Tuesday - Post Series

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

I'm (still) atomic89 and this is now my second day here. *waves*

For Tuesday we gonna focus on what happens after the characters have defeated the apocalypse/evil wizard/emperor/whatever. Do they find happiness or does it all go down hill from there? Is everyone still friends or do they not even send Christmas cards? You get the idea!

If your canon is still on going, anything past the most recent episode/comic/other media would also count.

Please remember not to leave more than five prompts in a row and no more than three per fandom per prompter. You are, of course allowed to come back later and add more once yours have been answered.

If either the prompt or the fic contains spoilers please mark it clearly and leave at least three spaces before the prompt/fic.

Don't forget to format your prompts correctly, for example:

Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, making things work
T:TSCC, Sarah, drifting
BtVS/Supernatural, Buffy/Dean, "So is this your first apocalypse?"

If you can't find the perfect prompt for you here, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts! There are loads of wonderful prompts just begging to be written!

[theme tag=PostSeries]

Comments

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, making things work

[ribbon-purple.livejournal.com]

It’d been ten years since she’d last set foot on Serenity, five since she’d been anywhere near an engine, thirteen since the day she’d said ‘yes’ when Simon asked her to marry him.

Now she was the wife of the most widely respected and wealthiest doctor in the known ‘verse. She was the envy and ‘friend’ of women who, for most of her life, wouldn’t have cared if she’d been trampled to death right in front of them. She had all the strawberries and pretty dresses she could ever want, had her own ship to travel in, an unending stream of fancy parties and social gathering to attend. She could dance now, knew all the latest gossip, read up on the economy and recent politics, and was always clean.

Her figure wasn’t what it had been all those years ago. A lack of running for her life and three guaranteed meals a day had added a few pounds here and there. Her hips were wider now too – a hazard of childbirth – and her ass, unfortunately.

Because of his position, Simon worked a lot. It wasn’t unusual for him to come home in the early pre-dawn hours of the morning. Sometimes, he didn’t make it home at all. On those nights, Kaylee used to stay up waiting for him …but not anymore.

When they went out together to a fundraising dinner or to the theater, people would always comment on how wonderful a marriage they had or how they always seemed so happy: “Simon is always such a gentleman,” “You two, you’re just like a pair of newlyweds,” “I envy you dear. Why can’t my husband be that considerate?”

The truth was, they hardly saw each other anymore and when they were together, they had nothing to talk about besides the children.

Still, she couldn't really complain. She had a good life with Simon. He took care of her and their children, made sure they had everything they needed, everything they wanted. He was never cruel, hardly ever angry, and loved their children dearly. Even if their own romance had died out, they were still friends and life was comfortable. So they made it work, she made it work because truthfully, after all this time, Kaylee didn’t know what else to do.

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

T:TSCC, Sarah, drifting

But the war won't stop for the love of God

[(Anonymous)]

Her son was in a future she was trying to destroy.

So was the terminator, although she wasn't as worried about her.

Her brother-in-law was lying in an unmarked grave, and Charlie was gone too.

Sarah Conner has always been alone, but now she feels it.

She tracks the companies she knows and suspects may be involved in the end of the world. Tries to figure out the clues written in blood on her garage wall.

But she's not really trying.

The future has been changed by her before. She's sure of it. Dates changed, her death, everything. If she re-writes the future she might be paving over her son. If she does nothing the world will still end in blood and fire.

She tries to stop what is starting to seem inevitable, but not too hard. As much as she wants to save the world her son will always come first. She's a mother first, then a soldier.

That leaves her in a bad spot. She can't think of a damned thing to do that might help her son, and a million things that might write him out of history. She's at a loss for the first time since she realized she was pregnant. She doesn't have a plan, a goal, it's not all about her son anymore and she's just drifting.

Every day brings her closer to her son, and even closer to D-Day. And she's not sure she wants to fight either, anymore.

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

BtVS/Supernatural, Buffy/Dean, "So is this your first apocalypse?"

The Hum-Drum-Vee, Buffy/Dean, PG-13

[http://users.livejournal.com/_bluebells/]

When the slayers had rolled into town, Sam and Dean thought people were talking about the thrash metal band.

They were surprised by the convoy of Humvees that appeared at their motel, even more stunned by the twelve or thirteen women that spilled out when they parked in the lot.

Sam and Dean exchanged a wide-eyed look of awe, bordering on glee.

“What the hell –?” Sam had peered closer through the window while Dean considered celebrating.

“I think something has finally gone right in our lives.”

The women scattered in every direction around the building and Dean realised they were establishing a perimeter, though the lead driver of the convoy was taking a very different approach.

She was a petite blonde, in her denim jeans and camisole, looking like she had pulled up for a weekend with the girls. She took her time climbing out and was arguing with someone on her cellphone.

“No, we just pulled in. No -- no, no!” She growled and leaned back against the driver door. “Do you know the reason I left the states, Rufus? The world never ends in Europe – and I always cleaned up my own mess. Yes! Yes, you owe me.”

She snapped the cellphone shut and Dean bolted for the door.

