anotherusedpage

No real warnings.

It’s not the big things he wants to change. He’s not after altering the course of the history; he knows that that goes bad places. It’s the little things. He could be responsible for inventing the wheel – it was going to get invented anyway, everyone knows that. And it’s not that he wants to take credit, nothing like that. It’s just the urge to meddle.
Which is why he never goes looking out famous people from the past. The temptation is always too great to create one of those time-looped-paradox things, by pointing out to Shakespeare that all the world’s a stage, for example, or going up to Beethovan and humming the first two bars of the fifth. Actually, humming the fifth at Beethovan wouldn’t do it, what with the deafness; now he’s remembered that the urge is strong to head over to eighteenth century Germany and hum ‘da da da dummm!’ at the top of his voice outside the great man’s bedroom window, knowing it won’t make the slightest bit of difference difference.
The end of the nineteenth century and turn of the twentieth makes him nervous. There are too many people who move in the circles he moves in, when he moves in those circles. He harbours for a brief moment the thought of making his presence known to Dear Oscar in the hopes that Dorian Grey was him all along. He’s not sure what holds him back, exactly. After all, there’s nothing in the history books to say that the start of Britain’s queer aesthetic couldn’t have been sparked off by a time traveller from the fifty-first century.
He’d like to kid himself that there’s something of nobleness in it. The idea that people can find their own way.

Fandom: No real fandom. You could count it as historical people lack-of-slash I suppose...
Disclaimer: Oscar belongs to himself, and to posterity, and to Art. Jack, Jack still belongs to people who are not me.