Monday | Hopes and Dreams

[little-missmimi.livejournal.com]

Happy Monday, everyone! I’m little_missmimi, and I’m your host for the rest of the week. 

Today's theme is Hopes and Dreams. Secret desires, nighttime fantasies, wildest wishes, aspirations...basically, whatever your characters want most.

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:

Author's choice, author's choice, a million reasons not to

Harry Potter, Hermione, time-turner

Doctor Who/Torchwood, Ianto/Ten, "don't follow me"

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=HopesandDreams]

Comments

[leavesoflorien.livejournal.com]

Arthurian lit, Lancelot/Gawain, that which might appear unattainable

[danse-amore.livejournal.com]

((Like I said, never having done this before, I'm playing with canon ridiculously (although with this particular fandom that's kind of a given?). I've also sort of just...decided what they look like?))

Lancelot wandered the castle, his feet bare. His hands were wrapped in bandages. When he stretched his arms upward to the vaulted ceilings he could feel scar tissue stretching with him, tight and hot.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows, and he paused to turn his face to it, silent. Clouds moved too fast across the moon's face and he wondered for a moment that he couldn't feel the wind of their passing even through the keep's stone walls.

There was a screech of metal on metal from behind him, and he turned slower than he would have liked to find a figure facing him, bare steel in his hand, clothed only in shadow. His slimness was achingly familiar, his face dim and strange. Lancelot took a step back - not from cowardice but from curiosity, trying to draw the nameless opponent into the light.

His foe stepped forward after him, the moonlight silvering his hair and his highlighting luminous blue eyes. Lancelot barely had time to feel his heart stop at the expression on Gawain's face before his friend was lunging at him, slim blade pressed to Lancelot's breast.

And he realized he, too, had no clothes but shadow, his scarred chest fluttering with his heartbeat against the painful-bright tip of Gawain's sword. They circled one another, dancing between moonbeams. He wanted to talk - ask what it was that he'd done, to inspire the anger in Gawain's face, ask what he'd done for the sword in his breast - yes, in, because Gawain was sliding forward and forward and it was an aching, tearing pain and his lips would not move, his voice caught on the blade and pressed out his back in rivers of red.

He wakes up shaking and silent, his fists twisted in his sheets.

The next day, Merlin tells him what he has seen. He speaks with no passion, with sympathy and with no judgement, but it is a statement of face. You will. Lancelot falls back abed with his mind on fire.

This time Gawain's mouth was wide open and mocking, spilling out words of love that Lancelot has not yet said, yet they are in his own voice - things in his heart that he would lay open for Gawain's ears if such a thing could even be dreamed of. And yet he was dreaming of them - but twisted and wrong, his words bitter in his lover's mouth, more painful than the long, bright sword.

He wakes dark-faced and withdrawn, and nothing that his friend says now makes what his friend will say any softer.

In the third dream, he was in the throne room, the windows dark. Two new scars, puckered and angry, marred his chest where two nights before this he had died. He stared at the throne, emptied, at the two, at where the Lady Guenivere (his Queen, how...she was as unattainable as Gawain! And perhaps that...) and King Arthur should be, should always be for the rest of time, where they would be but for him.

And he turned, almost resigned, to meet eyes like blue fire. And Gawain pushed it in, in, in, pulled him up, up, up along the blade and pressed his soft lips close to Lancelot's ear. His voice is full of all the sorrow that's hidden by the mask of rage on his face, and he murmurs dark and low, "They were my brothers."

[leavesoflorien.livejournal.com]

Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson, cake

[leavesoflorien.livejournal.com]

SGA, Sheppard/McKay, that elusive Nobel prize

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, Remus/Tonks, planning for their future

[xoshimmystarox.livejournal.com]

She never thought she’d be happy to leave London but the little cottage Remus calls home is peaceful and quiet and as loathe as she is to admit it, she needs that right now. It’s not home but they’re fighting a war meaning home is a luxury and luxuries are rarely found in such times. The flat she owned in Camden is rented out because they’ve got a wedding to plan (more like her mother has planned) and money is always a funny issue in times of strife. It seems like such a trivial thing to worry about even though it was one of his arguments. Too poor indeed; nothing wrong with the witch being the breadwinner of the family and besides, Remus is far better at her when it comes to cooking and cleaning. She learns how to make Wolfsbane, her shoulders cramping from how careful she is not to make the slightest mistake and that first full moon she doesn’t sleep, staring at his side of the bed, hand fisted in the pillow.

