I have a younger sister, and while most of the time I’m Too Cool™ for her, I do care about her a lot, and I want to see her succeed in life. Here are a few witchy things I do to help her out (that she doesn’t know about, because I need to keep up my Mean Older Sibling™ reputation)
Sneaking sigils into her backpack, for protection and luck
Casing curses on those who bully her
Enchanting her pencils and paintbrushes with inspiration and hard work spells
Hexing the mean teachers she doesn’t like who treat her like shit
Using kitchen magick to enchant her meals that she eats while she does her home work, to help her study and memorize what she needs to
Charging the crystal jewelry she wears sometimes with positivity and protection
Enchanting her make up with anti-harassment glamours, protection spells, and confidence spells
Enchanting her purse with protection and privacy spells
There’s probably more that I’m forgetting, but those are some of what I do…
A way to have a quick spell that targets yourself - enchanting a hand sanitizer bottle! You can use any scent you'd like, and for almost any spell. Cleansing, anti-anxiety, glamour, memory, confidence, anything you can think about. Thought I'd share
Thank you for sharing, your idea is lovely! Perfect for secret or on-the-go witches :)
Must be comfortable giving me your name and address
USA Residents only
You can reblog as often as you like, but for fairness sake, one entry per person.
Deadline is September 10th (three weeks starting Aug 20)
Must have open askbox
What you get
One Brass Censer
One tumbled amethyst necklace (24 inch chain)
One Arrowhead necklace (24 inch chain, stone unknown)
Two 25mm bottle charms: One for glamour (to seem more likeable/approachable), one for anti-stress/anxiety*
Three Herb infused candles One cleansing/removing spirits, one glamour, one anti-stress/anxiety*
Six bags of mini incense sticks (Six per bag)
Six bags of matching incense cones (Six per bag, shown idividually)
One detailed list of scents for incenses and ingredients for candles/bottles.
BOX AND CLOTH DISPLAYING ALL OF THE ITEMS IS NOT INCLUDED
Items (aside from incense and necklaces) are handmade, and assembled from personal gem/herb associations for their intended purpose. None of these items are to be ingested, but herbs will be listed for allergies/warnings shortly. Please check my url tag “NECROMOUSER.” (also enjoy the cute gif my url is based on when you visit ☻ )
*For legal purposes, I must state that any items listed are for entertainment purposes, are not guarenteed, and are not to be used as a replacement for seeing a doctor. (Nor do i personally encourage or advocate the idea of using witchcraft as a replacement for medical care)
Let’s chat about what J.K. Rowling said about Draco Malfoy.
For all this, Draco remains a person of dubious morality in the seven published books, and I have often had cause to remark on how unnerved I have been by the number of girls who fell for this particular fictional character (although I do not discount the appeal of Tom Felton, who plays Draco brilliantly in the films, and ironically, is about the nicest person you could meet). Draco has all the glamour of the anti-hero; girls are very apt to romanticise such people. All of this left me in the unenviable position of pouring cold common sense on ardent readers’ daydreams as I told them, rather severely, that Draco was not concealing a heart of gold under all that sneering and prejudice and that no, he and Harry were not destined to end up best friends.
For all this, Draco remains a person of dubious morality in the seven published books, and I have often had cause to remark on how unnerved I have been by the number of girls who fell for this particular fictional character
Draco fans do not doubt Draco’s hesitation to do the right or good thing. They do not excuse his attempts to kill Dumbledore nor defend his racist and elitist upbringing.
I think what a lot of people, including myself, see in Draco is potential. I could be counted in the number of girls who fell for him thanks to well-written fanfiction and a vivid imagination. The idea of Draco’s ever-growing character arc expanding past the realm of Pureblood Death Eater excites me to no end. But when I look at what he literally is, on paper, I understand that he is not an inherently good character and I do not expect him to live happily ever after (even though he does anyway).
Draco has all the glamour of the anti-hero; girls are very apt to romanticise such people.
According to Wikipedia: “An antihero or antiheroine is a leading character in a story who, unlike a traditional hero, lacks conventional heroic qualities such as idealism, courage, and morality.” I understand Jo’s point here but I wish she left out the word antihero for it gives Draco fans like me a little hope (and always will). Antiheroes are, of course, unconventional. But they also are commonly categorized as protagonists, whereas Draco was surely an antagonist in the books and films. I think antiheroes commonly lack glamour, to be honest, that they have to fight to be seen in the same light as the purely good heroes. And speaking from personal experience, I don’t romanticize these heroes so much as identify with their struggles and appreciate their fight with their dynamic selves that are constantly stretched from side to side by a wavering morality.
All of this left me in the unenviable position of pouring cold common sense on ardent readers’ daydreams as I told them, rather severely, that Draco was not concealing a heart of gold under all that sneering and prejudice and that no, he and Harry were not destined to end up best friends.
Oh, Jo. I agree wholeheartedly. I am among the Draco lovers that see him clearly and love him regardless. Maybe that scares you, but many of us do know he is not a ray of sunshine and that he will never be held to the heroic and wonderful standards to which we hold Harry James Potter.
