Clint has every intention of taking care of Loki just as Loki took care of him. Karma’s a bitch, and all that.

The hell was that it had still been him the whole time. It hadn't been Stockholm, he'd been trained for that; and it hadn't been some kind of magic that turned you into a zombie. Everything he had, everything he was, he'd given to Loki. He'd been happy to do it. Funny how little free will seemed to matter, when you got down to it.

You can't get much clearer than this, this slow inexorable push: even in his sleep, Harvey's making it crystal clear that Mike isn't actually welcome here. Harvey, Mike knows, doesn't do serious. Harvey does one night stands.

Young military Arthur goes to a sex worker to take care of his ~ass virginity problem.~ Finds an unexpected rapport, is drawn back repeatedly, falls in love, knows it's untenable for a dozen different reasons and doesn't say anything about it... you know the drill. Then the sex worker drops completely off the radar with no warning. Arthur panics, is heartbroken; represses the fuck out of it, forcing himself to move on. Several years later, they meet in dreamshare.

“This,” call-me-Gaius thunders, “is Mr. Morgan. He’ll be preparing you for Oxbridge applications, and I trust that you will treat him with the respect he deserves.” He is pointedly looking straight at Arthur as he says it.

Their sophomore year the whole school was suddenly bursting with gossip, the scuttlebutt having Nate caught on a steamy make-out session with Rick Sykes. Rick protested a great deal, maintained he was drunk or stoned or temporarily insane, and then he transferred to another school. Nate laughed when asked, rolled his eyes at the occasional spiteful comment, and then went and joined the cheerleading squad and started volunteering with the homecoming committee.

Few weeks later he dated the homecoming queen for a while and she was gushing about him to everyone who wanted to listen and to a few who didn't.

The entire school quietly wondered what the fuck.

"Bisexuality, look it up," Nate advised Ray earnestly, not a hint of mocking in his voice or on his face, just the helpful smile, like he was ready to lend Ray his dictionary.

"That was weird."

It was a testament to Ariadne's love of the English language (because she loved to watch ideas be constructed, even linguistically) that she was distracted from the current predicament enough to say, "I am going home, slapping some glitter on a trophy, and making you the Understatement of the Year Award you so very much deserve."

It was not a testament to anything regarding Arthur that he stuck out his tongue, flipped both of them their very own bird, and shouted, "Fuck you, fascists!" Then he kicked a table over.

"Gosh," said Eames in a tone that tread a careful line between wonder and deep-seated fear. He pushed his thick glasses up his nose.

"Fairly everyday stuff. If it's too mundane, I'll completely understand if you're not interested."

If he wasn't interested? Erik gave him a blank look, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself: "you did see my record, right?"

"Oh yes, that," Xavier said vaguely. "I did. Metal, isn't it? I suppose that's why you were touching that gate. Can't imagine it myself, having my own abilities restrained."

From: Steve Rogers <steverogersamerica@gmail.com>
To: Tony Stark <tony.stark@starkindustries.com>
Date: Thu, Oct 14, 2010 at 2:15PM
Subject: RE: Test

HI

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

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.

“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.”

< recording: azazel/prison_security/cctv/northwing /interview_room_camera_2/1_aug_1967 >

>xavier is seated at table / hands free / telepathic blocker crown surgically implanted
>lensherr enters with bodyguards
>lensherr dismisses bodyguards
>l: tell me what i’m thinking, mr xavier.
>[silence for 1 second]
>l: i can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be for you without your abilities.
>x: not so bad, mr president. you should try it. feel the insubstantial difference between us and humans.

But before Arthur could decide if he should be worried or angry, the voice continued: “We know about you and Jack Eames, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn't make mistakes and he doesn't forget. He goes into heat three times a year and he plans for it, every time, he's always ready to deal with this fucked up part of his Manticore legacy but fuck, fuck -

The job has gone south.

“The real question, mister swifter-than-the-wind,” she asks him, “is do you prompt, or do you fill?”

Loki raises an eyebrow at the question and, oh god, she’s in high school. This is high school all over again, and guys as hot as Loki don’t want the girl who wears glasses and has dumb hair. This is just like high school, except with more potential to get murdered.

But Loki seems pleased to ignore her minor breakdown in favour of leaning in and grinning, “Ms Lewis, I prompt and I fill.” The look in his eyes is just wicked.

"But you have to do it proper," Raven's blue fingers played with the corner of the book's pages. "Erik, he does, like, he does it like you're my lunch."

"I've only just started, just wait," Charles said cheerily. He turned back to the book and continued to read, "I'll eat half of you now and save half for later-"

"You're not doing the voices," Raven whined. "Erik does," and this time, out of her tiny mouth came a pitch-perfect mimicry of Erik droning in his native accent, just subtle enough for a four-year-old to still understand the words, "I'll eat half of you now."

