#am i enthralled bewitched enchanted? yes

[astrobei]

i have once again fallen madly in love with someone i made fleeting eye contact with at the airport

[greelin]

yes you’ve captivated me. bewitched me. i am entranced. enchanted. spellbound. charmed, and so much more. because you’re so enthralling. now can you pass the fucking blunt please

[theenchantedecho]

MINISTRY MELEE: BARTY CROUCH SR. BEWITCHES THE WIZENGAMOT!

Steeped in scandal and simmering speculation, the usually staid corridors of the Ministry of Magic are a veritable cauldron of whispers and wonderment. The Minister of Magic, Barty Crouch Sr., whose political manoeuvres hold more surprises than a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, has unrolled a parchment of shocking revelations. His latest spell of audacity? An ambitious expansion of the Wizengamot, our time-honoured court of law and legislative body. This bold move has left the wizarding world more stirred up than a perturbed nest of Puffskeins.

The bewitching question on everyone's lips is, why the sudden expansion? When cornered by my trusty Quick-Quotes Quill, Crouch, in a torrent of grandiloquent rhetoric, avowed his intent "to bring in a fresh perspective and fortify the institution's ability to maintain peace and order in these trying times." Now isn't that a charmingly altruistic sentiment? One can't help but sniff the faint but unmistakable scent of political manipulation wafting from such noble intent.

To fully appreciate this unfolding drama, let's take a moment to delve into the depths of Wizengamot's illustrious history. Predating even the Ministry of Magic itself, the Wizengamot's roots dig deep into the heart of the medieval Wizards' Council. Its ceremonial robes of plum and silver, bearing an ornate W, are as much a symbol of our tradition as the Sorting Hat itself.

The Wizengamot, more than just a court of law, is our legislative body. With about fifty members, whose selection process remains as elusive as the secrets of the Chamber, it's an intriguing institution, to say the least. Trials are swift and final, offering no room for appeal, making the identities of these new prospective members all the more significant.

The Ministry's marble halls buzz louder than a hive of enchanted bees as rumours dart around like mischievous Nifflers. My sources, as shadowy as the Forbidden Forest and equally as tantalizing, suggest that the new appointees may have closer ties to our Minister than a Hippogriff to its nest. Could this be the beginning of a Crouch dynasty? Or a simple refresh of perspectives? Only time, and Rita Skeeter, will tell.

Sensing the urgency of my relentless pursuit of the truth, an anonymous Ministry official (yes, Cornelius Fudge, we see through your cloak of anonymity), whispered in my ear, "It's a dangerous game of Gobstones being played in the Wizengamot. Keep your eyes peeled and your wits about you." In the echoes of the Minister's office, the Sorting Hat's chilling words resonate: "Those cunning folks use any means, to achieve their ends." Could this be prophecy taking shape?

Meanwhile, for our passionate puzzle aficionados, keep your Spectrespecs ready! Tomorrow's Daily Prophet features a special Wizengamot-themed crossword. Can you, through a labyrinth of cryptic clues, discern the identities of the future members of our esteemed court? Gird your wands, dear readers, the game is afoot!

For the symbol savants amongst you, we present a magical game based on court emblems and Wizengamot seals. These, my fabulous readers, are the heralds of change and innovation.

Stay tuned, dear readers. I, Rita Skeeter, your audacious correspondent, am on the case. I promise to delve deeper, to push past the obscurity, to reveal the truth, the intrigue, the pure

scandal hidden beneath the surface of this Ministry maelstroöm. Brace yourselves, for the best version of the truth is yet to come. It's juicier, it's wickedly fascinating, and it's the only truth that you won't want to put down.

Until our quills meet again, I will continue to lift the veil of secrecy on the world's most enthralling mysteries. The wizarding world turns, and with it, the Daily Prophet, offering you the first, the last, the only word on the enchanting and enigmatic world of magic. Keep the magic alive, my spellbinding readers! Stay curious, stay vigilant, and above all, stay enchanted.

[cinebration]

Give Me Peace (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

I always had a vision of the witcher where reader is a siren (alternative, land walking type that can still enthrall ppl with her beauty) and her and Geralt always bump into each other over the years. Ppl are always hunting her since sirens are worth a lot of money so he decides to help her. Geralt refuses to admit his feelings are real for her until he figures out that witchers are immune to siren songs. Basically, lots of angst but a fluffy ending! — Requested by anon

I know this was supposed to have a fluffy ending, but it turned into something else, and I couldn’t bear to change it.

Tagged: @bichibibi​

Warnings: death

Gif Source: august-walker

Over the span of five decades, you and Geralt crossed paths more times than he had ever crossed anyone’s, Jaskier and Yennefer included. The hand of destiny seemed to be at work, nudging you both into each other’s path every ten years or so.

It started first by the ocean. You had spent much time there in that first decade, drawn to the sea and your marine cousins, the sirens of the water. You were a siren of the land, beautiful beyond measure but lacking the enchanting voice of your sea cousins. You did not call men to their deaths as they did. Instead, your beauty drove men to madness.

Perhaps you were the more dangerous breed.

For the first few years, your beauty kept you safe, as no man who laid eyes on you and met your gaze was safe from your spell. You could topple kingdoms if you so felt with that kind of power.

But there came men and women who coveted the prize of a slain siren, especially one poisoning the minds and hearts of their very best.

Thus came your first encounter with the witcher, Geralt. Hired by the townsfolk, he sought you out on the shores of the sea, where you sat on the rocks in low tide and gazed out over the choppy waters. Careful to avoid your gaze, he drew near, armed not with his sword but with his wits, ready to be enthralled.

Hearing his step on the sand, you glanced at him and paused, stricken by his rugged beauty. Never had you seen a man whose looks could entice you as you enticed others. Though he averted his eyes, you saw their vivid yellow irises glinting in the setting sun.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“You’re driving the town mad.”

“They are driven mad by their own desire. I can’t hide myself.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

“How do you see it?”

He cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the townsfolk had followed him.

Slipping down off the rock, you approached him. He took a step back, shifting into a defensive stance. You ceased, bare feet digging into the cooling sand.

“If I paid you more than they did to protect me, would you?”

The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Only if you leave.”

With a sigh, you looked back over the ocean. You would miss it, but forests and mountains were your home; to them you would return.

~~

The following decade, Geralt heard news of a beautiful woman bewitching men near Brokilon. At first he thought she belonged to the druids that populated the dangerous forest, but as he heard report after report of men driven to madness, raving of beauty and unearthly eyes, he knew the woman to be a siren.

He knew it had to be you.

The villagers sent him forth to kill you. Traveling through the forest on the outskirts of Brokilon, careful not to trespass, he found a small hut near the road, partially obscured by the trees but by no means invisible.

Through a half-shuttered window, he glimpsed you brushing your hair. In the light from the fire burning within the hearth, he glimpsed the faint lines of sealed gills. He had heard that land sirens had come from the sea centuries before, but nothing had offered so much proof as the vestigial, malformed organs on your neck.

“Witcher,” you called, seeing him through the window, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“The villagers don’t see it that way.”

“What am I to do? I can’t hide myself.”

“You could do a better job.”

“Come into my home, witcher, and warm yourself.”

Shaking his head, he unsheathed his sword.

“If I pay you double what the villagers are paying, will you spare me again?”

He considered for a long moment. You stared at his face, but he refused to meet your gaze. Out of his peripherals, he saw something of your beauty. It was stellar, he would agree, but it stirred nothing more within him than he expected when seeing a beautiful woman.

It almost made him want to meet your enchanting gaze.

Discipline and strength won out, but not entirely.

“Yes,” he answered. “Just leave.”

Sighing, you put out the fire and gathered your things, amounting to nothing more than a small sack over one shoulder.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have been attacked twice now.”

