So I Went Looking For Crossovers Between Two Of My Favorite Series And Found Distressingly Little Fic

So I went looking for crossovers between two of my favorite series and found distressingly little fic where the characters from both series actually interact so I uh. Did it myself. Enjoy :)))))

When Arthur was told that socerers had been caught, he was not anticipating the four writhing children before him. Pushed to their knees with a force that Arthur, if he weren’t the king, would wince at, they shouted…odd things. Like-

“LET US GO OR FEEL THE WRATH OF BOOMERANG!”

—that.

Arthur’s fingers twitched with the strain of resisting his most desperate desire; to pinch his brow. He’ll have a headache by the time this is done, he can feel it.

Their shouts weren’t the only thing that was odd; aside from the fact that they were literal children, they were all wearing…strange clothes. Vibrant reds, blues, and greens, in styles he’d never seen before.

They continued yelling, speaking over each other at a pace Arthur could not possibly hope to follow. A black haired boy dressed in vibrant red robes with gold accents (and just about the worst burn scar he’s ever seen holy shit) was quite literally spitting sparks. Not even mentioning the boy’s sparkling gold eyes.

Arthur wanted to sigh.

“Leon. What is this?”

“The…sorcerers, my lord.” Leon said, equally baffled. Arthur had known him long enough that he could tell what that specific pause and strain of the voice meant, thank you.

Arthur cannot keep from grinding his teeth. He moved his attention from the kids to his guard, who suddenly looked a lot less triumphant and a whole lot more scared.

“Why are there children on my floor, Sir Kent?”

The sweat visibly raced down the man’s forehead. Arthur absently wondered which droplet would fall from his chin first.

“The—they’re sorcerers, my lord.”

“Yes, I can see that.” As if the sparks and golden eyes didn’t already tell the tale.

“Okay, would someone mind explaining where the fuck we are?!”

Arthur jumped, and his eyes immediately flew to a small girl decked out in greens who, Arthur estimated, couldn’t be any older than fourteen. (Arthur did not have much experience with children, but what he did have experience with is overeager teenagers. Specifically, overeager teenagers trying to lie about their ages to become knights. That was a fun conversation to have with Lord Pelfrey.)

Several of his knights paled, and their eyes slid to her in their scandal. Arthur shuddered. If they thought that was bad, they should try to grow up with Morgana.

Arthur very, very quickly grew to respect women’s vocabularies.

“Toph!” The slightly older looking girl dressed in blues that matched her eyes hissed.

“I mean…that’s not exactly the worst way she could’ve asked,” Said the boy in blue.

“Sokka!” Screeched the girl who had a strange amount of likeness to the boy—to Sokka. Siblings, maybe?

“Cool it Sweetness, it’s not like we all haven’t heard worse from Sparky.”

“Hey! I don’t swear that fucki—that much!” The boy in red (sparky?) shouted. Arthur’s attention, and everyone else’s, it seems, was drawn to the shout. ‘Sparky’ faltered, then paled, and his widened (still gold) eyes nervously darted around the room.

The girl, (Sweetness? Not something that Arthur would ever name his child, but he had never claimed to understand the naming conventions of sorcerers) just hung her head in despair.

Arthur sighed. And finally gave into an urge he had been previously denying himself. He massaged his brow. Yup. There’s that headache.

“…You’re in Camelot,” Arthur said, and then sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time today. He really should’ve listened to the universe early this morning and just stayed in bed. It would’ve saved him so much trouble (and so many headaches.)

“Ha ha, real funny. I get what you’re trying to do here, I do. But you can’t get passed me, The Great and oh-so-wise adventurer Sokka. Where are we really?”

Arthur blinked. What? Do these children collectively have a head injury?

“He wasn’t lying,” said Toph.

Sokka spluttered. Arthur’s bad feeling increased tenfold. Yep. Definitely should’ve stayed in bed.

Then the room exploded.

Well okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. There wasn’t any fire or heat, but the floor moved, in a way that very abruptly reminded Arthur that these children were not just children and were, in fact, corrupted by the evils of sorcery.

Arthur shook his head, dazed. He pushed himself off his side and onto his elbow. His ears rang, and he reached toward the back of his head.

His fingers came away slightly sticky and with a familiar metallic scent—a scent that had cold dread pooling in his stomach.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, even as he swayed. The floor moved and shifted under his feet, quite literally. Arthur leaned against the pillar he was thrown into. The air was clouded, filled with the dust and airborne sediment caused by shifting rock.

Arthur coughed, as his lungs desperately tried to expel the hazy air. He covered his nose and mouth with his hand. Lord knows breathing in this stuff can’t be good for him.

Harsh hacks echoed from every corner, accusing and mocking in turn. Arthur stumbled along, through the mounds of settling wreckage and to the wall—or, what remained of it.

Arthur stared.

Where his wall once was there was now a gaping hole, a jagged vulnerability. The sun bounced off the dust filling the room, leaving behind brilliant white afterimages that made Arthur blink. The sky shone a bright, brilliant blue, as if the wall to his throne room hadn’t just been blown out by the magical capabilities of a child. The sorcerers were nowhere to be found.

Uneven footsteps pounded their way up behind him in a familiar drum of worry. Arthur turned away from the crumbling wall.

“Sire, should I assemble the Round Table?” Leon asked, even as blood beaded in a shallow cut above his eyebrow.

Arthur hesitated. Too old eyes in too young faces flashed in a tantalizing vision of familiar pain. He closed his eyes and removed his hand.