One thing she’s good at is gardening and she spends whole days outside in the warm glow of an Indian summer planting flowers and vegetables. There’s something so utterly honest about the feel of earth under her fingers and when she first sees green shoots peaking up she’s elated. Remus picks through recipe books and tries to show her how to bake a cake that doesn’t sink and how to make a stew that doesn’t burn at the bottom of the pot but she’s still hopeless. Her cleaning magic does improve slightly and she finally manages to make nice, tidy stitches and with that newfound knowledge she livens up his wardrobe; a paisley shirt here and there, a tie with a bold, solid pattern.

In bed she lies with her head on his chest so she can listen to his heart, so solid, so steady, so reassuring and walk her fingers across the silver scars that criss-cross his skin. He twines his fingers in her hair and sometimes he recites poems or stories or talks about the Marauders. Her heart still aches for Sirius and she knows that her cousin will always hold a part of this man that she can never lay claim to but she’s sure that Sirius would want them both to be happy.

“I was thinking of planting some hanging baskets,” she says out of the blue and he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“They’ll look nice in the spring. Good to have cheerful things in these dark times.”
“Nasturtiums, fuchsia,” he twists a lock of her hair and she laughs, “Maybe clematis.”
“Sounds lovely,” he drops a kiss to her hair and she arches up, just managing to avoid elbowing him in the stomach. “Dora...the study...well I’ve been thinking too.”
“What about it?”
“I’ve got plenty of room for my books around the house and there are better uses for that room.” She struggles to sit upright and she must look like a fish out of water and stupidly, she wants to cry because their plans up until now have been so vague, so hazy and focussed on if’s rather than when’s and he hasn’t looked so honestly joyful about something in such a long time.

“Oh god Remus,” she finally whispers when she thinks she can speak without causing a scene and he rubs her back gently.
“Bright colours. Greens and yellows,” he says, adjusting the blankets as she nestles her head against his shoulder. “It looks out onto the garden, lots of sun and a clear view of the sky. It’s a good place for a child.”
“It reminds me of the house I grew up in. Not too far from anywhere but without loads of neighbours.”
“Didn’t you have chickens when you were younger?”
“Yeah, my gran – dad’s mum – gave us some.”
“We could get some, a cat too, both our owls,” he sighs and she yawns, presses a kiss to his shoulder. “We could make this a home.”
She can tell from his tone that he didn’t mean to say it aloud but she squeezes his hand anyway and smiles. “That we could Remus, that we could.”

[ladybubblegum.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, author's choice, birthday wishes

[dreamer-marie.livejournal.com]

Dudley saw what his cousin was surreptitiously glancing at: a bright red, spiffy-looking sports bike. So Harry would like to have one like that, huh? Well, Dudley would teach him to look greedily at sports bike. He would make Harry understand that that he'd better keep dreams of sports bikes out of his head.
Dudley had hear his parents complain over and over again how expensive Harry was. Harry's parents (Dudley's uncle and aunt, he supposed?) had died in a car crash and then they had dumped Harry on the Dursleys' doorstep for them to take in. Dudley wasn't sure how they had taken Harry to the doorstep when they were dead, but there was one thing he'd clearly understood from his parents' conversations: that the Potters were good-for-nothings who had no right to expect anything from the Dursleys, and that Harry should feel lucky that the Dursleys had taken him in at all. Dudley knew that Harry had no right to expect anything at all, let alone a bright red sports bike.
Dudley liked the fact that his birthday was only a few weeks before Harry's. Every year, it gave him a special opportunity to remind his cousin of how little he should expect. Dudley always got plenty of presents - much more than things he could wish for, so he always had a part of his birthday wishes that were specially taylored to Harry. He observed his cousin whenever they went shopping with his Mum, and he knew what made his cousin's eyes sparkle. Then he would ask for those things for his birthday and make sure his cousin was watching when he was unpacking his presents.
Because Dudley's favourite birthday present was the crestfallen look in Harry's face as he watched Dudley get what he, Harry, wanted most.