Sam startled and grabbed his brother’s sleeve. “Dean, did you see those women? They could be some kind of demonic paramilitary force –“

He cut off abruptly when his phone trilled and they both looked at his jacket pocket.

“Or they could be a camp of hot, gorgeous women in want of a man?” Dean countered, looking pleased.

Sam held up a hand that pleaded for Dean to wait as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

Dean grinned and slipped out the door, Sam cursed and leaped around the couch after him.

“Rufus? Hey, man, it’s not a really good….”

He skidded to a stop at the doorframe and watched as Dean sidled up to the convoy under the November sun.

Sam blinked, clutching the phone tighter. “… What?”

The grin that spread on Dean’s face was genuine when the blonde woman noticed him. He hadn’t had an opportunity for an old fashioned pick-up since… before he was resurrected.

That was a sobering thought.

When the woman unfolded her arms and pushed off from the car, Dean was pleased by her interest. She made no play at ignoring him, pushing her sunglasses up to her hair. She squinted, a hand shading her eyes against the sun, looked him over and tilted her head.

“Dean Winchester, right?”

Dean stopped short.

“Goddamnit,” He muttered and rounded on his heel, because anybody who knew his name before he’d opened his mouth meant business. And Dean wanted anything but business right now.

“Hey!” The woman called, insulted.

Dean was insulted by the universe that couldn’t give him a woman without a catch. He waited anyway and scowled when she caught up to him.

She wasn’t smiling either. The look in her eyes was stern and professional.

“Rufus Turner sent us,” She offered her right hand, “I’m Buffy.”

Dean frowned at the offered hand. “You’re who?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed under the shade of her other hand. “Buffy Summers. I’m your cavalry.”

Dean had heard that full name before. He took her hand and rolled it overin his memory. It wasn't until she squeezed the hand shake did the realisation click, like the bones of his fingers crushed together.

Dean jerked his hand back. “The vampire slayer?”

“Hey,” Sam appeared at Dean’s other side and absolutely towered over Buffy. She lowered the hand shading her eyes as Sam set his hands on his hips, he looked excited. “Rufus sent them. They’re all slayers, man. They’re here to help.”

“So, is this your first apocalypse?” Buffy glanced between them, waving a hand when their faces suggested she was crazy, “I’ve lived through more than I have fingers for, one even totalled my high school town, sucking it into hell. But I’ve never ever engaged The Big Bad himself. And angels?”

She laughed, incredulously.

Sam nudged his brother in the arm. “Why don’t you fill her in and I’ll just… yeah.”

Sam hastened his retreat to their motel room. Dean wondered if he’d already stashed a girl there in the minutes Dean had his back turned. Sneaky bitch.

“Come on,” Dean resigned and motioned to the Humvee, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

[skieswideopen]

SG1/SGA, Cam/John, How many times do you have to save the world to get a happily ever after?

[tresa-cho.livejournal.com]

"How many times do you have to save the world to get a happily ever after?" John grumbled as he climbed awkwardly into the bed. Cam sat up and helped ease John back against the pillows. John grumbled and winced and propped his leg up. It was wrapped in bandages and looked like it hurt a lot.

"You don't do it for a happily ever after," Cam said knowingly. He patted John's leg and grinned as his flyboy winced. "You do it to play with the shiny toys. Don't try lyin' to me." Cam shifted on the bed and pressed the mattress so that John slid down and leaned against him. " 'sides. What do you need a happy ending for? I'm here to take care of you when you get injured."

"I'm not a masochist, thanks," John grouched, pressing his nose to Cam's chest. His fingers were straying along the length of Cam's torso. "You like taking care of me."

" 'course I do. I'm the only one you'll let, you bum." Cam pressed a kiss to John's head. John grunted and closed his eyes. He fell asleep before his hand could travel towards Cam's waistband. Cam chuckled lightly.

[skieswideopen]

SG1, Vala, moving on

[snarky-kat.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, Merlin's coronation into the High Court.

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, Merlin's coronation into the High Court.

[neierathima.livejournal.com]

(um, forget the arthurian mythos. really)

Merlin tugged at the hem of his jacket, the material so long and rich it could almost be called a robe. He shifted stance, wincing as the sword belted at his side moved as well. Arthur entered, crossing the room to put Merlin back to rights.

"Damnit Merlin, leave it alone."

"I feel like an idiot. No one will believe I'm anything but a servant out of my place. I mean, I have a sword."

Arthur straightened Merlin's swordbelt, managing to get it exactly right in a way Merlin couldn't seem to.

"It's a magic sword, and I went through a lot of trouble to get it. Besides, it's not supposed to draw blood so I hardly expect people will be wanting you to stab things with it."

"I don't see why I couldn't wear my regular clothes."

Arthur just looked at him and even with the formal garb all Merlin saw was his very best friend making fun of him for saying something so obviously stupid.

"Really Merlin, the King's consort and Court Sorcerer can't be wearing rags. Besides, you look fine."

Merlin looked down at his hands, resisting the urge to tug at a loose thread. Arthur pulled his gaze up with a hand under Merlin's chin.

