Friday Free For All

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Greetings everyone!

It's Friday, and you know what that means! Today is Free For All Day! Any Fandom, Any pairing/grouping, any prompt.

Please be kind and don't over prompt. Limit yourself to 3 prompts per fandom and space your prompts out through the day.

Remember to post your prompts in the right format so our code monkeys don't throw things at you:

Examples:

Supernatural, Sam/Dean, black and blue
Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, ice and hard heads.


Remember that this weekend is a Lonely Prompt Challenge weekend. The contest begins at midnight tonight and runs until midnight Sunday.

Now, hop to it. Prompt. Write, Have Fun!

Comments

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam/Dean, black and blue

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Leverage/Supernatural, Eliot/Dean, ice and hard heads.

[kavidawn.livejournal.com]

Eliot hissed as an ice pack was pressed against his head. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dude, maybe if you didn’t insist on not using a gun this wouldn’t happen quite so often.” Eliot glared at him.

“I don’t-”

“Like guns. Yeah I know.” Dean sighed and began bandaging the nice bruise that was forming on Eliot’s abdomen. “Seriously though, you can’t keep this up.” Eliot tensed under his hands.

“I’m fine. I’ve been fine before and I’ll be fine later.”

“Yeah, I get that. And I believe it. But dude, your head is only so hard and there’s only so much ice can fix.” Eliot didn’t say anything as Dean continued to patch him up. When Dean was done he stood to clean up the mess around them only to be pulled back down by Eliot.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Eliot said, taking the other man’s face in his hands and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I can take care of myself and I know when I’m in over my head. That’s when I called you.” Eliot tried to smile at him but the bruise on his cheek turned it into more of a grimace.

“Yeah, okay. It’s just-” Dean didn’t finish, couldn’t tell him that Eliot was the only constant in his life right now and he didn’t think he could handle losing him. Eliot seemed to know what he couldn’t say because he pulled him in for a gentle, sweet kiss. The kind that the two of them, being who they are, never really shared.

They pulled back and Dean began cleaning up the medical supplies and bloody clothes while Eliot lay back on the motel room bed, holding the ice to the growing bump on his head.

“Fuck, that hurts.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Suck it up. You should be glad that ice is all you need. I’m telling you, one day it’s not gonna be enough and then you’ll really be hurting.” Dean tried to hide his anxiety over that day beneath his flippant words. Eliot just smirked from the bed, seeing right through him.

“Not today.”

“No, not today.”

[csichick-2.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve/Jensen/Jared, morning after

rps, chris/steve/jensen/jared, morning after

[wellowned.livejournal.com]

it's well past dawn, almost afternoon, when the haze of sunlight cuts through the blinds and curtains to throw the bed in a cheery yellow glow. it's disgusting, really, and jared wonders why he ever got a room on this side of the house if the sun would do something like that when it knows he's too hungover to breathe, let alone move out from the heat of covers and bodies and did he just say bodies? jared jerks suddenly awake, alcohol-soaked brain catching up and counting 6 more legs and 6 more arms in bed than he's used to (dogs don't count, considering that's 8 legs and there's fur involved and ow, this is really too much thinking for a hungover brain).

jared's scared to even open his eyes to see what he got up to. if it wasn't for at least one body behind him, he's sure he would be easing out of the bed right now and hoping like hell no one caught him being a coward and running like a punk from his own room. he's a grown man, for god's sake, and oh my god someone is happy to be in this predicament and curiosity is going to kill jared but he has to know who it is that just started rubbing up against his front.

he manages to get one eye cracked open, just enough to see that jensen's the one rubbing up against him, with a soft and warm steve jsut behind him. and wherever there's steve, there's sure to be chris, so that explains the set of hands that just started wandering down jared's sides.

the rough chuckle resonating by his ear does not make jared harder, thank you very much.

"your boy's freaking out, jenny."

jared's about to complain, really he is, but just then jensen smiles sleepily at him and he doesn't have defenses against that, ok? so there's no way he's able to stop himself from being drawn down into a kiss. and when that kiss turns into something more, well... he always did say his bed was orgy-sized.

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, making out

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, pretty things

[atomic89.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Simon/Kaylee, caught in the act

A Little Sisterly Advice

[trinityday.livejournal.com]

River likes giving advice.

The one and only time they try it in his room, she waits seven minutes before interrupting to tell Simon: "Kaylee can use her own fingers."

