I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
Hospitals like to hide these policies under a lot of successive links in obscure places, so if you don't see anything right away, keep looking! Get friends to help! Make it a scavenger hunt. A game where you're assassins sent to slit capitalism's throat
"making them afraid will make them more racist" that's wild to me, because we live in a whole culture of social consequences for antiracism anyway. It is literally safer to be a racist than it is to speak up against it, socially.
Idk about you, but "I'm afraid no one will want to be my friend if I'm a white supremacist" seems like a pretty logical thought process to have, and I wish THAT were the normal and not "I'm afraid my friends will hate me if I tell them they made racist jokes".
"making them afraid will make them more racist" that's wild to me, because we live in a whole culture of social consequences for antiracism anyway. It is literally safer to be a racist than it is to speak up against it, socially.
Idk about you, but "I'm afraid no one will want to be my friend if I'm a white supremacist" seems like a pretty logical thought process to have, and I wish THAT were the normal and not "I'm afraid my friends will hate me if I tell them they made racist jokes".
I had a more intellectual answer for you, but tbh... Then I guess they'll find out. And when they do, they have two options: apologize and actively commit to doing better, or understand that they are choosing racism and will be treated as such. Because the society we live in, somehow option number 2 is the easier route due to a lack of social consequences for being a bigot. I don't think choosing to be a bigot should be the easier route. It should suck to be a racist.
expanding on my ‘olruggio knits’ agenda (see hold me closer count the stars on my ao3 for where this started lol) IM IGNORING CANON bc it’s 11pm and i cba
he learned when he was younger, still too young to cast outside. if he wasn’t allowed to help people in ghodrey’s awful winters with his magic just yet, he’d find another way to do so and his mama suggested he should (and taught him how to) knit. little creatures for the kids in the village, woolly hats and cozy scarves; quick things to whip up that brought a smile to every recipient and a ‘thank you, mister witch!!!!’ even without magic
he continues in the great hall, and by god do they have yarns upon yarns in there, just so you’d never have to go back to the surface to get anything. he’d stick to the creatures and the scarves for now (witches couldn’t wear different hats, after all)
he remembers first presenting qifrey with a little stuffed brushbuddy a few weeks into their friendship and the bemusement he’d been met with. he didn’t know if qifrey had liked it at first or if he’d thought it was silly — but that brushbuddy had gone everywhere with him, clipped to his coat and curled around his neck as he wandered through the halls. it would sit on his desk and watch as qifrey practiced his spells; it would be cuddled in his arms as he slept. olly made him countless over the years; replaced one as the yarn frayed, or after qifrey accidentally spilled ink while drawing, or just to add another one to the rapidly growing collection of brushbuddies of all shapes and sizes on his bed.
he quickly found the gratification from qifrey’s smiles beat any other praise or thanks he could have received. when they’d first moved into the atelier olly had sought the softest, thickest, most expensive yarn he could find and set out on making qifrey a blanket with it. qifrey had loved it so much he’d cried, an expression of gratitude olly had never once been met with before and it had taken a good ten minutes for qifrey to convince him im not sad, really, happy tears olly i promise! the blanket had taken pride of place spread over qifrey’s bed right next to his extended brushbuddy family he’d insisted on bringing with him from the great hall.
many years later, they’d sit down for coffee after a busy morning of wrangling four apprentices with eating breakfast (including veggies, richeh), washing up, getting dressed, gathering ink pots and wands and palm quires and heading out with Alaira for the day for a field trip lesson.
“olly?”
he didn’t like that look. that was qifrey’s ‘im going to ask you something you’re going to say no to’ look, one olruggio was painfully familiar with from his decades experience of dealing with his partner. “what?”
“would you make coco a blanket?”
“…you what?”
qifrey continued stirring the spoon in his coffee, but olly could see his hands just slightly trembling with the barest hint of nerves. “she came in to see me the other night, couldn’t sleep. I think she liked the blanket you made for me — remember that one? — so i thought maybe you could make her one, too. i think she’d like it.”
hm. the girls hadn’t been keen on his attempts at knitting sweaters, as a general rule of thumb; but he’d made one for coco once in a frankly beautiful shade of pastel pink and he could tell she’d loved it from the sparkle in her eyes and the worn patches on the elbows from how often she’d worn it. she’d liked that colour; he could find the same yarn he’d used for qifrey’s — damn the price if it was for his… apprentice, yes not daughter, totally not — maybe even tuck a tiny warming seal or two somewhere in there, keep her warm in the winters, he knew they were bitter out here, after all.
