#but go follow @perplexingly for cool art

[violetprosejoe]

Shadowheart: Halsin, if I were a druid, what animal do you think I'd be?

Halsin: Given your memory issues, perhaps a goldfish?

Shadowheart: I'd hoped for something a bit more exotic... but would you carry around my fishbowl, feed me flakes of food?

[nautiscarader]

Beach in heat (Yumalia, E)

Older Yumalia written for @yumalianinja for his Adult Wakfu Art Jam 2021. Also, today happens to be his birthday!

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(Ao3)

- I'd like to remind you, Yugo, you are officially my bodyguard... We don't want any more gossip about us...

Amalia smiled and kissed him, just before the two hopped from the carriage onto the road that lead them straight to arguably the largest beach in the World of Twelve. The familiar scent of sea, so familiar from their old journeys hit their noses, and was immediately combined with the noises of hundreds of other beach goers that decided to spend their holidays at the famous Cocabanana.

Amalia lead the way, through narrow streets leading to the beach, letting Yugo carry the many baskets with her personal belongings, making him wish he could just portal them to the correct place. But he'd have to know where that location was, and princess Amalia seemed to take her sweet time in picking up perfect spot for sunbathing.

- Ah, there!

She pointed, perplexingly, to the the large bush that grew next to the natural, rocky wall that created natural border with the city, and with a simple move of her feet, she used her magic to make it wither and collapse, ensuring quite a large space for their belongings.

Yugo gladly put the packages down and spread the blankets all over the sand, to ensure his girlfriend won't find any smaller rocks underneath it she could complain about. He then set up the umbrella so that his princess would have perfect amount of shade and sunlight. Lastly, came the small stool with drinks and snacks he helped preparing the day before. But when he turned around to report his work done, words got stuck in his mouth, as he laid his eyes on Amalia, and her attire, or rather lack thereof.

With her dress gone, the Sadida princess wore only her leafy bra and panties, even skimpier than her already short skirt Yugo remembered so well. He had to restrain himself from ogling her scrumptious curves, only accented by those few parts of her body she wasn't showing to the world, and he looked away to say he was done.

- Thank, you, Yugo.

She spoke nonchalantly, treating him like any of her servants, though as she walked past him, she winked from behind her sunglasses. She lay down on the blanket, and as she tried to find the best place for her royal tushy, Yugo couldn't stop thinking that he was the only one meant to see that alluring show.

And he promptly had to look away when he felt his needs awakening in his shorts.

Shorts which he had to be left in, as the sun above them started giving more and more heat, forcing Yugo out of his equally short trousers. he sat down next to her and handed her a glass of drink, trying not to see her curves about to escape the leafy prison she put them in.

"Think of some cute Bow-meows...", he thought. And as he looked to his right, he got his wish... in form of three, long-legged Ecaflipettes that most certainly did not have the modesty of Amalia, proudly squeezing her breasts and shaking their posteriors, as they coiled their tails around a few men that swarmed them.

Yugo swallowed loudly, feeling the pressure between his legs. It's been a rather long fortnight, full of diplomacy and boring meetings, and worst of all, he had to do his duties as a hero of the World of Twelve to help fix the broken world away from Amalia, giving the two very little time together. She came up with the idea of the beach trip, though of course they couldn't act like a couple, afraid of any rumours that might arise...

The juice cooled him down partially, and took some of the heat away, as he concentrated on the distant waves of the azure ocean. But his willpower was only given a moment of rest when Amalia reached to one of the baskets, took a bottle of sunbathing cream, and began her show.

She gladly lifted and exposed her long, smooth legs, now shining from the protective substance, as she coated them with, and as her hands moved up, she could see Yugo's eyes moving with them, despite his best attempts at staying in character. Her arms were soon covered as well, but it was only when Amalia reached her belly when she heard Yugo's needy sigh.

- Oops, spilled a little...

The sight of several streaks of whiteness covering her belly and reaching up to her breasts was too much for the Eliatrope, who had to turn away once more, his mind flooding with imagery of all the times he painted his love in such way. And Yugo instantly realised he shouldn't have done that, when his princess reached to him.

- Would you lend me your hand?

