Iâm not super proud of how this turned out but after 11 hours I finally finished it!! One of these days Iâll get better at drawing environments and backgrounds
Tumblr banned my account because I was asking for help to save my wife from death.đ
I ask for your support in adding my account and sharing this post so my voice reaches the world and Tumblr to stop banning my account.
My wife is in the hospital in intensive care to save her life. She is suffering from severe malnutrition, which has led to her losing consciousness completely.
I also ask for your help during these difficult times. I feel like I'm dying every day. I'm here fighting for my wife, for her survival. I can't bear to lose her; she means so much to me. Please help me and donate to save her life. Donate to save a soul that deserves to live.đ
We need 850 euros to cover her medical treatment. 210 euros have already been secured, leaving 640 euros that must be raised today to improve her condition and help her regain consciousness.
Please don't be stingy, donate to save a life that deserves a better life.
These may be my last words or the last time I write a post about my family, so I will not forgive anyone who sees this post and does not support me with a single word and ignores me.
If anything bad happens to me or I lose contact with you, please remember that I begged you to donate, even a small amount, or to share my post. I will not forgive anyone who sees this post and doesn't support me with a single word or a small donation, and ignores me.
Time is running out, there's very little left. Please help me save my wife. When I see her in pain, my heart breaks for her, and I'm helpless to do anything. Please, if ten people donate 50 euros each, I can get her treatment quickly today.
I beg you with a heart full of pain to help my wife. đ
Why are you ignoring me? I'm here fighting to save my wife's life. I can't bear to see her suffering in front of me and not be able to do anything for her.
Why are you ignoring me? My wife is going to die. I haven't been able to get her the treatment she needs. Please don't leave me alone. I feel like I'm dying. Help me. I don't want to lose her.
There's not much time left. Please continue your support to save my wife. I feel like I'm going to die. I can't bear to see her suffering and not be able to do anything for her. Please donate and help me secure treatment for her before it's too late.
âą tags: fluff, qifrey and reader make dumplings after kids go to bed, olly is away on work, apprentices being apprentices, kissing in front of the sink
âą a/n: can you tell i'm hungry đ (but i also wrote this to make up for whatever misbehaviour was đ« i hope i haven't forgotten how to write fluff!)
The atelier's kitchen feels different, at night. Far removed from the usual chatter of dishes and voices, the fire burns low in the hearth, leaving only the soft glow from the phantasmal fireball lamp on the table. More hushed and still, a quiet ghost of its bustling self in the daytimeâbut it's not a bad thing.
Especially not when he's in it.
"Have the girls gone to bed already?" Qifrey looks up from the kitchen counter when you finally emerge from the stairs. You'd sent the girls to their beds right after dinnerâit'd been a long day out in Kahln, with shopping errands, a sudden sunshower that had sent everyone running for cover, and far too many distractions along the way. But what had really stirred up the evening was the book Tetia had found in a corner bookstore: a romance novel with a battered pink cover, secondhand, and a title so flowery Qifrey had raised an eyebrow at you the moment he saw it. Tetia had firmly refused to sleep unless someone read it to her, and even Agott had lingered at the doorway with the other two girls, despite her insistence about having "no care for silly, sappy lovesick tales".
"It took quite some time." Between light threats, repeated goodnights, and one overly dramatic reading of the first page, bedtime had turned into a battle of attrition you hadn't intended on participating in. "But they agreed to sleep after I promised you'd read the rest to them tomorrow night."
Qifrey lets out a soft laugh, turning to glance over this shoulder as you round the table to stand by him at the counter. The soft blue of his visible eye catches in the firelight, your figure faintly reflected in the surface of his glasses.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"You committed my efforts without first seeking my agreement?"
"It was easy when you weren't there to defend yourself," you reply lightly, leaning in to inspect the vegetables beneath his knife. They're a little limp, colours dulled and beginning to brown at the tops. "Besides, Coco is very excited to hear you do all the voices. You wouldn't say no to her."
"Both that child and you severely overestimate my talent and willingness," Qifrey huffs, though you can see him fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. "Still, as a reward for successfully getting those little terrors to sleep⊠would you like some dumplings for supper?"
It's almost embarrassing how quickly the fatigue leaves your body. "Dumplings!"