"What's really the problem?"

Arthur was so sincere but so oblivious and Merlin was reminded that he had been raised a prince, taught since birth to accept these responsibilities.

"What if I'm not good enough?"

Once, Merlin would not have dared speak his doubts so openly even though they trusted each other with their lives. But time and more troubles than one lifetime should hold have passed between them and there is nothing Merlin would not tell Arthur. The King, Merlin's king, looks at him with absolute understanding.

"Will you serve me, and through me all the people of Camelot, as long as you shall live?"

Merlin nods.

"Then that will be enough."

Merlin swallows, feeling the magic of the oath, given and accepted, flowing between them. Whatever will happen in the throne room later, this is the vow that matters.

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Angel, Angel/(Lindsey), sometimes he wishes he'd given him the chance to prove himself

pretty as a picture - gennish, PG

[tigriswolf]

(It's been a long time since I saw "Not Fade Away")

After, he goes underground. Time to lick wounds and heal, plan a second attack.

Of course the first one failed. A dying human, two vampires, and a bound god--not much of a chance, really.

Gunn died saving Spike, and Spike died for Angel, and Illyria just kept moving, but finally, even she fell.

He's sure she's alive somewhere. An Old One, after all, has already survived death once. She's probably trying to raise an army, take back her throne in a world that has no place for her, not anymore.

It doesn't matter. He hasn't even tried to contact Buffy or the new Watchers' council. Let everyone think he's dead.

He should be dead. That's what Lindsey keeps telling him, day in and day out, smirking at him from the doorway or the corner or the mirror. Lindsey and that damnable smirk, I know something you don't, ain't that grand? Those blue eyes that always knew something he didn't, fucking lawyer.

Why is his reflection Lindsey? He doesn't have a reflection--vampire, hello? Only souled vampire in existence, though he sure didn't act like it in those last few months, all part of the plan. Lure everybody in, trick them, trap them, take down Wolfram and Hart.

And how'd that work out? Lindsey asks, strumming a guitar on the couch. Maybe I could'a turned the tide in your favor, friend. Think'a that?

That's all Angel's thought about.

[ribbon-purple.livejournal.com]

SGA, John/Rodney, This wasn't the ending he'd pictured.

[antares04a.livejournal.com]

(Unbetaed - please excuse the mistakes)

This wasn't the ending he'd pictured, John thought while he was standing on the balcony and looking over the gentle blue sea. It was the wrong ocean, the wrong planet, the wrong galaxy. Atlantis wasn’t a proud flying city anymore. For the first time John understood how those Greek heroes must have felt, when the wax on their wings had started to melt and they had crashed into the sea.

With all the SGC members asking zillions of questions and the guys from Area 51 poking and prodding “his” city, he felt a bit like an exhibit in a zoo, like one of those condors whose wing feathers had been cut so that they couldn’t fly away. He felt miserable.

“Hey.” Rodney stepped onto the balcony and offered him a small bowl with fresh strawberries. “I snatched them, before there weren’t any left.”

“Of course. Thanks. Uh... you’re still here? I thought you left with the helicopter two hours ago?”

“I... reconsidered.” Rodney nodded gravely. “Can you picture me with crying grand-children on my knees, living in a small house with a white fence, a dog and... and a lawn mower?”

“A modified lawn mower?”

“Yes, the only flying one in the whole neighbourhood,” Rodney gave John a lopsided grin, John smirked back.

“So?”

“So I decided to stay and stop those morons from disassembling Atlantis, cannibalize her like a battered old car.”

“Okay.” John felt the first glimmer of hope.

Rodney turned to John and promised, “I’ll make her fly again; find a way to recharge the ZPMs, steal some naquadah reactors from Sam, whatever is necessary to make her return to the Pegasus galaxy.”

“Okay,” John repeated.

“And... uhm...” Rodney hesitated then he put very, very slowly a hand on John’s shoulder. “I...” He cleared his throat. “We...”

John took a deep breath. “Make this your first priority.” He nodded to where Rodney’s hand was touching him.

“Okay.”

John closed his eyes – the end would be rewritten.

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Highlander, Methos, Bora Bora

[snarky-kat.livejournal.com]

Beauty and the Beast, Prince/Belle, pre-wedding jitters,

White Silk (unbeted, 100% G and hopefully enjoyed)

[vegetasbubble.livejournal.com]

Her dress was made of white silk, long, soft and dainty. She had ordered it especially from a dress maker who had one of the best reputations around. The veil covered her face fully and she supposed that he would smile when she walked down that aisle, marrying him - her prince.

"Belle?" whispered a voice, and Belle looked up from the vanity mirror she was previously gazing at herself in to see her father- a short man, balding; happy - standing in the doorway, his handkerchief in his hand and every so often touching it to his eyes.

"The big day," he said, stepping forward and taking in her appearance. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," Belle replied, leaning down slowly and kissing her father's cheek.

"Excited?"

"Very much so," Belle responded as the door opened once more and Mrs. Potts walked in.