When Yugo turned to his side, he saw Amalia lying on her chest, proudly showing her backside curves, accentuated by her now-untied bra.

- I need some help... - though her voice was soft, he could hear the sly undertone, as she pointed to her back.

Once more Yugo swallowed, reached for the bottle and with trembling hands, began massaging the cream into the skin of her back.

- Oh come on, you need to get closer. - Amalia reprimanded him - Sit here.

And she playfully smacked her ass. Yugo could already hear some snickering from the gang of Ecaflipettes, but he followed his princess' orders, straddling her perfect posterior, as he hoped his boner wasn't too visible from the side to any of the onlookers.

- Mhm, that's right, Yugo - Amalia let out a deep, languorous moan, as his hands touched her. - I love the feeling of your fingers caressing me...

- A-Am-, I mean, princess... - And I love how you rock back and forth against me...

Yugo stopped at once, realising his body's subconscious behaviour and how it must have looked. Amalia let out another, disappointing sigh when he did that. With his hands still shaking, he continued his job, ensureing that his fingers don't accidentally slide to her breasts.

- Good job, Yugo. You have creamed me so much... - she praised him out of nowehre. - Princess, p-please...

Amalia turned her head and gave his lover a subtle, playful wink.

- That would be enough, thank you.

She spoke with a much serious tone, letting her boyfriend take a breather. But twenty minutes later he was called again, when Amalia went for a swim, this time with a rather serious shriek.

- Ah! Yugo! quick, I need your help!

At once, he got up and jumped into the sea, wondering what has happened. The answer became obvious, when he noticed how Amalia was holding her arms around her bare chest.

- My bra untied itself! It must have sank somewhere here... - she asked with a pretence sweetness - Would you please help me find it...?

Yugo raised his brow, responding to her equally mischievous smile, and dived into the shallow water. It took him a while to realise her plan. Amalia was holding the leafy bra with her toes, giving him chance to get even closer to her body. His hands closer around her ankles, calves and thighs, feeling shivers on her skin. And as he swam further up, her other hand slipped down and untied her panties as well, giving Yugo a tantalisingly short view of her naked bush.

And then he nearly ran out of air and had to swim up.

- Thank you, Yugo...

With a few swift moves, her body was covered once more with her "lost" bra, and she began swimming towards the shore. But it only took her one step on the sand, before she started complaining again.

- Though of course now my bikini is covered in sand from the bottom of the ocean..! - she added with annoyance in her voice - I'm heading to the changing booth.

Amalia spoke nonchalantly, and only after a moment Yugo noticed that the princess hasn't moved at all, staring at him expectantly.

- Well? - she raised her brow - I *need* my bodyguard to help me...

The delicate stress she put to her words, combined with her lips curling into a seductive smile had an immediate effect on her boyfriend that jumped to his feet, trying not to appear too excited for other beach-goers. But that notion disappeared the moment the wooden door closed behind the two.

There was no subtlety in Yugo's behaviour: Amalia was quickly pushed to the wall of the small, cramped room, her legs were spread and she was lifted into the air to better accommodate Yugo sliding against her half-naked body. There was no place for long foreplay and the masterful use of his fingers and tongue she was used to. By the time Amalia broke their kiss to take a much needed breath, he was already naked, his cock pressed against her lips, waiting for the final conformation that came in form of a frisky gleam in her eye.

Amalia needed his lips again to contain her scream, as he buried himself inside her wet core in a single, forceful thrust that shook her body, and, thanks to her legs and arms pressed tightly against the walls, the entire booth. But it was only the beginning, as the entire afternoon of teasing suddenly materialised itself in form of Yugo's immense, raw power and strength with each push.

At that point, the small, wooden stall was rocking back and forth, clearly giving away what was going inside, but neither of them cared. Amalia was living through waves of pleasure, reaping the consequences of her actions, as her powerful boyfriend claimed her body as his.

Though her legs and arms were twisted to accommodate both of their bodies in the cramped space, Amalia was feeling reasonably secure, even under the constant barrage of deep thrusts. But that changed when Yugo moved his right hand to her underbelly, and his thumb brushed her clit, sending a very audible shriek from her lungs, as she lived through not one, but several orgasms that made her almost lose her balance. She wasn't sure how her boyfriend was channelling the raw, primal Wakfu, but he concentrated it on her most delicate of places, making her instantly drift into bliss.

