Longing makes the world bright and the yearner blind, he knows, but even without his want soaking through and staining it, he thinks— he would be sure.

Ian likes to be helpful. Adam needs a whole lot of help.

There's rules that go with being Adam's errand boy -- sort of workplace regulations. Be there whenever he needs you, don't mess with his stuff, don't ask annoying questions.

"Whatever you want," Nathan finds himself saying when his shirt comes off over his head and his glasses hit the nightstand — like he's talking to himself, which he might as well be. "Don't think about it like should, or shouldn't. Don't think. Don't fucking try and figure it out. Come on. You can keep your shirt on."

There are other ways to engineer a crisis in Gilead.

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.

"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".)

Ask meme drabble written for this challenge. Prompt: Kate Bush, a deal with God.

Susan's on the loose, and Falco walks right back into an old cage.

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.