vantage point. The body appears to be not so much a body as a... a face, unmistakably and alarmingly human in its features, albeit much too large.
Ianto sees what Owen saw, the mouth twitching a little, the eyelids trembling and screwed shut. Only then they open, and Owen swears and startles, the gooey grip on his feet too tight for him to slip, though his body tries.
Ianto can't look away. There's clearly intelligence in the huge eyes, let alone sentience, and Ianto feels at that moment inescapably scrutinised. The rain plastering his sodden hair to his forehead drips down into his eyes and he blinks rapidly.
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"Bloody hell," Owen mutters next to Ianto, slorping his way around to the other side of the huge head. "I don't even know how to take readings off this thing. Is it hurt? Does it have internal organs or what? If it's conscious now, maybe we can get it to communicate. As long as that doesn't involve any tentacling..."
"Hello," Ianto says back, getting in response another twitch of the mouth and--making Owen swear again--a twitch of a tentacle or two. "We're Torchwood. You appear to have fallen through..."
"...A rift," the voice reverberates through his head again, with more amusement. Ianto's not quite sure what's so funny, but finds being awash with such a sensation--and one not his own--mildly exhilarating. "In space and time."
The pace of the voice is slow, and by the time it's finished completing Ianto's explanation Owen is looking at Ianto suspiciously. Ianto ignores him.
"Can you read my mind, then?" he asks, mildly uncomfortable and trying to subtly call upon the psychic training given to him so long ago by Torchwood One.
"Oh great, that's all we bloody need..."
"Not as such."
Ianto finds himself more than a little relieved. "My name is Ianto Jones," he says, and hesitates, wondering how to breach the next topic. Best go broad, he decides, leave it up for interpretation in order to avoid offence. "And you are...?"
"The Face of Boe."
Ianto's brow furrows a little before he can school his expression again. Was that... A species, a name or a body part? The latter seems the most likely, if the fact that the Face seems to be using perfectly good English to communicate has any relation to the physical nature of its species. Ianto wonders just where the rest of Boe's body is, if the face has ended up alone here.
Ianto taps his earpiece, catching the movement of Owen doing the same from the corner of his eye. "Sir."
"Talk to me, Ianto."
"Does 'The Face of Boe' mean anything to you?"
There is an extraordinarily long pause; usually by this point Jack will have changed the subject or even made something up to cover his lack of expertise on a particular area.
When the silence continues but for the background hush of the open line, Owen prompts, "Giant tentacled head, lives in an aquarium. Likes it inside Ianto's head. Ringing any bells?"
There's a strangled sort of noise which, if Ianto hadn't heard it before outside of office hours, he might have thought was a line fault.
"Maybe," Jack hazards, then, "He's alive then? And conscious, I take it?"
"Yes," Ianto confirms, taking in the pronoun Jack uses for it--him--and filing it away, along with the slightly strained quality of Jack's voice.
"Good. Well. I don't think you should bring him into the Hub."
"What? But--" Owen sputters, feet making more slurping noises.
"Sir?"
"It's the tentacles," Jack continues, lying blithely. "That sort of thing ain't my bag, baby."
Ianto scowls despite himself, regretting--not for the first time--that Jack had been provided with the opportunity to see 'Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery'.
"I'm sending Tosh out," Jack continues, oblivious to Ianto and Owen's discomfort. Or maybe not oblivious, but definitely unsympathetic. "She'll take it from here."
The connection cuts off. "Nice suit," the Face of Boe remarks, and Ianto's fairly certain that's a tentacle in his pocket.
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ETA: Hee! omg. I just saw your bookmarking on delicious, I didn't even *think* about the fact that the Excalibur one is snuff fic! I am amused.
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You give good Torchwood.
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That is nice to hear... I am not really in the fandom, and I'm a bit anxious about the reception of my crackfic. Liek, it's long and ridiculous and Jack isn't even in it and it has every pairing EXCEPT Jack/Ianto. So, I have no idea!
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No, me neither, but I think there are plenty of fans whose appreciation of Torchwood isn't really... Jack centric. Crazy, stupid, odontophobic people, yes. But plenty of them. And good crackfic is always appreciated! As long as Ianto is in it, you should do fine.