“I thought it was supposed to be warm on this planet,” Ahsoka says, pulling her jacket a little tighter around her shoulders.

Jango's eyes flicker up, down, up again, and it’s meant to be dismissive, but Shaak knows wariness when she sees it, and it makes her smile just a little. “Lady, I just tried to put a slug through that fancy headdress of yours.” With a chuckle, Shaak takes a step closer. “Fett, I've been a Jedi for decades. If I held a grudge against everyone who had tried to kill me, I would have more enemies than you.”

“No,” Padmé says, breathless but full of iron. “Hands on the floor.”

This was supposed to be a vacation.

The Ghost Valley and Prince Jin's forces have been at war for a while now; but there was nothing to suggest the Valley was so close to infiltrating the palace. Nothing, until they were flooding the grounds and taking captives. Nothing, until the Ghost Valley Guzhu himself laid eyes on Zhou Zishu and deemed him a worthy prize. *Don't be a sore loser, Wangye. To the victor go the spoils.*

“Are you going to kill me right here, Mand’alor?” Obi-Wan manages. Fett freezes, his hold loosening, and shoves away from him as if burned, getting to his feet. Obi-Wan coughs, looks up to where the man is watching him with some strange mix of emotion. His shields are exceptionally strong, for a null. “There is no Mand’alor,” Fett says finally, and walks right out of the room. (Or: 15-year-old Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker crash-lands on Kamino on the one day a cycle when the seas are calm and the storms abate. At the time, he doesn’t think much of it. Later—much later—he will come to see it as an omen.)

“Oh,” Jaster manages, and it cracks right in half.

“I can’t believe you ruined my boots,” Leia says, outraged, and pushes Dooku’s face further into the mud.

Shen Qingqiu's /r/relationships post.

Meet the Queens of Gusu’s Drag Race Season 5! by QIN SU Oh my god, we’re back again. Hot on the heels of the shocking finale of season 4, Gusu’s Drag Race is back, with perennial judge Lan Qiren, Gusu’s grumpiest shufu, and featuring the return of the grandmother of drag Baoshan Sanren. And this season is already promising one. “We’ve never had such a strong cast of refined, professional queens. It has the makings to be the greatest season of Drag Race yet.” Big talk for the Emmy-award-winning show that has shot dozens of queens to fame, bringing drag to the mainstream. “The mainstream may be taking notice, but there’s nothing mainstream about drag done right,” says co-host Baoshan Sanren. “Drag is about disobedience. It’s rebellious and anti-mainstream by its very definition, and we’ve got some queens this season with the chops to prove it.” With all that to look forward to, let’s Meet the Queens who’ve already captivated our judges.

A generous allowance from his parents or Wei Wuxian in his life: Jiang Cheng would make the same choice a thousand times over, but his grad school stipend is barely enough to support himself, let alone the two of them. An arrangement with an older man might keep his head above water—if he doesn't wade in too deep.

Shang Hua really lucked out being reborn as the much-coddled son of one of the most ferocious demon matriarchs of the north. There are only a few, minor, inconsequential downsides.

Xie'er goes viral dancing a drunken tango with a stranger. It's probably Wen Kexing's fault. (The competitive ballroom AU you didn't know you needed.)

“Stiles, what happened?” Derek says as sternly as he can (which isn’t very). Nevertheless, there is a pause on the line, and a small sigh. “I was just…having some Stiles personal time, you know? And…I may have gotten something stuck. Um, in me.” “In you?” Derek says incredulously. “What do you…oh.” Enlightenment strikes. “Like, in your…” “Yes, in my butt!” Stiles snaps.

Upending a base full of slavers was supposed to be a straightforward mission. Agen was unprepared for abduction, cloned armies, and the dark edges of the mystery that surrounds them, stretching back a thousand years. Though, in fairness, Alpha wasn't at all prepared for Agen, either.

Very occasionally, the captain of a hockey team goes into heat and needs to be lovingly gangbanged by his team to knock him up with as many babies as possible. This year it's Sid's turn.