But even in her half-lucid state, she clearly heard his grunts and her name being chanted, louder and louder, and knew he wasn't far behind her. And if she thought that his fingers pulsating with energy against her clit would be the peak of her pleasure, she sheer warmth and volume of his potent load that flooded her sex made her lose her composure again, and if it wasn't for his lips against hers, the entire beach would have heard her maddening blabbering about Yugo's manhood.

A tsunami of his hot seed filled her to the brim in no time and quickly began to leak onto the sand, as her pussy spasmed and quaked, just like her entire body. His strong arms soon gave up, just like her limbs, and the two gently collapsed onto the small bench, as their breathing returned to normal.

- Thank... thank you, Yugo for helping me... change my outfit...

She looked down, at their discarded, almost ripped clothes and between their sweaty bodies, seeing a streak of his seed, clinging to her left thigh, after it leaked out of her overfilled sex.

- That's... that's my duty... - he fixed his hat and sneaked a kiss or two to her breasts, which he sadly neglected. - Though I see what your master plan has been all the time, Yugo... - she wheezed, her body still locked in an awkward position - You wanted to prevent me from ever going to the beach again to torture you...

Yugo raised his brow, unsure what his girlfriend meant, until she took his hand and moved it to her underbelly, just like when he caressed her clit.

- After all, I wouldn't be able to fit into any of my swimsuits if you ruin my perfect beach body...

Only now, with Amalia's sly and seductive tone, Yugo realised what she meant, and, understanding his mistake, brought by two weeks of abstinence, and sheer deisre to make up for that. He tried to pull out, but the cramped space effectively locked him in the dangerous position, but even if he could move, Amalia's arms and legs were closed around his torso and neck, respectively.

- A-Ami, I-I forgot, I'm-I'm sorry- - Ssh, it's okay, I'm on a potion - she kissed him - I knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself after I'd tease you all day... I can't blame you... - Ami, I-I-

But Yugo's apologies were cut by sudden, loud clamouring against the wooden door. And when Amalia and Yugo looked down, they could see more than one pair of feet waiting in line.

- I think it's time to go.

Amalia kissed Yugo and let go of her body, as the two fell through the portal in the wall, leaving their ripped clothes, a small pool of cum sinking into the sand, and a potent scent of a summer passion lingering in the air, hoping to inspire some other couple after them.

[trevardes]

Keep that breathless charm (hankcon)

1900 words of Connor feeling very confusing things for Hank. Set after the Nest Mission. Title from The way you look tonight. Also on Ao3. For @ccrescentscar <3

*

Keep that breathless charm

Connor looks at Lieutenant Anderson and feels conflicted.

That in itself is an oxymoron; should be an oxymoron, a statement so outrageously impossible that it should collapse under its own weight. It should, but it doesn’t. Connor, an android made to be inhuman and immovable, looks at Hank Anderson, this man, this human, and feels.

Anderson’s facial expression is closed off, the corners of his mouth tight and his gaze downcast. His hand rests on the steering wheel, the key in the ignition turned and the car’s motor running, but Anderson doesn’t drive. He sits there, quiet, lost in thought. He seems unreachable, far away even though he’s sitting right there, close enough to touch. Connor is excellent at reading people, his programming covers a wide range of expressions and all of their possible indications. He’s had more training in this than any other android, and his system as a whole is geared towards understanding and analyzing humanity. It is not often that he has this much trouble understanding someone’s surface emotions, especially if he’s situated this close to them.

Right now he is having problems though, and it unsettles him. Anderson is thinking about something, thinking hard, but beyond this realization, Connor has no idea what’s going on inside his head.

Honestly, he’s not quite sure what’s going on inside his own head, either.

The image of Anderson hanging off the ledge of the roof is etched deep into Connor, still sending a weak spike of distress through him when he thinks of it. It was a split second decision to help him, and there was no question that Connor would, even though Anderson had a high probability of surviving on his own. Helping him cost Connor the deviant, cost him the mission, but in that moment it ceased to matter. Connor weighed his options and reflexively chose the one that would ensure Anderson’s safety.

