#did he collect spells that he could use to prank Arthur?

[whataboringstory]

The way Merlin just knew what the spell was to put a toad in someone’s throat

[stxrrywildflower]

this town {g.w.}

pairing - george weasley x reader

summary - you introduce george to one of your favorite songs

warnings - none

this fic includes the use of modern technology

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

being a muggle-born, you usually spent summers back home with your family.

during that time, you were able to see your friends and extended family as well as do your usual ‘muggle activities’ as you usually called them.

your favorite part of all, however, was finally being able to catch up on all the music released throughout the year. you were almost cut off from the muggle world at hogwarts, and the time off allowed you to finally listen to what you were missing.

in the first few days off of school, you listened to as much music as possible. when you could, you wanted to show fred and george everything.

the three of you were going into your final year at hogwarts. naturally, you wanted to spend more time together; more specifically you and george for obvious reasons.

molly had extended the invite for you to spend the summer at the burrow. harry and hermione were joining the family as well, and she thought it would be sweet to invite you as well. you fit right in with the family, between getting along with everyone right down to making george ‘‘the happiest molly has ever seen him.”

after thoroughly explaining everything they needed to hear, your parents had finally agreed.

george greeted you in the field outside of his family home when you finally arrived, immediately enveloping you in a hug. “i’ve missed you so much sweetheart.”

“it’s been four days george,” you commented, though you weren’t exactly complaining.

“so? can’t i miss my girlfriend?”  he spoke, adding on a hurt tone.

you pulled back first, hand moving up to cup his cheek. “i’m sorry george, i missed you too,” you beamed. he leaned down to kiss you deeply, only stopping moments later from the sound of footsteps.

“hey hey hey,” fred interrupted. “you have all summer to do that.”

you shifted away from george with a light blush on your face, allowing the boys to pick up your bags so you could head inside. “where are your parents?” you asked.

“out getting hermione and harry,” george answered. “so we got the house to ourselves.”

fred gagged in the back. “get your mind out of the gutter fred,” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t think i can after george’s innuendo.”

george finally had enough of your arguing and spoke up again. “since we have no one to criticize us, why don’t we work on those fireworks?”

↓

george snuck into your room almost immediately after dinner that night. he stopped abruptly right before entering, mouth agap and nearly frozen in place.

“close your mouth georgie, you know what molly says about the flies,” you teased.

“what’s that?”

you met george’s eyes, a slight smile forming at how much his expression matched a little kid on christmas.

it was no secret the weasley boys loved any muggle items arthur usually collected. the twins usually tinkered with them for their latest pranks. you never had the heart to tell any of them the true meanings or how they really worked.

“this is a smartphone, my mom let me bring it before school starts up,” you explained, patting the spot beside you on your bed for him to sit. “it’s how we basically communicate in the muggle world. we use it to talk, play games, music,” you rambled off.

“music?” george spoke.

you nodded. “yeah there’s different programs we can use. do you want to here some?”

george settled further on the bed, leaning close to you as you opened up your music service.

“this one is called ‘this town.’ it’s my absolute favorite song,” you added. “really?”

“yeah, it’s always been a dream to dance to this.”

a lightbulb went off in george’s head, though he managed to keep his reaction minimal. you let the song play through your phone speakers, a gentle smile forming right away.

george had a lot of planning to do.

_____

you were back in your room a few nights later. george was tucked firmly in your side, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck so your hand could run through his newly short hair.

“i kinda miss your long hair,” you spoke.

george brought his head up to meet your gaze. “i thought you hated my long locks,” he retaliated.

“i could never.”

“come on,” george tugged, standing up abruptly to pull you from the bed. “let’s go outside.”

“outside? george it’s pouring rain.”

your boyfriend huffed before shifting his facial expression into one you knew would get you. “alright fine,” you soon agreed.

without another word, george grabbed your hand to lead you out of the room and through the hallways. you had to be more quiet as it was fairly late at night and people were already starting to turn in.

“and why are we going outside?”

“it’s a surprise,” george answered. you mentally rolled your eyes, you should have known.

it took you a few minutes to get down to the base floor and george didn’t let a single clue go the entire time.

he stopped by the back door, opening it up and guiding you out by placing his hand on the small of your back.

“you didn’t,” you immediately spoke.

george raised on eyebrow with a grin. “oh i did.”

towards the middle of the field, george had set up a gazebo tent with various string lights twirled around the legs and up into the top. “isn’t that a fire hazard with the rain?”

george stopped dead in his tracks. you looked towards him, awaiting an answer to calm your concerns.

“i’ve already planned for that, we’re fully safe under here,” with that, he placed a gentle kiss to your nose.

you made your way through the field, occasionally jumping in the puddles you passed by. you were incredibly thankful george hadn’t told you to wear shoes.

the two of you finally made it to the tent. the rain poured through the top giving the illusion that the lights were the only thing surrounding you.

“dad helped me set it up,” george explained. “he’s been tinkering with some muggle speakers and finally got them working.”

“speakers? for what?”

george let go of your hand to pull out his wand. with one quick swoosh and a mutter of a spell, music slowly poured out. within just a few seconds, you recognized it as the song you had shown him just a few days before.

“now, may i have this dance?” he extended one hand out.

you bit your lip to hold back a giggle. the whole concept itself wanted to make you cry; dancing in the rain with the person you loved was becoming a dream come true.

you swayed back and forth, focusing on your movements.

george kept one hand on your waist, the other out to the side to interlock with yours. you let your head fall against his chest, focusing on the vibrations of his chest. his lips occasionally fell to place a kiss to your head.