“olly?”
“…I suppose I could make one.”
qifrey had beamed.
he’d set to work immediately, putting his commissions aside temporarily ‘for an important family matter, miss, im sure you can understand’ (though if anyone asked, he’d finished it in his spare time. only qifrey seemed to raise an eyebrow at that excuse). he’d left it on coco’s bed with a note on top and his heart in his throat — would she like it? was qifrey right? or was it too much, was he not close enough to her? was it an odd thing to gift someone?
coco had come down for breakfast the following day and barrelled into olly’s torso at such speed it nearly knocked both of them over and certainly sent cold coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug in his left hand. her arms wound around his waist like a little limpet and she’d buried her face in his robes and her back was shaking — dear god, was she crying? what on earth?!
“thank you,” she’d sobbed once olruggio had been able to convince her to stand up straight and breathe, coco, it’s okay. “I-i love it. thank you, master olly, thank you.”
he’d sent her away with a pat on the back and ideas for blankets for all of the girls already coming together in his mind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Any witch worth their conjuring ink knew of Olruggio of the Torch; his cold disposition, withering glares, snippy conversations if you were so unfortunate to speak with him.
Which is why the entire Great Hall were rather surprised to find Olruggio… knitting?
—
Olruggio Knitting: The Fic has dropped to your local AO3, while stocks last
go read angiosperms by @sleebyshrub nowwww if u haven’t already pls I beg
Qifrey has been sick for a week. Unfortunately, his best friend is committed to taking care of him.
(aka, there wasn't enough mpreg and i said be the change you wanna see in the world)
Read here on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84658596/chapters/223377941
Masterpost:
*insert link here once i make it*
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆.
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ . . ˚ . ✦
It had been almost a week now, and Qifrey was still sick.
At least the misery from being ill kept the silverwood at bay, though the pounding headache felt the same whether from fever or branches in his skull. The worst was the swirling nausea, and the inability to keep any food down. All week, anything he’d tried to eat had been swiftly thrown up, and he’d had to resort to asking Olruggio to prepare the meals, as even the smell of food would have him retching.
After the second day, he’d hardly left his room. As much as he hated to worry the girls, he hated the thought of them catching this even more. The benefit of being quarantined away meant he was also spared the brunt of the comforting and caretaking Olly and the girls would surely force on him, and in his ill state he didn’t have the strength to push them away. He could hardly bear it now, with Olly constantly checking on him, bringing him meals Qifrey couldn’t keep down, and ensuring his teacup never ran empty. (At least the tea stayed down, and he wasn’t dehydrated as well.)
On the fourth day, Olly had shown up with rockginger tea, and Qifrey could feel the branches choking his throat. How long had Olly spent, scrounging cliffsides to find this specifically for him? Perhaps his friend’s love would do him in before this illness did.
He hated to make them all worry, especially when worry was his burden. He tried to reassure the girls that he was fine, and he felt better each day and simply wanted to avoid getting any of them sick. He didn’t think they believed him, but they accepted it enough to mostly leave him be, Olly also having taken over their lessons for the week.
The issue came not with them, but with their Watchful Eye. Olruggio had put the girls to bed, and had now fixed his sights on poor, wretched Qifrey.
“Qifrey…” he said in a warning tone.
“I’m fine, truly,” he insisted, squashing down the nausea in his gut. “There’s no need to see a doctor, I’ll be fine by morning.”
“You said that last night,” Olly grumbled, glaring at Qifrey, who was sitting on his bed, trying to tie the complicated straps of his undershirt with little success. “It’s been a week now, and you’re still sick. I can hear you wretching from my workshop, so I know you’ve probably thrown up every meal I brought you.” Guilt swirled in Qifrey’s stomach, mixing with the nausea in an awful combination. For Qifrey, discomfort was the best medicine. “Now you’re trying to get dressed even though the sun’s already setting!”
