On any given day, Sherlock might come out of the bathroom smelling like an Alpha on the hunt (Alpha #8) or an Omega in heat (Omega #9), a Beta brooding (Beta #3), or like no gender at all. The last one was his actual scent, which wasn't so much scentless as confusing. At least in an adult. If Sherlock and John were the sort of people to read Mills and Boon novels, they could have said that what occurred was because destiny intervened and set two destined lovers in their one true pairings' path. It was the lasagna.

Bacchus says the Percy and Jason having sex will be a suitable sacrifice to get him to help them defeat the giant twins. These two fics show two different scenarios for how that could play out.

You'd thought your master's hive was grand, but it's nothing compared to the Imperial Palace. The building rears up before you, sweeping arches and high towers, black stone ornamented with garnet-colored tile. The banners snapping in the wind are brighter, though, a red so bright it looks unnatural: the banners of the Scarlet Emperor, newly risen, the first of his blood since the Signless Sunderer tore down the old empire and built the new one a thousand sweeps ago. Every noble in the Empire is coming to the Capital tonight, bringing gifts to demonstrate their allegiance and beg the new Emperor's favor. Your master is bringing you.

In which a species of alien flower plays matchmaker. Or, the obligatory sex pollen story.

"The bond's fucked up, boys," Jamie says. There are nods around the room, from all the vets. "We gotta fix it." He says it like it's a general statement, like collectively they're all going to do something to fix it. Jason knows it's really directed at him.

As Theon grows, he begins to question his place in the Stark family. Especially in regards to the heir of Winterfell.