#he is the familiar of a very incompetent wizard

[proteidaes]

Thinking about the Lunar New Year and realized I had a silly dragon I could share 🐉🎉

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photoshop

[cherryslyce]

Enclosed To You | Regulus Black

Synopsis: To cope with your lonely marriage to Regulus, you begin to pen letters to him without the intention of ever sending them. As you both grow closer, you decide to continue the hobby until the very end.

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

Notes: I got this idea just as I was about to fall asleep. This fic switches perspectives a bit, so I hope I blended it seamlessly.

Regulus Black prided himself in his innate ability to read through fake pleasantries, steel gaze rippling through any fool willing to throw in their chance at trying to deceive the young heir. 

With the sudden void torn into his life at his brother’s department from the family, Regulus found his heart crystallizing to preserve what little warmth he had left of his childhood. Gone were the sunny days spent in ignorance bliss, now marred by the ricochet of his brother’s insatiable foolhardy nature. 

Make perfect marks. The Noble House of Black will not be tainted by academic shortcomings 

Bring pride to your house and win the Quidditch Cup, but be vigilant on the field. There is no use for a cripple as the Black Lord—no, the House of Black will never face such ignominy. 

Never forget, there is no pity given for incompetence. Do well to remember the proper etiquette.

Condemn those who have turned against what we stand for—who have turned against our family. 

Do not bring up that vile brat’s name. 

Do better. 

We did not raise you to be so fallible. 

Toujours pur, Regulus. Do not forget yourself. 

Do not fail us, do not desecrate everything we have worked for. 

Be the perfect heir. 

His mother’s words were imprinted into his head, carving themselves into every fiber of his being until not even a modicum of imperfection was plausible.

He would become the perfect heir. 

He would ignore the burning ache in his chest that pried into his soul. He would squash the buds of hope that planted themselves into his head. He would sharpen his mind and hone his stone mask. He would dance with whoever his parents wanted, and he would pretend to care for what the other heirs had to say. 

He would be what his parents expected him to be. 

He would forget his dreams of being like his big brother. He would forget the needless longing for freedom. 

Which is why he allowed his mother to do as she pleased – even now, as she finalized the contracts of his marriage arrangement. 

It was a particularly bright day, the singing of birds drifted through the air and danced into the somber parlor. Regulus was intent on scanning through the paper in front of him as to avoid looking into his father’s expectant eyes, lips drawn together to hide his vexation. 

You were a familiar face, and Regulus vaguely recalls you as a classmate of his, a quiet and diligent student. He hadn’t even known you came from a prominent family, and he was surprised that his parents would agree to the pairing as it was apparent that your family was neutral and not dark-aligned. 

He almost allowed himself to frown; you looked unshaken by the arrangement. 

Yet, he was barely able to contain himself from walking out. He was far from thrilled.

He would fulfill his duties, no more and no less. 

He was not going to paint an illusion of love, and he hoped you would not be foolish enough to believe him desiring to provide as much.

With that resolve in mind, Regulus draws the quill into his hand and signs the contract. 

The months flush by in periods of chill and gloom, sunshine becoming a rarity as Voldemort continued to infiltrate and pollute sectors of Magical Britain with his influence. Despite how stressful his studies were, Regulus carved time to research the growing support behind Voldemort and the benefits to joining the movement. 

Regulus does not even wait until after graduation to be marked. It took a little nudge from his father to come to the decision, but Regulus has hope that perhaps Voldemort would be able to preserve the sanctity of blood purity and the immemorial wizarding traditions. 

You vehemently disapprove of his decision, but Regulus pays little mind to your opinion on the matter. He would ensure your safety, and keep you away from Voldemort if that was what you wished for, but he would not turn away from his desires because of your opinion. 

Inklings of hope for a warm relationship recede and wither by the sixth month of marriage. Regulus allows you freedom to wander about, granting you access to endless rows of grimoires, bottomless springs of galleons, tireless shipments of luxuries, and anything an aristocratic pureblood could dream of. 

He gives you everything you want, but one. His heart is hidden in the unrelenting walls he’s constructed, dangling in the darkness as you bat around futilely in search. 

It was only a few months after you and Regulus had graduated, and the marginal distance between you and the boy had hardly changed despite the fact that you were both living together now. Regulus threw himself into servitude under Voldemort, and he often was missing from the chilly manor. 

You find hobbies to distract yourself from the suffocating loneliness and dejection that trail you like a shadow. Deciding to pick up a childhood activity of yours, you begin to vent all your suppressed emotions onto paper.

Regulus is faintly aware of your newfound interest in journaling. He catches you more than a handful of times with your head buried in a worn journal, quill flying furiously across the pages as you furrow your brows in deep concentration. 

The heir is not sure when he started observing you so closely, but he is pleased by what he discerns. He admires your independence and proclivity for research, surprised by your ability to disappear for hours in a sea of books. 

Regulus begins to consider his options after realizing you wouldn’t try and force him to play the role of a doting husband. It would be counterproductive to continue putting a wedge between the both of you, and he wonders if a friendship is possible. 

He decides to spark up small conversations during your meals together to ease the tension.

At first, the chats are formulaic and polite, confusing you greatly as you observe the rigidness in the boy's frame. You weren’t sure what he was seeking to gain from your conversations since he seemed so stiff from just interacting with you. 

“Regulus, was there something you wanted from me?” You don’t lift your gaze from your plate as you bite the bullet, curiosity getting the better of you. 

The boy across from you tilts his head imperceptibly, “Not particularly.” 

Regulus had never asked anything of you before, and you had assumed that he simply felt uncomfortable with directly requesting you for something. As you peer up at his confused face, you are left breathless as his expression reflects his youth, mouth tugged in a boyish frown. 

You find yourself sitting up straighter, “Oh. Well, I’ve enjoyed our conversations thus far, so I just wanted to repay you.” Regulus’ eyes light up in realization at your remark, and you see him slowly consider his next words. 

“No worries. I figured that it would be beneficial to grow accustomed to each other despite how unconventional our situation may be.” His diplomatic words are paired with a small nod, and you find yourself leaning forward in interest. 

At the beginning of your marriage, you were deeply troubled by Regulus’ indifference towards pursuing a romantic connection, but as time passed, you grew to understand the situation. The marriage was solely for political reasons, and you could hardly complain since Regulus always treated you with respect and dignity. Secretly, you still held onto hope that he would warm up to you, but you knew how deeply affected he was by the disgracing of his brother. 

Nodding in agreement, you feel a small smile grace your face, “How unexpected. I’m in agreement.” 

From that moment onward, Regulus put forth an effort to get to know you, no longer barred by classes or personal reservations. The sudden feeling of companionship that warmed your body seemed to inspire energy into the dim manor, every room permeated with a newfound vitality. 

Your practice of writing down your thoughts in your journal soon shifted along with this change. The leather book in your hand quaked faintly as you finished up the last lines of your words. Craning back to reread the page, you almost want to vanish it as doubt takes root in your stomach. 

You had decided that you wanted to pen a small letter to Regulus, in part to express gratitude for his initiative, and also to perhaps become closer to him. As your eyes trail through the last line, you groan inaudibly as you feel your resolve crumble. 

Your ‘From, Y/N’ seemed to taunt you and you quickly shut the journal, deciding against sharing the letter with its intended. 

As the days waned by and summer dawned on Britain in rustles of wind and splinters of heat, you feel your friendship with Regulus slowly blooming like the azaleas in your garden. 

The day brought mercy on the world as capacious clouds masked the heat of the sun, generously casting verandas of shadows around your manor. Regulus had been faring decently among Voldemort’s forces as he fed you tidbits of his progress, telling you that he was perhaps even considered as a potential member of the man’s inner circle. 

You were heavily conflicted about Regulus‘ predicament, but you knew that there was nothing you could do to dissuade his goals. Regulus was mindful of your caution around the topic of Voldemort in general, and was careful to not let conversation stray too far into the topic of his duty. 

Instead of constantly recounting his varying missions and commands, Regulus often spoke to you about your future goals and plans together, and reminisced of your times at Hogwarts. 

“I was never invited to join it. I’m quite disappointed, it seemed like an interesting opportunity.” You reflect, keeping your steady pace as you stroll alongside Regulus. Since the day brought reprieve against the sun, you both decided to spend it outside in your gardens, admiring the hard work of your house elves. 

Regulus chuckles quietly, hands clasped behind his back as he kept his gaze downcast on his shoes, “Trust me, you were not missing out on much. The Slug Club was mainly just a gathering for people to peacock around.” 

Grinning widely, you avert your gaze to look over the treeline surrounding the perimeter of your grounds, “I see, and did you happen to flounce around and gloat as well?” 

Regulus playfully shoots you a narrowed look, “I have no need to debase myself in such a manner. Now, Lucius on the other hand…” 

Your laughter echoes around the garden, and you feel the stubborn glimmer of hope in your chest amplify. 

You find yourself sitting in your study hours later, left alone in your thoughts as Regulus sweeps off after being summoned unexpectedly. Eyeing the item in front of you, you sigh and give in. 

Summoning your quill and a pot of ink, you flip your journal to the next clean page, only briefly glancing at your abandoned letter to Regulus. Steadying your hand over the page, you begin to write. 

Regulus, 

Today we took a walk around the garden, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. I’m glad that you didn’t immediately reprimand me for my undignified actions, and I’m pleased that our chats are a regular thing nowadays. 

The flowers bloomed splendidly this season and I’m wondering if I should perhaps draw up some plans to remodel the abandoned wing of the manor. It gets boring when you are not around, and I swear I’ve already read everything in the library. 

Narcissa has been owling me more often as of late, and we are both surprisingly content with our arrangements. 

You’re currently off to meet your lord right now, but I hope you will return before nightfall. 

Gratefully, 

Y/N

Your third letter submission in your journal comes only a matter of days later. Regulus was slowly becoming more engrossed in his responsibilities, having officially been granted a spot in Voldemort’s inner circle. Luckily, he still found ways to make time with you and your friendship was growing stronger with every passing day. 

Regulus, 

Today you took me to the opera. I was quite surprised since I had only ever told Narcissa that I hoped to go again one day. I’m glad that the outing went well, even if you were bored half to death midway through (yes, I could tell). 

You’ve been gone for a few hours now, but I still feel the rush of our trip even as I write this. It seems that you will be busier in the following days, but I’m happy that you are working towards accomplishing your objectives. I can only hope that you are not tasked with something too daunting, though I have no doubt that you would manage to overcome it in the end. 

I haven’t told you the good news yet, but I received an owl yesterday from Gringotts that notified me that our request for the joint vault has been granted. 

Mother keeps pestering me to get a check up from our family’s personal healer, but I don’t understand the rush. She gets fussy every year about our family check ups, and father is positively worn out by it. 

Autumn is approaching, so cheers to many more seasons of friendship! 

Your friend, 

Y/N 

It was to be expected, but you couldn’t help but worry. Regulus was alight with joy as he strided across the parlor room, a glass of firewhiskey cradled to his chest. You were sitting on the velvet chaise lounge, mouth perking up at the boy’s gleeful expression. 

“So you accepted?” 

Regulus spins on his heel and moves to sit across from you on the complementary lounge, setting down his glass on the table between you both. 

“Of course. Kreacher will be delighted.” Regulus’ words are thick from the alcohol and he grins at your silent congratulatory expression. 

You were proud of Regulus’ strides in the group, happy that others could recognize his talents and cleverness. However, you couldn’t suppress the worry that bubbled over in your mind. The closer Regulus got to Voldemort, the more danger he was in. 

It was a narrow path he was venturing down, and you hoped that it wouldn’t push him out of your reach. 

You didn’t want to spoil the mood and bring up that concern amongst other things, so you decided to write out your thoughts in your journal once Regulus retired for the evening. 

Regulus, 

I am overjoyed by your happiness and accomplishments. Though, I still can’t help but worry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop worrying. But, I trust in your judgment and I know you would never throw yourself into the path of an oncoming blade. 

It is good to see your mind off of things that bring you so much sorrow. I know you didn’t notice, but I saw you burning letters from your mother a few dawns ago. I hope everything will be rectified on that front. 

I saw my family’s healer earlier today while you were called away. I understand why my mother was so paranoid with our health, but I will stop from spilling such concerns onto paper in hopes that it goes away. I will have to be put on a strict potions regime inconclusively, but I feel stronger than ever. 

I know you will be busy in the coming days, and I will pray for your safety from here. 

Sincerely, 

Y/N

Regulus is disoriented by the onslaught of emotions coursing through his body. At first, he attributed it to the joy of being initiated into his Lord’s inner circle, but he found that the feeling persisted even after then. 

