#Norfolk Magic

[the-falling-eagle]

If I had a nickel for every ttrpg actual-play about a party of new wizards in a secret magical world with this exact dynamic, I'd have two nickels.

[dowsingfordivinity]

Review: Of Chalk and Flint

Val Thomas (2019), Of Chalk and Flint: A Way of Norfolk Magic, Troy Books. I’ve been wanting to read this book for ages, ever since I heard Val Thomas talking about Chalk and Flint as the Lady and Lord of Norfolk, and the book is excellent. I’m originally from Hampshire, which also has chalk and flint in its geology, and so the magic of these two is embedded deep in my bones. Continue reading…

[spunk89]

Family Magic Shows Service in Norfolk, VA

Experience the enchantment and joy with Spunky The Clown's Family Magic Shows Service in Norfolk, VA. Ideal for birthdays, parties, and special events, our mesmerizing performances create lasting memories for audiences of all ages. Let Norfolk's premier magician service bring magic and laughter to your next celebration. Contact us today to make your event truly unforgettable.

[cosybookclub]

The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches

A warm and uplifting novel about an isolated witch whose opportunity to embrace a quirky new family - and a new love - changes the course of her life.

As one of the few witches in Britain, Mika Moon knows she has to hide her magic, keep her head down, and stay away from other witches so their powers don’t mingle and draw attention. And as an orphan who lost her parents at a young age and was raised by strangers, she’s used to being alone and she follows the rules… with one exception: an online account, where she posts videos "pretending" to be a witch. She thinks no one will take it seriously.

But someone does. An unexpected message arrives, begging her to travel to the remote and mysterious Nowhere House to teach three young witches how to control their magic. It breaks all of the rules, but Mika goes anyway, and is immediately tangled up in the lives and secrets of not only her three charges, but also an absent archaeologist, a retired actor, two long-suffering caretakers, and... Jamie. The handsome and prickly librarian of Nowhere House would do anything to protect the children, and as far as he’s concerned, a stranger like Mika is a threat. An irritatingly appealing threat.

As Mika begins to find her place at Nowhere House, the thought of belonging somewhere begins to feel like a real possibility. But magic isn't the only danger in the world, and when a threat comes knocking at their door, Mika will need to decide whether to risk everything to protect a found family she didn’t know she was looking for….

[breelandwalker]

Witchy Workshops

If any witchcraft-oriented businesses or community groups in the Richmond / Norfolk VA (USA) area happen to be interested in holding nondenominational skill-building workshops this summer, I’d love to hear from you!

My name is Bree and I’m a podcaster, published author, and cottage witch with two decades of experience in practical witchcraft. My workshops focus on a grounded approach to magic, with an emphasis on ongoing education, creative and critical thinking, and making good use of one’s available resources.

Here are some examples of the topics I cover:

Exploring personal beliefs about magic and progress with the craft through journaling exercises and periodic review

Connecting with your local biome through identification and creation of correspondences for wild plants

How to write your own spells, including tips for casting and documentation of your work

Creating personalized methodology within one’s craft for warding, cleansing, divination, etc.

Rediscovering your motivational spark for the craft after a creative slump or a break in your practice

Workshops are largely presentation-based with time built in for discussion and Q&A. Sessions generally run 45-60min and include take-home worksheets and informational packets (where applicable). Attendees are encouraged to bring note-taking materials. Rates are negotiable, weekend timeslots preferred. Additional accommodations can be made for online sessions if need be.

For more information or to schedule a workshop, please contact me at BreeNicGarran@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing from you!

Stay safe and Happy Witching!

Photo Credit – Shaiith

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #3 (Spencer Reid x Fem!reader)

A/N: I am exhausted this weekend so if at some point you feel like the writing shows that DON'T BE ALARMED. It is simply just me fighting back the urge to go to bed. The chapter does contain a good amount of sexual assault and violence so please, please, please be mindful of that while reading. I love all the comments here and Ao3, they make my day! I have also been noticing a lot of love towards the original of this series and I appreciate everyone for taking their time to read the remake! Please know that as of right now this thing IS NOT PROOFREAD I JUST NEED TO GET IT OUT! Stay safe, healthy, and happy! -Love, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #2 > Next Chapter: Tape #4

WARNING: Cancer mentioned, sexual assault, blood, knife, cutting, mentions of death, death threats. Remember that you are not alone.

Tape Contents: Spencer and Derek are sent to discuss your abduction with Adeline. You fight back a sexual and physical attack from Heather. Heather reveals her plans for what will happen if anyone finds you.

Word Count: 4,029

March 5, 20XX

Spencer wasn’t too fond of hospitals, but he was fond of children. He interacted with them, loving that he could see how they processed information–new and old—every day. He loved Henry to bits, the way the kid was so willing to listen to Spencer’s ramblings or the way he was so amazed at a magic trick Spencer was doing. 

Sick kids were a tragically different story, not that he didn’t like them. He always felt like… well, he was having a hard time conceptualizing it as he weaved through the crowded lobby. The pediatrics oncology unit was too packed for his liking. Statistically, he knew that one in two hundred eighty-five children could be diagnosed with some form of cancer before they hit twenty. That didn’t mean he had to like weaving through a small crowd of parents, doctors, and nurses on the way to room two hundred thirty with Morgan. There it was –the words for that feeling– watching someone younger than himself not being able to experience life at thirty. 

After finding the friendship keychain, Hotch decided that Reid and Morgan should find your alleged ride-or-die, Adeline Smith. Meanwhile, Hotch and Prentiss would drive to Norfolk to talk to your mother. Rossi and JJ were handling some information with the police, so they were all paired away. 

Derek and he slipped into the hospital room that housed Adeline and her daughter, Nicole. His chest tightened involuntarily at the sight of a mother stroking her daughter’s head, a smile on both of their faces. Derek was quick to speak, “Excuse me,” The mother and daughter jumped at the noise, and their eyes snapped to the hospital room door. “I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We just have some questions.” His hands dug into his jacket pocket to pull out the badge, muscle memory for both.