The reason I love him regardless has to do with my own struggles with self love, which I see him battling page after page. And though I never have participated in a prejudice lifestyle, I have been the person trying to mold to my surroundings in order to survive and thrive. Draco is imperfect, and at times horrible, but that is why I like him. I was never rooting for him to win, for him to defeat Voldemort or befriend Harry Potter. I was simply rooting for him to grow.
And Jo…read some Draco fanfiction. See where we have taken your beautiful, broken boy. See what he has become. I promise you we are not blinded but schoolgirl fantasies. We just…believe in people getting bigger and brighter. We hope for the best.
If I were a student at Hogwarts and Draco Malfoy lived and breathed the exact same way he did in your books, I would not be his friend, his girlfriend, or probably give him the time of day. But watching him from the sidelines as I turned hundreds upon hundreds of pages over the years, I grew to know him and his struggles. And I grew to love him for his struggles. And Jo? I think you did a little too.
I have a lot of Draco feelings. I’ll just leave this here.
At least, thus spoke the rumors. It was said that once, in
its inception, the Black Emporium had indeed been a single shop run by an
eccentric sort of figure and available by invitation only. But it had long
since expanded beyond that narrow bound, keeping only the name and the
reputation. Now, the Black Emporium was an entire bazaar full of wonders – and
it was very, very illegal. Amongst its stalls, discerning or adventurous or
downright foolhardy buyers could purchase all sort of solutions to nasty little
problems – or find themselves laden with new ones, in most cases.
There were many black markets in Tevinter. Guns, drugs,
bootleg movies, chop-shop car parts, fenced valuables… all this could be had in
any number of places. But the Black Emporium was where magic was sold.
Unscrupulous mages peddling curses and hexes and love-spells,
blood-cleaning charms for drug testing. Alchemical diet pills, blood-magic
plastic surgery, anti-aging charms and glamours. All the obsessions of modern
society, neatly packaged for one’s convenience. Experimental rune designs,
mostly highly dangerous and unpredictable, apt to explode in the user’s face as
soon as perform their advertised function. Runes for tracking and spying and
unlocking things kept locked. Enchanted items that would crumble to dust after they’d been used no more than once or twice, so poor quality were they. Spell-bound gloves
and gauntlets for staff-less casting. Staves carved of elephant ivory and set
with the teeth of pandas, grips wrapped with the skins of tigers, hung with the feathers of condors.
Poisons and drugs could also be had amongst the market’s
stalls, concentrated magebane and Carta-dealt lyrium so cut and adulterated it
was more a poison than ever. In other places among the market’s teeming kiosks,
people sold other people, or sold themselves. The magically-talented, too low class
or too poor or too elven to rank
among the elite of Minrathous, found themselves reduced to exotic prostitutes
promising arcane delights to their clients.
Other stalls dealt in oddities and artifacts, ancient art
and artifice gleaned by treasure-hunters from the world’s ruined places and
caverns. Such pilfered loot could not be sold legitimately, so it was brought to
the Emporium and sold to specialized dealers who then sold it again for a much
It was one of these vendors Dorian was seeking today. He
moved through the seething crowd with his head down, feeling ill at ease and
entirely out of place, morbidly certain that despite his disguise, a bloody
great neon sign hung over his head flashing ALTUS, ALTUS on stuttering repeat.
It had not been easy to make it here. The Black Emporium
was not a place, but an event. The
market moved, never held in the same place twice, never on a predictable
schedule. Word was passed among the vendors and the customers by arcane,
underground means no more than two days before the chosen date.
Gereon had worked for months to gain access to the Emporium’s
network, finally making the connection which had secured him an invitation to
the next market. And when it had arisen at last, he’d sent Dorian, younger and
nimbler and, as Gereon had delicately phrased it, more experienced with the
social milieu. Used to slumming,
Dorian had silently translated, his face not betraying the pang of memory which
had struck him.
He had dressed carefully in a plain cream-colored djellaba
worn over a caftan and loose serwal, feet shoved into babouche slippers. Traditional
garb, a little old-fashioned, lacking his customary rich embroidery and
ornament, but well-crafted for all its plainness. He could not appear to be an
Altus, and yet could not seem penniless, either. The Pavus family legacy hung
heavily on his neck, tucked away beneath the layers of his clothing. He was
very aware of it there, knocking against his breastbone with each step.
His eyes scanned the stalls for the sign he’d been told to
look for. The man was a dealer in rare books and scrolls, cuneiform tablets and
cylinder seals, scraps of hieroglyphic- and hieratic-inked papyrus. If man or
elf or dwarf had written it, this man dealt in it. If anyone would have the
text Gereon and Dorian needed to complete their research, he would.
Dorian climbed a rattling metal stair to the second floor of
the abandoned warehouse playing host to the Black Emporium. This level had once
boasted offices in which various functionaries and overseers had worked;
now, these smaller and more private rooms were given over to the more exclusive
dealers, his antiquarian bookseller among them.
And there it was, at the end. A placard bore a stylized
crossbow and an opened book, the Latin letters B and V entwined in the corner. He
kept the djellaba’s hood pulled up and hurried on.