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they are so beautiful

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“Portrait of Mrs Ernest Moon” (1888) (detail) by Sir William Blake Richmond (1842-1921).

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The Earth Eater by Ian Plant

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worn old books 

18th and 19th century cloth and leather 

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Grocery Day

There were strategic Apparation points throughout New York, but with how busy the No-Majs were around this section of the Bronx, her point was nearly a mile from her desired destination.

She wasn’t upset about it, though. It had, after all, been close to a month since she had walked more than a few blocks. Fizzy still felt a trickle of guilt for avoiding her sister, no matter how good of an excuse. Gertie was just a bubbling cauldron, constantly demanding the attention of those near. After working a nearly twelve hour day, all Fizzy wanted to do was feed Victory and sleep.

The blonde continued her brisk pace towards the Fulton Fish Market, refusing to pause though her gut roiled from the abrupt travel.

It was past sunset, nearly six, and a cold breeze had the witch shivering in her coat. Fizzy glanced to cross a street, hands in her pockets, and whispered a warming charm.

The smell of fish was never pleasant except when cooked. Fizzy however, had the strong memory of pounds of fish rotting in the California heat. The market was quite bearable in direct comparison. Most certainly fresh.

Pulling out her grocery list, she traced a finger down it carefully, squinting in the fading light.

“Here, miss.”

Fizzy startled as a small flame erupted from a bulky lighter. She followed the bony hand holding it to a grinning face, blue eyes crinkled in amusement. The blonde cast a small seeking spell from her concealed hand, which was not returned.

She gave him a quick nod and resumed studying her list in the No-Majs light. He was tall, but very thin, reminding the witch of a scarecrow.

“Name’s Ernest, doll, what’s yours?” The man shuffled half a step closer, head tilted to read Fizzy’s list at the same time she located her order. His hair was ash brown, the small flame he held not enough to liven it.

She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction that she followed the standard issued MACUSA pamphlets so closely.

A Single Witch’s Guide To Living Safely :

Item #4 : Keep a separate grocery list of Magical items and Mundane.

Fizzy tucked the scrap of paper into her wand pocket, then faced the No-Maj. A pound and a half of tuna fillet, she told herself.

Blowing out his lighter, the blonde politely thanked the stranger before walking into the bustling market.

Fulton’s always made her a bit homesick, even more than the ocean. Holiday trips to the beach were precious memories, but the twice weekly trips to the local fishing stall was a set routine from her childhood. Holding Gertie’s sweaty and sometimes struggling hand while following behind their father was Fizzy’s most vivid memory.

Before the war, of course.

Fizzy, lost in thought, did not take note of the No-Maj stranger trailing the young blonde, no longer smiling.

She prepared the precise amount needed to purchase her house’s dinner while waiting for an elderly couple to finish their purchase.

The man behind the counter was not in the mood to make idle chatter, relieving Fizzy. It seems they both had had a long day. The transaction was quick, and a CLOSED sign was placed on the counter as soon as the witch handed him the No-Maj money.

Fizzy gave him a small smile and wished him a good night. He did not return it, but stretched as she turned around.

The walk back to the Apparation point seemed twice as long as the previous journey. The blonde struggled to balance the package in a way to allow her access to her wand, but the tinny droning of the street lamps had her patience dwindling.

When Fizzy turned on the last street to the point, she was frustrated enough to stop on what the witch thought was an empty sidewalk and rearrange her purchase.

All it took was a kick to the back of her right knee and she was stumbling forwards, a rough hand on her elbow steering her into an alley. The brown wrapped package skittered away from Fizzy, out of sight.

Rancid tobacco breath was the first thing the blonde registered as she was slammed into the brick. Fizzy then took in her assailant, hand shooting to her pocket, but the No-Maj was faster, and angrier.

Ernest, she remembered, slapped Fizzy, capturing her wrists with his hands directly after.

“Not smiling so much now, whore?” He hissed, eyes wide with wild rage. “Could barely give me the time of day, but that counter boy got a good, long look, huh?”

She tried to shake her head, but Ernest sneered and shouldered closer to Fizzy, chest heaving as he kneed her bad leg.

