A Warm Blue by theplotholesmademedoit -
A sick Jim steals Spock’s uniform while he waits for his bondmate to return from a mission [short and sweet!]
First Contact by triedunture -
AU where Earth isn’t warp capable when we should have been. Spock & Jim meet as children during First Contact and forge a strange kind of bond, but they’re torn apart by circumstances beyond their control. Fast forward to adulthood: Jim’s made it to space, but with Starfleet out of his reach, his life has taken a very different path. And yet, that path crosses Spock’s again…. [the beginning is too cute and a little bit sad omg]
Magpie by waldorph -
Spock met Jim when he was 7 and Jim was 6. It has since been generally agreed that this was a mistake (or: the one where they grow up together and things are simultaneously better and worse for it). [THIS ONE IS SO GREAT]
a sequence that you never learned by annataylor - "‘Spock,’ Jim breathes out, completely overwhelmed by the gesture—not quite believing that Spock knows him so well, that’s he’s already started researching, that he trusts Jim with a member of his own endangered species.“ When Jim gets it in his head to adopt an eight year old Vulcan, Spock presents a logical solution to the issue of Jim’s humanity: marriage to a Vulcan citizen. [I seriously want to cry thinking about this fic its amazing]
Entering Orbit by museaway - Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch. [I CANT EVEN ABOUT THIS ONE OOOOO]
THE SUM OF BOTH OF US by spicyshimmy -
Jim Kirk is nine when a massacre on Tarsus IV leaves him without a family and without a home. Spock is twelve when a strange boy in the desert saves his sehlat. Families aren’t born; they’re made. The look in mother’s eyes at his correction remained a mystery long after the colors of the night sky and the complex patterns of distant nebulae had become translatable by means of distinct and relatively straightforward equations. [i really like their stuff and they have a bunch of spirk fics you can check out!]
If you want some CLASSIC Spirk fic (like STRAIGHT from the godmothers of Spirk fandom) and have a bit of money to spend then I’d suggest reading Killing Time by Della Van Hise (PDF), The Price of the Phoenix (or anything by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath), and Star Trek: the New Voyages 1 and 2 (havent read 2 but BOY IS THE FIRST ONE GREAT)
Half-finished bowls of melted ice cream and empty pizza boxes were strewn about the floor of the cabin. Paper streamers hung from the walls and metallic pink and silver balloons floated against the ceiling, still and shining in the dim light, casting long shadows on the curtains, shut tight to the outside world.
On the sofa, there lay a pile of presents, torn eagerly from bright-coloured wrapping paper. Books, mostly, with a few art supplies and a colourful array of lipglosses and eyeshadows. Atop this assortment sat a neat stack of birthday cards, each scrawled with the utmost care, letters of love and friendship hidden between their flaps.
Music drifted quietly from the record player in the corner of the living room, though it was periodically drowned out by excited voices emanating from behind the closed door of El’s bedroom.
“I’ll do your math homework for a week if you give me Park Place!”
“No way! And I can do my own math homework, thanks.”
“Do I have to sell you my soul?”
“Just shut up and pay up.”
In the warmth of El’s bedroom, the lights were brighter. A rosy pink hue glowed from the lava lamps on her dresser and washed over the Monopoly board spread out between six young teenagers, bickering as they hunched over, each analyzing possible means of besting the others.
“This is bullshit,” Dustin muttered, “Total bullshit.” He gestured toward the rapidly disappearing pile of money by his side.
“I told you,” Max grinned impishly, patting him on the shoulder with mock concern, “You should have waited to buy those hotels. Now pay up.”
Dustin mumbled something incoherent under his breath, thumbing through the few bills he had left.
“Well, I’m bankrupt,” he announced abruptly, carelessly tossing the money in Max’s direction before turning to El. “You did this, you know? How are you so damn good at this game?”
“Luck,” El grinned at him from her place beside Mike, not missing a beat. “Jim and me—no, Jim and I. We played. Before I was allowed to see you.”