Now that Connor returns to the scene in his mind, he begins to question his actions. Anderson is in good enough physical condition that he could very well have pulled himself up without assistance, and Connor could have caught the deviant. There was just this… pull, towards Anderson, to save him, to keep him safe. It’s there even now, when Connor looks at the lieutenant’s unreadable profile. An anomaly, a malfunction somewhere in the code that he’s made of, a stark positive instead of a cool, indifferent negative. A tilt towards something, when everything about him should be flat and neutral.

“Lieutenant Anderson”, Connor says, attempting a calm tone. It works to a satisfactory degree, but he does indeed have to actively try and make it that way, and that is jarring. His voice comes out exactly like it always does, clear but a little soft at the edges. It sounds too loud in the quiet, still air inside the car.

“Yeah?” Anderson says, still not looking at Connor.

“Is something wrong?” Connor inquires, quieter this time. He tries for a kind and open tone. It comes out falsely intimate, and a quick frown flashes across Connor’s face. He immediately runs a diagnostic of his voice box and it’s programming, but comes up with no clear reason for the strange lapse. Nothing there is in need of repair, nothing is out of place.

“You seem quiet”, he continues. Could Anderson be angry with him for letting the deviant escape? He’d seemed happy with Connor’s decision earlier, content and even a little proud, but all of that is gone now.

“Nah”, Anderson sighs. “I’m just a bit confused. Aren’t you guys supposed to be the epitome of reason and logic?”

“I suppose you could say that”, Connor muses. “How do you mean?”

“Why choose to pull me up then? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it”, Anderson chuckles humorlessly. “I just don’t get you androids.”

“I felt it was more important to insure your ability to continue with our investigation, than to catch a single deviant. There are still several cases left for us to look into.” This is not the whole truth, Connor knows. Still, he manages to keep the cadence of his voice even and steady.

Anderson hums, seemingly satisfied with his answer. His brow smoothes a bit, and he looks closer to his usual brand of grumpy. Something about his eyes is still different; his pupils a fraction of a millimetre wider than normal. His hand squeezes the steering wheel, and his left leg bounces slightly. A nervous tick Connor has grown familiar with, and almost fond of.

“Thanks anyway”, Anderson finally rasps, after a long silence. “I do like to live.”

“Do you really?” Connor whispers before he can stop himself. Anderson doesn’t seem like he does. Connor knows he drinks too much and too often, doesn’t get enough sleep, doesn’t maintain a healthy diet. Connor has analysed him and accessed all files available to him. He knows more than he should. Hank Anderson has no spouse, no known family at all. He has a note of a divorce in his file, and a grave he visits sometimes, on the rainiest days. He often comes to work late, hungover, looking tired and depressed. He pushes people away and builds walls around himself, not unlike the firewalls surrounding Connor’s essence and protecting him and every other android from viruses. In Anderson’s case though, the walls don’t necessarily signify self-preservation.

Anderson’s mouth draws into a thin line and his eyes go squinty in annoyance.

“It’s not your damned mission to investigate me, is it? Stick to your job, R2.”

A reference to an old movie franchise. Connor is only equipped with a cursory information package on older American pop culture, and he’s uncertain why Anderson would call him by the droid R2D2’s name. There seem to be no similarities between them. Connor neither speaks in beeps, looks like a large bucket, nor could reasonably be described as ‘cute’.

“True”, Connor concedes. “However, it is my duty to keep you in working condition to the best of my ability, as you are my partner and as such, essential to my work.”

Anderson makes a sound of annoyance and perhaps of contempt, and shifts his leg on the pedals. He puts the car into drive, and pulls out of the alley and into a larger, slightly busier road. He doesn't seem eager to stay on the subjects, and for now, Connor lets it slide.

Following their usual pattern, Anderson is going to give Connor a ride before going home himself. Connor could take the bus, it would be no inconvenience to him whatsoever. He’s an android, they don’t feel discomfort like that. Connor should say this to Anderson. He should leave the car and let the man go on his own.

Despite being an android, a decidedly emotionless machine, Connor feels a twinge of… unease, perhaps, at the thought of the lieutenant going home alone. Unease and sadness. He turns to look at Anderson again.

