So, Iron Man apparently needed better surge protection in his suit.

There are certain expectations in troll society about taking in a freeloader with no place to go, as Dad Egbert finds out when he offers to host two of his son's stranded friends post-game.

Your moirail is something of a shambling disaster -- his hair is a tangled, frizzy mess, his clothes are tattered at the hems and grimy, and he could stand a wash or five himself. But it isn't, you've realized, that Gamzee doesn't want to care for himself, it's more that he doesn't know how to take care of himself well. You're not sure why, since he had access to the same schoolfeeding as everyone else, but maybe it was because he was alone too much for so long. Maybe it's hard to care, or know to care, when there's no one to fuss over you.

"They just watch," John says, kicking the mop bucket into the broom closet after a hard day's asteroid-cleaning. "I guess chores are like a spectator sport for trolls? It's pretty weird! But... that's trolls for you!"

It was kind of ironic that it had taken someone else loving Brian to turn 'not enough' into her 'happily ever after'.

It was an accident.

Afterward, Dorian cannot recall what he had expected, only that it had not been this.

The Avengers discover that there are fans who write explicit RPF fic about them. Some of them are very confused. Some are proud. Some don't understand why everyone writes the pairings who aren't together but hardly anyone writes the couple who actually is together. Much silliness ensues.

Josephine smiles, and Cassandra smiles back with a reflexive happiness that sends warmth spiraling up from Josephine's belly to her heart. The thing it has taken her a long time to learn about Cassandra is that quite often her impatience and sarcasm are a thin layer, fragile as the skin of ice over a lake--and the emotions they conceal are as drowningly deep as that lake.

Brienne looks like the perfect portrait of a knight, kneeling in supplication before her lady.

The sensible thing would be to get out of here and revert to plan "avoid everyone until we're through this bubble." You've seen how scary-violent trolls can get. On the other hand, Karkat. You've been increasingly aware of your own Karkat as a potential makeouts friend for months now, which might be just a lack of other options who aren't a) your ex, b) your sister, c) dating your sister, d) the Mayor, or e) COMPLETELY PSYCHO, but despite the poor reasoning it's still a thing. Your Karkat has seemed pretty oblivious. Evil Karkat, though....

Love is a weapon brought to bear. Love is blood spilled without remorse, and a kiss that’s so sweet they can ignore the taste of copper underneath.

Sentinel, Genma thinks, and it’s not really a surprise—the Shiranui Clan have always produced about equal numbers of Guides and Sentinels—but… Guide, something in him whispers, and it’s desperate, grasping, clinging to the beat of the man’s heart. Guide, Guide, Guide, and Genma breathes him in, feels the stirring deep in his soul that tastes of old things and instincts and wants to reach—

Pete is a divorced Elvis impersonator at a Las Vegas wedding chapel, who’s stopped believing in happy endings. Patrick hasn’t, but then again, he’s there to marry Bob.

“Wade and I have a tradition whenever one of us turns out not to be dead.” She smiles at Cable politely. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” “And by dinner, she means bare minimum twelve hours of the most animalistic ravaging of each others’ naughty bits that you can see outside Bangkok, big boy. Really putting the freak in fan-freaking-tastic multi-orgasmic cum-marathon.” “So what do you say?” Cable grinds his jaw for a second, but honestly, who would pass up these A-listers? “Why the hell not?”

The dead fell. The dead fell, and Gendry’s heart was racing, pounding so hard inside of his chest that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Silence crept across the courtyard and the sound of his heart beating only got louder. Puffs of air left his lips in tiny, gasping breaths as he stared down at the mountain of bodies below. Next to him, Tormund, the ginger wildling who had somehow wound up next to him atop the heap, spun in a circle, surveying. Across the courtyard, Gendry could hear someone shout, “What is this?” “Is this a trick?” Someone else responded. “He did it,” Tormund breathed. His voice was as soft as a whisper. Gendry turned to him, his heart still pounding in his chest and his fingers still wrapped around his hammer so tightly that he could seldom tell where his skin began and the shaft ended. Tormund’s blue eyes turned to him, wide, joyous. “That bloody crow did it.” Gendry couldn’t speak.

“Well,” Kit says lightly. “This does seem to be a predicament, doesn’t it?” Pressed right up against him, gauntlets digging bruises into his almost-bare hips, Dogma squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I'm going to kill my whole squad,” he says, perfectly certain and resigned to it.

What if Kaz asked Jesper to help him get over his touch aversion, so he could be with Inej?