Once you get rid of the line between magic and mundane, coming up with ideas is much less of a challenge. There is no “normal” you and “witchy” you. It’s all a conglomerate that creates the way you experience life as a whole.
I use this is for friends, family members, significant others, etc. that are having a rough time and just need to know they’re loved and cared for.
- fire-safe tin/jar/container
- light your candle
- write the name of the person you want to feel loved on your small piece of paper (preferably first and last so it for sure goes to that person)
-dip your paper in the flame so it starts burning and drop it in your jar (try not to burn yourself!)
- while it burns chant (change pronouns as necessary):
“With this I ask of all my might to let her know I love her day and night.
May these flames bring the ashes to the skies and may it let them be sparks in her eyes
Please let her know that I do care, let her know that I am there.
Please never let her be alone, and let my love become her own.”
-after all of the paper is burned sprinkle a bit of cinnamon over the ashes for extra love and protection.
- to make this work faster sprinkle ashes over the soil but this is not required.
Most people kicked, talked, or walked in their sleep. But then again, Merlin was not most people. Arthur shook his head fondly, watching the little creatures dance. He’d kept the idiot’s secret so far, a little longer wouldn’t hurt. (Or the one where Arthur already knows that Merlin conjures odd things in his sleep, but he loves to watch them so much that he drags Merlin everywhere with him.)
Loving Isak Valtersen means countless of things, all wonderful and magical in their own way.
It means carrying him to their bedroom without waking him up at midnight when he falls asleep after studying for a test, tugging the blanket under him and making hushing sounds as he drowsily opens his eyes and hums in lieu of a question. It’s stroking his hair until he shuts them again, his head resting on Even’s chest.
It’s walking him to each of his classes just to get the chance to kiss him goodbye every single time, even if that means having to run to his own.
It’s gentle, careful touches in quiet nights with the only sound of soft whispers echoing through their apartment.
It’s wrapping arms around his body, rocking him back and forth as he quietly sobs on Even’s shoulder after something came up with his parents. It’s kissing his forehead and saying he doesn’t need to apologize for soaking his shirt, and that he can soak all of his clothes if that means he will feel better after crying it all out.
“Down a path worn into the woods, past a stream and a hollowed-out log full of pill bugs and termites, was a glass coffin. It rested right on the ground, and in it slept a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives.”