Adeline’s hand fell from her daughter's hairless head to her shoulder, her fingers giving it a light squeeze. “Questions regarding?” She asked with a curious expression as she stood up, a skeptical look in her eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes met Nicole’s for a second, a small smile rising to his lips, and she gave him a nervous smile right back. He moved his gaze over to Adeline, who was now standing with her arms folded across her chest as she waited for the two men to answer her question. Derek looked over his shoulder at Spencer, then back at Adeline. He gently motioned for her to follow him to a slightly more private area to talk to her, the two moving to a corner of the room near the bathroom.

“Were you aware that Y/N L/N was being stalked?” Derek’s voice was calm as Spencer approached Nicole’s bedside chair and sat in it awkwardly. 

Spencer motioned towards the girl’s stuffed animal, a bright orange cat that sat in between her legs. “I love cats,” he said in a soft voice. 

Nicole beamed at him, grabbed the stuffed cat, and happily petted the top of its head: “Me too! This is Bee.” 

“Bee? Do you like Bees?” 

Adeline’s eyes strayed to Spencer's conversation with her daughter, and she nodded a little at Derek’s question: “We talked about it. She went to the police.” She said, a little numbly, before her head suddenly snapped towards him. “Why?” 

“She was taken from her apartment on March third. She recorded videos for the police to send to us, the Behavioral Analysis Unit, to help find her.” Derek explained gently as he watched Adeline’s face go pale. 

Adeline grabbed her clothed chest and searched for a breath, her eyes wild as she looked at Derek’s face. Her eyes began searching for some hint in his face that he was lying, but she found none. She couldn’t stop the tears that were filling her waterline, and she turned her body away from her daughter and Spencer in a desperate attempt to hide her tears from her daughter. Her knees felt weak as she tried to breathe. 

Spencer glanced back at Adeline and Derek, scooting a little to obstruct Nicole’s field of vision. He didn’t want the young girl to see her mother cry. Nicole shook her head slightly at his question, “No, not really. Auntie Y/N got her for me, and she loves bees.” She laughed softly, her words making Spencer’s heart melt a little. 

“Is Bee your favorite?” 

The girl covered the cat’s plush ears and smiled like she had a secret. “No, but she is my second favorite.” Her fingers scratched the stuffed animal’s ears gently. “Mr. Business is my first,” she whispered to him. 

“Ah, and where is Mr. Business?” His eyes searched her hospital bed, and then he spotted a stuffed cat, a tuxedo cat. He grinned a little, and he motioned to the stuffed animal with his eyes, “Mr. Business is a very fitting name, I think,” 

Adeline held out a hand for some space from Derek, and the hand clutching her chest came up to her mouth as she tried to keep from vomiting all over him. She had been stuck in this hospital when you had called her that first night. Having always loved talking to you, she answered enthusiastically. Still, the more she listened to the situation, the more she realized she didn’t have the emotional strength to comfort you the way you needed. And she said that to you. She said that to you. She couldn’t help you then, and she couldn’t help you now. She couldn’t even help her own daughter. 

A sob rose in her throat, and she shook her head rapidly. “No, no, no, we talked on that day. Th-That night,” She recounted softly to Derek through her tears. 

“What did you talk about?” Derek whispered the question softly as his eyes searched the room for some tissues, but his search was futile. He places a gentle hand on Adeline’s shoulder instead. 

“We talked about college; she wanted her mind off of things, so we talked about our apartment when we were in grad school. It’s been two days! What have you been doing for two days while my best friend went missing?” Her cheeks were red, her fingers pointing accusingly at him before she sobbed softly, and her hand was moving back up to wrap around her mouth to muffle the sound. 

“She didn’t show up to work on March fifth. That's when she was reported missing. We’re doing everything we can. What time did the two of you talk?” 

“W-we talked around nine, maybe nine-thirty?” She whispered back softly before she started to breathe heavily again. “Why didn’t I call? I should have called again. It was getting so late, and she had locked all the doors, and I thought she was just being anxious. I should have called her again. I should have left the hospital to visit her.” Her mind was spiraling, the neverending rabbit hole that showed her all the ways she could have saved her best friend, unhinged its proverbial jaw and swallowed her whole, ready to digest.  

Morgan wasn’t necessarily new to the information, as Penelope had already told him about your call logs from that evening, but he always liked to hear it be confirmed. It also helped him place an estimate of the time of your abduction. “Could you tell me about anyone, anyone at all, that might have been a little too into Y/N? Any ex-boyfriends that refused to leave her alone? Did she break up with anyone around Christmas?” 

“No, she hasn’t dated anyone for almost a year.” Adeline sighed thickly and shook her head as she tried to calm down. “No, all her ex-boyfriends, they were always so mousy. ” She sighed, “And they always look alike,” she paused and gave a soft, sad chuckle, motioning over to where Spencer was as he continued to entertain her daughter. “Well, they all look like your Doctor friend, if I’m being honest. She’s always been too nice for her own good, even in college.”

Spencer tried to talk over the sobs that could be heard from the corner of the hospital room, clearing his throat or laughing as Nicole stumbled through a story. “She’s a loud crier,” Nicole whispered with a gentle pat on Bee’s head. 

Spencer frowned as his efforts failed him, and he looked over his shoulder at Morgan, who was looking at him with a similarly sympathetic look on his face. He was about to say something when Nicole shoved Bee toward him, “You should give this to Auntie Y/N. Mommy said she was sad the other day. Bee always helps.” 

Spencer turned the stuffed animal over in his hands, and he debated telling her the truth, but thankfully, his better judgment decided against it. “It’ll be the first thing I do when I see her,” Spencer promised softly as Nicole smiled wide at him. 