A heavy silence fell between the players gathered around the gameboard, momentarily weighing down on their shoulders. No one really liked talking about that year in between, especially Mike. He still hurt, thinking of how he had missed an entire year of time with El. Thinking of how close she had been that whole time—if only he had looked harder.
“If I had powers,” Max broke the silence, as she usually did, “I’d totally use them to roll the dice the way I wanted.”
“That’s because you’re evil,” Lucas chimed in, nudging the red-haired girl in the ribs.
Max snorted and shoved him away by the shoulder. “Like you wouldn’t do the same, Sinclair.”
“Can we focus on what’s important?” Dustin cut back in, frowning. “That this game is the worst.”
“You’re just mad because Max is beating you at another game,” Mike chuckled.
“Yeah,” Lucas laughed, “How many is that now? Four? Five?”
“And besides,” Mike continued, “It’s El’s birthday and this is what she wanted to play.”
“Yeah,” Will echoed with a smile, “It’s not El’s fault you suck.”
Everyone’s eyes fell on El, who shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Not my fault.”
Laughter filled the room, loud and boisterous, fuelled by too much sugar and the energy of friends reuniting after a too-long absence.
Sherlock HC/AU: The British Government and the largest criminal network - behind the scenes, Mycroft Holmes and Moriarty have been exchanging information on several occasions. Invulnerability comes with a price tag for both sides.
i don’t know if the office writers did this on purpose, but in season 8 when erin is dressed as a dog for halloween and is disappointed that people didn’t know she was a puppy is a total parallel to that one year where andy is dressed as a cat, but insists that he’s a kitten jwhen jim guesses cat. i wonder if that was some way to show that they’re two sides of the same coin or something like that, but if that were true - i don’t know why they didn’t end up together.
just kidding i know it’s because andy literally ran away on a three month boat trip.
I posted this on Keeper's post, but I'm not certain if they'll see it or respond to it. In regards to Molly's outdated references, remember that when we see her most of the time, she's by Dresden's side. The point of references is that the other person gets it and enjoys that you know about it too. She knows magic shorted out his ability to watch much in the way of television by the mid-80's. So naturally she'll reference things she knows he'll get. Legal issues might short out book refs though.
Consider then why specifically Butcher has written this teenage girl to never make references to her own media or pop culture habits, ever, and to always fixate on making Harry “more comfortable” by talking about stuff he knows. Consider why she doesn’t have friends her age, past a certain book. Consider why her entire life revolves around Dresden, right down to the pop culture references she makes. I’ve known girls who were obsessed with some guy or teacher, they did radically change themselves at times but they didn’t suddenly mindwipe themselves of having watched Disney Channel from the age of 6. They didn’t forget about the books they read and the music they liked. This is huge chunk of Molly’s life, conspicuously missing from the series.
Long story short, I said it here before and I’ll say it again: It’s that old gross excuse of “she’s so mature for her age.” No, she’s not. She’s a child. Quoting the white male nerd’s Top 10 Favorite Things is a small part of a larger problem but it’s one worth thinking about.
Bill Haydon and Jim Prideaux are so tragic because it was their choices that led them to their fates.
Yes, circumstance and chance played a part in them, but most of the major events that happened in their lives because of one or the other’s action. It was Bill’s letter to Fanshawe that introduced Jim to the Circus. It was Bill who began to loathe the depowering of the West and decided to work against Britain. It was Bill who had a hand in and fully participated in Karla’s machinations. As much as he felt horror and shock (and possibly, guilt) over what happened to Jim, Bill was not going to go back. He was not going to stop working for Karla, turn himself in, or admit the horrible truth to Jim in a fit of reconciliation and redemption.
It was also Jim who went through with the Circus interviews and got a position and the training. It was Jim who decided to stand by England for all of his life, even after it cost him his job, his back, and his respect and reputation of his co-workers. It was Jim who knew Testify was going wrong, but refused to abandon the mission and kept going, even in the face of death. And it was Jim who out of mercy, revenge, or a combination of both, snapped Bill’s neck at Sarratt. Jim was never going to turn away from England and join Bill on the Soviet Union’s side, as much as Bill was never going to forfeit his Russian loyalties and come to Jim’s side.