"River!" Simon cries out, embarrassed, as he tries gathering the sheets around him and Kaylee. He twists the second he hears his sister's voice, but not at all in the good way, only to face his mei mei. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" River turns the question back 'round on him.

Simon blushes right good, and iff'n Kaylee isn't trying to make up for lost time, she might think it cute.

River finds them in the engine room, too. "You're going too fast," she tells Simon, which of course makes him stop going at all.

"Meimei, get out of here." He stays on top of Kaylee, not so that they can keep going when River leaves—and not to keep Kaylee's modesty (not that she cares one way or another, but that is just the sorta fancy and proper gesture Simon usually tries for) but so he don't have to look at his sister. There don't got convenient sheets to pull over them here, and not even Simon is sha gua enough to try and pull down some of Serenity's equipment to hide them, even if his hand reaches out at first.

"You have to slow down. Listen to Serenity. Pulse in the engines. She keeps a good pace."

In Kaylee's room, she lets them be, but the next morning at breakfast, River tells her:

"Simon doesn't always need to be so tidy."

Kaylee might not of got what River meant, 'cept how Simon goes all red-like and shouts at his mei mei, dragging her out of the kitchen. Only Zoe was at the table, but she just raises one eyebrow and don't comment or nothing when Kaylee follows them out. She don't get real close, but she does hear Simon go on about privacy 'n' stuff enough that she's sure she guessed right what River was getting at sex.

Later, Kaylee asks, to be sure, "Is that true? What River said, about bein' tidy?"

Simon blusters and blunders and don't answer straight. He never once thinks that maybe Kaylee guessed because River is giving him helpful hints, too, about what she wants.

He don't seem to want to give her an answer, but that is shiny, too, since Kaylee reckons it will be fun trying to figure out what River meant the next time they have sex.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

RPS, Christian Bale/Zac Efron, Zac is cast as Robin in the next Batman movie.

[tresa-cho.livejournal.com]

Haha! Okay, this was certainly not what you were thinking but it was too amusing to pass up.

"Seriously, dude, you don't have to be such a jackass about it," Zac said to the white door. "We all know what you said, but you agreed the script was good. I'm not that much of a tool that you can't work with me. All those tabloids are totally lying."

The door swung open so quickly the breeze ruffled Zac's hair. "D'you ever shut up?" Christian glared violently at him, his huge, beefy arms flexing as he leaned against the doorframe. Zac swallowed hard and blinked, trying not to piss himself at the sight of a magnificently disgruntled Batman who could probably tear him in two without breaking a sweat.

"Um. No, actually." Zac carefully and casually placed his hands on his hips. "Are you coming back to the set? Um... they want to start shooting sometime in the near future and you haven't cancelled your contract..." Christian stared at him blankly. A lightbulb went on in Zac's head.

"You..." Zac narrowed his eyes as he realised something. "You're just mad they picked me for Batboy!" he gasped.

"Robin. For chrissake. Robin," Christian snapped, causing Zac to take a step back in something slightly resembling fear. "Do you even know the franchise?"

"Yes! I know Batboy has a talent for getting himself kidnapped, killed, held hostage, and all sorts of fun things. And he says things that begin with 'holy something Batman' and gets to wear those crazy tights. And I ride a motorcycle. Which is awesome." Zac was gone, imagining his character with a gentle, starry look in his eye.

"There are no 'holy whatever Batman' lines in the script this time," Christian growled, intent on breaking the kid's heart. Zac indeed looked crestfallen.

"If I say them enough they'll have to include at least one. Right?" Zac had the balls to look hopeful at his possible-future-co-star-if-Mr.-Bale-didn't-bale-out. Christian imagined the irritation of almost every head of the project should Zac decide to pull that little stunt. Could be interesting...

"Okay." Christian opened the door wider and stepped into the hall beside Zac. He put his arm around the younger man and they started towards the front of the hotel. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship. I have a few lines that I've written in the margins of my copy of the script that would be perfect."

"Oh! You have to let me see them. I gotta get them memorized..."

[elebridith]

Leverage/X-Men, Eliot Spencer/Remy LeBeau, "So... what else are you good at?"

"So...what else are you good at?", Leverage/X-men, Eliot/Remy

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Remy's a good fighter - anyone who can bring down the Wolverine to the floor during training once in a while can call themselves 'good' - he's got his agility and his flexibility on top of all the training he get from his years on the streets and in the Thieves Guild to thank for that, not to mentions his years as one of the X-men. But it's not his art; being a thief is his art, the thing he could live and breathe and die for, if he had to. It's the adrenaline rush, the knowledge that he has to be better than the alarm systems, the security guards - better than every protocol put in place and designed precisely so men like him don't get all those sparkly little treasures hidden away.

