#spellcaster reader

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

king of day Sun and lord of nights Moon, bonding with Cursed-AU Y/N,,,,,, bc they are simps in every au i make sorry i dont make the rules (BONUS: AU LORE/INFO BELOW, ALONG WITH ANOTHER [story-relevant] DOODLE!)

Some lore about the curse au, copy and pasted from the discord bc im lazy and im very very sorrys fjfkhdskjh:

Okay so. Casting magic takes energy, bc this is an angsty au

The bigger-more complex-more powerful the spell is, the more energy it takes. The most powerful spells can take as much energy as in multiple human lives. There’s legends of spells cast during wars or battles that fell entire armies at once purely just by being cast

NORMALLY, when casting a spell, the magic comes from the world/plant life/living things around the caster

A curse is a kind of Forbidden Magic that can span generations. If one casts a curse that the cursed one will never quench their thirst, or they will never have enough sleep (simple curses for example), the curse could be passed down to their children, sometimes for multiple generations

A curse is ALSO a kind of spell that goes out of its way to deliberately alter the future and continues to- it’s basically a spell that’s constantly working when most spells are more like they last for a few seconds or maybe a minute or two then they’re done and the magic is used up and gone

So if you’re cursed to never feel warmth, there’s magic around you or in you that is constantly sapping the warmth from you or putting chills into you. You can’t see it, but it’s always there, even if just in small amounts

So when a curse is cast, it takes a lot of energy. Like, multiple human lives’ worth

There are ways to circumvent the possibility of killing the people around you (or yourself), like having some animals recently sacrificed, which is the most commonly heard of version

But. Sometimes, very rarely. One might cast a curse on a whim, without planning on it or really considering the series of events leading up to it or following

Cursed AU Reader did that once. Cursed someone in a fit of rage or passion

They were standing in a field, ready for a harvest festival, at the time

The fields withered and died and it’ll take years for them to get back to being fit enough to grow anything in

The mark of a cursed witch, which is a sign from Wiccan culture meant for containing(?), basically keeps the Marked Person from taking any magic from the world around them

The only energy they can use is the energy their physical body contains- and if they use too much or too frequently, they’ll kill themselves in the process

Basically it’s a way of making sure the caster can never use enough magic to really do much of anything sjdgdhdhd

and,,,,, the concept art for a moment i might write abt at some point,,

[thevirginwitch]

doing some spell work for a client today!

[daaydreamy]

AND spellcaster!harry coming to his house after a long day and finding everything a mess like all his potion bottle’s cut into pieces and like everything is floating and mb if him and y/n have a cat it’s like floating in the air running from a couch chasing it and y/n just sitting peacefully on a floating chair while reading a book ❤️

welcome home

summary: harry comes home to… something.

warnings: none.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

“I’m ho-…”

Harry’s lips parted in shock from the sight he just came home to, looking around in pure astonishment. He let the keys in his hand fall to the ground and he started walking around, seeing spilled potion bottles that were from his little potion closet that nobody was supposed to open and mess with because those potions were very real and could lead to some very strange things when used in the wrong ways.

The most obvious thing though, was that almost everything in the house was floating as if gravity wasn’t a thing anymore.

“Harry, if you do not fix this immediately, I’ll make noise all night. I do not enjoy floating.” Rutherford, the talking grandfather clock in the living room, suddenly boomed, causing Y/N’s head to lift up from where she had been reading a book, smiling once her eyes fell upon Harry.

“Hey, baby.” She smiled sweetly, waving at him from a floating loveseat, book in her lap.

“Hey, babe, er… what- what happened?” He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he looked up at her. He glanced at their cat that was also floating, running after one of her toys that was very close to the old wood of Rutherford. He looked back behind him where all the potion bottles were opened and dripping onto the floors, some of them bubbling and sizzling.

“I know just as much as you do.” She shrugged and Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, pinching his nose.

a/n: i love spellcaster!h so much 😭😭😭

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @sadqn1, @judesgfirl, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @phoebebridgersforqueen, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @harrysgoth, @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite, @cinnamonlola, @youcan-nolonger-run, @velvetrylie, @vamprry, @ellie-loveshs, @gorlsinmultifandoms

[prettylameusertbh]

i really wrote all of the shit that’s in my master list about someone else.. except for the drowning one. i need to focus on myself and write more about myself

[iamwinklebottom]

Protecting My Client’s Beauty Against Sabotage & Spiritual Attack | Candle Burn = Black Rose Shape

[sorcerous-caress]

drabble request: shadowheart taking up an oath of vengeance after freeing dame aylin and being an absolute beefcake + standing in front of a squishy mage reader

p.s. no rush in writing this alright your health comes first!! sending you hugs hope you feel better soon

By oath of vengeances do you mean against Shar herself? A whole god? Or just sharrans in general.