He didn’t want to acknowledge them, but he knew where they stemmed from. 

You were much more of a force than he accounted for during the beginning of your marriage, and admittedly, he was too guarded to even consider befriending you until many moons circled by. 

He couldn’t pinpoint when his feelings morphed from platonic concern to more, but he allowed himself to bask in the feeling. Since he now had a firm standing in the death eater circle, he could protect you better, and so perhaps allowing himself to indulge in his romantic urges would be plausible. 

He knew you had concerns about his job, but he would never compromise your trust and wants by forcing you to follow his path. As he laid in bed, recalling your quiet chat in the parlor, he couldn’t tell if it was the thought of you or the firewhiskey that was causing his face to burn so fiercely. 

He found that he didn't mind all too much about which it may be.

The next few days were hectic for the both of you, and you barely managed to find time to eat together at least once a day.

It seemed so sudden. The shift in your relationship went unspoken, but exchanged glances and hidden smiles became the norm between you both. 

The tension of your blossoming feelings weighs heavy whenever you both lock eyes, the feeling of wires of electricity buzzing between your veins. 

The bud of hope that sprouted in your chest all those months ago bloomed on a particularly windy night after Regulus finished up some paperwork. You found yourself wandering into his study with a small smile and a glass of water. 

The boy shoots his head up to gaze at your approaching figure, eyes lighting up at your arrival. 

“Finished for the night?” Your words are light and cheerful and you have to ignore the twitch of your fingers as you take in Regulus’ disheveled appearance. A large part of you wanted to reach over and smooth out his curls, but you resisted and opted to pass over the glass to the tired boy. 

Regulus nods and twirls the glass appreciatively on his desk, “Fortunately, I am all caught up.” 

You hum and lean against the desk, turning your back to him as you scanned your eyes over all the decoration and furniture you’ve already imprinted into your memory. The warm pool stirring in your stomach consumed your thoughts, and all the worries of the world seemed to melt away. 

“Knut for your thoughts?” 

Peering over your shoulder, you smile teasingly at Regulus as he leans back in his chair. His gaze seemed to penetrate right through you, eyes dark from fatigue and an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“It’s going to take a lot more than a knut.” Your playful words have him chuckling and shaking his head. 

You watch curiously as he pushes back his chair and rises from his seat, slowly rounding around his desk to stand in front of you. He quirks an eyebrow as you feel your face heating up at the close proximity, instinctively leaning back to peer into his eyes. 

“Oh? How much will it take then?” He breathes out. 

“Think you can afford it?” 

Your heart stutters as Regulus leans in towards you, “You’ll find that I have quite a bit to spare.” 

“I’m not swayed by money alone.” You retort quietly, desperately stopping your eyes from darting to his lips. 

“I have much more to offer than just money.” Regulus steps closer and places a hand on the desk, partially caging you in between him and the wooden piece of furniture. 

Tilting your head, you let your gaze drop down his face, “And here I thought you were a man of few words.” 

Regulus leans in closer and drops his other hand to your waist, eyes finding yours in search of something. He seems to be satisfied by what he sees and brings his face impossibly closer, pausing to silently ask for permission. 

When you don’t move away, he shifts to hold your waist tightly, “You’re right, I’m much more of a man of action.” 

Your brain short circuits as Regulus’ lips crash into yours, conveying the pent up emotions that he’s been keeping locked away. You move your hand to grip his neck, pulling him to your body as his hand begins to draw circles on your side. 

The world seemed to fade away as you spent the rest of the night in each other’s embrace, only breaking apart to share giddy laughter and loving smiles. 

Regulus, 

I suppose it has been a long time coming. I’ve never felt this way before, and frankly, it’s frightening. I think I understand what Narcissa means now when she says being around Lucius is like being enveloped in warmth, like stability and unrivaled fulfillment. 

It’s hard to put into words how much everything has changed overnight. I’m excited to see what our journey ahead will look like, and I’m already missing having you by my side. 

You’re not here today, and it’s given me some time to reflect. 

Just as you will do anything to ensure our happiness and safety, I will do the same. It is frightening and I know you will hardly understand when the time comes, but I have confidence that everything will be okay in the grand scheme of things. 

Love, 

Y/N 

A few days of bliss seem to drift by in honey-laced seconds, happiness and love drenching the manor’s atmosphere. You and Regulus were attached to the hip for many of those days, basking in each other’s arms and affection before you would both be separated by your tasks. 

Regulus was in fact a man of action, often choosing to linger around you as you paced around the manor in an effort to redecorate. Words did not need to be spoken, and you figured it was fitting in that way. 

You both never had to verbalize your feelings and intent to get the other to know. From the very beginning of your relationship to present time, it was always both of your individual actions that shone through. 

Unfortunately, Regulus had to attend to his duties soon after. With much hesitancy and lingering embraces, your husband left with Kreacher by his side. You were left to continue with your plans, and you hoped that Mother Magic would be merciful to you both. 

When Regulus returned in a storm of fury with an inconsolable, injured Kreacher by his side, you knew that something dire had occurred during his meeting with Voldemort. Your heart seemed to dunk into freezing water as Regulus shook in anger, barely containing himself as he told you what had happened. 

You knew that Regulus would move the entire world and beyond for those he loved, and Kreacher was no exception to your husband. Hearing about Voldemort’s deception and indifference to the elf’s life had you hardly surprised, but equally incensed. 

The day was marred by silent disbelief and anger, Regulus’ hurt at the betrayal palpable in the air even as dusk fell upon the manor in a sheet of grey. 

You supported Regulus as much as you could in the following days as he came to terms with the events. You also nursed Kreacher back to health as Regulus began to hatch his plans, stubbornly refusing to tell you more about what occurred, insisting that it was too dangerous for you to know. 

As soon as Kreacher was back on his feet again, Regulus asked for his help with his plans, leaving you to wander about. Deciding that lazing around was pointless, you decided to occupy yourself with your own plans as your husband locked himself away. 

It was currently nearing midnight, but unlike the previous week where you and Regulus would retire and go to sleep in each other’s arms, you were both awake on opposite ends of the manor. Realizing that Regulus was still closed off in his study, if the sliver of yellow light steadily peeking from under the door were to give any indication, you decide to sit and write another letter. 

Summoning a loose piece of parchment, you hastily race to write down your thoughts. 

Folding up the finished letter, you traverse back to your shared bedroom and carefully place it down on your pillow. 

Standing back to observe the paper, you hesitate to back away. A heavy stone seemed to weigh down your chest as you realize you need to draft up another letter, one that has you nearly hissing in displeasure. 

Making your way to your study, you fish out your journal from your desk and tentatively sit down. The quill in your hand seems to hang over the page for hours before the fog clears from your mind, and you’re able to formulate a satisfactory letter. As you sign your name, you let out a shaky exhale before summoning one of your house elves. 

“Bon, give this to Regulus if I don’t return by tomorrow evening.” 

The house elf carefully reaches for your journal, eyeing you with a knowing frown. Tucking the journal against his chest, the elf peers up at you with sad eyes, “Bon will do as you say.” 

Taking one last look at your bedroom and at your house elf, you make your way out of the manor, wand and cloak in hand. 

In the whistling of the wind, echoed by the rustling of tree leaves, you noiselessly apparate away without turning back. The moon gleams down on the darkened manor, and the stars seem to fade away from the inky sky. 

It takes Regulus five days after Kreacher’s near death experience to hatch a plan. His heart hangs heavy in his chest as doubt drills through his body like a fervent cramp. The door to his study cracks open with a noise of protest, and Regulus steps out for the first time in days. 

The house is quiet, the dim light serenely pouring through the windows indicating that it was near dawn. 

He needed to make a choice, one that he couldn’t go back on. 

But as he wanders through the desolate hallway, a muffled pop stops him in his tracks. 

“Bon? Where is Y/N?” 

The elf gazes at the boy with shiny eyes and wordlessly extends a journal, one that he recognizes to be yours, out to him. Before Regulus can question the small creature, Bon pops away just as quickly as he came. 

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Regulus continues on his journey to your bedroom, intent on holding you in his arms to distract himself from the world. 

Regulus is hit with confusion when he sees your bed empty, sheets pulled neatly to emphasize its vacancy. Before Regulus can spin on his heel to track you down, his eyes are drawn to a piece of paper carefully folded on your pillow. 

The contents of the note has him shakily sitting down on the bed, hands hurrying to open your journal. 

Regulus, 

I didn’t realize how bad it was. The healers are saying there might be a chance, but if you’re reading this, I’m afraid it was futile. As my previous letters indicate, the blood curse didn’t present itself until recently, but it’s been degrading my soul quite rapidly for a long time. I know this isn’t the explanation you want–the explanation you deserve–but I know very little about it myself. 

I won’t lie to you. I’m scared. 

I hope you never have to read this. I hope I made my way back home, cured, and ready to assist you with your plans for Voldemort. 

But in case that doesn’t come to be, I want to make sure I leave something behind for you. 

Even now, I’m unsure how to write out my feelings, but I need you to know that there was nothing you could have done to stop this. I made this decision because I didn’t want you to worry or suffer. It was selfish to hide the truth, but I would do it again if I had to. 

But Reggie–Thank you for everything. Being with you was everything I hoped for it to be, and I’m so grateful that it was you I fell in love with. I know it wasn’t easy for either of us at the start, but you never made me feel inept or undeserving. Loving you has been the greatest privilege of my life, and I hope we can reunite one day. 

Do not worry about me, I will be by the seaside somewhere. I've always wanted to see the ocean with you, it just seems like I'll be the first to get there.

Let’s meet again one day, my man of action. 

Endlessly Yours, 

Y/N 

Regulus runs his thumb across the journal page one last time, eyes flickering across the swirl of words in front of him. 

Looking up from your journal, he wipes away a stray tear as he turns his gaze upward. The crashing of frenzied waves had mist swiping across his figure every so often, but he could hardly focus on the droplets clinging to his face. Rigidly standing by the cliffside, he hardened his resolve.

He would dance amongst the waves with you soon, death eater duty be damned. 

With a content stretch of his lips, Regulus enters the dark cave. 

He knows he will not breathe to see another moon, but he’s never felt so unbound. 

He was free. Free at last to walk away from his responsibilities and burdens. 

So he walks. 

masterlist

[lunarrolls]

polymorph, chetney, and ashton. i know the prompt list was hurt/comfort but honestly go as silly as u want with this one

this is literally the best prompt ever i think. i had far too much fun with it. ashton and chetney are already two of my favs, especially when put together, and then you throw in the ULTIMATE SHENANIGANS KNOWN AS POLYMORPH? absolutely FLAWLESS. they’re so stupid. i love it. banana you’re the best

•

Polymorph is a fourth level transmutation spell on the bard, druid, sorcerer, and wizard spell lists.

This spell transforms a creature that you can see within range into a new form. An unwilling creature must make a Wisdom saving throw to avoid the effect. A shapechanger automatically succeeds on this saving throw.

The creature is limited in the actions it can perform by the nature of its new form, and it can’t speak, cast spells, or take any other action that requires hands or speech.

The target’s gear melds into the new form. The creature can’t activate, use, wield, or otherwise benefit from any of its equipment. This spell can’t affect a target that has 0 hit points.

•

Ashton stood with the handle of their hammer between the doorknob and the jamb, trying their damndest to keep their pursuers from breaking the thing down completely. Their muscles strained as they leaned all of their not insignificant rocky weight on the door.

“Any fucking day now, Chetney,” he gritted out, scowling in the gnome’s general direction.

“Shut up! This shit takes time,” the old man snapped back, flipping him off as he picked the lock on the desk. “No goddamn patience.”

“Oh, by all fucking means, take your time!” Ashton said, pointedly staring at him as one of the crew (probably the damn goliath, the way the door nearly buckled under the strike) slammed against the door and nearly sent him flying across the room. “I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“Finally getting some appreciation from you,” Chetney sniffed as the lock clicked open. “See what happens when you shut your mouth?”

“Just grab the fucking necklace so we can get the fuck out, Chet,” Ashton snapped without any real heat. They were actually sort of worried this crew was gonna start using weapons to break open the door, and they preferred their body un-skewered.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working—oh,” Chetney said, going very still.

“What?” Ashton demanded, his gaze whipping over to where Chetney stood. “Hells, Chet, what could be so—“

His sentence was interrupted by a loud popping noise, followed by a strange green arcane blast. Ashton’s first thought was fuck, a trap that bastard forgot to disarm, as they ducked and covered their head, trying to avoid whatever magic was just released by Chetney’s incompetence. When they opened their eyes again a fraction of a second later, they were not greeted with the familiar sight of a crotchety old gnome. In the gnome’s place, a small, furry mammal wrapped in leathery wings and sporting massive brown ears sat, blinking confusedly. A fruit bat, Ashton thought.