But Eliot's different - he's a decent thief and one hell of a retrieval specialist (Remy's heard the stories. Most of them are pretty unbelievable, but he believes), but he turns fighting into a work of art.

Remy dispatches his two guys and leans against the bar, watches Eliot go up against the rest. He'd intervene if he thought it was necessary, but...there's a fierce grin on Eliot's face and he's laughing as he brings the men down - again and again, almost playing with them, and Remy grins as well and reaches behind the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey.

He shares it with Eliot afterwards when they're sauntering away from the (wrecked, damaged, totally not their fault because they didn't start it) bar, both of them drinking directly from the bottle and Remy doesn't need his empathic talents to read Eliot's need. Man's still high on the adrenaline and the fight, and now he's starting to want...

"So...y'gonna tell me what else y'good at?"

Eliot takes the bottle and raises it to his mouth, eyes on Remy's the whole while, and he licks his lips when he lowers the bottle.

"Oh, I'm good at all sorts of things."

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

SPN, Castiel/John, peace

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

“You can rest now,” the angel told him, after Azazel was dead and the gate to Hell was closed. “It's alright. You've done good work, John Winchester and now it's time to rest.”

Mary was waiting for him, he knew this-- but then John turned to look at his sons, both of them, so strong and yet all he could see were the little kids who he used to tuck into bed at night. “But Dean.. and Sam, they need me.”

“They will be okay.” The angel took him by the hand, and John could feel the peace and warmth of heaven flowing through this creature-- all that awaited him if he just let himself let go. “They have angels watching over them now, all the strength of heaven's armies. They will be safe.”

“Do you promise?”

“I give you my word,” Castiel swore and bowed his head, right before they disappeared into the light.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, cuts and bruises

[morgan-cian.livejournal.com]

"You are not meant for this, you silly git." Arthur muttered, wiping away blood, surveying the cuts and bruises. "You are to stay behind away from the fighting."

Merlin submitted to the rough touches. Gaius should have been the one to tend him but Arthur would have none of it. Merlin had almost sacrificed his life for Arthur....again. It was becoming a nasty habit on the boy's part and Arthur wanted...to make sure he was okay.

Merlin curled into his bed sleepily, too tired for a cheeky reply. Once Arthur was sure he was asleep, his breathing slow and steady, he cupped the sharp cheekbone and prayed to the gods that his boy still lived.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Supernatural/Criminal Minds, Hotch and John, Wrong guy

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Morgana, Changing the future

[elebridith]

Leverage, Angel!Eliot/author's choice, wings

[medjai-trowa.livejournal.com]

Parker hadn't believed it, the first time she had seen it. Trailing Eliot was one of her favourite pass-times, and she knew that he knew she did it - and more importantly, he hadn't warned her off yet.

But the first time she had followed him up to the roof, she had watched him in bafflement as he removed his shirt and perched on the edge of the roof, his back to the drop with an oddly round shouldered posture. Abruptly, like something suddenly being brought into focus, there were wings where there had been none before.

She had gasped then reeled back further into the stairwell, a hand clamped over her mouth to stop herself making any more noise, but when she looked back Eliot was looking in her direction anyway.

Of course he would be.

He hadn't demanding she leave though, so she had settled in, peering through the cracked door and Eliot eventually looked away as he stretched his wings further into the thermal rising up the side of the building.

And that was a surprise. She had thought his wings would be white, like a swan's, but they were more like a hawk's, a brown which matched his hair, the feathers ruffling slightly in the air currents.

She had crept away when he had curled them in to his body, carefully examining them. Preening like a bird would, she guessed, and it felt too intimate somehow. So she had left him to it, smiling delightedly to herself when she found a pair of feathers on her desk and pouting until Hardison stopped asserting that they were probably full of parasites and decided that the best course of action was to ignore the fact that she tucked them into her waistband whenever she was jumping off buildings.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

The Big Bang Theory/Author's Choice, Koothrappali and/or Wolowitz/author's choice, Chatting up girls in bars

[elebridith]

RPS/Dollhouse, Doll!Taylor/Handler!Hugh, first contact

*whistles, shines badge and exits stage left*

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Hugh sighs inwardly and tries to convince himself not to hold his breath. It shouldn't be so difficult to talk himself into (or out of) a security detail like this. He doesn't like what the Dollhouse does, what it stands for. The way it strips people bare and uses them, no matter that they signed up for it. But it exists, and it functions, and these people, these Actives, they need to be protected.