He nearly met your eyes, so sharply did he turn back to you.

“Men shot arrows through my window, tried to set fire to my home.”

“You are a monster to them.”

“So are you, but you are allowed some peace.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Few men think they can kill you. Every man thinks they can kill me. There is peace in the former.”

Shouldering your sack, you struck off down the road, fixing your gaze on the mountains.

Geralt watched you go until even his enhanced vision no longer saw your figure, your words echoing in his mind.

~~

In the third decade, Geralt came upon you by chance. He passed a hunting party made of hardscrabble men practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. They rained arrows down into the ravine from their position on the mountain face, arrows with fire burning at the ends. Geralt would have walked on if one of them had not cried, “Burn, enchantress!”

Geralt paused to look down into the ravine. A small shack leaned against the wall, situated by a thin stream. You stood in stark relief among the basalt, knocking away the arrows with a poor shield. One arrow caught in your thatch roof, caught fire.

Geralt hauled the nearest archer off his feet, slamming him against the cliff face. The other men spun, glimpsed his white hair and murderous glare. They fled, screaming obscenities in your direction.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He didn’t answer, unsure how to.

Running into the burning shack, you stumbled out with your bag and watched the rest of your ramshackle home burn. By the time it had been reduced to a pile of ash and cinders, Geralt had made his way down into the ravine. He avoided your gaze but stared at the curve of your neck.

“They grow bolder every year,” you informed him. “See?” Slipping off the shoulder of your tunic, you presented a livid scar not many months old. “They will be the death of me—and I have not driven any of them mad.”

“Sirens have gone up in price.”

“I have no money to pay you, witcher, to spare me.”

He grunted. “I wasn’t hired to kill you. This time.”

“Until next time, then.”

“Wait.”

You obliged, dropping your gaze slightly so he could look on your face. Wary, he only glimpsed it before averting his eyes.

“They’ll keep coming,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What…will you do?”

“Nothing. We all die at the hands of men.”

Geralt felt something strange constrict his chest. “You can go to the Edge of the World.”

“The elves have no love for my kind. We are as dangerous to them as we are to humans. But thank you for the advice.”

Geralt watched you follow the river through the ravine and wondered why he wanted to tell you to stay.

~~

The fourth decade, he was hired yet again—by you. You tracked him for miles, following instructions given to you by a man in the town. No one had been bewitched therein, for you had bound your eyes with cloth, preventing them from being enthralled.

Only as you navigated the unused road did you remove the cloth. After a day of unceasing travel by foot, you approached Geralt’s campsite. Roach whinnied as you drew near, but she did not rear or cry out in alarm. Geralt sprang to his feet.

Having blinded yourself again with the cloth, you stood at the edge of his campsite.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have come for you.”

“Why?”

“I am being pursued.”

“By?”

“A group of armed men. They seek me out especially, not solely because I am a siren, but because I am the siren.”

Looking on your face, he saw weariness and fear lining your features. The tops of your eyebrows were drawn together, indicative of your distress.

“I have no coin,” you told him.

“You have to pay me.”

“I feared as much.” Pulling tight your threadbare coat, you asked, “May I at least share your fire? I have a penny to pay you for some food.”

Geralt hesitated. As much as he wished to help, felt compelled to—a feeling that worried him—he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trap. A slip of his guard would be all you needed for you to enthrall him and make him do as you wished.

“I will wear the blindfold,” you assured him. “You won’t be afflicted.”

Grunting reluctantly, he tossed you a hank of meat from the spit roasting over the fire. You ate ravenously with less grace than he expected. Only then did he notice how frail you seemed beneath your coat, how few plentiful days you had seen since he last crossed your path.

A surge of feeling coursed through him, one he identified with an urge to protect. Protection wasn’t strictly in his purview, as he was more of an offensive weapon than a defensive one. Yet the urge remained as he watched you warm yourself in front of the fire, eerie with the blindfold covering nearly half your face.

“Have you found your peace?” you asked in the quiet.

“No.”

“A pity. But neither have I.”

“You don’t actually expect to find peace.”

You smiled thinly. “Surely I do. In death.”

Geralt nodded.

“There is a madness in driving men mad,” you said. “I can find no solace among people, and so, living alone in the most terrible of ways—among others—I know what it feels like to be driven mad.”

Geralt watched you as you spoke. The firelight flickered shadows across your beautiful face.

“Few sirens know it themselves. They live free in their youth, reveling in their power. Few make it beyond that. But those that do begin to run, and that marks their end.” You shook your head. “None of us choose this.”

Geralt tried to quell the emotions rising within him. He hadn’t chosen his path either, his life. Destiny had worked hard to bring him here, with all of life’s misery and suffering multiplied tenfold for his status as a witcher. If only the rumors of the elixirs and Grasses were true, that they could make him an emotionless monster.

Instead, he silently suffered beside a land siren who knew suffering intimately.

You disappeared by morning. The band of men pursuing you crossed paths with Geralt a few hours later. Choice words and a rough scuffle sent them back home.

~~

In the fifth decade, Geralt felt drawn to the sea. There was no work there by the ocean, but he drifted there anyway, away from the turmoil of the interior. Two miles away from a fishing port, the beach was unblemished, free of humans.

Only you were there, seated upon a rock at low tide, overlooking the serene waters.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

“I have.”

Geralt mounted the rock beside you, sat down on the rough and slimy surface. You stared out at the horizon, knees held against your chest.

He dutifully avoided your gaze.

“Witcher,” you said, “you shouldn’t fear me.”

He grunted.

“I do not affect your kind.”

Frowning, he glanced up, found himself staring directly into your eyes. They were gorgeous, truly enthralling—but though his heart rate spiked at being exposed to your naked gaze, he felt no different than he had upon arriving at the beach: pained and joyous. He couldn’t believe it.

“See? You are unaffected.”

“I…why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would it have done? You needed something to fear to still consider me a monster.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re not a monster.”

“Neither are you.”

He wanted to say otherwise, but you were staring at him again. Fighting the feelings in his chest, he reached up and brushed away the hair from your eyes, curling the strands around your ear. The faint gills on your neck revealed themselves.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back gently. You tasted salty, much to his surprise.

When he pulled back, he discovered it was because of the tears streaming down your face. He brushed them away, but you shook your head, holding his hand.

“Give me peace,” you whispered, “and return me to the sea. I was never meant for the land.”

Geralt avoided the ocean for five decades after, but the salty taste of your kiss never left him.

[sapphicscullyy]

Helianthus Mortis

A (kind of) case fic set at the end of the cancer arc inspired by the story of Persephone and Hades (Greek Mythology). I wrote this for an assignment which had a 2k word limit and had to cut heaps of stuff out, but if people like this I could turn it into an actual case fic?? 

Read it on ao3 | tagging @today-in-fic

+++

3:12 am March 2nd 1993 J. Edgar Hoover Building

Fox Mulder sat with his feet up on the desk, an old lamp providing the only source of light by which he could read. The rest of the office was shrouded in abyssal black, as was the corridor outside. His was most likely the only light left on in the entire building, every other agent having gone home hours ago; it was late, even by his standards. A bag of sunflower seeds sat forgotten, the shells left in a pile which threatened to cascade off the edge, a few having already landed on the floor. But his focus was trained solely on the page in front of him, completely unaware of his surroundings, unable to tear his gaze away. 

“Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation” a senior thesis written by Dana Scully. His new partner.

He had scoffed when they had informed him that the X-Files unit was being assigned a new agent, likely being sent with the purpose of shutting him down, but as his eyes danced across the page, flitting from word to word, he was entranced. He had read it six times already, making small, unintelligible notes in the margins, utterly enthralled by the ways in which her mind worked. 