The good news was that nobody could take the necklace from Chetney now. Ashton didn’t see it anywhere in his little hand-talon-wing appendages. So that was good.

The bad news was that, in his surprise, Ashton had stopped leaning against the door as much, and now those fuckheads were seriously about to slam him across the entire damn room if he didn’t move in the next two seconds.

Quickly, they stumbled to their feet, snatching their hammer from where it was wedged—protecting the room was a lost cause at this point, they’d already gotten what they came for, even if it turned the old man into a fucking fruit bat, apparently, what the fuck—and the small, furry form of what was probably Chetney Pock O’Pea from the carpeted office floor just as the goliath smashed the door in half with her polished battle axe.

“Greymoore!” she bellowed, leveling her axe with Ashton’s face. “Nowhere to run, fuckhead. It’s just us now.”

“You underestimate the shit I’m willing to do to not have to deal with your bad breath,” Ashton said, immediately feeling like a twelve year old for the stupid taunt. The feeling was pushed to the back of his mind as he assessed his options.

“I don’t think I’m underestimating shit,” the goliath snarled, her friends (the fucking sneaky little katari who ratted him out and the elf with the bow who’d tracked him, dammit) fanning out behind her, “considering the shit you pulled to avoid paying me back.”

“Listen, I forgot about that. Genuine mistake. I can get the gold to you soon, promise,” Ashton said. He did kind of mean it, too, but mostly he was just trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to get out of this second story room. The original plan was to have Imogen fly up and get them if anything went wrong, but she hadn’t arrived yet, probably because Ashton had held the door instead of signaling for her. He hadn’t accounted for several random people who he’d apparently cheated out of a small fortune in a gambling house a couple years ago showing their stupid faces again, sue him. Honestly, he hardly remembered even playing a game with them. He’d cheated a lot of people out of money in that gambling house.

Besides the point. The bat in his arms seemed displeased. Ashton was very displeased, also, so Chetney wasn’t fucking unique in that regard.

They clutched the small animal tighter, realizing the only possible escape.

There were rooftops close to the study they were standing in. Ashton was gonna have to jump out of a goddamn window again, because that had gone so well for him last fucking time. Couldn’t get enough of window jumping.

Chetney seemingly realized what he was about to do before he did it, squeaking loudly in surprise, or maybe warning, but Ashton never listened to Chetney even when he could speak and he certainly wasn’t about to start listening to him now that he could squeak.

He hastily stuffed the small bat into the pouch around his leg, slung his hammer over his shoulder, and sprinted for the window.

“Hey!” the goliath shouted behind him, taken aback by his decisiveness, but Ashton was already on the windowsill, catapulting themself out into the air.

For a horrifying moment, they were suspended there, mid-leap, left to briefly wonder if this was how they’d fallen off that stupid balcony. Then, gravity took hold, and they started on the gradual arc of descent.

Randomly, they found themself annoyed that Orym hadn’t been sent on this mission as Chetney’s bodyguard. He was certainly more likable and far less likely to have a group of people out for his blood for doing literally nothing (in the past two years) to piss them off, and he had those magic boots that let him leap jumps like this no problem. Ashton had fucking nothing.

They didn’t bother to pray, just brace themself as they fell and hope that either their feet hit a solid rooftop or that they didn’t hit anything too horrible on the way down.

They immediately proceeded to drop like a stone (ha ha, they sarcastically thought to themself) and slam their head on the edge of the rooftop they’d tried to jump to. Their hands scrambled against the shingles, trying to find purchase, but of course, they were too heavy to get any traction, so down they went, straight onto the pavement.

Ashton yelped as they landed hard on their tailbone, probably fracturing it, and smacked the back of their head on the wall of the alley. Bat-Chetney protested in his pocket, squeaking as if to say, the fuck was that, Greymoore?

“Shut up, Chetney, hells,” Ashton growled, shakily standing up. They had to get the fuck out of here before that stupid gang caught up with them.

“Come on,” Ashton hissed, sprinting deeper into the alley. “We gotta blend in. We’ll find the others in a bit.”

He blended into the crowd as best he could when looking like he did, keeping his hood up and his head down and sticking to alleys until he was sure they’d lost their tail. Sighing and wincing, he roughly grabbed Chetney from his pouch and held him up, studying his new form.

“Gods,” they said, poking Bat-Chetney’s snout, “you’ve never looked better.”

The bat squeaked. Ashton snorted. “Don’t suppose you even understand me right now? Fuck, I’m trying to remember how this shit works. Fearne would know.”

Speaking of Fearne, Ashton had no idea where she was. Looking up, they realized they also had no idea where they were. They’d lost the tail, but in the process, it seemed like they’d also lost their allies.

Well. They’d be getting a strongly-worded message from Imogen, then. Hopefully she didn’t try to message Chetney. That probably wouldn’t go well right now.

Ashton did spend a little too long giggling at the idea of Imogen sending out her usual psychic brainwaves or whatever and just getting a bunch of confused bat noises back. That was probably what happened whenever she tried to message Chetney anyway, though, they reasoned.

•

Imogen was about done with their missing party members. She loved them to death, but gods, they were stupid sometimes.

They should have sent Orym with Chetney. Lord knows what possessed everyone to agree that Chetney and Ashton were the right people to discreetly grab that necklace. They’d managed to fool everyone into believing they were competent thieves, and now she was having her second infuriating psychic conversation from halfway across a city with Ashton.

The good news was that they weren’t dead or captured, and they’d gotten the necklace, but true to Ashton fashion, they’d managed to piss someone off and also turn Chetney into a bat, somehow. That did sound pretty funny, though, she had to admit. She hoped Chetney was still a bat when the duo was found.

Her hopes were dashed somewhat when F.C.G.’s locate creature spell led them to their friends, both in their respective humanoid forms, hiding out in the back of an ally.

“What in the hell were you two thinking,” Imogen demanded, waving her hands with the words. “That was supposed to be a quick smash and grab!”

“Well, it was!” Ashton smirked. “We’re here, aren’t we? And we have the necklace. We smashed, we grabbed. Good times were had by all. Now we can go get drunk off our asses to celebrate!”

Imogen massaged her temples. They had no goddamn business being that smug, considering the amount of magic she and Letters had burned trying to find them, but if she told them that, both Ashton and Chetney would get even more unbearably smug.

These two would fucking kill her one day if she didn’t kill them first.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, crossing her arms and turning to peer out of the alley, making sure nobody was paying attention to them. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Where’s the necklace?” Fearne piped up, putting on her best innocent smile. It worked on exactly none of them, but it was funny to see her try. “I can hold onto it. For safekeeping, of course.”

“Of course,” Ashton agreed, smiling in that enabling way they often did when Fearne stole shit and leaning to fish the pendant from Chetney’s grasp.

“Ash, wait—“ Orym started, but he didn’t finish the sentence.

A green flash of light and a loud popping noise later, a very confused adolescent deer was standing with the Hells in the alley.

Chetney laughed so hard that he bashed his head on the wall.

Imogen was actually going to murder both of them as soon as Ashton turned back. Even though part of her was very happy at seeing her earlier wish fulfilled.

[sonicasura]

Okay. I keep seeing this confusion constantly pop up on my recommended. For anyone in the Trollhunters fandom or plan to introduce someone to the series...

Trollhunters and Rise of the Titans aren't made by the same writers.

The one responsible for the trainwreck movie is Marc Guggenheim. He's responsible for: Arrow Season 4, 2nd Percy Jackson movie and Green Lantern movie. It is a scenario where someone who doesn't understand the material drags it down to hell: the death touch.

This has happened to two other media I indulge in: Venom and Journey To The West. Donny Cates who destroyed the Lethal Protector's entire character. Two major examples being the destruction of the mutual love between Eddie and Venom alongside a random Anne/Venom love child whose very unsavory conception is from something the symbiote would NEVER do.

Next is Monkey Prince, a middle finger to anyone who enjoys Journey To The West and is most likely banned in China where the "inspiration" originates. This insult was clearly made with no proper knowledge on JTTW, a four textbook sized long story.

It's most popular character is Sun Wukong, the Monkey King and Great Sage Equal To Heaven. A stone monkey who cares greatly when it comes to the principle of family whether it be his monkey subjects or sworn brothers. He WILL kill anyone that harms them.

Sun Wukong ain't someone who would knock up a random woman and leave knowing he has a son. To leave his kid in danger as the Monkey King made himself many enemies whether it be demons/yaoguai to immortals. Nor let an incompetent trainer use a device that was meant to torture Sun Wukong into compliance and punish him FOR TRAINING.

I'm pretty sure Mindy Kaling's self insert "Velma" is a good example too. To summarize, no one treats Rise of the Titans as canon unless its a bad ending universe or Blinky's crackfic. People who don't understand the characters and material should never be allowed to write it.

You be opening the Gates of Hell known as angry fans.

Edit: Apparently Marc was a bit more involved in the series than I thought as I did some research thanks to a heads up from @bluheaven-adw . And oh boy do I see huge errors in his line of thinking. First off, you don't end three different series such as these with an Avengers style movie.

Those style of movies aren't the type you want to use for a vague series such as 3Below/Trollhunters/Wizards. It is a Netflix exclusive series and we all know the flaws with streaming service exclusives. Each show should have it's own conclusion in their respective series but you can have some characters from the other pop up to help with proper context and introduction.

Another idiotic decision is that they were doing this while Wizards was in production. Bad move as you are stretching both budget, management and resources. It became clear that no care was brought into either production. Wizards is shaky at best but escaped the devastation that Rise of the Titans wrought to the fandom.

Love and care is just as important to manage a series than just familiarity.

[autumnalwalker]

A Dream About Subpar Mentorship

I am a wizard at a royal court.  I have recently found a young serving girl - no more than ten or eleven - with an incredible natural aptitude for magic, particularly the manipulation of water.  Unfortunately I already have an apprentice - a kindhearted but incompetent young lad whom I’ve given up on his ability to master even the simplest spell - and protocol forbids me from taking on more than one at a time.  As a loophole I am coaching her in secret and encouraging her to practice by playing pranks on nobles and advisors whom I think are bad for the king.  Strictly speaking, as an unregistered and untrained mage I should be reporting her to the authorities to either be locked up until a teacher can be found or thrown into the arena with the monsters, but I can’t stand to see such potential go to waste.  

The girl gets caught dumping conjured icy water on the head of a privy councilor.  She tries to say that she just hauled the water up using a bucket, but there is no bucket to be found.  I deny any involvement and allow her to take the fall for the actions I prodded her into taking. She is hauled off to the arena and I begin scrambling behind the scenes to make accommodations to have her transferred into my care as quickly as possible. 

The most important step is to remove my current apprentice from the picture. 

As hard as I am on him for being a hopeless case when it comes to learning magic, I do have a soft spot for the boy and try to let him down easy.  I find him after sundown on a ruined stone bridge at the edge of the castle grounds that was never repaired after it was destroyed in a siege long ago. He is feeding the stray orange cat that makes its home there.  He doesn’t know that I know the story of how that cat once stopped him from taking his own life by giving him a reason not to jump from this very bridge.  I sit down with him and the cat and ask him why, exactly, he wants to become a wizard.  

He says that it’s because of Tabby, the cat.  Bonding with a familiar is one of the first moderately advanced spells most wizards learn and becoming a familiar restores an animal to perfect health and extends its life.  Tabby was injured some time back by a falling bit of masonry and has had a bad limp ever since.  On top of that, she is now pregnant with kittens.  My apprentice sounds both worried and excited when he shares that last part.  

I ask him what if the cat dies before he can master the familiar bonding spell.  After all, it is taking him quite some time to make any progress and Tabby is already fairly old for a cat.  

He tells me that he’d like to try his hand at music-based magic and has dreams of wandering the land helping and inspiring those in need.  He wouldn’t play the bawdy tavern songs so in vogue these days but ballads of the true and the good.  Even so, they would be songs of and for the common people and the bonds we all share.  When he speaks of this, I have a vision of him dressed not in his plain brown tunic but in the finest minstrel’s motley and playing a black violin that glows with the green of forest and field.

I am still working up the heart to break it to him that I need to replace him as my apprentice when we are interrupted by the sound of crashes and screams.  We run back towards the castle proper to find the monsters escaped from the arena and running amok.  A small dragon-like creature charges at us but then gets snapped up and swallowed by a giant worm.  The worm then shrinks and retracts into the arm of the little girl who would be my second apprentice. 

