Every year I do a post of all the bits of fic I couldn't find a place for. Some stand alone pretty well; most are just starts I don't have the interest or energy to finish.

Cullen struggles with his lyrium addiction. Some days are better than others. Or (if you prefer a silly summary for a not-so-silly fic): In which Cullen is suicidally depressed, Dorian is a high-functioning alcoholic, and Bull just wants them both to be happy, except when he wants to crack their heads together for being emotionally stunted idiots.

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Keith stood under the hot spray of the shower head, his eyes closed as he focused inward, trying desperately to regain some sense of composure. He wasn’t quite certain what was wrong with him today; he was the one moving out of sync in their training exercises, he’d run himself into an invisible maze-wall so hard he was dizzy for a quarter hour after it, and he swore he could still feel the static jolt under his skin. When Shiro had touched his shoulder, eyes concerned, his touch was like a fresh electric current and Keith had yanked himself away.