[amathela.livejournal.com]

Wizards Of Waverly Place, Justin/Alex, Alex's dreams start coming true. In a very weird way.

[myaru.livejournal.com]

Fire Emblem 10, Pelleas/Micaiah, right now she sings alone

[myaru.livejournal.com]

Fire Emblem 6, Miledy/Guinevere, divine weapons

A Spear Of Snow And Ice

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

The night was taut with anxiety, tenseness, even anticipation. This could be the last night for any, or all of them. They could only look at these ancient weapons and hope they could beat back the powers of a dragon. The weaker could only stand back, with a feeling of crippling helplessness to watch them go. Friends, family, and loved ones came for the few chosen, the few deemed strong enough to go against a monster of old.

She saw Thany clinging to Tate, while Yuno touched her shoulder, stroked her hair. Wolt, Lilina and Roy, all slated to go with tome and bow and swords, all huddling close, remembering better times. She saw the bard, Elphin hand something to a knight named Percival. A token? A lock of hair? Some gift for a champion. They shared a long look, and the knight traced the corner of Elphin’s face before turning away.

She too had some goodbyes to make. When she came upon her, Miledy was checking the armor on her Wyvern. Her expression was a sort of composed blankness, as if she was barely keeping back her feelings that threatened to pour through. What else could be expected of a girl who’d had to fight her own lover? In the end, Gale refused to join, and was deaf to the pleadings of both Zeiss and Miledy herself. What loyalty had driven him to be stony to the requests of his most loved ones? Had his loyalty to her brother’s cause been that much? In the end, she could not see his reason for deciding to remain on the burning vessel that was her brother’s remaining armies.

Oh Zephiel. Once, there’d been so much more peaceful times.

Helios let out a low rumble as Guinevere drew closer. Miledy looked up from her task.

“My lady.”

“You have been chosen to wield Marte...”

Miledy lifted up the spear. It had a beautiful marbled pattern of blue and white. When she touched the crystalline spear, it was like touching winter itself.

“Soon our preparations will be complete. We march as soon as dawn comes.”

Guinevere looked away, her hand at the wall to steady her. Would it be too much to hope that all of them would come back alive, even if all she could do was wait from afar and pray?

“I know you have lost someone most dear to you,, but I must remain selfish. If you die on me.... I will never forgive you.”

Because you are most dear to me–

She held out an elixir. The blue nearly matched the color of Marte. Aqua Vitae, blessed by heaven, the touch of life. Here any wound would be healed instantly, yet it could only be used thrice. Three times to escape death’s clutches. Three times more likely to return to her.

“Consider it a gift from a queen to her champion. I await your glorious return.”

Miledy looked at the elixir a long moment before putting it in a side pouch on Helios’ saddle.

“I will not let you down, my lady.”

[gaffsie.livejournal.com]

SGA, John/Ronon, I thought I'd never get this

[gaffsie.livejournal.com]

SG1/SGA, Cam/John, Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

Haunted: Cam/John, Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

[somehowunbroken]

Cam wakes up sweating, shaking, and it takes a moment for him to recognise his own bedroom and the voice murmuring into his ear.

"Hey," John says, soft and careful, and his hand ghosts over Cam's arm. "You back with me?"

"Sorry," Cam gasps, and he fights the nausea that rises again as the images flash through his head women children dead blood on your hands dead your fault dead.

"What can I do?" John sounds at once desperate and resigned, and Cam feels a little bit worse for it, because John wants so badly to help but there's nothing he can do and they both know it. "Please," he adds, and Cam can hear the raw need there, how John has to be the one to carry the crosses, but he doesn't know how to hand this off.

