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mclachlandSilver-Studded Blue
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mclachlan
Torchwood, post season 2
Jack/Ianto
Summary: If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. And the Twenty-First Century is when everything changes.
Author's Notes: Just an odd, little ficlet that I wrote on my lunch hour today.
"If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies." -- Unknown
then.
His father had taken him to Carn Edward, hoping the beauty and the quiet of the Preseli Hills would snap him out the funk he'd fallen into after his mother's death. It hadn't solved anything, but it had helped. For the first time since Aderyn Jones departed from the world, he'd felt something change, something shift under his feet. At eight years old, Ianto had thought the entire earth had stopped and changed course, spinning just for him, him, standing atop a craggy boulder in Carn Edward, the open plains laid out like a banquet before him, billions upon billions of stars above him, his father sleeping soundly in their single tent.
The first morning after the earth changed for him, Ianto spotted a smattering of color in an otherwise drab landscape of greens and granites, fluttering in the mouth of a tiny bird.
"Oi!" He shouted, picking up a pebble and throwing it with frightening precision. The bird dropped its prey and took to the sky, squawking angrily. He exhaled through his nose, a mighty warrior like King Arthur, and went to find his spoils.
"Smashing blue," he whispered, breathless with wonder and creeping closer for a better look. It sat on a patch of heath, waiting quietly for the sun to break free of its confines and rise over the horizon, the first rays of light thrashing out of their restraints to paint the sky. Awed, he watched its wings open and shut, tiny feathers rippling like ocean water on a calm day, shaking off the attack.
"You're beautiful," Ianto murmured, breathless, bending to rest on his knees and reaching a little hand out to touch it, pulling it back as it shuddered away. "I'm sorry. Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."
He looked around.
"Where's your mam? You shouldn't be all alone."
It said nothing, and he nodded at its pointed silence, sympathetic.
"Me mam's gone, too." He smiled weakly, hoping it knew that he wasn't just humoring it. "I miss her. She was pretty, like you."
It rose up from the refuse, all liquid grace in the morning air, and came to rest on Ianto's shirt, settling over his heart, the heart that now beat with the rhythm of a swiftly-spinning planet.
"Well, seems you've found a friend." His father climbed out of the tent, the shadows that had dominated the space under his eyes lifting, and Ianto nodded slightly, too afraid to move lest he dislodge the creature. His father came to stand at his son's side, peering at his chest. "Your grandfather used to collect butterflies. That's a Silver-Studded Blue -- it's a rarity to see them here this time of the season. Although this one's coloring is a bit odd."
It wasn't odd at all. Ianto had never seen anything so exquisite. It was like something out of the fantasy books his mother used to love, spun from moonlight and the soul of the land, hiding from the rest of the world in peat bogs, living off wildflowers and the hope that it may not be the only one of its kind. Hoping that it would be accepted for the things it was, the things it wasn't, for being a little bit odd.
Ianto understood.
"Butterflies are symbols of change," his father said, and Ianto twisted his head around.
"Because it's a caterpillar first?"
His father smiled. "That's one kind of change, but did you know that they also have the power to change the world? If a butterfly flaps its wings in China, it will create a tornado in America."
Ianto glanced down at his chest, his heart pounding. Maybe it was responsible for changing the rhythm of the earth. He didn't doubt that this little thing could create a storm somewhere else.
"If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. And change is coming for you, so you've got to be ready."
Apparently having tired of the adulation, the creature pulled away from the warm wool of Ianto's sweater and launched itself into the sky, regarding its curious sycophants for a moment before turning and gliding away. Ianto watched it go, heavy-hearted.
His father stood up straight and smiled, patting his boy on the head and then moving away, climbing back into the tent. "I think we ought to head toward Cerrig Lladron. It's just up that way. Maybe we can have lunch there before we head back home."
The butterfly disappeared into the dawn, and Ianto stood on a new Earth, knowing that wherever it was going there would be tornadoes elsewhere.
now.
"It's heading east, into Carn Edward!" Ianto shouts into his earpiece, wishing he'd worn something other than his good shoes on this mission. The ground is particularly damp, the soles of his Florsheims sinking into peat, excess moisture causing the grip on his gun to become insecure. He curses and leaps over a rock that sticks out toward the sky like a missile, the sudden lift giving him a better look at the thing that's running nearly twenty feet ahead on all fours.
