bluecastle: (Default)

Title: Home is Where the Heart Is.
Characters: Ianto, Gwen, Rhys
Word Count: 1677
Rated: G for Gwen and every good thing.

In honor of Gwensday, here’s a little thing I’ve been working on and was inspired to finish. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that it makes my NaNo total for the day…  Thanks for that Gwennie.

fic hiding here under the covers... )
This entry was originally posted at http://valancy-joy.dreamwidth.org/135076.html
bluecastle: (ianto pinstripe)
I know many of you who read this might find your thoughts straying to Ianto Jones over the next couple of days. Or maybe not... but either way, I was trying to figure out if I wanted to mark this one year anniversary-of-sorts in any way. I don't know that I do. But in thinking about things I remembered I had saved this screencap from ... what... Day in the Death or one of those in that arc ... because I loved all the bits that surround Ianto's work station. The wine glasses, the orange juice, the beer, the array of cleaning fluids. :D

So I offer up a screencap for your enjoyment. Bonus points if it sparks fiction of any kind. Like someone write me something that explains those hydroponic lettuce growing things. Does Ianto keep a little organic rocket going for a nice after Weevil salad??? Organic weed? What? The mind, it boggles.

So have fun kids. The devil's in the details ... so enjoy this dance with the devil...



(I wish I knew where I grabbed this screencap from, and how I could make it bigger... but I don't)
bluecastle: (ianto pinstripe)
Title: Heated
Rating: PG for dark themes.
Notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] tw100  Challenge 157, Heat.
Summary: doing what must be done, no matter the cost, is what Torchwood is here for.

I'm not sure whether I'll expand this at some point, but I've been mulling over this story idea thanks to this set of comments...


He stood in cold storage, watching the temperature dial creep upwards. He ignored his hangover, concentrating instead on what the Brigadier had said to him in the smoky shadows of that London pub.

"Sometimes we have to do the things that they cannot do for themselves..."

Ianto wasn't about to feel guilty for killing someone who had caused Jack so much pain.

"Your brother loves you," he said to the man lying before him. "I don't have that luxury."

He tasted copper in his mouth as he turned and walked away, leaving only the sound of his footsteps behind him.
bluecastle: (ianto red smirk)

Title: They Who Sit in Darkness
Author:
[info]valancy_joy 
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairing: Ianto, Jack, mentions of team
Rating: R
Word Count: 2500
Warnings: Dark themes. The usual sorts of trauma one finds when Torchwood is involved.
Prompt: "After the events of Cyberwoman, Ianto returns to Torchwood 3 in order to bide his time and get his revenge."


Notes:
This is and isn’t the Torchwood we saw on screen, so consider this an AU.
 
 
They Who Sit in Darkness )
bluecastle: (ianto pinstripe)

(I sort of fell off the 7 Deadly Sins wagon... but I had a brainstorm and this is what emerged)

There’s hungry, and then there’s hunger. A kid who’s grown up on the dole, a teenager scraping by as best he can on his own, a refugee from terror. Take him up, give him the things he’s never had. Ready money. Abundance. The company credit card. So when his job is buying the food, his secret pleasure is buying the best of the best. Even cannibals can’t stop him from hungering after the finest cut of steak. It’s not compensation, but when there are no limits, the heart dares to dream, and his dreams are ripe, and he is replete.


bluecastle: (ianto pinstripe)

Title: The Noiseless Tune to Which We Tread
Author: [personal profile] valancy_joy 
Rating(s): Adult
Pairings: Ianto/Suzie, Ianto/Jack, Ianto/OC, Ianto/Lisa.
Word Count: ~3,000
Warning(s): Set in the hours after They Keep Killing Suzie, although the memories are from everywhen. Thematically inspired by CoE, but no direct references to it.
a/n: Post CoE, I think we have a much wider pool to play in when it comes to Ianto. In some sense, now, anything goes. So in noodling around with the notion that Ianto is a lying liar who lies... I started to wonder about some of those moments of his life when he felt he needed to hide from the truth.
beta'd by: The marvelous [livejournal.com profile] neifile7  and today's birthday girl [personal profile] amand_r . Rockstars both. You were my very first beta readers! Credit must also be given to some very helpful advice over at TWU!
 
Summary: For Ianto Jones, reality is what you make of it.
 
Disclaimer: The sand and the sandbox belong to RTD and the BBC. The sandcastles are mine.
 

THESE are my scales to weigh reality,— 

A dream, a chord, a longing, love of Thee. 

Real as the violets of April days, 

Or those soft-hid in unfrequented ways; 

Real as the noiseless tune to which we tread         5

The measure we by life’s old song are led; 

Real as man’s wonder what his soul may be,— 

A guest for time or for eternity. 