There are what-ifs. There are possible tweaks that could have occurred, but those would have been delays. Both were destined for the Circus to do great things and serve their country (at first). Both were good at playing the spy game. Both were willing to fight and even die for their causes, personal feelings aside. They could never stay in those glory golden days at Oxford, far away from the world’s affairs.
Bill may have loved Jim, and Jim may have loved Bill. But it never was enough. No matter what, they were always going to end up like this.
I thought valkyries mostly did pickups and deliveries,” I said. “Choosing the best warriors from among the slain. Taking them off to Valhalla. Oh, and serving drinks there. Odin’s virgin daughters, pouring mead for the warriors, partying until Ragnarok.”
Gard threw back her head and laughed. “Virgin daughters.” She rose, shaking her head, and glanced at her broken arm again. Then she leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. Her lips were a sweet, hungry little fire of sensation, and I felt the kiss all the way to my toes. Some places more than others, ahem.
She drew away slowly, her pale blue eyes shining. Then she winked at me and said, “Don’t believe everything you read, Dresden.” She turned to go, and then paused to glance over her shoulder. “Though, to be honest: sometimes he does like us to call him Daddy.
Sigrun Gard and Harry Dresden (Side Jobs: Heorot by Jim Butcher)
Jim already surprised Bones at every turn with mistletoe for the entire holiday season and Leonard is so tired of surprises
The entire bridge crew has seen the way Bones puts up with every little thing that Jim does because god damn is he beautiful when his smile is wide and honest and pure it’s worth every single thing
No one really acknowledges the fact that it’s the turn of the year, Jim keeps it to himself all night because he doesn’t think anyone else remembers
Leonard has been watching Jim all day just waiting for the moment he remembers what day it is and demands a celebration, he’s seen Spock reading up on the old Earth customs for celebrating the New Year all day just in case Jim needs it
The whole ship is quiet, stars float past the windows lazily on every side when Leonard finally finds Jim on the bridge curled into his chair, accompanied by a minimal crew
The lights are dimmed and there isn’t a sound other than the soft beeping of each panel keeping track of all systems and Leonard watches Jim stretch, every line of his body outlined by the gentle light from a distant nebula
Jim turns to ask him what he’s doing on the bridge and why he isn’t back in bed when Leonard grabs his face, thumbs covering familiarly sharp cheekbones and soft skin.
Leonard’s heart is in his throat because he’s never been a romantic but damned if Jim isn’t turning hiim into one
His face is an embarrassing red when he watches the clocks switch over to the new year, mumbling a quick ‘happy new year’ when he drags Jim’s lips to his own, his lips even softer and he’s glad to feel Jim’s knees go weak in his hold
Jim is grinning and snickering, his cheeks pink when his fists close around the sides of Bones’s shirt and hold him close, every inch of their bodies flush against each other and can’t even think of anything to say when he rests his forehead against Leonard’s.
“Happy new year, Bones.” He mumbles, tired lips moving clumsily along overly warm skin when Leonard feels eyes on the pair of them. “Here’s to one more year together.”
Moriarty blindsides Sherlock with another bone-chinning warning, courtesy of his cabbie disguise. The threat this time cuts too close to his heart as it promises to solely go after the one person he’s managed to keep out of Moriarty’s radar. Panic clouds his mind when he realises he doesn’t have the advantage of planning ahead to counter it. If Moriarty is already warning him, then the game has already been set into motion. Time has long since left his side and Sherlock is afraid he won’t keep her safe when it counts.
Anonymous: Sebastian and Jim get into a fight so Sebastian storms out and hails a cab to go to the pub. About half way there, the cab gets hit by a semi and it’s messy and Sebastian is in critical condition and Jim is blaming himself for it and while Jim is staying at the hospital with Sebastian, the heart monitor goes crazy and Seb’s heart stops.