“There’s work to be done! Cleaning, lessons to plan, and I need to check the seals on the roof-”
“You aren’t going on the roof when you can barely stand!” Olly’s hands flew up, and he marched over to pull the straps out of Qifrey’s hands. “You aren’t doing any chores, you’re not doing anything besides laying back down and resting!”
Qifrey, feeling a bit put out, mustered up a glare to direct at his old friend. “I am perfectly capable of assessing my own capabilities, Olruggio.” Olly held his gaze a moment, then looked away with a sigh.
“You need to rest, Qifrey. You’re no good to anyone like this. Please, for once in your life, take it easy.” Now Qifrey softened, never able to resist Olruggio for long. How could he, when Olly had been the one looking out for Qifrey since the day they met? “Just lay back down, I’ll make you some tea, and then in the morning we'll take you to Sinoccia.”
Qifrey leaned back in bed as requested, but couldn't help but grumble a bit. “Maybe I'm sick of tea.” He felt like a petulant child, but luckily Olly didn't take it to heart.
“You're never sick of tea.” He was right, unfortunately. Qifrey was really enjoying the different blends Olruggio had been bringing him, and it warmed his heart to see the effort he’d put into making sure Qifrey wasn’t stuck with the same cup each time. Such a simple gesture had roots tickling his brain, seeking to grow and sprout branches that would burst through his skin and consume him. “Now go to bed.”
“Olruggio-” He didn’t know what possessed him to call out, arm suddenly outstretched to grasp at Olly’s cloak as the man tried to leave. His words caught in his throat, and he found himself speechless. He just suddenly hated the thought of Olly leaving.
Stay. Please, stay.
He couldn’t ask that though. Not when it meant roots and branches and leaves and secrets- It had only been a few weeks since the last time he’d had to erase Olly’s mind, it was too soon to do it again. He couldn’t bear it. He just shook his head, smiling at Olly instead. “Nevermind. Have a good night.”
Olly looked doubtful, and for a moment Qifrey feared he’d push the matter, but he just sighed, and smiled down at him. “Goodnight Qifrey.”
He shut the door, and Qifrey felt some small part of him weep at it.
That night, he left the tea on his desk untouched. It was a small comfort he didn’t deserve, not when every bit he allowed himself brought him closer to his own undoing, and breaking the one promise he had to keep.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆.
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ . . ˚ . ✦
That morning as promised, Olly woke Qifrey up far later than he should have, and told him the girls were spending the morning reviewing so he could take Qifrey to the hospital. Qifrey didn’t have the energy to argue, so he took his time getting dressed, silently agreeing that it would be nice to be able to keep food down. His legs shook with the effort of standing, and his head swam with every step.
The Great Hall was just as big and noisy as it always was, and Qifrey still hated it. He hated seeing the ocean swimming above their heads, and how he could feel the moisture trying to cling to him, repelled by the seals in his cloak.
Olly helped him to the medical spire, where they waited in a room for Sinnocia. He wondered if it was the same one he’d been in last time, after the second test. He’d been a bit out of it when he’d left, frantic with worry over his newest apprentice and what Lord Beldaruit’s words might have driven her to do. Hopefully his former teacher didn’t catch wind that Qifrey was here, he really didn’t have the energy to deal with him right now.
“Really, you don’t have to stay here with me,” he tried again to get Olruggio to leave and go back to the atelier, but the man was having none of it. “I promise, I’ll get seen, they’ll say I’m fine, and send me back home.”
“You’ll tell them you’re fine, and probably won’t mention how sick you’ve been.” Unfortunately, Olruggio knew him too well, and stubbornly wasn’t budging.
“I don’t need him to tell me that, one look says it all.” Sinnocia stood in the doorway, eyeing Qifrey, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. “You look terrible. Why can’t you ever come visit me when you’re feeling well, huh?” She shook her head, but her smile was fond so Qifrey knew she was just teasing. “Don’t worry Olruggio, I won’t let him get away with hiding anything, you can give us a bit of privacy.” With her ruthless efficiency she shooed out Olruggio, who went easier knowing that Sinnocia really wouldn’t let Qifrey brush his health under the rug.