“are you humming?” you inquired.

george let out a light laugh. "i love this song.”

you pressed your head further into his chest to hide your smile.

the rain continued to pour down around the two of you. after awhile, you forgot about it. you were already soaking wet after all.

you recognized the ending of the song begining and frowned. just one nearly four minute song felt like it went by way too fast.

if you were being honest, you didn’t want it to end.

but alas, the chords of the song were soon replaced by the continuous fall of the rain.

neither of you moved from your hold, choosing to savor the time together.

“thank you for this,” you spoke quietly.

george ducked down to press his lips to your temple, cutting through the rain for the simple gesture. “always, love.”

[joaquinfeed]

ABC’s of Arthur Fleck (fem!reader)

A/N: I’m not sure if this has been done before many times, so sorry if it’s repetitive. I saw this prompt list online and thought ‘why not?’ ALSO. I don’t know who to credit for the list. So, if you know…tell me and I’ll give credit where it’s due! :) 

A = affection (how affectionate are they in day to day life? Do they show affection publicly or keep that more in private?)

It’s no secret that Arthur is touch starved. He is always finding some way to show you his deep and meaningful affection for you. He’s not used to public display’s, and he likes to keep you all to himself, so he’ll typically opt for private moments over public ones. He absolutely adores playing with your fingers, placing soft kisses on your neck, or drawing patterns across your skin. He has to feel you to know that you’re really there.

B = best memory (what is the best memory they have with you)

Arthur finds something new every day that he swears will be his favorite memory. He cherishes every single moment with you, even the little arguments, because it all reminds him how much you love him. If he was forced to choose, he would say that his favorite memory is the first time he opened up about his mental illnesses to you. You, of course, were incredibly supportive and patient. He had never felt so loved before in his life.

C = cat or dog person (this is pretty obvious)

Arthur loves all animals, but he has always wanted a little kitten. They are playful, but not too hyper. They also don’t require as much care, and Arthur already has a lot on his plate. Although you’ve never talked about it, he secretly hopes you both will get a pet one day. 

D = dreams (what do they want to do in life?)

Besides spreading joy and laughter, his biggest dream has already come true. If Arthur could, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure that you’re happy. He wasn’t sure if he’d be a good father or not, but if a baby was something you wanted or desired, he would put every last inch of effort into making that a reality when the time is right. He barely believes that you love him unconditionally, let alone another little human. He would be grateful either way.

E = evenings (how do they spend their evening? Do they go out? Do they read?)

Arthur’s perfect evening would go like this: cuddle with you, cook you some dinner, practice his standup routine to see your pretty little smile, cuddle with you, watch the Murray Franklin show, and then cuddle with you. He couldn’t get enough of your arms around him, and if he had to save up a little extra money to buy a few more soft sweaters (just so you would lay your head on his chest), so be it. Let it be known that he’s also not opposed to spending the evening in the bedroom. He can always watch Murray another time.

F = first date (what was it like?)

It was a little awkward for the both of you. Arthur was still so new to dating, and he didn’t want to do anything wrong. Plus, neither of you are rolling in money, and so you just stayed in at Arthur’s apartment. He cooked a nice meal for the both of you, put on a Charlie Chaplin film, and introduced you to his mother, Penny. It was unconventional, all over the place, and different from what you were expecting. However, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. The night was very Arthur, and it only made you fall harder. 

G = giggle (what is their laugh like? What makes them laugh?)

He has different types of laughs. Some fill you with absolute adoration and joy. Others fill you with sadness and pain. His attacks come when he’s feeling anxious, dissociative, or under-appreciated. His beautiful, real laugh comes out while watching Murray, joking around with one another, and when he plays practical jokes on you. You taught him a few pranks because you knew they would make him happy, and boy did they. Switching sugar for salt is funny, but only the first time.

H = hugs (do they like hugs?)

He LOVES hugs. He likes ‘goodbye, I’ll see you after work’ hugs. He adores ‘we just had a fight, and I’m really sorry’ hugs.  He fonds over ‘I missed you so much’ hugs. He feels lucky to get ‘it’s okay, I’m here for you’ hugs. But his favorite hugs are ‘there’s no reason, I just wanted to be near you’ hugs. Yeah. He loves hugs.

I = instrument (do they play an instrument?) Arthur doesn’t play an instrument. When he was a child, he never had the time or money to learn. As an adult, he thinks it’s too late to try and get into the hobby. He figures he probably wouldn’t be very good at it. You assure him though, if he wants to try, you’ll find a way to make it happen. He feels music deep within him, and you know he’d be a wonderful musician.

J = joy (what brings them joy in life?)

You do. Nothing brings more happiness to Arthur’s life than you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you look at him. It’s all so overwhelming sometimes. Not many other things bring him to pure joy; Gotham hasn’t been kind to him. However, the city almost seems like Heaven when you’re around.

K = kisses (what kind of kisser are they? Shy? Passionate?)

It depends. When Arthur is feeling confident, he can take charge and definitely get caught up in the moment. His first priority is pleasing you. Early on in the relationship, he was incredibly shy. He felt like he would break you, or scare you away if he touched you too much. He’s come a long way, but he still has days where all he can give are small, timid kisses. Either way, you love them. 

L = love (how do they act when they have a crush)

Arthur doesn’t mean to, but he’s pretty obsessive. As soon as he set his sights on you, he knew he had to be near you. It took him awhile to get the courage to actually talk to you, but he admired you from afar quite a bit. 

M = memory (what’s their favourite memory?)

Again, Arthur loves every memory with you in it. His childhood memories weren’t exactly pleasant, and life before you was…difficult. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life creating new memories with you.

N = no (what is their pet peeve?)