Qifrey laughs quietly at your immediate enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. I'm making some now." He sweeps the chopped vegetables into a bowl with practiced ease, and only then do you notice the rest of the ingredients spread across the counter beside him: minced flying shrimp and meat, a little dish of carefully measured seasonings, and a neat stack of dumpling wrappers lightly dusted with flour. So that's what he'd been doing the entire time you were upstairs battling the girls into bed. "I was taking stock of the kitchen earlier and realised these vegetables needed to be used soon. But I haven't wrapped them yet, so you may have to waâ"
"âdo them with you," you finish for him, already reaching for the wrappers before Qifrey can protest. "Double the hands make for half the work, don't they?"
Qifrey just sighs. He knows better than the argue by now. The sound is touched with quiet amusement despite the air of resignation he tries to maintainâhelplessly fond, in all of its indulgences.
The two of you stand at the kitchen counter to wrap the dumplings. Quiet nights in are often your favouriteânot that you don't enjoy the company of the girlsâbut moments like these are made all the more precious in their rarity. Little stretches of time where it is only you and Qifrey, where he can simply be himself and not the witch or the master, the two of you sharing in the stillness of the sleeping atelier together.
By the time you finish wrapping the dumplings, the water on the stove has come to a rolling boil. Qifrey lowers a handful carefully into the pot while you gather the rest, sliding them neatly into the cold box to keep for another day.
Your hips bump together every now and then in the cramped space between the counter and kitchen table, and your fingers brush with murmured apologies neither of you truly mean when you reach for the same wrapper more than once. You watch Qifrey's hands while you work; long fingers pleating the dumplings shut with practiced ease, each one cradled lightly in the cup of his palm before being placed in neat rows upon the tray. There is something strangely tender about the motionâcareful and familiar in the same way he handles all fragile things.
When you turn back, Qifrey is already holding a single bowl in his hands, waiting for you. Steam curls upward lazily from the broth.
You glance up at him. "You're not having any?"
"Hm?" Qifrey hums lightly as he sets the dumplings down on the table. "I assumed we could just share. It'd be less to clean up."
The easy casualness of his words makes something warm unfurl quietly in your chest.
The two of you eat the dumplings at the kitchen table, shoulders brushing every so often as you pass the spoon between you. The dumpling skins turn almost translucent in the broth, pieces of shrimp glowing a faint pink under the lamplight like small crystals. Qifrey nudges the bowl slightly closer when he notices you slowing down, waiting patiently for you to take the next one before reaching for his own. Between bites, the bowl slowly empties until there is nothing but broth, and then, even that too, is gone.
"I'll do the dishes," you say as you gather the bowl and spoon, already beginning to rise from your seat. The quicker you get it done, the sooner you can return to his side. Qifrey's brow furrows behind his glasses.
"It was my suggestion to cook, so I shouldâ"
"Qifrey." Your hands slip over his shoulders before he can stand, fingers idly combing through the soft hair at his nape as he peers up at you. "You already stayed up late last night preparing snacks for us and Olly's lunchbox. Let me."
He tries, regardless. "Butâ"
"Qifrey, dear," you interrupt, voice dropping into something unbearably sweet. You can already see the first signs of impending embarrassment creeping across his face. "My love, my moon and stars, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, won't you please let me have the honour ofâ"
"Oh, stop it." Qifrey pulls away from you halfheartedly, one hand coming up to cover part of his face as though it might hide the warmth gathering there. His voice is exasperated, but weakly soâfar too flustered to carry any real force behind it. "Do as you like."
You think you want to kiss him, then. Desperately, a little. But experience has taught you the moment your lips touch his, neither of you will accomplish anything you intendâso instead, you settle for a light peck to his cheek before carrying the bowl over to the basin. Warm water laps softly against your hands as you scrub at the porcelain, the quiet clink of dishes filling the kitchen.
Even so, you can still feel Qifrey's gaze lingering on your back. A few quiet moments later, there's the soft scrape of chair legs against the kitchen floor, and you barely have time to glance over your shoulder before his arms are slipping around your waist from behind, warm and loose. He folds himself against your back with a quiet sigh.
"I missed you," he murmurs into the crook of your neck.