As Derek and he walked out of the hospital, Derek’s eyes stayed on the stuffed orange cat in Spencer’s hands. As they pushed past a small group of people, Spencer found himself almost slamming into a pretty nurse, a gorgeous nurse. Her blue eyes blinked as she shuffled to one side, only to be unintentionally blocked by Spencer once more. She sighed a little and gave him a once over with a frown. Her eyes lingered on the gun holstered against his hip before she gave him a polite smile and said, “Excuse me,” and slipped past the two men with a determined look in her eyes.  

Derek only said something when they got into the parking lot, the two of them walking to the black SUV, “Did you pick one up at the gift shop?” 

Spencer groaned softly, making Derek chuckle as he walked around the car’s front to the passenger seat. “Open the door,” He said bluntly. When they were both inside the car, Spencer carefully placed the stuffed animal in his bag, and Derek chuckled again at the sight, turning the key. 

“You didn’t even buy me one,” 

March 5, 20XX

You were assuming Heather was angry with you. The assumption wasn’t baseless as the hunger in your stomach growled. You were quick to find that the harmony between a full stomach and morphine did matter and that harmony had left you many hours prior. You also were basing the assumption as you had spent what must have been a whole day fighting off tears and nausea. 

The sick part was that you were beginning to get used to how your body got swarmed with heavy, hot, and benevolent warmth. The dull pain in your ankle was silenced under the warmth’s blanket of kindness. It reminded you of a heated blanket in a strange way. 

You had finished the sips of your water before falling asleep and regretting it. You had learned that the bucket off to the side of the dresser was the perfect distance from the bed. Your broken ankle was dragging against the carpet with every movement.  The chain around your good ankle didn’t snag as you sluggishly managed to hold your body up against the wall to pee into the bucket.

Once you were done, you hopped on your good leg and managed to pull your clothes back on. Your body fell face-first onto the bed, eliciting a soft groan from your lips as you found your body reluctant to move from its new home. 

You closed your eyes and fell into the position, letting the bed sink in deeper. Your eyes snapped open with a sense of alertness that you hadn’t felt in hours as you heard the first click of a lock. Your arms weakly managed to push yourself up into a sitting position, pushing yourself back to your former position against the headboard. Your head throbbed at the fast movement, and your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the door. 

When it slowly opened, you sucked in a small breath of air, watching as Heather slid into the room with a tray of food. “Hello, my Catherine.” She sighed as she shoved the keys into her scrub pocket with one balanced hand. “My, my, someone is looking pale today.” She asked as she sat down in the chair off the side of the bed with a gentle, pretty smile. 

You nodded a little. Your lips were numb as you licked them. “What day is it?” Your voice came out quiet and strangled. 

“Monday,” She stated simply as she twisted the top off a bottle of apple juice. She handed it over to your already waiting hands before she carefully lowered the morphine drip’s intake level. You greedily drank the juice without thinking twice, desperate to get something in your stomach. 

You panted lightly as you pulled the half-empty bottle away from your lips, “Th-the date, I mean,” 

“March fifth,” She rolled her eyes as she carefully rearranged a neatly made turkey sandwich on a paper plate, slowly placing the plate on the edge of the bed for you to take. “You moved in here early Saturday morning, don’t you remember?” she laughed out like it was the silliest thing she had ever heard. 

You felt your mouth start to move to correct her, to tell her that you didn’t move in; she had kidnapped you. But as you stared at the turkey sandwich on the edge of the bed, you realized that playing along would be better. Playing along meant more food and less nausea. Playing along meant living longer. “Right,” You said breathlessly as you pulled the paper plate to your lap. “How could I forget?” 

Heather smiled a little as she watched you bite into the sandwich, happy to see you adjusting. You were eating so fast that she was a little worried about your empty stomach. She didn’t want to make feeding you so sporadically a habit. But yesterday, when she came up with a food tray, she thought about your rudeness and how cruel you had been to her. It made her stomach twist into angry knots. She decided that not feeding you for a day would be a lesson.

“I’m so happy our first fight is over. I hate to be angry with you, Catherine.” Heather’s sweet tone wasn’t lost on you as she touched your arm gently. Your chewing slowed for a second before you swallowed, your eyes glued to her hand on your arm. 

“I picked out every gift just for you,” She sighed softly as she traced soft circles against your skin. You fought back the urge to pull your arm away. “You’re a hopeless romantic, you know? You remember in college when you and Adeline dressed up as Lizzie and Jane Bennet. No one got it but god,” She sighed, her eyes finding yours as you stayed frozen. 

The hand on your arm slowly reached for the paper plate on your lap. Your fingers twitched a little as you fought back the urge to grab the food as she placed the plate on the nightstand beside your bed. Everything was happening so fast and yet incredibly slow at the same time.

Then she stood up and crawled onto the bed, swinging one leg over your lap before stranding you with a white smile. Her hands came to cup your face and tilt it up. A soft sigh fell from her lips. “You’ve always been brilliant,” 

You shook your head in her hands lightly. The warmth of the morphine was slow to leave your body, but as your body filled with an intense feeling of dread, you could feel everything. Your ankle throbbed sharply, and you were starting to feel like you were about to be sick again. “I’m not,” 

Heather threw her head back and laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. When she lowered her head to meet your gaze again, she leaned closer, one of her thumbs reaching up to trace your bottom lip. You cringed a little at the feeling, a sight that she ignored. “You’ve always been so humble, too. How did I get so lucky?” She whispered as she leaned in to kiss your lips softly. 

You felt your lips tighten and bile rise to your throat, and you swallowed it. You let her kiss you once, then twice, then a third time. Your lips stayed closed in a tight line as you tried to imagine yourself in a different position, but with every touch Heather placed on you, the more you stayed cemented in your reality. 

Heather pulled back with a look in her eyes that you could recognize as crazed lust. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to know what her hands felt like anymore. You bit your lip to silence a whimper. Her hands pulled roughly at your shirt as she grabbed the hem of it and pulled it over your head with a simple yank. 

You shook your head quickly now, “No, Heather, I-I’m not ready. I don’t-” 

She shushed you softly with a gentle smile as she traced the swell of your breast slowly, the touch eliciting your tears to pool over your waterline. “I know you’re worried, but I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” Her eyes lingered on the prominent bruise on the center of your chest. She frowned, leaning down carefully to kiss the blue and black patch of skin. 

