Two handfuls of berries, one cannon fires, and the winner of the 74th annual Hunger Games is District 12's Peeta Mellark.

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.

Abed made the rules.

Every soldier has his last battle. [EreRi if you squint]

When King Robert shares plans to make Sansa Stark his mistress when she comes of age, Ned Stark defies the king and sends both of his daughters to Dorne--Sansa married to Prince Oberyn, Arya betrothed to Prince Trystane. Over the course of years, a plot begins to take shape to rid the royal family of some of the wickedness that has set in like rot.

15 texts that were never sent in Westeros.

In the aftermath of war, Temari stands beside him, steady. And Shikamaru finally understands.

The first time rain and Temari’s visits coincided, she stood in Shikamaru’s garden for three hours before coming in, soaked, shivering, and grinning from ear to ear. Her clothes were plastered to her body, every curve revealed, ponytails weighed down and dark with water, dripping all over the floor of the entrance with complete disregard for the mess.

The dust settled slowly. Dirt coated the bodies strewn about like discarded clay dolls, clung to Naruto's skin like another layer of clothing. His blood pounded in his ears like frantic drums, and the sickly sweet metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air over the muted undertones of upturned earth. His fingers hurt from where they were clenched tight around the scrap of green fabric. He took in one choked breath, then another. Only forty seconds had passed.

Most people assume that Kyouko's really nice. They're mistaken: she's simply polite. And there's a huge difference between "nice" and "polite."

In which Tsuna’s the Corpse Whisperer. (Or: In the months he spends at the Varia Compound at Timoteo’s behest, Tsuna manages to stumble across enough forgotten dead bodies to fill entire cemeteries. And everyone is terribly amused. Except, y’know, for him.)

Yamamoto is really rather zen about life and death in pursuit of his duty. Gokudera, not so much.

It’s Jiraiya who brings him the news, bare hours after the decision has been reached.

“You’re good at this,” Gon compliments, after a while. He moves to take a seat by Killua, at the lip of the river. “Catching fish, I mean.” There’s a pause. “Killing fish,” Killua corrects, quietly. For the first time all morning, Killua puts down his fishing rod, faces Gon completely. “You meant to say ‘killing’.”

“Shh,” Kakashi breathes against his lips, and there's a look in his eyes that he gets on the very worst missions, in the middle of a battle, when there's nothing left in him of restraint or anything beyond instinct and act-react. “You’re safe, Shisui. And I'm going to fix it.”

It’s rather disappointing, Reborn thinks. He was a much cuter toddler the first time round.

Back at home, when he has time to examine it more closely, it quickly becomes obvious why this ritual never turned up in all his early research. It's not a typical soul summoning ritual. It's not a cultivation ritual at all; as Nie Huaisang puzzles through it, the closest category he can put it in is folk magic...not only that, but sex magic.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Guangyao knew each other, during the year they both lived at Carp Tower.

“Something happened at the Lotus Pier.” “Oh? What does Fengmian have to say?” “Nothing,” Wei Changze said, and that’s when Cangse Sanren noticed that her husband was an unhealthy shade of pale. “He’s – he’s dead.” “What?” She snatched the letter away from him. “What – him and Yu Ziyuan both? Impossible! They’re – they’re sect leaders. Of a Great Sect! What happened?”

“You are never allowed to do this again,” Jiang Cheng’s mother said, her voice harsh in the way that means she was scared, because she hated being scared. “Never again, you hear me?” “I hear you, a-niang,” Jiang Cheng said. “Did it live?” “Yes, of course it lived,” Madame Yu snapped. “You’re the one that nearly died! You can’t – death-sharing is a rare gift, A-Cheng, but you can’t use it too often, you hear me? Every time you use it, your own life gets shorter. You must never do it again. And you mustn’t tell anyone else about it! No one at all! Swear to me!” “I swear,” he said. “No one at all.”

The woman that men called Cangse Sanren, a title she accepted out of lack of anything better to use, had any number of suitors, but her favorite one was one that never formally approached her to state his suit – neither the one who scolded her because she broke all the rules, nor the one who idealized her for it, but the one who made her laugh about it. His name was Wei Changze. He wasn't quite the same as all the others in another way, too.

In a sun-drowned field, Alina reaches for you with kohl-smudged hands, and the world in her eyes. Somewhere, she’s long since sketched the shape of you enough to commit it to muscle memory. Somewhere, she’s long since pressed you in between the two heaviest books she could find; breathless. There’s blood dripping from her palms.