;i've got the world on a string.
(Source: 666hailjesus, via talks-in-tongues-and-quiet-sighs)
I dreamed of waking in my own bed last night. In my own flat, with the early hours filtering through my blinds in a greyish light, and the warmth of Jack curled up quietly next to me. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took, my cheek resting against his sternum as I slowly slipped in and out of my sleep. It was the best I’d felt in what seemed like ages until I woke up.
I wasted no time mulling over my dream sequence, avoiding the risk of getting caught up in possibility, rather than solid fact. Instead, I began rifling through the few items I’d managed to pull through the Rift with me. I still wonder if my journey here used the Rift as my vehicle, or if it was something much more than a splinter in space and time.
Taking an extra look at my vortex manipulator, I found something peculiar, and a little bit encouraging. At least, it got me much more curious about the capabilities of it. There was a spare button that I hadn’t used before; one that, I believe, could possibly be some sort of S.O.S. signal. Of course, I couldn’t help myself in the heat of the moment, and I pressed it. From what I know, nothing happened. It made no sound aside from the soft ‘click’ as I pressed it. I could have done anything from send out a sign to the Doctor, or Cipher, or Jack, or I could have somehow destroyed a civilization.
I’m really hoping Cipher didn’t install the latter.
- IJ.
(Source: finnickcriss, via talks-in-tongues-and-quiet-sighs)
Ever since writing yesterday, I feel like whatever hope I had of returning back to my universe has left me. Disappeared, or rather snatched out of my arms and locked into each word I scrawled onto this paper. The food I eat is a little blander. The skies seem darker - more overcast than usual. My clothes hang heavy on my shoulders. My entire body feels chilled, and all I want is to be home, or in bed. I’m finding it harder to see the genuine happiness within others, let alone myself. For the first time since I first arrived, I’m feeling wholly depressed.
Lynn, the mother of the family, noticed I look a little paler today, and wondered if I was coming down with something. I brushed it off politely and returned to my room to wallow for the rest of the day. It was then I’d gathered up the courage in myself to flip back to previous pages in this journal, and the ache that rattled my sternum increased tenfold. So many memories; friends, family, lovers… I’d gone as far back as my first travel to modern Cardiff. The feelings then compared to now are practically carbon copies of one another.
I’ve been trying to get my head screwed on correctly by using this day as a time of self-rehabilitation. So whether or not when I do get back, I’ll have some sort rational thoughts through my head.
I’m being called for dinner. Do I ever feel like a boy again, being called by a mum for my supper. Strange, but soothing. At least there’s something to numb out the pain while I’m here. When I return, I’m going to take a better look at that vortex manipulator Cipher gave me and the rest of my belongings. Maybe I’ll find something.
I may be out of hope, but I’m not giving up quite yet.
- IJ.
You’ll forever have a place in my heart, Gwen.
(Source: askwalouisa, via bracesnobowties)
It’s been weeks upon months of emotional disorientation, like an ebb and flow of waves that try to knock me off-balance in reminder that I’m not where I belong. I’m not home. I’m somewhere else.
Sitting down and writing this is just so familiar. As if it’s another re-occurrence of when I passed through the Rift my first time; how I could feel myself passing through that barrier of time and space, a numbness seeping through my veins and leaving my body victimized to a power on a much larger scale than human life itself. Waking up dazed, and apprehensive, yet still curious. Realizing I’ve been torn out of yet another set path I’ve created for myself and being thrown mercilessly into another timeline, a destiny - or another universe. The only difference is this time, I’m a little more prepared.
I know what I’ve been facing. How to adjust, and readjust, and learn what I’m subjecting myself to when I conform to something. One thing I have yet to let settle is the aching stir in my chest when I think about home. What is home, now? How do I define it? Have I been placed into the shoes of a traveling man, forever against my will?
I suppose this is why I’m getting this out on paper. All of my ludicrous predictions of what’s gotten me here are flooding through my pen to rid my mind of the irrationality. Time to get a few things straight:
My name is Ianto Jones. I am 28 years old. I am no longer within my own universe. I have been here for 68 days. Where I am, there is no Torchwood. From what I know, there is no Doctor - or at least not yet. I am currently living with a kind Welsh family in Llanelli until I get back on my feet. And I am apparently a skilled refugee.
I also miss home greatly. And Jack. I miss Jack.
- IJ.
PS. Help.
imagine an entire room and it’s all bed
no floor, just bed
you roll too far to one side? don’t worry, bed’s still there
all is bed
(via talks-in-tongues-and-quiet-sighs)
I couldn’t hold back. Noah was like, “I brought OJ back.” and then,
I GOT THE ITCH.
*pounces you* I missed you! *giving bone crushing american hug that feels like you’re being hugged by an over enthusiastic russian mother*
MY POOR CANADIAN BONES! Hahaha. I missed you too! I missed all of you!
*lets go* Just tell me when Cipher needs to rescue Ianto and we shall go in that direction.
Ah, yes, yes. Will doooo.
I couldn’t hold back. Noah was like, “I brought OJ back.” and then,
I GOT THE ITCH.
can… can i scratch it
I don’t know. Ever since that mannequin incident…