He knew that he should go home, pretend to get a decent amount of sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Her mind and her words were enchanting, she was able to devise a senior thesis which had the ability to bewitch him, leaving him desperate for more.

+++

8:36 am April 27th 1997 J. Edgar Hoover Building

Mulder walked into the basement office one morning to find Scully sitting behind the desk,  having just hung up the phone. It wasn’t unusual for her to beat him there occasionally, though he was always caught slightly off guard by it. 

“Who was that?” he inquired in lieu of a greeting, tentatively placing one of the coffee cups he was holding on the desk in front of her. It was a risk, bringing her coffee. He had seen her become so nauseated by the smell alone that she had to run to the restroom. But that had been a bad day. 

He hated the bad days.

So when she took the coffee cup between her hands, the worry that had wound tight around him slackened its grip. She held it close but didn’t take a sip, using it as a source of warmth as opposed to a drink. That was something he had noticed. She always seemed to be cold. No matter how high the heating was turned up, she never took off her coat. Sometimes he thought about bringing blankets into the office, but he didn’t, knowing that she would turn them down rather than admitting her weakness. Sometimes he hated how well he knew her. 

“It was Skinner,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts. A small frown creased her brow. “He requested a meeting with me.”

“When?”

“Now.” She stood up from behind the desk, leaving her coffee behind as she moved towards the door.

“Agent Scully,” he teased, “did you do something wrong?”

The corners of her lips quirked upwards and he saw a playful glint in her eyes. “He probably wants to clarify something you put in one of your reports,” she quipped.

He snorted a laugh as she slipped out the door, but his smile faded as soon as the door closed softly behind her. He slumped heavily into the chair in front of the desk, his head falling into his hands. 

He was almost certain of what Skinner had summoned her alone to ask. He would insist that she consider finally taking her medical leave. He wouldn’t ask her to resign, that would sound too permanent, too final. Medical leave created the illusion that she would be returning to work as soon as she felt well enough to do so again. But that wouldn’t happen. 

Once she left, she would not return. Ever.

His emotions were at war within himself. He wished above anything else that she had stopped working months ago. Wished she had taken the opportunity to spend time with her mother and brothers. That she had gone travelling to places she’d never been before, and not just to the towns in the middle of nowhere that he had decided warranted their investigation. That she had spent the time she had left with anyone else but him. But there was the small, selfish part of him that wished for her to remain with him, working by his side until the day her body can no longer take it. 

She had collapsed last week. In the middle of performing an autopsy. He had come in to check on her progress when he found her unconscious on the floor with blood streaming from her nose. His heart had stopped dead in his chest at the sight of her lying there, a cruel voice ringing in his head that had told him: this is it. 

He hadn’t let her out of his sight since then. She hadn’t said anything when he ensured that she wouldn’t be left by herself for the rest of the case, but he knew that she had noticed. He had stopped by her apartment on the weekend with the weak excuse of crosschecking their reports. When it became clear that she was unable to get herself off the couch, he had made her lunch, which he made sure she ate at least a few bites of, then flicked on a movie as she dozed fitfully by his side. 

He had not realised how much time had passed until the office door creaked open and Scully stepped inside, looking withdrawn and held captive by her own thoughts. 

“What did the charming Assistant Director want?” he asked, though he desperately did not want to hear her answer.

“He’s sending me on a case.” 

It took a moment for her words to sink in. At first, he was surprised that he had been wrong about the subject of the meeting, then the meaning of her words hit him and his insides churned. She was being sent on a case. Without him. Alone.

She mistook his stunned silence as acquiescence and continued. “Do you remember the Harrisburg Butcher case the Bureau handled a few years ago?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The killer confessed to the murder of fourteen women, but only one body was ever found. Yesterday, a farmer in Hellam Township, Pennsylvania, unearthed the rest. The country morgue is overflowing with bodies and the local pathologist needs assistance to perform all the autopsies quickly.”

“But, Scully-” he began to protest.

“My flight leaves at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.” At least Skinner had been courteous enough to allow her to fly instead of travelling over two hours in the car by herself. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, Mulder.” Her tone left no room for discussion. “I’m fine.”

“He can’t make you do this.” 

Her head flew up and she met his gaze with fire burning in her eyes. “Skinner is not making me do anything, Mulder,” she hissed. “He asked if I would do it, and I said ‘yes’.”

There was a moment of silence, prickling with suffocating tension.

“Can I drive you to the airport?” he asked.

She instinctively bristled before realising there was no hidden barb behind his words.

“Sure,” she sighed, then added softly, “Thank you.”

A peace had been reached, though Mulder’s insides churned at the thought of her being too far away for him to help if anything went wrong. He wondered if now would be the right time to recite the speech he had been practising in the mirror for the past few weeks.

But he looked up and saw a thin line of blood oozing from her nose. 

“Scully,” he breathed, his concern and alarm evident in his voice.

Her hand flew to her nose. “It’s fine, Mulder. Excuse me.” She stood up and fled from the office, leaving him alone.

+++

9:02 am April 28th 1997 Dulles International Airport

They had already been waiting at the airport for about an hour, despite Scully’s attempts to make him leave. They were sitting side by side, looking out at the terminals, watching the planes come and go. Scully had run him through the case, telling him the tale of how the local PD had finally caught the Harrisburg Butcher in the act, and therefore found the only body that they were able to recover out of fourteen murders. At least fourteen known murders. But that topic of conversation had been exhausted half an hour ago, and neither had spoken since. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but Mulder wished it would end. He thought of his speech, and his knee began bouncing. 

“Can you get me a coffee?” She broke the silence with a seemingly innocent request laced with deeper meaning. She was trying to tell him that she was fine, saying that if she could stomach coffee, that she would be fine when she was alone in a different state. But she also confessed weakness, intentionally or not, in her asking him to get it for her. Perhaps she was too tired or too dizzy to stand, or perhaps she just wanted a moment away from him. 

“Anything else?” She shook her head and he stood, heading to the closest coffee shop.

He ordered them both coffees, adding a pastry on the side in case she got hungry during the flight. She probably wouldn’t. His gaze roamed around the airport as he waited, watching people go by. He saw someone drop their luggage and jump into another’s arms, watched as they held each other close, refusing to let go even as people pushed past them. His eyes then landed on Scully. She had her head bowed and her eyes closed, as if she were praying. Maybe she was.

Her head snapped up as her flight was announced over the loudspeaker. Now he knew for certain that her coffee would end up in the bin; she wouldn’t take it on the flight with her, and she wouldn’t wait the extra five minutes it would take to drink it. She was itching to move into the boarding line with the rest of the passengers, he could tell, but he knew she would wait for him to return first. 

The display in the newsagents next to the coffee shop caught his eye. Sunflower seeds. He would struggle to convey everything he needed to in his words, but perhaps sunflower seeds would help. He purchased the seeds, grabbed the coffees and pastry and walked back to where she was seated.

He handed her coffee over without saying anything, and she nodded her thanks. The packet of sunflower seeds shifted under his arm and he thought once again of his speech, and realised it would never work. The best conversations they had were the ones without words. To be able to tell a person everything one needed to say with words alone was an impossibly improbable feat. And so he revised his speech, edited it in his head, and took in a breath.

“Here,” he said simply, holding the sunflower seeds in an outstretched hand. 

She examined his gift with an inquisitor’s eye, taking the packet gingerly from him. “I won’t eat all of these.”

“Then I’ll finish them when you get back.”

The request of a promise hung from his words. Assurance that she would return exactly as she had left. He saw in her eyes that she had understood. Perhaps not everything, but some things were too exquisitely complicated to be expressed in a single moment.

“I’ll see you soon, Mulder.” That was her promise to him. She stood, gathering her bags, and joined the line of other passengers. He waited until she passed through the doors before he moved from his seat.