Werewolf. Even after all he's seen, Ianto still finds that he can be surprised, especially when Jack'd rung him while he'd been standing in line at Fortune House, hoping they didn't bollocks up Gwen's order of fried rice (they always gave her white), telling him to forget the Chinese and start heading West toward Pembrokeshire. There had been an influx of terrified calls to police departments in the area, people claiming that a wolf-thing was killing sheep and attacking the locals. Ianto, with many apologies to the owners, canceled the order and found himself on M4 toward Bridgend.
Jack had given him a gun once they met up, six silver bullets in the chamber.
"This would be easier, not to mention safer, had we more team members, Jack," he'd said, and Jack flinched, promising for the eighth time that day that he would go over the CVs piling up on his desk.
No one would ever replace Owen and Tosh, no one. But they needed the extra man-power.
As he runs, Ianto smiles slightly. Owen would be making a 'Werewolves of London' joke right about now.
"We're here. I can see you."
"How did you manage to get the SUV up?" He shouldn't be talking, losing his concentration. The werewolf is gaining speed and he hastens to stay quick and steady.
"With great difficulty. Movie when we get back?"
Ianto rolls his eyes and uses another jutting stone to launch himself further. He's gaining. "It must be nearly two in the morning by now. The cinema is closed, Jack."
"Not that kind of movie." Ianto can hear Jack wink before the call ends, leaving Ianto to fire off a single shot, the bullet glinting in the moonlight like a star before curving around the creature, nearly hitting it, a small patch of heath exploding with the wayward shot. He curses; it had been too close. The bullets are only to be used as a last resort. Jack and Gwen are waiting with tranquilizers, and the Hub is waiting for their return, a nice cell with the creature's (Rhun Gethin, 42-year old, stock broker, wife and four children) name on it.
Up ahead, he can make out the tall silhouette of Jack, a wraith against the backdrop of the full moon, and Gwen at his side, smaller, darker, compact. They make a beautiful picture and he grips the handle of his gun tighter, promising himself silently that he will not fall into anger, into bitterness, not now. Not tonight.
"Ianto!" Jack's shout cuts through the hush of the Preseli with all the force of a meat cleaver against the soft flesh of a bared throat, and the werewolf is startled into a pause. Ianto slows, gun drawn, mere feet away from the thing, studiously ignoring how the moonlight catches the glimmer of crimson on the bared teeth, blood that may have belonged to the little boy it'd bitten earlier that night, a little boy whom had never asked for such a burden. Ianto can still see him lying in hospital, bleeding profusely from his arm, whimpering in pain.
There's a breath, a sighing gasp, the land beneath him breathless with anticipation, and the wolf spins in a perfect arc, time slowing down so he can see the way its fur ripples under the moonlight, fields of wheat bowing in adulation to a gentle wind, and then it's running for him, slicing through the air as it lunges, claws outstretched for him, teeth parting and dripping with blood. Ianto's forefinger slips on the trigger, the briefest hesitation that will cost him so dearly, and he stumbles back, the wet sole of his expensive shoe missing the step. He falls back with a surprised cry and the wolf leaps --
"IANTO!"
But the blow never comes.
Hovering before him, wings beating softly, is --
He watches, eyes wide, as the werewolf scratches and snarls at the invisible shield that is preventing it from capturing its next victim. He can see into its mouth. Ianto sits up and scrambles backward, dropping the gun, shocked into uselessness.
A quiet click echoes through the night air, and the werewolf's enraged howl tapers off into a whine as it slips bonelessly to the ground.
Jack aims his gun at the fallen beast, making sure the tranquilizer will hold, and then glances up to make sure no harm has befallen his secretary. Satisfied, he looks down at the werewolf. Pauses. Looks up again.
Blue and silver gossamer flutters before him, and Ianto whispers, "Smashing blue…"
"Ianto," Jack says quietly, urgently, the sound as loud as a firecracker in the Preseli night, disturbing kestrels from their hunt for field mice. He lifts his gun, taking aim. "Ianto, don't move."