“You know how I said I, uh. Spend a lot of time in the lake? Back home?” “Yes,” Zhenya said cautiously. Yes, Sid had told Zhenya that he was an inhuman fish creature. Zhenya had mostly recovered.

Percy has a problem. Annabeth wouldn't help him. All his other brief girlfriends or one night stands wouldn't help him. Luckily, his bro Jason is willing to step up to the plate and ensure that Percy is having all of his needs met.

“I dunno, I just—” Tony wrung his hands and dropped his head as tears began to well up, overwhelmed. “I don’t—” “Oh, baby boy,” Steve said. “Why didn’tcha come ‘ta me earlier?” Tony whimpered, frustrated. Steve sighed and began to unbuckle his pants. "Don't ya worry now," he promised, rucking up Tony's dress. "I give it ta you, promise."

Roy - thanks to a series of events going exponentially FUBAR - is in Dazhen. He wasn’t due back for another three months, but given that he wasn’t supposed to become a fucking vampire for another eighteen or so either, it’s safe to say that scheduling concerns are not his first priority.

I like to daydream about Mustang and Ed's stupid adventures in diplomacy after they've taken control of the country. Emphasis on stupid. Ed is trans because 1) because and 2) silentwalrus' headcanons have seeped into the groundwater at this point.

Ed doesn't know how he got himself into this situation. And by situation, he means dancing the lead role in a ballet he barely knows.

Stiles is born with red eyes.

Every part of this is incredibly improper. Then again, the fact that it’s her and him is improper to begin with, so objecting on those grounds would really be closing the barn door after the horses.

Meng Shi was no ordinary prostitute; she was a Courtesan. When Sect Leader Jin threw her out she knew better than to think he was worth her, or her baby's, time. Meng Yao knows this and take a different route to gain influence in the Cultivation world. One that leads him to some similar places, and people, and some very different outcomes.

“Would you believe that I’m a saber spirit?” the ghost asked. “Or maybe an ancestor?” “No,” Nie Mingjue said. He did not put down the exorcism talisman. The ghost sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.” Before Nie Mingjue could do anything more, the ghost rushed at him – taken aback, Nie Mingjue flinched, and when he opened his eyes again the ghost was gone. He still pinned the talisman onto the swaddling wrapped around his baby brother, who was grumbling in sleepy dissatisfaction at having been nearly woken up. He wasn’t taking any chances with his brother’s health.

Wen Ning has lived as a sentient fierce corpse for about four hundred years. Going back in time could have been an accident, but isn't.

From the other end of the ship, panting as though he has run from the depths of his workshop, Usopp is the next to let out a scream: “Why is there a SHARK ON THE DECK!?”

Chantress, elrohir multivoice (elrohir), Jet_pods (Jetainia), Kitsune_Heart, mistbornhero, sPODghetti (RainingPrince), with (bluedreaming)

This whole thing had started back in their first year in the league, when Alex had dragged Sydney out drinking with what looked like every Russian in New York City after one of their million joint press-and-photo-shoot events. Everyone wanted a piece of the first two women to play in the NHL, and if they could take a piece of both of them at the same time, so much the better.

Alex is giving him a confused look, and Sid realizes that he has failed to ask a pretty basic question. “Alex? Have you done this before? Not heat, obviously, just—been a guide, had a guide, whatever.” Alex smiles – a sardonic, twisting thing. “Don’t you know, Sidney Crosby? I’m bad, terrible captain, most selfish alpha, won’t be heat-guide like good Canadian captain.” He laughs, and it sounds more like a cough. “I’m think everybody know, they talk about so much.”

Sid’s gotten pretty used to total strangers asking him what he’s trying to prove, or telling him he wasn’t raised right, and they always expect it to bother him. He doesn’t tell them he hears much, much worse on the ice. When shit gets even worse than usual—when a ref calls him a brat when he’s arguing a call, when another team’s goon tries to put him on his knees five times a game—he sits on the bench and presses down on his chest protector, feeling the shape of the captain’s ring on its chain around his neck, until he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Sid’s never had a dom, not even for a night, but he has his team, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“Is normal,” Geno says firmly. “Nealer has stupid hair, Tanger has dumb tattoos, Sid has no dick.” Sid laughs. “I have six dicks, I don’t wear them for hockey,” he says.