Soon. He could live with that. 

[the-shadow-master]

                           TWO PARTS OF THE SAME SOUL

A very Jily fanfiction

*

"Padfoot, this is honestly such a terrible idea," James said, with a slight hint of a smile of affection towards his best friend.

"Oh, you noticed?" Remus impatiently asked, rolling his eyes. "I should be working on my Transfiguration homework instead of doing... Well, this."

"I should be working on my anything instead of doing this," James sighed, feeling exhausted and too sleepy to even exist. The only positive thing about Padfoot's idea that James could see at this moment, was the following: Lily Evans on the other side of the room, the most beautiful girl James has ever seen, with her hair tied up in a messy bun, and almond-shaped, bright green eyes that narrowed due to concentration and strong determination. The left corner of her lips twisted into a smile, and James felt his heart skipping a beat. She is so beautiful, he thought desperately. How am I even supposed to focus, when she's standing right there, bewitching me, enchanting me, making me fall in love with her, over and over again?

"For the sake of Merlin's shiny and gorgeous beard, Marauders, stop being such party breakers, that is not what you are made for! This is fun! Come on, look at me again!" Sirius snapped, then pulled out his own wand. He thought about hugging Remus, James, and Peter, he remembered their laugh. Sirius thought about the enthralling, gawky smile of his younger brother. Then he smiled, and exclaimed: Expecto Patronum!

There it was: playful, enormous, magnificent, shiny - a dog. Everyone in the room stopped doing what they were doing, in order to see his Patronus running across the Common Room. Sirius felt as if he was going to cry, he was so touched. I might still possess emotions, regardless of what my mother says, he thought, feeling a lump in his throat.

"He is beautiful, Padfoot," Remus said, with a gentle, calming touch in his voice. And oh boy, how much Sirius needed to hear these exact words! 

"Bloody show-off, that's what you are," James muttered to himself.

Sirius smiled even brighter. "Thank you, Moony. And shut up Prongs! Let's see yours now. Let's see everyone's! If I can do it, so can all of you! I promise."

That was easier said than done. They were all trying so hard. A whole bunch of them spent several hours after midnight, right there in warm and cozy Common Room, in an effort to make Sirius proud of them. Just a group of fifteen-year-olds, attempting to produce magic far beyond their ability. Sirius always had ideas that couldn't come true easily.

James looked around the Common Room. Marlene McKinnon was staring daggers into Sirius, far too angry to cast any Charm, let alone to produce a Patronus, while Mary Macdonald's face became tomato red. Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom stopped pretending they were participating an hour ago, and they just sat in one armchair, holding hands and talking casually. Peter and Remus were cheering for each other, but James suddenly forgot what he was even doing.

Lily Evans turned around, like she managed to feel his eyes on her. "What's the matter, Potter?” she arched an eyebrow. “Too afraid to try?"

"No.", James replied sharply. She raised both of her eyebrows, and James blushed. "Are you?"

"Of course not," Lily answered, suddenly looking angry. She is so beautiful when she was angry, James thought. And when she is happy. And sad. And sleepy...

"Why don't you do it, then?" James asked, with a smile on his face. Lily frowned. And she is also beautiful when she is frowning, James added.

"Very well, then," Lily finally said. "But I'm warning you - I think I got the hang of this."

"Consider me warned," James winked, and she sighed conciliatory. Then she bit her lip, trying to focus. James felt his heart skipping a beat yet again. He couldn't help it. She wasn't just beautiful, she was also funny, and kind, and smart. She was amazing! And James? He was absolutely in love with her. He was in love with her from the moment he figured out what being in love means. Maybe even longer - he just wasn't aware of that fact before.

Lily seemed as if she wasn't there with all of them. And in her mind, she wasn't. A very pleasant memory came across her mind and managed to surprise her. Remembering it, Lily felt as if she was flying, far, far away. The thing that crossed her mind happened during the summer. It was an extremely warm, sunny day, and she inexplicably ran into James Potter himself. She was shocked, and all she wanted to do is to run away, but what he was doing was so odd that she couldn't help but come closer. He was on his knees, holding a handful of hazelnuts. As she was approaching, she noticed that they are the same color as his eyes. She swallowed hard and painfully because her tongue proved to be useless. She felt mesmerized. James Potter has incredible eyes, she suddenly thought. Who knew?

Before she ran away as far as possible from there, she gathered all her courage and cleared her throat. "Hello, Potter. What are you doing?"

The effect was momentary. James winced, and then he pointed dazed look straight into her. He seemed overwhelmed with shock. Lily glanced at him, struggling with feelings she didn't even know she was capable of feeling, let alone capable of recognizing them. Really amazing eyes, indeed, she thought.

"Evans!" he shouted. "Wow! I mean... It's so good to see y... How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you.", Lily kindly said. "And you?"

"Nice. Good. Yeah.", James seemed as confused as Lily felt. For several moments, the silence was awkward, and they just stood there, looking at each other as if they were seeing each other for the first time in their lives.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Lily said.

"Frighten? Me? No. I'm not frightened," he replied. His voice was thin and squeaky. It was so awkward.

"You didn't tell me what you were doing," Lily finally said.

"Oh!" James shouted once more. "Well, Evans, I'm trying to lure a squirrel."

"Why?" Lily demanded to know. Really, why? Of all the things James Potter could possibly be doing... Like, what the heck?

"Have you ever touched a squirrel?" James answered her question with a question.

"Well... No," Lily gave him a puzzled reply. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"That's why you're asking. Squirrels are amazing! They are so cute and tiny and..." he suddenly stopped talking. She was looking at him with a smile, and she was sure that's what confused him. But she couldn't help it. It was her first time seeing him so excited over small things, and he was too adorable! She didn't even know he could ever be like that. All she ever knew about him was that he was a spoiled brat and an extremely arrogant and selfish young man. But, as it turned out, James Potter was also capable of being adorable and cute. Adorable cutie with amazing eyes, Lily thought. Who knew?

"Anyways..." James shyly said. "This little fella who is hiding in the bushes came straight into my palm in order to take some hazelnuts. Then he scared himself away, or I scared him off, I have no idea. I'm trying to make him come back."

"Oh," Lily said. James Potter and a squirrel. And exactly when she thought this day couldn't become any more weirder. "That's actually... Kind of adorable."

"You think?" he said absently: "Am I adorable, or the squirrel?"

"Both of you," she heard herself saying before she could stop the words to come out of her mouth.

"Really?" James seemed shocked. So was she. Lily couldn't believe she had said that! She felt extreme heat in her cheeks, filled with shame. She really managed to make a fool of herself! But then, James added: "People were calling me all sorts of names, but never have they called me adorable. I feel flattered, Lily, thank you."

Lily smiled. "Well... You're welcome."

"Do you want to try?", James asked suddenly.

"What? To feed the squirrel?" Lily nervously asked. "Why would I want to try?"

"Because it's fun. Wait a minute... Are you afraid of squirrels?", James seemed astonished.

"No!" Lily exclaimed, too little too fast. "I just... I don't know. I've never been close to one."

"They say there's a first time for everything," James winked at her.

"Who says that?", Lily derisively replied.

"I have no idea. But come here."

James lay down on his stomach, and Lily caught herself doing the exact same thing as he was doing. His shoulder was touching hers. She turned her face towards him. His face was so close, and she moved her sight across it, absorbing every detail: his hazelnut eyes, lips that seemed to be very soft, his messy hair... He looked at her as if he could peek right into her soul. She couldn't even describe to herself how he made her feel. But she had to admit one thing: James Potter was really handsome.

He blinked, just like he was waking up from some kind of trans, and then he gently took her hand, placed one hazelnut onto her palm, withdrew her hand forward, and whispered: "Try not to move. Be very, very still."