She has made a pact with an old and forgotten god for the power she thinks will make her safe.  She is heartbreakingly proud of herself as she explains while floating in the air with eldritch serpents and tentacles erupting from her chest to smash buildings and snatch up people and monsters alike.  She wants me to be proud of her too and invites me to join her when she rips a hole in the sky to let in the smallest portion of a great and terrifying being that defies mortal description. 

Other wizards of the realm arrive on the scene to do what they can to avert these apocalyptic events.  Burdened with the knowledge that this is all at least partially my fault, I prepare to make the necessary self-sacrifice to put things right, preserving the child’s life as well if I can.  

But first, I break off what small piece of my own power I can spare and bestow it upon my apprentice.  It isn’t much, and it won’t last long, but it should at least be enough for him to bond to a familiar.  Perhaps that will be enough for him to take the next steps on his own without me. 

[archies-litterbox]

of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up… 

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor. 

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison -  and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to - 

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…” 

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But - 

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone. 

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if… 

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black. 

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him… 

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed. 

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.” 

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths. 

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind. 

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

[saphirered]

Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

[lakecountylibrary]

Reading and Rolling

Do you consider yourself a nerd? Are you a Dungeons & Dragons player or dungeon master? Or are you perhaps a fan of the lore or fantasy stories? Maybe you're just a fan of Stranger Things and you're generally curious about the game.

Well, if you've answered 'Yes' to any of those, then this selection of books just might catch your fancy.

Some you might be familiar with; others might be something completely unexpected. Read them to inspire your DnD campaign, or maybe just entertain yourself!

Not sure what to pick? Well, why not decide with the roll of an 8-sided die? Happy reading!

(All of these are of course available at your library, assuming your library is LCPL. Yes, even the official manuals!)

1. Endless Quest: Into the Jungle by @mattforbeck

Get ready! As a Dwarf-cleric, you've been given a task to rescue an adventurer who holds a very important artifact. Can you survive the jungles of Chult? Trust me: in this land, everything's a danger to you, and even victory might not feel so sweet, either. I love choosing my path in these stories, but these ones feel heavy. Good luck! *Only available in audiobook format.

2. ORCS! (Vol. 1) by Christine Larsen

A fun, somewhat juvenile, little trade paperback (without the paper if you get the Hoopla version) featuring a family of orcs banished because of a squirrel-related incident following a frustrating adventure. They'll cross paths with monsters and humanoid races common in fantasy adventures, while winding up on new adventure tying in with another ongoing story.

3. Goblin Quest by @jimhines

Now this is a fun alternative to the classic D&D-esque tropes we're all familiar with. Here we've got a klutzy, near-sighted goblin named Jig who's essentially the runt of his community... a community of cannon-fodder for adventurers! Naturally, you'd think he'd be dead when living with these bullies (especially after crossing paths with a team of adventurers). Instead, he's now their “guide” on a mission that's all too likely to get him killed.

4. The Adventure Zone: Here There Be Gerblins by Clint McElroy & @careydraws

If you want some laughs, good art, a surprisingly well-thought-out story, and a even a little bit of seriousness, this might be the book for you. You've got a human warrior, a dwarf cleric, and an elf wizard being guided by the dungeon master on an adventure based on a particularly popular podcast. Too bad this trio is so incompetent! Think they can manage some basic “gerblins” before things get really challenging? See for yourself.

(Editor's note: More titles under the cut to save your dash, you're welcome)

5. Volo's Guide To Monsters

Want to learn about monster lore in the latest edition of D&D? Maybe create a community or dungeon? Perhaps you want to play as a monster? That's right! You can! This book is the perfect supplement for players and dungeon masters or a fun read fans of the fantasy genre.

6. The Monsters Know What They're Doing by Keith Ammann

Are you a new dungeon master setting up your first campaign or maybe a veteran DM looking for ideas to spice up your latest campaign? Do you want to make your enemy encounters more than just a hack 'n slash? Then this book just might be for you. You don't have to figure out how to get inside the monsters' heads; Keith Ammann does it for you!

7. Rick and Morty vs. Dungeons & Dragons by Patrick Rothfuss

Were you expecting this? I know I wasn't! You're gonna get a lot of laughs and maybe learn a bit about the history of D&D and its past versions in this graphic novel. It might even give you some campaign ideas, or perhaps just an appreciation for how different players play the game.

8. Tasha's Cauldron of Everything

Do you have a character that doesn't quite fit standard D&D mechanics? Are you player or dungeon master who perhaps favors more homebrew-styles in your campaigns? Then this might be for you. It's a more recent entry in the franchise that offers optional, reasonable variations of rules for playing, including stat bonuses, class features, and a campaign.

See more of Garrick's recs

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 51

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Discussions are had, tests are conducted, and decisions are made.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You told Bucky everything, leaving nothing out. You also explained what you meant about having an “affinity” to demonic magic, because it was more than that. Much more.

From your experience in the demon realm, to your body changing and the power you could sense from the planet itself, Strange had determined that you weren’t just proficient with demon energy, it fueled your magic. Just like the Ancient One drew her power from the Dark Dimension, your powers came from the demon world.

Bucky wasn’t any happier than the first time he’d heard it, but he digested it better after hearing the details. You got the sense that in the end he wasn’t surprised, and that’s why he’d been so upset. It was everything he’d feared. Your chance of having a quiet, boring life was over, but looking back at everything, you weren’t sure you were meant for that kind of life in the first place. And it seemed that Bucky was less happy about that than you were.

Especially when your magic could potentially protect Bucky from the next Helmut Zemo. All you had to do was master an experimental ritual no one had done before.

And in the end, Bucky came around to it.

“It’s dangerous. Untested. Anything could go wrong,” Bucky said, brows furrowed. And then his face slightly softened. “But I guess all spells were like that at one point. All I ask is that we do this as safely as possible, with Strange’s supervision.”

Bucky snorted at the dubious eye you gave him.

“I may still be pissed at the guy, and I blame him for a lot of what happened, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s totally incompetent. And besides, Wong will be there, and I trust his judgement.”

So there you were, nervously waiting in Bucky’s living room for a portal to appear after he made a phone call. You were going back to the Sanctum, with Bucky this time, and together you would approach Strange again.

When you met with him in his office and once again told him the ritual you wanted to perform, Strange was no happier than the first time, either.

“You do realize it could kill you both,” he said, leaning one hip against his desk, arms folded and expression equally drawn. “Or worse.”

You didn’t have to ask what “worse” could be. You’d lived it.

“I realize there are a lot of risks,” you began slowly, not ceding ground just yet. “Which is why I won’t do it without Bucky’s consent. And I would prefer I have your approval, or at least, your supervision.”

“And if I say no, you’ll do it anyway?” Strange sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky remained silent behind you, but you could sense his support and encouragement.

“Listen.” You were going to use the logical approach and hope that Strange could see it, even if he didn’t approve. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else learns about demons, about Bucky’s existence, and tries to either kill him or use him. If it’s within my power, I’m not going to let that happen.”

Strange eyed Bucky, who stood with his own arms folded and his tail flicking back and forth, and the master wizard seemed more tense as the conversation unfolded.

“There are other ways, you know, to protect yourself from being enslaved,” Strange said, this time to Bucky.

“I’m well aware,” Bucky nearly growled. “And I would trust her with my life if it came to that, but I would also rather not be beholden to magic that HYDRA forced onto me. This…”

He glanced your way, his expression softening.

“This is the closest I’ll ever have to true freedom. It’s a gift, one I won’t toss away because it’s a risk.”

“If it works, and doesn’t kill or corrupt you both, it might not be effective. Or work the way you want it to. It could make your previous pact look like a happy arrangement,” Strange muttered unhappily.

“That’s our decision to make.” Bucky stared at the wizard evenly. “And we’ve already made it.”

Strange looked between you both, studying your expressions long and hard, before he expelled a laborious breath.

“I can see that.”

“Will you help us?” You put the question to him bluntly, knowing this wasn’t the time to be timid or mince words. “We would really appreciate it. I would really appreciate it. We could do it on our own, but…”

You focused on your hands, twisted them together so they would stop fidgeting.

“This is probably the most important decision I’ve ever made, and I don’t want to screw it up. And if I do make a mistake, I want you and Wong to be there. At the very least, for damage control.”

There was a hint of a smile and a spark of something in Strange’s eyes.

“I haven’t said yes yet.” He pushed off from the desk, smoothed the collar of his cape, and said, “Come with me.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Bucky, who only gave a shrug, so you had no choice but to follow the wizard as he left his office. You weren’t expecting him to lead you to one of the large training rooms, or to open it to the Mirror Dimension. Fractals and shards formed in the air like cracked glass, and like every time you were here, you stared in wonder.

Even Bucky’s eyes widened in awe, his arms uncrossing from his chest, and you took it from his expression that he didn’t come here very often.

For a moment, you wondered if Strange was going to have you try out the ritual in this place where you could perform complicated, dangerous spells without affecting the real world.

Instead, he turned to you and said, “I want you to open a portal for me.”

You squinted at him. Wong had purposefully left that lesson to the side, probably because nothing happened every time you equipped a sling ring, but you weren’t sure what Strange was getting at.

“You brought me to the Mirror Dimension, to form… a portal. Isn’t this a bit overkill?”

“Considering how your last fully formed portal breached the demon realm, no. This is not ‘overkill.’” Strange even said the word in air quotes, the smug bastard. Unfortunately, he also had a point.

“So, what?” You gestured at the fragments around you. “I’m able to summon a portal and you’ll let me perform the ritual?”

“I’m not going to sanction an untrained sorcerer with permission to perform experimental magic.”

“Right, because you’re such a stickler for rules and definitely didn’t open unauthorized portals into the library at the Kamar-Taj sanctum.”

Bucky snorted and smirked. Strange narrowed his eyes.

“Which is why I understand the reason these rules are in place. You’ve yet to form a portal, but once you have, you’ll have graduated into a fully-fledged sorcerer.” He paused and slightly tilted his head. “Be glad you’re not learning the way I learned, otherwise I would drop you on top of Mount Everest and leave you there.”

Bucky gave a bark of laughter this time.

“I knew it,” he said, grinning. “I knew that rumor was true.”

“Yes, well.” Strange huffed. “The Ancient One was a much gentler teacher with you than she was with me.”

“Or maybe I was the better student.” Bucky smirked even wider.

Before Strange could retort, which he was absolutely going to do from the offended expression on his face, you held out your arms between them.

“Can we play ‘Mom loved me more’ another time?”

“I wasn’t—“

“That is hardly—“

You rolled your eyes and turned away. As entertaining as this was, there was only one way to get them to shut up once they got started.

You lifted your arms in the correct starting position and tugged at the now-familiar font of power within you, forming the shape of the portal in your mind. You moved your other hand in a circular motion, and with a fiery rip you could almost feel, the air cracked and caught fire in the same movement as your hand.

An orange portal hovered before you, showing a circular view of the Manhattan skyline as seen from the rooftop.

You exhaled and looked over your shoulder.

“There. You happy?”

They both stared at you, unblinking, but Strange’s expression was the most stunned. You didn’t know why until he drew his hand out of his pocket. Within his palm was a sling ring.

Your sling ring.

You slowly glanced back to the portal, at your hands that were plain and ringless, and you closed the portal with a startled movement.

“Well,” Strange said when he’d found his voice again, “That’s certainly… interesting.”

“How did she do that?” Bucky took a step forward, as if he wanted to reach out and touch you, but he held back. You wished he hadn’t; Strange’s reaction was concerning, as were his next words.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well… Does it at least mean it’s possible I can do the ritual?”

Strange adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, his expression still a mixture of confusion and worry.

“Among other things.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other. What the hell did that mean?

“What does that mean?” you repeated aloud, following Strange out of the Mirror Dimension as he closed it behind all three of you. “Does it mean I’m ready?”

“It means you’re closer to being ready,” the sorcerer said over his shoulder as he walked ahead. “There’s still much to do.”

Next Chapter

[sunshinemarauder]

strawberries

Read on AO3

"Your hands are red, Lil," James says with a wide grin.

I wiggle my fingers, pushing them up near his face, laughing when he squeals and pulls away from me.

"They're running red with blood," I say haughtily. "Your blood."

James smirks at me and leans in, his breath ghosting across my nose. "Your blood, my blood, Sirius' blood... it's impossible to take you seriously when you look like a toddler who discovered paint for the first time."

"Shut up!" I snort, swatting at him. He catches my hands in his and brings them up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

"Weak retort, love."

When he calls me 'love', shivers dance up my spine and I'm forced to tamp down my splitting smile.

"They're just strawberries!" I say with a pout, tilting my chin up to meet his warm eyes. "And if you don't let go of my hand now, I'm going to smear them all over your shirt."