Because damn it takes some courage for Shadowheart to immediately swear vengeances against her previous deity and siding with selune her sister. That's a Shadowheart that got fed up with the gods, that's bold and confident.

The oath of vengeances is special in the way it's less about the paladin's bond with their chosen deity, but more of their hatred for their enemy. They're not out to specifically help people or spread their religion.

They're out on a mission for blood, to annihilate anyone who has ever done them wrong, no second chances, no forgiveness. It's the closest to grey morality a paladin can get.

Especially with Dame Aylin as a witness to her oath, she probably has more than the necessary authority to knight Shadowheart right then and there with both Selune and Shar watching.

Afterwards you can see the shift in Shadowheart, how she starts taking the straightforward route and facing problems head on instead of leaning on trickery and the shadows to raach her goals. How she puts herself between you and the danger with bravery.

Especially a cute spellcaster Tav who can't wear armour or has many hitpoints. A glass canon that can summon elemental and send wave after waves of insects and daggers but need constant protection. Shadowheart would bash any enemy who comes even close to you with her shield, effortlessly plunge her sword into them, constantly keeping an eye on you.

Staying so close by, so you're included in her aura of protection. So she can cast lay on hands whenever you're slightly injuired.

Now imagine her princess carrying afterwards because she is sure she saw you sprain your ankle and you need to be treated immediately, after all you are their most powerful member in the party and nursing you back to health is in her job description.

And thank you so much <3 I appreciate the sweet message.

[witchw0lvesnwist]

Follow me on TikTok & Instagram @witchwolvesnwist

[hotties4gojo]

previous anon didn’t even mean to do this to me but my thought process just abruptly went jeanlisa ➡️ sighhhh, lisa 🥺😣🤍 ➡️ pretty witches ➡️ witch!yuki x familiar!reader

[john-jonathy-jonathan-the-3rd]

I just finished the Goodbye chapter in book 4 of Curse Words by Derin Edala, and how COULD HE. I have never felt so emotionally hurt by a- well, I won't spoil it- but still! What the heck! That's illegal! You can't make something almost pay off and then have the risks catch up with the protagonists when they are about to dodge the risk. That's wrong. How could you. I'm still partially in denial about it. I can't believe this.

Spoiler under cut

HE HAD A FUTURE!!!!

I can't believe he'd kill Max fucking Acanthos. Just when we could've had the implications of him having a second spell and managing it (I theorized that maybe he would mostly go back to normal when not at dynisar) and being all Max-cool about it he just. Dies. Dead. I expected Kayden's spell to trigger and somehow save him. Nope. I expected some magical thing to happen with his prophecy and restart his heart in the hospital, or have him jump out of the coffin at the funeral. I can't believe he's gone. I even skimmed chapter 90, and mentions of Max were in the past tense. I've never struggled this much to believe a character would be gone. Curse Words scffap without Max is like Harry and Ron just alone with each other during book 7 with a dead Hermione. Or like if Erin from Aurora just died and they had to deal with that. Of any other of an infinitely long list of examples of a story losing a very structurally important character that the narrative and character dynamics heavily relied upon. Like, I know Derin will pull it off, but the prophesy! Anyway, I'm done whining, time to go mourn more while reading the next chapters.

[thetarotman]

Moon Serpent and Bone 10/25/2024

The Moon Serpent and Bone 6th Annual Samhain Night Market and Hekate, Queen of the Witches, await you.

This is the official WordPress Blog post about the upcoming Moon Serpent and Bone 6th Annual Samhain Night Market, also known as the Moon Serpent and Bone 6th Annual Samhain Oddities and Curiosities Night Market. Also, it honors me greatly that, of the more than 250 applications Moon Serpent and Bone received for this Night Market, mine was one of only 60 which were accepted. This Night Market…

[oraclewitches]

How tarot readers feel

[author-in-denial]

okay progress has resumed on chapter 5, I've found a natural way to progress it. unfortunately now i have to fully establish how the spells work, and that's gonna be a pain.

[iamwinklebottom]

Tarot 📿PICK A CARD🌼: “Random Ass Messages?” Spiritual Wars, Divine Preparations, & Social Contracts

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[linlinmoon]

"Look Of Love."

a/n : hi! just to note this isn't my best work as it is something i've done to crawl out of the deep pit of writer's block i'm currently suffering with so i suppose it is better than nothing 🙂‍↕️ i do appreciate if u suggest prompts in my ask box so i get the motivation to write and to write better 😻 enjoy!

🍰 : (they/them), fluff! riddle roseharts x reader.

The housewarden of Heartslabyul trudged his way back to his own dorm after dealing with miscellaneous events that wasn't even part of his agenda. His feet were practically dragging itself across the checkered tiles, his body so heavy he just wanted to do nothing but lay on his bed the whole entire evening after. 