“Uh…” Steve isn’t really sure how to phrase his issue in the form of a message. He clears his throat, and regroups after only a beat of hesitation. “I just got a phone call from Loki.”

To start with yes, he had filled several little leather-bound diaries with childish scrawls of red ink that read things like, “Die Thor” and “You never really accepted me!” And then he'd attended a few sessions of primal scream therapy and taken a modern dance course at the local community college. Between finding a constructive way to express his anger and making some lovely friends that he still had tea with every Wednesday afternoon while they chatted manicures, fashion, and lap dogs, he felt much more comfortable in his own skin these days. All it had really taken was escaping the poisonously macho atmosphere of Asgard, which according to Kevin was something like living in Omaha and not being interested in Football.

"I'm sick," Eames said.

"Yes, but with a cold. You're not dying."

"Would you drag yourself away from that screen even if I was?"

"Of course," said Arthur, "I wouldn't let you die in our living room. It would decrease the selling price of the apartment."

Harvey's client is trying to take on the mob, in the form of John "Three-Guns" Boccacho. Johnny Three-Guns has decided Harvey's an easier target, but fortunately Harvey's top PI and all-around badass, Mike Ross, is on the case.

Basically, no one in London gave two shillings for what Arthur did, which was why Arthur liked London enough to sell books on architecture, design, and engineering at a bookshop called The Robie House, a name he'd chosen on a whim when he was signing the papers and regretted ever since.

"I should hit on a man who comes in every morning at seven a.m. in a five thousand dollar suit, says the exact same eleven words - and I've memorised them, by the way: the usual please, yes that'll be all, thank you very much. Looks directly at the person manning the checkout when he does it and does not manage to smile a single time, even when it's Angel. Rushes out as soon as he gets his drink. That's the person you want me to ask out."

Anyway, that’s how it starts. With Merlin’s smacked-around-the-head-with-a-wet-fish-for-the-umpteenth-time-today expression. With his discomfort at having seen Arthur fuck another man. (It’s wrong, Merlin doesn’t think, but knows. He doesn’t remember how he knows, or why, the feeling imprinted in his bones when they were still small and brittle, but he knows.)

The thing is, Zach's not a creepy guy. No, really, he's not. He's just very... specific. He likes certain specific things. He likes the way Chris smells. It’s totally not as creepy as it sounds. Honestly.

Short of dancing naked around and around Zach until they both get dizzy and fall over, shouting, "Gay, I am gay for you, I am so SO gay for you," he can't see a better way to communicate his non-heterosexuality. Chris Pine, he thinks, you evil genius.

Fucking tease, Zach thinks, fuming.

Do not watch soap operas. You'll find yourself making too many comparisons with your crewmates.

He wakes up with Spock's hand on his hip. Naked hip. Huh. Well, this is interesting.

"It would seem that a side-effect of this repression is that all of my sexual urges have been repressed as well. This is not uncommon, as most Vulcans only mate when biologically driven to."

St. Mary's is just like Chris's last parish.

"Uther forced me to swear an Unbreakable Vow."

Arthur comes back as Barack Obama. YES. I WENT THERE.

Merlin thinks his asthma should be downplayed somewhat, it's perfectly controlled (he has set alarms each morning and night to remind him to take his preventer inhaler) and it doesn't stop him doing normal, everyday things (if he's not too energetic or around irritants in the air). After years of his mother coddling him and being over protective about it, Merlin can't help but feel a little freer, fewer pity eyes looking at him when he's being held behind in the playground when the pollen levels are high. Whatever, Merlin thinks, he'll like to be rebellious just this once.

Spock, who has just experienced intense emotional compromise, has no desire to do so again. And so, while Kirk assumes the captaincy, he goes to his quarters and meditates. He finds the place within his mind where he built the mental shields that separated him from T’Pring. Behind those telepathic walls lie the remains of his bond. As he examines the shields for damage, he is aware that something is behind them. It flutters faintly, like a baby bird genre:fluffing its tiny wings. It does not feel like death – it feels, strangely, like birth. But Spock will not risk exposing himself to a broken mind link. Down that path lies madness. He doubles the barriers, reinforces his defenses between the shattered bond and his mind, and the awareness disappears.

And he certainly couldn't get Cobb to help him out. Cobb was the master of purple prose. Everyone bowed down to him on his purple prose throne. The only pairing he wrote was him/Mal with the occasional him/Saito - but that was no surprise, since everyone shipped themselves with Saito.

"Saito? Did you buy the kink meme?"

Ariadne will only construct maze settings that logically require Arthur to wear suits, a la the hotel dream layer.

"Never have I ever cheated," Ariadne said, lips quirked in a smile.

"Darling, just hear me out. I need a wife."

CREEPY COMMENT!FIC IS CREEPY.

Merlin is 20, Arthur is 22 and 10

"I dreamed you got shot on a beach," he'll say. "You'll be glad to know it was all in glorious technicolor."

"Did you lock—" begins Eames.