Criminal Minds, Garcia & any, Garcia is an android/alien/whatever who can actually link her brain to the computer. The team knows, the higher-ups don't.
Cyberware - Criminal Minds, Garcia and Morgan, PG
The information poured in, blazing like fire before Garcia's eyes. She could feel it in her copper-and-cable veins, the flow and dance of information coalescing into defined words. They spun out from her body to the computer with every tap of her finger to the keys, the lists spinning up faster than anyone could type.
Three possible names remained, three bad men with bad histories, one of whom was committing terrible crimes. Garcia blinked and her phone dialed Derek Morgan with the barest flicker of thought. In the infinite seconds before he picked up, she spun out more search strings on addresses and places of work, knowing what the team would need.
The ornaments in her hair, plastic flowers or bursts of tinsel and glitter, easily hid the hair-thin wires that flowed from her cranial connections, turning colors as they wound through her clothing, and vanishing in the visual cacophony of her excessive jewelry on her hands and fingers. At no time did her hand leave the computer entirely, and as long as it did not, she was not confined to the speed of mere dumb machines.
Fast as thought, the addresses rolled across the screen as Morgan picked up his phone after the endless eons between seconds.
"Hey Baby Girl, tell me you have something."
"Always and already on your phone," she said, her smile neon-bright as she felt her precious data spawn itself in the Mini-Me Morgan always carried with him. She'd never told him, but he'd guessed. He treated it with as much reverence as her.
"You know you're the light of my life, right?"
She could see his smile through the camera on the phone, and a grinning emoticon popped up in response.
"Would I ever be anything else?" Garcia asked.
"No one could ever be you." Derek sobered up as he regarded the three names she'd sent to him. "We'll get him Penelope, there's only one of these three that's in the right area. We got him."
Garcia felt the mutual triumph through every fiber of her being, through silicon and titanium, cable and rod, circuitry and cyberspace.
Lost, Polar Bear, anything really, I just want it to be from the Polar Bear's pov.
Fish Biscuits On the Brain - Lost, Polar Bear, PG
Sniff. Sniff, sniff.
Huh. Something funny in the air today.
Thirsty. Time for a drink.
I'm lost now.
Where's the forest?
I don't like all this grass. I can't see the bunnies.
Sleepy. Sleep now.
New day. Air smells bad. No sky exploding today.
Can't see the bunnies. At all.
Could it be bunnies?
No. Maybe boars. Boars would be nice.
I see their hair up above the grass. Tall boars.
I can see them through the grass! Not boars!
People! People used to give me fish biscuits!
I haven't had a fish biscuit in forever!
Wait! Wait! Slow down! I want a fish biscuit! Just stay there, I'm running to you!
Hurrah! I'm going to have fish biscuits for lunch, fish biscuits for lunch, fish biscuits-!
That wasn't a fish biscuit. That wasn't a fish biscuit at all.
Author's Choice; any/any. Human Apocalypse. The zombies were just minding their own business when a great big horde of humans popped up and decided to infect them with "antidotes" and blast their heads off with primitive weaponry.
One Night at the Dead Cow Buffet - original fiction, R rating for gore
“How’s it hanging?”
“About to fall off, I’m afraid.”
“Eh, no biggie, right?”
Joe laughed, accidentally slipped his jaw, and quickly shoved it back into place. They could laugh about those kinds of things now, like they wouldn’t have before. There were no worries now. They didn’t have to run around earning pieces of paper for useless things. No more moving metal box or big wooden shelter or shiny screen with moving pictures. Why bother with that stuff?
Hot or cold didn’t bother them anymore. Joe could just drop wherever he wanted and be perfectly comfortable. He slept like the dead. That prompted another guffaw, and when he told Bill, Bill laughed so hard his neck broke. They both laughed even harder at that as Joe pulled Bill’s head back upright. His muscles were mostly intact, and that’d do.
“Hey, Elle said she found a dead cow over yonder and we’re invited,” Bill said, once his head was more or less straight.
“Dead cow? Why didn’t you say so?” Joe said, and began to shuffle along behind Bill. They shuffled past a few old shelters until they reached a big field. Ellen was there, on her knees next to a nice dead cow, her face blood-spattered from a taste test. The cow was even already opened up, and that was extra nice. No need to rip and tear to get at the good stuff.