“No,” You cried softly, your voice soft before you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. “No!” You yelled, causing her back to straighten and sit up. 

“I’m sorry?” She asked with a soft scoff. 

“I-I can’t do it, I’m not ready. I don’t want to, Heather. Please don’t make me.” You begged softly as tears rolled down your face. “I’ll try next time, I promise. I just, please, please don’t make me.” 

Heather frowned a little before she let out a harsh laugh, her arms folding over her chest tightly. She looked down at you, “You know I saw your precious little Adeline today,” 

You felt your back tense at Adeline's mention, “What? I thought you worked in pediatrics, not pediatric oncology. W-why did you see Adeline?” 

Heather reached out a hand to press on your bruise roughly, the feeling making you wince. “I work in pediatric oncology. Sometimes, I help Nicole. I loved it when you visited her at the hospital. It was almost too easy to steal the copy of your apartment key from Adeline. She doesn’t love you as much as I love you, you know that, right?” 

You shook your head, and you cried harder as you realized that you had never even noticed her at the hospital. Your focus has always been so zoned in on Nicole or Adeline that you didn’t even register Heather’s presence. Would Adeline remember Heather? You doubted it. 

“She talked to some agents or something and was inconsolable. Fucking useless friend of yours. Anyway, I ran into them in the hallway. Scrawny kid with some buff guy, I’m sure Adeline called them.” 

You found your hands grabbing her hand on your chest and shook your head side-to-side. “No, Adeline doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t, I promise.” 

Heather’s eyes met yours briefly before they trailed down to your bare chest and your hands holding onto her wrist. “Say you love me more than her then,” 

“I-I, what?” 

“Say it.” 

You opened your mouth, but all that came out were gentle sobs as you tried to form the words, terrified that she was about to do something to Adeline. The thought of Heather hurting Adeline had you gasping softly for air. 

Her eyes were on yours again as you panted softly, “You don’t love me?” Her spit hit your cheek as she hissed the words in rageful disbelief. She was off your lap in seconds as she moved to the dresser and quickly pulled out a small pairing knife. 

“Wait,” You cried softly as you tried to hurry away from her, making a vain attempt to get up from the bed that was meant with a howl of pain from your ankle and your body slumping over the edge lamely. 

Her hands grabbed your ankles, good and injured, and pulled you roughly to the edge of the bed. A scream left your throat at the contact. “You think I’m going to let them find you?” She questioned in a suspiciously calm voice as she grazed the smooth side of the knife against your collarbone.

You stayed frozen as she leaned in closer, her lips at the shell of your ear, “If they ever found you, Emma. I would kill you and then myself. I’ve already decided. We have to be together,” Her voice in your ear had you breathing harder as she slowly pressed the tip of the knife into the area above your heart. 

The knife only stung at first before it felt like a ripping pain. Heather dragged the knife into your skin with a deliberate sense of control. Not too deep, not too superficial. Something she wouldn’t have to stitch up. She made a diagonal line before staring a few inches apart from the other cut. “We belong together, Jane.” 

You cried out again as she started dragging the knife into your skin once more, “Please,” 

“You just need to open your heart. If they ever found us, I need to mark where to shoot. Stay still.” 

As Heather got close to completing the ‘X’ mark on your chest, marking you as a possible target. You felt your body thrash under her weakly. The edge of one of the lines skewed to the left, and Heather let out an annoyed groan before she pulled the knife away from your chest and to your lips. “Stop fucking crying,” She growled as she slashed at your bottom lip. 

You hissed at the feeling as blood coated your chest and filled your mouth. You stared up at her as soft sobs kept leaving your mouth, “Fuck you.” You muttered before gathering as much spit as you could in your mouth and shooting it directly at her. 

You laughed as it made contact with her cheek, and she wiped the bloody spit away with the back of her hand. She laughed harshly as she nodded a little, “Okay, so you want to be a brat.” She laughed. 

She was sliding off the bed now, leaving you lying on your back, her chest rising and falling quickly as she gripped the pairing knife in her hand tighter. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. It’ll be your last one, Emma.” She snapped at you before stomping to the door and flying it open. 

Once she was gone, you stayed there, staring up at the ceiling wordlessly. You licked at the cut on your lip gently as blood flowed freely into your mouth. You swallowed the copper-tasting liquid as you let the consequences sink in. She was going to kill you if they found you, and you had already called for a team of highly trained professionals to come to find you. 

You almost laughed at the irony. You didn’t want them to find you. You did want them to find you. It was almost hilarious. You tried to smile with your cut lip but found the action too painful to manage. 

You didn’t want to die at twenty-eight. You wanted to see your mom again, Adeline, Nicole, hell, you wanted to go to work one more time. You rolled onto your stomach and cringed the way the fluffy comforter grazed the bleeding “X” on your chest. You reached for the morphine drip and rolled it closer as you slowly turned a knob and upped the intake. Your shaking hands then moved to the sandwich on the nightstand with a sigh. 

She could kill you when they found you, but if she thought you weren’t going to try and manipulate the situation, she was dead wrong. You weakly bit into the sandwich while trying to think of a plan. 

You refused to die without leaving a mark.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

[archivist-crow]

BLACK SHUCK

Old Shuck or the Shuck Dog is a one-eyed dog, the size of a donkey, who haunts East Anglia in England. Sparks of green or red fire shower out from his eye. Black Shuck, whose name probably derives from the Saxon word scucca or demon, haunts the salt marshes of this lonely coastline, patrolling the lanes, river banks and dunes that lead to it. Travellers on the road describe feeling the beast's icy breath and shaggy pelt as it comes alongside them. In Suffolk and Norfolk, Black Shuck's companionship on the road augers sickness or death, especially for those who have the temerity to challenge it. The Essex Shuck, however, is more of a guardian of travellers, guiding them and protecting them if they are attacked upon the road.