Hank Anderson is 53 years old, but life has worn him down, so much that he could pass for older. His hair and beard are silvery gray, and lines web the outer corners of his eyes. Something tells Connor they might’ve been from laughter, originally, but nowadays Anderson doesn’t have many reasons even to smile.

Despite the signs of aging, or perhaps partly because of them, there is something intriguing about Anderson. He looks pleasant and warm on the rare occasions he smiles. Often those smiles are a bit malicious and at the expense of androids or other humans, but Connor still finds them perplexingly delightful. Anderson has straight teeth and deep, clear eyes. His eyelids are a little heavy, lending a softness to his features that otherwise wouldn’t exist.

They drive in silence for a moment, until Anderson reaches out a hand and switches on the ancient CD-player on the dash. Soft, melancholy jazz music fills the car, and a small smile tilts the corner of Anderson’s mouth. Right then he looks so… so affable, so human.

Connor feels something twist up in his chest, some unidentified circuit there firing a soft pulse out of rhythm with the rest of him. His fingers twitch and his teeth dig into his lower lip on their own volition. A soft, persistent burning sets ablaze his mind, his wires, all of him.

He’s glad he pulled Anderson up from the ledge. He’s glad he’s sitting here so close to him.

He’s glad.

His thirium pump quickens it’s rhythm, adds two beats to its normal bpm. Error notifications pop up in his vision. There’s a software instability, accompanied by a strange feeling, a warm ache inside his chest and head, even though they’ve received no damage recently.

Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but he draws in a slow gulp of air nevertheless, quietly enough that Anderson doesn’t notice anything is amiss. Anderson keeps humming along to the song, and the low, scratchy sound of it takes a hold of Connor’s spine, sends a painful shiver through him. Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but he forgets that and feels breathless anyway. A new alert about rising levels of distress flashes red at the corner of his field of vision. His LED spins yellow, fast and frantic. It flickers into red and back to yellow, and Connor hopes Anderson won’t notice it.

He ignores his objectives that tell him it should be impossible, and deletes all the notifications.

His body temperature has risen 3,9 degrees above normal. He forces it down by diverting more power to his coolers, and tries to sit still.

He erases his action log for the last five minutes, deletes any traces of deleting the notifications. It’s a feeble attempt at covering up what he’s done, easily reversed by anyone with any skill at programming, but something compels him to do it. He knows he should turn himself in for examinations. He should receive a recalibration as soon as possible. It should be a given. He is a state of the art prototype, an incredibly important and expensive experiment that CyberLife can’t afford to lose to… to deviancy. He should send a message right now and tell them everything, tell them he’ll be coming in for assessment and subsequent reprogramming.

The command to report and fix any errors is an integral part the program of the android RK800 #313 248 317 - 51. It is not an entity with any authority to decide how to act in a situation like this. It should revert back to protocol right now.

It doesn’t. Connor doesn’t.

He turns sideways in his seat and watches lieutenant Anderson. He commits to memory all the details of this man; his shape, his familiar scent, his voice as he hums along with the music for a few notes. Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t know anything about what he has awoken inside Connor. He never will, because Connor will not tell him, will not tell anyone. He lets out a quiet, shivering breath and settles back against his seat. Squeezes his seat belt between his fingers and tries to let the music calm him.

Anderson doesn’t notice Connor’s distress. He looks the same as always, worn and tired, but tonight everything about him is unsettling and beautiful. For the first time since he was made and switched on, Connor wishes he could touch. Wishes he could smooth a thumb along the lines in Anderson’s skin, down his bearded cheek. It’s new, this confusing desire, but it settles inside Connor like it’s always been there, this familiar, gentle longing.

Anderson keeps driving, and Connor watches him out of the corner of his eye, feeling the sweet corruption spread through him, to every circuit and every nerve.

[angorith]

Lyta’s Backstory

So Lyta was around at the same time as Merlin and Morgana, and she spent quite a bit of time around the both of them as Merlin’s assistant. She was born human with two loving parents, but was unfortunately orphaned at the age of eleven. She managed to survive on the streets of Camelot by learning to pickpocket and run errands for meager wages. That is how she met Merlin.

