After Dorian's first heartbreak his mother teaches him a bit of old magic. Casting flowers and herbs into a bowl and wishing for someone doesn't make them real. Dorian refuses to believe the wish he made when he was younger came true, even if the evidence is staring him right in the face.

The Inquisitor is an Avvar. Dorian tries to be understanding and make allowances for cultural differences. In hindsight, that was possibly his first mistake.

In a world where everyone has a mark to identify their soulmate, Luffy is born without one. But that’s okay, because the future Pirate King doesn’t have time for boring mushy romance. His nakama, however, are another story.

Prompto stared, and stared, and stared. Gentiana only smiled. “Let me clarify some things,” he started. “I’m a favorite of the, um, the Six?” “Our Most Beloved,” Gentiana repeated. “Right,” said Prompto. “And because you knew I’d be lonely and, and depressed after Noct brought the sun back, you – brought me to a parallel universe??” “Yes,” said Gentiana, ever patient. Prompto needed a drink. Or twelve.

Noctis wakes to the taste of something foul in his mouth, to the wet stone and hum of a haven underneath him; he wakes with a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the area where his father’s sword pierced his chest, only to find the soft beams of sunlight washing over him, and his deathly injuries no longer there. A boon, little king, Shiva had said, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then, a few spaces away from him, Prompto sputters and coughs a raspy but undoubtedly heated, “WHAT THE FUCK?” Privately, Noctis echoes the sentiment. What the fuck.

There’s more to being a Nie than wielding a saber. Or 5 things Nie Mingjue tries to teach his brother, and one he learns.

Evgeni Malkin is a star forward and three-time Art Ross Trophy winner. Sidney Crosby is the head chef of Nouma, a Halifax restaurant that boasts two Michelin stars. They cross paths in Pittsburgh.

Sebastian takes his problems and a confusing gift to the lake for some Frog Therapy, and things go a little wrong before they go a little right.

“How’d you get stuck with babysitting duty anyway?” Boba asked one day during dinner. “Oh, I volunteered for this,” Fox told him. “Why the kark would you do that?” “Language,” Fox admonished. “Well, I was just living my normal boring life and I thought to myself, ‘I don’t get called an ugly piece of banthashit often enough.’ So I decided to adopt you.” Boba snorted. “You’re a psychopath,” he told Fox. “I’ve been called worse,” Fox replied breezily.