【Synopsis: In which Qifrey dotes on his dearest in the lead up to that dreadful time of the month.】
【Featuring: Qifrey】
【Tags: afab reader, TW for discussions of periods/menstruation/PMS symptoms/general period discomfort, fluffy period comfort, doting Qifrey, reader is trying hard to be annoyed with him but he’s just too sweet lol, omg I actually beta read this time lol, possible typos and spelling errors tho, please let me know if I missed any tags】
【Word count: 1.1k】
【a/n: Was this requested? No, but my period is about to start and I’m in desperate need of some TLC. This was originally supposed to be with my beloved Hightower from House of the Dragon, but I decided to write Qifrey instead since I have a better grasp on how I want to characterize him. Be warned tho, I will be feeding the Gwayne fans — all three of them, inducing myself — once I’m not so busy. I do plan on officially taking requests for WHA once I reopen my ask box, but for now yall will have to wait. Take this as your sign to go read or watch With Hat Atelier in preparation. I want ten million WHA requests in my ask box when I do reopen it lol! Anyway, shout out to all my fellow period warriors, this one is for yall fr!】
【Divider by: @/diviniyae】
"Won't you come out from underneath those blankets and tell me what's wrong, darling?"
Qifrey's soft pleading pierces through the barrier of your cozy blanket cocoon. He's been trying to coax you into emerging or at least talking to him for the last five minutes to no avail. Qifrey has navigated many tricky situations in his life, from unruly apprentices, to attacks from the Brimhats, but this — somehow — takes the cake.
After a beat of silence, a defeated sigh — muffled thanks to the blanket over your head — finds your ears. Qifrey knew something was wrong when you didn't join him, Olruggio, and the girls for breakfast. You seemed rather… sluggish when you woke up, but it's unlike you to burrow into bed and refuse to leave its comfort when you know that day's responsibilities await you.
That's when it clicks for Qifrey.
You listen to him walk away from where he was crouched at your bedside, silently hoping that he'll finally leave you be and just let you wallow in peace. Unfortunately, Qifrey is a very stubborn man. The soft, distant sound of paper being flipped though can be heard as your beloved goes about doing whatever it is he's doing. With a soft hum, Qifrey finds what he's looking for marked in bright red ink on the calendar.
Ah, so it's about that time, is it?
"I see what the problem is now, dearest. You should have told me you weren't feeling well before your period."
Qifrey's suspicions are confirmed when an exasperated groan bellows from within the confines of your blanket prison. Slowly, and almost shamefully, you pop your head out, shooting your beloved witch a petulant glare that he can't bring himself to take seriously thanks to your bedhead sticking up every which way. Even when you're cross with Qifrey, he thinks you utterly breathtaking.
"What am I going to do with you, hmm?"
"Let me rot in bed all day, perhaps?"
"Hmm, no, I don't think so. How about we start with getting something to eat?"
Qifrey's gone before you have the chance to argue, and in the blink of an eye he's back at your side with a carefully selected spread from this morning's breakfast. He takes it upon himself to feed you, happily smiling to himself as he raises a spoonful of porridge to your lips. You glance at the spoon, then back at Qifrey with an unamused brow raised.
"You do know I can feed myself, yes?"
"Of course, dear. I merely wish to dote on you while you're not feeling well. You'll allow me that simple pleasure, will you not?"
The soft huff that passes your lips signals to Qifrey the end of your attempts at pushing him away. Without a fuss, you let him feed you. While the food itself is delicious as always, you can't help but grow a tad annoyed by your beloved’s rather… intense staring. Usually, it wouldn't bother you too much, but your mood is all kinds of thrown off thanks to your impending period, making the smallest of things something you're ready to have a meltdown over.
"Will you look away or something? I'm not going to disappear if you take your eye off me, Qifrey."
"My apologies, love. I had no intention of staring, but I couldn't help but notice how your cheeks become so soft and squishy like Puff-Puff's when you chew. They're just so cute and pinchabale, I couldn't help but be entranced by them."
Yet again, Qifrey's endless adoration makes it impossible for you to be truly annoyed with him. He watches as you quite literally melt at his words, losing any sense of defiance you had a mere moment ago. A smug, satisfied smile makes its way to Qifrey's lips, but he manages to bite it back well enough for you not to notice.
"Now that you're nice and fed, how about you tell me how you’re feeling, hm?"
"Tired and sore."
"Is that so? Well, that's no good, is it? Lucky for you, I have just the thing to sooth what ails you!"
With a cheery pep in his step, you resentfully watch Qifrey flit about to rifle through his desk for who knows what. It must be so nice to be unburdened by the dreaded monthly cycle and cursed week of blood, lucky bastard. For a split, second you're yet again cross with Qifrey for no fault of his own.
Just as quickly, you find yourself melting yet again as he comes scurrying back with a sparkle in his eyes and smile on his lips. Qifrey crouches down next to the bed, practically beaming his he presents you with a… stone? He looks up at you like a puppy presenting its owner with a stick it found — expectant and awaiting copious amounts of love and praise. Although confused, you can't even begin to be irritated by him when he looks at you like that.
"It's a rock."
"No, darling. It's a snugstone! It's Olly's latest invention!"
"And how exactly is this 'snugstone' supposed to help my pain?"
Instead of just explaining how the magical contraption works, Qifrey simply opts to show you instead. With gentle hands, he places the snugstone overtop your sleep shirt, right against your bloated stomach. You don't know what to expect, and for a moment, you think this is just some kind of elaborate prank. That's when a soothing warmth overtakes you.
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed, my love! Quite an impressive rock, don't you think?"