Cam just flips over and curls into John's chest, settling his head over John's heart and closing his eyes and listening to the steady thump thump thump under his ear until he can get a thought through his head. He can't talk about it, can't bring the words to the air, but John knows enough from the mission report to not ask. It's killing Cam, the weight of the innocents around his neck, and no matter how many bad guys he kills he can't lighten the load. He doesn't know what there is to do.

"I'm sorry," he says into the darkness at some point when he thinks John's asleep, but John curls his arm tightly around Cam's shoulders and buries his face in Cam's hair and they stay awake together, keeping Cam from the nightmares that will eventually catch up with him again.

[myaru.livejournal.com]

Saiunkoku Monogatari, Shuurei, it isn't just a man's world

[arobynsung]

Merlin, Morgana/Gwen, a noble lady's secret

my lady sleeps in pagan bedspreads

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

Lady Morgana always surrounds herself in flowers, some plucked up for her hair, more to place in her dress, wrapped up between her breasts, by her heart. She always smells beautiful, a beautiful Ophelia drowning. When she undresses wilted flowers fall about her and the scent prevails, covering anyone around in the aroma of dying flowers. In her more lucid moments, Morgana lays out, allows her hair to be untangled. She looks far away, muttering of worlds far off.

They came again she says.

And of course it is the dreams, the darkness which descends to gnaw at her precious sanity. She is ill, and should she not be the king’s ward, she would be drowned as a witch, or put away to the house of the mad.

She, herself has been plucked up, taken as Lady Morgana’s own. The fragrance lingers on her, left on fingerprints, claiming. She isn’t merely a handmaiden but Lady Morgana’s handmaid, which sets her apart. She braids and she listens, she heats bathwater and laces up dresses. Most of all, she comes to her lady’s screams no matter how far away, no matter what distance. She is there at every waking, the shuddering, the dispossessed, drifting gaze.

And then lady Morgana buries herself close, face to her lap, hair streaming down like twisting, unmapped rivers, dark and dreary. At night she is grave, whispering of worlds that never were, never have been, perhaps never will be. Tales of evil, of her lady’s descent to a twisted madness. Tales of old, tales of her married off to a king and loved by a knight.

They are only but dreams. I will never leave your side, she says.

Her lady stills, yet there is still is still a restless brought on by the whispers in the night.

Gwen strokes her lady’s hair. She hopes those dreams never come to pass.

[myaru.livejournal.com]

Fire Emblem 8, L'Arachel, orphans, widows, and the downtrodden

[arobynsung]

Dollhouse, Boyd/Adelle, faith and bureaucracy

[alcetis.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure if this is what you're looking for at all... I'm sorry if it didn't turn out right. But a little idea came into my head and I had to write it...


"Don't you have any faith?"

Adelle was quite surprised. She looked up from her papers, annoyed. "I do not see how that is relevant."

"Faith, in people," Boyd said, not angry, just inquisitive. "Do you possess any?"

Adelle knew it was childish, but she rolled her eyes anyway. "Having faith is not my job. My job is protecting the Dollhouse. And she's a potential threat. If anything happens, anything at all, and I cannot show that I did everything in my power to prevent it, my life, and the life of this house, will be over. She can't be trusted."

"I highly doubt it. She cares about the actives. Fully, and truly cares. And she believes in what this place is doing just as much as you do." There was a hardness to his voice that Adelle did not particularly care for.

"In light of the current situation," she replied, "we might have to take extra precautions. I highly doubt that she loves our business as much now as she once did. Neither Saunders nor Whiskey are to be trusted."

"She'll be back," Boyd said, "she just needs to find herself..."

"She'd find herself here, in a little computer file in Topher's office."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. She'll be back."

His fervour made her stomach flip uncomfortably. "Nevertheless... I feel I should assign another one of our security personnel to the task of locating her. You seem to have... an emotional attachment that shouldn't be toyed with." And I don't want to think of what would happen if you did find her. Imagine, losing you both...