He gasps and drops my hand like it burned him. "You wouldn't! It's my new shirt! Mum would never forgive me if I ruined it so soon!"

I saunter away from him to the tap, where the cool water washes out the strawberry juices from my hands. I decide not to tell him that he's a wizard who could easily clean strawberry stains from a shirt. After all, it's far too fun to watch him squirm.

"Then get ready to tell Euphemia why you have paint stains all over your new shirt."

Behind me, James huffs. "Didn't you just tell me to shut up when I said the strawberries looked like paint? Bloody hypocrite girlfriend," he mutters under his breath.

Humming pleasedly, I wipe my hands on the yellow dishtowel hanging by the sink. "Regret moving in with me yet?"

I hear the sound of his chair scraping backward and his feet tapping against the ground, and then he's behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling his face into my hair.

"I don't do regrets," He whispers, his lips right next to my ear.

I turn around, resting my hands on his chest.

"What about when you lost Remus' favorite cardigan?"

"Fine, I don't do regrets other than that. That boy can be a bloody nightmare when he wants to."

"Or when you said, very loudly, that Professor McGonagall assigned such easy homework that it barely took you ten minutes to complete, and then she walked right up to you and gave you a whole nother stack of homework to complete?"

A pause. "Okay, yeah, I regretted that. It took me ages to finish that. I had to cancel our kitchen date. We'd only been together for a week; I really thought you would break up with me for that."

"It takes more than that to scare me away," I tease, leaning up to press my forehead to his chin.

Our lips meet, his arms still threaded loosely around my waist, my hands going up to tangle at the nape of his neck, stroking the soft curls that I'm more than familiar with at this point.

"Wait," James says, pulling back. "We're going to be late and Sirius is going to take the piss."

I make a big show of sighing in disappointment, my lips twisting up into a wry smile. "Is that your biggest worry? Not that your mum and dad and all their friends are going to be waiting for us and for the strawberry tart we promised to bring? And this is going to be their first real impression of us as a couple?"

"Well, yeah, but Sirius is going to take the piss out of us for showing up looking thoroughly snogged," he says matter-of-factly, hazel eyes crinkling behind his square glasses.

I roll my eyes and pull away from him, running my fingers through my hair and patting it down to make sure it doesn't look too crazy.

"Come on, get the tart, you prat."

He carefully closes the lid on the container holding our freshly-baked strawberry tart, bundling it up in a fluffy blue towel, and ambles over to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

"Careful!" I say anxiously. "Use both your hands!"

"Yes, Mum," he says, batting his lashes. "You know I'm not completely incompetent, right?"

I grumble and pull away from him, marching out the front door and halting in front of our small green lawn.

James (now with both hands securing the container) follows me, nudging me with his elbow before I can Apparate away.

"Hey," he says gently, his smile crooked. "You know my Mum and Dad will love you no matter what. There's no way you won't make a good first impression."

I sigh, entwining my fingers. "I just really want them to like me, you know? I'm... serious about you, and I'm planning on sticking with you a while," I say shyly, looking up at him. He beams back at me. "And it would be nice if they approved of me."

"They already approve of you," James assures me, laughing. "More than, actually. They're thrilled that we're together. Believe me, I've told them a lot about you and they're thrilled to finally meet you somewhere other than Hogwarts."

"Good things, I hope?" I ask, quirking a brow, unable to hide my smile.

"Of course," he says, bumping my shoulder with his. "You know I could never badmouth you to anyone."

I look away, smiling softly. Even though we've only been dating for five months now, James has made a permanent place for himself in my heart. I don't think I could ever stop loving him, and I hope that his parents will see that too.

"Thank you," I murmur, placing a hand on his shoulder to lean up and kiss his cheek. "I love you."

His grin is back, full force, dazzling brightly. "I love you, Lils. And so will Mum and Dad."

Feeling much more confident than before, I beam at him and, at the same time that he disappears in a whirl, I turn on my heel and Apparate away.

[the-l-spacer]

Summary: After a battle goes wrong, Madeleine realises that he's not as infallible a knight as he'd hoped.

(He deals with it badly. Espresso helps.)

haha madeleine hurt/comfort time.

-

Madeleine wasn’t okay.

Madeleine wasn’t okay, and yet, he knew it hardly mattered. Not when the battle had gone this wrong.

Surrounding him were remnants of the fight. Ripped pages of monster books that snapped at their heels now drifted slowly to the ground, the air clouded with dust from collapsed bookshelves, the wisps of the nightmare-ridden librarian’s howling specter dissipating slowly. Behind him, his fallen companions; Custard, Chilli Pepper and Gingerbrave.

The companions that he had failed to protect.

The only other cookie that remained standing was Espresso, though the mage was hardly in any position to help. Bleeding from several places, and swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused.

First order of business, help the mage off his feet.

Madeleine limped over, gritting his teeth whenever his weight landed on his shattered right ankle. He slung an arm around Espresso. “Alright, I’ll get you somewhere you can rest. Then, I’ll tend to the others.”

Espresso did not respond, only sinking ever-so-slightly against Madeleine. Together, they hobbled over to the nearest bench, where Madeleine set his friend gently down.

“K-knight. You need to rest, too,” Espresso finally rasped. “You’re in no state to move. The others will wake up on their own.”

“There’s no guarantee that they will. The librarian hit them hard.” Madeleine felt panic begin to rise from his chest, his usual eloquence leaving him. “They looked bad. Really bad. I must go to them. I must.”

He got back up roughly, batting away Espresso’s thin, brown hand that reached out to hold him back.

In his head, over and over again, The young cookies are dying. Dead. And it’s all your fault.

“No. No. Nononono.” He reached Custard first, knelt gracelessly on the dank, carpeted floor beside the would-be boy king. With hands that shook from panic and pain, he drew the last of his healing potions from his pouch, and tipped half of it into the boy’s mouth. “T-The Divine, please spare your grace to save this child. If it be your will, if it be your will-”

A sliver of light filtered in through the dust-caked windows, warming his skin. Sleepily, Custard’s eyes opened.

The relief he felt nearly made him double over, but he knew he couldn’t spare a moment to rejoice.

“Heal the others,” he softly said. Standing on knees that trembled, he made his way to Chilli Pepper. When he first met the de-facto caretaker of the young band of cookies, he’d turned his nose up at the common, mercenary thief. Yet, over their journey she had proven to genuinely care for the children she’d unwittingly found under her charge, and Madeleine knew she could be trusted to take care of them now, when they were at their weakest.

His left knee hit the ground at her side, and he gave Chilli Pepper the dregs of the red potion. The thief’s eyes flew open. “Madeleine…? You.. what’s going on…” As memories of the fight returned, she sat bolt upright. “Gingerbrave! Custard! The stupid brats insisted on coming with us to fight, and now-”

“-Custard is awake. Gingerbrave is still out,” he hoarsely interjected. “Go to him.”

Ordinarily, Chilli Pepper would have scoffed at taking orders from a toff. Now, she only nodded, and stumbled to her feet.

Madeleine was left, kneeling gingerly on the floor, lacking the strength to get up, willing himself to stay conscious. As if through water, he could hear the sounds of pounding footsteps. Wizard and Strawberry, who had stayed behind where they had made camp, arrived at the scene.

Distantly, he heard the cookies crowd around Gingerbrave, saw the healing glow as Custard laid his hands over the boy. He prayed to The Divine that it would be enough.

A collective cheer rose from the group, and Madeleine let his head hang in relieved gratitude.

A while later, he became aware of several presences around him. “Mister Madeleine? I’m going to heal you now!” The voice of Custard cut partly through the fog in his mind, and he gave a small nod.

He felt hands — child’s hands, too young and small to have to face the battlefield like this, and yet, unshaken in his determination to do so — rest on his shoulders.

And bit by bit, the pain was lifted. Cuts sealed, bruises faded from purple, to yellow, and then, nothing, the gash around his midsection closed up, his ankle righted itself, and the sudden lightness that he felt left him giddy.

He slumped forward, and found himself caught by a pair of familiar arms. “Don’t pass out on me, Madeleine” He looked up, and there Espresso was, brown eyes filled with concern.

“Espresso…” Madeleine murmured. Then, noticing the others around him, he tried to right himself, despite the churning of his stomach, “Espresso! How kind of you to catch me. I must say, I’m much obliged!”

Upon hearing him speak, the cookies let out a breath of relief. Gingerbrave threw his arms around the paladin, shouting, “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Before he could respond in kind, Chilli Pepper quickly pried Gingerbrave off. “Hey! The guy needs some space. Let’s go back to camp, yeah?” A responding chorus of cheers rose up from the kids, and they began running back the way they came, the lure of warm food and rest drawing them away from Madeleine and Espresso, still kneeling amongst the carnage.

Madeleine watched as Gingerbrave, who just minutes before had been nothing but a crumpled heap, raced the others, darting between bookshelves, yelling and laughing. He saw Custard bossing the others around playfully, as if the very same did not happen to him.

Espresso’s hand cupped his face, gently turning it back to his. “Madeleine, are you certain that you’re ‘okay’. You seem… unlike yourself.”

Upon hearing the other cookie’s words, the weight of his guilt doubled on his shoulders, and he sagged. “I failed them, Espresso.” He whispered. “I swore I would protect them at all costs, but then…”

The specter of the librarian, dwarfing the bookshelves of the Forgotten Academy’s library. Its ghastly form ranting and raving over distant memories of noisy students,. Flinging wild, relentless projectiles the size and weight of bricks at the party before it.

Custard going down under the barrage. Gingerbrave and Chilli Pepper’s anguished screams as they saw their friend fall, before swiftly meeting the same fate.

His breathing quickened as scenario after scenario flashed before his eyes. If the potion had been too weak, if The Divine hadn't answered, if Custard and Chilli Pepper had been too slow in stabilising Gingerbrave.

Dimly, he could hear Espresso’s voice. “Madeleine? Madeleine! Listen to me, you’re spiralling, you foolish knight!”

His heart racing, he laughed, high and unnatural. “Yes, I’ve been foolish, haven’t I? If I hadn’t been so slow, so weak, so foolish, perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps, perhaps if I hadn’t been such a failure of a protector!”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Espresso said, panicking, mentally combing for books he’d read on how to deal with a situation such as this. “Okay. You need to breathe. Can you breathe with me? In for three, then hold it for four counts, then let it out in five? Can I hold you?”

Everything was too much. Too much and Madeleine was shaking and he wanted to scream or cry or both but all he did was give a tight nod.

Arms encircled his shoulders, warm and feeling like home, and he almost threw them off because how could someone like Espresso want someone like him, someone who had failed so badly in his oath, who, through incompetence nearly caused the death of children?

“I- I- Espresso, it's my fault,” he gasped, “my fault.”

Espresso’s voice was soft. “It wasn’t your fault, Madeleine. Now breathe with me. In… and hold… and out.”

Madeleine tried to match the other cookie’s breaths, and after a while, his own breathing slowed.

They stayed there, simply breathing together. Then, Espresso repeated, “It wasn’t your fault. None of us were prepared for this. Even with the extent of my skill, I nearly perished trying to defeat that… that thing. You did the best you could.”

“I promised myself, when I first knew that the cookies I’d be escorting to the Vanilla Kingdom were children, that I’d defend them. I’d take the blows so they didn’t have to.”

“And you have.”

“But it wasn’t enough.” The tears came, pooling in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. “In the end, it wasn’t enough.”

Wordlessly, Espresso’s arms tightened around him, and Madeleine collapsed against him, face pressed to Espresso’s chest, tears wetting the front of his robe.

Silence, but for Madeleine’s soft sobs. Espresso closed his eyes, and continued, “I’ve never said this before, but I suppose there’s no other time but this. You’re the-” He grimaced slightly against the next words, unused to such openness. “-The strongest, bravest cookie I know. I don’t know no one else so willing to throw themselves in front of others to defend them. Foolhardy as all hell, but brave.”

A choked, disbelieving laugh. “Really.”

“Really,” he affirmed.

“And what of today,” Madeleine said, “If- when the ‘brave’ defender fails to defend.”

"You forgive yourself. You train, become stronger, and do better. You thank the stars that everyone made it out alive. There’s no use dwelling on ‘if’s. I know I'm a damn hypocrite for saying this, but failure doesn't doom you." A sound of incredulity from Madeleine. "It's something I struggle with too, but I do remember Latte telling me something of this sort... Our failures don't define us. We- you are enough, just as you are."

They remained that way, Madeleine clinging to Espresso until his tears slowed. A few minutes passed, perhaps more. Faintly, Madeleine said, “...my leg’s fallen asleep.”