It was one of the things left unsaid when being a housewarden, that you'd also have to be the one to pick up after the people who are more careless with following the rules and laws of the dorm. 

He couldn't let those things slide of course, yet fortunately he was a bit more considerate than before. After the overblot incident, he had become more lenient with certain rules, although it didn't mean that he'd let things slide way too often. 

And finally after a day of housewarden duties homework, and a lot of spellcasting on rulebreakers. He had arrived at the front of his dorm. Thank the Seven.

He opens the door to see them currently studying on the desk, the only other person that would make him feel like not everything has to be perfect all the time. The person that reminded him it was okay that his files didn't have to always be in proper order or the colors of his pens weren't in sequence according to their shades. Through them, it's also how he learned to be more expressive with how he feels and is in the process of learning how to do so in a proper manner, to  avoid any pent up negativity that would possibly bottle up inside of him.

Perhaps he was even more than lenient with them when it came to the laws of the dorm, though he'd say that it had just slipped his mind.

Definitely wasn't favoritism. ( Of course it was, he just wouldn't say it out loud )

“Ah, good evening. You're back later than usual.” they smiled, the corners of their lips tugging at their cheeks. They had taken his hands in theirs, slowly intertwining their fingers with each other's.

“Mm. Got held back a little.” he spoke, visibly exhausted. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“Please. It would truly help to let it out.”

They get up from their seat and had sat themself down at the bed and had laid on their back, pulling the housewarden down with their movement. After a few moments of comfortable silence, they shift to lay on their stomach to fix their eyes on the redhead who was to talk about the day they've had.

Riddle had rested his eyes before looking back up at their partner, giving them a knowing look to subconsciously ask them if it was alright to rant and let out whatever he could about what had happened through out his day. 

“Go on, I'm listening.” they assure, nodding a little as a signal for him to begin

“My day was usual, but it was a rather hectic with the sudden things that would come up out of nowhere, completely unannounced. As always, there would be atleast a number of students who are careless to forget certain rules. The assigned students had forgotten to wear pink when taking care of the flamingos today, they should know that by now. It's just once every week, how hard it is to remember..”

He continues on and on for awhile shifting their positions as their limbs entangle with one another. His head had rested on their chest as they ran their fingers through his hair. Eyes half lidded as they continued to listen, now just noticing this is the most he's ranted in awhile. 

They weren't complaining though, they "were" listening or they supposed to be but they couldn't help but stare while he just spoke. The way his lips would move when he pronounced certain words differently, the way how his brows would furrow when he talked about some event that irritated him or the way his eyes would shift from them then towards the ceiling as he recalled about thing that happened. Overall entranced by how... pretty, he looked when he spoke.

Riddle had noticed that they seemed to be just hum and nod in agreement at a certain pace, as if they were on autopilot or something. Noticing the way they looked at him, the way they only blinked or glanced elsewhere only if it was necessary.

“Are you listening?”

“Mhm.. huh?”

“I think you've just been staring the entire time.”

“No no no.. I was listening I promise. The doormouse had jam spread on it's nose, the herbal tea is better than any other and-”

“That's not.. Oh, you're impossible.” he stifles a laugh, playfully hitting their chest. They had moved closer to his embrace and laughed along with him. 

The sweet melodic sound of their voice rung in his ear, tinting his ears pink.  He could listen to them laugh over and over again like a broke vinyl. 

He had moved his hand onto theirs before making its way to their cheeks, holding their face in place to admire the way their features complimented one another. Riddle would be completely lying if he said he didn't like the way they would look at him, how could he? They looked at him as if he was the only one he could see, the only one in this world. Their gaze so full of love that it was overflowing, all the love that the world could hold in those eyes. And they were his, all his. They were his world, and he was theirs.  

“Sorry I can't help but stare. But I swear I listened.. to the first half I suppose.”

“Not to worry. I'd be happy to tell you all about it over and over again.”

“You would?”

“Mhm.. For you, I'd do it over and over again.”

[cowboygenesis]

1/2 fatum invenit | gale x reader

part 1 of the "fatum" mini-series. | buy me a coffee?

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and Gods, do they cut deep.

pairing: gale dekarios x sorceress!durge!reader tags: fluff, angst, tons of cursing, mutual pining, forced proximity, enemies/rivals to lovers. word count: 5.3k notes: whew, here we are at last. if you've read "knuckle up" you might find the ending a little similar but... what can i say, im a softie. also, the durge aspect of the reader is truly very minimal, i just added it for the sake of flavor, whatevah... oh, and reader is super cheeky and generally curses a lot, im case that's something that bothers you. i want this to be a two-parter eventually, so expect some smut in the future chapter. as always, let me know what you think! enjoy! masterlist.

You… you fucking knew it. The one time in your life you decide to give a wizard the benefit of the doubt he… he screws you the fuck over.

