Steve is adapting well to the new millennium, and he has the dictionary to prove it.

Alternate names – ‘this human emotion called ‘butt-touch,’’ ‘but who tops,’ ‘parkourstuck’ Steps 1. Be Dave Strider, human, tricker extraordinaire and minor GrubTube sensation. Meet some douchebag at a practice session. 2. Be Karkat Vantas, troll, traceur with a few tricks and an ornery fucker with something to hide. 3. Step into the trick, keep your core tight, and flip. 4. Keep flipping. 5. Now kiss. Tips -Drink plenty of water. -Don’t slow down as you’re approaching the obstacle! That’s stutter-stepping, and you will fuck up hard. -Knees up, shoulders back. -Quit worrying already and touch his hot butt.

The halls of the Gods are empty, echoing with unheard prayers. The forces of corruption and decay are growing in power. Soon they shall sweep across the world like an unholy plague. From the deep caverns beneath the majestic Dragonshard Mountains, across the mighty Greenweald Forest, to the fair city of Porthaven on the storm-wracked coast, there are fourteen people with the mark of a divine ruler on their skin. They do not know it, but they and only they can save the world from apocalypse and ruin. So naturally, they're going to spend as long as possible arsing about slaying monsters and looting ancient temples. 'Cos, you know, adventurers.

Fenris has kept busy since the events at Kirkwall. Tracking Tevinter slavers in the South leads him to the Temple of Sacred Ashes the night before the Conclave. From there, everything begins to fall apart. OR: Fenris is the Inquisitor and he has no patience for Venatori bullshit.

So, I wrote some Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn porn based on this amazing post by [personal profile] sinsense about the universe she and others had created where promising rookies in the NHL were assigned an older player to ~kneel~ for as a training measure. GO READ THAT POST it is amazing if you're into that sort of thing.

In which 'Adaar' is totally not a desire demon from the Fade, because Haven is a camp filled with Templars. Also morals and mortals are both confusing, and he would really just like to go home now please.

Shang Qinghua goes to take a self-indulgent peek at his baby protagonist son and gets a kick to the shrivelled heart for his troubles. He gave up on changing the story years ago! Yet he finds himself helping his protagonist son's adoptive mother anyway. Just this one change won't matter too much, right? One little change leads to more. Shang Qinghua never meant to care, but he becomes invested in making sure that his new family survives the looming plot. With the changes to the world cascading around him, with his position as a traitor pulling him between his sect and a certain ice demon, and with the protagonist growing up so quickly, how is one displaced author meant to ensure that everything turns out all right? A Pre-Canon to Canon Divergence story.

In the first months of the war, A'Sharad finds a whole tribe of his people viciously slaughtered, with only one survivor. What begins as an investigation to find the culprit and a mission from the Council to support Tatooine's petition to enter the Republic rapidly turns into something else entirely, though, and A'Sharad, his padawan, and their tiny clone squad find themselves caught up in mysteries that can be traced all the way back to the start of the Republic.

Maria can’t recall the last time she slept.

Shang Hua really lucked out being reborn as the much-coddled son of one of the most ferocious demon matriarchs of the north. There are only a few, minor, inconsequential downsides.

RainyForecast)

The locker room chatter started up almost at once, providing a screen of background noise. Zhenya sat down beside the ghost. “I’m captain. Evgeni Malkin.” “Sidney Crosby,” the ghost said. He didn’t offer his hand, which made Zhenya think he had been dead for a while, long enough to shed the ingrained habits of the living. “I’m, uh. Is it really 2018?”

Being a star athlete changes you.

Bitty knew about the hockey gods, of course. But he didn’t exactly believe in them. Hockey players could be quite superstitious indeed, making their own rituals in routines. Now he’s on a pro team. He’s in the big show. The Schooners have made the playoffs. And playoffs…are a different creature altogether. For even if you don’t really believe in the hockey gods... ...they believe in you.

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.

Jango Fett makes a comeback as Mand’alor during the Mandalorian Civil Wars by reviving an archaic tradition – rescuing an enemy in battle in order to wed them into one’s clan. Such was often, in the past, how the ending of feuds began. So he rescues Lady Satine Kryze and her Jedi Protector, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. As for marrying them into his clan – well. Clan Fett is a Clan of exactly one, at the moment. He’s thought this through. Really. Not getting more than he bargained for with two catty and lovesick teenaged revolutionaries at all. It’s fine. Things are fine. He is completely in control. (Is he, though?)

It’s funny, Robin notes as she sits on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, book in hand, That the people who are called Demon, Monster, Devil aboard this ship of dreams are not the true Monsters. No, she thinks, watching her crew as they spend the day on the deck of the Sunny, Not monsters at all. - Or: The East Blue has a different nickname to those in the Grand Line, and those who hail it as home have a few... unique traits.