((Here’s that second drabble I promised. Be warned, though, it’s a long post with lots and lots of triggers. Woop. If you’ve got triggers I’d suggest checking the tags before reading.))
“Get the fuck out of my flat!”
Sebastian already had one fist reared back, his glare set firmly on Jim as he judged the distance his fist would need to cross before it would connect with Jim’s nose and mouth when Jim screamed for him to get out, and he froze mid-punch.
“Your flat?” Sebastian retorted mockingly and Jim immediately shut down into his calm state that was past anger and Sebastian backed off a bit.
“Yes. My flat. You were a starving ex-assassin when I picked your scrawny ass up off the street, and I invited you to stay with me, and now that invitation has been thoroughly and completely revoked. Get the fuck out of my flat. And don’t ever show your face around here again if you want to keep your worthless heart beating.”
Sebastian stared hard at Jim and then stormed off to their bedroom, yanking his old duffel out of the closet and shoving every bit of his clothing in it as well as his few personal belongings that he’d felt like keeping in the last three years he’d been with Jim. He jammed his mobile and his wallet into his pockets and slung the duffel over his shoulder before stalking out into the living room again where Jim was still standing glaring at nothing, taking deep, slow breaths, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side.
Sebastian studied him silently for a moment before slamming his keys down on the coffee table hard enough to crack the glass and then he was stalking out of the flat, slamming the door as hard as he possibly could behind him. He headed for the staircase, not in the mood to wait for the lift, and he took the steps two or three at a time all the way down the nine floors from their - Jim’s - penthouse flat on the top floor to the lobby on the ground floor.
He headed out into the car park and jingled the keys in his pocket to the car Jim had gotten him for their last anniversary, his whole body itching to get behind the wheel and tear out onto the street and get out some of his fury and hurt with the roar of the engine. But of course Jim couldn’t let him have even that.
When he got to the car it was to find that Jim had slashed all four tyres and smashed every window before heading up to the flat to scream at him and interrupt his quiet morning with their absolutely colossal argument, and so it was after a shouted curse and a few kicks to the flat tyre nearest him that he stalked back into the lobby and out onto the street to hail a cab, having to wait for nearly five different cabs to pass before one was finally brave enough to give a ride to a clearly irate man.
He slid into the backseat and tossed over a few hundred quid, spouting off the name of his old favourite bar all the way on the other side of London. He settled in to fume in silence, his fingers tapping quickly across the keys of his Blackberry to send off furious messages to Jim, though honestly he wasn’t even really sure what he was saying he was so distracted by everything that had happened in the span of half an hour.
"Oh god.” The terrified voice of the cab driver made Sebastian pause in the middle of his sixth message and he looked up just in time to see an enormous semi-truck heading straight for them from the right as they crossed an intersection.
The screech of metal on metal was absolutely deafening, the sound somehow seeming to blind him as well as make his ears feel like they were ready to bleed. The unmusical tinkling of shattering glass sounded almost silent in comparison, but Sebastian could definitely feel it as the pieces fell on him as he was crushed between the door and the floorboards, having been flung from the seat on impact. The grinding of metal on pavement screeched on for what seemed like forever before everything came to a grinding halt, and that was when the pain struck.
The cab was smashed in an impossibly small space between the semi and another car, the body of it crumpled and folded into awkward lines, one of which was pressed directly into Sebastian’s chest and stomach, the sharp metal digging into his skin and threatening to pierce through if his weight shifted. One of his legs was trapped between the crushed door and the driver’s seat where the cab driver was slumped over and not moving, having taken the full brunt of the collision directly on his door, killed instantly.
‘Lucky bastard,’ was Sebastian’s first thought at the realisation that the other man was dead, but in his disorientation his mind flitted quickly from the thought to centre back on the crushing, overwhelming pain he was in. The iron tang of blood was thick in his nose, as was the smell of gasoline, and it was a small mercy when he passed out from the fumes and the pain as he heard sirens wailing in the distance, at least two streets over by the sound of it, and felt a sudden surge of heat as his vision went black.