"Jack, don't." Ianto shakes his head and presses a hand against the barrier, feeling buoyant air between his fingers, like a satin cushion, like his favorite pillow that always seems to find its way beneath Jack's head come morning.
"Jack, what --" Gwen gasps, eyes reflecting the glow of the butterfly as it grows. Limbs made of light slide out of the elongated torso, arms and legs far too long, the tails of comets and shooting stars, brilliant and big as any celestial creation. It holds out an arm, a hand, to Ianto.
"Don't you fucking touch him." The words are syrupy slow, and the terror on Jack's face would be comical if the situation were different. "Ianto, you need… Christ, please don't touch it. It's Eilirr. Don't move at all."
"It's okay, Jack. We've met before."
Jack falters. "… That isn't possible."
Ianto looks away from the abject fear in Jack's eyes to the butterfly, the Eilirr. Smashing Blue. He smiles up at it and stands, leaving his gun, the only means of defense he has, on the ground. And for a moment, he's eight years old again and the earth has changed course under his feet, just for him.
The glowing ball of light where the Eilirr's head should be tilts. Am I still beautiful?
Ianto smiles and feels no fear. "Very much so."
"This is impossible," Jack says again, shaking his head, and the moonlight in his eyes drawing out the ice blue to utmost brilliance, like cat eyes in the night. "This is impossible. Eilirr don't do small talk, or big talk, or any kind of talk. They kill, and that's it. Ianto, you need to get back, get down."
The shield falls -- Ianto can feel its gentle hum whisper across his shoulders before it fades -- and he stands as a free man willingly in the presence of what Jack believes to be a monster. But it is beautiful, even after all this time. Beautiful, and holding out a hand to him.
"You saved me," he murmurs. The Eilirr shivers, its limbs undulating.
A debt, repaid.
"You remember. You remember me."
You were kind.
Jack lowers his gun, jaw slack. He shakes his head. "Ianto, what is it talking about?"
He feels it then, stopping and then changing course beneath his filthy shoes, shifting and shuddering until it finds a comfortable groove, spinning gently with something like a relieved sigh. The earth has moved for him once again, seas bowing before him, golden sand running parallel to the pounding of his heart, a synergistically brilliant feeling that lights him up inside.
But this time, he's not alone in it.
"Ianto," Jack says again, and the Eilirr turns to look at Jack, the light rippling.
He is kind.
Jack lifts his chin, in defense or pride Ianto doesn't know. "He is."
The Eilirr sighs, a great wafting breath that flows across Ianto's cheeks, curving around him to slip easily into the Preseli night, giving wings to little things, giving air to those without. It rises, arms extending outward to embrace the stars, and there comes the sound of a thousand beating wings.
Hundreds, thousands, millions of Silver-Studded Blues melt from the grass, the peat and the darkness, wings fluttering, countless tornadoes and hurricanes spinning into being as a result. They catch the light of the full moon, reflecting, refracting, flying together into the sky.
Can you not feel it? The Eilirr breathes, in wonder, in relief. Change.
Jack wastes no time and rushes to where Ianto stands, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him tightly, feeling him up and down in a surprisingly non-sexual way. Reassurance. Disbelief. Ianto turns his face to the sky and watches as the wings come together to form a writhing, undulating ribbon that soars for the moon, for whatever lies beyond.
"Change is coming," Jack whispers, the old words coming back to him. This is when it comes. This is when everything changes.
Change is already here.
The earth spins only for him, so Ianto nods. "And we're ready."
The arms and legs fade, folding into each other, until there's nothing left except a tiny butterfly that flaps its way into the great expanse that hangs above them like a velvet blanket, disappearing among sparkling diamond worlds and innumerable forevers that wait.
His friends are dead, his future uncertain, and there is an unconscious werewolf at his feet.
Ianto exhales and smiles.
"I'm ready."
By
mclachlanTorchwood, post season 2
Jack/Ianto
Summary: If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. And the Twenty-First Century is when everything changes.
Author's Notes: Just an odd, little ficlet that I wrote on my lunch hour today.
"If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies." -- Unknown
then.