Whatever training gets plugged into their brains in that damnable chair, they need someone to protect them...

"Hey," Riley says, and Hugh gets the feeling it's not the first time he's said it. "You ready for this man? Cos if you're not..."

Hugh barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, mate, I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

Riley tips back in his chair to shout around him. "Hey Doc! You can bring Indigo in now!"

Dr. Ferris smiles at them both as she leads a young man (can't be more than twenty-five, Hugh thinks) into the Treatment room by the hand. Shaggy light brown hair nearly hides bright green eyes and a cheerful, almost dopey grin. Had he been anywhere else, Hugh would have assumed the kid was a stoner.

"Hello," he says softly as the doctor leads him past Hugh and to the chair. His eyes linger on him, even as Dr. Ferris gets him settled.

"Okay," Riley says. He sort of push-pulls Hugh til he's standing next to the arm of the chair. "You hold his hand." Riley actually physically puts Indigo's hand into Hugh's own. "Look into his eyes. And you say this." He hands him a small card. "Pause after each line. It's like a response thing, y'know? You say the first thing, Indigo says the next thing..."

Indigo squeezes his fingers. "You have very nice hands." Hugh just looks at Riley and raises an eyebrow.

"Riiiiight," Riley says. He sits down at his console and taps the keys for a moment. "Ok," he says softly. "Slowly now."

This feels stupid. Contrived. But Indigo is looking up at him, waiting. "Everything's going to be all right."

Indigo's hand tightens around his own just a little, eyes focusing on him intently. "Now that you're here."

"Do you trust me?" Hugh feels something settle as he says the words, and can't help but wonder if the machine affects him to. If that's why he has to hold Indigo's hand.

"With my life." Indigo's eyes are clearer now, like he's more present now that he's imprinted on Hugh.

[claudia6913.livejournal.com]

Heroes S3 - Sylar/Claire - continuation of their conversation in Nathan's office

[johnboy91719.livejournal.com]

Heroes/X-Men, shapeshifter!Sylar/Mystique, anything you can do, I can do better

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

RPS/SPN, Father Morgan/evil!John, blood and forgiveness

Warning: DARK!fic

[darling-lisa.livejournal.com]

Father Morgan teaches his congregation that forgiveness is not easy, that it requires faith and perseverence. God requires you to constantly forgive, to release the hate and anger in your heart towards others and accept instead love and faith in the greater plan. These are the words he has taken to his heart, believing them to be true among all others, forgiveness is a skill that must be practiced, a leap of faith that can be rewarded by a closeness to God that is hard to find in a world filled with cold technology that promises to bring people closer but really just drives them apart. Forgiveness is faith, and faith is love, gentle and unrestricted.

However under John's hand he finds a different view of forgiveness. As he stands naked and spread eagled against a crude wooden X suspended from the ceiling, he allows his head to drop forward against his chest and feels the burn of his muscles as John pauses in his punishments. He can hear nothing above the roar of blood in his head and the rough drag of air in and out of his lungs, but he feels every sensation a thousand times over. He can clearly trace the trails his blood weaves as gravity pulls at it, he is intimately aware of the rippling in the air as John pistons his arm forward, the ends of the rosary flying through the space between them until it meets the flesh of his back. And the exquisite pain of each bead hitting already torn and broken skin. The sting and drag, the cruelty of the crucifix digging into his skin, tearing and gouging him endlessly as he begs brokenly for John's forgiveness. He can not ignore the pull in his muscles from being immobilized so long, or the sting of salt as his sweat creeps into the open wounds on his back and side.

What he feels most however is the throbbing in his loins, the adrenalin flowing through his blood as he truly begins to ask John for his forgiveness. He wants the pain, needs the bite of the rosary against his skin, welcomes them as loved ones come home after a long journey. Most of all he waits for the feel of John's hands on his skin, their rough caress as he strokes his palm along the erection jutting proudly from Jeff's hips. He wants the rough wetness of John's tongue licking at his wounds setting his nerve endings on fire. He needs the pain to purify him, to wash him in its darkness, to pour from his very soul in the essence of his soul as he orgasms. God may teach forgiveness is love, but Father Morgan has embraced the forgiveness of blood and sheds it joyously, secure in the knowledge that he is saving another even as he damns himself.