It was supposed to be an easy job: infiltrate Kereska’s chapel, retrieve the relic Raphael demanded, and slip away unnoticed. Hey, no big deal— you’ve handled worse without breaking a sweat.

Most of your companions weren’t so eager to take on the devil’s dirty work after a night of drinking, so, you figured you’d tackle it solo. No problem. After all, you’d just returned home to Baldur’s Gate. The evening was warm, the streets thrummed with energy, and after a night of revelry, you were in a damn good mood.

So when Gale, with his calm, holier-than-thou attitude, offered to “assist,” you’d thought sure, why the Hells not?

And what a mistake that would turn out to be for you. Just as your gut had warned you, things ended up going sideways. All because of him.

You both had made it past the wards, the traps, and even those fucked up, undead necromancers that you hated dealing with—no thanks to Gale’s constant commentary on your spellcasting techniques. It was always some remark about how your magic was “undisciplined,” how you were “too reckless to be at your best.” Fuck, like you hadn’t been doing this shit for years, now.

Warranted, you weren’t exactly the nicest person, either. Meals at your camp were a battlefield of their own, filled with biting comments and passive-aggressive stares, often over trivial matters that had nothing to do with magic.

Plus, combat was no different. It rarely took more than a few minutes before you and Gale were mired in a heated debate over the “best course of action for the situation”. Naturally, these debates only added to the tension, making every encounter feel like a personal clash as opposed to a friendly discussion over technique.

You two were polar opposites, discordant, incompatible.

But you were an idiot, then. A dumb, tender-hearted idiot in a great mood who had hoped you two could eventually get along if the stars aligned just right. But that’s all hindsight.

After all the hard work, you had almost had it— your hand was just within reach of that damned necklace, caution thrown to the wind, when Gale decided to get fancy. A small “adjustment” to the magical aura surrounding the relic, he’d explained— something about minimizing risk and stabilizing the flow of the Weave so you could extract it safely.

You discarded the idea, of course; “fuck your tricks,” you had said (your actual words), rolled your eyes at him, and said goodbye to the remnants of your good mood as he reprimanded you like a teacher would a novice— and that, naturally, you weren’t.

Unlike him, you didn’t need a stack of tomes to inspectthis kind of arcane energy. It felt powerful and intricate, yes— but beneath it all, it was just a trick of the eye. The glowing, golden-tinged sphere wasn’t malevolent whatsoever, and instead served as a cheap ploy to repel those tempted by the artifact.

So, knowing what you knew, you reached for the relic despite his suggestion.

But, just as you were to lay a finger on it, he… he cast his fucking “safety” spell. And everything went to hell.

The forcefield around the necklace reacted— wildly. The air rippled in waves, the ground shifting beneath you, and suddenly, you were trapped in some kind of collapsed chamber beneath the chapel— cut off from the rest of the world, with no way out.

Worst of all, you were in heartbreaking proximity. The dugout was deep, but narrow, allowing you maybe a centimeter of privacy before your chest collided with his. And Gods, did that happen often. Any movement you made, your bodies would collide in one way or another, be it feeling his thigh rub against yours, grazing fingers, or smacking his chin— the last one being a complete accident on your part, of course.

And yes, as two magic-wielders would, you tried your luck. As it turned out, the stone binding your bodies together seemed to have a sort of Weave-repellent property that rendered your only functional skills worthless.

So, here you were, stuck with your arch-rival, and with every passing second, your frustration grew. It must have been half an hour since the disaster struck when you finally felt your head pound with frustration.

“Gale,” you sigh for the millionth time, “Are you even listening?”

He’s been doing a great job ignoring your commentary by seemingly occupying himself with analyzing your surroundings. Smart, sure, if it wasn’t for the simple fact he refused to collaborate with you whatsoever. After your initial scream-off, he seemed reluctant to give you the time of day again.

He finally clears his throat to speak, and you shoot him a glare in the dim light.

"You just had to do your thing, didn’t you?" he sighs.

“And you just had to show off,” you retort through a bitter snark.

Gale glances at you with narrowed eyes, yet his expression remains infuriatingly contained. “I was trying to prevent a catastrophe. If I hadn’t intervened, the entire chapel may have collapsed.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap, “It collapsed on us instead. I’m so glad we avoided a disaster, Gale.”

He exhales slowly, then gives you a haphazard eye-roll. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rushed things—”

“Rushed things?” Your chest flares, making it collide with his. “I didn’t touch a damned thing. You’re the one who decided the Weave needed tuning or whatever other bullshit.”

Gale’s eyes narrow, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “You think I did this on purpose? I made the right choice. But you—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” You cut him off, “Honestly, fuck you, man. If you were half as concerned with doing a good job as you are with peacocking we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

He looks away, his jaw tightening. “Peacocking?”