His father had taken him to Carn Edward, hoping the beauty and the quiet of the Preseli Hills would snap him out the funk he'd fallen into after his mother's death. It hadn't solved anything, but it had helped. For the first time since Aderyn Jones departed from the world, he'd felt something change, something shift under his feet. At eight years old, Ianto had thought the entire earth had stopped and changed course, spinning just for him, him, standing atop a craggy boulder in Carn Edward, the open plains laid out like a banquet before him, billions upon billions of stars above him, his father sleeping soundly in their single tent.
The first morning after the earth changed for him, Ianto spotted a smattering of color in an otherwise drab landscape of greens and granites, fluttering in the mouth of a tiny bird.
"Oi!" He shouted, picking up a pebble and throwing it with frightening precision. The bird dropped its prey and took to the sky, squawking angrily. He exhaled through his nose, a mighty warrior like King Arthur, and went to find his spoils.
"Smashing blue," he whispered, breathless with wonder and creeping closer for a better look. It sat on a patch of heath, waiting quietly for the sun to break free of its confines and rise over the horizon, the first rays of light thrashing out of their restraints to paint the sky. Awed, he watched its wings open and shut, tiny feathers rippling like ocean water on a calm day, shaking off the attack.
"You're beautiful," Ianto murmured, breathless, bending to rest on his knees and reaching a little hand out to touch it, pulling it back as it shuddered away. "I'm sorry. Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."
He looked around.
"Where's your mam? You shouldn't be all alone."
It said nothing, and he nodded at its pointed silence, sympathetic.
"Me mam's gone, too." He smiled weakly, hoping it knew that he wasn't just humoring it. "I miss her. She was pretty, like you."
It rose up from the refuse, all liquid grace in the morning air, and came to rest on Ianto's shirt, settling over his heart, the heart that now beat with the rhythm of a swiftly-spinning planet.
"Well, seems you've found a friend." His father climbed out of the tent, the shadows that had dominated the space under his eyes lifting, and Ianto nodded slightly, too afraid to move lest he dislodge the creature. His father came to stand at his son's side, peering at his chest. "Your grandfather used to collect butterflies. That's a Silver-Studded Blue -- it's a rarity to see them here this time of the season. Although this one's coloring is a bit odd."
It wasn't odd at all. Ianto had never seen anything so exquisite. It was like something out of the fantasy books his mother used to love, spun from moonlight and the soul of the land, hiding from the rest of the world in peat bogs, living off wildflowers and the hope that it may not be the only one of its kind. Hoping that it would be accepted for the things it was, the things it wasn't, for being a little bit odd.
Ianto understood.
"Butterflies are symbols of change," his father said, and Ianto twisted his head around.
"Because it's a caterpillar first?"
His father smiled. "That's one kind of change, but did you know that they also have the power to change the world? If a butterfly flaps its wings in China, it will create a tornado in America."
Ianto glanced down at his chest, his heart pounding. Maybe it was responsible for changing the rhythm of the earth. He didn't doubt that this little thing could create a storm somewhere else.
"If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. And change is coming for you, so you've got to be ready."
Apparently having tired of the adulation, the creature pulled away from the warm wool of Ianto's sweater and launched itself into the sky, regarding its curious sycophants for a moment before turning and gliding away. Ianto watched it go, heavy-hearted.
His father stood up straight and smiled, patting his boy on the head and then moving away, climbing back into the tent. "I think we ought to head toward Cerrig Lladron. It's just up that way. Maybe we can have lunch there before we head back home."
The butterfly disappeared into the dawn, and Ianto stood on a new Earth, knowing that wherever it was going there would be tornadoes elsewhere.
now.
"It's heading east, into Carn Edward!" Ianto shouts into his earpiece, wishing he'd worn something other than his good shoes on this mission. The ground is particularly damp, the soles of his Florsheims sinking into peat, excess moisture causing the grip on his gun to become insecure. He curses and leaps over a rock that sticks out toward the sky like a missile, the sudden lift giving him a better look at the thing that's running nearly twenty feet ahead on all fours.
Werewolf. Even after all he's seen, Ianto still finds that he can be surprised, especially when Jack'd rung him while he'd been standing in line at Fortune House, hoping they didn't bollocks up Gwen's order of fried rice (they always gave her white), telling him to forget the Chinese and start heading West toward Pembrokeshire. There had been an influx of terrified calls to police departments in the area, people claiming that a wolf-thing was killing sheep and attacking the locals. Ianto, with many apologies to the owners, canceled the order and found himself on M4 toward Bridgend.
