For the prompt of Adrian being a big nerd, him being a small nerd about something that isn't Egypt or Alexander for once. When Adrian Veidt is twelve years old, he discovers Homer's Iliad.

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.

Fowler and Bennett lock horns, again.

"You have hairier feet than a satyr."

"Don't be an idiot, Achilles, they've got hooves."

"Hairier than a satyr's ass, then. And they stink."

Krennic contemplates the dizzying array of interplanetary sexual diversity. Galen is mortified.

There are other ways to engineer a crisis in Gilead.

“We raised a child together,” Jiang Wanyin says, voice thick with pain. “You two were sworn brothers.” He swallows hard and oh. Oh, no. Lan Xichen is not ready for this conversation. He is never going to be ready for this conversation. “And because of what he did, there is nowhere outside this room that either of us can mourn him.”

Lan Xichen has been in seclusion for half a year, healing, he thinks, from the way his world was upended that night in a temple in Yunping…

They were old stones, the stones that buried Leporino, the boundary markers of a rustic edifice or a low wall. They might have tumbled down the ravine under the weight of last winter’s snow, or at an unlucky push.

(Written for cygnes and the prompt: the secret history au where it's a jacobean revenge tragedy.)

Tris and Four take a detour.

Sing, o Muse, of the wrath of a philosophy major upon realizing his roommate/boyfriend has borrowed his copy of Fear & Trembling and has no intention of giving it back. Scenes from one highly troubled semester.