His biggest pet peeve is unkind behavior. Sure, he hates when people are so mean to him. Especially when he’s only been kind to the people of Gotham. But no. Unkind behavior to himself was one thing, but unkind behavior to you? It made him livid. If someone was rude, said a snarky comment, or harassed you in any way, he would furiously write his feelings down in his journal. So much so that his therapist asked when his joke diary turned into a Y/N diary. He just blushed at that.

O = occupation (what’s their dream job?)

It’s always been Arthur’s dream to be a comedian. Well, except for that one brief moment when he was a child when he wanted to be a pirate. But he doesn’t talk about that. He knows just how cruel this world can be, and he wants to spread love and joy as much as he can. What better way than making people laugh?

P = parent (what kind of parent would they be?)

Arthur would be a…nervous parent. During the pregnancy, he would be constantly afraid that you or the baby would get hurt. Not to mention, he’s read stories about women dying during labor. 

It terrifies him to think of that. 

After you and the baby were safely home, he would always make sure you both were happy and healthy. He often wrote his worries down about parenting in his notebook. A few of them being: “What if my kid thinks im as weerd as other people do?” “My baby mite have some of the same mental illnesses as me. Maybe insomneea.” Arthur also knows how bad he is at spelling. What if his child needed help with their homework? Would he be smart enough to do so? Would his kid be embarrassed by him? These thoughts often plagued Arthur’s mind. He kept it to himself for now though; he didn’t want to worry you.

Q = questions (do they believe in the super natural? Aliens? Anything along those lines)

Arthur doesn’t even know what’s real in the natural world around him. Or at the very least, he questions it quite a bit. He spends too much of his time trying to convince himself that you’re real; he hasn’t had time to think much about ghost or aliens. 

R = romantic (are they romantic during the relationship?)

Of course he is romantic. He gets discouraged by his gestures, and he wishes he could do more for you. He hopes every day that you’re not disappointed in him (you aren’t). He loves cooking you good meals, buying you flowers when he can, or taking an extra shift at HaHa’s in order to buy you a gift. He’s seriously considered selling his Charlie Chaplin movie collection to take you out to a fancy dinner. The only reason he hasn’t is because he knows you’d be upset if he did.

S = smile (what makes them smile without fail)

Is this even a question? YOU! When you’re smiling, Arthur’s smiling. The Murray show often makes him smile too, but he still loves you more. (You hope!)

T = together (how clingy are they? How long do you two spend together per day on average)

He’s pretty clingy. Being apart from you for too long makes him anxious. You’re the one who grounds him and makes him think positively. Without you, all he’s got is himself and his thoughts. Both of which, can lead him down a spiraling path. He prefers to be with you at any hour he can; if he could spend all 24 hours with you, he would.

U = unbearable (what habit do they have that’s unbearable? What habit do you have that they find unbearable?)

You love Arthur, but you hate how insecure he is. You’re patient because it makes sense, and you understand him. However, you wish more than anything that Arthur could see just how beautiful and amazing he is. You hate when he talks down about himself; after all, that’s the man you’re in love with. As for you, he likes everything about you. The only thing that irritates worry’s him at times is your need to make sure he’s okay. You’ve nearly fought people who are blatantly rude to him, and it upsets him to know that you could be hurt in the process. 

“I’m not worth it,” he’ll tell you. 

There’s that self-doubt again.

V = videos (do they take lots of videos or photos during your relationship?)

You don’t really take any videos; neither of you have the money to spend on a video camera. You do have a polaroid camera that you’ve kept with you, and you love taking pictures of Arthur. Pictures of his face are scattered around your apartment. Sometimes you’ll take pictures of yourself too and tape them where he can find them. It helps remind him that you’re real, and you love him.

W = wedding (what will the wedding be like?)

The wedding is small. Neither of you even expected to get married when you did. Arthur decided it was time to marry you, and so he asked. He saved up money for months to buy you a ring. The ring still wasn’t all that big, but you didn’t care one bit. It was beautiful to you. His speech was short and sweet, complete with nervous stutters and blushes. 

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you something better,” Arthur blushed, looking a little ashamed at the small ring he held in his hand. “But-but I wanted to marry you now. Or, I wanted to ask you. Shit! I didn’t- I didn’t ask you. Do- do you want to marry me?”

It was perfect. You both were so excited to marry one another that you couldn’t care less about the actual wedding process. That night, and way into the morning, you both surely had fun celebrating your love. 

X = eXtra (what’s an interesting fact about them that they don’t tell anyone about?)

The 1920′s silent film Treasure Island made him want to be a pirate when he was younger. He thought he would go on adventures, find treasure, and sail the open seas. As a kid, that looked like ultimate freedom. 

Y = yuck (what do they hate? Could be a food, scent, word, anything)

Arthur hates bully’s. He also hates when you shrug after he asks you something important about yourself. For example, all the times he asks what’s wrong, or why you feel insecure, or if you think you’re beautiful, and you shrug? Yeah, he hates that. He knows you might just need some time, but he doesn’t like to see you upset.

Z = zzzz (how heavy of a sleeper are they? How do they sleep? What mood do they wake up in? Really any sleeping headcanons)

Arthur is a heavy sleeper when he can actually fall asleep. Because of his insomnia, he has a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. You often find yourself awake with him, keeping him company or stroking his hair until he’s tired again. When he does get a few hours in, you try to be as quiet as humanly possible so you don’t wake him up. Arthur loves falling asleep with you tucked into his side, or he into yours. He has to admit, he’s never slept more peacefully than with you by his side.