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

SG-1, Jack/Daniel, follow me

[tresa-cho.livejournal.com]

Bugger. My computer ate my first attempt

"Daniel. Daniel, listen to me. I'm going to get you out but you have to listen." Jack lay on his stomach in the ventilation system, eyes intent on Daniel a few cells over. If he jumped down to the floor, the sensors would go off and they'd both be in trouble. Again.

"Jack?" Daniel stood, trembling arms held out in front of him as he turned towards Jack's voice. "Jack? I can't see anything."

"I know, Daniel, I know. You have to follow my voice. Come to me. Just listen." Jack winced as Daniel collided with the bars to his cell. Startled, Daniel gripped the bars and called for Jack again. "I'm right here, Danny boy. Deep breaths. You have to come to me. It's the only way I can get you out. Just follow my voice. That's it. Come on."

Each step was, if possible, more agonizing for Jack than it was for Daniel. Jack verbally guided him through the room until Daniel was standing under Jack. If Daniel jumped, with his arm in the air, Jack could catch him and pull him to safety. "Stretch your arm up. Okay, move a few inches to your right. Okay. You're going to jump, and I'm going to catch your wrist, okay?"

Daniel gathered himself and leapt straight up. Jack, damn his reflexes, missed, and Daniel landed back on the ground. "Jack? Jack?" Daniel's voice cracked slightly.

"I'm right here, spacemonkey. I missed. Getting old, you know? One more try, it's just like fishing. Come on now." Daniel jumped, and Jack latched onto Daniel's wrist fiercely. Daniel gasped and wrapped his fingers solidly around Jack's arm, scrabbling at the stone wall for purchase. Jack hauled him up into the tunnel breathlessly.

"Jack. Jack." Daniel's shaking fingers found Jack's face, and Jack grabbed Daniel's wrists. He carefully placed a kiss on the inside of each one, stamping down on the anxiety that flared when he tasted blood.

"Come on, let's get you home." Jack fisted a hand in the back of Daniel's tac vest with a grip that could only be removed if his arm was cut from his body.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, I keep waiting for you but you never come/is this in my head/I don't know what to think -

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

Leverage, wee!Eliot/Nate, let the child play

Let the child play, Leverage, wee!Eliot&Nate

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Nate's already got his hand raised, mouth opening and he's drawn a breath to speak when Maggie catches his about-to-wave hand with one of her own, lowering his arm back down. He looks at her - amused by how she can always, could always, throw him off with just one look.

She smiles a little sadly and looks out over the playground to where Eliot's perched on top of the monkey bars and probably proclaiming his amazing awesomeness loudly and clearly for everyone around him to hear.

Nate follows her gaze, and he lets go of the breath he took to call Eliot back to his side. He's been so used to keeping Eliot close, keeping Eliot safe, that he'd forgotten that Eliot was his own damn person. Nate links hands with his ex-wife and laces their fingers together, squeezing just a little as Maggie brings her other hand up to discretely wipe away a tear from her eye, and then he leans back against the bench with her and watches Eliot play in the sun.

[samescenes.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, bromance

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

X-Men, wee!Remy/Logan, laughter and tears

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Logan misses Remy having a grown up body. It certainly doesn't help that Remy's frustrated as all hell. All the things his head wants and his body just... Logan shakes his head, focuses his attention back on the task at hand.

Namely, tickling Remy mercilessly.

The kid wriggles and writhes under his hands, laughing and laughing until Logan can't help laughing too. He wonders vaguely if his childhood was this good the first time. Always fed, never alone... Logan doesn't think so, so he tickles him more. Tickles him so his cheeks flush red he's laughing so hard, and gasping for breath, and only stopping once tears start sliding down his cheeks.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

X-Men, Logan/Remy, the night is cold but you are so warm.

The night is cold but you are so warm, X-men, Logan/Remy

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

It's November, upstate-New York, and Remy is currently huddled under a huge quilt in one corner of the couch in the rec room. Logan rolls his eyes and pushes off from the doorframe, sneaking up behind the couch. Of course, he's not going to actually be able to surprise Remy, but...

"Bonsoir, Logan," Remy mutters, and he glares at the TV as if that would change the channel. The remote's all the way over on top of the TV cabinet, and Logan grins to himself when Remy makes no effort to get up and fetch it, walking over himself to collect it before turning back to the couch.

