One minute Clint's reaching for his gun to stop Loki stealing the Tesseract, the next he's shooting Fury and taking it. Easy as switching sides.

He appears the moment Loki summons him, standing at the ready like a good soldier. Loki smiles.

Everybody lies, everybody fronts.

Nick Fury's secrets have secrets.

His real talent is knowing how to make everyone else keep them.

It's around when Ray wants to hold Walt's hand like a goddamn teenage girl with stars in her eyes and wet panties that he starts to worry.

They start something in Iraq. It isn't anything prolonged, stolen moments and jacks that leave their dicks stripped and sore from the sand and not enough spit, not enough anything, not enough time or privacy or skin.

Clint rejects this reality and replaces it with his own.

"Sometimes it's hard to shut down, stop thinking. I understand that. If you need help exhausting yourself into a state in which you are capable of actually resting," Nate murmurs, eyes on Ray's mouth. "The Sergeant and I would be more than happy to assist you. In fact, we might have to insist on it. Brad's very concerned about you, and I admit, Ray, I share that concern.”

Brad gets a new call-sign.

Very quietly, Charles says, “Can you show me?”

“No.” Erik looks at him again, then, his expression as steely as Charles has ever seen it. His resolve is even stronger than his pain. “To show you this would be to make you share it, and I would never do that to you. Never.”

Brad and the LT are always doing their eyefucking thing, with the LT's honest-to-fuck cocksucker mouth tilted up to one side and Brad letting his whole Iceman facade down. Even now, when they've finally stopped and the LT is here talking to Brad with his shiny green fuck-me eyes. (Not that Ray will ever tell Brad about the LT's mouth or eyes. Ray might be in a motherfucking war, but he doesn't have a death wish.)

Exactly what it says on the tin. (With links to the songs!)

Everyone thinks Peter Burke has only caught Neal Caffrey twice. Everyone is wrong.

@dr_dr_mckay is stuck in a jumper at the bottom of the ocean & needs your help! Please RT!!

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ALONE

Jack feels that the words "The good thing is ..." are always a little ominous.

That's when he figures out how to rig the impromptu security feed. If Rod's up to anything, they need to know.

“You know we can’t be friends. None of us are friends, sir. Brothers, yes. But we’re not friends. Friends get you killed.”

The slide from “the LT and the Iceman” towards “Nate and Brad” is slow. Their identities are blurred by a hundred different small interactions that mean very little on their own, outside of a larger context. One thing is clear; some of it was Ray’s fault. We are assured of this.

Brad is hiding under the Humvee again.

While Draco holds Rosmerta under a spell, there is more to her relationship with another Malfoy than meets the eye.

It could be a better day. When the lift breaks somewhere between the third and fourth floors of New Scotland Yard, it gets worse than Hleb missing by a fucking mile.

Erik knows that Charles is both the strongest and the weakest of them all. But the 'why' of the paradox somehow gets lost in translation.

Exploration of Charles' telepathy and his relationship with Erik. Much longer, more elaborate version of my short ficlet, 'And All of the Ghouls Come out to Play.'

So then, because he’s Hardison, he created a fandom.

Christmas is about finding a place to call home. (Or, the one where Eames and Arthur have a Christmas...thing.)

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.

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

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 --

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

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!

Nancy Tremaine thinks she may be losing her grip on reality when she brings a stranger in a fairytale wedding dress with a distressingly low sense of self-preservation home to sleep on her couch. She has no idea what she's getting herself into.

“Raven,” Siri whispers, and the moonlight streams silver onto his scales. He’s a chameleon, a rabbit, a fluttering bird, landing on her shoulder and digging with tiny claws. “Raven, someone’s coming.”

Or, X-Men: First Class with daemons.

The one with a rainy day, a disappointment, and kissing on a motel bed.

Charles decides that the X-Team should have a day trip to New York City. Erik disagrees, but ends up shopping and ice skating anyway.

Eames used to think a long fuck was an hour, when at the end of it his hips are sore and he's got a fucking charley horse and everybody's gasping for air and dying for oxygen — he didn't know shit.

Charles has a monogrammed silver-plate fountain pen that he carries around with him everywhere, tucked into his inside jacket pocket.

He's not sure why he asks why. He knows Danny's going to lie, and yes, Danny feeds him a line of bullshit, and he acts like he believes. Because Danny has always needed to think he's the smart one, he's the one in charge, and because liars always need someone who believes. Rusty has always let him, because Rusty needs Danny.

The thing in the elevator barely took the edge off. Danny's been gone a long time.

And said the dark scribe unto the king, What would his majesty desire to be read? And the king waved a hand and said unto him, Read any page which you doth happen upon. Therefore the scribes opened the book of records of the chronicles on a certain page, and read aloud.

And after a few moments the dark scribe bent his head and made good to whisper unto the light scribe, How is it that you always get to read, angel? And the light scribe didst reply in a low voice, saying, Because you hiss your sibilants, yea.

It wasn't like Harvey exactly planned on them ending up in bed together, but Mike showing up at his place with his stupidly smart, impossibly pink mouth sort of blew that idea right out of the water.

"I hate giving a shit, it never ends well."

The most powerful telepath on the planet could never be a pacifist.

And that’s how Logan joins Charles Xavier and Eric Lensherr in working with the CIA.

Hey, he never said he wasn’t an easy date.

As if everything else about this job isn't fucked up enough, the mark has an earworm.

In Arthur's spare time he shaves himself smooth and dresses up in panties, garters and stockings and does live cam shows. One evening, Eames stumbles on one of his shows and realizes who he's jerking off to.

