In Egypt, the emperor sleeps poorly.
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.)
Tom and Peter, partners in disguise.
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.
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.
The least Nathan can do at this stage in the proceedings is show Caleb a good time.
There are other ways to engineer a crisis in Gilead.
On the road, after the walls come down. Tris looks for answers; Peter looks for an ending.