Text from The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures by John and Caitlin Matthews (HarperElement, 2005)

[NOTE: postage stamp illustration by Adam Simpson - issued by the Royal Mail in March 2025]

[ps-cactus]

MC and her lore - Introduction Post

I'd say she filled out this spreadsheet in the beginning of her sixth year, but her creator added a few notes, knowing some things about her past and future 🤭 (±900 words below).

✧ She knows nothing about her origin but wouldn’t even mention it unless you’re really, really close.

At the age of three, she was adopted by the Salters, a wealthy family living at Norfolk near the sea: Mr Salters (ship doctor) and Mrs Salters (a dressmaker). The couple already had two boys and longed for a third child for many years. After countless debates, Mrs Salters finally convinced her husband to adopt a girl. As someone who worked with colours a lot, Mrs Salters was captivated by the girl’s striking amber eyes and came up with the name Amberlyn ✨ And years later, not expecting this at all, Mrs Salters became pregnant again and gave birth to another daughter, to her and her husband's great joy.

✧ She is okay with people using her full name but prefers the short form.

✧ Her Patronus is now incorporeal. However, in the future, it will take the form of a seagull.

Some associations were: finding opportunities among obstacles, being quick-witted and flexible, and having a love for adventure and travel. Balance of independence with a connection to those around. Also, emotionally, Alyn’s deeply connected to the seaside and everything that comes with it, especially the birds she always loved to observe. Yes, she even likes their shrill screeches.

✧ She doesn’t have any pets now, but eventually, she will own a small owl named Titan (after Saturn’s largest moon).

Due to some unfortunate events (involving the Ministry using Veritaserum on her), she had to give away all the creatures from her vivariums. She still feels a deep sense of sorrow and guilt over it.

✧ She doodles when deep in thought, often sketching magical creatures and plants. However, portraits are disasters for her—she just can’t get them right.

Sometimes, during class, Ominis’ notes fall victim to her doodles of mandrakes, puffskeins, and other stuff. Though he’s asked her to stop, he’ll secretly keep those pieces of parchment forever.

✧ Dreams of life being back to normal asap and considers transforming that ominous shop in Hogsmeade into a charming café filled with coffee, sweets, and cute little trinkets. Even thinks of becoming an artist who can create magical pictures like the ones she admires at Hogwarts.

Sure, all of that could happen, but she might also end up teaching young wizards pre-Hogwarts: giving them a basic understanding of magic, plants, beasts, and some history (recalling how Professor Fig helped her, this would feel especially meaningful to her).

At the muggle boarding school she attended, they had lessons in music, sewing, and other common subjects, but her favourite was always art, of course. Also, she enjoys listening to instruments and even still remembers a few piano melodies, though she struggles to play full compositions, because of >attention issues< speaking of which…

✧ She loves Potions, though it's challenging to make ones that take a long time to brew—sure, she mastered a perfect Wiggenweld. She also enjoys Garreth’s experiments, especially when they don’t involve her stealing or drinking anything. And she absolutely adores Charms, believing they are the greatest art form in the magical world. ✧ Astronomy fascinates her because she never imagined so many wonders existed above in the sky. She loves charting the stars, and it's remarkably the only activity that keeps her fully engaged for hours without getting distracted. ✧ She hates Flying lessons but absolutely loves the thrill of speed flying over the Highlands. As for Aritmancy, well, >attention issues< and Divination-like vibes make it a nightmare for her.

She doesn’t hate History of Magic—it’s the perfect time for a midday nap. And having Ominis fall asleep beside her just makes it even better.

She's also good with some other healing potions and ointments, which were very helpful with her injuries after the battle with Ranrok. She still bears scars on her left hand, ribs, and leg, and her left hand is now slightly weakened, contributing to her newfound issues with spells and ancient magic (and other activities, such as her wish to ever try Quidditch or even play some music again).

✧ More Salters Family Details (the most important note—she hasn’t had any interactions with them since the end of her fifth year. She was barred from any contact with muggles while the investigation into her magic is still underway.) ✦ Home - a large "Foxglove house" on a hill with a beautiful garden next to it. A few staff members to look after the house and the children. ✦ Mom - a warm and kind relationship, but Mrs Salters was always passionate about and busy with her work and, later, with the youngest child as well. ✦ Father - a cold-to-distant relationship. He was rarely home after transitioning from hospital surgeon to ship doctor. It always seemed like he never fully got used to having a child that wasn’t his own. ✦ Arthur - 10 years older, really nice relationship. Alyn wishes she could have more of him in her life, but he moved out years ago. Alyn used to admire Sebastian for being such a great brother to Anne, as it reminded her of Arthur. ✦ Greg - 5 years older, and they've always hated each other, as his favourite thing to say to her is that she’s not really part of their family. ✦ Gwen - 7 years younger, and as the most spoiled child and mommy’s little princess, she’s an absolute nasty little gremlin.

p.s. a sad remark alert as her eyes colour on the pic is not a mistake:

After the end of her fifth year her eyes turned a deep, dark brown, and there were other changes in her appearance. Description from September 1891: "...the warm blonde that once shimmered like sunlight now appeared faded and muted. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a sick and lost reflection, a stark reminder of the damage the last year caused her. She wondered if she would ever truly recover."

... and that's it! THANK YOU for reading this far let me hug you and kiss you on the forehead I love you so much marry me

such a cool and fun template by @kiwiplaetzchen thank you!

[sararaasch]

🍀🇮🇪 I’M GOING ON TOUR FOR GO LUCK YOURSELF!!

(not in ireland, alas)

this tour is more regional to my neck of the woods to save my travel sanity, but that doesn’t make it any less special—in fact, i’m doing something i haven’t done in five years.

I MADE BOOK SWAG YA’LL. 

if you come to any of these tour stops OR order your book through any of the indies i’ll be stopping at (plus two bonus local indies cuz i love ‘em!), you’ll get an exclusive vellum page overlay of kris and loch just before a ✨certain scene✨ in the book hint hint nudge nudge.  