“Yeah. Peacocking, showing off—Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.” You shrug in mock nonchalance, rolling your eyes as if the circumstances weren’t already driving you up the wall.

You feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with a steadying breath, the sort one might take when trying to stop themselves from saying something they’ll inevitably regret. When it came to containing his bubbling rage, he beat you to it every time.

His casual lilt, when it comes, makes your teeth grit. “Obviously.”

You groan loudly, letting the back of your head thud against the stone wall behind you. A tense silence falls between you, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing, a sound that seems to grow louder in the small space whenever conversation dies down.

“You would’ve been buried stone-cold dead under the rubble if I hadn’t cast that spell,” he mutters, and just like that, your patience snaps.

“I— I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” Your words are sharp as daggers, eyes burning into his as you twist your body just enough to face him head-on. “The barrier was a ruse, Gale. A fake. I told you not to cast that damn spell—”

“And I suppose explanations are beneath someone of your obvious talents,” he snaps back, his words dripping with venom.

You glare at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re a scholar— Gods, don’t you know this kind of illusory magic is Kereska’s whole thing?” you spit, watching his face aptly in hopes of catching a glimpse of something; remorse, sympathy, fuck, even just a bit of pity would satiate you.

But it never comes. His eyes bore into you with practiced reprimanding, and because he must see you on the precipice of breaking down, he continues to poke the metaphorical bear. “You should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you became the authority on everything. In case you somehow overlooked it, I’ve been doing this for years without your lectures.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you,” he retorts, his voice low, treacherous. There’s a mocking smile imbued on his face, and you quickly realize it makes you want to tackle him to the ground and claw it out yourself. If it wasn’t for the minimal space, you probably would’ve even attempted it. “This wasn’t some petty street magic. That relic was infused with layers of defense—complex protections you clearly didn’t even account for—”

“I knew what I was dealing with!” you hiss, pushing against the wall for leverage. You brush against his chest again, sending an electric jolt of tension through the confined space. “I didn’t need your over-calculated, pompous meddling. I had it under control until you—”

“Under control?” Gale’s voice rises, his frustration finally splintering through his quiet facade as he emits a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Your recklessness nearly got us killed!”

You scoff, pushing back even harder. “You’re so damn smug— acting like the world will end if you don’t micromanage every little detail, but guess what? You don’t always have the answer. And right now, we’re stuck— all because of your fucking arrogance.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it, jaw tight, eyes blazing as he holds your gaze. For a second, you think he’s about to let loose another lecture, but instead, there’s silence—a strange, electricity-charged stillness that envelops you like a cold breeze.

You can’t speak. It crackles between you with a strain, thick enough to feel suffocating. Every breath you take only draws you closer to him, and somehow, it almost feels like the walls enveloping you have only grown thicker throughout your argument.

The closeness, the heat, the sheer intensity of the argument—it’s all too much, and yet, neither of you looks away once your gazes inevitably connect.

The wizard licks his bottom lip languidly, lips smacking as he seems to be taking you all in. His eyes scan over you, and somehow the fact makes you feel vulnerable.

Finally, he breaks the peace.

“If I’m so arrogant, why did you let me join you?”

His eyes are dark, but not just with frustration; they’re searching, questioning, as though he’s daring you to give an honest answer, knowing it’s something you can’t afford yourself right now.

“You asked me to let you come,” you bark out, pushing his chest with the heel of your hand, the contact sending a spark of heat through your outstretched arm. “I didn’t want you here. I figured we’d get through this, grab the necklace, and go our separate ways again. But no—you wanted to come. Play the hero, do all the dirty work, whatever your reasoning was.”

Gale doesn’t flinch at your words, but his eyes narrow slightly— they flicker to the space your bodies connect at, then back to your tautened face.

His gaze lingers on where your hand presses against his chest, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might back down. But instead, his jaw clenches, and when his eyes snap back to yours, there’s a fire behind them that ignites something deep in your gut.

“And you agreed,” he counters mockingly, the smile adorning his face making your head spin. “Why?”

The question hangs between you for a beat. You falter, mouth opening and closing without a reply.

He’s right. He’s fucking correct, and you hate it.

Why did you agree? You could’ve said no, barked back at him, insulted his stupid wizard frock— pushed him away with one of the countless options you had at your disposal.

But you didn’t. You let him come with you, willingly.

You clench your fists, pushing against the surge of discomfort bubbling in your belly. “Well, forgive me for being an optimist,” you mutter, voice tight. “I thought, for once, that maybe— Fuck. Maybe we could get through one fucking mission without trying to jump at each others’ throats.”

He exhales at your explanation, tilting his head to glance through the top of the crevasse and toward the chapel ceiling. You follow suit, albeit subtly, noticing the intricate engravings lining the skylight; in the dim light of the afternoon sun, they look elegant, beautiful, even. How didn’t you notice that when you first walked in?

