When detective Charles Xavier finds himself hunting down a vendetta-driven serial killer, it doesn't take long for him to realize he's in over his head. It only takes a little longer for him to realize his killer is, too.

"I do believe the two of you were in the same year as boys, were you not?" Headmaster Shaw said. "Charles is the most competent deputy any headmaster could ask for, Erik, and he's been doing this for years…" He trailed off, as if finally noticing something odd in the way his Potions and Divination masters were staring at each other.

"Of course," Charles said quickly, his voice only a little hoarse, and stuck out his hand. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Erik."

After pining for longer than he'd care to admit, Arthur asks Merlin out and gets more than he expected.

Logan doesn't bring flowers to Lilly's grave. Unless they were wire-shaped flowers made of neon-colored condoms, she would have knocked him for being unimaginative if he had, and he somehow doubts that anyone but Lilly would appreciate him leaving condoms at her grave.

Then Lilly wins... and there's something in her face that tells you she's been waiting for this for hours.

She points fingers at both of you, then brings them together. "Make out."

I'm the guy your boyfriend fucked last night, Arthur could say. I'm the guy who sucked his dick years before he even knew you existed. He wants to say, I'm the guy who'll still be here long after you've had enough because I'm Arthur and I'm a fucking idiot.

When Harry starts to have erotic dreams about his godfather, he questions his sexual preference. The real issue turns out to be even more complicated and disruptive. Then there's Draco.

This. This was something that needed taking care of. In a non-traditional sense.

“Someone really should put up a warning on the city website,” someone says from high above. Raven cranes her neck and, of course, there’s Erik, crouching on top of the lamp post like he is the goddamned Batman. “Do not approach. Slayer on the prowl.”

Fury's a beautiful princess. Clint's plotting a Communist revolution. Rhodey's not sexy. Wall-E's not a documentary. Clint's not gay but he does give a great blowjob. This fic is not an AU.

It's terribly bad form, sleeping with your ex when you're still half in love with the bastard.

Neal decides to become Elizabeth's best friend and gets more than he bargained for.

"Don't worry, Neal. If you're good, I'll ask Peter to fuck you when he gets home."

The affair starts on a Thursday.

In the course of Harry's job, numerous reports and files come across his desk. He's never adapted to the paperwork in this job and delegates to his secretary as much as possible, but some things have to be reviewed and signed by him personally.

So, one Wednesday, he gets a form requesting permission for a former known Death Eater to leave the country for a holiday.

He lights a cigarette across the pub, his hand cupped to his mouth as the tip sparks to life in a faint orange flare, and my breath catches.

These moments, these secret meetings -- they’re borrowed, Eames knows this. He’ll take it if it means he gets to taste Arthur, to have him say Eames’s name like he can’t help it escaping him. He’ll take any scraped out time he can get just to feel Arthur’s hungry hands on his body.

It was always the same excuse.

Harry wished he didn't respond to Malfoy this way, wished his self-control wasn't reduced to nothing the second Malfoy touched him.

Bones pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, let me get it straight. A good chunk of the crew saw you and the hobgoblin trying to suck each other's faces off, but you're insisting that you've never kissed and that you're just friends. Oh, and let's not forget the little detail that both of you have girlfriends."

Written as a sort of 'what if?' tag to Quarantine. What if Rodney had finally proposed to Katie? What if Katie had said yes?

You know what they say. A new cat is never the same as an old husband.

AU. It's about kids, and family, and flocking. It's about love and death, with fishing and chips on the side. It's about Jack O'Neill having to explain all of that. . . .

But. . . this year the two months were an absolute comedy of disasters, and John was literally counting down the minutes until the end of May. He felt like he was on the Biblical curses roller-coaster.

Snippet, in which pancakes are made.

SG1 AU where Rodney's Air Force, John's an engineer, and Jack O'Neill's got an unpleasant job to do.

AU: Rodney's in the Canadian Air Force. He likes cats. John's an aerospace engineer. He wants kids. There is no Atlantis, but there is sushi, Captain Underpants, the end of the world, and the flagrant misuse of alien technology.

His best friend keeps cockblocking him, his relationship guru is a computer, and he might be gay. The future is very complicated.

Arthur’s not sure if it’s the vodka, or the bitter fucking cold, but never has a single group of people been so completely adept at all forms of espionage and backstabbing.