Joe smiled at Elle (a bit lopsided due to his dodgy jaw) as they got closer. Ellen was one of the nicest people around, always telling everyone where the fresh meat was. She even helped round up moving meat from time to time, because she was so smart and cared for everyone.
Joe liked to think Ellen liked him too. He tried to help her every round-up, and stood next to her during some feeds and shared the good parts with her. Bill seemed to get a kick out of them, and always made sure to find time for them to be near each other.
“Joe! Bill!” Ellen looked up from the cow and held up a handful of something wonderfully red and drippy. “It’s still warm!”
The two men shuffled as fast as they could, eagerly crouching around the cow and digging in. Joe vaguely recalled eating things a bit more… refined than this, but dead cow as better. No worries about germs or dirt or mad cow disease or if it had been cooked all the way through. Just settle down and eat it.
Joe tentatively pulled out a nice gooey piece of liver and handed it to Ellen. She took it from him and wolfed it down (a bit of his finger came with it, but that was all right). She smacked her lips in appreciation of the taste, and slowly reached out her hand. Joe took it in his, ignoring her missing finger, and they held hands together while they ate. He didn’t think he’d been this content in forever.
Suddenly Bill turned, screaming as swarms of black-clad fast folk converged on them in all directions. Someone hurled a huge net at them, a heavy bunch of ropes that enveloped the whole cow and everyone with it. Ellen moaned and tried to escape, pulling at the ropes, while Joe tried to shield her from the boomsticks the fast folk carried.
Bill managed to rip his part of the net, and one of the fast folk aimed right at him. Joe and Ellen howled in protest, but the man pulled the trigger anyway, blowing Bill’s head apart. Ellen moaned softly and took Joe’s hand again as the other fast folk closed in on them.
One of them spotted their clasped hands and pointed, yelling at his companions to come and see. Another came closer, guarded by those with boomsticks, and pulled out several gleaming, sharp-looking syringes.
Ellen shrieked at the sight. “No, no, no, no!”
One of the fast folk spoke harshly, and several others tightened the net, giving Joe and Ellen little room to thrash. Joe saw the man get closer with the needles and roared in fright and defiance.
“No, no, no cure, no!”
The man paused, puzzled by Joe’s slurred speech. Ellen still had most of her face, and she took up Joe’s chant.
“No cure, no cure, no cure!”
The cure would make Joe and Ellen like the fast folk, all hungry and angry and nasty and cruel, taking away everything that made life worth living. The man shook his head sadly and moved to plunge one needle into Ellen’s arm, then another into Joe’s.
Joe twisted hard and got a bite in, even with his weak jaw, and the man fell back, shrieking in fear. Maybe, if they were lucky, the now former fast folk would be able to change them back. Ellen clasped Joe’s hand with all her strength as the growing darkness finally came over them.
Lovecraft mythos(/any); any; the stars are right.
Hole In the Heart – Lovecraft mythos/Fringe, Olivia, Peter, Walter, PG-13
Olivia felt herself fall through the space between universes, everything humming in dissonant keys. Something reached out for her in the instant of cold blackness, and in that instant she saw colors curdle and impossible shapes writhe. She wanted to scream, but kept her mouth shut, terror making her keep her body from being touched or filled with the writhing masses that seethed beyond the veil.
She felt herself wake, freezing with her passage, a form looming over her. Olivia nearly gave voice to her trapped scream before the form resolved itself at human. Well, almost. Walter Bishop was at her bedside.
“Olivia-,” he began urgently.
“Walter, what did you see?” Olivia asked frantically, cutting him off.
“Between worlds, when you crossed over to save Peter. What did you see?” she demanded.
“I don’t quite recall…” he said, taken aback.
“I’ve seen them, Walter. There’s something else, something that’s pushing into the other universe, isn’t there?”
Walter went paper white. “I thought I’d just imagined them.”
“No, they’re real, and they’re following us.”
“But why haven’t we had the instabilities the other side has?”
Olivia was at a loss to explain, and Walter raced to fill the void with his original urgent message.
