rec: 1896 by Bad_Dickens
Jul. 20th, 2010 10:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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Hello! I will be reccing this week. I warn you; I have a weakness for Jack Harkness (though I won't be reccing exclusively Jack fics). We begin with a story set in the years between the Game Station and the Torchwood series.
Story:1896
Author:Bad_Dickens
Rating:All Ages
Word Count: 3622
Author's Summary:
As alluded to in 1996, Jack Harkness made the acquaintance of Oscar Wilde. Was he out to kill him or to save him?
Characters/Pairings:Jack Harkness
Warnings: Nond
Recced because:
Mainly because I adore the idea of Jack meeting Oscar Wilde. The fic itself is well-written. It does a good job of portraying the sad circumstances of Wilde's life. You understand the empathy that Jack has for him, not just because he's a famous writer, but because he's so tragically doomed.
“Oh, yes? My verses, my prose, are remembered, are coveted? Oh, what a thing, to influence men’s minds!” He peered at Jack curiously. “I’ve had my palm read, but you, sir, really do not compare. What manner of sibyl are you?” Jack did not immediately answer, and Wilde looked out the window again. “Before my mother’s death, I had a premonition I’d seen her, dressed for going out. I asked her to stay but–Ah! You knew that already!” Jack moved uncomfortably to the far wall, aware of the seconds ticking by. “I could see it in how your eyes changed. Most extraordinary.”
Story:1896
Author:Bad_Dickens
Rating:All Ages
Word Count: 3622
Author's Summary:
As alluded to in 1996, Jack Harkness made the acquaintance of Oscar Wilde. Was he out to kill him or to save him?
Characters/Pairings:Jack Harkness
Warnings: Nond
Recced because:
Mainly because I adore the idea of Jack meeting Oscar Wilde. The fic itself is well-written. It does a good job of portraying the sad circumstances of Wilde's life. You understand the empathy that Jack has for him, not just because he's a famous writer, but because he's so tragically doomed.
“Oh, yes? My verses, my prose, are remembered, are coveted? Oh, what a thing, to influence men’s minds!” He peered at Jack curiously. “I’ve had my palm read, but you, sir, really do not compare. What manner of sibyl are you?” Jack did not immediately answer, and Wilde looked out the window again. “Before my mother’s death, I had a premonition I’d seen her, dressed for going out. I asked her to stay but–Ah! You knew that already!” Jack moved uncomfortably to the far wall, aware of the seconds ticking by. “I could see it in how your eyes changed. Most extraordinary.”