"Are you implying that I wouldn't be professional?" At this Adelle had to raise an eyebrow.

"And you've been professional in the past?" She remembered the feeling of the desk pressed against her back, everything a tangle of limbs and mouths and heat. She crossed her legs and stared at him cool as can be.

Boyd almost blushed. She could see it in the way he looked down at his feet. "That was... different."

"How so?"

"This isn't anything like that. This is... different."

Adelle was afraid that it wasn't. "Boyd, we live a life of seclusion. If you're feeling lonely, take a doll," or me, "but I can't let you on this mission." She kept her voice as cold as she could manage.

His face contorted. "A doll! I would never!"

"And Saunders is..."

"That's different!"

"Is it?" Adelle straightened out the papers on her desk.

"I can handle it."

"It's a risk I'm not willing to take."

Boyd shook his head. "Fine. But one day you'll learn to have a little faith."

"And one day you will learn that the paperwork never allows it."

[arobynsung]

Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, after this con

[lmx-v3point3.livejournal.com]

Urm... I'm really sorry?

-

"After this con, we're going home, man. We're going south and we're gonna stay down there where it's warmer and there's more space and less freaking tourists and we don't have to worry about the mobs. There's horses there, right? Like, ranches and stuff, you'll like that more. There'll be more to do that isn't hittin' folk and gettin' yerself beat all to shit and… I can see you doin' that. Getting all up in the cows faces an' makin' 'em… I dunno, whatever the fuck ranchers do. Havin' sex in tents on mountainsides." Alec stopped to draw breath, because really it was starting to be a problem.

Eliot blinked at him slowly, smiling that wicked smile that was the reason Alec had told him he loved him. "Sounds good." he muttered, blood in his mouth making Alec balk.

"Shut up, man. Yer mockin' me. I'm holding your chest together and you still gotta be mocking me like that? I like sex in tents. It's fucking cozy." Alec's breath hitched and he blamed the shiver on the freezing winds that were whipping relentlessly around the rooftop.

"Stop crying… y' baby." Eliot said, and Alec convinced himself that the hitch in his breath was the cold making Eliot shiver too.

"After this con, you gotta help me tell Nate, man. He's gonna throw one if I pull out. I mean, this whole thing wouldn't even work without me. I run this crew. I mean… Nate runs it, but I… Y'know… It don't run without me. Or you. Especially with you." Alec looked down. "Eliot, open your eyes." he insisted. "Eliot?"

[devils-almond.livejournal.com]

Numb3rs, author's choice/author's choice, waking up with the taste of him on his tongue and an empty bed

Smutty Smut. Hope That's Okay.

[samueljames]

Normally Charlie’s alarm was set to come on to morning radio and more often than not he woke just before it and would listen to a song or two before getting up. This morning when he woke there was silence. He opened his eyes and saw a beige wall that definitely wasn’t his. His mouth felt weird, not just the didn’t brush his teeth feeling but a strange taste.

Then the memory hit him, Colby. Last night had been great, Colby was so responsive to Charlie, his fingers and his tongue. Charlie had kissed each of Colby’s nipples, kissed his neck, ran his hands across Colby’s abs. Colby’s kiss had been softer than Charlie imagined it would be and he gripped Charlie’s hair on the good side of painful. After more kisses and exploration there’d been that sixty-nine that had Charlie half-hard again now just remembering it. Colby’s cock wasn’t extremely thick but it was long and Charlie used his hands to help. He cupped Colby’s balls in his hand and perhaps squeezed just a little too hard when Colby swirled his tongue on the head of Charlie’s cock.

Neither of them was completely focused on each other, aware of their own sensations but there would be time for finesse later on. Charlie doesn’t remember at what stage it became a race but both their movements had grown frantic and Charlie had to put a hand on Colby’s hip to avoid being choked with his thrusts. It hadn’t taken long for them both to come in each others’ mouths. Afterwards he’d kissed Colby slowly, no energy for anything else. He supposed some of that taste must be him too.