Mal makes them tell stories. Mal makes them fumble for something to touch. Mal makes them fuck, but maybe that's not the important part.

John can't write up the case until he finds out why. He needs to write their story true. [Post The Reichenbach Fall, major spoilers.]

In which Santana Lopez learns the hard way that a life can never be ruined, only lived, and lived, and lived.

Bird AU. Erik is a lone kestrel on a mission to destroy the great golden eagle who killed his mother. Charles is an abandoned pet dove with no fear and a dream of making a place where the little birds can fly free. They don’t quite want the same thing, but together they’ll change the world.

So there's this thing going around Tumblr where this dog leaves food for in his bowl for weeks and the human eventually discovers he's carefully saving back food for a stray pregnant cat. Cat is eventually adopted by human and cat and dog live happily in interspecies harmony. It is adorbs.

Candy, who is an amazing human being that I probably should never actually talk to because horrible things would happen to the universe, was like OH MY GOD YOU GUYS THIS SHOULD BE KIRK/SPOCK

Mycroft’s in Sherlock’s chair -- Sherlock’s going to be so annoyed. He doesn’t even like John to sit in his chair, and if he sees his brother there, all hell will break loose. He’ll be in a strop for days and John will --

Father Charles knew.

If you went to him, whether in the confessional or for an informal chat over coffee, he somehow always knew what was troubling you, even before you said the words.

Harry returns from vacation with an unfortunate case of vampirism and must learn to cope with blood, Malfoy, and recalcitrant secretaries. And if that doesn't tell you everything about the plot you need to know, you haven't read enough badfic.

Erik accompanies Charles on a trip to Washington and tries to stay out of trouble this time.

Prompt: Starfleet!AU - Human!Erik thinks Charles is the worst Vulcan ever. In which Erik is distressed by a Vulcan shaking hands with him and then very blatantly inviting him to *cough* observe his nocturnal habits.

Over the years, plenty of people had offered their bodies to Sherlock. He had never accepted, and never planned to. But John was the first person who had ever offered his mind as well.

Sherlock is bored (BORED) and John decides that they should play Cluedo. In retrospect, it was a truly awful decision.

"Hold on," Mike asked, "you made Donna come into work in the middle of a blizzard?"

"I don't make Donna do anything. Haven't you learned by now?" Harvey gave Mike a mean little smile, but under that was relief for anyone to see. "You, I can make come into the office in a blizzard."

There is a swan, and he's not named Sherlock. And there is a duck, and he's not named John.

In the midst of a very dull summer, Arthur wheedles his way into a bar and into Eames's pants. Cobb despairs.

This is what you get for being the only son of forgotten Bavarian royalty, the last vestige of an ancient, magical line, left to rot amongst some pretty skirts and terrible attempts at intelligent conversation.

Eames's dealings with Arthur over the last couple weeks have been limited to text messages about how senior year is kicking his arse and, on one occasion, a phone call that ended with Arthur getting himself off in a study carrel in his school library. The poor thing really does deserve a break.

As promised many moons ago: a coda where Arthur, freshly legal and bearing baked goods, shows up at Eames’s door.

Arthur has always been told he’s mature for his age. Maybe it comes from being an only child, or from having to step into his father’s shoes too soon, or maybe he’s just too serious for his own good. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t like having his foundations shaken. Going in for a physical is not something that should shake them.

Five years. Five times they don't fuck, just fuck with each other. No times they don't.

Generally he chalks it up to one of the few awkward sexual encounters he’s had as an adult and a reminder that Mike isn’t as sweet and naïve as everyone else seems to think he is. But if Mike was willing to blow him while seeing someone else, it will shade his opinion of the kid.

Mike is tired of Harvey acting like he couldn’t find his own dick with both hands and a map. He's a grown man, goddammit.

Charles had never before considered himself to be a fan of smoking.

When Police Sergeant Lance Dulac begins to investigate a crime in the small Welsh village of Camelot, it stirs up decades of secrets.

Mostly, John just wants Sherlock to leave off the prostitutes.

Five months ago, as Arthur had been readying to leave their hotel room, Eames (still naked, still half-asleep) had said come find me whenever.

Apparently, this is whenever and Eames is an arsehole.

Aziraphale would have missed (or perhaps deliberately ignored) the nuance of together, but Crowley was a man-shaped being of the world, and knew what was being asked. "We've been around since -- for a while," he said. "But it's not like that."

