Somewhere Ages and Ages Hence [Doctor Who/Torchwood]

TITLE: Somewhere Ages and Ages Hence
FANDOM: Doctor Who and Torchwood
LENGTH/RATING: 187 words, PG-13, Ten/Jack (yes it's possible to have PG Slash, now shush)
SUMMARY: Written for drabbles Day 8 Prompt: Song/Poem: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, but horribly, horribly too long... *mourns*


I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Jack's younger the next time the Doctor sees him, centuries younger and still flaunting that unabashed joy in life he never seems to lose. Time travel plays merry havoc with personal continuums and it's hard not to tell him go away, stay away, stop before she breaks you... because the Jack that was and the Jack that is are nothing but distorted images, ripped to pieces by the weft and weave of time.

But Jack is Jack, warnings will only guarantee the inevitable, so the Doctor turns to leave.

"Do I know you?" There's a hand on his arm and blue eyes, earnestly confused.

"Not yet."

There's the flash of a smile, and it's not what he meant, but it's how Jack takes it, and the Doctor already knows he'll be forgotten, because he's already been forgotten, so what does it matter?

The future can wait, just a little bit longer.

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And Thus Avenge The Rose [Highlander]

TITLE: And Thus Avenge The Rose
FANDOM: Highlander
LENGTH/RATING: 100 words, PG, Gen
SUMMARY: I blow the faithless butterfly against / The rose-red thorn, and thus avenge the rose; Written for drabbles Day 14 Prompt: Song/Poem: Said the West Wind by Isabella Valancy Crawford.

( It's a game-- it's *the* Game, but it's only because they keep playing. )

Assorted WIPs of uncertain heritage

*pokes Muses*

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Day 12 Prompt: Noun/Object: Vine (Ivy/Weed/Grape)

It's grown while he was gone, enveloping the house in coppery green leaves that glint in the fading sunlight. He reaches out, to pull down the strand that hangs precariously along the door frame, and she bats his had away before the posion has a chance to do much more than blister.

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Day 17 Prompt: Random Wikipedia Entry: Wax Tablet

Blackboards and wax tablets remember what you wrote, long after marks are wiped away. He leans his forehead against the cool stone, these walls hold slate not false veneers of paint and plastic, and wonders what would happen if stone could speak.

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Creations Lovely as the Work of Sleep

Day 1 Prompt: Song/Poem: Written With a Pencil Upon a Stone In The Wall of The House, On The Island at Grasmere by William Wordsworth

She sees him less often in her dreams, as if somehow he's unmade himself. Which isn't true--can't be true, he's not that powerful, not here.