It seemed like they were waiting for hours, but it was very pleasant waiting in silence with James Potter. It was surprisingly pleasant just being here with him, and quiet. Then, their patience paid off. Little squirrel carefully came to them. The little one was really careful and worried, but in the end, it jumped onto her palm, grabbed the hazelnut, and then run away, back into the bushes. Lily was stunned. Her eyes were wide open, and she suddenly realized she was biting her lip. What she didn't realize, was that James Potter didn't even take a look at the squirrel. He looked straight into her, completely hypnotized.

"That...Was... Amazing!" Lily exclaimed, and rolled herself onto her back. She was laughing so much. "It's too adorable to even exist!"

"Told you so," James shrugged. "Hey, Evans?"

"Yes?", she replied cautiously. Now what?

James reached out for his backpack and opened it. "I picked up this one for my mother. Surprisingly, she absolutely adores lilies. I wanted to give this to her, but... Here, I want you to have it."

He took out a lily flower out of his backpack and gave it to her. She instinctively took it, too surprised to even think about it. The flower was so beautiful. It was big, red and with a white rim.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Lily said.

"My mother always says all lilies are beautiful.", James replied, then cautiously added. "And I agree."

Lily smirked. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

They both giggled.

*

And that's what came onto Lily's mind when she pointed her wand in an imaginary spot and  said with strong determination: Expecto Patronum!

Her lips separated in surprise when a graceful and beautiful doe jumped from the top of her wand and started galloping across the Common Room. Lily was extremely touched and looked at her Patronus with a lot of gentle affection. Everyone gathered to look at it. Even Alice and Frank stopped doing what they were doing in order to admire Lily's Patronus. She smiled proudly. And then, out of the blue, James said, looking agitated: "You think that was awesome? I can do it as well."

"Then do it," Lily impatiently replied, feeling annoyed because he interrupted her. "Don't just stand there talking about it."

"I will do it, Evans," James said. He stood there beside her, frowned at her, and then decided to focus. James gathered every atom of his strength and determination. He let his mind wander, and the same memory came to him. He held onto the same event as Lily, only he remembered it differently. He caught himself thinking about her green eyes, looking into him as if they are capable of seeing his very soul. He remembered her laugh, gentle touch of her shoulder, and the way her hair spread across the grass when she rolled herself onto her back. He remembered her gaze, as she reached to take a lily flower from him, while rays of sunshine gently caressed her face. All he could remember is her. And he smiled. Expecto Patronum!

And there it was. Shiny and enormous, looking strong, wild and proud – a deer!

The whole Common Room went silent. It seemed like no one even breathed or blinked. A doe... And a deer.

Lily and James looked at each other, and a deer caught up with a doe way above all of them. At that moment, no one existed in this world, no one but the two of them. They both seemed shocked more than ever. But there was something else they finally realized. There was something more.

"James," she mumbled, confused, at the same time when he whispered: "Lily."

"Oh, wow.", Sirius suddenly said. "This became awkward."

"Shut it, Black," Marlene suddenly said: "This is adorable!"

"Adorable, for sure," Sirius confirmed. "And still awkward. But you all have one thing to admit."

“Now what?" Remus asked, staring into two Patronuses with a smirk on his face.

"I. AM. A. BLOODY. GENIUS!" Sirius enthusiastically exclaimed.

Lily and James didn't hear a thing. They were ignorant of their surroundings. The only thing they were doing was staring into each other's eyes, too fascinated to look away. And the world was silent and empty. Nothing was really present, besides one thing. In Lily's mind, the only existing and real thing in this world was James Potter. And in his mind... The only existing and real thing in this world was Lily Evans.

[charmingmarchioness]

Vow of Everlasting Love - PART 2

Violet is smiling charmingly while smelling the bouquet of violet flowers in her hands. The Army, Navy, and the royal guards who were tasked to watch over the entire Cathedral can't help but glance over the giggling bride. It was truly hard to believe that the one standing there is the former cold hearted assassin doll of Laidenschaftlic.

"Are you happy, little violet?" She looked at the President and smiled cheerfully.

"Yes, I am very happy. It is also because I got to spend this wonderful day with everyone"

Hodgins smiled happily at Violet and gently pat her smooth and fluffy hair and guide her hand in his arm as the door finally opened. The song that was currently playing made her eyes moist because it was the same song that Gilbert sang for her when he proposed marriage to Violet. Ah, yes. That day is too memorable for her.

As she walked together with the person who became her parent for a short while, Violet cannot help but shed tears because she still has doubts whether she deserves all of these wonderful things after she killed so many in the past. That undesirable feeling vanished when she glanced over her beloved man. Her hold over Hodgin's arm became tighter because of what she is witnessing right now. They are looking at each other's shimmering eyes while conveying their honest love in a whisper.

She also starts to feels embarrassed because of the continuous stares that she keeps on getting from everyone. After all, it was Queen Charlotte who gave her the glamorous wedding gown as a token of gratitude and appreciation while the three Bougainvillea sisters are the ones who fixed her hair beautifully and told Violet that they adored her so much. The golden crown with real flower crystals were given by the Evergarden couple, her foster parents. Thousands of questions run through her mind but all of those questions are not left unanswered. It only concludes that...

'Violet Evergarden is simply loved by the people around her'

She finally arrives in front of Gilbert and her heart began to beat so loudly that it became unbearable for her. Hodgins gave Violet's hand to his best friend, Gilbert. He took it and kissed Violet's prosthetic hand affectionately that made her face blushed even more. With that, the president started to cry because he cannot believe this day would actually come. His greatest wish for the both of them came true. He tried to suppress his tears and said,

"Gilbert, I trust you. Please take care of Violet" Ah. It was the same exact line when Gilbert entrusted his most precious loved one to Hodgins. It was a beautiful irony.

"I promise you."

Gilbert and Hodgins shared a brotherly hug. Right now, It was Hodgins who was entrusting Violet to Gilbert. Just like what a father will do in the special day of his beloved daughter.

Gilbert once again took Violet's hand and stops in front of Dietfried who was watching them a moment ago. Dietfried hugs both of them tightly which brought shock to the groom and bride. Nevertheless, the both of them reciprocated his hug but to their surprise, Dietfried was silently crying while burying his head on their shoulders. The guests cannot comprehend what's going on because they are too shock from being able to witness a rare sight every time.

"Please be happy, Gilbert. Please be happy, Violet. Please live...a happy life." After Dietfried said those words, he finally let go of them while still shedding some tears. "We will, Brother."

"Thank you. Thank you very much, Lord Dietfried." While saying those words to him, he wipes the single tear in his eyes and smiled childishly. Dietfried laughed at pat their heads playfully.

Gilbert shove away his brother's hands and hugged violet lovingly while she caress the face of her loved one. Dietfried was horrified of what he is currently witnessing "Gil! Violet! Stop flirting in front of us! It's creeping me out! Get your ass over there and get married already!" Silence enveloped the whole Cathedral until..

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" The guests started to laugh loudly. Ah, the ever tsundere Bougainvillea is stating the obvious. After all, It was pretty amusing to watch something sooo awkward. Violet and Gilbert blushed furiously because of the tremendous embarassment. Because of their fondness for each other, they totally forgot their surroundings. Gilbert puts his hand on Violet's waist and gently escorted her to the Altar and the long awaited ceremony has begun. The priest conveys the words of spirituality wisdom, blessed their union and a lot more. Until...

"You may now say your vows."

With that, the two began to tremble in nervousness. Conveying your feelings for one another is not a problem but having to say it in front of those people is not that easy. Gilbert took Violet hands with his and looks into her deep enchanting eyes.

