Depa takes one step into the council chambers and stops dead, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Granta Omega fully intended to die on Korriban, and he did. Then he woke up again. It's getting to be an unfortunate theme.

jaskier has three things: an unstoppable libido, a limitless imagination, and the continent's sexiest traveling companion. sometimes, this leads to certain accidents. they become a little less accidental over time. or: five times jaskier accidentally orgasms because of geralt, and one time he comes very much on purpose.

Sanji will just go knock. Appease his own sense of responsibility, get yelled off, and come back to his own bed knowing he tried. It’s the least he owes the frustrating marimo, as crewmates; to at least make sure he’s got options.

“He wasted food?” Was Sanji’s predictable response. “Nah, it didn’t go to waste,” Luffy assured him. “After Helmeppo left, Zoro made me pick up the dirty smushed up onigiri and feed him it all anyway! Then he told me to tell Rika it was delicious.” “Huh.” Sanji got up, looking thoughtful as he turned back to the kitchen. The rest of the crew still looked fascinated by the story of Zoro’s recruitment. (or the strawhats learn for the first time how zoro joined the crew and sanji takes the news… differently.)

Despite literal years of Zeff badgering Sanji and trying to get him to give up being the sous-chef at the Baratie and go on his own adventures already, Sanji refuses. He owes Zeff his life, his past and future, everything he can give the old man—he's not leaving. His occasional excursions elsewhere and back are just temporary ('internships,' Zeff calls them), and he always eventually returns home. This time Sanji visits Tottoland, excited to learn from the culinary envy of the world, but he encounters a lot more trouble there than he expects in Charlotte Katakuri.

Sanji Black, Executive Chef and owner of Le Tout Bleu, successfully defends his restaurant and its customers from aggressive paparazzi one evening with style. A video of the fight goes viral, though, and one of the celebrities in the center of the whole mess develops quite the intense—and public—crush.

Newly reunited and fresh into the New World, the Strawhats split up again briefly to chase rumors of the Mera Mera no Mi. Zoro and Sanji are assigned the long con: whispers place the Devil Fruit in the Lumo Archipelago under the care of Roland Vane, ex Level 6 prisoner of Impel Down. Vane is a recluse and only accessible monthly at pretentious wine tasting parties hosted at his mansion, and only his exclusive group of friends are invited, all queer couples who also enjoy boring cheese plates and even more boring art. The obvious solution is to fake having a husband.

Once upon a December... Roronoa Zoro, left winger for the Mugiwara hockey team, meets figure skater Sanji at the rink and it's hate at first sight. Throw in an unfortunate Secret Santa assignment, and it's the perfect recipe for holiday hijinks on ice.

Sabito backs up from the table a little, presses his hands against the floor in front of him, and bows so deeply that his forehead almost brushes the tatami. “Please take me as your husband.” Giyū’s glad that Sabito waited until after he’d finished eating, because otherwise he would have probably choked on something in surprise.

When it comes to Pudding, Sanji is happy to be in the palm of her hand. (Or not, as is more often the case.)

The planetary security forces have captured a Sith, and Maul has nothing but a bad feeling about this.

Nathaniel Wesninski is six years old when his first soulmate mark comes in.

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

He can’t even blame Neil. He wants to, it would be so easy to, but even if it was Neil’s fault that Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about it, Andrew had been the one to bring it up. Mostly by pulling a thick, ridged black dildo out of his drawer one day and saying, “I want to fuck you with this. Yes or no?”

"Never have I ever wanted to kiss Neil."

The rise and fall of the Minyard-Josten Rivalry. Usually when Neil starts shit in a post-game press interview, he does it on purpose. This time, he really just meant for it to be a joke. “How do you feel about the possibility of ending up on a team with a former Fox teammate?” is the next question. “Great,” Neil answers, sincere. “I would love to play with Matt or Kevin again.” “What about Minyard? Would you sign with Atlanta?” Neil says, “Andrew? He’s a nightmare.” He knows it’s a joke. His team knows it’s a joke. Andrew will know it’s a joke. The press does not seem to know that it’s a joke.

What's a guy to do when he's forced to go to his conservative, homophobic aunt and uncle's for Thanksgiving dinner? Why, invite along his ex-con, tattooed, argumentative roommate as his fake boyfriend, of course.

Jeremy Knox and the soulmate. Guest starring: Exy, a transfer student, generalized anxiety, older sisters, drunk lesbians, bread, cake, a shed, the beach, the absence of Hennessy, Star Wars, Renee Walker, self-taught smooth talking, gratuitous French, No. 1 Trojans fan Kevin Day, relationship drama, general drama, the power of Friendship, questions, answers, team spirit!, and, of course, romance.