"I was with you the entire day."
"Not like this."
Qifrey's lips find your neck first, trailing warm kisses along your skin unhurriedly in a way that makes your breath catch. Your head tilts back instinctively to give him more room, and you feel the gentle nip of teeth against the sensitive underside of your jaw before he finally turns you just enough to kiss you properly.
It starts off slowâsoft, familiar in a way only Qifrey can be around you; careful without restraint, gentle without hesitation. Your breaths mingle warm and wet in the spaces between each kiss as your mouths part and meet again, his glasses nudging lightly against your cheekbone as he leans closer. To your dismay, your hands remain suspended awkwardly over the sink, dripping wet and a little soapy. You want to touch him properly, to turn fully into his arms, card your fingers through his hair, and tug just enough to earn that quiet little sound he always tries and fails to swallow.
Instead, you make a helpless noise against his mouth and Qifrey laughs softly into the kiss, like he already knows what you're thinking. He's leaning in again whenâ
There's a sudden creak from the staircase. The two of you freeze instantly, Qifrey's fingertips still gently cradling your jaw. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of whisperingâpoorly hushed, at thatâfollowed by the muffled shuffling of feet retreating back up several steps in frantic succession.
You and Qifrey slowly turn to look at each other.
ââŠWere they spying on us?â you whisper, more amused than anything.
âI am choosing,â Qifrey says with an immense attempt at dignity, despite the lingering flush across his face, âto believe they merely came downstairs for water.â
Another loud whisper drifts from the stairwell.
âI told you they were kissingââ
"âreally just like in the bookâ"
"âcan we go back to bed nowâ"
âShh!â
The last one is definitely Agott. You bite down hard on your laughter, glancing up at the man behind you. Qifrey closes his eye with the exhaustion of a man enduring profound and arduous trials, one hand coming up to rub briefly at his temple before he leans in to steal one last kiss.
âTomorrow,â he murmurs against your mouth, âI'm teaching my apprentices the concept of privacy.â
Summary: You're perched on a table in the Atelier, nursing a wound courtesy of an accidental misfire during one of Coco's practice sessions. Qifrey tends to you the only way anyone can in a world where healing magic is forbidden â carefully, by hand, with a needle and thread, and perhaps against your better judgment, you find it very difficult to want him to stop.
Warnings: Minor injury, stitches, and there might accidently be some present tense mixed in there, sorry...
Qifrey tsked in sympathy at your hiss of pain. He looked up at you above his glasses before lowering his gaze back down to focus on the careful stitches he was weaving into your wound.
âIt wasnât her fault.â You offer meekly.
It really wasnât. Coco had just been excited to try one of your newer spells, one that shot bright bursts of light into the sky. The spell truly is meant to be harmless, but one misaligned arrow was how you found yourself tenderly nursing a deep cut on your side.
You groaned in frustration.Â
It meant so much to you that your spells were harmless. You were a combative witch afterall, used to wielding your magic as a weapon. Thatâs why it was so imperative that you could slow down and enjoy the âgentler magicâ as Qifrey once put it.Â
 His brow quirked up at your pout.
âDoes it hurt terribly?â
You faintly registered his fingers drawing back to just barely ghost the skin of your ribs. Just as quickly as he had drawn back you suddenly found yourself craving for the warmth of the pads of his fingers back on the skin of your side.
You shook your head ânoâ, partially because it was true, but mainly because you wanted him to continue nursing you to health.
Being babied didnât feel so terrible.
âNo it doesnât hurt. Iâm just cross with you.â You lied only to keep the conversation going.
Qifrey hummed, not at all put off. His hand found solace back at your waist, steadying you as he dabbed gently at your now stitched wound.
âWhy are you cross with me?â He murmured, once again leaving you as he discarded the cotton he had just used.
 You shifted on the table you were perched comfortably on as Qifrey pushed his chair back, leaving from where he was situated between your open thighs.
âWhere are you going?â You complained. You realized how childish you must sound right now as your voice adopts a low whine. But who could fault you? You just suffered a nasty blow.
Still, you immediately want to kick yourself from embarrassment before Qifrey looks up at you with a fond expression. You pause, looking down at his lovely face. There was a small divot still in between his brows from worry when he had scanned over your injury. With little thought you reached your hand out to gently flatten the harsh lines.Â
You felt him still under the featherlight touch of your soft hand.