"Violet, My beautiful flower. Do you know how much I love you? My heart only beats for you. My eyes chase after and search for you. I am always happy whenever you called out to me and all I can hear is your sweet pleasing voice. If someone would ask what I am fond about you, I wouldn't be able to properly express it words. My lips always feel like they will blurt out "I love you" and my chest is pounding with immutable devotion whenever I see you. After acknowledging that I loved you, I ceased attempting to drag you into war because I wanted to protect you so badly. I love you, Violet. I should have told you that in numerous times before. The many gestures you would show, the way your blue eyes would widen whenever you discovered something new, I enjoyed watching you like that. Ever since you came to my side, I 've found meaning for a living other than aiming for the top of pyramid. Violet, you have become my...everything. Everything. Unrelated to the Bougainvillea. Just...everything to the man named Gilbert. At first, I was afraid of you. Yet at the same time, I believed I wanted to protect you. Even though you had sinned without realizing. I still wished for you to live. Your wrongdoings were my wrongdoings. I loved that mutual sinning. Violet...It's only you. I wanted to love you more, more, more and more. You are most important treasure. My love for you would not run out, no matter what you are or what form you take. I will always cherish you. From the bottom of my heart, I love you...Violet Evergarden." He said those words in a tear drenched face while trembling.

The words that he honestly conveyed made Violet cry harder. They've been through a lot ups and down. They met, break apart, and meet again and with that, they held onto each other so tight, not wanting to let go and cherished the new found love together. She caress Gilberts face gently and brush away the painful tears in his eye. She kissed his cheeks shyly and conveyed her vow to him.

"Major...Colonel...Gilbert-sama, no matter what I call you, you would always give me a bright smile. At first, I still dreaded the possibility that there might come a time where you'll start hating me. Forgive me for not being able to understand your feelings before and I did not even realize that you are already suffering because of me. Gilbert...I love you more than you think. The more I love you, the more I wanted to pursue you. Is this really a 'heart of person? It's too fragile but I like it. I am deeply in love with you, Major. This loud throbbing in my chest, this ecstasy, the fact that I always end up being swayed by your every actions. I wanted to be by your side and asked you not to leave me anymore. I became able to somewhat feel through the people that I have met and write letters to. I tried my very best to understand the word "I love you" and my mind and heart always yearns for you and for your love. Once the "like" and the "love" fell and piled up like snow, and I became unable to melt them down, I had wanted you to know that I wished the same to be valid for you. I am...really happy that I am dearly loved by Gilbert Bougainvillea, A man who gave 'everything' to the beast who had 'nothing'. I...who was once a weapon was cherished by someone like you. Major, I love you. For the rest of my life, I will not leave your side. I, too will protect you as long as I live, not as a tool but a woman who loves you dearly. I love you most, Gilbert Bougainvillea." She said those words while crying with so much happiness and sorrow.

After conveying her deepest love for the man who became her everything, Gilbert hug her so tight and soothe her crying figure. No, she wasn't the only one crying. Gilbert is already shedding unstoppable tears as soon as she started to speak. The guests are already emotional. Some of them are crying nonestop. Some are tearing up with a smile on their faces and some are trying to suppress their tears because of the touching scene. All of the people who are gathered here together have witnessed the life of those two lovers. They smiled joyfully because of how it turns out.

"Do you, Colonel Gilbert Bougainvillea, take Lady Violet Evergarden, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." He answered in a determined tone while squeezing the hand of violet.

"Do you, Lady Violet Evergarden, take Colonel Gilbert Bougainvillea, as your lawfully wedded husband."

"I do." She answered with no hint of hesitation while smiling gleefuly at Gilbert.

They exchanged rings while conveying their promises to one another. Violet was enthralled to the shining golden rings. There was a beautiful tiny gem-like crystal that combines the color of their eyes. It was a lovely emerald and deep aquamarine ring. It was the proof of their everlasting love with each other.

"You may now kiss the bride." The face of the two is deep red like a tomato.

Gilbert was fascinated vividly with Violet's bewitching beauty, once he lifts up her veil up to her head.

"Time, Stand still. You are beautiful." He murmured fondly. It was the same exact line that she heard from him when they reunited once agin at transcontinental train.

Gilbert kissed her hand like a noble gentleman. He kissed her forehead as a symbol of respect then he kissed both of her cheek with so much affection until his warm lips made it to Violet's sweet thin lips. It was just a light touch at first until it deepened. Violet responded to kisses with the same desire and passion. Gilbert lifts up her body and held onto her tightly while Violet hugs Gilberts neck.

The guests who are deeply touched by the series of events gave a round of applause to the husband and wife. However, it didn't faze the two who are currently inside their own world. They are still kissing with so much intensity and that made a lot of people blushed with so much embarassment. They totally forgot that they are not alone right now. Some guests are already covering their faces. Some are cheering, some watched them with so much interest, and some cried gleefully like Claudia Hodgins.

"Hey Old man! Stop eating my little sister! She ain't a food ya'know! Damn it! Ya' Pervert!"

The whole Cathedral was enveloped with a joyful laughter when the golden haired man named Benedict blue shouted those words with so much frustration.

Violet and Gilbert finally broke away from their long kiss. When they opened their eyes. The first thing they saw is the disappearance of the thin thread of saliva that connects their swollen lips. They were too breathless and flushed that they weren't able to speak with one another. All they knew is that, they are too happy and too in love to care what's happening to their surroundings.

Gilbert and Violet hugs each other and conveyed the words of love once again. They finally faced the sea of audience who are smiling at them with wide smiles and a little bit of tears. They too, reciprocated that smile with a brighter one.

Ah, Finally! Just like a happy ending from the stories of fairy tales. The Husband and Wife feels like they're finally getting their happy ending.

The beast who became a weapon The heartless weapon who changed into a person until... She changed into an awkward girl who was able to understand the feelings of people That awkward girl became a woman in love who is emotionally rich It was Gilbert who changes Violet into a person. No, more like, they changed each other in a good way...After all, they are destined to be together. They complete each other. It was also with the help of the people who she met along the way because they molded her to become a better person.

It all started with "I LOVE YOU." That I Love You became her motivation, that made her of what she is right now. Not a murder doll of the army, Not also as a robotic auto-memories doll but as a Human Being.

Let us look back in the past once again.

[therowanblackwood]