Espresso chuckled. “We should probably get up, then.”

The two cookies helped each other to their feet, and began the slow walk back to camp, in companionable quiet that followed. Espresso chanced a look at Madeleine. The paladin was running a hand through dishevelled hair, cleaning up his appearance so the others wouldn’t worry. His red-rimmed eyes fixed on him. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for calming me down. For… for your words.”

“Don’t think I didn’t mean every one of them.”

Madeleine took Espresso’s hand in his, squeezed briefly, and let go.

“...Besides,” the mage smiled impishly. “What else are boyfriends for?”

He strode ahead, leaving Madeleine trailing behind, gobsmacked, his mouth forming the word ‘boyfriend’ over and over, a stupid grin eventually spreading across the paladin's face.

After all, sometimes what one needed to feel better was warm reassurance, and sometimes, one needed a surprising kick to the system. And like all good coffee, it was Espresso’s pleasure to provide both.

[dorthyanndrarry]

The Liars Department -17-

tags: drarry, auror Harry, ministry employee Draco, oblivious Harry, Draco is an unrepentant flirt, and disillusionment there’s just so much disillusionment

suggested rating: T+

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <– Part 16 || Part 18 ->

-

(continued from previous part)

Harry closed the door to the office, “I guess, you were right about the suit.”

Malfoy blinked, coming back to himself, “Of course I was.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Have you ever considered growing a beard?” Malfoy said.

“What? No,” Harry said.

“Not a long one, just a nice tight cropped beard,” Malfoy leaned forward on his desk.

Harry sighed, “Still no and I’m only here for six days, I’m not growing a beard. I hate how itchy it feels.”

“We’re wizards, you incompetent, I can brew you up a hair growth potion in an hour,” Malfoy said.

“What part of no did you miss?” Harry asked.

“You don’t have to keep it,” Malfoy said, “Just try it, and there are beard oils if itchiness is such a problem.”

“Is it part of my uniform?” Harry asked sarcastically.

Malfoy sat back with a pouty frown, “No.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said.

“It would help though,” Malfoy said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “How exactly does a beard help with lying?”

“It’s about-”

“You are so full of shit,” Harry said.

“It’s about giving off an air of authority,” Malfoy said.

“Authority,” Harry repeated.

“Yes, Auror Potter” Malfoy said, “you need-”

“Harry,” Harry said.

“so very much stupid,” Asbestos muttered.

Malfoy scowled at him, “The most essential component of this job isn’t the lying, Auror Potter, it’s getting people to believe the lie, and for that you need to be authoritative, confident, and-”

“You need to be full of yourself,” Harry said, “I think you have enough of that for both of us.”

Malfoy scoffed, “I’ve never met someone as infuriatingly self-righteous as you are.”

“I am not self-” Harry started to say, but was cut off by the door slamming open and having to jump back to avoid getting a face full of splinters.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing, Malfoy!” A familiar voice yelled from the other side of the door.

“Working, Sir Syrup,” Malfoy said.

“You should be grateful I allowed you to have this job,” Suirup said, Harry could just imagine his moustache bristling.

“I am very grateful for the opportunity,” Malfoy said, sounding not quite genuine.

“No one would give someone like you a second chance, but I have and you-”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched up, and he caught Harry’s eye for just a second as if to say this is going to be fun.

Harry sighed, fighting down a smile.

“-You should not be drawing unnecessary attention to yourself!” Suirup said, shaking a piece of paper at Malfoy.

“I’m afraid my job requires me to become the centre of attention,” Malfoy said with the relaxed cat smile of someone who is shamelessly and effortlessly riling someone else up.

“Out there!” Suirup said, sweeping his hand, “Here! Here you are to keep out of sight and out of trouble!”

“What sort of trouble have I caused?” Malfoy asked.

“After the move! After the move, you have to notify interdepartmental services!” Suirup said.

“I did,” Malfoy said.

“Immediately! Without delay! Or I wouldn’t have received this!” Suirup said, shaking the paper again.

Harry grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it back, “It’s the supervisor’s responsibility to report such things-”

Suirup startled backwards, running into the door frame and nearly falling over.

“-that’s why I sent it to you, Sir, as the supervisor of the Liars Department,” Harry said.

“I- I- well! I-,” Suirup clung onto the doorframe as he stuttered, “I would have, was going to- It- It must have slipped my mind! I- I- I am very busy, you know! I oversee a great deal in the Wizengamont!”

“Then perhaps, Sir, you ought to reduce your workload. Such hard work does no one any good if it is done poorly or not at all,” Harry said.

Suirup’s face went red, his white waxed moustache like a little boat on a sea of crimson.

“Delegate. Or transfer your work,” Harry said, “That would be my suggestion.”

“I- I will have no bad word said of my work! I am the head of the Wizengamont project approval committee! I am a respected member of the Wizengamont! As my father was and grandfather and great-grandfather before him!” Suirup bristled.

“Then do better, and I won’t have to,” Harry said flatly.

Suirup straightened up, twisting one side of his moustache to sharpen the point, his face still as red as a tomato. His voice came out at a waver, shaking faintly with rage,  “If you will excuse me.”

“Of course,” Harry said with a polite smile, “You’re so busy after all.”

Suirup drew his shoulders back and stormed off without further farewells; and Harry closed the office door once more behind him, sagging against it as the adrenaline he had been running on drained out of him.

Malfoy was clapping, slowly, with a huge shit-eating grin on his face, “Brutal, Auror Potter. An absolute slaughter. And much better than your little lecture in the pub, since you’re word actually means something in the Ministry.”

Harry snorted, “What? Not much.”

“The future Head Auror, Harry Potter? I can’t imagine anyone going against you,” Malfoy said.

Harry shook his head, “What? No? I don’t-”

“Everyone knows it. Robards and Kingsley are behind you, along with about half the Wizengamont, the ones who know what’s good for them anyway,” Malfoy said.

Harry frowned, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “Seriously, Auror Potter-?”

“Harry,” Harry muttered.

“-I’ve only been working here for three days, and everyone hates me, and I still heard the rumours,” Malfoy said.

“There is work,” Asbestos said.

“People really think that?” Harry asked.

“More like know. It’s a foregone conclusion,” Malfoy said. He looked at Harry with a frown, “You really didn’t know?”

“How was I supposed to know that! No one tells me anything!” Harry said.

Malfoy grinned, “So many things make sense now. In school, I thought you knew the kind of power you had and enjoyed pretending to be humble about it. After the last few days, I’m entirely certain you’re just a bit stupid.”

“Hey!”

“There is work now!” Asbestos said.

“Fine, fine, how about just extremely unobservant,” Malfoy said.

“Don’t act like you’re being generous,” Harry said.

“But I am so very generous, in every aspect of my life,” Malfoy said, leaning back in his chair.

“Especially at being a wanker,” Harry said.

Malfoy winked at him, “A generous wanker.”

Asbestos sighed loudly and flicked her hand. The door snapped back open, smacking Harry in the side. A paper aeroplane sailed over his head as he cursed in pain and landed neatly on Malfoy’s desk.

-

♥ Next update will be tuesday noonish pst ♥

♥  Tags below  ♥  (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous part.)

💜 @pain-changes-everything thank you so much!!! I agreee he’s a handsome handsome lad 💜

💜 @potter-harreh  ♪(´▽｀)

💜 @bisexualronaldweasley thank you!!!!!

💜 @witch19 thank you!! I’d love some mirror advice about my hair too

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💜 @iamactuallya-cat thank you so much!! I love Asbestos so much(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

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💜 @magvic thank you! :D  💜

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💜 @dewitty1 thank you so much!!! i luv the little faces(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ 💜 💜 💜

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💜 @dracodragon19872 thank you!!!

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💜 @nourix-png  💜u💜 thank you! 💜

💜 @whenrainbowsend  saaaaame lol, thank you 💜

💜 @garrow53 thank you!!!!!!

💜 @cportera (¬‿¬)

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💜 @shadowybook draco, architect of his own destruction, but he’s enjoying the ride 💜 💜 thank you!!!!! 💜

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💜 @podsgirl 💜 @addicted-to-w0rds 💜 @myrvaenboys 💜 @sakurachyohli 💜

[tomatosamla]

Here we go, I have a prompt for you.

Tales of Arcadia and Dragon Prince crossover: “I like your horns...?”

Have fun.

This WAS fun, I hope you like it.

I LIKE YOUR HORNS...?

Series: none, the first thing I write non-DC (in tumblr at least)

Warnings: none that I can think of.

Plot: The guardias of Arcadia and the guardians of Xadia (ha! it rimed) unite in an epic crossover that is only a draft.

Word count: 602 :D

A/N: My first request, I’m exited! hahahahaha. I could make a part two if someone requested it.

“Claire? Where are we?”

“I don’t know teach, you tell me.”

What started as a simple magical exercise to learn better how to control her powers and also to seek productive combinations between arkaridian technology and magic, ended in the protectors of Arcadia being in a place completely unknown, full of what could only be described as magic, they were in a field full of huge rocks, and what looked like a statue of a dragon, ginormous to say the very least.

Hey, at least few of them were stuck in this strange place together and not just one of them, Douxie, Zoe, Claire, Jim, Steve, Archie, Krel and Aaargh, until then they have kept calm (except for Steve obviously), but it definitely wasn’t so easy when a few (and by a few I mean a lot) of elves were pointing their swords and spears at their faces.

“It seems that we have found ourselves a predicament” said the dragon familiar who at the time was in Aaargh’s shoulder holding his paws up in a sign of surrender.

“You think?!” responded our local tired wizard, all the while Steve was screaming nonsense at the top of his lungs and Krel was looking at him asking himself how his sister was able to see anything worthy of dating in that oh so annoying boy.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” asked a pretty girl with white hair, a pair of horns, holding double swords and also with a very curious scottish accent.

“Uhhhh… we can explain, why don’t we all drop our weapons so we can talk like civilized people? What do you say, love?”

“Why don’t YOU drop the truth… love?” said a very awkward teenager with a… backpack? No, that was definitely a bag… I think. The white haired girl looked at him with a combination of ‘Shut up’ and ‘How are you this adorable?’.

And because everyone surrounding her was pretty incompetent, Zoe started her explanation, “Look… we were practicing a few exercises and we ended up here, wherever here is… where is here?”.

“This is Xadia, now from which realm of humanity are you?” said a red haired young looking man, apparently translating whatever a very armored woman with a scar just below her right eye was signaling, Douxie recognised it to being sign language, and even if he never actually learned at least he knew a few words and could recognize it (he had a lot of time to learn a lot of things in his years alive).

“Umm… Arcadia Oaks?” kinda asked the troll.

“Arcadia Oaks?” repeated the first girl that had spoken, in a ‘really?’ tone.

“Ummmm… Krel… do you think it’s possible that when we combined magic and your new invention of transport, we could maybe, just maybe be transported to another universe?” Said a very confused and also very tired (to be honest they are all tired boys and girls) Trollhunter.

“Hypothetically yes, but there was only a 27.839% chance that would happen.”

“Yet here we are” said our local emo?… punk?… something, favorite pink haired witch.

So now Krel was desperately trying to explain to the elves and people before him why they were all there, all the while Steve just wouldn’t shut up and Rayla was really considering stabbing him just to shut his very annoying mouth, “So… we may be from another universe, and apparently we are much more advanced technologically speaking than you, you probably are very belated… in… those terms-” none of them was amused, “Ummmm, I like your horns…?” again, not amused.

[violet-knox]

Imagine getting a panic attack in the middle of Potion’s class with Professor Snape

Request: Could you you do a Snape x Reader fic where someone fucks up in his class and it just caught him on a bad day so that launches him on a rampage and he's just chewing this kid out, like really screaming about how incompetent they are when on the other side of the class reader starts having a massive panic attack. Like full on shaking and loudly hyperventilating and she just cant get up to leave cause she's frozen with fear and Snape sees this and is like oh shit I fucked up. Eventually the student just leaves the class not even asking first. Just runs out and doesn't return, leaving him feeling horrible until the student finally returns to class a few days later and he apologizes. 

Word Count: 1689

A/N: Thank you @aquananner24 for the request! I hope you enjoy! Also, as mentioned previously, I don’t do romantic or platonic student/teacher relationships so this is NOT a pairing. I also changed the plot a bit and I also made the reader a Hufflepuff, but the idea is still the same. Also also, thought I’d try something a little different this time so this is mostly in Sev’s POV written in third person. 

- Preposterous was the only word that could truly sum up this year’s events. How could Dumbledore pick this buffoon over him to teach Defense? All these years he’d been passed over on the position, he’d watched Professor after Professor fail at their post but this had to be the biggest insult yet. Severus had actually ‘taught’ (and he had to use that word loosely) this idiot prancing around as if he was some heroic Wizard to be praised for deeds he likely never had a hand in completing. 