“Olivia, we have to get you up. Peter is determined to use the machine. Now. Tonight.”
“Oh God, Walter he can’t!” Olivia stumbled from her bed and threw on her clothes, letting Walter take her in his charge.
The night was freezing, the stars almost painfully bright as they drove to the warehouse where the ancient machine lay. No known energy could make it move, nothing but Peter Bishop’s mind.
Olivia all but flung her credentials at the guard outside, she was so frantic to get in. The warehouse roof was gaping as Olivia and Walter ran in, the machine opening up like the fragments of an alien egg wanting to take its child back. Peter was mounting the stairs like a king to his throne, head held high. Olivia could see faint lights glittering on the upper reaches of the machine, lights that matched the patterns of the stars above.
Unbidden came the mental image from her time on the other side, all those dimensional breaches being sealed up with amber. On the map, they looked just like the stars above.
Fear gripped Olivia with icy talons. Whatever had created this machine had not been human. It would toy with them, but held them in nothing but contempt. They’d all been fooled, so desperate they’d been to solve an unsolvable mystery. So arrogant they’d all been, from Walter to Olivia, to think they could master dimensional travel without waking up whatever lived in the netherspace.
“Peter, no!” she screamed.
He turned back once, and there was little of humanity in his eyes. What had he seen when he’d touched the machine for the first time? What had he been dreaming about ever since he’d learned the truth about himself? What promises had been spoken by those inhuman voices that had so frightened Olivia?
“Peter, please!” Walter’s voice joined hers, a grieving father who couldn’t stand to lose his son twice. Peter met his father’s eyes, and Walter collapsed to his knees by what he saw there.
In unholy silence, Peter mounted the last few steps and climbed in the machine’s embrace. It folded around him, light bending at impossible angles as a tooth-grinding whine penetrated the air. Olivia could feel herself screaming, but couldn’t hear a word as a hole ripped right through the center of Peter’s body. A hole full of non-light and fear, a writhing shapeless thing that poured from it, filling the space that had been occupied by Peter Bishop.
Beneath its horrible, eldritch form, Olivia could still faintly see Peter, his arms and legs flung wide. He was screaming, chanting words that grated on her nerves, as he grasped the edges of oblivion and began to pull. Reality collapsed towards him with a triumphant roar from the darkness at its heart.
Both universes slid together and then down the hungry endless maw where a piercing, tuneless piping cut through the destruction of everything Olivia had known. As she passed through the hole in Peter’s heart, where Walter had just gone, still proclaiming his misguided love, Olivia could see Peter didn’t care at all.
Indifferent and cruel and endless, she passed through chaos and entropy, feeling herself scattered amongst the stars as they too were pulled in and devoured, passing forever into the abyss.
Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, A How-To Guide to dating Eliot Spencer.
10 Things I Know About You - Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, PG-13
1. Don't sneak up on him. You may rarely even manage to do it, but if you do, expect to be taken down before you can even get out "Surprise!"
2. It's ok to ask about his scars, but not in front of his team. And be prepared to put your sex drive in neutral if you ask about a scar with a really bad story. But if it's ok, he'll damn near come apart when you put your mouth on them.
3. Yeah, he has history. He wants to hear yours too. Trying to one-up each other all night can be damn fun.
4. Car sex? A total turn-on. Remember to leave supplies in the glove box.
5. He may be a lot shorter than you, but can kick your ass five ways from Friday, monster-hunting notwithstanding. Don't keep challenging him. Just don't.
6. If you do forget number five, accept defeat gracefully, or at least with good humor. The "sorry I kicked your ass" sex is damn good.
7. He won't ask for help. Give it anyway; he won't tell you no.
8. Yes, he can't reach that cut. Yes, it hurts like hell. No, he's not going to the emergency room. Good thing you've dealt with things like that all your life.
9. You both have nightmares. And you won't tell anyone about them. He appreciates that more than he can say.
10. He doesn't believe this can last. He believes he could die at any time. Prove him wrong, even if you're not that certain about your own life expectancy. Life is too damn short to spend it alone.
Inception, Any, bracing for the kick...
Fall - Inception, Cobb, PG
You hear it coming. The music seeping into the dream, curling around corners, inserting itself into conversation, hanging heavy on the air. There's only a few minutes left to finish the job.