“Am I cursed?” Because I am (I guess) sort of a professional Witch these days, I get this question from time to time. Because of the ubiquity of “white” (i.e., benevolent) witchcraft—and the efforts of modern Witches to clear the air—you might think that Witch paranoia was a thing of the past. However, my blog’s comments and email inbox tell a different story. Lots of people believe they may be under a curse or enchantment cast by a Witch. And they’d like to get to the bottom of it. I Googled it real quick to check up on the collective internet wisdom. Surprisingly, the answers to “How do I know if someone is doing witchcraft on me?” seem to fall into two categories: Witches aren’t real. Don’t be silly. Oh yes, there’s a great and evil curse upon you. Give me $500 and I’ll fix it. I feel like this topic deserves better. As Witches, we believe certain things are observably true—like, that magick gives us a degree of influence over the world. If you have the power to affect others through magick, then it’s only logical that other people have that power, too. And maybe sometimes they choose to exercise it. Maybe even on you. It’s certainly reasonable to want to know when you’re the subject of a magick spell, especially a negative or coercive one. If you don’t know about it, you can’t counter it. (At least, not specifically.) Pre-warned is pre-armed, as they say. It’s a legitimate question. It’s just not an easy one to answer. There is no psychic litmus test that will give you a result of “magick present/not present.” The best I can do is offer a list of signs that manipulative magick may be at work in your life. The last thing I want to do is incite witch hunts, so I’ll throw in one last word of caution. My answer to the question, “Am I cursed?” is usually “Probably not.” I could go into a lot of boring details about why that is, but it really comes down to the following three counter-hexing principles: Real magick is hard. Your own will is powerful. Nobody really cares enough to curse you (probably). Still, that’s no consolation if you really feel that you’re being peeped at by the evil eye. Here are some tell-tale signs that you may indeed be crossed, jinxed, hexed, spellbound, or bewitched: You have a lot of Witches as friends (or enemies). In certain locations and age groups, there may be dozens. The more magickal people you have in your social circle, the more the probability approaches certainty that someone has, at some time, done some kind of spell involving you. It’s not a big deal. You just accept it, the way you accept that someone’s probably talked trash about you at a party, or masturbated about you. Remember: Just because someone is a Witch (or claims to be) doesn’t mean they have the skill or motivation to influence you in a negative way. (See counter-hexing principles #1 and #3, above.) Also, the Witch who is adept enough to do harmful magick is also usually adept enough to know better. You’re on a string of bad luck that just won’t end. In Hoodoo, it’s referred to as being “crossed.” It’s not just about having a bad day—it’s one bad day after another. No matter what you do, nothing seems to be going your way. Underlying all the frustration is a nagging feeling that someone (or something) is out to get you. Traditional “uncrossing” rituals are designed to shake off the bad juju and get you back on your feet. Bad luck is not, in and of itself, a sign that you’re under a curse. It could just be that Fortuna is pissed at you at the moment. It could be a mundane group of events outside your control that are causing your current misery. It could also be that you’ve been sabotaging yourself—with or without outside help. Signs and synchronicity suggest that a curse is at work. Magickally charged bad luck can be difficult to distinguish from regular bad luck. But sometimes, little things happen that will clue you in. If you pay attention to these omens, you may receive clues about the nature of the spell and the direction it’s coming from. You see, while some cowardly Witch may be able to hex you without your knowledge, nothing is secret to the Universe. One observable fact is that truth, like the bubbles in champagne, always tries to reach the surface. Another observable fact is that Big Mama Universe has a mighty sense of humor about magick. Let’s say you get splashed by a speeding car on a rainy day. That’s just crappy luck. But if you get splashed by a speeding car with a license plate that contains your enemy’s initials, then your dog picks a voodoo-doll chew toy up from the wet curb and hands it to you, then you grab a magazine to dry off your boots and the first page you see has a mummy movie poster that says “CURSE!” in drippy letters…well, I wouldn’t rule it out. Your photos and personal stuff have gone missing. Negative spells often hinge on having access to the spell’s intended target (or their property). A photograph, a piece of jewelry, a bit of hair or clothing or bodily fluids—all of these are classic ingredients in spells both good and bad. But they are even more critical in enemy work, when the spell-caster needs to make absolutely certain their nasty magick sticks to the right target. The Witch may use these items to link a poppet or candle to the target. Alternatively, they may bury or hide spell components at the target’s home or workplace. If you catch someone trying to obtain your personal effects on the sly, then that person is either a klepto, a weird fetishist—or perhaps, a scheming sorcerer. There are areas of the South that are still steeped in Voodoo/Hoodoo. Some people there are reluctant to have their photo taken or leave their hair clippings at the barber shop, for fear that they may fall into the wrong hands. Do you have enemies with hex-casting skills? If your things have gone missing from your office desk—or worse yet, your gym bag—it might be time to get worried. You’re interacting with a person who does witchcraft all the time. Yes, it’s true. Some people use witchcraft every waking moment in order to get their way. Rather than candles and oils and whatnot, they use powerful personal energy—which is a lot more subtle. So subtle, in fact, that they do it right in front of you. The occult term is enthrallment. Non-occultists might describe it as charisma or persuasion. Enthrallers work their magick by either sapping you of your energy so that you feel bad, or infusing you with bursts of their own so that you feel good. (Sometimes both.) They are energy workers of a sort—though “serious” energy workers don’t like to give them that designation. Not all of them are Witches. Many become performers. Many become salespeople. Some enthrallers act like narcissistic or manipulative people, but they can also be quite pleasant. At least, until you realize you’ve been had. I bring them up because interacting with enthrallers can make you feel like you’ve been put under a spell. Psychically sensitive folks may even feel violated—like the enthraller has literally been inside your head or slimed you with their energy. Fortunately, unless the psychic manipulator is a true badass, their power is usually limited to their immediate presence. Once you leave, they will move on to the next target. You’re having thoughts, visions, and emotions that aren’t your own. I have to be soooooo careful with this one—because many of these same experiences are signs of mental illness. If your thoughts or visions are telling you to hurt people or yourself, please put the candles down and get some professional help. However, there are forms of magick (and empathy/telepathy) that can have strange mental effects. Sudden thoughts, unusual urges, intense feelings out of nowhere? If you’re normally a pretty level person, they can be a clue that someone is magickally messing with your head. It helps to take stock of your energy levels and emotions on a regular basis. That way, you’ll know when you’re off your baseline. Negative magick can leave you feeling physically drained and miserable. But so can a bunch of other, more mundane ailments. It’s best to rule out other causes before settling on psychic attack. You sense the presence of someone else’s magick. It’s the most obvious, but probably the most effective way to tell if you’re caught up in an active spell: You just feel it. Magickal energy has its own particular smell and taste. With a bit of experience, you can often tell when a foreign energy is swirling about. It could manifest as a feeling of being watched, or a sudden odor, or a nasty feeling hanging in the air. If you’re psychically skilled, you may even be able to see or feel who’s responsible in your mind’s eye and/or energetic body. Dreaming about a person can be a clue that their energy is tangled up with yours. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’ve cast a spell on you. Dreams can be triggered by anxiety, worry, attraction, or just random thoughts. But they can also be a cue from your psychic mind that someone is intruding on your headspace. There are all different ways that people work invasive or coercive magick. But they inevitably leave energetic snail trails back to their source. If you suspect foul play, try scanning your body for energetic cords and other attachments that shouldn’t be there. You can use divination or scrying to sniff out the origin of the disturbance. If all else fails, try doing a revealing spell and ask for the truth to come to light. Final thoughts on detecting magick As I’ve already pointed out, negative magick is extremely rare in real life. Although it’s not impossible that you’re dealing with a curse or hex, it is unlikely. Before you let fear or anger take over, calmly consider the answers to the following questions: Is there someone with a reason to cast a spell on me? Do they have the occult interest/ability to do so? And, is it actually affecting me? Make sure your assessment is motivated by information (the logical kind and the psychic kind), and not by paranoia or distrust. If you determine that you are being affected by someone else’s magick, you do have options. You have the ability to cut off intrusive energy and reclaim your power. Protection, reversal, and binding magick are all ways that Witches can counter aggressive spells. Each of these types of spells have subtlely different aims and results, so consider carefully what it is you want before retaliating. You can also take comfort in the knowledge that harmful magick brings negative consequences to the sender sooner or later.

[tipsycad147]

Spell detection 101: How to know if someone is using witchcraft on you

Posted by Michelle Gruben on Mar 19, 2017

“Am I cursed?” Because I am (I guess) sort of a professional Witch these days, I get this question from time to time.  Because of the ubiquity of “white” (i.e., benevolent) witchcraft—and the efforts of modern Witches to clear the air—you might think that Witch paranoia was a thing of the past.

However, my blog’s comments and email inbox tell a different story. Lots of people believe they may be under a curse or enchantment cast by a Witch. And they’d like to get to the bottom of it.

I Googled it real quick to check up on the collective internet wisdom. Surprisingly, the answers to “How do I know if someone is doing witchcraft on me?” seem to fall into two categories:

Witches aren’t real. Don’t be silly.

Oh yes, there’s a great and evil curse upon you. Give me $500 and I’ll fix it.

