Qui-Gon takes Obi-Wan to an exotic festival for his 18th birthday. His plans for a surprise backfire in a pleasant way. Set several years before TPM.

Draco shackled to a pillar. Harry wielding a sword. One goofy plot device. You do the math.

The first time Dean volunteered to do the sex ritual, John had raised his eyebrows and said, "Have fun." He probably should have felt a little guilty, foisting off the deed, but Dean was just asking for it.

Dean and Sam have to reenact an ancient Aztec ritual in order to stop a curse.

Bits of Hogwarts seem to be failing and a magical circle has appeared in the Great Hall. Harry and Draco end up in the middle of finding out what it's for.

Bizarre alien peace rituals, drunken debacles, Jim Kirk's pornography, the phrase 'bet your sweet ass' taken way too literally, bar fights, everyone's favorite Orion and super advanced sex toys of the future you wish you had now. A love story.

It was impossible for anyone to remember every little quirk of this setting. There were too many. Also, Shang Qinghua had come up with some of them on a whim while fueled by nothing but caffeine and noodles. It wasn't his fault for not remembering why oranges were never served on fruit festival day.

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.

The blankets had pooled around Geno’s waist where he had propped himself up to look at Sid. His pale chest and the remnants of his marks from many months ago were visible under the warm glow of the lamp. They had mostly faded, but Sid could have sworn he was still able to make out the faint outline of rings--some the size of dinner plates--clinging possessively to Geno’s skin.