Real as the ocean, seen, alas! no more, 

Whose tide still beats along my heart’s inshore.         10

These are my scales to weigh reality,— 

A chord, a dream, a longing, love of Thee!

 

"Reality" by Martha Gilbert Dickinson

bluecastle: (suzie)

Title: Tea with Jam
Pairing(s)/ Characters: Suzie, Ianto
Warning(s): sarcasm hurts like a bitch.
Word Count:  just above 200
Disclaimer: The sand and the sandbox belong to the BBC. The sandcastles are mine.

Summary:  Suzie trains Ianto up right.

a/n: Just a little doodle that I wrote that amused me... so I thought I'd stick it out there for general hilarity. This pairing is making my brain hurt in good ways...
 

“Stop limiting yourself,” I told him one afternoon not long after he started. “Right now you’re just calling yourself a researcher. The information is out there to be found, and you have the skills to find it. Now get going.”

 

“Come on. Surely, outside of spy films, no one REALLY knows things like first pet’s names.”

 

“London, I could tell you the name of your first pet, your polytech locker combination, the brand name of your first bicycle … and … your school nickname. You don't want me to prove that assertion."
 

“There’s no way…”

 

He always needed to do things the hard way.

 

“Frank. What kind of name is that for a goldfish? 36-5-12, Raleigh, and …”

 

“Don’t say it!”

 

“Then get to work and find me some information I can use … Jammie.”

 

When we got back from retrieving an errant Traxian Transponder, the information I needed, and more, was sitting on my worktop underneath a small plate of Jammie Dodgers. Tucked under one of them was a note that read:
 
“Q.
 
Make sure you eat the evidence.
 
J.
 
p.s. My goldfish was great pet. Until Frank sank."
 
Damn Jack's instincts. This one definitely has possibilities.
bluecastle: (ianto)

Title: Wanted
Rating: PG-ish
Word Count: 853
Pairings: Mostly it's just Ianto but there is some Ianto/OFC
Spoilers: Set before Ianto's Torchwood One employment.
Summary: Ianto has been searching for meaning for a long time now...
bluecastle: (Default)

Title: Smoke Rings
Fandom: Torchwood
Word Count
: 443
Character(s): Ianto


a/n: I was trying to find a way around a bit of writers block the other day, so I googled up some photos of Cardiff Bay, and since I’ve been thinking about and reading a lot of post Cyberwoman fics, somehow this turned into a piece set right before the final scene with the nod. Also, with some chat about whether Ianto might smoke, I found that him having a bad habit might be a good thing for him from time to time. So here’s a short but bittersweet little thing.

Smoke Rings

Ianto made his way across the pier in the early morning sunlight. He pulled his topcoat tighter around him and adjusted the strap of the messenger bag slung over his shoulder as the wind whipped off the bay. His mind was whirling with “what ifs” and he had gotten through the day so far mainly on habits formed long ago in another city altogether. Up before the alarm, bathe, shave, suit and tie, toast and tea. He felt no urge to impress, so the suit he’d selected was the first one his hand closed around in his wardrobe, an unremarkable gray. His tie was subtle tones of gray, and he had wrestled a white shirt from among the dry-cleaning he had finally had a chance to pick up. The newspaper on his doorstep had been dropped, unopened, into a trashcan on his way to his car.

The clock tower above him chimed the quarter hour, and Ianto stopped. He knew he had to turn the corner and walk across the Plass and down the steps to the tourist office. He also knew he had plenty of time. It was still early. There was now no longer any reason to slip quietly into the Hub with some excuse or another for his early arrival. He listened to the engrained admonishment he carried in his head, a legacy from his father. “Never keep ‘em waitin’ lad…” said the voice. He knew there were things to be done. But on this morning, he paused.

He crossed to the railing, and gazed out over the bay. There were a few fractious gulls fighting overhead and a pair of swans gliding across the water, stopping now and then to smooth feathers ruffled by the gusty morning breeze. At the touch of his hands on the slim, cold, round metal, he froze feeling panic clawing at him, threatening to overwhelm, and he dug in his coat pockets and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Turning his back to the water, he hunched over so he could light his cigarette sheltered from the wind. After a few deep satisfying puffs he returned to watching the sunlight glint off the ripples of the water, resting his cloth covered elbows carefully on the railings.

He had nearly finished his first cigarette and was contemplating lighting another one when his phone rang. He dropped the cigarette, and crushed it with his shoe as he pulled out his phone. He didn’t need to look at the caller ID. He simply answered it with a crisp, “Yes Sir?” as he walked away from the sunlight and into the shadows.

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