[galaxietm]

          @burglarlotus​​ sent: “I ASSUME YOU PROBABLY DON’T NEED MORE spell books for your collection but I found this rare tome,” Belle took the book in question from out of her basket and handed it to Merlin. If her memory didn’t fail her, he did not possess a book such as this in his personal bookshelf. “The merchant I bought this from said this used to belong to his grandfather, who was a powerful wizard, but sadly neither his father nor himself could make use of it since they were born without the gift of magic.  He didn’t understand why I wanted to buy it in the first place, I told him I have a very good friend who would make good use of it,” there was a gentle warm smile on her face. “Happy birthday, Merlin.”           answering bday asks late for Merlin’s bday (4/3) / accepting!

      SOME DAYS, MERLIN REALLY FELT LIKE he and the guys would be stuck with their curse forever. Or that they’d take even longer to break the curse; maybe even the curse be permanent. But some days, something would happen that would make him smile and feel like things might just be worth it.

      Belle smiling at him while holding a rare spell book was one of them. He had almost forgotten about his own birthday thanks to the curse. But here’s Belle, armed with a smile and a gift. 

       “Wow, I... I don’t know what to say, Belle.”

      Gingerly taking the book into his own, currently tiny green hands, Merlin couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. Oh, if the triplets or Arthur could see him now they’d think of so many ways to tease him (and prank him, in the triplets’ case) but a part of him was glad that they weren’t. It meant that Merlin could allow himself to enjoy this moment with Belle; however fleeting it may end up being. 

      “Thank you... so much. I’m not quite sure how else to put how thankful I am into words.” 

       A part of him lamented about the curse; he wished so badly that he could take her into his arms and give her a hug. He’s so happy that maybe he’d even lift and spin her around in the air... but maybe instead he could figure out how to spoil her on her own birthday. 

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Lost Souls: Story 3

The Tower (part 2)

Summary: Merlin awakens early from his sleep. He decides that he doesn’t want to leaving anything to chance and kidnaps the young James Lake Jr. to began training his Trollhunter as early as possible.

Barbara is determined to hunt down the man who kidnapped her son. In her efforts to get her son back she finds a strange old radio that speaks to her in a woman’s voice. The radio leads her to an underground society of shapeshifters.

Mother and son meet again years later as strangers on opposing sides.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

The candles flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the basement as Barbara opened the envelope containing Jim’s baby hair. She carefully removed a single strand and wound it around the dowsing crystal. She released it to hang freely and it bobbed aimlessly casting little motes of light on the map beneath it.

“ivevzo gsv ldmvi.” Barbara murmured. The words came out in a plume of white breath and settled on the crystal.

She watched, every fiber of her being was tense, as it started to swing back and forth. She prayed to anyone that was listening that it would work this time. The crystal spun faster and faster, then…

It gradually slowed until it went limp.

She stared at it blankly for a moment before bringing her fist down on the table with a sharp frustrated growl. The crystal clinked pitifully against one of the candleholders.

Why couldn’t she find him? What was she doing wrong?

Barbara rested her head in her hands and her shoulders shook but no tears came. It had been eleven months now since Jim had been kidnapped, seven since she had remembered what had actually happened. She needed to figure out something soon. The more time passed, the less likely she was to get him back.

She was beginning to wonder if there was a Jim to get back. She heard stories of what sometimes happened to children who were taken: decades passing before their bones were found in some rarely visited park. Not to mention some of the magic books had warned of the more dangerous… cruel things people did with magic.

Barbara quickly squashed that thought down. She refused to give up on her son.

She got up from her chair and paced around in the basement. The flames of the candles ducked and bobbed with every stirring of air created by her movements.

Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. She’d been trying to locate Jim after all, but what if she tried to find his kidnapper instead…

The problem with that was she knew next to nothing about the man aside from his appearance. All the spells and charms for finding people, or at least the ones she’d acquired, generally required something like hair or a personal belonging or a name. She had none of those.

She completed another circuit of the floor. One of the candles wavered and died. Shadows crawled into the emptiness the light left.

Barbara paused, an idea forming.

She shifted through the stacks of magic books until she found the old leather bound one at the bottom. She had been hesitant to use it because a lot of the spells in it were exactly what the other books had warned against but… well… the other books had gotten her no closer to finding Jim.

She sat back down and relit the candle that had gone out. Jim’s hair tickled her fingers as she wrapped her hands the dowsing crystal and concentrated. At first she focused on Jim and on her desperation to get him back, but then she thought of the man that had taken him. She tried to imagine him clearly in her mind. The curl of righteous anger that had been burning in her sparked viciously. This time she didn’t fight it. There was power in strong emotions.

She waited until her whole being was tingling with rage and magic and then she pricked her finger on the crystal.

“Tfrwv nv, Evmtvzmxv!” She snarled.

She released the crystal. It swung out from her hand, a drop of red glimmering on the tip of it, and instead of circling as it had before it came to an immediate stop.