“Have you considered the possibility that Neil has chosen you, but believes you have not chosen him?” Renee says. "Have you ever explicitly told him what you want?” “Neil knows what I want,” Andrew snaps. This is not Andrew’s fault. “How do you know?” Because Neil always knows. He is as fluent in Andrew’s micro-expressions as he is in German and French. He knows which head tilts mean “go on” and which ones mean “shut up.” Without ever asking, he learned what it meant to see Andrew wearing double layers of long sleeves, or taking multiple showers in a day, and learned to hand Andrew the car keys. That has always been the most terrifying thing about Neil — his patience to wait, watch, listen, learn. The prospect that if Neil were given enough time, there would be no part of Andrew that was just Andrew’s anymore. “He has to know,” Andrew says. “Does he?” Renee says. “Have you ever known Neil to assume that he is wanted?” Five times Neil tells someone that he and Andrew aren’t dating, and one time Andrew uses his words to set the record straight.

After graduating college, Andrew starts his professional Exy career as goalie for the Boston Rebels. Meanwhile, Neil is in his fifth and final year at Palmetto State University. Being apart turns out to be harder than either of them expected, and adjusting is a struggle. When Neil visits Andrew in Boston, things come to a head.

Andrew and Neil were never going to be a normal couple but for some reason this is really hard for people to understand. Or: five times people questioned Andrew and Neil’s relationship (+1 time they didn’t give them a reason to)

“Eat my ass,” Andrew says, shoving his middle finger in Neil’s general direction. He goes back to scooping cookie dough onto the baking sheet, but the sudden silence from his usually so argumentative boyfriend unnerves him enough to glance over his shoulder. Neil clears his throat. He’s bent low over his papers, but his eyes aren’t moving anymore and his ears have turned curiously red. “I would, if you wanted me to,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear.

It's not a test. He isn't waiting to see when Andrew will crack, doesn't watch the bar more than usual when they go to Eden's; doesn't even think much about it at all until Nicky corners him in the bathroom at Sweetie's one night and asks, with a honey-smug smirk, about their sex life.

“Neck fetish,” Andrew growls, yanking hard at Neil's hair until the skin at the back of his head prickles hotly. “Mm,” Neil hums. “Yours or mine?”

Five times Andrew wears lingerie just for himself, and one time he still wears it for himself but lets Neil enjoy it too.

This is how it starts, lately: words on an altar, tension thick like incense between them.

In which anal sex is ruminated on, discussed, and joked about, but not actually had. Or, Andrew pokes and prods at his sexual boundaries a little at a time, as a treat.

“I can fake anything,” Neil says with a smirk. “Including passports, but those don’t come cheap.” “What about orgasms,” Andrew asks. (or, Andrew’s roommates are having noisy sex. Enter Neil Josten, actor extraordinaire and willing to help Andrew get petty revenge.)

The recorded number of times someone hit on Neil Josten and got nowhere, and the one time Andrew didn't even have to try.

alvarez91: guys have you seen the new article about jean lailah: NO tell me what's in it alvarez91: i want you to imagine the most 'no homo' statement ever by a student athlete. and then i want you to imagine there's a two page spread written in that style. (or; jean and jeremy are no homo'd beyond belief by the press, the fans go wild, and somehow neil josten appears.)

The brighter the light, the darker the shadows. And in a super-powered society, those shadows are dark indeed. But whilst the world desperately trained more and more heroes, making that light brighter and brighter, the prestigious hero school, UA, had another idea. Why not tackle the problem at its source? And so was born the infamous class 1-A. Would-be criminals from all over the country were selected, and a group of twenty now roam the halls of the school, alongside the heroes of the next generation. Last year, the entirety of Mr Aizawa’s class A graduated. But this year was different. No, he didn’t believe they would all graduate back into society like the classes before them. He believed they could become something bigger. That was why, with gritted teeth and a manic smile, Eraser Head turned to his new class of students and said: "You aren't villains - you never were, and you never will be. But you can take that fire inside of you and put it to good use. We're in a hero school, aren't we? Well then... "Let's be heroes."

this is what it looks like when your grandfather loves you but your whole family's emotionally constipated. (except for your uncle, but that might just be all the tea he drinks.)

“They had been told, as young witchers, that the burden of their secondary sex had been relieved by the Trial of Grasses. The mutations took away the change that would come as humans hit adulthood, and they would be without a subsex. Witchers were men, and men alone. They were not given the added burden of being an alpha, or an omega, or a beta. They were free from that particular form of madness.“ Jaskier is hired to be a heat companion for an omega widow, and Geralt is hired alongside him to play bodyguard. Unfortunately, being so close to the chaos that is human mating cycles, Geralt begins to suffer strange symptoms of his own. Trust Jaskier to take care of it. He’s a professional, after all.

