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Woooow, I just checked my stats for the first time in a bit…and Starry Night is over 12k hits. I just, thank you, all of you. I had no idea that fic would take off like it did, but I’m glad for all of you that have read it and commented and kudos.
I know things have been quiet a bit on the writing front (except of course the things with the fabulous themadkatter13 which are also great). I’ve got to fill a couple prompts, probably tonight, and well, I just wanted to say thank you..
“Last time I ask you for a favor,” grumbled Jack, rolling out from underneath Ianto’s car. The Captain was covered in grease and engine fluids; he’d have to throw these clothes away. Looking down at himself a smile quirked on his face. “Not the worst I’ve ben covered in, there was this one time…”
“You asked me for a favor, I proposed a trade,” Ianto interrupted him. He was dressed in his weekend clothes, but still managed to look impeccable in jeans and shirt.
“Well she’ll purr like a kitten now,” Jack climbed to his feet.
Ianto’s eyes narrowed. “You might want to hose off.”
Jack took a step closer. Ianto had been lounging agianst the wall, now he started to edge to the side. Jack was quicker, catching a wrist and pulling him in for a kiss. The younger man couldn’t help but melt into his arms. Reaching up, Jack dragged a greasy hand down Ianto’s cheek .
The welshman made a strangled noise and pulled away. “Shower. Or I’ll turn the hose on you myself. Sir.”
Chuckling, Jack started stripping right then and there. “You’re a bit dirty,” he said, “why not join me?”
“I highly doubt there is anyone dirtier than you.”
Ianto gave a low whistle. “I think you missed your calling, sir.”
Jack grinned as he stepped away from the finished cake. “Be around long enough, you learn a few things.”
“Tosh will appreciate it.” Ianto was eyeing the carefully laid icing.
“She’d had a rough year,” Jack said quietly, then caught Ianto by the waist and kissed him soundly. “I do know a few other things you can do with frosting.”
“All of your hobbies seem to lead back to the same place.”
Laughing, Jack led Ianto into his office. In the moment, neither of them remembered to comer the cake. So it was Myfawny that got to enjoy the cake and Jack that had to make an early morning run for a replacement.
And I think this is the final chapter of One Starry Night
I was inspired by this post to write a feelsy Jack Harkness ficlet:
Ocean of Memory
Jack Harkness twitched. He felt like he was falling, memories rushing by like an ocean, reef and shoals trying to slow his descent. With a grunt he landed in dalek dust, alone save a fading screeching echo. He had died to save them. And he had been abandoned. He had died. But he wasn’t dead now. Anger swelled up. He deserved an explanation. He deserved answers.
The memory shifted. A train car, many tiny wings. Alone with death, who had once again passed him by.
A battlefield. Which war? Did it matter? A shell, blinding light. Waking screaming in pain as an unwilling body knitted back together.
Another bomb. Sending them off. A hasty kiss and a promise. But that man couldn’t come back. None of them could. His own grandson’s dying eyes. More names falling behind where he couldn’t reach.
Jack jerked, someone was here, someone was trying to get at his memories.
Training started to kick in, to force the intruder out. Pain lit up his nerves, but pain he could handle by now as he struggled with the invisible foe. The rushing sound turned into water pouring over his head, limbs too weak to struggle for the surface, drowning, sinking, dying again.
He kicked for air. Dirt covering him, smothering him. A few seconds of air, just enough time to know and remember and then he was choking on the weight of the city above.
The intruder was frustrated. So many memories to sort through. Good. Jack fought. He always fought. Tooth and nail and whatever weapons he had at hand. One time he used a tractor.
There. Not death, love. Hands seemed to bear him up. The faces were faded with time but their touch was familiar. Lovers, friends, never was, could have beens. But they were here, too, and love could be stronger than death, especially when carried by a man who was all too familiar with both.
Gritting his teeth, Jack roared back to consciousness, yanking the device off his head. The humans standing next to him stepped back in fear. “What do you want?” he asked. They looked between themselves. Jack took another step, dizzy, almost stumbling. One of them reached for his arm just as the door was kicked open. Jack smiled, grateful. His team, the family he had in this time and place.
One of them moved to his side while the others quickly subdued the scientists. “You okay?” the man asked.
Jack leaned in and kissed him. This moment, this love, to one day be filed away with all the rest. “Now I am.”
They finished the clean up quickly, Jack still leaning on his team.
They stepped out under the stars and he glanced up at them, one for every memory, twinkling in the darkness.
Fandom: SherlockPairing: Mystrade
Rating: Explicit
Summary: A milkshake, a cherry, an old crush, and a new opportunity collide. Literally.
Additional Tags: Greaserlock, Greaser!Greg, Nerd!Mycroft, Omegaverse, Omega!Greg, Alpha!Mycroft, background Johnlock, Top!Mycroft, bottom!Greg, insecure!Mycroft, Anal, Anal Sex
Read it on AO3
Melancholy – Sherlock is one of his black moods. John is there to offer comfort.
teaser below the cut
John woke slowly. His addled mind took a few moments to process what had awakened him. Music. Violin. Something soft and slow and unspeakably sad. Sherlock. John lay in the darkness, just listening, staring at the ceiling of his attic room. It had been a few weeks since a good case, and while John had secured all the firearms, it hadn’t stopped Sherlock from sinking into more and more of a sulk. It had even got to the point of John getting Sherlock out for an afternoon just so Mycroft could sweep for drugs. And now this, for the fourth night in a row.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, John got out of bed and wrapped his robe around himself. He padded down the stairs. Sherlock was facing the window, lost in his music. He hadn’t changed out of his pyjamas and robe in almost a week. Quiet as a churchmouse, John slipped into the kitchen and got the kettle going. Outside, the city was quiet, given the hour, only the haunting music echoing down his bones.
When the tea was done, John carried it out to the front room. He set one mug on the coffee table for Sherlock and curled up on the couch, leaning against the arm while he sipped his own, just watching the slender figure before him. Sherlock swayed slightly as he played, eyes closed, but John knew that he was aware of his presence.
Finally, Sherlock brought the piece to a close. He carefully set the instrument down in his chair and picked up his mug, stepping over the coffee table and settling on the other end of the couch, mirroring John in the way he tucked his legs up. The city quiet settled around them, distant traffic and the occasional barking dog. John reached his foot out and rested it against Sherlock’s.
John finished his tea first, setting his army mug on the coffee table before sliding down to put his head on the arm rest, stretching out to put his bare feet in Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock looked down at the feet in his lap, set his striped mug aside, then rolled to the side and shifted up until he could lay his head on John’s stomach. The soldier played idly with the dark curls, watching him. It felt like the detective belonged here. Sherlock took a deep breath and released a sigh, seeming to go boneless as he relaxed.
“Jack.” Castiel whispered his name. Not the name of his birth, a name chosen for a time and place far away. A name he’d expected to discard as soon as he finished using it. But the name had clung to him, had taken roots. It was the name the Doctor had called him, and Rose. The name he had died carrying. The name he had taken into another century and eventually to meeting his very namesake. It was as much a part of him now as the strap on his wrist and the coat on his shoulders and the never-ending life in his blood and bones. And on Castiel’s lips it was a prayer and a promise. [x]
iamianto gave me a fantastic prompt and I ran with it:
The Sound of Wings – The sound of wings could thrill him almost as much as the sound of the TARDIS…
And Chapter 7 of One Starry Night is up. One more left, methinks.