Barbara stared, open-mouthed, as the dowsing crystal hung there an angle, a soft yellow light glowing from inside it. The drop of blood slipped off its tip and fell, marking the map.

~~~~

The bell jingled as Barbara slipped into the antique shop. It was an unusual store created in an ancient barn. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the rickety structure had been built by the first settlers in this area. It was the sort of place that old things gathered.

Once inside the crystal, still glowing a faint yellow, lead her to the far back of the upstairs. The dusty rafters that soared above her head held chandeliers and model planes and paper kites. In this corner, a shaft of light from the window lit a small section of items that appeared to be from either the first or second world war. An air of melancholy hung over them.

She took another step; she could almost feel the magic in the crystal pulling her forward. It pulsed once, twice, and then there was a blinding yellow flash and the crystal hung dull and lifeless again.

Absently Barbara tucked it in her pocket as she looked at the collection of stuff before her. This was certainly better than searching the whole building but…

The small radio at the front of the display started crackling. Barbara jerked, caught off guard by the sound. The display on the front of it flickered as it turned on.

“Hello,” A woman’s voice whispered through the static.

Barbara eyed it warily. If it wasn’t for the tingle of magic in the air she might have thought this was a prank.

“It’s rude not to answer,” The voice said in a chiding tone.

“Who are you?” Barbara asked.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Certainly not a strange woman speaking to her through a radio. Despite the poor quality of the speaker and the persistent static the voice was… beautiful. Enchanting even. It seeped through Barbara like a cold fog.

“I have many names but you may call me Morgana.”

“Morgana,” Barbara repeated. Where had she heard that name? “What are you? Are you an oracle or a spirit?”

Morgana laughed.

“Of course not. I am a sorceress: a user of ancient magic and spells. It is by those powers I can channel my voice to you… But enough about me. Tell me, child, what do you seek? I can feel your rage and despair. They are what drew my attention to you.”

There was an intense interest in her voice. The fine hair on the back of Barbara’s neck prickled. Something deep and primal in the back of her mind whispered “run”. She ignored it. Her magic had led her here. This was the first lead she had found and she would be damned if she threw it away that easily.

She drew in a breath and began talking before she could second guess herself.

“I… eleven months ago my son was taken from me,” She started carefully, uncomfortable sharing this with a stranger. “It was the night of his birthday… I came upstairs to check on him while he was sleeping and there was this old man getting ready to carry him away through a glowing green circle of light. I tried to stop him…” She paused and swallowed. “But he did something. When I woke up I couldn’t remember what had happened. I only knew that Jim was gone.”

She drew in a shaky breath.

“I kept getting flashes of memory until seven months ago when it all came back. I’ve been trying to find him since.”

“I see,” Morgana said with a thoughtful hum. “The fact you were able to push through the memory charm testifies to the strength of your magic.”

There was a pause, broken only by the flickering static of the radio. Barbara vaguely registered that the light from the window had dimmed slightly. It was getting late.

“Green magic you said… Can you describe what the man looked like?”

“He was old,” Barbara started. “He had grey hair and a beard… and a rather beaky nose. He was wearing black armor with a strange little piece of metal up on top of his head… oh and he had a staff with a glowing green crystal… An emerald maybe?”

“Merlin,” Morgana hissed.

A glass on a nearby shelf rattled.

“You recognize him?” Barbara asked, before registering the name. “Wait… Merlin? Like from the old stories about King Arthur?”

Morgana scoffed.

“Of course he would be the one everyone thinks of… but, yes... He and Arthur were very real. Keep in mind that the stories have been changed quite a bit over time.”

There was a pause.

“Perhaps we can help each other.”

“With what?” Barbara had been half expecting this, it would be odd if this strange, seemingly powerful, woman was willing to help her for nothing.

“We share a common enemy,” Morgana said in a slow thoughtful tone. “The man who stole your son is the same one who trapped me in this prison…”

“Trapped you?”

“Yes. We were once something like friends, but then he cut off my hand to make a magic amulet. I attacked him seeking to avenge myself and to reclaim my flesh. He tried to kill me but could not, so he froze me in crystal.”

“He cut off your hand?!”

Barbara felt sick to her stomach. If he had done that to someone who thought of him as a friend what would he do to Jim? She felt her heartrate pick up, blood thumping in her ears. She wouldn’t let that happen. This whole thing was fishy, and Barbara didn’t doubt Morgana was hiding things, but this was her best chance. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“What do I do?”

“So you will help me?” Morgana purred.

“Yes. I will do whatever it takes to get Jim back and stop Merlin.”

“Splendid! Then I shall be your guide so long as our goals aline.”

She paused and in that moment of quiet Barbara heard the shopkeeper call that it was closing time. The sun had vanished from the window.

“Oh!”

Barbara shifted her gaze back to the radio.

“I don’t believe I’ve gotten your name yet.”

The shopkeeper called out again and Barbara ignored him, she would head downstairs in a moment.

“It’s Barbara… Barbara Lake.”

“Barbara… Lake…” Morgana drew the name out slowly, seeming to taste it. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

Barbara shivered. In the many long years that followed she would desperately wish she had left that radio and ran.