How Sokka learned to shut up and be nice, and also learn a little bit more about Zuko than he wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says, “but I must have misheard you. ‘Three times’? Geralt, you’re not a man. You’re a-” “Shut up,” Geralt says. “I shouldn’t have told you.” “The worst thing of all,” Jaskier says, either having gone deaf or choosing to ignore Geralt completely, “is that you’ve never really tried. That this is total hearsay. Gods, it could be more than three. You could go all night.” “If you keep on,” Geralt says, “You’ll never find out." (or: Witchers don't have refractory periods, and Jaskier is keen to investigate.)

Geralt has very, very faint memories of his earliest times in Kaer Morhen. Of when they were all undeniably human. There were so many of them, dozens and dozens of young boys all crowded in together with each other. They’d sleep in piles, crowding for space, seeking warmth and comfort, innocently, naively unrestrained and shameless. Grabbing at and climbing over each other without thought. And then they started taking the mutagens, fewer and fewer boys woke up and rose from the floor to eat breakfast in the morning, and all of a sudden there was enough room for all of them to have their own room. No more crowding, no more piles. No more touching.

Years and years after Kaer Morhen, in the bed of a particularly skilled prostitute, Geralt learned that other things besides injury and stress could trigger his strange mutation. Warmth. Safety. A lovers’ touch. He’d also learned that no matter how good of an actress a lady of the night may be, there were limits to what a human would put up with for the sake of coin. When Jaskier comes along, the White Wolf already knows to hide his freakish nature as best as he’s able.

“I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.” Geralt starts. “Like what?” Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?” A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

[“Are you dead?” Are the first words that come out of Zuko’s mouth. Lu Ten winces. He’s barely adjusted to the idea himself, but he still wasn’t expecting Zuko to reach that conclusion so fast. He can’t lie to him. He nods. “I am.” “But you’re real.” “Yeah. Real dead.” He tries for a joke but Zuko bursts into tears instead.] Or, Lu Ten makes a promise, Lu Ten dies. Lu Ten comes back.

“About that… does the hospital have a copy machine?” Hitoshi chooses that moment to peak over Shouta’s shoulder, undoubtedly giving Tsukauchi a full view of his bloodied face. Unintentionally, he also gives Shouta the perfect opportunity to watch shock, understanding, and sheer resignation flash through the detective’s eyes. “You’re not telling me that you found another child on the way to the hospital with the first one,” Tsukauchi says. “I did not find another child on the way to the hospital with the first one,” Shouta lies. OR A story of two rooftops, two kids, and one extremely long night.

Obi-Wan stared at the newcomer standing tense in the corner. Dark smoke curled around the other padawan’s boot like the tail of a lothcat. With a huff, Obi-Wan disengaged his own lightsaber and clipped it to his belt, bowing in greeting. “Hello, Padawan Antilles.” OR Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi makes a friend and the universe changes for the better.

The Darksaber was always meant for Jedi hands, not the Sith's. When Maul takes possession of it, it fixes things the only way it knows how: by pulling its very first wielder out of the past and throwing him headlong into the Clone Wars. Tarre was expecting his retirement to be quiet and boring. This is anything but.

Fox dies. He wakes up. And then things start getting weird.

After decades of watching Xanatos play Imperial politics and neglect his family, right up until Tura's death, Granta decides to take revenge on his father. The best way to do that is to make sure Xanatos never reaches the throne he covets, and for that purpose, Granta proposes a marriage alliance with one of the top contenders for the crown and Xanatos's political enemy, the vicious and deadly Marshal Commander Cody. Granta has it all meticulously, ruthlessly plotted out, with no room for error. It's too bad that falling in love with his husband was never part of the plan.

In order to take all of Granta's holdings for himself, Tor draws on Telosian tradition and marries Granta off to the corpse of someone in his House. This someone is Tarre Vizsla, the last Mand'alor of House Vizsla and Jedi Master of great renown. There's a reason the Jedi usually burn their dead. It's a shame the Tor didn't realize that before he stuck Tarre on a remote moon alongside a Force Blank with a habit of making the Force go just a little....odd sometimes.

There's a Jedi standing on the landing platform, entirely unmoving, and he’s been there for almost ten minutes now.

"Oh," Izuna said -- delicately, while studiously reading his folder, "I'm afraid we need someone with a ... strong personality for Naohime." "Why's that?" Hashirama replied, just as painfully polite. The daimyo's mediator kept watching them and scratching little pointy words in his notebook. "Because if your man doesn't prove that he's dangerous and has the personality to use it on her if she pushes him, it's going to turn abusive," Madara drawled. Hashirama stared at him for a blank second. The daimyo's envoy stopped writing; even his stone-faced Aburame bodyguard arched her eyebrows over her darkened spectacles. Tobirama stretched out across the table without another word to take back one of the folders Izuna had spread around him. -- The daimyo is over the whole Uchiha/Senju war. They're going to become one people if they know what's good for them. Madara hates it enough without having to marry a woman too.

So he might have, at some point, tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.) He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Enemies to lovers? No wait hed kill them straight away. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'. There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon. [Secret side-quest unlocked: Easter egg hunt! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!] [Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

Meonji