Jack had given him a gun once they met up, six silver bullets in the chamber.
"This would be easier, not to mention safer, had we more team members, Jack," he'd said, and Jack flinched, promising for the eighth time that day that he would go over the CVs piling up on his desk.
No one would ever replace Owen and Tosh, no one. But they needed the extra man-power.
As he runs, Ianto smiles slightly. Owen would be making a 'Werewolves of London' joke right about now.
"We're here. I can see you."
"How did you manage to get the SUV up?" He shouldn't be talking, losing his concentration. The werewolf is gaining speed and he hastens to stay quick and steady.
"With great difficulty. Movie when we get back?"
Ianto rolls his eyes and uses another jutting stone to launch himself further. He's gaining. "It must be nearly two in the morning by now. The cinema is closed, Jack."
"Not that kind of movie." Ianto can hear Jack wink before the call ends, leaving Ianto to fire off a single shot, the bullet glinting in the moonlight like a star before curving around the creature, nearly hitting it, a small patch of heath exploding with the wayward shot. He curses; it had been too close. The bullets are only to be used as a last resort. Jack and Gwen are waiting with tranquilizers, and the Hub is waiting for their return, a nice cell with the creature's (Rhun Gethin, 42-year old, stock broker, wife and four children) name on it.
Up ahead, he can make out the tall silhouette of Jack, a wraith against the backdrop of the full moon, and Gwen at his side, smaller, darker, compact. They make a beautiful picture and he grips the handle of his gun tighter, promising himself silently that he will not fall into anger, into bitterness, not now. Not tonight.
"Ianto!" Jack's shout cuts through the hush of the Preseli with all the force of a meat cleaver against the soft flesh of a bared throat, and the werewolf is startled into a pause. Ianto slows, gun drawn, mere feet away from the thing, studiously ignoring how the moonlight catches the glimmer of crimson on the bared teeth, blood that may have belonged to the little boy it'd bitten earlier that night, a little boy whom had never asked for such a burden. Ianto can still see him lying in hospital, bleeding profusely from his arm, whimpering in pain.
There's a breath, a sighing gasp, the land beneath him breathless with anticipation, and the wolf spins in a perfect arc, time slowing down so he can see the way its fur ripples under the moonlight, fields of wheat bowing in adulation to a gentle wind, and then it's running for him, slicing through the air as it lunges, claws outstretched for him, teeth parting and dripping with blood. Ianto's forefinger slips on the trigger, the briefest hesitation that will cost him so dearly, and he stumbles back, the wet sole of his expensive shoe missing the step. He falls back with a surprised cry and the wolf leaps --
"IANTO!"
But the blow never comes.
Hovering before him, wings beating softly, is --
He watches, eyes wide, as the werewolf scratches and snarls at the invisible shield that is preventing it from capturing its next victim. He can see into its mouth. Ianto sits up and scrambles backward, dropping the gun, shocked into uselessness.
A quiet click echoes through the night air, and the werewolf's enraged howl tapers off into a whine as it slips bonelessly to the ground.
Jack aims his gun at the fallen beast, making sure the tranquilizer will hold, and then glances up to make sure no harm has befallen his secretary. Satisfied, he looks down at the werewolf. Pauses. Looks up again.
Blue and silver gossamer flutters before him, and Ianto whispers, "Smashing blue…"
"Ianto," Jack says quietly, urgently, the sound as loud as a firecracker in the Preseli night, disturbing kestrels from their hunt for field mice. He lifts his gun, taking aim. "Ianto, don't move."
"Jack, don't." Ianto shakes his head and presses a hand against the barrier, feeling buoyant air between his fingers, like a satin cushion, like his favorite pillow that always seems to find its way beneath Jack's head come morning.
"Jack, what --" Gwen gasps, eyes reflecting the glow of the butterfly as it grows. Limbs made of light slide out of the elongated torso, arms and legs far too long, the tails of comets and shooting stars, brilliant and big as any celestial creation. It holds out an arm, a hand, to Ianto.
"Don't you fucking touch him." The words are syrupy slow, and the terror on Jack's face would be comical if the situation were different. "Ianto, you need… Christ, please don't touch it. It's Eilirr. Don't move at all."
