Burt Hummel means something to everyone. Even the ones you might not think of.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Dave joins you at the window. There are no stars left in the sky. Nothing but blackness and a faint soap bubble sheen. “Is that a dream bubble?” Dave says. And then it swallows you.

Not all dreams are good memories for Tavros.

Some things are trickier than expected when you've had surgery on both wrists.

"You're on Puck Daddy," Taylor said, instead of a greeting. Sidney sank back into the pillows. "So? What's new?" "The headline is 'Best Hockey Player in the World Sidney Crosby Taken Out by Eight Year Old, Breaks Arm in Mite Hockey Game.'"

This is a metafic about a disabled Inquisitor and the changes the disability not only brings for them, but also for their companions, their advisors, the Inquisition as a whole, and the people of Thedas. One of my goals for this was for it to be as inclusive as possible: your Inquisitor's race and gender don't matter. Every possible class is addressed. Topics include: addiction, amputation, bigots, blindness, depression, muteness, tranquil mages, transsexuality, veterans, withdrawal.

Rey is different from Finn; all sharp angles with kinetic energy beneath pale skin, eyes wide enough to take in the sky. A completely different kind of beauty from Finn, but beautiful all the same. Oh no, thinks Poe Dameron, with a sinking realisation.

Figured that Roque would pass out and make Jensen carry his lazy ass halfway across Afghanistan.

Under orders not to use his right hand until it heals, Jensen is quickly frustrated by the inconvenience of functioning with only one thumb. It's a good thing Cougar is there to help him out with little things, and big things too.

In the aftermath of the assault on Starkiller base, Finn struggles with his recovery, and Poe struggles with his feelings.

“Ith not,” you stutter, glaring at your hands. “M’ Noth a-a freak,” you squint at your shaking fingers, trying to make a spark, to catch a glimpse of either red or blue. There’s nothing.

You know how this is going to go.

Keith tells the truth, makes a friend, and bleeds. Lotor falls hard. “Did you… Did you seduce the enemy?” Lance asks. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” Keith frowns. “I didn’t seduce him.” Silence descends and it’s one of those moments when he’s not in on the joke, because everyone is sharing looks. “I didn’t,” Keith repeats.

When Kaz explained the mission to her, he'd described a deep-sea fish whose scales could reverse the harmful, out of control magic that was razing the streets of Ketterdam. No one had expected to find this, a half-dead, half-Siren Shu floating in the depths of a ship.

They figured out that Wei Ying’s parents had died, and Wei Ying left alone, when Jiang Cheng’s fingers started scabbing over. After all, that’d been the agreement: Jiang Fengmian would consent to his wife’s proposal to engage his eldest daughter to the Jin sect’s heir, and in return she would agree to allow him to bind his best friend’s son to his own the way he and Wei Changzhe had once been bound, before the latter dissolved it in order to marry. A soul binding contract, allowing the wounds incurred by one to be shared with the other – a life-saving panacea, halving the severity of the injury by splitting it among two people’s bodies.

Zhenya nudges Gonch with his elbow. "Who is that?" he says in urgent Russian, jabbing his glove at the now retreating zamboni. "Who?" Gonch follows the line of Zhenya's gaze, blinks when it lands on the zamboni. "What, the driver? Him?" Zhenya nods vigorously, his eyes fixed on the zamboni. Gonch stares at him for a few seconds before answering with hesitation, "That's...Sidney."

This person was panting, his shoulders heaving violently as his eyes scanned the room for more threats. His hands were tensed like weapons, hooked black talons extended through his gloves, ready to rip and tear. That was the first indicator that something was truly wrong. Hawks would never willingly use his “unsightly” talons as weapons. The second was that his mouth... his mouth was covered in blood. It streamed down his chin, flecked at the corners of his lips, and coated two large fangs that he had most definitely not possessed at the start of the fight. He bared them at Dabi in a savage hiss. They were long, at least a full inch, and the sight of them awakened some ancient nervous instinct within him, telling him to run or fight, because the creature in front of him was a predator, and it was hungry. Most unnerving of all, though, were his eyes. The eyes that locked with Dabi’s were a startling crimson red, a far cry from their usual gold. Dabi’s breath caught in his throat. ~~~ The mission Dabi and Hawks are on goes south. Dabi learns something he was never meant to know.

“What in the hell are you on about?” Hawks bites back, and fights down the growing panic in his lungs. He hasn’t been scolded like this since he was a kid, what could he have possibly done to make Tanaka-san so angry? Hawks does everything they say, he’s careful. “I’m busy working my ass off making it into the top ten! What could I have possibly done?” Tanaka-san sighs, still agitated, but disappointed in a way that makes Hawks’ stomach churn. “Look your name up on your phone.” Hawks numbly pulls up the search bar on his phone and searches ‘pro hero hawks.’ And, there it is, the first bold headline on the page. Star-Crossed Hero Love Affair? Underneath the article is a picture of Hawks and Todoroki Natsuo at the cafe they’d visited this past weekend. Picture Hawks has his head thrown back, cackling, and Natsuo is leaning forward, drinking in his laughter with a pleased smile on his face. His arms are extended across the table, as though waiting to hold Hawks’ hand. Shit.

Sometime between the end of the war and when Fox got shot, Coruscant Guard CMO Basher got their hands on the good drugs. That was the only explanation, really. Someone (Thorn) also made the mistake of giving Fox a datapad.