Being entirely unable to sleep, I wrote a fill for Hold Me: A Comfort Fest: "The Dead, the Wide-Eyed and the Legless." Too much of the rest of this post was Tiny Wittgenstein, on account of being awake round the clock, and has been edited accordingly. I write fic on an average of once every year and change and had not written for Torchwood before. Either it takes place late in season two or I am ignoring the existence of the second-season finale; Owen is undead and Tosh is having a rough time in the aftermath of something I had to keep from turning into casefic. I can't believe "Mycology" is not an official tag on AO3.
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- 1: Is this your name or a doctor's eye chart?
- 2: And they won't thank you, they don't make awards for that
- 3: No one who can stand staying landlocked for longer than a month at most
- 4: But the soft and lovely silvers are now falling on my shoulder
- 5: What does it do when we're asleep?
- 6: Now where did you get that from, John le Carré?
- 7: Put your circuits in the sea
- 8: Sure as the morning light when frigid love and fallen doves take flight
- 9: And in the end they might even thank me with a garden in my name
- 10: I'd marry her this minute if she only would agree
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