"Come now, dearie," she chipped, "Time to move. Almost time you know."

"Yes...but...-" Belle stopped herself. She heard the gasp Mrs. Potts took and seen the look of confusion on her father's face. Belle didn't know why she was acting the way she was. She was marrying the man she loved, what was to be worried about. Taking another look at herself in the mirror, Belle pulled a face, picked up her dress and filed out the door, walking down a short corridor with Mrs. Potts and her father close behind her.

"Where are you going, Belle? The ceremony is the other way!" Her father cried, watching as she stood before the Prince's doorway, hand on the oak door. Breathing out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in, Belle pushed the door open and slammed it behind her after she stepped in.

He stood before her, dressed in his royal attire, starring at her. Belle starred back, squaring her shoulders. She marched up to him and poked him in the chest with her finger.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked him. He looked confused. "Okay, I know- not the thing to ask ten minutes before the wedding but..."

"You have doubts-"

"I have jitters!" she snapped, "I'm getting married. To the perfect man, with perfect eyes- who loves me! And...for some reason I have-"

"Doubts."

"Jitters!" He grinned and raised his hands to rest on her shoulders.

"Belle, my love," he whispered, "You have my support. Whatever you decide I shall be alright by it. I promise you." Belle looked up into his beautiful blue eyes. The same eyes he- the Beast before him - used to have. The eyes she had fallen in love with.

Grinning, she pulled away and made for the door. She stopped momentarily, her hand upon the doorknob. Looking back over her shoulder she said, "Act surprised when I come out."

He just grinned at her as she left the room.

FIN

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Leverage, team!fic, their version of happily ever after

[emily64cooper.livejournal.com]

Once upon a time, the Leverage team imagined their own happily ever afters.

For Eliot, it was back home, in the South. He’d buy a few dozen acres of land, build a giant stable. Maybe a few dozen horses to fill it. He’d give lessons. Then, he’d build a huge white house, just like they had in the old days, but upgraded a bit. He’d build a studio, too. Somewhere he could go to practice his fighting skills whenever he felt the desire to. And he’d definitely build a music room. But above all, if the world were to be perfect, what Eliot wanted most was Aimee. He didn’t care if they had the huge house, the thousand acres. As long as he got her.

Hardison, his “happily ever after” included Parker, a kid or two, a white picket fence, all the electronics he could get his hands on, and the entire cast of the new Star Trek movie. Maybe they’d move to Florida (Parker liked it there, he knew). Or they could go to Versailles, where one of Parker’s many vaults was located. He knew he’d have to chase her, but that was part of the fun in their relationship. As for the kids, Hardison had always wanted a boy and a girl. The boy, Nathan, would be born first. He’d be just as computer-savvy as his dad and just a clever as his mom. The girl, Sophie, would be a dancer, having inherited that natural grace from her mother. She’d have a great sense of humor, like him. It would be perfect.

Parker’s happily ever after… well, Parker didn’t believe in happily ever afters. Good things didn’t happen to people like her, she reasoned. But Parker had secret longings. She wanted to have money, and lots of it (which had been satisfied, in part, by her jobs with this team). Eventually, she wanted to be able to tell someone – and right now, she was leaning toward Hardison, in particular – all of her secrets. Every little thing – the mystery surrounding her birth, her childhood, her time in the insanity ward, her trouble in Rome – all of it. In the deepest, darkest recesses if her heart, she wanted to settle down – eventually… a little… maybe. Not any time soon, of course. But she definitely wanted Hardison to be there.

Sophie, her happy ending took place in Paris, and it started under la tour Eiffel. Nate would come to her, finally admitting exactly how much he needed her. He would have flowers and a diamond necklace, and she would welcome him with open arms. They would travel the world together. Maybe they could go to exotic places, like Japan, and all the places Sophie’s never been. They would spend the rest of their lives together, deeply in love. And they’d host big, family dinners and have the team and their families over. They’d really shove themselves into the parent roles of the group, and they’d love every second of it.

For Nathan, a happy ending didn’t seem possible. He’d lost both his son and his wife, and now Sophie was gone too. But, if it was possible – and it wasn’t – he had a general idea of what he’d want in it. Sophie would be there. Maybe he would have finally gotten over his pride and told her how much he loved her. And then, maybe, were that to happen, they’d settle down somewhere. Somewhere else. Paris, London, anywhere but the United States. Maybe they’d see the team still. Have them over every once in a while. Just, you know, for old time’s sake. Not because he’d miss them or anything. At all. No.

Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out that way.

Eliot never got the ranch; he got a dirty Brazilian jail cell.
Hardison got Parker, but no technology; he got carpal tunnel at age thirty.
Parker got Hardison, but never the money she wanted; hers was stolen from her.
Sophie never got Nate; she died young, just fifty years old, of a broken heart.
Nate never got Sophie; for the second time, he got to go to her funeral.

The world isn’t a perfect place; they’re not perfect people. Parker was right; “happily ever afters” don’t exist for people like them.

Once upon a time, the Leverage team imagined their own happily ever afters.