Immediately, the smell of acrid smoke assaulted him. The memory of the sting of dust, the hacked coughs of the knights, and terrified eyes of Sir Kent.

“Yes,” Arthur said, eyes fluttering back open. Leon’s troubled blue gaze met his. An unpleasant weight settled in Arthur’s stomach, and this time he did not even try to resist the temptation to sigh.

“Ensure they are informed of the situation. We will convene in the council chambers and set off immediately after.”

Arthur’s eyes took one last sweep of the decimated throne room. The broken wall,

and the cracked floor; the people, servants and knights alike, climbing to their feet, white-faced and wide-eyed.

His fists clenched.

“We will stop these sorcerers. I give you my word.”

FUCK YEA JUST HAD A BREAKTHROUGH IN THE TIMELINE—THINGS WERE LOOKING PRETTY IMPOSSIBLE FOR A BIT.

I feel your pain. Every couple of months I too remember that the magisterium series exists and I too experience excruciating pain because what do you mean he’s the enemy of death

The feeling of randomly remembering a book series you were hyperfixated on as a kid is so strange. Like what do you mean I am currently experiencing stomach pain because I randomly remembered the Magisterium series

Can’t forget Maugris. Because of him, almost all the known makars were trans

(Maugris as a gender fluid icon is a hill I will DIE on FIGHT ME)

aaron stewart, the token white (?) cis boy

I hate you (I love you) this is amazing (why would you do this) look what you’ve done now I’m crying you amazing horrible amazing human

That was my thought process reading this. And I think it might’ve been Call’s, too.

guys what if it isn’t call that repeats history, that goes down the same dark path as constantine after loss except this time knowing how things will play out and knowing the end will come and all the heart-wrenching headcanons about tamara or aaron having to kill him?

What if it’s Aaron? What if against all odds Aaron fails—doesn’t matter what at—and, say, Tamara dies? And Aaron knows he shouldn’t, but she’s part of his family and he’s different than Constantine, he is, so maybe he can do it different, maybe he can succeed because he can’t lose her and he can’t risk losing Call. So he starts down that road. He obsesses over improving his abilities, finding new ways to surpass his limits, making sure he will never fail again to protect those he loves. While all this is happening he’s falling further and further from grace and he tells Master Rufus he’s fine, he’s fine, yet Rufus recognizes his spiral, but it’s too late and something happens and Call gets hurt or is close to being hurt and Aaron snaps and he goes too far and everyone is staring at him like he’s a monster, and Call is looking at him like he doesn’t recognize him—

And he’s lost everything. The support of the Magisterium, his home, the place that gave him opportunity and hope and purpose. His friends. His mentor, the closest to a real father he’s ever gotten. Trust. Respect. Safety. Encouragement. His family. He just wanted to protect all of that, but in doing so, he lost it all. He understands Constantine now.

Part of him wants to let them use the Alkahest on him, but that voice in the back of his head calls him an idiot and it sounds a little like Tamara. So he isolates himself somewhere, or maybe just tries to start over away from the Mage stuff, but he can’t ever forget it, what he did, the things he attempted in secret trying to find a way to bring back Tamara. The corruption left on his soul that stains him. But the Mages come looking for him and drag him back to make him pay for his crimes. And he wonders if Call will come see him. If he’ll say goodbye, as Aaron is sure they’re going to execute him. So he waits and waits and waits and has to ponder if maybe this is his punishment.

Then Call comes. Call comes and doesn’t say anything, just sits there, but he hasn’t gotten any better at controlling his emotions since they were kids and the walls shake and rattle and tongues of chaos lick Call’s palms until Aaron grows tired of watching his last friend threaten to implode from the inside and presses their palms together, lacing their fingers, extinguishing Call’s chaos with his own. And Aaron catches sight of himself in something reflective and for the first time since Tamara’s death his eyes don’t roil and swirl with chaos, they are just blue and tired and far too old for his years. He looks back at Call, who by contrast is clearly far too young for the scars he bears, who is broken where Aaron is whole and whole where Aaron is broken, who never gave up, who was supposed to become the villain but instead became a hero. Whose soul is so strong Aaron can sense it simply sitting. It aches for people long gone and for him, he notes wryly. Even though he’s there…he’s really not. The old counterweight bond tugs at them both despite neither of them drawing on soul or void. It’s strange, but he feels better. Being near Call is like taking a breath of fresh air, or maybe air he hasn’t tasted in years. So he does something he never would have dared when they were apprentices. He kisses his best friend.

Tears are racing down Call’s cheeks when it’s over. Aaron sighs, but he’s too tired to be angry anymore. He’s hurt the one he loves again. It seems he just can’t stop. Call is raging about why he couldn’t have done this years ago and why couldn’t he just stick with Captain America because this was supposed to be a goodbye, an end, not a beginning come too late.

Rufus ends up having to escort Call out, but not before saying goodbye in his own way. Aaron apologizes, because deep down he’s still Aaron and he loved Rufus too. Rufus declines the apology, giving his own instead. Their old master drags Call away; their time is up.

If he was willing to potentially risk Call’s life, he might could escape using chaos magic. Aaron can’t do that though. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He never did.

They don’t use the Alkahest. And they leave him with his wristband, a gift from Call, who must have finally learned to not only keep up with his own without constant reminders, but had held onto his for all those years.

Semiramis—Miri—plunges into his heart, finally killing the Enemy of Death.

Holly black and Cassandra Claire can tear blond Constantine from my cold, dead hands.