“And how’s that going for us?” he asks suddenly, the smile curling at the edges of his mouth turning bitter.

You huff, running a hand through your hair. The condensation sticks to your fingers, and you can’t help the joyless chuckle that escapes your lips when you look at him again.

“Well, I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders lazily. Your cynical laughter shifts into the shadow of a smile. Somehow, as he glances down at you, you find yourself with a pang in your chest that overshadows the frustration you’ve been drowning in— it’s deep, and resonant, and feels like it’s swallowing your heart whole when his dark eyes meet yours. “We still hate each other.”

The wizard exhales sharply through his nose, and strangely, you can’t seem to read his expression even as your eyes squint.

His gaze is fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken; you feel it best when his hot breath hits the sweat-slicked skin of your face as he leans in. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, yet just enough to make your breath hitch with… rage, aversion— or perhaps, most frighteningly, something else you’ve been pushing down for months since your first quarrel.

You’re forcefully dragged out of your stupor when the pad of his thumb grazes your palm— the touch sends a sharp, almost uncomfortable jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving you speechless as you chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. Nothing more, it couldn’t be.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and though his tone is stiff, the words cut through your pause like a skilled blade.

It couldn’t be.

Your breath catches in your parched throat, heart pounding with a force that would surely reverberate through his body hadn’t his robe been so thick.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, each shallow breath you take only drawing you closer— or, at least, that’s exactly how it feels in the tiny space you’re being forced to share.

His thumb is still brushing your palm, slowly, gently, and deliberately enough that you cannot ascribe it to a simple accident anymore. For a second, your eyebrows arch and there’s this urge to pull away, something thrumming in your head and telling you to hold to principle.

But you don’t… you— you physically can’t. Not when he’s gazing down at you with… with patience. Understanding, maybe. But why?

A beat passes, then another. The tension coils so tight you almost want to scream to break it, and his gaze remains locked on yours, his palm grazing yours.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper.

“You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours. "You’re fucking with me. I… you hate me, Gale, I can’t—"

He glances down at you with a strange glint in his eyes, then exhales loudly again. Did you strike a nerve?

“Why do you always do this?” he questions with exasperation tugging at his tone. You feel his touch momentarily drop from yours, and in the heat of the moment, you find yourself missing it.

“What?” you blink, eyebrows furrowed.

“This,” He gestures between the two of you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re— you’re always picking fights with me. Always pushing, always assuming the worst—”

“I’m picking fights?” Your eyes narrow, the sneer coming back to your lips like armor. “You’ve been criticizing every godsdamn thing I’ve done since day one, making me feel inferior, questioning my skill— and now I’m the one picking fights?”

He shakes his head sharply, then sighs in frustration. When you look up, his eyes are locked on yours—deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracked skylight. You could drown in them, given the chance.

“No, that’s not— That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “You don’t— you just refuse to listen to me. When we fight, in camp— even now. The relic, that barrier, you— Gods, you always act instead of—”

“Don’t you dare paint me as the villain now,” you snap, bumping his chest with the pad of your palm again.

“You almost got us killed!” he bites back, “I don’t care for your talents if it means you don’t utilize them properly. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, raw talent doesn’t equal capability?”

Right.

Your lips purse, the pit in your stomach suddenly overpowering your ability to retort. It was a mistake— you should have known the niceties were a convenient gimmick to ascertain his position over you, and not an actual instance of humanity, for once.

But somehow, your false hopes only drive the wrath within you. You let the nausea overcome you and have it fuel your bitter tone as you finally find the power to speak up again.

“All you care about is being right— about having the last word against anyone who dares question your abilities,” you mutter, challenging his stern gaze with your own, “And the rest of us? We’re just supposed to sit by and watch, grateful to be in the presence of Gale Dekarios, the great, tragic wizard who thought his tricks could satiate a fucking Goddess!”

You’re fuming. The words that come out of your throat are only half-baked as you shrill at him, but… but at the moment, it feels right— warranted, somehow.

So when you catch him give you the space to continue, you take it.

“…But the truth is, you need to feel superior. You need everyone to see you as the sleekest in the room because deep down, you’re still clinging to the ghost of a woman who abandoned you. And that’s why you’ve been picking me apart since day one—because I’m not afraid to tell you how full of shit you are.”

Suddenly, you feel his hand catch your wrist, his grip firm as he holds you still. His thumb presses lightly against your pulse, sending a sharp, unwanted jolt of awareness through your body as your arm tries to jerk away.

“You don’t know the first godsdamn thing about me,” Gale growls, his breath fanning your face as the words spill out, thick with venom. “You’re so wrapped up in your own insolence, so blinded by your stubborn pride, that all you can see in others is a reflection of yourself. And trust me when I say that it’s an ugly one.”