“Six car pile-up,” he had said. “Moran’s cab got hit by a semi-truck through an intersection and the cab slammed into other cars as the trailer of the semi got another car as it swung around a bit. Few survivors. Moran’s in critical condition in surgery over at The Royal London Hospital along with a few other people who managed to survive it.”
The report from one of his meaningless employees had sent Jim’s anger at Sebastian far away to be instead replaced by terror at the thought that Sebastian was genuinely going to be beyond his reach. For good. Not just because of a spat - that was their biggest argument to date, but still - but completely and totally beyond his reach. Gone. And Jim was panicking.
Normally if one of his employees was stupid enough to get themselves landed in hospital they were stuck on their own as Moriarty made no concessions for morons who didn’t know better than to get hurt, but this wasn’t Sebastian’s fault, first of all, and second of all, none of his employees that he actually cared about had ever been on the verge of dying on the operating table. But then again he’d never truly cared about anybody but Sebastian.
When Jim got to the hospital, he sorted out Sebastian’s paperwork impatiently and then demanded he be shown to a private room that Sebastian would be moved to after surgery, no exceptions, and thankfully his name was more than enough incentive for his orders to be followed. It was a fake name, naturally, but his reputation was still formidable.
When Sebastian was finally brought in, still heavily sedated, the blood drained from Jim’s face and his stomach twisted itself in knots. Sebastian’s chest was bared and there were thick sutures tracing the line of his sternum down to his belly button and another one from his left shoulder all the way down to his right hip, cutting across the gash in the centre of his body. The new scar from shoulder to hip would make almost a perfect ‘X’ with the old scar from the torture he’d endured during his military service when he’d been flogged, and Jim wondered how Sebastian would feel about that when he woke up. If he wakes up, his mind supplied traitorously and Jim waited anxiously for the nurses and doctor to finish hooking him up to various stationary IV’s and elevating his bed a bit to keep the cannula in his nose fitted properly.
"How much internal damage is there?” Jim asked the doctor before the woman left and she sighed tiredly as she studied Sebastian’s prone form lying still and pale on the sheets.
“Haemorrhaging, bruised organs, broken ribs, punctured lung, cracked skull, minor burns from the waist down, I mean..the list goes on and on. His physical recovery is going to take months. We’ll have a better idea when he wakes up and can tell us what kind of pain he’s in but…Honestly? It’s not looking too good,” she said gently and Jim wanted to force her to tell him that everything would be fine. But not as much as he wanted her to get out and leave him alone with the other man.
As soon as she was gone, Jim returned to the bed and sat on the edge of it as he picked up Sebastian’s limp hand and brushed his fingertips up and down his bare arm gently, carefully avoiding brushing against any of the dozens of tiny cuts and scrapes and minor gashes in his skin where glass had clearly been embedded before surgery had been done to remove it.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said softly as he leaned in to lay his head on the pillow next to Sebastian’s, studying his cheek and closed eye avidly, listening to the steady flow of oxygen being fed into his lungs through the cannula, his slow heartbeat registered in measured beeps on the heart monitor beside the bed. “I’m an idiot. And only you are allowed to ever hear me admit that. That alone should shock you into waking up,” Jim murmured. “But maybe you shouldn’t wake up just yet. You’ve got to be in pain, and I don’t want to see you suffering. Or see you half out of your mind with drugs to keep you from caring about how much pain you’re in.”
As Jim spoke he realised that his throat was getting tight and he buried his face in the pillow for a moment before he sat up with a deep breath and reached up to gently brush his thumb under Sebastian’s eyes, noting the bruising around them that made him look sallow and generally unhealthy, and he wondered how much of that was from stress and sleepless nights caused by him and he felt a wave of fresh guilt.
Jim’s silent ruminations on Sebastian’s state as well as his murmured apologies and one-sided conversations continued on for about a day and a half before something new happened.
