They're in their hotel room after the Oilers game when Kaner asks, "Why does this whole meditation thing matter so much to you, anyway?" "It helps me focus and relax," Johnny says, hoping that'll satisfy him. But Kaner's eyes widen. "You mean you'd act even weirder if you didn't meditate? Shit, dude – now I kind of want to see what you'd be like without it." "You really, really don't," Johnny says.

They're in their hotel room after the Oilers game when Kaner asks, "Why does this whole meditation thing matter so much to you, anyway?" "It helps me focus and relax," Johnny says, hoping that'll satisfy him. But Kaner's eyes widen. "You mean you'd act even weirder if you didn't meditate? Shit, dude – now I kind of want to see what you'd be like without it." "You really, really don't," Johnny says.

The further from the ice, from waking up sixty-seven years in the future he gets, the stronger the cold black burn of drowning in the Antarctic waters preys on his mind.

Temari and her family, before and after the demon.

Stiles runs away from his old pack on a Monday. He meets his dad for the first time on a Sunday, and he falls in love on a Thursday.

They’d been back in time for less than a month when their father forced Klaus back into the mausoleum. But maybe this time his family can do the right thing.

“It’s not wrong if you write it down,” Mo Xuanyu muttered to himself like a mantra as he scribbled down a rough explanation of what he was going to do. “If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, and that makes it okay.” That’s what they used to say back at Koi Tower, back when they were doing all those bad things. They also said that you’re supposed to try stuff out before you do the real thing, because practice makes perfect. And anyway, surely it wouldn't hurt to put the cat in the middle of the body-sacrificing array before he put himself in - the array ran on resentment, on revenge, and how much resentment could a cat possibly have?

A post-canon twitfic (now cross-posted to AO3) in which Jin Ling, with help from Lan Sizhui, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, & Wen Ning, cleans out Jin Guangyao's old treasure chamber, and makes some unexpected discoveries.

There was another boy there at the base of the balcony outside of Meng Shi's window, where Meng Yao liked to sit: a boy few years older than him, taller, in finely made clothing that would normally make Meng Yao itch all over in futile envy, but the other boy’s eyes were white around the edges in a way that was immediately, painfully familiar. “Someone’s chasing you?” Meng Yao asked, and the boy’s eyes widened even further, surprised, but he nodded in confirmation. “There’s a trellis around the left side – can you climb up? I'll hide you.” "Thanks," the boy said, later, once the man he called Wen Ruohan had left. "My name is Nie Mingjue. What's yours?"

It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t liked Nie Huaisang well enough, when they were all learning together in the Cloud Recesses. Anyone who had the energy to keep up with Wei Wuxian – and just enough good sense to help veer him off the really bad ideas, even if he did keep egging him on in regards to the medium-grade bad ones – was good news in his books. But liking him didn’t mean respecting him, and the fact that Nie Huaisang hadn’t participated much in the war – couldn’t participate much – had led Jiang Cheng to discount him more or less entirely. That’s what made it all the more surprising when Nie Huaisang ended up being the unofficial leader of the three remaining Great Sects in opposing Jin Guangshan after the war.

“You idiot,” Ye Baiyi chuckles at Long Xiao. “He was already panting for someone to have him like a bitch before you poisoned him. You’re doing us a favor by encouraging these two soup-for-brains to go off into the woods and fuck their feelings out.” Wen Kexing swears at Ye Baiyi, then threatens to pluck his eyebrows bald. Chengling blinks as he takes in the scene with round eyes. Long Xiao smiles, showing off his full set of adult teeth, eerily out of place in a child’s face. Zhou Zishu feels sick to his stomach; he wishes he could be drunk. Wen Kexing gets hit with fuck-or-die sex pollen on the way to Longyuan cabinet. Everything would be fine, except Zhou Zishu’s been keeping an unfortunate secret: the nails in his chest mean he can’t get hard anymore.

Nina looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Just keep the gloves on, then.” “What?” Kaz blurts. Or: Kaz Brekker conquers intimacy. It's both easier and harder than he planned.

Feral gets kidnapped by a Jedi Master. It's the best thing that's ever happened to him. Aka how Plo Koon’s foray into Sith-napping saved the galaxy, featuring galactic road-trips, daring expeditions into Sith strongholds, plenty of soul-searching, pirates, the Death Watch, senators with big blasters, more pirates, and three brothers who weren’t prepared for any of it.

Not the Pokémon AU you asked for but the one you’re getting anyway. Featuring: full time gym leader and local cryptid Zuko, badge challenger Sokka, and Katara who can only look at so many memes before she flips.

The light overhead isn't from Minion island's overcast sky but instead a steel plated ceiling shining down fluorescence, glass and plastic bottles rattling on shelves against the walls. Everywhere there's monitors and familiar machinery and the distinct tang of antiseptic, sharp beyond the memory sense of blood and snow. For half a second Law looks at it all very blankly and thinks, What The Hell. Is he dreaming. Is he hallucinating. Is he just plain dead. His sight-line completes the rotation of this impossibility to fall upon speckled jeans and a long sweeping coat. And the man standing in front of Law has the blankest expression Law's ever seen. And the man standing in front of Law has Law's father's face. Underneath Law's blood-slicked fingers, Cora-san's pulse shudders. (This is a story where the past and the present collide. Wherein thirteen year old Trafalgar Law and twenty-six year old Rocinante tumble sideways through time-space via the blue desperation of a newly eaten devil fruit, from Minion island to a future distant. Right, unwittingly, onto the submarine deck of a another Law shortly after Doflamingo’s fall.)