I feel like this topic deserves better. As Witches, we believe certain things are observably true—like, that magick gives us a degree of influence over the world. If you have the power to affect others through magick, then it’s only logical that other people have that power, too. And maybe sometimes they choose to exercise it. Maybe even on you.

It’s certainly reasonable to want to know when you’re the subject of a magick spell, especially a negative or coercive one. If you don’t know about it, you can’t counter it. (At least, not specifically.) Pre-warned is pre-armed, as they say.

It’s a legitimate question. It’s just not an easy one to answer. There is no psychic litmus test that will give you a result of “magick present/not present.” The best I can do is offer a list of signs that manipulative magick may be at work in your life.

The last thing I want to do is incite witch hunts, so I’ll throw in one last word of caution.  My answer to the question, “Am I cursed?” is usually “Probably not.” I could go into a lot of boring details about why that is, but it really comes down to the following three counter-hexing principles:

Real magick is hard.

Your own will is powerful.

Nobody really cares enough to curse you (probably).

Still, that’s no consolation if you really feel that you’re being peeped at by the evil eye. Here are some tell-tale signs that you may indeed be crossed, jinxed, hexed, spellbound, or bewitched:

You have a lot of Witches as friends (or enemies).

In certain locations and age groups, there may be dozens. The more magickal people you have in your social circle, the more the probability approaches certainty that someone has, at some time, done some kind of spell involving you. It’s not a big deal. You just accept it, the way you accept that someone’s probably talked trash about you at a party, or masturbated about you.

Remember: Just because someone is a Witch (or claims to be) doesn’t mean they have the skill or motivation to influence you in a negative way. (See counter-hexing principles #1 and #3, above.) Also, the Witch who is adept enough to do harmful magick is also usually adept enough to know better.

You’re on a string of bad luck that just won’t end.

In Hoodoo, it’s referred to as being “crossed.” It’s not just about having a bad day—it’s one bad day after another. No matter what you do, nothing seems to be going your way. Underlying all the frustration is a nagging feeling that someone (or something) is out to get you. Traditional “uncrossing” rituals are designed to shake off the bad juju and get you back on your feet.

Bad luck is not, in and of itself, a sign that you’re under a curse. It could just be that Fortuna is pissed at you at the moment. It could be a mundane group of events outside your control that are causing your current misery. It could also be that you’ve been sabotaging yourself—with or without outside help.

Signs and synchronicity suggest that a curse is at work.

Magickally charged bad luck can be difficult to distinguish from regular bad luck. But sometimes, little things happen that will clue you in. If you pay attention to these omens, you may receive clues about the nature of the spell and the direction it’s coming from.

You see, while some cowardly Witch may be able to hex you without your knowledge, nothing is secret to the Universe. One observable fact is that truth, like the bubbles in champagne, always tries to reach the surface. Another observable fact is that Big Mama Universe has a mighty sense of humour about magick.

Let’s say you get splashed by a speeding car on a rainy day. That’s just crappy luck. But if you get splashed by a speeding car with a license plate that contains your enemy’s initials, then your dog picks a voodoo-doll chew toy up from the wet curb and hands it to you, then you grab a magazine to dry off your boots and the first page you see has a mummy movie poster that says “CURSE!” in drippy letters…well, I wouldn’t rule it out.

Your photos and personal stuff have gone missing.

Negative spells often hinge on having access to the spell’s intended target (or their property). A photograph, a piece of jewellery, a bit of hair or clothing or bodily fluids—all of these are classic ingredients in spells both good and bad. But they are even more critical in enemy work, when the spell-caster needs to make absolutely certain their nasty magick sticks to the right target. The Witch may use these items to link a poppet or candle to the target. Alternatively, they may bury or hide spell components at the target’s home or workplace.

If you catch someone trying to obtain your personal effects on the sly, then that person is either a klepto, a weird fetishist—or perhaps, a scheming sorcerer. There are areas of the South that are still steeped in Voodoo/Hoodoo. Some people there are reluctant to have their photo taken or leave their hair clippings at the barber shop, for fear that they may fall into the wrong hands.

Do you have enemies with hex-casting skills? If your things have gone missing from your office desk—or worse yet, your gym bag—it might be time to get worried.

You’re interacting with a person who does witchcraft all the time.

Yes, it’s true. Some people use witchcraft every waking moment in order to get their way. Rather than candles and oils and whatnot, they use powerful personal energy—which is a lot more subtle. So subtle, in fact, that they do it right in front of you. The occult term is enthrallment. Non-occultists might describe it as charisma or persuasion.

Enthrallers work their magick by either sapping you of your energy so that you feel bad, or infusing you with bursts of their own so that you feel good. (Sometimes both.) They are energy workers of a sort—though “serious” energy workers don’t like to give them that designation. Not all of them are Witches. Many become performers. Many become salespeople. Some enthrallers act like narcissistic or manipulative people, but they can also be quite pleasant. At least, until you realise you’ve been had.

I bring them up because interacting with enthrallers can make you feel like you’ve been put under a spell. Psychically sensitive folks may even feel violated—like the enthraller has literally been inside your head or slimed you with their energy. Fortunately, unless the psychic manipulator is a true badass, their power is usually limited to their immediate presence. Once you leave, they will move on to the next target.

You’re having thoughts, visions, and emotions that aren’t your own.

I have to be soooooo careful with this one—because many of these same experiences are signs of mental illness. If your thoughts or visions are telling you to hurt people or yourself, please put the candles down and get some professional help.

However, there are forms of magick (and empathy/telepathy) that can have strange mental effects. Sudden thoughts, unusual urges, intense feelings out of nowhere? If you’re normally a pretty level person, they can be a clue that someone is magickally messing with your head. It helps to take stock of your energy levels and emotions on a regular basis. That way, you’ll know when you’re off your baseline.

Negative magick can leave you feeling physically drained and miserable. But so can a bunch of other, more mundane ailments. It’s best to rule out other causes before settling on psychic attack.

You sense the presence of someone else’s magick.

It’s the most obvious, but probably the most effective way to tell if you’re caught up in an active spell: You just feel it. Magickal energy has its own particular smell and taste. With a bit of experience, you can often tell when a foreign energy is swirling about. It could manifest as a feeling of being watched, or a sudden odor, or a nasty feeling hanging in the air. If you’re psychically skilled, you may even be able to see or feel who’s responsible in your mind’s eye and/or energetic body.

Dreaming about a person can be a clue that their energy is tangled up with yours. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’ve cast a spell on you. Dreams can be triggered by anxiety, worry, attraction, or just random thoughts. But they can also be a cue from your psychic mind that someone is intruding on your headspace.

There are all different ways that people work invasive or coercive magick. But they inevitably leave energetic snail trails back to their source. If you suspect foul play, try scanning your body for energetic cords and other attachments that shouldn’t be there. You can use divination or scrying to sniff out the origin of the disturbance. If all else fails, try doing a revealing spell and ask for the truth to come to light.

Final thoughts on detecting magick

As I’ve already pointed out, negative magick is extremely rare in real life. Although it’s not impossible that you’re dealing with a curse or hex, it is unlikely.

Before you let fear or anger take over, calmly consider the answers to the following questions: Is there someone with a reason to cast a spell on me? Do they have the occult interest/ability to do so? And, is it actually affecting me? Make sure your assessment is motivated by information (the logical kind and the psychic kind), and not by paranoia or distrust.

If you determine that you are being affected by someone else’s magick, you do have options. You have the ability to cut off intrusive energy and reclaim your power. Protection, reversal, and binding magick are all ways that Witches can counter aggressive spells. Each of these types of spells have subtlely different aims and results, so consider carefully what it is you want before retaliating. You can also take comfort in the knowledge that harmful magick brings negative consequences to the sender sooner or later.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/spell-detection-101-how-to-know-if-someone-is-using-witchcraft-on-you