Crash needs Ginger. Ginger wants Crash.

Richie finds himself in an undesirable situation. Or: bloodsucking Geckos in bondage.

Hickey and Dr. Stanley hook up in the coatroom at Carnivale. The costume stays on.

“Has no one done this for you?” Jin Guangyao asked, eyeing Xue Yang in the mirror.

Tris and Four take a detour.

Will Graham is very, very tired.

There in that white-gilt bedroom like a tomb, where I believe none of Gatsby's guests had ever before set foot except by mistake — none until Daisy, and I was only her adjunct and proxy, an accessory to her presence there in the house. He had forgotten about me then. He had forgotten about me now. I was his only witness.

"Don't," he says, thin and strangled — no, not strangled, really. Smothered. The word hardly left his throat at all, and if John hadn't been so close, just about on top of him in an enclosed space, he might never have heard.

(For the Tumblr prompt "things you said while you were driving".)

It's two years before Ginsberg goes back to Manhattan. Somehow he didn't picture it happening like this.

Michael and David and Star, forever.