”These are the most dysfunctional people on the planet... They could not be more ill-fitted. What better definition of family?” - Joss Whedon

After a hard week at work, Harvey and Mike are on their way to Harvey's condo, desperate for some time alone. What they don't know is that Harvey's parents have come to visit, and when Harvey pushes Mike against the front door to thoroughly ravish him before they have even entered, Harvey's parents decide to investigate where the noise is coming from and open the door.

When John had RSVP’d his invite to Ronon and Amelia’s wedding, he’d signed it John and Nancy Sheppard. When Rodney RSVP’d to Ronon, there had been no other name on the card.

Written for the prompt: "Eleven fucks Amy while Rory watches. Rory's turned on rather than jealous."

The entire female population of Sunnydale has turned into rampant lesbian nymphomaniacs, and only the Magic Penis of Re-orientation can save the day!

"Music is the silence between the notes" ~ Claude Debussy; or, life is what happens when you're busy wishing you could be in a practice room.

Set very shortly after "Ach, des Knaben Augen".

Arthur’s face shifts from interrogatory focus to something soft and slack and longing, almost within a bare second.

Arthur loves Daniel, he truly does; but it’s Eames. There’s no point in drawing a comparison. It’s not apples and oranges. It’s apples and Goethe, apples and Rachmaninoff.

"I'm next," Eames says. "If you don't smother me in blankets and tape me together my voice will be no use to you either. I'll probably sing in French instead of German or something equally disastrous."

When Eames travels, the thought of Arthur travels with him.

The story of ‘happily ever after.’

This isn't an old theory assignment; that much was clear from the instant Eames pulled it out, folded unevenly, from where it had been pressed between the pages of Thayer's dreary Beethoven tome.

Being a freshman piano performance major at a prestigious New England conservatory is difficult enough without landing the school's star baritone as your singer, and inevitably, your hopeless crush.

In which Harvey is remembering. And it's the worst fucking thing he could possibly do.

Okay, he plays World of Warcraft, but it’s a lot like spending a night hooked up with lines connecting to the PASIV device. Just minus the needle. And with a $15-per-month surcharge. It’s a fair trade, he decides, as another murloc dies by his hand.

Mike and Harvey are in a relationship. They just don't know it yet.

"Yeah," Joe says, calling his bluff but unable to keep from smiling, "yeah, I'm hoping you'll be my first off-screen dude-on-dude kiss."

"It's come to my attention," says Pierce, "that Jeff is dead."

(But Sherlock Abed is born).

They say Man was made in God's image, and that's not wrong, exactly, except for how it's all wrong, except for how it's always been wrong, because Man was made in God's image, that first time, but man, lowercase, widespread, always evolving into something worse, man was made in the image of man, who was made in the image of Man, who spent too much time gorging himself on apples to remember much about whose image it was he was made in.

"I'll have my wallet back. Nice form, but points off for hitting the one and only mark in this crowd that can recognize the art." Eames holds out his hand and Rusty smiles wide wide like the sky opening up after a storm. Eames narrows his eyes. He knows a pro when he is nearly sexually assaulted by one on a street corner.


"Rusty." He wipes salt and oil off his fingers onto a linen handkerchief and sticks his hand out.

“We shared a flight, months ago.” He sips his drink as hers arrives. He allows her the prop to hide behind. “Sydney to L.A.” His smile is much more fluid than hers.

Her eyelids flutter and she pretends to think about it. “I was in Australia earlier this year.” She shrugs. “You could be right. Weird coincidence.” She sips her drink. “Too bad I didn’t notice you then.”

She almost hits the right note. Almost.

It starts innocently enough (yeah, right), Arthur sends Eames a birthday gift as a sort of (ok, totally) signal that Arthur knows these things about him. But he spends what is probably an inordinate amount of time considering the gift itself. It has to be perfect.

“I promised your sister I would look after you, and that’s what I’m doing. Don’t forget, Charles, that you made this bed for yourself. Don’t blame me if you have to lie in it, too.”

In which Cobb decides two babysitters are better than one, Saito proves that money can buy happiness, and Eames is excellent with children. Oh, and Arthur's a fucking Disney princess.

Eames runs a porn studio, and has a very inconvenient crush on their newest bottom.