"It's okay, Jack. We've met before."
Jack falters. "… That isn't possible."
Ianto looks away from the abject fear in Jack's eyes to the butterfly, the Eilirr. Smashing Blue. He smiles up at it and stands, leaving his gun, the only means of defense he has, on the ground. And for a moment, he's eight years old again and the earth has changed course under his feet, just for him.
The glowing ball of light where the Eilirr's head should be tilts. Am I still beautiful?
Ianto smiles and feels no fear. "Very much so."
"This is impossible," Jack says again, shaking his head, and the moonlight in his eyes drawing out the ice blue to utmost brilliance, like cat eyes in the night. "This is impossible. Eilirr don't do small talk, or big talk, or any kind of talk. They kill, and that's it. Ianto, you need to get back, get down."
The shield falls -- Ianto can feel its gentle hum whisper across his shoulders before it fades -- and he stands as a free man willingly in the presence of what Jack believes to be a monster. But it is beautiful, even after all this time. Beautiful, and holding out a hand to him.
"You saved me," he murmurs. The Eilirr shivers, its limbs undulating.
A debt, repaid.
"You remember. You remember me."
You were kind.
Jack lowers his gun, jaw slack. He shakes his head. "Ianto, what is it talking about?"
He feels it then, stopping and then changing course beneath his filthy shoes, shifting and shuddering until it finds a comfortable groove, spinning gently with something like a relieved sigh. The earth has moved for him once again, seas bowing before him, golden sand running parallel to the pounding of his heart, a synergistically brilliant feeling that lights him up inside.
But this time, he's not alone in it.
"Ianto," Jack says again, and the Eilirr turns to look at Jack, the light rippling.
He is kind.
Jack lifts his chin, in defense or pride Ianto doesn't know. "He is."
The Eilirr sighs, a great wafting breath that flows across Ianto's cheeks, curving around him to slip easily into the Preseli night, giving wings to little things, giving air to those without. It rises, arms extending outward to embrace the stars, and there comes the sound of a thousand beating wings.
Hundreds, thousands, millions of Silver-Studded Blues melt from the grass, the peat and the darkness, wings fluttering, countless tornadoes and hurricanes spinning into being as a result. They catch the light of the full moon, reflecting, refracting, flying together into the sky.
Can you not feel it? The Eilirr breathes, in wonder, in relief. Change.
Jack wastes no time and rushes to where Ianto stands, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him tightly, feeling him up and down in a surprisingly non-sexual way. Reassurance. Disbelief. Ianto turns his face to the sky and watches as the wings come together to form a writhing, undulating ribbon that soars for the moon, for whatever lies beyond.
"Change is coming," Jack whispers, the old words coming back to him. This is when it comes. This is when everything changes.
Change is already here.
The earth spins only for him, so Ianto nods. "And we're ready."
The arms and legs fade, folding into each other, until there's nothing left except a tiny butterfly that flaps its way into the great expanse that hangs above them like a velvet blanket, disappearing among sparkling diamond worlds and innumerable forevers that wait.
His friends are dead, his future uncertain, and there is an unconscious werewolf at his feet.
Ianto exhales and smiles.
"I'm ready."
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:06 am (UTC)I loved the language you used, and how Jack recognizes the 'butterfly' for what it is instantly.
Nice touch with the werewolf, and all the small details (the restaurant messing up Gwen's order every time, Ianto's wool sweater) really made the whole story very rich.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:19 am (UTC)Jack's protectiveness is adorable as always. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 04:00 am (UTC)One slight Britpick: "Mom" should be "mum", probably "mam" in Ianto's case due to the Welsh accent. Just a heads up. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 04:03 am (UTC)i give up
that was beautiful
it gave me goosebumps!
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 05:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 08:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 09:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 09:20 am (UTC)It was Lovely ! I love all small details find their way into the grand scheme.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 09:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 10:52 am (UTC)I loved this and will favourite it for future re-reading.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 11:01 am (UTC)Lovely job :)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 01:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 01:58 pm (UTC)Your descriptive writing is excellent, although I have to say I found there was a lot of it.
Your explanation of the shows intro, very well thought out, into an excellent story.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 02:43 pm (UTC)