It might be reluctantly, it might be angrily, it might even be to his death and despair, but Eliot would ultimately always go where he pointed, and Nate never understood it, not until now.

"I'm sending you to Ealdor. Make Camelot proud." With that the King turned and left his son standing dumbfounded in the armory, grasping for words.

Arthur is mostly confused about what happened with the Black Knight. Thank goodness Merlin is there to help him understand. Well, understand most of it.

It is an unfamiliar feeling, but there it is, and once Arthur finds its name, he cannot unname it. Arthur is jealous.

Nothing really changes after Merlin recovers from the poison. Well, not right away at least.

Scowling, Arthur worried if perhaps Ealdor had been threatened again. Or maybe Merlin was fleeing from a servant girl he'd gotten in trouble. That thought did little to dispel his growing irritation; now he had visions of dark haired idiot children staring up at him with big blue eyes and calling him 'prat'. Multiple children.

Arthur clears his throat, feeling sure that his father does not want him to hear whatever apology he apparently wants to make to Gaius. Gaius, apparently, was right. Edwin, apparently, was extremely wrong about something, as he is lying dead on the floor with an axe in his skull.

They'd returned from Ealdor two days prior, and he's hardly seen Merlin since. The trip back had been quiet and uncomfortable. Merlin was visibly upset over Will, and they'd all tried to give him space so he could cope in peace. Instead of getting better once they returned to Camelot, however, Merlin's mood had deteriorated. He'd returned to his duties, but Arthur had felt so guilty giving him any chores that he'd dismissed him, telling him to go rest. Apparently, it isn't doing him any good.

Merlin goes and sees Arthur once he and Gaius return from Isle of the Blessed.

"But you could do it, couldn’t you?" Arthur insists. "You’ve conquered life and death - surely a little thunderstorm won’t pose much of a problem."

"Arthur doesn’t know," Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.

Lancelot changes things for everyone.

There’d been a time when Arthur, like his father, held grudges with an unyielding persistence. If Arthur felt he’d been wronged, no reconciliation was possible unless the other party was agreeable to groveling in abject subjugation.

There had been something about him from the start. And now he’d be working for him. He’d be in Arthur’s chambers, feeding him, dressing him. He would go wherever Arthur went. Excitement mingles with foreboding. Arthur whispers to himself: "Watch out."

In which things don't stay buried. AU post-1x10.

There are some sacrifices Arthur's not willing to make.

She never noticed all the empty spaces in her life until they started to fill up with memories.

"Robot," Owen mutters under his breath, mentally willing Ianto to say something that will give him an excuse to attack him.

To Nicolas Flamel, living is little more than a bad habit. He has been trying to break it for several years now, with little success.

They’re both suffering from Post Traumatic Stress disorder and therefore getting drunk and playing around with sensitive conversation topics is a fucking stupid idea.

There are very few moments when Merlin feels that perhaps the Dragon is not wrong. Moments like when he holds a goblet to his lips and feels the warm wine slide down his throat, leaving a path of sheer ice behind it. Before that moment, Merlin had never tasted poison. He also never tasted the surety that his life was worth less than another’s, and the warmth in knowing that if and when he died here, with his body destroying itself through a tainted drink, that he was in some twisted sense glad that he could die for Arthur.

A different take on the ending of The Gates of Avalon, in which Merlin gives more than he intends, and Arthur starts a few fires.

Heroic David Shepherd was, of course, unfazed. 'Let me make it up to you. Please.' His jaw clenched in a dashing show of masculine determination. "I’m really sorry. Anything you want, seriously."

Arthur had been taught right from wrong and this, this was wrong!

The Kobayashi Maru: how and why Jim Kirk hacked it.

Some people would like to call Winona Kirk a martyr, but martyrs don't get to see their sacrifices pay off.

"It was also brought to my attention that after marooning you on an ice planet and attempting to strangle you to death, failing to speak out for your defense would make me, in the popular vernacular, a douche."

Remus isn't a very good story teller, but there are things Harry wants to be told. Then again, there are some things Remus can never say, things that burn to think about. Betrayals and other things he keeps to himself. Secrets from when it all fell apart.

Jim took the silence as an opportunity to scrutinize his potential new friend, deciding with glee that his eyebrows were about as unfortunate as the severity of his bangs. In the absence of a response from the other, he was getting restless, head tilting as he fidgeted and bit his lip and shuffled his feet in the dirt, as he tried to deal with what seemed to his childish perception to be an awkward moment. He wasn't a shy child, but he sure as hell knew how and when to be a polite and charming one.

I’m not sure why I responded to the ginger-haired girl the way I did. I’d seen a hundred of her type before--pale and skittish at finding themselves here, but arrogant, too, never worked a day in their life, likely to look down on a woman like me who makes a honest living through trade. They pretend like they’ve been to Knockturn Alley before, like they know what they’re doing, like they know what they want. They rarely do. I take their gold anyway. I need it. We’ve all been screwed over by somebody--and I’m the first to admit it happened to me--but if they pay me enough, I’ll help them act like that’s not true.

"I wouldn't worry. He was in a terrible state when I left him. Both his legs were off and he was on fire."

"There's never any glory in dying," says the girl, and she sounds surprisingly sober. "People get that wrong. Glory's more my jurisdiction." She shrugs, and snuggles up next to him with her back to the boulder and her arm looped through his. "Well – and my brother's. Mostly his."

When he says she got the planet in the divorce, he means it.

When he'd lost Jim, he'd thought that that would be the greatest death he would be forced to face; to endure.