Sid came over for dinner a few nights later with an unanticipated bouquet of pink roses and hovered by the kitchen island while Zhenya put the flowers in water. Zhenya’s heart pounded in his chest. Flowers were a clutching gift; pink flowers— “Geno, uh,” Sid said, and Zhenya’s hands trembled slightly as he fussed with the blossoms. “I know it’s way too soon, but. Do you want to?”

sea_salt_waves said: I've been having all these feelings lately about a human Geno falling for sexually-repressed incubus!Sid who pays sex workers to jerk off for him and has never been in a relationship before, with all kinds of insecurities and pining… ... I didn't stick to the prompt perfectly, but it was definitely my inspiration. I hope you enjoy!

Geno was in pre-heat when he showed up at the rink: Sid could smell it on him. Geno swanned into the locker room with his head held high, kind of glowing with self-satisfaction, and smelling ripe with it, right on the edge of tipping over.

The package arrives the day after Sid gets back to Pittsburgh. Sid recognizes the discreet wrapping, and the lack of a return address is so obvious they might as well have printed Sex Toys R Us all over the damn box.

Peters clapped him on the shoulder. "Try to find a way to...if not relax, then decompress. Take a day for yourself once in a while, don't worry about hockey or school or anything." Sid hesitated. "Is that an order, or...?"

“Sid,” Geno says. “Team lonely.”

Five minutes later, he sits back on his bed, pillow clutched triumphantly in his hands. Patrick is splayed out across his own bed, breathing hard with his hair curling out in five different directions. Jonny smugly clicks the television off with the remote, and then tosses the pillow next to him so he can climb under the sheets. Patrick sits up after a minute, tucks his hand under his chin and abruptly swipes his hand out into a point, straight at Jonny, with a glare. Jonny blinks, and then Patrick translates. It figures the first thing Jonny’d learn in sign language is 'fuck you'.

Jonny doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be doing this, but there’s a contract, there are rules, and he’s got as little of a choice as Patrick does.

In which Sharpy bothers Jonny with his camera, and Jonny, well, likes it a lot.

Jonny shows Patrick how it works. And by "it", I mean his dick. Jonny's, but temporarily Patrick's.

Sid’s been dropping subtle clues for years, it feels like, but Geno’s never picked up what he’s thrown down. So when the perfect opportunity presents itself—well, he’d have to be an idiot not to take advantage. The conversational topic is Things That Have Disappointed You in the Bedroom. Sid has this all wrapped up, to be honest. “Guys with big dicks,” he says flatly, and Tanger spits his beer all over the table. (OR: The Bedroom Adventures of Sidney Crosby, Troll)

In which Geno is a famous porn star and Sid needs money to pay for hockey gear. “Did you just introduce yourself to my ass?”

Geno doesn’t quite understand why Sid likes to keep sex to a minimum during the pre-game period. Sid claims that he likes to focus on just feeling his muscles move and thinking about getting his head in the right space to play. Geno would much rather just get off. As a result, Geno can’t really commiserate with Sid about how his sex drive picking up is a problem, which might make him a bad boyfriend, except for the fact that he totally accepts being cut off for a lot of the play-offs so he’s an excellent boyfriend, thank you very much.

“Patrick,” Jonny cuts in. He’s breathing too hard. “You’re not supposed to touch me because I hurt people. My touch. It hurts people.” “Well, you didn’t hurt me,” Patrick says, flopping onto the bed.

Geno and Sid are stuck missing the All-Star Game because they've had their genitals temporarily rearranged. It happens. They make the breast of it.

Jonny’s prostate is a gift from the gods. Patrick’s patience, also.

Jonny pretty much knows when he’s playing well. Pat likes to tell him anyways. (In which Kaner needs to chill.)