[snarky-kat.livejournal.com]

SPN, Castiel, kicked out of heaven

Leaving the Nest - FRT (slash, incest, threesome all implied)

[hawk-dancing.livejournal.com]

Leaving the Nest
--

The war was over. Scattered on the winds were the ashes of those lost in that war. Dead demons.

Fallen angels.

Standing outside the worst roadside motel he had ever seen, its gray door cracked, paint peeling off in strips, Castiel couldn’t help but compare his existence to that door. Grey. Uncertain if it would stand up to the future of those that had walked through it. Or those that might. Heaven was closed to him now; he had been kicked out, refused. Banished from home for choosing to think for himself instead of blindly obeying his Father’s orders, his only salvation in those humans he had admired but had not been able to understand.

Or maybe…the more he had come to think about it, the more he was beginning to realize that it was himself he no longer understood. He had…changed. Maybe he had grown. He certainly had run out of options.

No more standing in the way of Heaven’s archangels. No more struggling with what he should feel…and that which he should not. He was human himself, now. Frail. Fragile. Limited.

Human. Home…wasn’t Heaven anymore. He had been kicked out of paradise; this was his world now.

Setting his knuckles to the broken wood, Castiel knocked twice, trying not to think about what he would do if they, too, refused him. He had not only run out of options, he had nowhere else to go…

The look on the familiar face was hard as the man opened the door, body language awkward and obvious that the hand not seen held a weapon of some kind, most likely one the guns they kept ready for unexpected visitors. Unexpected visitors usually meant demons, or trouble at the very least. He wondered if that’s what he meant to them now…

But the green eyes lightened immediately, growing wide a moment before squinting down in what Castiel had come to know was a rare, if honest smile.

“Cas!”

Despite everything, almost against his will, Castiel could not help but respond to that smile. “Hello Dean.”

“Dean, who - Cas.” Sam’s surprise sounded from around Dean where his brother had stepped in behind him, watching his back. Now that Ruby was gone and Lucifer once more held locked away in Hell, Sam was once more firmly at his brother’s side. A good thing, there was no doubt…but that begged the question, was there any longer a place for him as well?

Something must have shown through the front he put up, or maybe word of his Fall had reached farther than he thought, for the green eyes softened, and the door opened wider, beckoning him inside.

And suddenly he was enveloped in strong arms as Sam folded over him, hugging him hard. “We thought they killed you.”

He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted, needed, that contact until he had it. Leaning into that strength was too easy.

“I suspect they wanted to.”

Why did his voice shake? It was over, he had survived; his punishment not death but banishment, to be cut off from his brothers and sisters for all eternity.

Above his head, Sam sighed, breath ruffling his hair. *His* hair now, Jimmy having ascended to Heaven when they had taken Castiel’s wings. “We heard.”

“I - have nowhere to go.“

Sam’s arms tightened even as Dean huffed out a sharp, “Bullshit,” demanding, “You’re staying with us. Can’t have you out roaming this dirtball all by yourself. ”

“Dean’s right, Cas. Stay with us?”

“Sam - Dean, I - “

“No, Cas,“ Dean told him firmly. “They might not say it, but I will. Welcome home.”


End

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, author's choice, sorry I couldn't save you

absolution in crimson - PG, gen

[tigriswolf]

Uh, hey. Been awhile, I guess. Well, a couple decades--what's that, huh? Nothin'... for us, anyway.

Heh, sorry. This is just... I'm nervous, okay? I don't... I'm not. I mean. Uh. Fuck, I'm doin' this all wrong.

Well. I guess, what I wanted to say is thank you. I know you're not here--there was nothing to bury, after. Just for closure, anyway. So that when I was ready...

I am sorry. I let you down, let everyone down, and I get that. I really do. Should'a been better, faster, stronger. Smarter, there at the end.

Maybe I should'a said yes sooner, given everybody what they wanted. But I couldn't give up on you. I couldn't...

I really thought you'd come through at the end, some brillant plan at the bottom of the ninth, score tied, bases loaded.

Did I use that metaphor right? Baseball was never my thing.

I know why you gave your consent. We both understand. I'm sorry I couldn't--

I actually brought you flowers. Pansy-ass shit, huh? I'll just... I'll leave them here, okay?

I'm sorry I let you down. I love you. Maybe somewhere up there, you can hear me? I hope so. I know I'll never see you again, but...

I know why you said yes. And I hope that one day, someday, you can understand why I said yes, too.

I'll go now. I'm sorry.

[snarky-kat.livejournal.com]

How I Met Your Mother, Robin/Barney, five things Barney and Robin did over the summer

[daria234.livejournal.com]

With their work schedules they had time for exactly five weekend trips. Not believing in the mediocrity of compromise - i.e., not wanting to go somewhere boring just because they had trouble agreeing -- they worked out a schedule: selfish Barney, selfish Robin, considerate Barney, considerate Robin, Wild Card.

First, Barney's choice: whatever Barney wants to do, with the provision that his choice should be completely selfish. Robin was worried it would involve the sex trade in some form, so she was relieved (and excited) to learn they were going to Italy. She was less excited when she realized the entire trip would be spent shopping for suits.