Talk faster. Wave your gun around. Loom over the subject and put real menace in your voice. Pick the lock. Dial the numbers. Do it now, do it now, do it now. It's coming.
Self-preservation in its most ancient form - stop yourself from falling. Even babies will grasp; you won't be able to stop yourself. Half-dead sleep-deprived extractors will drop right out of the best dream in their lives to keep themselves upright.
No second chance. Brace yourself. Hold onto the information you need. The floor drops out from under you.
And you fall.
Star Trek XI, Kirk/Spock,
Come! And kiss me when I die
For life, compelling life, is in thy breath;
And at that kiss, though in the tomb I lie,
I will arise and break the bands of Death.
-Egyptian Love Poem (Anon)
Bond - Star Trek XI, Kirk/Spock, PG-13
He looked just the same. The deadly ray hadn't even left a mark, except for stopping Spock's heart. Laid out on the biobed like a bier, he could almost have been sleeping.
But he wasn't.
Kirk sat at his side, head bowed. Bones had retreated an hour before, with no advice he could give that Kirk could stand to hear. Spock had died saving him, shielding Kirk from the stray blast that he should have dodged.
He shouldn't be like this. Spock had survived the death of his mother, the destruction of his home planet, meeting his future self, it was simply not acceptable that he should be so still. Even as his most composed and infuriating there was that hint of potential under his mask of smooth indifference.
Kirk stood up and touched one cool hand. Oh God, Spock would have killed him for that, for touching his hand in public. It just Wasn't Done, not even by established bondmates, but Kirk had always wanted to press boundaries. He waited, something painful growing in his chest. Waiting for Spock to frown and disengage his hand (albeit with a small, lingering caress that left a silent message of affection in Kirk's mind).
Nothing. Nothing. Just silent acceptance of another broken taboo.
Hot tears burned in Kirk's eyes, and he ruthlessly suppressed them, not wanting to... mar Spock in any way. Sarek would be on his way, to take his son back home to be prepared. He had to remain perfect-.
Kirk squeezed the cool and lifeless hand and scrubbed away the incipient tears before leaning over the body of his friend, his lover, his partner, the best damn first officer in Starfleet. The best damn everything. Perfect in death as he'd been in life.
A single harsh sob escaped before Kirk leaned down to kiss Spock good-bye, breathing warm air into lungs that hadn't moved in hours. His last living breath. Kirk lingered, lost in the one-sided kiss, the faint tang of copper still present in Spock's mouth, giving the long farewell he hadn't been able to give when Spock had died for him.
Spock's hand curled around his own as he suddenly breathed in Kirk's air.
Kirk's heart skipped a beat, then began to thunder with the return of Spock's steady pulse under his fingers.
"You died," he whispered.
"Death cannot break our bond."
Spock's fingers slide along Kirk's palm, and Kirk's lips meld into Spock's mouth, beautifully and impossibly alive.
Firefly, Wash/Zoe, He bought her a slinky dress.
Slinky - Firefly, Wash/Zoe, PG-13
It was a little bit gold and a little bit copper, with a few threads of red running through the fine fabric. On Zoe, it looked a lot more than stunning. Almost better than without any clothing at all. Wash didn't know where he wanted to look first, or where he wanted to touch.
Zoe didn't seem inclined to make things easier for him. She kept moving, accentuating one part of her body, then another, putting enough slink in the slinky dress to pretty much drive every single known thought out of Wash's head.
And that was just fine with him. Thought was highly overrated. Especially when she took his hands and planted them very firmly on her curves.
He was definitely going to have to thank the captain for the advance later.
Evil Dead Trilogy, Ash, He finally gets the tropical vacation he's been craving, but the Deadites tag along.
Deadite BBQ - Evil Dead, Ash, PG-13
You know, this was supposed to be relaxing. The sun, the sand, the surf, the drinks in coconuts with umbrellas, the works. And yeah, it all worked out pretty well, until an eyeball plopped into my drink and someone tried to rip my head off my shoulders.