TOUR STOPS:

wednesday, march 12, 6PM, fountain bookstore, richmond, VA

saturday, march 15, 4PM, novel grounds, norfolk, VA

friday, saturday, and sunday , march 28-30, galaxycon, richmond, VA

KRIS + LOCH art also available with book purchase at:

seewhich books, hampton, VA

fallen acorn bookshop, williamsburg, VA

all links to stores and events in my bio!

***

GO LUCK YOURSELF, the sequel to THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE KISSMAS, coming 3/11 from Bramble/@torpublishinggroup!

It’s enemies to lovers in this sexy and delightful holiday mash up that pairs the spare prince of Christmas with the crown prince of St. Patrick’s Day!

Someone has been stealing Christmas’s joy, and there’s only one clue to the culprit—a single shamrock.

With Coal busy restructuring Christmas—and their dad now having a full midlife crisis in the Caribbean—Kris volunteers to investigate St. Patrick’s Day. His cover: an ambassador from Christmas to foster goodwill. What could go wrong?

Everything, it seems. Because Prince Lochlann Patrick, Crown Prince of St. Patrick’s Day, happens to be the mysterious student that Kris has been in a small war with at Cambridge. They attempt to play nice for the tabloids, but Kris can’t get through one conversation without wanting to smash Loch’s face in—he’s infuriating, stubborn, loud, obstinate, hot—

Wait—hot?

Kris might be in some trouble. Especially when it turns out that the mystery behind Christmas’s stolen magic isn’t as simple as an outright theft. But why would a Holiday that Christmas has never had contact with, one that’s always been the very basis of carefree, want to steal joy? Can a spare prince even hope to unravel all this, or will Kris lose something way more valuable than his Holiday’s resources—like his heart?

[sharenadraculea]

H:tP Math!

So Hunter: the Parenting is set in 2006 Norfolk, England. And we have some characters ages, so we can do Math

Boy: Boy is eleven. This means he was most likely born in 1995.

Door: Having a elevenyearold son means Door is at minimum in his twenties (which would be kind of yikes). Taking what I would consider a fairly reasonable and realistic timeframe for a normal human to have kids in (somewhere between 20 and 50), Door in current Htp would be somewhere between 30 and 60, tough he could be older if he isn‘t a normal human. Now, Door also talks about his old mining days. So he seems to have had a whole career several years ago (possibly before having boy), making it more likely for him to be somewhere between 40 and 60, which also matches up decently well with his appearence in the flashbacks to 1988

Marckus: He‘s thirty, so probally born in 1976.

Kitten: Iirc he‘s 32, so likely born in 1974

Kevin: He‘s 27. I‘m not sure if that means he was born in 1979 or if he was turned/dies at 27 and was born earlier, but since D get‘s his age from a ID, the first option is more likely. Which means Kevin had a very busy life so far and also apartements in the 2000s were really cheap if someone can afford on in their early twenties

Horse: D tells a story about going to a speakeasy with horse. Assuming he doesn‘t just mean a bar that‘s styled to look old and isn‘t lying, this means that Horse has been with the family since the 1920s to early 1930s, but possibly since the 1880s

Big D: He is probally the most interesting one and there are also several options for his age. Option 1: Just ignoring everything D has said. For this we take Dorn‘s likely age of 40 to 60 and add our reasonable and realistice ages to have a child at, which gives us a possible age-range for D as beeing between 60 and 110. Definetly possible with a but of magic bullshittery that makes him look younger Option 2: Believing that D has been hunting since the 90s. This puts his latest possible birthyear at 1899, assuming getting carried around while his caregivers hunt counts as hunting, since we know he has been hunting since before the 1990s (the thing with Anton happend in 1988 after all and the family has been hunting since a while before that). Tough Calenders accurate enough to date something this precisely have existed since about the second millenium BCE, so D could be pretty old while still getting this factoid correct (assuming he did the math correctly). Option 3: The 90s-factoid is wrong and D is very ancient. In which case like, Homo Sapiens has been around for 200‘000 years and there were other human species before that. So for any closer, tough still very rough, estimate I‘d need D‘s skull and/or DNA. Tough even just a quick questionaire about like how well he tolerates lactose and wheter he straigthens his hair would be quite helpfull I think my favorite option would be for D to have been born within like the last 200 to 500 years, so he‘s definetly unusually old and has way more experience than a regular human, but like he isn‘t unreasonably, has been there for most of human history, barely comprehandable how old he is old

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello. Can you recommend stories where Mycroft is the best, most caring big brother, even if Sherlock may not like it?

Hey Nonny!

Best I can suggest are the ones on these lists!

Big Brother Mycroft

Big Brother Mycroft Pt 2

Big Brother Mycroft Pt. 3

Holmes Brothers’ Relationship

And these three fics which are part of my Part 4 list but it's not long enough to start a new list:

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

Winter’s Storm by LoloLolly (M, 51,812 w., 11 Ch. || Canon Compliant Through TFP/S4 Is Canon, Alternating POV,  Established / New Relationship, Parentlock with Rosie, Explicit Torture, Mentions of Sherlock’s PTSD, Mentions of Human Trafficking, References to Child Abuse, Violence, Kidnapping, Captivity, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Case Fic, BAMF / Soldier John, Sherlock Whump, Mycroft and John Work Together, Marriage Proposal, Autistic Sherlock, Lestrade Finds Out, Polyglot Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia) – Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. Part 2 of the Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream) series

Fallen Series by Belladonna_Q, mamishka (T, 222,094 w. across 3 works || Winglock || Angel!John, Angels & Demons, Faes, Christianity, Changelings) – In a world where myth, mystery, and the supernatural flourish beneath the veneer of modern civilization, Sherlock is a master of magic as well as science and deduction. But there are some things that he cannot see, riddles he cannot unravel, even when they walk right beside him in the form of one John Watson…

=====

Would love some more fics if you guys got them!!