You laugh, a bitter, angry sound, but your heart is hammering now. “Oh, so you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

His jaw clenches, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I know enough. I know that your actions speak louder than words. I know that you’re reckless, impulsive, and too damned proud to admit when you need help—”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the heat between you scorching as your breaths mingle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re the one who’s blinded by your own self-importance— always thinking you’re the wisest, savviest person in the room, like the rest of us are just pawns in your little fucking game.”

Gale’s eyes flash with something wild and uninhibited, and you watch his sneer shift into a bitter smile again.

“You— You really think that?” he questions through a chuckle, voice gravelly and low. “Do you really think I’m just using you for some game?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. You sneer at him, and the outrage bubbles out again.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. This was never about helping me—it was… it was about proving something. To me, to yourself, to fucking Mystra,” you trail.

The moment the words leave your lips, the air shifts between you like a storm about to unravel. His grip on your wrist tightens, not painfully, but with a deliberate firmness that forces you to stop and feel the tension between you. His face is suddenly too close, and for the most succinct moment, you catch something flickering in his eyes—something dim, and dark—but not the rage you were expecting.

He should be angry with you— Hells, he should be furious. You just tore into every insecurity you knew he had, ripped open wounds that never quite healed, and worst of all, dragged his old lover into it all.

And yet… his gaze isn’t burning with the fever you’ve grown used to seeing from him in every argument, every fight.

Why the fuck isn’t he furious?

“Gods, I actually— I used to admire you. You know that? Before all this, I thought you were someone I could… I don’t know, respect. You were this brilliant, woeful man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought, ‘Maybe there’s something more underneath all that.’ I thought we could, I don’t know, actually be something—friends, allies, whatever the fuck. I wanted us to trust each other. But… but you…" your voice lowers to a near whisper, and somehow, unbeknownst to you, your eyes go glassy with hot tears.

You’re left reeling, heart hammering in your chest as your mind races along with your bitter confession. The air around you feels viscous, mucous-like, but when your throat goes dry with impending tears you look up to see something that makes your breath hitch.

He’s listening.

Not just waiting for his turn to speak as he usually does around you, not calculating his next clever retort, but listening— really, truly listening.

His gaze, once so sharp with ire, has softened. His dark eyes are fixed on yours with a vigor that nearly undoes you, and there’s no anger in them now, no resentment.

Your breath catches.

“You never gave me a chance, Gale. Not once. It was always about you, your guilt, your past, your Mystra— Fuck!” you cough out and rub your eyes with the pads of your palms, massaging your vulnerability away. “I tried. I really, really tried. But none of this seemed to reach you, not through that… that mental barrier you’ve created around yourself. I think that since the very beginning, everything else was just noise to you. I was just noise to you,” your voice dies down to a mutter, and you inhale sharply to fight the sorrow back into your grieving heart.

You withdraw your hands and finally feel brazen enough to face him.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that your nose is red from the tears you tried so hard to hold back, that your eyelids are probably puffy and swollen, and you’re a fucking mess.

But it doesn’t matter now. You’ve come undone, and now, nothing mattered to you anymore; not the anger, not the sorrow, and especially not the way his kind, gentle touch seemed to soothe your aching heart when his palm met yours.

You scan his face, but there’s nothing— or at least, you can’t seem to read it through the coating of tears obscuring your eyes. The light above has shifted to cast his face in a warm, velvety light. You catch the subtle lines etched into his forehead, the faint silver threads streaking through his hair, and his lips curling into… a smile.

Despite your desperation, despite your pain, he was smiling.

Your chest tightens, fists clenching at your sides, and before you can stop them, a stream of hot tears finally spills down your cheeks.

This was it. You braced for impact.

“…So do whatever the fuck you need to fill that void in your heart, but don’t involve me in any of it. And— for fuck’s sake, Gale, don’t act like you give a shit about me because you—”

But you never get to finish.

Before you can witness the gentle glint in his eyes as he leans into you, before you can even register it, his lips crash onto yours.

Your gasp is muted against the softness of his mouth. When he moves, it’s not gentle, not soft, but raw in its intensity and so, so desperate.

His grip on your wrist tightens briefly before finally releasing, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his hand is a pleasant change to the cold, hard stone you’ve been leaning against, and suddenly, just as your mind threatens to flood you with dopamine, it all dawns on you.

You’ve been here before—no, not here, but in moments that feel eerily alike.

You recall the edge in his voice during arguments, the way he’d insist on ‘rectifying’ you at every turn, the blunt critiques you assumed were borne from pure vanity. But now… now there’s a clarity to it all. Worry. Fear. A softness, a hesitation. Like when he would offer his hand to you after a fight, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as they brushed over yours.

You loathed him… Hells, you detested him.

But how deep were you willing to draw the line between hate and devotion?