Second, Robin's entirely selfish choice: survivalist camp. A weekend in West Virginia learning to shoot weapons that even Robin had never tried. Barney cried when they made him shoot the grenade launcher at a can of green beans, wailing, "What did that sweet green homoerotic giant ever do to you!?"

Third, Barney's non-selfish weekend: Barney's attempt to give Robin a weekend she liked. He chose a nice Bed and Breakfast in New Hampshire. She liked it until they ran into a large group of Canadian tourists who recognized her and asked her to sing just a few lines. That night, in bed, as Barney gently slid himself into her, he started softly singing what he later defended as "a randomly chosen example of North American popular music." She kicked him out of bed, and he didn't get back in the rest of the weekend.

Fourth: considerate Robin. She took him to Washington DC, where through a ridiculously elaborate series of distractions and half-truths, that most likely violated federal law, they managed to insert a copy of the Bro Code into a rarely used folder at the Library of Congress. Barney thanked her the entire train ride back up to New York.

Fifth: Wild Card. They both put a piece of paper in a hat that said the wildest place they ever dreamed of having sex. Barney held the hat while Robin close her eyes and drew one of the pieces of paper out. The winner? To have sex on a boat right on the international date line so that they would literally be having sex day in and day out.

Their friends all groaned when they found out that was where they had been on their long weekend. "Cheesy!" Marshall had said, and Lily even threw a peanut at Barney. He was gentlemanly enough not to reveal that his slip of paper had said the Eiffel Tower.

[snarky-kat.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin/Morgana, bringing him home

[restlessme.livejournal.com]

She stumbles under his weight, blood dried upon her face. It has been years since she has seen home, had a desire to see the very place that pushed her away. Magic humming in her veins is weak, so weak from too much use.

They had done battle with a coven of sorcerers, so strong that they had slept for days after. Sneaking a glance at the other walking man, she flinched at the look of anger upon his face.

"You don't have to go back, I won't force you," she whispered, hefting arm further up onto her shoulder. He does not answer and she takes the chance to further study him. He hasn't changed much in the years of her departure, apparently he left several years after her.

Choking upon his dirty little secret, the secret that drove her to the madness that caused the screams at night. She thinks that's what finally drove her to the edge of the cliff, caused her to bloody the rocks below with a single jump.

"Does it look like I'm being forced?" he questions coldly. He's been cold ever since then...a day she tries to banish from her mind.

Arthur groans from between them, feet dragging through the cold mud, left behind from the days of rain. Morgana suspects Merlin of that matter, but does not think it is wise to speak of it.

She instead smiles, though it does not make it to dulled eyes.

"Then welcome home," she breathes, both to herself and him.

Really sorry Arthur is only mentioned in passing!

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Zoe, Coming home at last

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

The Pretender, Jarod/authors choice (OMC prefered, but it's all good), Living without fear

[daria234.livejournal.com]

When the Center - and everyone behind it - had eventually destroyed one another with their internal strife and violence, or, in the case of Miss Parker, had managed to truly leave that life behind, Jarod had to get used to living life without fear.

He still went on jobs. Helping the helpless. Challenging himself to become other people. Learning what it meant to live as a normal human being, but only with the arm's length of a false identity. And always - always - nailing the bad guy.

That's what avenging angels do after all.

But it turns out, when you're not on the run, other fears crop up. Fears that are less intense - ones that build slow, that give you a weight to carry rather than a rush of adrenaline.

Like the fear that deep down, you're not really anyone. That you're just a collection of personae to inhabit.

Like maybe your noble sacrifices aren't so noble. Because truth be told, as much as you care about helping people, their grateful tears and hugs have never been quite as satisfying as the "oh shit" looks from the people you've set up, as they believe you're about to kill them.

So what does it mean for a man with no past to spend his life forcing others to take responsibility for theirs? What does it mean for someone who gets to jump to a new life every few weeks to laugh in the face of wrongdoers who try to beg or bribe him to give them another chance?

Maybe it means that he's empty, profoundly, insurmountably empty, in a way that even the most unethical of criminals are not.

Maybe it means he still has a lot to fear.

And these questions don't go away. In fact, Jarod's been asking himself these questions more than ever since meeting James.

Jarod was pretending to be a brilliant thief at a halfway house, hoping to get a confession from a white collar criminal about where he had hidden the money he had pilfered from hundreds of innocent people. James was the guy who tried to convince the criminals that they could be so much more than criminals. That they could have forgiveness and second chances and a better life. That they should stop being afraid of things that could no longer hurt them. That their past - their upbringing - might have made them who they are, but that they could now choose what kind of men they wanted to be.

Whenever James talked to the group, Jarod was disturbed by all he had in common with the other men at the house.

And of course James took a special interest in Jarod. And he wasn't all flowers and niceness either. He told Jarod that it was clear he was wasting his potential. That he was obviously driven more by anger and bitterness than he needed to be.

It had been a long time since someone had left Jarod speechless.