I shoulda taken my shotgun along. Luckily the beach umbrella was real sharp. And those shells weren't bad for slowing the Deadites down if you threw them hard enough. Not to mention those drinks burned really well once you doused someone in a keg or two and gave them a kick into the barbeque pit.
So, still a pretty good vacation. But I'm stopping off at S-Mart on the way to the beach tomorrow for a little more than just sunblock.
Criminal Minds, Elle/Reid, she lets him play with her collection
Go To Town - Criminal Minds, Elle/Reid, Hard R
Elle grinned and tossed her hair, just a little. Just for emphasis. Because a collection like this deserved a little extra flare.
Reid walked down the shelf, examining each of her toys minutely. The pink one with the extra stimulation, the dozen more basic models in a variety of sizes, colors, and textures, the candy-colored miniature vibrators, the clamps, the plugs, the half-melted candles...
"Go on," she said. "Go to town."
He raised a single eyebrow at her in question, and she smiled.
An hour later, she was almost regretting her generosity in letting a certified genius profiler with more than slightly affectionate feelings for her have free rein with her toys. Almost, because seeing Spencer trying to keep control as the vibrations from the toy in his body while he plied her with the eight combination of exquisite sensation was worth the price of admission alone.
She was positive he'd found whole new erogenous zones.
Elle gasped Spencer's name as she felt herself orgasming from places that had to be illegal, and resolved to take him along on her next shopping trip. Because she more than had to return this favor.
Criminal Minds, JJ/Reid, buttons.
Framed In Silk - Criminal Minds, JJ/Reid, PG-13
There must have been a hundred of them, tiny little pearl buttons that reached from Jennifer's left hip to her right shoulder. Modern garments usually included a hidden zipper, but not this. This was expert craftsmanship that required as much precision of the wearer as of the tailor.
Reid began to fasten them one at a time, only occasionally letting his fingers brush Jennifer's skin. The silk was warm under his hands, and the buttons became almost hot, as if alive, as he crossed her back to her spine and up. Jennifer swept her hair away as he crept higher, the fine strands tickling his hands and almost making him falter.
He took a moment to breathe and continued, resting his hands on her shoulder as he finished the last button. She turned slowly and he let his hands glide over the silk to the few remaining buttons at the front where the dress' neckline plunged daringly. He gently tugged the fabric together, smiling a little as it framed her body beautifully. Reid only did up a few more buttons before pausing, enjoying the effect of her skin against the dark red fabric.
Jennifer breathed deeply, and Reid could feel her taut muscles moving under the beautiful silk. She let him drink his fill of her with his eyes and hands, the movement of the dress carrying his touch along her body.
Then, with exquisite tenderness, he unbuttoned every single pearl, and opened her up like a flower. Jennifer only smiled as she turned towards him as if towards the light.
Chuck, Chuck/Bryce or Casey, The Intersect goes a little wild whenever Chuck flashes more than once during a fight and it takes Chuck a little while to calm down and stop kicking ass.
Fight or Flight - Chuck, Chuck/Bryce (or Chuck and Bryce, can be read either way), PG-13
This cell had been a nasty one, and only luck and the proper application of boots to the head had gotten Chuck and Bryce out the ambush in one piece. There must have been ten enemy agents, all them experienced in one or more martial arts, and far too canny to risk using guns and bringing unwanted attention.
Bryce barely had a second to spare for Chuck; he was too busy trying to keep himself alive. He ran two guys into each other and sent them staggering into a third. Bryce spun away from the kick of a fourth, almost straight into the roundhouse punch of the fifth.
That is, until the fifth inexplicably took flight and slammed into the opposite wall, courtesy of Chuck. Bryce channeled his momentary confusion into forcing the fourth's arm up his back and chopping him hard across the temple, knocking him out.
In front of him, Chuck was taking on two and three agents at a time. They were reluctant to get close enough to dogpile him, because any combat distance was too close when you were facing an opponent over six feet tall. Chuck used his height advantage ruthlessly, dropping low and sweeping his leg to upend his opponents, and lunging to bring them within reach of a well-placed knee or elbow. But reluctant or not, the enemy agents weren't going to go down easy. Bryce took advantage of their distraction to dart in and take down whoever wasn’t homing in on Chuck.