“What is that?” Thire asks, wrinkling his nose as Fox marches past him. He immediately turns to open a window. Fox snorts, lifting a boot to kick Thorn where he’s sprawled out on the couch. Thorn groans, but raises his head, and Fox jerks his head at him. “A Jedi,” he answers, and Thorn freezes, eyes widening.

“Are you going to kill me right here, Mand’alor?” Obi-Wan manages. Fett freezes, his hold loosening, and shoves away from him as if burned, getting to his feet. Obi-Wan coughs, looks up to where the man is watching him with some strange mix of emotion. His shields are exceptionally strong, for a null. “There is no Mand’alor,” Fett says finally, and walks right out of the room. (Or: 15-year-old Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker crash-lands on Kamino on the one day a cycle when the seas are calm and the storms abate. At the time, he doesn’t think much of it. Later—much later—he will come to see it as an omen.)

This is an AU about a dick piercing.

In one world, the members of Class 1A, for the most part, had support systems and ways to cope that let them take things in stride. In another, they are left far more vulnerable to the traumas inflicted on them over and over. It all started with Todoroki Shouto seeing bruises on Yaoyorozu Momo's arm. The members of Class 1A begin to realize they are all far more alike than they thought, and the insecurities, fears, and pain they are facing are too much to handle- and so they decide to run as far away from them as they can, because if the world won't give them family, they'll be each other's family.

When Dabi accidentally uses a gesture that Hawks associates with the Commission's brutal punishments, the league discovers exactly what the hero's life is like. They're not happy about it.

Aizawa and Vlad King bet that they can handle each other’s home rooms better. Vlad doesn’t understand why Aizawa’s had so many rules. Or Vlad is traumatized by 1-A.

"I fear that, when you reached into the Force to ease this man's pain, you reached too far. And without proper shielding… it’s easy to see how a rudimentary connection might have been established," the force-ghost of his former master says contemplatively, as if he is not casually ruining Luke's entire life. Luke buries his face in his hands. “You’re saying I gave too much.” “In a sense, yes," Ben replies. “I’m a force-whore,” Luke moans. “Oh, kark. Leia is going to kill me.”

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA. It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing. Not until Kamino. Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

“Luffy.” “Yeah?” “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.” Fear. The smell of it, the sound of it. Luffy’s never felt fear like this come from Sanji before. He hates it. “He’s real. And I think he’s you,” Luffy says. __ A reunion. A camping trip on an uninhabited island. A question. And a gift, or perhaps, an answer. Wherein a Sanji straight from the dungeons of Germa appears in their midst and no one, least of all Sanji, knows what to do about it.

Sanji sees Zoro approach from a long-ways off. His shock of green hair is unmistakable, even in a crowd. Speaking of, the crowd parts around him naturally, like water around a boat. They give him suspicious looks as he passes, and it isn’t until Zoro is within eye-shot that Sanji realizes why. There is a bundle of feathers in his arms. “What the fuck are you holding?” Zoro winces and pulls a face. “Yeah, so, I can explain." The bundle of feathers moves and the dirt-streaked face of a child peers up at him. The jumble of feathers aren’t just feathers, Sanji realizes with a jolt. They’re wings.

Curly-Brow hisses, “What, exactly, am I supposed to have them do?” The guy looks at Zoro and adds, “Amputation via sword?” “Clerical, scribing, changing bedpans? The world’s your fuckin’ oyster and they,” Dr. Old Man thrusts a wrinkled thumb at them, “are your fuckin’ problem now.” Luffy takes this moment to wave and bound right up to the nurse with a chirp of, “Hi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna’ be the Pirate King. Sorry about your roof.” The nurse stares at Luffy for a solid five seconds, unblinking. Nami whispers despairingly, “Oh my fucking gods.” The nurse turns back to Dr. Old Man and asks, “Am I allowed to submit this one for a psych eval?” -- In which Sanji is the crew's doctor and not their cook. This changes remarkably little.

The clones were supposed to be identical soldiers, flawless and efficient products. Instead, they were friction, disorientation, nonconformity. Or, As Kafer writes, ‘Disability too often serves as the agreed upon limit to our projected futures.’ This is me imagining different.

Here’s the thing he quietly decided long ago: he will forget his native tongue in favor of common words, and leave the past in the past.

“Are you familiar with the custom of the sea?” Robin asked. “The one among shipwreck survivors.” Sanji was the cook. It was his job to feed the crew.

On the high seas pirates draw their power not from devil fruit but with deals with demons, and pay the price in turn. Blood, salt, and water, everyone's soul is on the line, but only if you're fool enough to make a deal.