Enjoy in the meantime!! :D

[thewindsorindex]

Opinion Piece: How Prince William will change the monarchy, by those close to him

There are already small but significant shifts. Traditionally, lord lieutenants of each county have welcomed senior members of the royal family to engagements, but they are rarely seen on William’s jobs. A friend of the royal family tells me: “He often doesn’t feel he needs to have the lord lieutenants welcome him. So you don’t see them in the court circular as much as you do for other members of the family. It really pisses some of the lord lieutenants off. But he doesn’t always feel he needs them there, with the extra layer of formality.” Sources close to William insist he values the work of the lord lieutenants, but acknowledge that shift.

Those close to him say that William is acutely aware of the importance to the institution and the public of the “magic and pageantry” of set pieces like Trooping the Colour. But he is also conscious that the royal family’s traditional Buckingham Palace balcony appearance will soon look very different as the number of working royals declines.

The Waleses admire Edward’s quiet, dutiful approach to his role and Sophie’s diligent, determined work on causes such as sexual violence in conflict and supporting young people. William’s view, says a friend, is that the Edinburghs are “needed” and “it’s really important the fantastic work that they do is seen”.

Also ones to watch will be William’s cousin, Zara Tindall, and her husband Mike, Zara’s brother Peter Phillips and the York sisters, Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. None are working royals but, between them, they supported William at Buckingham Palace garden parties he hosted last month and last year. Without his brother the Duke of Sussex as a wingman, they are likely to support William more in the future, though he has no plans to put them on the payroll.

A source close to William says “he understands how important Ascot is, not just to the racing community but to UK plc”, but concedes he will not be as hands on with Ascot and the royal stud at Sandringham, Norfolk, as the current and previous monarchs. Step forward Zara?

There is repositioning on the home front, too. Not long ago, a friend of the royal family with strong ties to Scotland, told me: “Scotland thinks William doesn’t really care. His grandmother got it, his father gets it, he needs to be in Scotland more. The independence issue has gone away for a bit but it won’t be forever.” There has been a recent uptick in William’s visits north of the border. Last month he did engagements in Leith and joint visits with Catherine to the Isles of Mull and Iona and to Glasgow. William has also done engagements in Wales this year and last visited Belfast in November.

via ~ link

[ruknowhere]

but We love It.

I'm starting to get excited about the

new piece INTEGRATION (early stage)

9:00 a.m.

figuring out what I want to do

what I have to do

certainly seems to be discord between the two on this cold winter morning

winter morning for sure

35°

Rain

Feels like 24°

seriously cold for here

certainly familiar from growing up in Baltimore and 25 magical years spent living in Oregon (20 in my beloved forest home in Mulino).

The truth be told I never liked this kind of weather and the older I've gotten the more I've become my father

and can't tolerate the cold

The branches of the hibiscus which badly needs to be pruned tapping at my window saying "come on out you've got to walk to the store anyway"

howling Wind, Rain and the frantically blowing limbs of rather large Norfolk Pine suggest a different course of action.

Tree, who chooses to remain nameless, stands two stories tall, was planted around 25 years ago by the woman who used to own the condo which I call The Resort On The Jetty, when it got just too big for being inside the house and which never should have been planted in front of the condo,

but we love it

but We love It.

it reminds me of the magnolia that I helped my mother plant at her condo in Columbia, all the while telling her she really shouldn't plant it there cuz it was going to get way too tall and rip at the siding in the unit above her's

all of which came true

sadly reminds me a little bit of mom pointing out the inevitable worst conclusion of something which in the moment would be lovely

ironic though in that she planted something that in that moment

and for moments to come,

is lovely

and that I've done the same thing

The memory lovely

it's a perfect day for a pelican

!¿

INTEGRATION, still in it's very early stages, viewed in the studio/lounge space known as The Shed. Natural light and moments later with the UV light turned on. which is which

?

P.S. just as I was finishing this up and starting getting ready to get up out of chair and decide which course of action to procrastinate on, my phone rang telling me exactly what to do

🤫

[aikoiya]

A DP au idea

A scholar just recently arrived at Amity Park because of a newspaper show 2 ghost that exactly look like the 2 being that is shown through the ancient art and stories that even the most knowledgeable scholar wanting to know about, and that newspaper went to their house in Norfolk and while He could send other to investigate, he felt like investigate it himself as he have some knowledge about the being called ecto ghost from his ex (who got his information from his brother for some reason?)and leave his chapter librarian in charge of the house while the scholar leaves.

After arriving at Amity Park, the scholar looked around the town and, after confusing some locals with his Irish accent, found that the ancient ghosts are called phantom and plasmius(good) and that they are Enemies (weird) and they appear when the ghost first appeared at Amity Park (wait what?)and their defense (aside phantom) is Fenton family and that give the scholar deja vu and before he thinks of this, suddenly ghosts appeared as they causing trouble and a ghost that obsessed with box pressing him and the scholar saw phantom appear and fighting ghost and capturing them into a thermo (for some reason) and before he went after phantom to ask questions, the box ghost distract him and phantom goes away to capture more ghosts, the scholar stand there staring at box ghost and calm down, breath though his nose, and flick his finger through the ghost head using his solar sorcery to give box ghost extreme pain for causing stupidity and walk to the Fenton work to ask questions about ghosts and both phantom and plasmius.

After going to the Fenton work the scholar see a man talking to.... Wait.... No... No no no NO NONO NO NOOOOOOOOOO. Occam stands there, blank eyes ,thinking about his life choices and what goes wrong with it as he got one question for god......

WHY IS BIG-D HERE AND WHY THE MAN HE TALKING TO LOOK LIKE A SANE VERSION OF HIM!?!?!?!?

HAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHAHHHHAHAHHA

HAPPY (early) APRIL FOOL

It's actually the continuing post about DPx HTP about Occam O'Connell (hope you watch episode 4) went to Amity Park to investigate phantom and plasmius, the same time the previous dpxhtp post take place, and saw, his ex, Big-D and (unknown to Occam) his brother Jack Fenton. What do you think about my April FOOL and do you get the hint that the scholar is Occam before the reveal?