After the job was over, the money distributed to the victims and the mark sent back to hard time, Jarod showed up at James' house.

"Sorry for lying," Jarod said.

"No, you're not," was the reply.

But James invited him in anyway. And Jarod revealed more than he probably should have, and James understood better than most people would have.

And Jarod found excuses to stay in town until eventually he just moved in with James.

They were an odd couple. One who was all about vengeance, the other all about mercy.

And James made Jared keep thinking about all those questions, those questions about himself that used to fill his abdomen with a stony coldness, with fear and the slippery wash of self-loathing. But these questions weren't so terrifying now.

Because Jarod was starting to feel like he knew exactly who he was. Especially when he went home at night and realized that he actually felt like he HAD a home, or when he cooked dinner for James and they sat on the couch watching Dollhouse together, or when James ran his hands along Jarod's stomach, down to his hips, gripping them tightly, when James' mouth moved down Jared's jaw to his neck and shoulders, when James' cock pushed slowly into him, setting a steady rhythm that hit Jared again and again in exactly the right spot. At times like these, Jarod felt anything but empty.

[traincat.livejournal.com]

Fire Emblem 10, Boyd/Mist, the long way home

[myaru.livejournal.com]

It was when they crossed the Crimean border that the trip from Sienne stretched behind Mist like a timeline in a book, stretching back to ancient times and illustrated with numbers and eras she was never able to memorize. The days had moved so quickly when they marched to Begnion the first time with the Laguz army, and she'd wished it would stop for just five minutes when they were running from the Central Army-- and then what did they do but go back to Begnion, first to help the deposed Apostle, and then to bring down a goddess. She'd wished her father were with them when they met Ashera - wished for the first time in two years that he would come up behind her and clap his big hand on her shoulder, because it was a goddess they were fighting, not a fat senator or a soulless doll - a goddess.

She didn't want to lose Ike too. If their dad had been there, fighting beside him--

Then Boyd had taken her hand and squeezed, pulled his axe from its harness, and went to stand next to her brother. It was like he read her mind.

He was doing that a lot, lately. He would appear to help with the laundry just when her back was twinging and she was thinking of asking Titania to lend a hand; he'd show up with wood gathered and cut for the cooking fire before she realized they needed it. Two days ago he showed up at her tent before breakfast and told her to stay in bed, because Oscar would do the cooking and she needed rest - there were shadows under her eyes, and don't think he hadn 't noticed.

He took her hand again when they passed the ruined gate standing between Begnion and Crimea. The others talked behind them; Titania and Rhys talked about when they first met, and Gatrie was telling someone - probably Shinon - about a girl he met in the holy capitol. She heard the wing beats of pegusi above her head, saw their shadows fly across the grass, over the ruins of the fort the Central Army burned down on its way to Gallia - Queen Elincia, Marcia, and two of the Apostle's holy guard. Harnesses jingled, wagon wheels creaked, mold and pollen tickled her nose, and Boyd kept his fingers laced with hers, axe handle banging on his back, her healing staff dangling from her belt and slapping his thigh. Grass tickled her legs.

Another two weeks of walking stood between them and home. Mist wanted to sit down in the waving grass and sleep the two weeks away; she wanted to wake up in the morning and see the ceiling of her old bedroom with the cracks in the plaster that looked like they traced out the shape of Daein on the map, and the yellow calico curtains she made from one of her mother's old dresses when moths got into the chest and ate holes into the bodice. If Ike decided to stay after all, he and Boyd would chop wood outside that window and argue about what jobs to take when their money ran out, and then Titania would drill them like she always did--

But he wasn't going to stay. Nobody else knew yet.

He'd never haul wood with Boyd again.

She squeezed Boyd's hand as hard as she could, and thought, tomorrow I'll tell him - tomorrow. But not today.

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Farscape, John/Aeryn, Meeting the parents

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Spaced, Tim/Daisy, A little surprise

[tablyn24.livejournal.com]

Who kissed who first would remain a fierce argument for years. Both claiming it was the other that broke the three year friends only and never ever anything else agreement by diving in and surprising the other. It wasn't as if they were ashamed of that moment; in fact for both it was the absolute best moment ever. The moment all the stars fell into place and happiness was reached. Still stubbornness and simple pride stopped them shouting on the street, "yes it was me!"

The truth was all these years later three grown kids, seven grandchildren they no longer even knew the answer.

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

BtVS, Xander/OMC, Moving

[moonchildfic.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/Nate or Hardison, When Eliot doesn't have to fight anymore.

Retirement - FRM (slash, violence)

[hawk-dancing.livejournal.com]

Retirement
--

He was going to take him away from all of this.

One day he was going to take Eliot away from the violence, the anger, the pain. The pain Nate especially wanted to sooth and whisper away until Eliot no longer felt the urge to punch somebody. Until whatever it was he felt he had to hold so tight inside no longer had a strangle hold over him.

There was no doubt Eliot had a temper or that he was an extremely dangerous man. Violent when needed - or pushed. Deadly. Cold even, in that he *could* kill; he had that capability in him even if he hadn’t needed to use it in a long time.