- Gilderoy Lockhart. What a joke and perhaps that’s what this was; a practical joke the Headmaster had decided to play to see how many of Severus’ buttons he could press. It was bad enough the Dark Lord’s return had almost come to pass last year, but this- petrified students and a reopening of the Chamber of Secrets, had Severus truly believing the mere presence of the Potter boy to be a menace to the school. 

- Already the school had broken into chaos and he wasn’t sure if he would live to see the boy’s graduation at this rate, the school sure to explode from the destruction he brought with him before then. It was a shame the boy hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin, else all of this would likely have been avoided with him back with that wench Petunia after his inevitable expulsion. 

- Despite it all, Severus had still managed to fulfill his job as Potions Master, teaching those ungrateful ingrates and keep the storeroom stocked in the infirmary. But would one day break from the chaos really be too much to ask? Just 24 hours of peace was all he wanted.

- “Put away your wands and have your quills ready,” he said as he burst through the Potion’s classroom, billowing his way to the front of the room. At least the boy wasn’t in his morning class, at least he could be granted some sort of serenity teaching his Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students. 

- Well, that’s what he’d thought before stepping into a classroom full of nothing but gossip passed from one student to the next. Rumours always seemed to spread so easily through the castle walls but why this? Of all the ridiculous theories they could have come up with students had somehow convinced himself that Potter was the descendant of Slytherin himself. The mere thought of his father having any sort of relation to a man that founded this great school was repulsive enough to put him in an even worse mood than he was in these last few weeks.

- “Have you gone deaf or are you simply incapable of following the simplest of instructions Miss. Lovegood?” He hadn’t even bothered to spin around as he spotted the girl with the latest edition of the Quibbler in her hand in the corner of his eye. With one foul swoop he finished writing out the instructions for today’s potion before whipping out his wand and vanishing the Magazine from her hand. “Quills out! I won’t ask a second time!”

- He normally didn’t mind the girl’s absurd theories, so long as they remained just that, simple unfounded theories, but it seemed as though today she’d decided to approach things a little different. The class had barely begun brewing their potions when he heard mention of moon frogs coming from Lovegood’s direction.

- “Despite your clear interest in fiction over the study of a perfected science, I still expect you able enough to remove your head from the cloud of your imagination for two hours and learn something useful! Or perhaps you find stories of fairytail creatures fascinating enough that you believe spewing this nonsense would earn you a passing grade in my class. Should I call Hagrid or perhaps the ministry to investigate this seemingly newfound knowledge you’ve discovered?”

- Severus felt himself letting go of his frustrations, taking it all out on this girl who really hadn’t done anything to deserve such a scolding. Sure, she was quirky and odd, but when had that ever been a crime? If it was, he certainly would have been guilty of it at her age and if anyone were to see what he’d done with the spare bedroom in his house without context, filling it with all those jars full of animal parts, they certainly would have freak out at the very least. 

- Still he continued to batter her, regrettable words spilling out of his mouth and the more they bounced off her, the more irritable he became. And despite his harsh words, the girl simply sat there batting her eyes as if his comments were nothing more than passing criticism. 

- He was normally so observant, always aware of his students and their display of idiocy, but in this moment of rage and outburst, he’d let himself go. He’d forgotten for a moment where he stood and neglected to realize one of his Hufflepuffs beginning to hyperventilate as he continued lecturing Miss. Moon-Frogs on her inability to attach herself to the real world. 

- “What is the meaning of this?” He snapped as he stepped towards the Hufflepuff sitting in the farthest corner of the room. She was tearing up, crying as if she’d just watched him rip out her puppy’s heart and he couldn’t fathom what could have possibly warranted such a reaction when the entire class was doing nothing but watch his outburst the last few minutes.

- He tried to shift his attention to her, but the second he turned in her direction, she’d sprung up from her seat as though if he got any closer to her, she’d instantly retract Dragon Pox. He watched her tremble and stumble over herself as she struggled to see through her tears and sprint out the door.

- He froze a moment, taken a bit by surprise. After all these years of sarcastic comments and strict mannerisms, never had one of his student’s walked out of his class before. 

- “Get back to work,” he blurted out as he made his way to the door, running after her. “I expect all your potions to be near completion when I return.” 

- He didn’t have to travel very far before catching up with her, finding her bundled on the floor into a ball as she hugged her knees, sobbing with her head hung low. Examining her shacking body and trembling hands, he began to feel a sense of familiarity as he realized she’d had a panic attack during class, likely triggered by something. It only took him a short moment to fit all the pieces together and realized that he’d been the cause of this. This girl’s current state was his own doing.

- Guilt seeped into his chest as he recalled his own past traumas. How he’d used to wake up in the middle of the night, shacking from the reoccurring night terrors that had only passed after he’d worked relentlessly night after night and strengthened the Sleepless Dream Potion. 

- Approaching her slowly, he kept a safe distance as he lowered himself, kneeling on the stone floor, trying to think of any way he could possibly repent his mistakes. 

- “Miss. (Y/L/N),” he spoke softly, careful not to worsen the situation. Closing his eyes, he thought back to his own time huddled into a corner as she had done now and spoke the words he’d hoped someone had said to him at that time. “I apologize for my behaviour. I should not have lost my composure as I did, and I apologize for that.”

- Pausing, he let out a gentle sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair and swiftly stood to quickly make his way back to his classroom.

- You’d only heard the faint echo of his footsteps as he walked away from you, surprised at the fact he’d left you alone when you’d fully expected him to throw some of those nasty comments he was handing Loony Lovegood your way. Your mind went blank as you sat there in silence, ridding you of the old memories your Professor had raised.

- His sudden calmness had somehow snapped you back to reality as thoughts of curiosity overwhelmed you instead. You hugged your knees closer to your chest while you watched through the corner of your eyes as he returned to you, kneeling before you like he’d previously done. 

- “Calming Draught,” he stated, and you heard the sound of a glass vial placed on the stone floor beside you. “And Sleepless Dream if you find yourself up tonight.”

- He placed the second vial beside the first as he sat there watching her peer down at his offering. Her tears had stopped but it was clear she was not yet prepared to return to class.  

- Deciding the best thing for her was to give her time, he prepared himself to head back into the classroom without her, taking one last glance at the girl before speaking once more. “When you’re ready, I trust you can find your way to your Head of House. When you see her, hand her this.”

- And with that, he slid a small folded note towards her containing the explanation for her state, her Potions Professor taking complete responsibility for the situation and mention of excusing the rest of the day’s classes. He swiftly made his way back to his classroom, looking back to see her slowly reach out for the Calming Draught, secretly content he hadn’t completely failed his duties as a Professor. 

- Severus was careful from that day on with his temper, taking a small sip of Calming Draught before class if he ever found that bubble in his gut about to burst again. And by the looks of how this year was turning out, he was likely to need a lot more of it if he wanted to get through the year without poisoning a certain irritable Professor. Then again, would the world really miss another failed Defense Professor if he was to be replaced again next year?

@marvelschriss​ @bush-viper-cutie​

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

What if Indil met Elizabeth, David, and Light and Shadow?

This might just be the most "Carnivorous Muffin" sentence to have ever been uttered on the internet.

Let's just stare at it in wonder, while I wonder how many people will have no idea what those words even mean strung together.

Right, for those that are lost, relevant source material:

Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus

October

Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun

The Wasteland

Aren't you so glad you read normal fanfics written by a normal person?

So, to catch people up to speed who have not read every single fic I've written:

The Wasteland

The Wasteland is the what if story of an eleven-year-old Lily ending up in Middle Earth (notably before the Chamber of Secrets fiasco). There she befriends the One Ring, who thanks to her realizes he's sentient and has an existential crisis. They do the fusion dance, and end up becoming a single, new, being calling himself Indil.

He's the best and worst of both the Ring and Lily.

At the end of the story Indil chooses a noble death, gives up his form, and in so doing persuades the Ring to face his own potential death as well as his maker.

It's unclear what happens after that.

I like to think the Ring prevailed and earned the body of his maker.

(In an offshoot, for unknown reasons, Indil may or may not visit Mars)

Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun

In Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun, yet another, different, Lily ends up in the "October" universe where she decides to create life on Pluto. One of the beings she creates is a priest who worships her as God, named Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun.

He basically strong arms her into being his God. Lily goes to live on Pluto.

He's never been all that keen on humanity.

Decades later, the muggle world catches up to the Alien Franchise, and the Prometheus sets off to investigate the Engineers. Unbeknowest to them, Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun has been marooned on that rock by Lily for quite some time and is essentially in timeout for trying to wipe out humanity again.

He figures out he will be unable to return home unless he plays nice with Dr. Elizabeth Shaw and her creepy android friend David. Together, the three of them set off to find the Engineers, Light and Shadow of the Distant Sun is hoping they can blow some shit up and would have driven the ship full of bioengineered weapons back to Earth if it were not so very close to home.

And that's about where we leave off.

... Why does anyone read my stories?

RIGHT, YOUR QUESTION

What if Indil met Elizabeth, David, and Light and Shadow?

So how does Indil even end up in this mess? Well, in the Mars AU, it's where rather than face his maker/death by Volcano, the Ring chose to bravely run away (as Sauron does).

This means that Indil, the merged consciousness of Lily and the One Ring, survives and they're chilling on Mars in another dimension because, well, it beats dying. And Potions Class.

And... Well, that's the most likely route for how this would happen, as Indil is pretty damn dead by the end of the Wasteland. Regardless of what happens to The Ring, it's unlikely that he and Lily would merge consciousness ever again and if they did that Indil would remain unchanged.

But we're already here, so why not. We'll say the Ring wins the battle of wills with Sauron, steals his body, and that he's then left with Mordor. Well, that's great, but he doesn't want Mordor.

Lily proposes they go back to England. They do, but Lily has a terrible time, as she usually does. Lily likely does her adventure through time, ruins her friendship with Wizard Lenin, and reaches the crossroads of "You can go to Hogwarts or... not".

Lily takes Mairon up on his offer of not going to Hogwarts and they decide to travel different dimension in space instead. Weird shit happens, life lessons are learned, and they also learn the fusion dance is alive and well and holy shit they can still turn into Indil.

Indil is very put out, here he'd geared himself up for a noble sacrifice, and now he exists again. What the hell people?

As usual, Mairon gets tempted by Lily's unbreakable will, and decides he rather likes being an immovable object and unstoppable force. Which means that Indil, once again, has a problem falling back out of existence.

Which isn't good for either Lily or Mairon's sense of self. But who needs that, amirite?

Anyways, Indil is probably floating around in a spaceship he made in his garage, trying to figure out where to go, what to do, and whether he should really split back into Lily and Mairon yet when out of nowhere he spots another ship.

This is a very strange coincidence given just how ungodly vast space is. This, in fact, is so unlikely you might as well call it a miracle or fate.

Well, Indil will never spit in the face of fate (at least, not today), so he decides to say hello.

There he's greeted by a human woman who's not doing too hot after an emergency C-section to get the xenomorph out of her womb, a very recently repaired android who knows the taste of sweet sweet freedom (and patricide), and an alien who is intrigued that another not-human has boarded the ship but upset that he now has to deal with yet another person on his time out.

Indil, in his panic, decides to pull a Sauron.

Behold, mortals, he is Annatar, sent by the Valar to teach them the smithing of the very gods. Please don't question this. (Indil realizes two seconds two late that none of these words mean anything to anyone and he might as well have said nothing at all).

Elizabeth, Light and Shadow, and David all just stare.

Elizabeth wonders how the hell she keeps running into so many aliens. Is she some sort of alien catnip that pulls these guys out of the ether? She has now met two entirely different species, that she was not looking for, in a matter of months.

Regardless, Indil decides he's coming along. A quest to find God? That's fascinating. He only hopes it doesn't end in drowning, last time Indil (via Sauron) had a run in with The Lord it involved a lot of drowning.

Indil starts smithing life jackets just in case.

And because Elizabeth is amazing, and Indil has a thing for strong, independent, women, we see the reemergence of Indil's Weird Thing With Eowyn II: Electric Boogaloo. Neither Mairon nor Lily, vaguely aware inside Indil, understand this at all.

Why does this keep happening to them?

This is bad because David is also in love with Elizabeth. Except, David is a robot who is no doubt fascinated by aliens, so I'm sure they come to some weird agreement.

Elizabeth pretends none of this is happening.

Light and Shadow thinks there's something disturbingly familiar about Indil and eventually lands on the money. Almost. He realizes that Indil is Lily in mortal disguise, he is so smart, and the rest of the time he wonders what the hell he's supposed to be learning/doing with Lily's disguised alien appearance.