Jim was tucked onto the minimal free space on one side of the bed, curled up against Sebastian’s side as he gently kissed the ball of his uninjured shoulder when the steady beeping of the heart monitor picked up speed, and Jim perked up a little, sitting up and watching Sebastian’s face to look for signs that he was waking up. But when the beeping got faster still and Sebastian showed no signs of consciousness, fear set in and Jim was out of the bed in an instant and in the hallway calling for a nurse, relieved to find that there was already one on her way with a defibrillator.
He stepped out of her way quickly and watched as she and a doctor and a couple other nurses rushed into the room as Sebastian’s heart rate continued to speed up at an alarming rate. The quick beats changed to a solid note that immediately drove Jim to petrification out of the terror of what that simple sound meant, and sure enough one of the nurses immediately started CPR on Sebastian, whose heart had stopped before the defibrillator could be put to use.
Jim watched on in horrified silence and stillness as attempts were made to restart Sebastian’s heart and Jim could swear that his own heart was getting closer and closer to stopping the longer Sebastian went without a heartbeat. He watched a look that he couldn’t immediately identify cross the doctor’s face, but when the man checked his watch Jim abruptly understood.
“Don’t you dare call it!” he practically shouted. “He’s not dead, just start his heart, don’t call it!” he screamed and then he was being dragged out by two of the nurses, shouting the whole way until he was subdued in the hallway once he’d finally broken down into sobbing mess under the stress of the last forty-eight hours.
“I’ve got the couch set up for you,” Jim said gently as Sebastian forced himself to stay awake in the wheelchair at Jim’s side in the lift to their penthouse. “Though of course when you’re feeling up to it you’re welcome to come back to the bedroom at night and go out into the living room in the mornings so I can keep an eye on you while I’m working. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sebastian managed to say with difficulty and Jim leaned down to kiss his temple softly. “I missed you, Jim,” Sebastian said for probably the tenth time that day and Jim simply nodded.
“I know you did,” he murmured as the doors to the lift slid open and he pushed the chair out into the hallway, unlocking their front door quickly and pushing Sebastian through it into the living room. The coffee table was still cracked from where Sebastian had slammed the keys down a few weeks earlier, but Jim had spent every waking moment he could spare in the hospital and so hadn’t been able to get it repaired. But that was the least of his problems.
Jim shifted the coffee table out of the way and pushed Sebastian’s wheelchair up directly in front of the couch but sideways so that all Sebastian had to do was stand up halfway with Jim’s help and then immediately lay down with a pained groan on the couch, his head and feet propped up on thick, soft pillows.
“I missed you, Jim,” Sebastian murmured as Jim folded the wheelchair away and sat down on the floor beside Sebastian’s head facing him, reaching up to take Sebastian’s large hand in his own to kiss his knuckles.
I doodled Jim Hawkins from treasure planet from memory, it’s one of my favorite movies ever.
I’m thinking about making a fanart of it but I didn’t get any ideas yet.
(Omg I did his face by side wrong D:)
Actually, it was meant to be animation exercise - straightforward running from one side to another. But then I got bored, aaaand… x) In fact, it’s no good that all action with Spock takes place in the very corner of the gif, and the plan was that Jim would crash into the edge of the gif and fall back, but I cut the papers by hand, and there were none with the same edge x) +some frames from the process.
Woke up with this little piece of evilness in my head this morning. Apparently my subconscious is infested with devils.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Sherlock leaned forward and tenderly kissed Molly, whose eyes had fluttered shut. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress and clutched a small bouquet of flowers from Mary’s small garden in her hands. The matching gold rings gleamed on her and Sherlock’s fingers, and she thought she’d never been happier in her life.
“Awww, so sweet. Can’t believe I missed the ceremony, but at least I’m here in time to catch the bouquet!”
Molly gasped and pulled away from Sherlock, who was glaring at the intruder, standing insouciently by the door to the judge’s chambers, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a gun that was trained on the happy couple. John and Mary had turned and started to move, but the gun held them in their places on either side of Sherlock and Molly.
Looking from one shocked, angry face to the other, Jim Moriarty’s lips stretched in a manic grin. “Did you miss me?”