A fourteen year old Lyta was slinking around the marketplace in Camelot on a foggy morning, eyeing out some targets for her nimble fingers to prey upon. She spied many a coinpurse clutched in tight fists, and several bags equipped with latches for security. She wouldn’t be able to pilfer from those tightly guarded purses. The inhabitants of the capital city of Avalon must have been getting tired of their gold going missing; maybe it was time to move to a new town where her work wasn’t so well known. Just as the thought of leaving town crossed Lyta’s mind, however, she spotted a wizened, graying man in an emerald green robe striding down a shady cobblestone alley between the inn and a small shop. He seemed distracted, muttering to himself in a grumbly voice and twisting his fingers together absently. Best of all, Lyta didn’t see any locks or fastenings on his satchel, which swung gently at his side in a steady rhythm. Figuring him an easy target, Lyta sidled into the shadows next to the muttering old man and deftly slid her hand into his satchel, groped around inside for just a moment, then carefully extracted a strange looking talisman of polished brass and ivory. Although she was disappointed not to find any gold in the man’s bag, she was intrigued by her catch. However, Lyta didn’t have time to further inspect the talisman before she dropped back behind the man and slunk out of the alleyway with a heart pounding from the familiar adrenaline of theft.

Upon further inspection of the odd talisman, Lyta decided that taking the amulet to the nearest apothecary shop would likely fetch her the best price. So, in her usual inconspicuous fashion, the pickpocket went to the apothecary to pawn off her prize. She entered the darkened store, her nose stinging with the strong scent of incense that smoldered in a smoky back corner. The shop was deserted except for the usual keeper, a grizzled and hulking man by the name of Bjorlorn. She was in the middle of bargaining with the shopkeeper- trying to convince Bjorlorn that she had picked up the talisman lawfully was proving to be difficult- when Lyta’s transaction was interrupted by another customer. A rock hard lump of dread plopped into Lyta’s empty stomach.

It was the man she had stolen the talisman from.

As hard as she tried to play it cool and escape the horribly tense situation quickly, the potionmaker Bjorlorn seemed to have it out for Lyta today, and it wasn’t long before their squabbling attracted the attention of the green-robed man. To say he looked enraged at the theft of his talisman would be an understatement. Bjorlorn snatched Lyta up by her arm, his strong grasp halting any attempt at escape. He offered to call the city guards and alert them of the thief in their midst, but the old man merely shook his head and replied to the shopkeeper, “I can take care of this myself.” So Lyta found herself being dragged out of the apothecary in the perplexingly strong grasp of the green-robed man.

When they emerged on the street, Lyta was expecting to be struck or beaten, but instead found the man’s grip loosening. He offered little resistance when she twisted out of his grip, and when Lyta met the man’s green eyes in surprise, she was met with a keenly interested gaze. The man actually commended her- complimented her- on her deft hands and wary eyes; he hadn’t seen her coming or going. He seemed oddly... impressed with her. The only reason the man knew he was missing his talisman was because of the magical charm placed on his bag to alert him of thieves. At that moment, Lyta knew she had gotten herself into something big. Trifling with wizards was dangerous, and those that crossed their paths with ill intent never lived to walk another road again. But Lyta was pleasantly shocked when instead of a reprimand, this wizard offered her a job that he thought would ‘make proper use of her skills as a collector’. She would work for him and help with his experiments and other magical pursuits, in exchange for a place to sleep and a couple of warm meals a day. Lyta was already inclined to accept, but the deal was sealed when the wizard introduced himself as the one and only Merlin. Lyta moved into Merlin’s lab/apartment the following week.

Over the next three years, Lyta learned how to help brew potions, gather ingredients from a great variety of places, and even convinced Merlin to teach her a few basic spells to help aid her in her frequent outings for spell supplies and potion ingredients. She also grew very close to Merlin’s other charge, Morgan Le Faye. The two girls bonded over their mutual thirst for knowledge of the arcane arts, their Mentor’s quirks and out of date mannerisms, and often spent time together outside of Merlin’s lab and assignments. They were his go-to team for collecting rare and dangerous ingredients. And while Merlin would always favor Morgan for her natural affinity for magic, Lyta soon found herself actively seeking his approval, something Merlin rarely gave out easily- especially to Lyta.