Bryce could see Chuck's eyes unfocusing as the Intersect brought more and more fighting techniques into the fray in response to his adrenaline surge. By the time they were down to two enemies, Chuck was in "target-response" mode. Nothing else mattered. He'd keep fighting until all opponents were defeated, his brain too overloaded with fight-or-flight survival to think rationally.
Bryce swore under his breath and moved to the edge of the danger zone as the last two enemies fell within heartbeats of each other,
"Chuck!" he called. "It's all right, we're fine-." Bryce dropped below the level of Chuck's strike as he went to neutralize the threat. No, as the Intersect went to neutralize the threat.
"Chuck! Targets are down!" Bryce had to leap out of the way of a return kick, a jab with an elbow, and a sweep with a stiffened hand that could have felled him like a log.
"Bartowski!" Bryce shouted. He had to jump for an overhead beam and flip himself out of danger zone when Chuck's response, automatic and ingrained, was to try to get him into a sleeper hold.
"Targets are neutralized, Bartowski! Chuck, it's me, it's Bryce!"
Chuck paused, still in a defensive crouch.
"It's me Chuck, it's Bryce Larkin," Bryce said, gentling his tone. He took a risk and let himself down slowly, non-threateningly, holding his hands out to his sides.
Chuck shook his head slightly, and his eyes snapped back into focus. "Oh my God, I am so, so sorry!" he said, looking around at all the felled agents with awe.
"Yeah, don't look so smug, Agent Carmichael. They deserved what they got. Back-up's on the way," Bryce said, touching his earbud.
"I almost hit you..."
"Hey, I only let you kick my ass off company time. Come on." Bryce slung an arm around Chuck's shoulder, while administering an insurance kick to one of the unconscious men on the floor.
Chuck laughed ruefully as looked over his shoulder at the people sprawled out in broken poses on the floor. Then he looked back at Bryce, put his own arm around his shoulders, and let himself relax.
Matrix/LOST, There's a glitch in the Matrix.
Trouble Magnets - Matrix/Lost, Neo-The Island, PG
There was a place Neo couldn't find. A piece of glitching code, flickering and impossible, that showed up in the Matrix from time to time. Though Neo couldn't nail it down, he did keep track of it. Bits of code, each one representing a program, seemed to drift towards the glitch like iron filing to a magnet. The strange thing was that each bit of code was also glitching. Tiny bytes seemed to reach out and attach themselves to others like them, making a web that drew them ever-more-strongly to the mother of all glitches.
Neo could almost personify the place, so self-contained that it wrapped its bizarre behavior in its boundaries. If it hadn't been so self-contained, it would have imploded. He wondered why it was permitted to exist, so anathema it was to the machines' mindset. Maybe it was a glitch graveyard, a place where they put malfunctioning programs to isolate them from the rest of the system. With a grin he realized it reminded him of Morpheus, of himself – a trouble magnet.
Neo couldn't devote much time to observing the place; he had a lot to do in the real world, and just as many duties within the Matrix itself. But sometimes, when everyone else was asleep and even Trinity's embrace and understanding couldn't let him rest, he'd watch the place on the Operator's screens.
He got good at spying pre-glitching programs that would end up there: men, women, children, dozens of programs in their human guises, all drawn to the place. Medical programs, soldier programs, deceiver programs, even half-broken programs whose function was barely discernable. They were all drawn to the place, alone or in bunches. (And the place made some really interesting moves to get people there in bunches.)
And once they were there... The programs healed themselves, showing no further glitches, but the place itself would glitch off the charts, with program echoes, random spurts of code that sometimes consumed weaker programs, and just a variety of old layers that would reveal themselves at odd intervals. Those programs that survived seemed to grow and thrive in an organic, almost human way.
If the machines hadn't been so busy with all the free humans causing their own havoc, they would have turned their attention to the gleefully glitching place playing peek-a-boo all over the virtual world of the Matrix. Neo idly considered trying to find the place the next time he plugged in, but he wasn't sure if it would let him in. Besides, it amused him to see it bringing its own brand of chaos wherever it went. He loved watching it vex the machines.
"Good for you," he whispered to it. "Good for you."
The glitch code almost seemed to sparkle at his words, like sunlight on water.