John discovers a new and MUCH more entertaining way to fill his prankster's gambit.

CG: I'VE SPENT ALL AFTERMIDNIGHT PACING UP AND DOWN MY NEW BLOCK IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR. THE ONLY REASON I HAVEN'T YET PACED MY WAY TROUGH THE WHOLE SHIP IS THAT IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE FUCKING ERIDAN. CG: WHADDYA THINK OF A CAPE? DOUCHEY, RIGHT? CT: D--> I would most strenuously advise against it. It would only obstruct the sharp lines guiding the eye to the waist of your exquisitely tailored jacket. CG: YEAH, I LIKE HOW THE JACKET CUTS SHORT RIGHT OVER THE TIGHTEST WHITE PANTS KNOWN TO TROLLKIND TOO. BE A SHAME TO HIDE THAT. CT: D--> That wasn't CT: D--> I mean CT: D--> I was merely admiring the craftsmanship. CG: YEAH, THAT KIND OF SKILL IS WORTH BEING ADMIRED. I SWEAR TO FUCK THERE'S AN ASS-LIFTING TRICK SEWN RIGHT IN. BUTT-WONDERBRA. MY TUSH IS ALREADY PRETTY GOOD USUALLY BUT DEAR LORD, *I'D* DO ME.

Karkat takes his time; this trick he has learned from several drill sergeants and then from being a drill sergeant, and learned well. When you're not sure what the fuck to do with a subordinate, take your time thinking it out. There is almost no way they will notice you're completely lost at sea: they'll be too busy freaking out. It's a technique he could have used more of when he was a kid. He really has no idea what to do with the guy. -- Sequel to Uniform Kink, a pesterlog/cybersex fic in which Karkat accidentally gets Equius hot under the collar with mentions of the uniform that comes with his promotion, and then decides to run with it. -- Now with Equius POV epilogue! 2000% more fluff.

She hasn’t had a partner-assisted orgasm in over a week and a half, and she is just beyond done. She wants to lie down on the cold bathroom floor and cry. Derek is starting to look like a permanently kicked puppy. “Look,” she tells him after dinner, “I love your inner self and your personality or whatever, but can I just tie you up and use your body until I come a couple times?” Derek fumbles the sudsy glass in his hand. “Awesome!” Stiles says brightly.

You try to dress nice. How do you dress nice for a sex club? You have no fucking idea. But you've got the greaser cool guy look down pretty good, and you think it works for you. You wear your tightest t-shirt. You spend like fifteen minutes in front of the bedroom mirror trying to decide which pair of jeans is the most flattering for your glutes. This is your chance.

Jupiter’s trying not to take it personally, but being inexplicably flinched away from is getting really, really old.

Cullen struggles with his lyrium addiction. Some days are better than others. Or (if you prefer a silly summary for a not-so-silly fic): In which Cullen is suicidally depressed, Dorian is a high-functioning alcoholic, and Bull just wants them both to be happy, except when he wants to crack their heads together for being emotionally stunted idiots.

"Are you sure this is okay with you," she whispers quietly, peering down at Jason.

In which Yamamoto has cause to go undercover with Bianchi and discovers something about himself.

101 ways to fix Xanxus. This series contains Alternate Histories all of which experiment with what changes might have led to Xanxus being only a little broken instead of totally insane.

Half the building was dedicated to Becky's workshop setup. It was an industrial space with exposed beams that made it easy for Adele to strip down, throw the silk over a beam, and get herself suspended before Becky came into the room.

His arm wasn't the only thing the Galra changed. They also gave him certain... needs. Shiro learns to make it work for him.

Ryan wants to experiment. Shane is more than happy to comply.

This has to count as some sort of sexual harassment, right? It’s got to be his idea of a joke, to subject Jiang Cheng to this “massage parlor”…! Massage parlor Jiang Cheng’s left buttcheek, this place is clearly sketchy as hell! If his masseuse doesn’t ask him if he wants a “happy ending” tonight, Jiang Cheng will gladly eat his shoe. -- Jiang Cheng has a Happy Ending

“No,” Padmé says, breathless but full of iron. “Hands on the floor.”

“Bet me I can’t sleep with ten prospects before the draft,” Dylan says.

Jason raises his eyebrows. "So we like… spar? And you'll what, let me fuck you if I win?" "Sure. If you win." Tim smiles and a thrill goes up Jason's spine. He shucks off his jacket and shoes before making his way to the mat. "It's a deal, then. Hope you won't regret it, Replacement." Tim's teeth look strangely sharp under the Cave lighting when he says, "I'll try my best."