Over time, Lyta agonized as she watched Morgan become even more gifted and skilled in the magical arts, whereas she was still stuck taking notes and organizing Merlin’s bookshelves. And as both Merlin and Morgan Le Faye sank deeper into the arcane world, Lyta watched them become ever more engrossed in the study of trolls and their magics. They gained entrance into Camelot’s hidden Trollmarket and began to research and learn more about the underground dwellers that resided below their city. Lyta was never allowed to accompany them. Even though Lyta strove to please Merlin and gain his approval, the wizard had become colder and more distant, his once compassionate ways fading into obscurity as he became more and more obsessed with his work, and gave more and more credit and praise to Morgan.

Mere weeks before Lyta was going to turn seventeen, Merlin and Morgan became immersed in one project in particular, a potion that Merlin claimed would ‘enhance the inherent magical and physical abilities of the user to an extent hitherto unseen before’. Intrigued, Lyta offered to help in any way she could. Merlin, in return, sent her embarking on one of the most harrowing journeys of her life. She had to collect ingredients from the most dangerous of places, she was even told to catch lightning in a bottle. She almost died figuring that one out. But the worst part of the journey was the fact that Morgan wasn’t with her. The apprentice’s studies deep into the realm of magic, alongside Merlin’s constant attention being focused on Morgan, had driven a sizeable wedge between the two students. Lyta found herself feeling as alone as she had on the streets all those years ago. Although the journey was miserable and perilous, Lyta still returned triumphant to her master and friend, with all the ingredients Merlin had requested of her to the letter. Brewing the potion took time, during which Lyta recovered from her travels and spent some time again with Morgan Le Faye, attempting to rekindle their friendship after Lyta realized how lonely she felt without her friend beside her. After a heart-to-heart talk with Morgan and a solemn promise that they would spend more time together, the brew Lyta had worked so hard to help create was finished. And Merlin took all the credit, as always.

However, Lyta was excited- albeit more than a little nervous- when Merlin offered her a chance to use the potion she had helped create. With the hope and promise of new magic abilities that may finally garner Merlin’s attention  and approval, Lyta poured the mixture into a still pool of water and stepped in.

When she woke up, she didn’t recognize herself.

Lyta, horrified at her altered state, demanded that Merlin tell her what had gone wrong. Merlin replied, “nothing went wrong. The experiment worked just as well as I had hoped it would.”

The truth hit Lyta like a ton of bricks. Merlin didn’t know what this potion would do to her. Nor did he care. He didn’t care if it worked or if it tore her apart from the inside out, he didn’t care.

Rage colored her heart black, and in a moment of blinding fury, Lyta struck out at her mentor. She had trusted him, relied on him, and he had betrayed her trust and turned her into a monster. It was this outrage and fear that fueled Lyta as she battled Merlin, a craving for vengeance bubbling up in her stomach alongside a beastial rage that she had never felt before. She was scared of the feeling. She was scared of herself. It was this fear that struck Lyta out of the furious daze she had been in. She tried to apologize, to explain to Merlin that what had happened was beyond her control, that it was not her intention. But Merlin heard none of it. Taking advantage of Lyta’s momentary weakness, Merlin used his magic to encase Lyta’s body in a living crystal he kept in his lab, a piece of the Heartstone that the trolls beneath Camelot had given him. And there Lyta stayed. The last thing she saw before everything went dark was Morgan rushing into the chamber and eyeing her transformed friend with utter horror. The last thing Lyta heard was her friend’s voice echoing off the stone walls, calling out, “Merlin, what have you done?”

Lyta remained inside that living crystal for thousands of years. While Merlin and Morgan- who had by them renamed herself Morgana- did battle underneath Arcadia in the new world, Lyta remained hidden in a secret chamber beneath the city that formed over and around Camelot. While the world went on and left her behind, Lyta laid in wait, trapped in a tumultuous slumber for what felt like eternity. Until a fateful mission by the youngest Trollhunter in history broke open her crystal casing and freed the once-apprentice of Merlin from her sleep.

You can imagine her reaction when she first heard Jim utter the phrase, “For the Glory of Merlin”.