“Please,” she gasped out, but the man only tightened his grip on the blonde.

“Yeah, they always say that,” he snarled, bending his head to knock their foreheads together. “But you should have said that the first time.”

Fizzy, later, doesn’t know why she did not scream. Ernest’s hands were occupied with hers, and they were close to a well used street.

What she refuses to acknowledge, deep in the wild, dark part of her that is called to the deep sea, that it was because she knew she was not prey, then.

So Fizzy meets his Cold Fire blue eyes, and bites his nose.

In the second that Ernest is blinded by pain, rearing back and fighting against her teeth, the witch has her wand in hand.

But she waits, and spits out his flesh. Fizzy mulls over the copper tang of his No-Maj blood and watches as he starts to curse.

When Ernest starts to rise up again, whirling on her, a terrible thought crosses Fizzy’s mind.

She could kill him, and this would never happen again. Two simple words.

Unicorn hair, her father’s voice tells her in response. Fiercely loyal and known to break when exposed to Dark Arts.

Mother, she was considering casting an Unforgivable. The Darkest of curses.

In the blonde’s moment of horror, Ernest raises his hand to slap her again.

Fizzy cannot cast wandless magic. She cannot cast without concentrating and speaking the incantation for a spell, either.

So when her unoccupied fist connects with her attacker, she is astonished when a red flash accompanies it.

What shocks her into stillness is the resounding crack that echoes on the alley walls as Ernest collapses.

Shaking, Fizzy casts a basic diagnostic spell. There, highlighted in a dull yellow, was a collection of neatly shattered vertebrae, directly where she had hit him.

Fizzy frantically searches her wand for breakage, closely examining the even grain in her wand. The witch finds nothing, to her alarm.

The strong smell of feces enters the alley at that moment, interrupting her inspection. Grimacing, she casts Scourgify on the body and slides down the brick wall to sit.

I thought about killing a man, a defenseless No-Maj, and I did, Fizzy thought to herself, bile rising in her throat.

Hardly defenseless, the voice from deep within her argued. Did you cast a single spell before he died?

Despite her rational mind screaming at her, Fizzy clung to that soft, seductive voice.

Take a breath, and deal with this, it soothed, lapping away at her digust like a wake breaking against a sandy shore.

The witch took her own advice. Looking up to the stars, past every building, Fizzy noticed how dark it had gotten.

Gertie will be worried, the voice told her. Clean this up and get home to your sister.

It took Fizzy a few tries, but she successfully cast a moderate Shrinking Charm. When the purple light faded, Ernest’s body was the size of a dog’s. She then, in the quietest of breaths, chants “Incendio.”

The witch walks out of the alley, feeling wan. Her shoe bumps against something with a crackle that sounds like lightening.

Fizzy flinches. It takes a heartbeat for her to open her eyes, but when she does she sighs. Scooping up her thankfully untorn package, the blonde makes her way to the inconspicuous deli that was her gateway home.

Gertie is playing cards at the table, three invisible opponents seated around her. Fizzy sets down the fish and spells out a portion to mince into treats for Victory as she hauls out a large skillet.

“Get what you needed?” Her sister asks distractedly, flicking two cards on the table.

Shrugging, Fizzy begins making dinner.

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607: Pink Nose

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Photo Series | ~ Desert Fox ~

Images by ©

• Hardik Patel

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A high compliment, Director Graves.

⭐️ - ashadownolonger

((Ooc: Percival is obsessed with Fizzy’s repressed & guilty reluctance to explore her attraction to him. During every meeting they have, he’s sure to flirt with and tease her because the attention makes her do visibly nervous.))

She is useful and an entertaining presence.

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Deco Style

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Candice Perrin

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does egeria have a job? a place of her own? a girlfriend?

She’s a university student -technically- employed by the MACUSA treasury. She claims to have feelings for a coworker, but if it’s who I think it is ( @ashadownolonger ) I’ll have to put a stop to that. As for her living arrangements, she spends most of the year away at school and the rest of it with me.

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Grand Canyon, Arizona | by Mark Metternich

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