If they hadn’t been able to work around the job gone south or if Rucker had actually hurt Sophie…if they hadn’t found the drugged water in the bottle Eliot was using during the match…if Eliot didn’t have the control that he did. Oh yes, Eliot could kill. And he would hate himself for it, each and every time.

They both had demons, though Nate’s alcoholism was mostly under control these days; he hadn’t had a drop to drink since two days after the team had split up the second time. Two days that Nate couldn’t remember, lost on the blank slate of way too much of too many different kinds of alcohol drank because he had had nothing left.

Sloppy and all but incapacitated, on the edge of poisoning himself to death, he had holed up in the cheapest, most downtrodden motel he could find in a neighborhood where the only reason he hadn’t been attacked was the fact that no one had had the courage to challenge the colorless spark of madness in his eyes. Desperate…he had been a man looking for oblivion in whichever way it found him.

Eliot had found him two days later.

Once he had sobered up and taken a shower (that one had not been an option, Eliot standing cross-armed and unmoving until Nate had sulked off to hose down) Nate had dutifully eaten the easy breakfast Eliot had cooked and decided that if he was going to live, he was going to take the chance on what was right in front of him. They had talked, Eliot had demanded sobriety and Nate had somehow obliged. He hadn’t had a drink in months, not one drop; taking only the occasional olfactory indulgence in the rich aroma only good alcohol could provide.

Eliot had that kind of control; iron, implacatable. Ruthless on himself more so than others. Control necessary to beat the living crap out of someone without killing them; without taking that next step, so much easier to give in to the rage eating him and leave no witnesses. To easy to give in to the demons demanding violence and pain and broken bones.

This lifestyle, what they did - providing Leverage, helping people who needed the kind of help only a grifter, hitter, hacker, thief, and one semi-honest man could provide…it assuaged the demon for a little while, but it also fed it. Nurtured it. Enabled it.

No, one day, when all of this was over and they had helped enough people to satisfy whatever it was in each of them that drove them to do what they did, one day Nate was going to take Eliot somewhere where nothing more than sun and sand and the peaceful calls of night birds drove them. The Bahamas maybe…

Or maybe he would buy the largest acreage of land he could find in the open spaces of Montana…Wyoming…where he would build Eliot a ranch and staff it with a whole herd of horses and whatever else owning that many animals might require. Where snow and the wind of a northern winter were the only things to put the flush of blood in his cheeks.

Where they could hole up with enough food, water and supplies that they didn’t have to endure the world until Nate had worn the younger man out in the most fundamental ways possible. Until Eliot had to stand or lay because sitting would be impossible. Until Nate had to do the same.

Standing in the doorway while Eliot patched himself up, rolling his eyes at Nate while dabbing something that stung on the cuts and lacerations and bruises that shown through the swelling of one eye and one corner of his bottom lip, Nate Ford put the very control that had seen him through detox and rehab into plotting out a very unusual retirement portfolio.

It was time someone started planning for their future.


End

[moonchildfic.livejournal.com]

Leverage, teamfic!, Eliot always said he'd die fighting (he never told them it would be to save the rest of them).

bottom of the ninth, bases loaded - PG, gen

[tigriswolf]

Parker's down, bullet to the thigh. Hardison's with her, trying to keep her still and putting pressure on the wound. She'll live, if they can get her out of here.

Sophie's the hostage, one of Reynolds' goons holding a gun to her head and demanding some shit they can't deliver, trapped here at the bottom of a barrel.

Nate's trying to reason with the bastard, but Eliot knows they passed that point a bullet ago.

There's a gun in reach. Full clip; the fucker carrying it went down with a crushed laraynx. There's a gun in reach and goons with jumpy trigger-fingers, and Parker will bleed out if she stays here.

Nine goons, each with a gun. Reynolds crying in the corner, pissing and moaning about something or other, and Eliot can kill them all.

He moves, knowing how this will play out, but his team will live.

[snowglow1275.livejournal.com]

SGA, author's choice, Radek's POV after Rodney dies/returns to earth/etc. and leaves Radek as CSO of Atlantis.

[jennytork.livejournal.com]

He would begin his day the same way every morning. He would wake -- usually with someone shouting in his ear about the latest emergency -- and solve two or three problems before he was out of bed.

Then he would shower and get some breakfast and go right to the labs. He would oversee the experiments running, correct mistakes, and usually swear his heart out.

Then he would attend the morning briefing and help assign members to teams. He, himself, almost never went offworld. He really didn't like it offworld, but he'd go when he absolutely had to.

The rest of the day was meetings, lab time, and then dinner with his friends. All in all, it was a life he'd come to love.

With one glaring exception.

Every moment of every day, he wished Rodney were doing this instead of him. Every moment of every day, he would curse the powers that be that had recalled the most brilliant man in two galaxies for no reason at all than that they were jealous of his progress in ways that they didn't and couldn't control.

[bitsofbrits.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean, Dean's thoughts after Cas gets back. Post S4 finale - massive fight with Archangel.