He got up and used the bathroom and was surprised to see Colby when he walked back into the bedroom. “I went out to the bakery for croissants and got you a toothbrush at the drug store. If you want to have a shower you can borrow my boxers.” Charlie smiled “thanks, breakfast sounds good. I’ll just use the shower first.” Both of them kept smiling at each other neither wanting to say how much they’d enjoyed the night before but both hoping it wasn’t a one-off.

[samueljames]

Star Trek, Jim/Bones, hoping feelings will be returned.

in the glow - reboot, preslash, PG

[tigriswolf]

Jim Kirk is bright and loud, and people flock to him, just hoping he'll glance their way and dance with them and maybe even take them to bed.

He never beds the same person twice, except a choice few, and he never stays the night.

You're inside the glow he exudes, roommate and best friend--only friend, you think sometimes. Because he is bright, and he is loud, and people flock to him but no one sees him. They see the mask, the one he drops at night, in the dorm, when he sags down onto the bed, pulling the covers to his neck, and has dreams he never speaks of.

Nightmares, actually. He's quiet, but he thrashes around. He woke you up, once, when he tumbled to the floor, silent but gasping like he couldn't breathe.

You watch and wait, offering what help you can, but he'll spook if you push too hard, like Granddad's horses.

He's bright to cover the darkness, loud to hide the fear, and people flock without looking close enough to see.

Not you, though. You're there beside him, ready to catch him if he stumbles, and maybe one day he'll see you.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Arthur,Making Arthur Laugh

[arobynsung]

It was a simple affair, for a royal wedding.

The people needed reassurance, the king needed an heir, the kingdom would be secure.

There was fanfare, and color, lots and lots of color. Everyone in their finery, out to see the king wed his bride-the noble Guinevere who wasn't really nobility, but wasn't that the best thing about it?

It was the difference, the newness and freshness of the air. All in Camelot took great deep breaths, the people in relief and happiness, Guinevere for strength, Lancelot for loyalty, Arthur for sacrifice, Merlin for love.
Well, Merlin also took a deep breath because he was about to look a complete and utter fool in the hat; and royal wedding receptions lasted all day and night, blast it.

But all those deep breaths were worth it when Arthur & Gwen finished their vows. Merlin's were especially worth it when Arthur burst into giggles- manly as they were, of course- when he spotted Merlin's hat right in the middle of reciting his vows to Gwen and Camelot.

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/author's choice(or no one), living long enough to retire

Deathfic! So sorry. Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, living long enough to retire

[beautybecks.livejournal.com]

They could retire right now with the cash Hardison managed to get them all. But somewhere along the job they became a family, gained a leader, a conscience, a purpose. It felt good to do the right thing for a change, to help others instead of just themselves.

All the jobs they've done since then, all the people they've helped, it's brought them even closer. A bunch of orphans; a man who lost his son and a woman so maternal it's no surprise they all sort of adopted eachother. A family of sorts. But their family outings were the ones that usually involved criminal activity and danger.

Eliot knew he was living on borrowed time ever since he was a kid and somebody shoved a gun in his face. He's spent his life learning how to look out for himself, leaning how to fight, to defend himself. Still, he knows someday it's not going to be enough.

But now, now he's got others to look out for. He's got Parker, a little sister who is big on the crazy side, jumping off buildings just for the thrill of it. Eliot worries that the rope may snap, that she'd fall. It's no reassurance that she'd die with a smile on her face if it did.

Sophie is too smart to die. Eliot doesn't think about that. He won't let it happen. He knows Nate won't let it happen.

Eliot's more worried about Nate. The guy lost his son and a part of him is still looking for him, even if it means they'll be reunited in death. It's gotten better though, as Nate has grown more attached to the gang. Screwing over the insurance company is no longer his sole reason for living. Nate now has a purpose, people who need him. Eliot still gets the feeling though, that when death comes for Nate, Nate will welcome it.

It's not Eliot who dies because of some thug with a gun, it's not Parker who dies became of some faulty equipment and it's not Nate who dies due to some longing to be with his son.

