Loki falls from the Bifrost, and lands in Lilo's garden. Chaos ensues.

He hears: “turn here” and “listen carefully” and Poe nearly trips as a Stormtrooper says the words that wrap around Poe’s right thigh.

“There just - there weren’t a lot of prospects in the desert!” Rey folds her arms, furious.

An alternate take on leupagus's Space Princess Poe.

Rey steals Finn’s clothes. So in some way she’s stealing his clothes.

“Shut up and hand me that tiara,” she snarls at him, flapping her hand at the dresser where it's perched jauntily on top of his blast helmet.

Finn is somewhat underprepared. Poe is only trying to help.

someone said "touch-starved Finn" and the next thing I know I'm writing a tragic backstory and sickeningly cute OT3 cuddles - “Pick yourself up, FN-2187,” they’d tell him. And then they’d hit him again.

The idea brings its own problems, of course. Rey was a one for so long that it’s been hard to get used to being a two with Finn, but at least for that she has seen models that she could learn from, even living and scavenging in the wastes of Jakku. There were some raggedy families headed up by parents; one or two young couples who shared their food and took turns sheltering each other from the sun. She has no frame of reference for this, for threeness, but she knows she wants it. Never mind that she’s never seen it done before. She’ll have to make it up as she goes; at least she’s good at that. There’s the family you’re born into, and then there’s the one you make for yourself.

“An exciting change for the greatest pilot in the Resistance,” the General tells him, “I would hope that we have a more successful trip than last time.” “I would argue that my last mission was very successful, ma’am.” In more ways than she knows. It’s early enough that Finn is still pretending to be asleep, and Rey is curled next to him, a tiny lump in the pile of blankets. (a sequel to room of heartbeats)

Rey is different from Finn; all sharp angles with kinetic energy beneath pale skin, eyes wide enough to take in the sky. A completely different kind of beauty from Finn, but beautiful all the same. Oh no, thinks Poe Dameron, with a sinking realisation.

There are times when, for the greater good, one might choose to lose a bet. This is one of those times.

Dorian is quite magnanimous in victory, and perfectly willing to reward Bull for being so gracious in defeat.

Dorian is feeling frisky in the crowded Herald's Rest.

You really can buy anything on the internet.

All of Vyrantium's noble elite were invited to Magister Maecenas' dinner party to view her prize collection of Qunari antiquities and make polite conversation. Dorian Pavus had resigned himself to a long and boring evening, but a few wrong turns was all it took to change that.

A letter from Dorian's father sends him into a rage that only the Iron Bull can calm.

And Dorian – who hasn’t maliciously thought of Bull as a beast in years, who hasn’t said the words even jokingly in months – still finds himself struck with what he was taught about the Qunari, what he still thinks when a new Vashoth joins the Inquisition. And now, every time the child opens his wide dark eyes and blinks lazily up at Dorian, every time he seems surprised by his own hands waving in front of his face, every time he laughs and squawks and hiccups after he’s done crying… Dorian thinks he can do better, for this child. He will. He rocks the child in his arms late at night and whispers against the tight curls springing out of the sweet crown of his head, coaxes him to sleep for papa, darling, that’s a good boy.

A group of qunari seek refuge at Skyhold, and Dorian's life gets wildly out of hand.

A SHIELD agent named Roger Stevens told Tony that his nickname was "Cap". Tony didn't connect the dots until it was much, much too late.

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

“I need you to show me how to put on make-up,” he goes, all at once, and she blinks at the seahorse patterned shower curtain. There’s no way she heard that right. She finishes buttoning up her shirt and steps out of the shower carefully, wet feet sliding a little on the tile. “Make-up,” she repeats, looking at him as she winds an elastic band around her hair. “Yeah,” he murmurs, embarrassment burning in his eyes. “She uh, wants me to go as Belle.”

In the aftermath of the assault on Starkiller base, Finn struggles with his recovery, and Poe struggles with his feelings.

Killua's overconfidence plus anonymous liquid substances ends in poor decisions and absurd circumstances.

Gon's unnatural concentration rears its head in unexpected places.

A run-in with one of the most ridiculous nen powers ever leaves Gon a little more canine than usual.

Catboy Killua is a pain in his own ass.

A one-shot collection for my aged-up Killugon fics from now on!

Explosions, broken toes, and blood transfusions, or, the long and mostly-incompetent courtship of Cougar by Jensen.

Clint's a little older than he looks, and his DNA has a few surprises in store, too.

Tony Stark is a Seer, someone vulnerable to phantasms, malevolent spirits of the dead. He's meant to have a bonded Fighter, someone who can defend him -- or attack on his command. So far he's had no luck finding a bond, but that's about to change...

Santana is eight years old when her Tio Carlos joins the Army. Or the less-cracky-than-you-might-expect Glee/The Losers crossover where Cougar is Santana's uncle. (If it tells you anything, i nearly titled this 'Ohana Means Family.')

A shadow drops over him, too dark to be a cloud moving across the sun, and he cracks an eye open to find Cougar above him--not standing and staring down but a whole lot closer, like, about to straddle him and make him embarrass himself close.

The first time Jensen meets Max, he's cuffed to a chair with a dislocated jaw. Things don't improve significantly from this point onwards.

Cougar is doing perfectly well ignoring his feelings for Jensen until Jensen makes himself hard to ignore. A commentfic for a prompt about dog tags and a boy in a skirt.

Under orders not to use his right hand until it heals, Jensen is quickly frustrated by the inconvenience of functioning with only one thumb. It's a good thing Cougar is there to help him out with little things, and big things too.

This is not exactly what Jensen was expecting when he came into work this morning.

“This place is a shithole,” Roque says in disgust.

Jensen had gotten practice at this sort of thing in his last unit.

Tony Stark; genius, millionaire, awkward virginal alpha, and reclusive CEO of Stark industries. Steve Rogers, reporter for the New York Times, omega, and one of the single most domineering men Tony has ever met. He shouldn't want this, shouldn't like the things Steve offers, but he's never really been one for following the rules, now has he?

A one-night-stand becomes a whole lot more. If only life were that simple.

When Carlos is fifteen, his mother, father and three sisters sit him down in the living room and explain to him that they support gay rights... Or, the story of how Carlos got his groove.

Jake Jensen is sixteen when he meets Tony Stark at MIT. He's nineteen when he joins the US army, and twenty-four when he becomes a Loser. Becoming a Loser is also when he happens to discover that DADT might apply. But that is not where this story begins. It begins on a cold, winter morning in Massachusetts, when a little girl with hair the colour of cornflakes meets her newborn brother for the first time. (In which there are evil toasters, all-around nerdiness, and ohana ).

It was not, strictly speaking, Jake’s fault that he ended up in jail.

Cougar accidentally finds out Jensen gets aroused really easily. He gets curious.

AU world, where mutants are government property, and The Losers just got assigned a new sniper

This is meta and pics of my first attempt to make Rick Bayless's mole as an homage to coinin's awesome family/food/awesome fic.

In which Cougar goes home, goes on a road trip, and learns to cook.

The one where Jensen's locked in a cage, Roque is a sucker for the furry, Pooch risks his fingers, Cougar's concussed, and Clay is putting his foot down, damn it.

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.