Against all your instincts, against the sharp, burning ache in your chest—you drink him in. His warmth, his touch, the power behind it all.

You know you should push him away, shove him off, scream, but instead, you find yourself frozen— trapped in the certainty of this moment. And despite every ounce of fury burning inside you, you can’t deny the spark it ignites in your indigent heart as he caresses you so tenderly.

And with that, you seal your fate with his.

Your lips press against his, head tilting until you feel you’re melting into him. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound makes your chest thrum with a melody you’re afraid to place.

Your hands, trembling, inch towards his chest, but this time they aren’t formed into spiteful fists or an accusatory point— your palms lay lax against him, resting at the junction of his ribs and pushing, pushing… just in hopes of catching the steady thrum of his heart against your fingertips. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it’s all still there, but in this moment, none of it matters.

Just him. Just this.

For all the times you’ve misread him, all the moments you thought his criticisms were barbs, meant to wound—now you wonder. You had mistaken his care for contempt, his frustration for hatred. But now, as his lips part slightly against yours, the world narrows down to just the two of you. No damned relic, no mission, no war; only the benign sensation of his hand cradling the back of your neck, the warmth of his mouth on yours, and the undeniable truth of it all:

You’ve never hated him. Not once in your rotten life.

And when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, you want to come undone. You’re tired, hot, melting into this fiery, passionate kiss that has slowly turned languid and gentle.

So despite the zeal enveloping your body, you’re finally forced to part.

When your eyes open, you find him already watching you. A shiver runs down your spine as you drink him in; tousled hair, half-lidded eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his plush lips as the both of you pant in tandem with each other.

He looks wrecked. But then again, you’re certain you do too.

Your face feels flushed, still burning with aftershock and when you bite your bottom lip, you find it swollen. Raw. The taste of him lingers there too, sweet like bourbon and sharp like anise.

You stare at each other. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, really seeing him, and it softens your heart as much as it terrifies your lust-addled mind.

The silence stretches between you, so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin. It pulls taut with every second, coiling tighter, and you can’t stand how fragile it makes your heart feel.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper. “You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky— you’ve never found that aspect of it attractive until now.

You open your mouth, but the words—whatever they are—die in your throat. Instead, all you can do is look at him and fall deeper into his embrace.

There are questions that swirl in the back of your mind, ones you know you should ask, but they slip away the moment his thumb brushes your cheek again. Why did he kiss you? Why did you let him? And why, despite the chaos and pain that’s passed through your mind, did this—he—feel like the only thing that has made sense since you forgot all else?

“I never hated you,” he murmurs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to cup your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

“I didn’t want to hate you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought it’s what we were meant to be. Enemies.”

“We aren’t,” The corner of his mouth twitches. “We never were.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and just like that, the fragile walls around your heart crumble. Gale Dekarios, the man you had sworn to hate, has somehow intertwined himself into your very existence in a way you suddenly think might last centuries.

—

As it turns out, the solution to your predicament was surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly straightforward. The anti-magic barrier encircling the sunken crypt could be dispelled by reciting the incantation inscribed on the rock walls— and with Gale’s surprising proficiency in Draconic, it proved quite an easy feat.

After that, it was just a matter of a few rudimentary spells. Naturally, the task took longer than anticipated, thanks to the lingering, newfound tension between you and the wizard— fleeting glances, soft touches, and even an occasional, stolen kiss as you recited your magic; things you surprisingly found yourself quite fond of.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you inhale deeply, savoring the crisp, refreshing breeze. The sunset paints the world in a warm, golden hue, casting long, soft shadows across the cobbled streets as you pass by groups of chattering townsfolk.

“I’ve been thinking,” you hear your companion muse through a playful smile. “After all of this, do you think we could avoid arguments for a little while?”

You meet his gaze with a puckish eye roll, a smile tugging at your still-swollen lips. The warm glow of the streetlights casts his face in a soft, intimate glow, and your smile widens into a grin when you catch his lips bearing that same sign of your carnal affection.

“It depends,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug, pushing against him playfully.

“Mhm, and on what exactly?” he hums, his hand squeezing tighter around yours. When his thumb caresses your palm, you feel your heart thrum with something you can’t quite describe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, glancing up at him with a grin. He returns it within a beat, and now it’s your turn to knit your fingers tighter. “How much longer are you planning on nagging me?”

He chuckles from the belly, and the coil in your chest that you’ve long expected to be spite emerges as something much larger, softer, and most unexpected. You fear to name it out loud.

You smile when your gaze meets his, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the softness of your own. He leans in, and the world narrows to the touch of his lips against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that seems to linger in the evening light. In that fleeting moment, all the doubts and anxieties are swept away with his voice calling your name.

“For as long as I live,” he retorts softly, his voice laced with tenderness as the air between you, once again, fills with his laughter.