~~~~

~~~~

Author Note:

The chapter title "The Tower" references a tarot card.

This chapter took forever to write, but I'm glad I took the time.

As always be sure to let me know what you think!

(Also: @twistedmashup I tag you!)

[handsingsweapon]

i had kind of a bad day fam, the sort i get over by writing fluff for myself evidently, so it’s here, the witch au sequel you’ve all been asking for. i’ve realized there may need to be a part 3 from victor’s perspective and when it’s all over perhaps i’ll clean it up and ao3 things properly. here we go: 

Yuuri is three-quarters of the way through his shift at Secret Garden when Minako-sensei plants her hands on the counter, fixes him with an unimpressed look, and mutters: spill. Because Minako-sensei is Hiroko Katsuki’s oldest friend, and also because she’s objectively terrifying, even for Yuuri, he gives in with little resistance. How the shadow covens in London would chuckle, watching a white witch cower like this in the shadow of a mere herbalist. Yuuri has tried and failed to live in that world; the big city isn’t for him, it’s too far withdrawn and too distant from wild, untamed spaces. Edinburgh is too big, too, but Minako’s an old family friend and anyway she lives outside of town, in a little cottage on the road to Roslin.

Yuuri’s living in her attic until he figures out what the hell he’s doing with his life.

He’s a dance major with chronic anxiety, ill-equipped to stand against darker powers, and if he didn’t know definitively otherwise, he’d think his magic got it wrong when it chose him. He does know better. It doesn’t stop him from thinking he’s not brave enough or good enough for this birthright on his worse days. 

Today is somewhere in the middle; he likes the work at Minako’s place because it’s simple and organic. Today he’s hanging bunches of lavender to dry; tomorrow he’ll be working with sage. It’s therapeutic. It soothes the wild, white thing that lives somewhere in his soul and which clamors to get out. So does the clean and soft simplicity of the room he keeps above Minako’s cottage; the way he’s hung flowers from the eaves of the roof, the window he can crack open to catch the breeze as it rolls in over Scottish hills. He’s got a toy poodle who loves walks out along the side of the road where he can bark at grazing sheep in sleepy farms, but it’s more than that:

Wild things whisper to him, here.

“Yuuri,” Minako repeats. She has the best green thumb in all of Edinburgh but somehow patience with humans is entirely beyond her. 

“... What do you know about the new family at Netherseal Manor?”

“Oh, that old place? The old fart who used to live there kicked the bucket finally. He and his wife had no kids so I think it’s gone to some relatives, why?”

“They’ve been into the shop a few times,” Yuuri murmurs thoughtfully. It’s a habit of his, keeping an eye on the kinds of things people buy. Like a weather forecast. “I think, anyway. They were talking about it ...”

“The old man was a bit of a dabbler, himself. Maybe it runs in the family? I’ve never thought to ask.” Minako doesn’t go for covens; she’s always been a sort of lone wolf, holding herself neutral in most affairs insomuch as they don’t touch the green world. Last year some teenagers accidentally started a small fire outside of town, near King Arthur’s Seat,  and it took Yuuri a week to unravel Minako’s angry spells, to suggest new herbal remedies for the sudden allergies all the boys had incurred and to talk his mentor down from the ledge. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Well.” Yuuri’s reasonably sure the blonde is a wind witch, and the redhead’s got to have an affinity for fire. He remembers the cheerfulness with which she’d bought her yew and nettle, and the way he’d thought to himself oh, dear. Someone’s going to burn.

Someone is the woman who walks through the door next, although she trips right at the entry-way and then looks over her shoulder with a puzzled frown. Yuuri’s magic reaches out to her. Bad luck, he thinks. “I’ve got this one,” he tells Minako.

The woman’s name is Anya.

Someone leaves a box of kittens at their doorstep. This is the kind of thing that happens all the time with Yuuri and Minako; problems have a way of appearing at Secret Garden and then Yuuri works himself into a frenzy trying to make them disappear. 

He has successfully offloaded all but one of the kittens into good homes. The one he’s got left is a sour looking tabby with a strange white smear across her nose, rather like a mustache. She wants his lunch. He wants his lunch. It’s not often that he has time to make katsudon, and today he’s got leftovers, and if he’s ignoring plaintive meows for his pork, then so be it.

Yuri Plisetsky is unimpressed. “What the fuck?” He asks, because he is rude before he is anything else. Actually: he is a wind witch before he is anything else. But he is rude second. He’s also scooped up this kitten like she’s the most precious thing in the entire universe. “Other Yuuri is being mean to you,” he says, “and not giving you any lunch?”

They have an argument about how cats don’t get to eat katsudon which ends, somehow, with Yuri Plisetsky eating the rest of his leftovers. 

Yuuri has learned not to argue with his own life.

What do they think I am, some sort of idiot? The redhead, Mila, has been to the shop another four times, and every time her order is more or less the same: lots of herbs that are good for every kind of spell, things that have a lot of all-around power like rosemary and sage. And then there’s the rest of the list: the little things that Yuuri knows can sometimes be used to hurt people, albeit in a mischievous kind of way, and herbs he thinks she’s buying for someone else, things that soothe away heartbreak. 

Mila does not give the impression of being heartbroken herself. He imagines that her vengeance, though: that must be something to behold.

It’s when Anya comes in with a truthsayer curse on her lips that Yuuri has finally had enough. “... Have you gone through a breakup recently?” He asks.

This is how he learns about Georgi.

It is also how he finds himself at the front door of Netherseal Manor, pounding on the ornate, lion-shaped knocker before he has a chance to talk himself out of the trip. Unfortunately, it’s also before he’s formulated a plan.

“Katsudon, what the fuck?” Yuuri walks blindly down the hallway, inviting himself in, until Yuri -- deceptively swift, for someone so slight -- can outpace him. He finds himself in a parlor, interrupting a game of cards, and he doesn’t notice that it’s been dealt for four hands. “Stop. Hexing. People,” he grinds out. “I have seen Anya Vasilieva alone nine times in two months. Nine. Nine times. To break bad luck charms, and truthspeaker spells, and assorted other nastiness, and I’m here to tell you if you don’t stop and –”

