Imagine person A making person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off. A group of marines charge, Zoro slices through them, and in that instant Sanji feels his own eyes grow wide. Because there, on the arm now outstretched towards him, steel glinting in hand, is the stupid bracelet he’d given Zoro. The bastard is actually wearing it.

Sanji's cooking has reached a whole new level. It's almost uncanny. Especially when his thoughts and emotions somehow get into the mix along with the rest of the ingredients.

Ameyuri and Zabuza get locked in a closet. It's maybe not an entirely terrible thing.

Brian has a successful web series. And anxiety. And shingles. And postherpetic neuralgia. And crippling insecurity. And student loans. And an inferiority complex. And a crush on his co-worker. So yeah, he’s doing great, how are you?

The picture is of Wei Ying, that much is clear. It’s of a lot more of Wei Ying than Lan Zhan is used to seeing. He supposes that, technically, Wei Ying is dressed. It’s a bare technicality, since one of Wei Ying’s hands has rucked up his black tank top practically to his collarbone, showing a long expanse of abdomen and one nipple. Sweat beads on his sternum, catching the light like jewels. His other hand is--Lan Zhan feels his eyes widen, as though unable to look away from a train wreck--on his hip, one thumb tugging down the waistband of a pair of red briefs. Wei Ying is biting his lower lip and looking directly into the camera, sultry, his eyes dark and inviting. His erection is obvious, outlined against the red of the briefs and framed carefully with the hand on his hip. Lan Zhan’s brain goes wildly, screamingly blank. Or: Lan Zhan accidentally finds his best friend's OnlyFans account and has an ongoing emotional crisis.

Two gremlins, their husbands, and the horrible HOA board. As long as nobody gets arrested for arson or murder, we're gonna call it a win.

This time yesterday, Jamie was picking Tyler up from the airport. It's been six hours since Nill called her and said, "Hey, looks like you're in town, can you come in today?" and five since Jordie texted help I have a wardrobe emergency. Half the notifications on Tyler's phone are Snapchats from Brownie, presumably 50/50 dogs and blurry dick pics. This is Tyler's life.

They met by accident, fate, Geno always says, three years ago.

Malkin’s table stays until closing time, still lingering over that bottle of Beluga when Sid comes out of the kitchen to start his nightly closing routine. He goes through the same checklist of jobs he does every night after the kitchen closes but before the bar does, tries to keep his mind on the tasks at hand, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice Malkin’s gaze tracking his movements, if he pretended that he can’t feel the heat of Malkin’s eyes on him as he moves around behind the bar. Sid tells himself to keep his head down, but when he does look up, just to test his theory, Malkin doesn’t even bother to look away, just holds Sid’s gaze, direct and unblinking with just the tiniest hint of a smile. The thing is, Sid’s notoriously bad at this stuff. He’s never had any working gaydar that he’s aware of, and he’s been wrong – very wrong – about this kind of thing probably more often, in his life, than he’s been right. So he assures himself this is just another one of those occasions where he’s definitely reading something incorrectly, imagining things, because there’s no way the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins is, whatever – checking him out. That would be ridiculous.

Sidney looks from Flower's arm to their handcuffs to the little nest on the floor where he assumes Kris slept. There's a giant, empty champagne bottle on the table in front of the couch, he's pretty sure the same glitter that was on Kris's face is also on his jeans, and his head still aches. "Okay," he says loudly, "I know I'm kind of stating the obvious here, but what the hell happened last night?"

Sid’s standing in the hotel hallway, already in sweats and a t-shirt. “Hi G,” he says, already pushing past Geno to walk into his hotel room. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought we could watch TV or something.”

"My friends call me Nicke," Backström—no, Nickie—finally said. His voice was very quiet, and Sasha found himself automatically leaning in to catch it, lowering his own volume to match. "Okay, Nickie!" he whisper-yelled, grinning widely. "I like this! Nickie is good nickname, hah, nickname, get it, Nickie?" Nickie clearly got it, but he didn't deign to laugh, or even smile. Sasha vowed to be funnier, the next time he tried to make a joke.

When your love for someone or something changes, you get love fever. When you get love fever, you usually get a love rash: a nasty, persistent itch in the shape of flowers or birds or your lover's hands. Alex has always noticed that Nicky doesn't get love blisters, just like he's noticed how Nicky fumes after losses, and prefers lasagna to ziti, and likes his girlfriends to cut his hair. He just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky people, the ones who don't get the rash.

"So you're gonna take me to prom, huh," Dylan says, testing the words out in his mouth. "Which one?" "Not McDowell's," Connor says, like he's given it a lot of thought. He probably has. Jesus. "Ideally we'll still be in the playoffs, so we won't have time." "Ideally," Dylan echoes, and takes another bite of burrito to calm himself. Whatever, it's not like prom's a huge deal to either of them. They could go as buddies. People do that. "What should I wear?" If anything, Connor just grins wider.

Bakugou sleeping in the common areas like it’s no big deal seems to give everyone else permission to be just as bizarre, and little by little Kirishima starts learning things about his classmates he never knew.

“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.

Neil is a Vixen, not a Fox. He and Andrew still find each other.

Despite his best efforts, Andrew finds himself a family.

Andrew is a sports photographer with terrible coworkers, Neil is a professional Exy player who mixes reporters' tears with his electrolytes, Nicky thinks Andrew needs a boyfriend, and Kevin just wants to stop ending up as their third wheel.

Five times Jeremy didn't understand the relationship between Jean and Neil Josten, and the one time he figured it out.

Andrew and the Idiotic, Thirsty, Ill-advised, Very Off-Limits Crush on his College Roommate's Younger Brother.

“Why are there reporters-” Dick stopped. His eyes locked on the TV. “Oh, look at that Drake- you’re trending on social media.” Damian offered far too coolly to be any form of casual. XxX In which Tim's nudes get leaked online and he is surprisingly casual about it

Tim gets tired of constantly having to remove all the bugs Batman and Oracle plant in his apartment, so he cooks up a scheme to make them regret ever listening in. But he'll need some help, of course.

"Tim?" Jason asks cautiously. It's possibly the first time he has ever used his replacement's first name. Out loud at least. Or where he could hear him. Another whine and the big black dog opens an eye, gazing warily up at Jason. "Okay, you're awake. Not exactly sure what the protocol is here but if you know you're Tim Drake, whine twice for me."