Funny you should mention it. I literally just got finished watching it!

It was fun! I enjoyed it! Also, Occam was great. I really enjoyed him, but I'm so sad that Lord Fatique was massacred like that.

Anyway, I actually first thought it was from D's perspective, but as soon as Solar magic was mentioned, I was like, "wait... YES!!"

I just love Occam's character & I love the sort of sorcery he uses!

Also, I think that the prank was actually interesting & it could actually make for a fun feature of your story.

Also, my brother told me that Mages bend reality, but they do it through rituals that requires skill & uses components. The way you described them, it sounded more like they could just think of what they wanted & make it so without any sort of preparation. If that's not the case, then I like them the way he described it!

[fredbensonenthusiast]

I send you my love, if I may make so bold...

This is the story of the whirlwind 'affair' between EF Benson and George Wolfe Plank, as told in Dominic Janes’ intriguing 2017 essay, Early twentieth-century Vogue, George Wolfe Plank and the ‘Freaks of Mayfair’

Plank encountered Fred not long after moving to England from the US, writing in February 1915 to ask if he might become better acquainted with him, with the proviso that he was ‘not trying to force an acquaintanceship upon you.’  He need not have worried:

Plank had embarked on an intense correspondence with Mary Benson [Fred’s mother], who wrote to him on 28 March 1915 to say how pleased she was that he had got to know her son Fred, especially since ‘you understand him so well’.

By 1916 he is collaborating with Fred as his illustrator:

A letter of Plank to his sister Amy of 11 February 1916 includes mention of a set of drawings that he had recently made for Benson. These showed ‘snobs, climbers, scandalmongers, High-Church fiends, and the usual lot of asses that infest any great city. My 7 drawings are in black and white and rather cruel in their satire but oh, such fun!’ He and Benson, we hear, giggled over them. Early in that year, Plank wrote to Amy that he was seeing Benson ‘all the time’ in London and would be ‘lost without him'.

One clue to the nature of their relationship may be that Fred refers to him but does not name him in his memoirs, which is unusual for him:

Following Henry James’ death in February 1916, Lamb House ‘was let to an American lady, and she, being obliged to winter in the south, left her housekeeper there, and asked a very intimate friend of mine to occupy it if he wished for a month or so, and he in turn asked me to share his tenancy’. Benson also notes that ‘Lamb House began faintly to assume a home-like aspect, for coming back [from London] on Friday afternoon I knew I would find my friend there. He was of neutral nationality, an artist of whimsical and imaginative work’.  It seems clear, therefore, that this unnamed artist was Plank and that it was he who had brought Benson into residence at Rye.

We are told that Fred

had come up with a plan to rent the place on a longer-term basis.  Amy [Plank’s sister] was told that ‘I am so much in love with the house and garden, with the village and all the country about that I feel like staying here forever and ever.’  ......Plank, it seems, was in love with England, with Lamb House and, implicitly with Benson.....he tells Amy, ‘Spring is here with all its magic, and there is an intimacy and gentleness and luxuriousness in England at this season that is beyond belief.’ The house is like ‘one happy family’ and he felt ‘so lucky to be in the country in this lovely house with a good friend.'

But it was not to be.  Practical issues seemed to get in the way:

By 27 September, Plank is reporting that Benson wants to take Lamb House permanently: ‘He wants the house but said he wouldn’t take it unless I went there with him’. Plank then relates his concerns that he could not afford to pay his part of the expenses that this would involve and that Benson was becoming very stressed.  Later still Mary Benson was writing, perhaps significantly, to Plank’s London address and complaining that Plank had ceased to write to her.  Nevertheless, through 1917 and 1918 affectionate letters were being sent by Benson to Plank, such as the aforementioned example which concluded, ‘I send you my love, if I may make so bold’.

Worse still, the stress of the situation drove them further apart.  Fred became depressed, and George became bored and irritated with him, complaining of his love of long walks ‘even in bad weather’.  After a brief Summer of respite in Cley beach in Norfolk where they bathed and ‘baked’ naked, the break came soon after.  George complained to his sister in 1921 that:

Benson had become peculiarly religious and snobbish. He had become given to ‘unbalanced views about things and people’ and, pretending to be an aristocrat, was wont to rail against the lower classes. Consequently, Plank, we read, planned to give him ‘a pretty wide berth’ in London.....

It is poignant to imagine Fred’s state of mind.   He had recently lost his sister, younger brother and mother within a few short years, and it would appear that his plans to set up a permanent home with a companion he clearly adored did not come to fruition.

As always when it comes to Fred there are more questions than answers......

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

DOBHAR-CHU: WATER HOUND

September 24, 1722 is written across the tombstone of Grace Connolly, a young bride who took her washing to Glenade Lake and never returned. Terence McGloughlan, her husband, found her at the lakeside, with a dobhar-chu stretched asleep across her lifeless body. Raging mad, McGloughlan shot the creature. Its high-pitched dying scream called its mate from the lake. Jumping on his horse, McGloughlan got his brother, and they set up an ambush for the water hound at Castelgarden Hill. Blocking the ancient fort's entrance with their horses, they hid and pounced on the dobhar-chu with daggers as the beast burst forth from between their horse legs. The story is recorded in the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland.

A dobhar-chu is said to resemble both a dog and an otter. Folklore defines it as the magical seventh cub of a regular otter, which grows to five times the normal size. The pelt, either slimy dark or white with black markings, is said to stop injury from horses, bullets, and shipwrecks.

In 1684, a man walking near Lough Mask in Norfolk, Britain, was spied by a dobhar-chu swimming in the middle of the lake. It fixed the man's position, emerged, and, biting the man's elbow, pulled him into the lake. The man stabbed the creature with his knife, turning the lake red with their blood. A water hound was also reported numerous times on Achill Island, in 1968. It was caught in vehicle headlights while bolting across the road and was also seen by a man riding his bicycle.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009