Torchwood fic rec
Nov. 1st, 2009 11:54 pmWe held gold dust in our hands by
amand_r
I actually had to PM the author of this fic in my initial response to it, so intense and personal was my reaction.
One of the things that I think is hardest about getting older, about finding yourself in a life you love, is the realization that stuff never really quite turns out how you expect: happiness does not take the forms we longed for as children; ease and heartbreak sneak up on us in equal measure. Even when our lives are joy, they are also, adamantly, a puzzle.
Someone said to Kali and I in their reviews of IHNIIHBT that ours was the Jack that lives in their heart. And so the Jack in this story is very much mine, or at least, an incredibly well-rendered version of why I identify with the character -- gregarious and jovial, sure, but also fundamentally alone and with a strange sort of perpetual melancholia that may be because of the nature of his existence, or really, may just be his nature. Maybe, out here in the real world, it's just an only child thing -- this feeling of being the center and also being so alone. Or, perhaps, it's just my wacky upbringing, that's left me without a solid home in terms of rules and codes and expectations. I don't really know how to fit in, so I tell stories instead.
Anyway, this is a poly fic -- mainly Jack/Ianto/Lisa in a world where Lisa was not so cyberized, but with Gwen and Rhys thrown in for good measure.
It is the ease you've perhaps always wished for among both friends and lovers -- skills at mind-reading or at least awful pronouncements made at the right time about the right things, and laughter, and not too much thought for any of the why or the what or the scary parts until you've somehow processed it enough unconsciously to fix it all just right.
This is the story of a life I never had, but parts of it I tried to at times. Long ago. And far away. And I could say I failed, but as I listen to the water clattering in the bathroom as Patty takes shower, I can't see any failure at all. After all, I'm right here.
It's 63,000 words, so you better get a move on and start reading.
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I actually had to PM the author of this fic in my initial response to it, so intense and personal was my reaction.
One of the things that I think is hardest about getting older, about finding yourself in a life you love, is the realization that stuff never really quite turns out how you expect: happiness does not take the forms we longed for as children; ease and heartbreak sneak up on us in equal measure. Even when our lives are joy, they are also, adamantly, a puzzle.
Someone said to Kali and I in their reviews of IHNIIHBT that ours was the Jack that lives in their heart. And so the Jack in this story is very much mine, or at least, an incredibly well-rendered version of why I identify with the character -- gregarious and jovial, sure, but also fundamentally alone and with a strange sort of perpetual melancholia that may be because of the nature of his existence, or really, may just be his nature. Maybe, out here in the real world, it's just an only child thing -- this feeling of being the center and also being so alone. Or, perhaps, it's just my wacky upbringing, that's left me without a solid home in terms of rules and codes and expectations. I don't really know how to fit in, so I tell stories instead.
Anyway, this is a poly fic -- mainly Jack/Ianto/Lisa in a world where Lisa was not so cyberized, but with Gwen and Rhys thrown in for good measure.
It is the ease you've perhaps always wished for among both friends and lovers -- skills at mind-reading or at least awful pronouncements made at the right time about the right things, and laughter, and not too much thought for any of the why or the what or the scary parts until you've somehow processed it enough unconsciously to fix it all just right.
This is the story of a life I never had, but parts of it I tried to at times. Long ago. And far away. And I could say I failed, but as I listen to the water clattering in the bathroom as Patty takes shower, I can't see any failure at all. After all, I'm right here.
It's 63,000 words, so you better get a move on and start reading.