“Nine?” Yuuri hasn’t met Georgi, yet, but he assumes this must be him. He has a strange, melancholy sort of look, and he matches the man Anya described well enough that Yuuri’s pretty sure he’s on the mark. He also looks properly chastised, which Yuuri can give him credit for. He doesn’t particularly like Anya Vasileva, but he also thinks enough is enough. At a certain point, it’s time to move on. “I did a small thing once,” Georgi admits. “But I was very drunk. Mila was there.”

“Three times,” says Yuri Plisetsky and his ever-present scowl.

“Five,” Mila chirps, angelic.

Yuuri is too distracted to continue his lecture; hanging up on the wall is a large portrait featuring objectively the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. “Who is that?” There’s something about the painting that he can’t quite place, something that makes him want to bring lapis into this house, to light white candles in all of its windows, to sit inside of his circle letting his prayer beads pass through his fingers while he meditates and cleanses. He pulls a chair up without waiting for permission, stands on it to get a better look. “He’s smiling, but he looks …”

Lonely, Yuuri thinks. He looks lonely.

“... His name is Victor Nikiforov,” Georgi says, with care. Hello, Victor, Yuuri thinks, which is a very silly thing to think about a portrait of a person that’s probably a hundred years old, at least. “I’m Georgi Popovich.” Yeah. Yuuri knows that. “You know Mila and Yuri?”

”Yuuri,” he murmurs, distantly, rubbing a speck of dust off of the brushstroke of Victor’s mouth with utmost care. Behind him someone drops their cards; Mila, probably, who knows. “... Yuuri Katsuki.” 

He feels Mila’s gaze like there’s a candle lit over the back of his neck. It carries real heat. It’s entirely at odds with what she says next: “Yuuri, if I solemnly swear never to prank Anya again, will you come play rummy with us?”

“I’m not making that promise,” mutters Yuri.

Mila kicks him under the table for it. 

Collectively, they swiftly indoctrinate Yuuri to chaos.

Somehow he winds up spending a lot of time at Netherseal Manor. Mila finds out he’s a dance major and wants him to talk about his experiences at college with Yuri, who’s on a break, trying to decide what he’s going to do. Mentoring Yuri is a bit like raising an alleycat: his haunches rise up instinctively with kindness, but he never fails to eat the trail of breadcrumbs left out for him in the street. Mila insists that she wants to learn how to cook, and that Yuri’s vouched for him, and that she’ll pay Yuuri for lessons. Georgi is planning on making some amendments to the garden that he could use Minako and Yuuri’s help on.

Pretty soon, he’s a regular.

It’s a strange old house with an awful lot of character. “Don’t you think it’s got a personality all its own?” He asks Mila, one week, prompting Yuri to choke on his tea.

“Yuuri,” Georgi asks, with no subtlety whatsoever as he takes last week’s bouquet out of a vase and readies it for compost, “what are your favorite flowers?”

There have been flowers in all the vases ever since his last visit; strange, out-of-season bouquets that he’s sure are expensive. The first week was a lot of white: roses and carnations and camellias, all flowers of innocent affection and purity. This week there’s magenta zinnia and witch hazel everywhere, and the entryway smells strongly of the cedar oils he remembers Mila buying back at the shop.

“Magnolias,” Yuuri says, and three days later he has to ask why they’re all over the house. The answer he gets is fairly unsatisfactory, something Yuuri’s still puzzling over as he wanders back into the kitchen to brew all of them a fresh pot of herbal tea. There are magnets on the refrigerator, both in word poetry and in childish, block elementary letters and what he sees there surprises him:

Y U U R I   when / i / look / at / you i / remember / how / hope / feels

Yuuri drops his mug, which brings his new, strange friends racing in around the corner. “Explain this,” he says, his voice shaking. “The flowers, this? Look, Mila, I know I’m not as popular as you are but this --”

“Yuuri, what on --”

“This is cruel,” says Yuuri, pointing at the fridge, at the flowers. He knows he’s alone, and he knows he’s unloved, and he doesn’t need it thrown in his face. “Even for you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Asks Plisetsky. 

Georgi tries to convince him to stay, to let cooler heads prevail, to talk it out. Mila’s hot temper burns unchecked: how dare you think that? 

Yuuri leaves.

Georgi Popovich shows up at Secret Garden the next morning right at the start of Yuuri’s shift, looking uncomfortable and tired. 

“Can I help you?” Yuuri asks, pointedly. Usually Mila and Yuri are the ones who bother with the city; Georgi, much like Yuuri, seems more comfortable out of doors, belongs in the countryside. Earth, Yuuri realizes belatedly, when he notices the jasper pendant Georgi wears. He lets himself wonder, for just a moment, where their water witch is, ponders an imperfectly balanced coven without water there to stabilize the bright heat of Mila’s influence. 

Then he reminds himself that he’s angry and he’s not supposed to care. It’s a hard habit to break.

“I ...” Georgi shifts his weight, and looks at Yuuri thoughtfully. “I came to tell you that you were wrong, yesterday.”

Yuuri’s very inclined to tell Georgi get out, but it’s Minako’s store, and he doesn’t make the rules. He shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling for the little charms and spell components he carries around everywhere, and narrows his eyes, hoping to let the silence speak on his behalf.

“... and I wanted to give you this,” Georgi adds, finally, and he leaves an envelope on the counter which bears nothing other than Yuuri’s name in delicate, scripty handwriting on the front. Yuuri wants to ignore it, but there’s something about it that catches his eye: spells of persistence and protection on the paper that feel like Georgi’s handiwork.

“So it was you? The flowers, the magnets?”

Georgi, already turning for the door, hesitates for a moment, and then Yuuri watches as he removes the jasper charm he wears and holds it in his hand. “I bought the flowers,” he says, “but I swear on my magic that I am not the person who’s giving them to you.”

“Giving?”

Georgi opens his mouth and then makes a frustrated, puzzled face. It reminds Yuuri a little bit of the way Anya looked when bound to confess the truth, except in inverse: as though there are things Georgi would very much like to say, and can’t. 

“... Have you been hexed, Georgi?”

Georgi flashes him an uncomfortable, tight smile. “Read that,” he says, and the bells over the door chime as he departs.

Yuuri reads:

Dear Yuuri,

