For whack_a_muse: 005 Help Me Out Here (spoilers for 2.05)
Help me out here...
Because either I've gone completely mental in the head or someone's been playing a trick on me.
I've just found this diary entry on my computer, and there's no way in seven kinds of hell that I wrote it. What kind of fuckery is this? I did not, have not, nor will I ever write such complete and utter drivel as is quoted below:
I finally did it. I finally plucked up my courage and told Toshiko exactly how I feel about her.
She took it pretty well, I think.
Actually, she's still a bit stunned by my outburst. I'm not usually so forcefully outspoken. I did rather spring my declaration on her. So I suppose her reaction is to be expected under the circumstances. I don't know what came over me, it was like I was a bottle of ginger beer and someone had shaken me really hard and then popped my lid off. I just couldn't contain my desire for her any longer, and spewed everything forth. And made a bit of a mess of it. I honestly can't blame her for telling me it was inappropriate behaviour. I was quite surprised and alarmed at myself, actually. I'm usually such a stickler for things having their proper time and place. But mother always said you have to seize the day and so I did. Sort of.
Even though Tosh stormed off and left me to finish the analysis on my own, I think that eventually she'll come to see just how right we are for each other. I just have so much love to give. It's practically bursting out of me. These longings, this awful yearning inside must find its remedy and I'm determined to prove to her that I am indeed worthy of her love and respect. That my devotion is pure and steadfast in nature. Not something venal and inconstant. And it shall never waver, nor diminish. No matter who she shags, or how often she tells me that I look like a rodent.
Because deep down, I know that we are meant to be. We are like two entangled pairs of atoms. Attuned to one another on the quantum level. When she is happy, I am happy. When she hurts, I hurt too.
No one can appreciate Tosh as much as I do. I can feel it when she enters a room, smell the scent of her perfume, her shampoo. I can hear the rustle of the fabric of her silk top, the clackety clack of her stiletto boot heels on the metal stairs. The slight sheen of sweat on her top lip when the ventilation isn't working is completely mesmerising to me. I know all the minutiae about her that make her special and unique. Which reminds me I should inform her that her next round of alien influenza shots is scheduled for next Wednesday week.
He doesn't appreciate Tosh's resplendent beauty and gentle compassionate heart the way that I do. He doesn't listen to her, and tell her she's brilliant and remarkable the way that he should. He doesn't deserve to have her. To be allowed to touch her shapely form in an intimate way, night after night. To make her curl her toes and get goosebumps and all the other things I've read about. Oh, I could just....bloody well...give him a right telling off for taking her so much for granted. Pillock.
And now I've gone and ruined it. Perhaps I should write her a poem. A haiku. Try to smooth things over. Or get her some flowers. Women always appreciate flowers, right?
I have to go now. Jack wants us to report back our findings about the box. But we haven't any conclusive results. Still, rather an eventful day, though, I must say.
So 'fess up. Who did it? Who hacked my login and password details and left that abomination on my computer?
Is this one of your quaint little welsh jokes, Ianto? Because funny? So not. It's just plain sick. Fucking disturbing, in fact. I now have the desperate urge to flush my eyeballs out with ammonium chloride.
I'm feeling dirty. And not in the good way, either.
Muse: Owen Harper
Fandom: Torchwood
Word count: 718
Because either I've gone completely mental in the head or someone's been playing a trick on me.
I've just found this diary entry on my computer, and there's no way in seven kinds of hell that I wrote it. What kind of fuckery is this? I did not, have not, nor will I ever write such complete and utter drivel as is quoted below:
I finally did it. I finally plucked up my courage and told Toshiko exactly how I feel about her.
She took it pretty well, I think.
Actually, she's still a bit stunned by my outburst. I'm not usually so forcefully outspoken. I did rather spring my declaration on her. So I suppose her reaction is to be expected under the circumstances. I don't know what came over me, it was like I was a bottle of ginger beer and someone had shaken me really hard and then popped my lid off. I just couldn't contain my desire for her any longer, and spewed everything forth. And made a bit of a mess of it. I honestly can't blame her for telling me it was inappropriate behaviour. I was quite surprised and alarmed at myself, actually. I'm usually such a stickler for things having their proper time and place. But mother always said you have to seize the day and so I did. Sort of.
Even though Tosh stormed off and left me to finish the analysis on my own, I think that eventually she'll come to see just how right we are for each other. I just have so much love to give. It's practically bursting out of me. These longings, this awful yearning inside must find its remedy and I'm determined to prove to her that I am indeed worthy of her love and respect. That my devotion is pure and steadfast in nature. Not something venal and inconstant. And it shall never waver, nor diminish. No matter who she shags, or how often she tells me that I look like a rodent.
Because deep down, I know that we are meant to be. We are like two entangled pairs of atoms. Attuned to one another on the quantum level. When she is happy, I am happy. When she hurts, I hurt too.
No one can appreciate Tosh as much as I do. I can feel it when she enters a room, smell the scent of her perfume, her shampoo. I can hear the rustle of the fabric of her silk top, the clackety clack of her stiletto boot heels on the metal stairs. The slight sheen of sweat on her top lip when the ventilation isn't working is completely mesmerising to me. I know all the minutiae about her that make her special and unique. Which reminds me I should inform her that her next round of alien influenza shots is scheduled for next Wednesday week.
He doesn't appreciate Tosh's resplendent beauty and gentle compassionate heart the way that I do. He doesn't listen to her, and tell her she's brilliant and remarkable the way that he should. He doesn't deserve to have her. To be allowed to touch her shapely form in an intimate way, night after night. To make her curl her toes and get goosebumps and all the other things I've read about. Oh, I could just....bloody well...give him a right telling off for taking her so much for granted. Pillock.
And now I've gone and ruined it. Perhaps I should write her a poem. A haiku. Try to smooth things over. Or get her some flowers. Women always appreciate flowers, right?
I have to go now. Jack wants us to report back our findings about the box. But we haven't any conclusive results. Still, rather an eventful day, though, I must say.
So 'fess up. Who did it? Who hacked my login and password details and left that abomination on my computer?
Is this one of your quaint little welsh jokes, Ianto? Because funny? So not. It's just plain sick. Fucking disturbing, in fact. I now have the desperate urge to flush my eyeballs out with ammonium chloride.
I'm feeling dirty. And not in the good way, either.
Muse: Owen Harper
Fandom: Torchwood
Word count: 718