âWhy are you cross at me?â He echoed his previous question, in a breathy whisper.
âWhere are you going?â You whisper back, brow raising in challenge.Â
 He smiled, head tilting to brace against his arm on the table. Whisps of silky white hair fell over his face, loosely.Â
âI asked first.â He teased, only to rile you up.
You couldnât help but reach out, brushing strands of white away from his soft blue gaze. Your fingers lingered on the peak of his cheek bone, tracing under the shadow of his shut lashes.
Qifreyâs eyes fluttered shut at the contact, just barely leaning into your touch.
What would the girls say if the saw the pair of you in this moment? You shuddered to think what Agott would say. Probably something sharp out of mock annoyance.
You felt a smile involuntarily bloom on your face at the thought of the girls.
Qifrey couldnât help but mirror your expression, bringing his own hand up to poke at your cheek.
âWhat would Tetia say if she saw us like this?â He mused, almost as if he had read your mind.
You huffed out a laugh, biting at your lip in thought.Â
What would she say? Probably insistent that the pair of you were star-crossed lovers.Â
Your face flushed at the thought.
 Qifrey pulled his chair back in between your legs, decidedly abandoning whatever it was he was going to get up for. Absent-mindedly he rested one arm against your thigh, leaning his head flat against it to get a closer look at his stitches.Â
Your heart thudded against your chest. You knew he was only being so touchy because of how absorbed he was in his work. Not that he wasn't touchy usually.Â
Who were you kidding? He was very touchy with you. As a matter of fact he was only this touchy with you. Everyone in the Atelier knew itâ save for you, clearly.
âGosh I don't want to even entertain that thought.â You groaned, half heartedly, thinking of all the crazed stories Tetia would surely come up with.Â
âLet her keep her focus trained on Coco and Tartar.â You finish, grinning at the memory of the two, sneaking around.
Qifrey prodded at your wound, experimentally.
The smile from your face dropped, as you hissed in pain, face contorting into a wince. You tried, unsuccessfully, to school your expression but Qifrey had seen the flash of pain.
He cooed in sympathy, drawing his hand away from your side instead resting on your thigh drawing light circles against the flesh with his thumb in an effort to pacify you.
He stared at you with a tender look, as if the moment he tore his eyes from you, youâd disappear, slipping right through his fingers.
You sat in the silence, unusually unbothered by his prolonged soft stare. In fact, you basked in it now, feeling yourself getting tired under the warm rays of his affection.
âAre you going to finish fixing me up?â You question, half-joking as you gestured your head to your exposed stitches.
The second you asked you regret it, realizing this would only shorten the sweetness of the moment.
Qifrey smiled to himself as if he knew some secret you didn't, and that only made you melt all the more.Â
He pushed his glasses up his nose from where it had tilted, turning to grab a long bandaid. With nimble hands he peeled the sticky wrapping off the back.
You allowed your mind to wander as you observed how diligently he worked on a task so menial. How everything he did seemed to receive so much of his care and his affection. How strong and steady his arms looked even while holding something as delicate as a piece of fabric.
âLean back.â He hummed, eyes once again trained onto you.
You rested both your hands on the table beneath you, slowly easing yourself back. You winced at the stretch of your torso and the subsequent stinging on your side.
Qifrey moved quickly, flattening the bandage against your skin. Gingerly, he laid his palm flat against the fabric, moving his other hand to brace your back, pushing his palms together to ensure a tight stick.
You couldnât help the groan that escaped you, though Qifrey was quick to soothe you, tracing small shapes and swirls into your skin.
âThere, done.â He murmured, assuring you that the worst of it was over. His hands remained resting around your waist, kneading you into a mound of clay in his expert hands.
You sighed, contently, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder.
His hands moved down to press against the the curve of your hips as he leaned his head against yours, ever so slightly.
Your voice lowered to a hushed whisper, as if you were telling him a secret.
âIâm cross with you because you care too much.â.
You felt his ministrations pause briefly before he continued on, humming, thoughtfully.
âHow could I not when itâs you Iâm caring for?âÂ
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