There is so much I should like to say and so little I can actually express. Crafting a letter such as this is surely an exercise in futility, but I will not have you hurt on account of my impatience and carelessness. 

I must give you what is surely an inadequate apology. I have tried, in my way, to leave messages for you, to introduce myself, to tell you how much I admire you from a distance, and it seems my actions have been misconstrued as a careless joke on the part of your new friends. 

I wish only to tell you that this is not the case.

Do you know how the light is just before dawn? The world is quiet and soft and for a moment all of nature holds its breath waiting for the miracle of sunrise. The sky takes on the shade of soft lavender, and for a moment it’s possible to believe in an earth at peace with herself, or to put all of the wars one has with oneself aside because of morning’s gentle effervescence, simple in anticipation of daybreak.

It is too forward, again, to say that this is what I think of you, but I do, and I think of it often. It is obvious to anyone with the sense for such things the way light lives in and clings to you, and yet you carry it so quietly that I sometimes wonder if you are afraid of what it means, to be such a creature.

I warned you this letter would be a terrible, ruinous sort of thing. Not one proper conversation between us and here I am analyzing you. Yuri tells me they call this behavior ‘stalking’ and that it’s ‘fucking unhealthy,’ but here is the truth: you are lovely and I wish I had the opportunity to know you better, perhaps to be known in turn.

What you saw in the kitchen was no lie. I am terribly sorry for whatever hurt it caused and for every insufficiency in all manners of my delivery, including even this flawed effort. Here it is, my own version of daybreak: you do have an admirer.

And, furthermore, in that same truth, though he is as mutable as the seas, he insists he is, nonetheless:  

Your servant,

V.

Minako rips the letter out of Yuuri’s hand when she catches him reading it for a seventh time during a low stretch in the day’s shift. And then she dredges the story out, too, piece by piece. “Huh,” she mutters, over a lunch of fish and chips from the shop on the corner. “Well. One thing’s for sure. None of those three idiots wrote it. You know what I think, Yuuri?”

“... I’m a little afraid to ask.”

“I think Jane Austen is back from the dead and wants your hand in marriage.”

“Minako-sensei!”

Yuuri finds himself back at Netherseal by the end of the day, carrying a potted fern at Minako’s suggestion. Think of it as a dual-purpose ‘I’m-sorry-I-anxiety-accused-you-of-something-terrible’ and ‘message for mysterious anachronistic admirer,’ she’d advised. Judging by the look Yuri gives him in the doorway before letting him in, Yuuri should stop taking Minako’s advice. “Georgi’s not home. Go apologize to Mila,” he grunts, and Yuuri bristles, but he does it.

After that, he leaves the fern in the parlor while the blonde follows him around at a distance, rather like a housecat. The kitten follows them both, when she’s not busy pouncing on shoelaces. “Georgi gave me a letter,” Yuuri murmurs, frustrated by what still feels like a heavy silence.

“Yeah. I know.”

“... Do you know anything about it?”

Yuri gives him a flat look. Yuuri inspects the fridge magnets again. Whatever message was there before is gone now, all of its words smeared by a careless hand. “You can’t say,” Yuuri deduces suddenly. “None of you can.”

He picks at fridge magnets. 

whisper / words / about / us

“Tell me your favorite color,” he says, out loud.

“Purple,” says Yuri Plisetsky, although Yuuri’s not sure he’s really asking the blonde. The next time he’s in the kitchen, helping Mila make dinner, the words are gone, replaced by a fresh set of letters:

B L U E

Yuuri smiles in spite of himself. “Mine, too.”

Mila and Georgi corner him over the salad round; Georgi’s come home rather late, and this time carrying a bundle of lily of the valley that Yuuri knows he must have harassed at least three different florists to find. “This is for you,” he says, “... from. From ...”

“From someone,” Yuri interjects, scowling as he picks up his cat.

“Someone,” Yuuri repeats. “... Have you considered that your house might be haunted?”

“Yes,” says Mila.

“No,” says Georgi.

Yuri Plisetsky makes a grunt that’s somewhere halfway in-between.

“... Yuuri, we’ve been thinking,” Mila says suddenly; perhaps too much so. Yuuri tries to squash the flicker of social anxiety that rears its head because of how stilted talking about this is, and resolves that he’s going to figure out the source of whatever magic’s preventing all three of them from just explaining the situation clearly. “... Would you mind coming and staying with us for a few weeks? I think it would ...”

Help is the word that’s been spelled out on the refrigerator when they go to do the dishes. Below that is just one magnet of word poetry: please.

His quartz beads trickle over his fingers while he thinks.

“Lily of the Valley is poisonous, you know,” Yuuri murmurs, not at all sure who he’s educating. Georgi hops to, and before he leaves, he gives Yuuri an old book on The Language of Flowers.

In that book, which has pages dog-eared and circled, Lily of the Valley means humility, and, evidently, a return of happiness.

This is why, when Yuuri comes back, a few days later, his time off cleared with Minako, Vicchan on a leash and suitcase in tow, he pins a printed picture of Love In a Mist to the refrigerator, and uses the letter blocks to write:

W H O 

A R E 

Y O U

He’s unsurprised later when he finds a notebook on the kitchen counter and the poetry magnets re-arranged

speak / to / me / with / words

The same handwriting appears on the first page.

I don’t think I can tell you my name, but I shall endeavor to tell you anything you wish to know about myself, and perhaps that will be truer?

Our friends tell me you have a small poodle. I had one also, once.

Yuuri frowns and fusses for a pen, turns the page. 

Are you a ghost? Why can’t we meet?

By the time he’s carrying a mug back for another refill of tea, there’s a fresh reply on the refrigerator:

alive / 

B U T

in / a / mist

Would you want to meet me, if you could? What a thrill to think of it.

Yuuri hesitates, his grip on his own pen unnaturally tight. In the living room, Yuri’s howling obscenities about the way Yuuri’s dog keeps trying to make the cat play. He needs to intervene soon. 

There is no malice in these letters, he decides: just an earnest, eager soul, wrong to associate the word radiant with Yuuri and not with himself. “Yes,” he says, out loud. Magic feels heavy in the air, like he’s balanced on a precipice, like what he does next is going to matter.

“Yes,” Yuuri repeats, “and I am going to figure out how to help you.”