Twenty years after The Great Purge and the continuing effects of a High Priestess’s curse, Albion is a nation on the brink of collapse. Not even High Chancellor Uther Pendragon’s Compatibility Regime can curb the plummeting population. To add to his troubles, his wayward son, Arthur, makes no disguise of his unwillingness to wed. With good reason. Arthur is secretly leading the Movement, a covert organisation plotting to overthrow the government and return magic to Albion. Not to mention, it’s been foreseen that Arthur’s future, his destiny, is an indomitable union with a warlock—not marriage to the farm-boy matched to him by Uther’s Compatibility Machines.

They cannot see, but she does. Myrcella sees.

“You want me to marry a Soporata?”

You remember the first time you really realized you were fucked up. You were five. First year of kindergarten, miserable as all fuck. The teacher told the boys to line up on one side of the room and the girls on the other. You don't even remember why. You just remember the result.

He pushes off the bed in one smooth motion, and your bloodpusher skips a beat as he takes a step towards you. “Really.” “If, if you’re trying to imply anything lewd—” “Lewd? Seriously? You sound like Zahhak.” Another step. Your voice is too shrill when you ask, “But are you?” He braces one hand against the wall over your shoulder, tilts his head to the side, and smirks in that infuriating, awful way. “What do you think?”

Eridan's right. This guy is so bangable, and you're going to be the one to do it. ...just as soon as you can manage to make that whole 'words' thing work again.

In the game of gay xenochicken there are no losers, which explains why you are currently trying to stick your hands down Sollux's pants.

Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent.

Keith stood under the hot spray of the shower head, his eyes closed as he focused inward, trying desperately to regain some sense of composure. He wasn’t quite certain what was wrong with him today; he was the one moving out of sync in their training exercises, he’d run himself into an invisible maze-wall so hard he was dizzy for a quarter hour after it, and he swore he could still feel the static jolt under his skin. When Shiro had touched his shoulder, eyes concerned, his touch was like a fresh electric current and Keith had yanked himself away.

Zabuza steels himself, breathes out. Remembers he can move, that he can speak, and slowly, carefully slides to his knees. Not a position he would take for anyone else, even Mei if she ever wore the Mizukage's hat, not after a lifetime spent clawing his way up from the streets and into a place of his own power. But—gods are something different. They have to be, or they can't offer miracles, and Zabuza needs that miracle right now. “I was told that you help those seeking justice,” he says.

Short fics originally posted to my Tumblr, edited and collected here.

No one would help him get to the bottom of Kerberos, and it had all reached a breaking point when Iverson threatened to terminate Keith’s scholarship if he kept snooping. So Keith got what he came for, the little black book no one was ever meant to find, and stopped snooping. Because now, he’ll have someone else to do all the snooping for him. The situation isn’t ideal, Keith thinks as he slits his palm open and methodically draws the pentagram on the floor, placing the necessary items one by one into each point of the star. But considering the circumstances, he thinks he’s done alright for himself. More importantly, for Shiro.

“You know, you’re the one to beat this year,” Jiang Cheng offers helpfully, having seen the glare from right next to him. “Hanguang-jun’s been through juniors with the rest of us, he knows all of our tics. You’re an unknown variable, since he’s never competed against you before.” “Thanks,” says Wei Wuxian drily. “That’s very comforting.” Or: five nighthunting competitions where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were rivals, and one where they weren't.

When Nie Huaisang gets paired with straight porn star Jiang Cheng for a five-part series, he’s sure it will be an utter disaster. Until the cameras start rolling and their chemistry alights like wildfire. (Or, the five times Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng have sex for their job, and the first time they have sex outside of it.)

Wei Ying was sprawled on the floor in front of the oscillating fan when Lan Zhan got home from work.

"Really, Xie Lian, you don't even jerk it??" Shi Qingxuan insists. "I mean it's none of my business and you can tell me to fuck off, but holy shit, lady." Xie Lian laughs, feeling her cheeks color, and shrugs again. "I don't know, something about the mechanics of it just never made sense to me," she admits. "And anyway that's time I should be spending studying." -- It comes out that Xie Lian's never had an orgasm. She goes to Hua Cheng for help. • theyre lesbians

Wei Ying might be an alpha but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to get fucked and knotted sometimes, okay? So, after buying herself a knotting dildo, she sets out to make her dreams come true. Unfortunately, the dildo gets a little... stuck... Luckily, her roommate, Lan Zhan, is home to lend a helping hand!

Jordan’s always been kind of jealous of people with dynamics, like Taylor.

“If you’re really sure,” he starts, and Neil nods along. “I could do it.” “Uh,” Neil says, and suddenly his thin sweats and shirt feel far too hot. “What?” “If you want,” Andrew says, looking Neil straight in the eyes, determination burning Neil up inside. “I could help.” “You would—,” Neil says and Andrew doesn’t even wait for him to finish before nodding. “Why?” “You don’t want your first time to be with some frat boy. Trust me, you don’t,” Andrew says. “If you decide sex isn’t for you, you don’t want that to be your only experience. You need someone who’s good.” Neil swallows heavily. “And that’s… you?”

Andrew and Neil switching phones by accident brings them closer together than either of them anticipated.

Far and away, being an omega is the least interesting thing about Jared.

“No one told me what prayers to recite,” Johnny forces out, trying to summon the well of anger that usually burns within him when he enters the church. “‘Spose they’re not used to trussin’ up somethin’ that can talk back.” Father Simon says nothing, his footsteps echoing out on the stone; growing louder as he approaches. “I can baa for ya if that’d make it more familiar,” he spits, some remnant of himself flaring and he strains his arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding his wrists. He follows the hem of his robe as he circles him; his keen eyes heavy as they study the sigils on his skin until he finally comes to a stop behind him. He’s not even to see his death. Johnny curses himself as only now does grief come at being denied a final look into his eyes. Even now, you can’t help but chase sin.

The wedding’s going to be tonight, presumably so no one involved has time to get cold feet, which gives Geralt just enough time to clean up and get the dirt off his armor and overthink every tiny little detail of this arrangement.