It's Hardison. Hardison the harmless geek who hid behind ones and zeros. Hardison, who Eliot fought with every day. Young Hardison, who had barely had a life before a bomb went off under his surveillance van. Hardison, who Eliot never got to say goodbye to, who never got to tell him how much of a brother he was to him, how he was more than that. Hardison who was smart, and beautiful and... gone.

The team falls apart after that. Parker disappears in the middle of the night, vanishing without a trace. Nate drinks, and Sophie leaves once she realises she can't save Nate. Eliot just drifts.

Hardison made sure there was more than enough in every one of their bank accounts for them to retire so Eliot does just that.

Then he realises, he may have retired but he's got nothing left to live for.

[karahalliwell.livejournal.com]

Smallville, Clark/Lois, A life with her.

Dreams of a Life as American as Apple Pie

[chibifukurou]

Clark looks at Lois and sees his chance to have everything he's ever wanted. He sees a life for himself beyond playing costumed hero. A life with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids.

It's just a dream though. He loves Lois but she's loud and brash and doesn't want a white picket fence or 2.5 kids. She want's adventure and wild times.

She can't be the person he dreams of and he won't be the person she wants.

[pesha.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Heaven can be found in good pie.

[pesha.livejournal.com]

Smallville, Lex/Clark, the truth

Lies Hurt

[chibifukurou]

For a long time Lex never gave up hope that Clark would tell him the truth. That he would stop lying to him and take responsibility for who and what he was. For a while Lex had been willing to wait for Clark to tell in his own time. When he gave up on that he’d tried force, to no avail. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Clark no matter the reason.

At first Clark had cared for him to much to hurt him either but that changed just as their friendship had. The day Clark hurt him was the day Lex gave up hope. That was the day he realized that the farm boy he’d loved was gone and in his place stood an alien who looked at Lex as a blot on the world. That was the day he no longer felt bad for hurting Clark, the day he became Superman’s archenemy.

[pesha.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam/Jessica, a normal life

[pesha.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Eliot/anyone, a ranch of his own and someone to share it with

put out to pasture - gen, PG

[tigriswolf]

(Not exactly what you requested. Hope that's alright)

He gets out after—well, he gets out. Goes back to Oklahoma and works anywhere they need a handyman or a touch with horses, anywhere he doesn’t have to talk much.

He doesn't look over his shoulder. Doesn't care if an old enemy tracks him down. Doesn't care if they try to break him before killing him. He doesn't care about much anymore.

But no one comes for him.

He saves up his paychecks to buy a parcel of land, even though he could buy the state for how much is hidden away in a bank-account with a fake name. He won’t go near that money, though. Not even if he were starving.

There’s blood on that money, and guilt. So much regret he can’t breathe sometimes.

He flinches around laughing blondes. Around motherly brunettes with bright smiles. Can’t stand fireworks or skyscrapers.

It takes ten years of living hand-to-mouth before he buys that parcel of land. Four horses. He never expected to live so long, and sometimes wishes he had the courage to kill himself. But Grandma had told him that suicides don’t get to Heaven, and he knows that’s where they are.

He wants to see them again. To apologize for being too slow. Too weak. He was unconscious while they died, and there’s no excuse for that. He wasn’t good enough and—

It should have been him. That’s why he was on the team. To take the punches and the gunshots and the killing blows. It should have been him, but it wasn’t and he’s got to live with that.

So he does. With his stamp-sized piece of ground and his four rescued horses, he lives with that.

[pesha.livejournal.com]

Roswell, Max/Liz, safety

Dreaming Without Wanting

[chibifukurou]

It's not that I don't love my life. Max is a wonderful husband and we have a happy life together. I have true love and what more could I really ask for? Well what besides safety.

I dream of a life where my family can settle down for more than a few weeks at a time. A life where I don't have to be afraid of what will happen to any children I have.

I dream of that life but I don't truly want it. If we were safe than I wouldn't have Max. Being without him would be so much worse than being unsafe.