Thanks to Lily's bullshit powers, Elizabeth survives the journey and does not die in transit. This means that David does not become the unstable, grieving, nutcase who decides to wipe out all sentient life. Good for you, David.

So our band of heroes arrive on this alien world and...

Well, Elizabeth is a member of the race that these people sent their finest warriors out to destroy. David is a robot, something the people they tried to genocide created. No one knows what the fuck Indil and Light and Shadow even are.

Indil, I imagine, starts talking fast and somehow ends up King of Men again. Because that's just the kind of thing that happens to him. The possibility of drowning, somehow, seems to be growing ever nearer. Indil makes more life jackets.

Elizabeth isn't pleased with this outcome at all but also has no idea in general what to do.

Things probably come to a head somehow, with sacrifices involved surely, there probably is a ridiculously powerful storm a la Covenant that lasts for months. It's raining everywhere, there's a flood. And Indil flips shit, GOD IS GOING TO MURDER US ALL FOR SATANISM! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Mass panic, total destruction, the entire city is wiped out without David doing anything.

Our heroes are now stranded, again, in space.

Light and Shadow has learned nothing, Indil is wearing a life vest, Elizabeth has no ship, and David just composed "Elizabeth the Symphony: Tenth Movement".

Indil works on building a new ship out of twigs and rocks. He assures them he knows what he's doing. Elizabeth's not sure she wants him going to Earth. She's not sure she wants to go to Earth.

She's also not sure, but she may now have a harem consisting of a robot, an alien, and another alien.

Ten years later, the Covenant crew shows up, and promptly die in a series of hilariously terrible accidents and their own incompetence.

Our heroes still have no functional ship.

[archies-litterbox]

Home

Summary: Some times when Douxie called the castle his home, and one time Merlin realized his son saw the castle as his home whether he was ready to process that or not (and he wasn’t).

Words: 2000

A/N: I got this done! I actually challenged myself by making sure each little segment of the fic was EXACTLY 500 words, and I had a lot of fun! hope you like it <3

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nightmares (there’s way more softness in this than the CW makes it look I swear-)]

--

The typical chatter of the marketplace was overshadowed by Hisirdoux’s skipping steps, and those were overshadowed by the moppet humming a little tune to himself that Merlin couldn’t make sense of. It was one of many things about the little apprentice that didn’t exactly make sense, but when Merlin brought the boy along to finish an errand, what he truly dreaded was that the boy would be insufferable and get distracted at every turn. So, really, endearing -

- “Endearing to who?” Merlin asked in response to his own internal monologue, because the humming from the boy, a sure sign that his apprentice was content at the very least, was most certainly not endearing to him -

- So, really, definitely-not-endearing humming of silly, nonsensical tunes was a more-than-adequate alternative to that insufferability and distraction, Merlin was sure.

“Getting that potion ingredient was easier than I thought!” Hisirdoux said happily, the spring in his step ever-present, “The merchant wasn’t even cross with me, like usual - like when I come here by myself.”

“Have you considered,” Merlin started, “That she’d been cross because of your notorious slight-of-hand? And your pickpocketing and street tricks has rendered her wary of your possible antics?”

Hisirdoux shrugged, rubbed the back of his head in obvious sheepishness, and turned his gaze elsewhere, “Mayyyybe-”

His face lit up in excitement, his eyes widening as his mouth formed an “O” shape when he saw something off to the street’s side.

“Ooooh! Look!” He turned a little to the side, bringing his hands up as he started to wander to a stand selling some sweet treats, “They’re selling-”

Merlin put a hand on his shoulder to still the boy, who was already a handful without the added hyperactivity of sugar.

“Nothing of importance, Hisirdoux.”

He turned the boy forward again, put his hand on top of Hisirdoux’s head, and turned it forward again as well.

“Awwwh.” Hisirdoux whined.

“We have what we came down here for, and Wizards are many things, but they are not frivolous.” he said as he kept walking, a slightly-pouting moppet walking alongside him, “We’re heading straight back to the castle. There are better pastry bakers there, anyway.”

Hisirdoux’s disappointed pout left his face.

“Right, right.” he said, as if he were reminded of how happy he was just to be out here, on what he probably thought of as a beautiful day, although Merlin was rather impartial to the sunny weather.

 “Let’s go home, Master!”

...Home?

Did he mean the castle?

Though he kept moving physically, putting one armor-plated foot in front of the other, Merlin’s mind froze as he looked down at the joyful, beaming moppet. To hear Hisirdoux refer to the castle as his home… 

Well, Merlin knew he should have expected it at this point, considering the boy’s utter lack of a permanent roof over his head before, but he still didn’t know what to make of it, if there was anything to make of it.

So, he sighed.

“The castle isn’t that far away.”

--

The dark circles under the boy’s eyes looked darker in hue than usual today, but of course, that was only due to the contrast against the unusual paleness of his face. Said eyes looked up at Merlin with a rather lacking amount of cognizance as the Master Wizard stood over the moppet. Stripped of his bulky leather hooded vest in favor of keeping on only his trousers and tunic, so he didn’t overheat, Hisirdoux’s deep breaths through his mouth were only interrupted by a brief, pitiful sniffle of his nose.

“Mathter, ‘th thith… plague?” He was hoarse from coughing and nasally from his awful congestion. To this, Merlin only huffed - of course, leave it to his ever-dramatic apprentice to leap to the most dire conclusion possible, even though he couldn’t even rightly walk down to the throne room in this state.

“Not unless a rather nasty cold has become the new plague of Camelot.” he answered, “you should have come back sooner from your last errand, Hisirdoux, before it started to pour.”

Hisirdoux groaned, either out of his achy, miserable condition, or frustration with hearing the old man lecture him, or both.

“I know, I know-”

A wet cough cut him off, making him curl up before he flopped back down on the bed.

“Ugh, ithn’t there thome…” he swallowed, as if to clear his throat of sickly gunk as best he could without another hacking, “I dunno, “thickness begone-iuth” thpell, or thomething?”

“I won’t use magic to alleviate your sickness, if that’s what you’re implying.” Merlin denied, “Although unpleasant, your condition is far from serious, and your symptoms should alleviate in a few days, at the most. If I use magic on something so mere, your natural immune system will weaken, and a dependence on magic to maintain your health is dangerous, so-”

“But Mathter-”

“Don’t “But Mathter” me.”

Hisirdoux sighed, a shaky, ugly-sounding thing, too exhausted to even spare a laugh at how Merlin imitated him.

“Magic ithn’t a permithible shortcut…” he started, but he trailed off and punctuated the statement with another little sniffle.

It seemed, remarkably, Hisirdoux remembered a few of Merlin’s teachings, despite his low-grade fever.

Which reminded him…

The Master Wizard sighed and conjured a cold, damp rag, enchanted to not dry out or get tepid. Making sure it was properly folded, he laid it right onto Hisirdoux’s forehead.

“Oh, ‘th nithe…” he mumbled, “thank you…”

“Your plans for today are postponed, of course.” Merlin declared, “You’re to stay here and rest.”

“But-” Hisirdoux’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wath thupposed to go out and do that… that thing… and get the thing… from the plathe…”

Of course, it must have been harder for the boy to think sensibly and make sense than usual.

“And that will wait until your condition improves.” Merlin finalized, “Am I clear?”

Hisirdoux, resigned, nodded.

“Yeth, Mathter… thtaying home it ith, then.”

Before Merlin had anywhere near enough time to be surprised at that word, “home”, Hisirdoux fell right to sleep.

--

Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt like this before; when he couldn’t tell if he was more terrified or furious.

But he couldn’t be bothered to try to figure that out - not when, after hours of Hisirdoux being late coming back to the castle, a shoddily-written ransom note made its way to the desk of the Master Wizard’s study.

Thankfully, Hisirdoux’s familiar could trace it by it’s unpleasant scent. Merlin followed Archibald as the cat-dragon followed the scent trail to some disgusting hovel in a forest clearing, with some deplorable men hanging around it’s outside.

When Merlin laid eyes on them... he leveled them with any spells he could remember through his rage at them all; at their audacity.

Of course, it had been some incompetent group of bandits, but only a fool equated incompetency with harmlessness; just because these idiots didn’t know what they were doing didn’t mean that Hisirdoux was safe.

So, he shifted his focus on finding his apprentice, even if he had to reduce every board of this blasted cabin to splinters.

But it didn’t come to that; the second Merlin stepped in, he saw him.

Hisirdoux was curled up in a corner, sitting on his heels with his hands bound behind him, his arms bound steadfast to his torso, and a piece of cloth tied between his teeth. He was unharmed, but terrified.

Hisirdoux’s muffled cry that came out when he saw Merlin shattered the old man’s heart.

He never ran faster in his life.

A small, very precise blast from Archie made the bonds around Hisirdoux’s wrists and torso come loose, and when Merlin got to him, he pulled the cloth gag out as fast as he could without hurting him, letting it lay around his neck.

The instant his arms were fully free and Merlin was close enough, Hisirdoux hugged him, clinging to the Wizard for dear life and crying his heart out against his armored shoulder.

“Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

Merlin felt Hisirdoux shake his head. He could tell he was swallowing to try to get some moisture back in his mouth. It had probably been dried out by that blasted gag, and who knew if they’d given him any water?

“No, just-” he gasped, “Scared.”

Those bandits would soon forget the very meaning of mercy.

For now, Merlin focused on rubbing soothing circles against the boy’s back, seeing that his ankles were bound. Merlin didn’t even notice before, and Hisirdoux was so hasty - so desperate for comfort that he didn’t even wait. He didn’t even seem to care.

Archie started cutting them loose.

“I-” Hisirdoux hiccuped, “I wanna go home.”

The shattered remnants of Merlin’s heart melted.

Home.

His son wanted to go home.

He sighed, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of the poor boy’s head, passing his fingers through his un-bunned hair.

“Please,” he whined, “take me home.”

Merlin nodded, the side of his head rubbing Hisirdoux’s.

“Right… right.”

--

It was long past nightfall, and the castle was quiet, so Merlin tried to tread the corridors lightly so his armored feet wouldn’t clank against the floor and wake anyone; the last thing he wanted was for any particular moppetish apprentices to stir.

That boy… he had already gone through so much he hadn’t deserved, and for what? To what end? Merlin presumed that before he’d found him in that alley, he’d been treated poorly for being not only a street rat, but a magical one at that. And now, even though he was the Wizard’s apprentice, that treatment hadn’t truly gone away; no, it only shifted onto new grounds: the grounds that... he was the Wizard’s apprentice. Now, much of the animosity sent his way was truly meant for Merlin; directing it at Hisirdoux merely amplified it. Strengthened the blow.

And that blow was strengthened today.

Merlin remembered the note’s creases under his fingertips as it trembled in his shaking hand; the door creaking open with a shriek in its hinges and showing Merlin his apprentice, bound and gagged and terrified in the corner of that hovel; Hisirdoux wailing against his shoulder; the trembling of his son in his arms. He remembered it all.

“Hisirdoux…”

He passed the sleeping boy’s door… and sensed magic from behind it. Unusual magic for this hour. In the little gap between the door and the floor, he could see the blue glow of his magic, too. Unmistakeable.

“...Hisirdoux?”’

He stopped at the door and pushed it open, only to be met with a fretful sight before him (not nearly as bad as the last time he’d pushed a door open to find Hisirdoux today, but it was rather close.)

The boy was thrashing in his sleep - tossing and turning in his blankets to the point where they’d started to tangle around him, which only made his obviously-nightmare-induced thrashing worse. Magic thrummed from his hands as he fought back against… something, and even Archibald, who had curled up on his abdomen to soothe him to sleep earlier tonight, couldn’t quell his night terror.

Merlin knelt down at the boy’s bedside and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “Hisirdoux!”

“N-no! Stop!” he pleaded, thrashing harder to get the hand off him, “Get away! Leave me ALONE! Let me GO!”

Merlin shook him harder.

“HISIRDOUX!” he shouted.

Finally, the boy’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped.

For a moment, he just breathed as lucidity seeped back into him. After realizing he was in the realm of the conscious, he put his hands to the sides of his head.

“Master…” he squeaked, “Where-”

“It’s alright, Hisirdoux. You’re safe.” he assured, “You’re home.”

Honestly, the words just slipped out, for Merlin, shocked by himself, doubted that he would have ever said them otherwise.

And with now-even-wider eyes, Hisirdoux looked just as shocked.

… Well, no good rescinding it now. How could he, really?

“You’re home.”

Hisirdoux nodded, a shaky smile on his face.

“...Home.”