The single faceless, anonymous photograph on the profile that catches his eye is shot in elegant black-and-white, and there’s something about the crispness of the focus and the markedly off-center composition that says art, for once, rather than mugshot. The caption below is equally sparse: “5’6. Demanding.” (Or: Meng Yao gets wrecked by that Good Lan Dick. Lan Xichen gets wrecked by Meng Yao's Whole Deal.)

She puts the number into her phone as Phil's friend. Phil has a lot of friends, more than Amanda knows. For all that the media shits on him, he's easy to like away from the camera. He's always meeting up with old buddies during the summer to shoot the shit and grill out in someone's backyard. This guy could be anybody, really, except for Bozie, because Amanda already has Bozie's number in her phone.

There are a lot of things Sydney doesn't say. Sasha hears them all anyway.

Bitty is in Annie’s, bent over his textbooks and wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to take French as a language (oh yes, it’s because so many old recipes are written in French, he’s going abroad there to study food history, can’t wait for the summer; half of fall and then winter semester until he goes, but that doesn’t help him now does it) , when he hears someone clear their throat. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Oh boy. Eric doesn’t even bother lifting up his head. “Sorry, not a girl and not interested.”

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.

When the PR team makes them do a couples quiz for the team's YouTube channel and Connor gets every question about him right, that's when Jack has to acknowledge to himself that, yeah, maybe they've become friends. or, Jack and Connor get drafted by the Seattle Kraken.

70 days. If they do their job well, that's how long the Maple Leafs will be in the bubble for; far too long to neglect dynamic interactions. Hell, Mitch starts feeling antsy after a week if he doesn't have someone kneeling for him. The NHL hopes to bring in professionals, but until they can get approved, the Leafs are going to need to turn to teammates for their dynamic needs. This could go wrong in a hundred different ways. But then Mitch sees who he got paired with, sees their shared kinks - feminization - and thinks, maybe it could also go very, very right.

For Patrick, half the point of coming out was to finally be able to have decent sex. He just wasn't expecting it to be with Jonny.

When Fox and his men capture a Jedi, the first caught in the Empire in decades, it's the final piece Fox needs to set his plans into motion. Assassinating the Emperor isn't going to be an easy task, though, and to get the training he needs to manage it, he'll have to keep Jon close and avoid the Emperor's suspicion, because anything else is a certain death sentence. The solution, of course, is only the start of even more problems.

Not even two days later, Fox revised his opinion. This wasn’t a disaster. This was a Grade-A, first order, fresh off the hot plate fuckfest. Fox’s day had gone something like this: lay in bed. Get up. Knock back some of the sludge in the mess masquerading as caf. Go through forms. Fill out forms. Bust open a closet in which the Senators for Uyter and Kinyen had both managed to get “stuck” in. Go through more forms. Fill out more forms. Get called up to the Senate dome to tell a Senator that no, the Guard did not address noise complaints. Find that the stack of datapads on his desk had somehow tripled over the last two hours. Despair at the state of his inbox. Etcetera, etcetera. And then.

Craig needs to loosen the fuck up and damn if Robert isn't the King of Relaxation. How he does it might be a little...unorthodox, but really, who's gonna judge them all the way out here?

Law still remembered his first whiff of the first omega to capture his attention. He was no fool, of course - he was a doctor, and he lived that title - knew that omega meant nothing in the realms of personality and power, no more than woman did. But the combination, so clearly Mugiwara's right hand at his beck and call and just as clearly his own man, was staggering. Confusing. God, it had nearly bowled him over.

Jason Todd is a hunter, one of the best in the business. Dick Grayson is an incubus, one of the most powerful there is. Somehow, they still manage to be something resembling...friends.

So, what else happened on that trip to Dorne? A series of standalone oneshots of Jaime and Bronn's absolutely canon adventures in Dorne...

"Timmers sucked me pregnant," Jason blurts, and Tim watches in morbid fascination as Bruce goes through the five stages of grief in a millisecond. "I thought you said you weren't… sleeping together," Bruce says reproachfully. "He means that I, uh, impregnated him with my teeth. When I drank his blood. No sex involved," Tim explains. "It was an accident. I didn't even know I could do that."