"Cold?" he asks, grin turning to a slight frown when he realises that Remy's not only wrapped up in the quilt, he's also bulked out enough that he has to be wearing at least three sweatshirts - and Remy LeBeau never wears sweatshirts.

Remy stares up at him balefully, red and black eyes narrowing in annoyance behind his bangs.

"What d'you think?" Remy sniffs and he turns his attention back to the TV.

Logan rolls his eyes. Sometimes his lover can act like such a child. He rounds the corner of the coffee table and sits down, lifting the quilt enough to slide under it and edge up close to Remy. Remy's hands are tucked into his sleeves, and Logan pulls one out - Remy letting him with barely even a murmur of protest. His hands are like ice, and Logan huffs and gathers Remy in against his side, nearly into his lap.

The younger man stiffens at the movement, eyes darting around the room as if expecting one of the students to pop out and see them, and then he relaxes, practically melts against Logan.

"Y'so warm, cher," he mutters, cold nose pressing against the side of Logan's neck.

"Heating's on, darlin'," Logan says. "Turned right up."

"Still fuckin' cold," Remy grumbles, but he moves just enough to press a kiss to Logan's mouth.

Logan smiles to himself as he hears Remy's heartbeat slow, the younger man becoming lax and more pliant in his hold as Remy falls asleep, and he switches the channel on the TV over to find a game.

[merihn.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, future!dark!AU: guns make this fun.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

This isn't exactly AU, more twisted reincarnation fic. And it's not the sort of thing I usually write, so I hope it's not too terrible. Heh.

-

“You were supposed to save Albion, not destroy it!”

“Did you just tell me what to do?” Arthur asked, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Merlin – did she just tell me what to do?”

Over his right shoulder, Merlin looked at the girl in front of the throne with exaggerated concentration.

“I think she did.”

“We can’t have that… you know how much I hate insubordination.” Arthur sighed and leaned back. “Morgana, Morgana, Morgana… We’ve been through this before. Saving is in the eye of the beholder. Believe me, I am saving this putrid, worthless little country from the obscurity it has sunken into. We used to be great!” He leapt to his feet. “I will make us great again.”

“There is nothing great in the suffering of innocent people… nothing innocent in the destruction of their lives and of hope. Arthur – turn away from this path. Please, I beg of you. I’ve been down it. I know what will happen to you… please.”

Arthur crossed over to her quickly, the coloured light, shining through the stained glass windows shining off his hair until he leant right over her kneeling form, his face washed with red, Camelot red. She spat in his face.

“You had the right idea, all those years ago, Morgana,” he whispered to her, wiping her saliva from his lips with a tissue. “We’ll make a new world.”

“What happened to you?” she asked, drawing herself as upright as she could in the shackles she wore. “You used to be a good man… both of you.” She looked over his shoulder at Merlin who was idly cleaning his finger nails. “What happened?”

“Death changes a man, Morgana. You have no idea of the things I have seen. And Merlin’s been filling me in on what he’s seen over the centuries: the wars, the plagues, the death. This place is hell, Morgana.” He stood up abruptly, tossing the tissue onto the flagstones. “I’m tired of this conversation. I had hoped you would be on our side… but as you are not. Merlin.”

The warlock walked forwards with a measured pace, years of life making his movements less abrupt than they had ever been before. He removed a gun from an underarm holster and clicked off the safety, before pressing the muzzle against Morgana’s temple.

“Say hello to Gwen for me,” Arthur said with a smirk. “Tell her that I’ll send Lancelot her way soon.”

Merlin pulled the trigger without flinching and there was an explosion of noise and blood. Morgana’s body hung for a second where it had been before crumpling to the ground in an ever growing pool of blood.

“Last time I did that, I used magic…” Merlin commented, putting away his weapon. “I think I preferred it this time, it’s always more fun when things go with a bang.”

Arthur smiled at him and reached out to grab his sorcerer by the back of his neck and draw them together until they were forehead to forehead.

“She didn’t understand, Arthur. She couldn’t see what we see,” Merlin murmured, almost into his mouth. His face was cast in blue-green by the stained glass, and Arthur could just see that his eyes were swirling with gold.

“I know,” the once and future King breathed back. “We’ll make a new world. Our world.”

“A paradise.” Merlin agreed, before nudging their lips together with growing enthusiasm and backing Arthur up to his makeshift throne, where they were bathed in royal purple, leaving a track of bloody footprints.