Sinnocia kept up an easy stream of conversation as she examined Qifrey, having him remove most of his layers, aside from his undershirt and trousers. Qifrey, knowing he couldn’t get away with it, told her how sick he’d been, the headaches and nausea, and how exhausted he’d been. She ended up having him lay down, gently prodding his stomach, the pressure making him wince. “Qifrey,” she began, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “Have you… been intimate with anyone recently, by any chance?”
Qifrey’s face burned, and he was about to respond in the negative when-
Hands, tracing down his skin, slipping under the folds of his dress. Soft lips against his, the prickle of facial hair against his cheek. Callused fingers running lower, lower until-
His heart leaped into his throat, but he managed a nod, and he didn’t like the expression Sinnocia made then. She felt around a bit more, and used a small instrument to listen to his stomach after which she stepped back, and let Qifrey don his robes again.
“When was your last menstruation?” Qifrey shrugged, not really sure. Though he had the parts, he’d never really had a proper menstruation, and once he’d learned of the silverwood he’d chalked it up to yet another thing it had stolen from him. It didn’t really bother him much, and it wasn’t something he felt the loss of strongly. Maybe that was why he was so sick, and it was a side effect of the tree?
“Well, I really don’t know what to say, except I’m pretty sure you’re with child.”
For a moment, everything stopped. He froze, completely unable to process the information.
It shouldn’t have been possible. He’d always thought, with the seed and his condition-
But then again, he’d never given it much thought. He’d always put kids of his own far out of his mind. There was no way he could be the kind of parent they’d need. Not when loving them the way they needed would kill him. He had his apprentices, and Olruggio and that was enough.
Oh stars, Olruggio.
How was Qifrey going to tell him? He couldn’t, not when dear, sweet Olly didn’t even remember when they’d been together, when Qifrey had to steal the memory every time they got too close and the tree began to sprout-
“Qifrey?” Sinnocia was still there, trying to get his attention as he spiraled. “Are you alright? Want me to get Olruggio?”
“No!” She jumped at his quick explanation, and he hurried to regain his composure. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He buried his hands in the folds of his skirts so she wouldn’t see the way he twisted and pulled at his fingers. “So then, the nausea, the sickness?”
“Very standard for your first trimester, if a bit extreme in your case. It should ease off once you reach your second, but since you’ve been unable to eat, I’ll send you with a tincture that should help curb that nausea. You’ll probably start to feel the other symptoms soon, but I think we caught it quite early.” She went on to explain the usual progression of symptoms, and how he’d probably start putting on weight as the baby began to grow.
The baby.
It hadn’t quite hit him yet, that this was real, there was a real, actual baby growing inside of him. Olruggio’s baby.
“I’ll go get that tincture for you, plus some vitamins that will help you feel a bit better as well.” A quick brush to his shoulder, and Sinnocia was off, letting Olruggio back in.
“Well, what’d she say?”
Qifrey didn’t know what to tell him. He couldn’t possibly tell him the truth, not when the truth would unravel all the lies currently keeping Qifrey alive and human. Not when if by some miracle, Olly still forgave all his secrets- (Qifrey already knew he would, that Olruggio would forgive him every time and it would be his undoing) he would insist on caring for Qifrey, on being there, being close, making Qifrey as comfortable as possible-
He couldn’t do it.
So Qifrey did what he does best, and lied to Olruggio, putting on his best smile.
“Just a strong stomach bug. She’s gone to get some medicine that will help clear it up.” Olruggio nodded, looking relieved.
Sinnocia gave Qifrey the medicine, with a pointed look towards Olruggio. “Make sure he rests, don’t let him push himself. Look after him, alright?” Olruggio agreed easily, while Qifrey protested he didn’t need to be looked after, glancing frantically at Sinnocia. She wouldn’t say anything, but Qifrey didn’t need Olruggio getting the idea that he needed extra attention.
It would be hard enough to hide this from him as it is.
Tinctures in hand, Olruggio helped him home, and Qifrey somehow found it in him to act normal, up until he was settled back in bed, Olly shutting the door behind him.
Once he was sure his friend was gone, and he was alone, Qifrey burst into tears.
currently losing my mind over how my silly little mpreg fic ended up blowing up and is now is the most liked mpreg fic in the fandom and has the most comments in the entire fandom tag. i dont know how to cope with this so im just gonna write more pregnant qifrey
areudirty
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