"It's certainly something, alright. Give my regards to Olruggio for this wonderful contraption of his."
"Of course, sweetheart. I'll make sure he knows how much his hard work is appreciated. Now, I believe it's time you got some rest."
Qifrey smooths a gentle hand over your head as a comfortable bliss washes over your weary self. For all the bite you had earlier, it's funny how easily you lean into his touch now that you've been fed and tended too. It would be all too easy for Qifrey to tease you for how quickly you switched up on him, but he knows better than to draw your ire when you're in such a state.
"I'll be downstairs with the girls for today's lesson, so you need only shout if you need me, alright?"
Qifrey isn't entirely sure that you comprehend his words, but the tired nod you give in response is enough to tell him that he was able to reach you though the impending haze of sleep enveloping you. He huffs softly, giving your cheek a gentle squeeze between his thumb and pointer finger before leaning in to press a delicate kiss against your forehead. With that, Qifrey pulls away, finding you already lost to the land of dreams.
tags fluff, pre-established relationship!qifrey x reader, ew lovebirds ew eww, and more… ;)
words 884
a/n it feels like every scenario i made is somehow a remake and/or a one-on-one retelling of harry potter scenes (bcs im so uninspired like that), so hey, shout out to you if you recognize this :)) crossposted on ao3
The morning was still early in the atelier. The sun was not high enough to warm up the damp soil beneath the cold misty air, releasing an earthy scent. The freshly hanged flowers Tetia foraged the day before wafted a pleasant fragrance throughout the living room as you walked past it.
You realized upon stepping into the fireplace that you were the first one up, assuming everyone else was either still asleep or in the midst of getting ready inside their rooms. You fetch your robe hanging by the dim fire, now dried after yesterday's storm, wrapping and buttoning them on yourself as you walk into the kitchen.
Qifrey's two year old stew was still on the stove, steaming fresh upon the constant repeating spell. As much as you'd like to have a hearty bowl of one for breakfast, you thought, maybe the girls could have something new once in a while?
And so your feet instantly meandered around the kitchen, opening every cabinets—in hopes of not finding crawling insects inside the bottom ones—to see and find out the capacity of Qifrey and Olruggio's humble cooking space.
Thankfully, no spiders or roaches. There was yesterday's bread, tomatoes, some eggs and pans. Although, you still need—
"Busy morning?"
That sweet, comforting lilt in his voice startled you. Well, just a little. You still couldn't have your heart to get used to it. Not after your unplanned confession last week over the warm crackling fireplace.
Qifrey was leaning at the archway when you turned your head, eyelash batting with a curved smile. His arms were crossed under the white robe worn askew, carelessly thrown as if he didn't have time to attach the hanging ornament between them.
You failed fighting your smile, "I thought the girls deserved something freshly made."
Qifrey sniffled a laugh, "Ouch," as he descended upon the small set of steps into the kitchen towards you.
"You're going somewhere?" Your hand reached out to his golden ropes flailing between his robe.
"I might have to. The girls still need supplies for their next test," he suddenly leaned in closer, "or maybe I can have the Watchful Eye to sub me?"
You snort, dodging his eager face trying to sneak in a peck.
"No. And it is best to look at the least properly made when meeting other fellow witches."
You looked up between your lashes at him as you buttoned his robe, knowing his eye never left yours, "Wouldn't want to tarnish the well respected name of your atelier, would you?”
"Our atelier."
You scoffed, "I'm no master."
"Coco might say otherwise—"
"No debate in the morning." You pouted when you were finished fiddling with his robe. You pat down the flaps, continuously avoiding his gaze pretending to tidy up his garment. Not only eye contact was never your forte but, heavens, does Qifrey made it so much harder.
His thumb and index finger lightly pushed your chin up at him, immediately closing the gap between your lips with his. You sighed at his mouth and held on his shoulder for support. He pulled away to breathe and moved his head immediately back to your lips, deepening the kiss. He whined at your fingers tracing the outlines of his collar.
You were far to distracted at his hand right behind your waist, hoisting and pressing you closer to him for you to not realize the tiny 'clink' in the near distance.
Pulling away slowly, you glanced behind his back to see Olruggio already standing by, sipping at his steaming mug of tea.
The sight of you—unsuccessfully—hiding in front of Qifrey averted his attention. Qifrey twisted his neck back at Olruggio, now sipping carefully trying to not burn himself.
"So is breakfast ready?"
Qifrey smiled and nodded like it was just another Tuesday morning, "We'll just have the stew."
"No…" Your irritated scoff caught Olruggio's attention back at you, "No, we'll be having shakshouka."
Olruggio nonchalantly nodded, though you're unsure if the red on his ears was from the steaming mug or… another thing.
Qifrey turned his head back towards you, gently squeezing your forearms, "I'll get the girls ready."
And with that, Qifrey left the kitchen, patting Olruggio before leaving you alone, face to face and a few feet apart with the Watchful Eye. You wondered if it was the sun is getting higher or the embarrassment. Either way, you felt heat creeping up to your face and sweat pouring out of your temple.
"You take your time," he sipped, "just don't make the girls wait."
Holding yourself for support, you put your hands on your hips—also to prevent them accidentally flailing around out of awkwardness.
"I won't."
He nodded, still with a straight face, before leaving you alone with your pile of tomatoes, eggs, and pans.
You sighed in relief, pondered for a little because of whatever on earth was just happened in a span of a minute. Finally flailing your hands, you tried shaking away the embarrassment and rolled your shoulders to crack your back.
"Is it okay if I help?"
A bubbly voice interrupted. Coco, already stepping down the kitchen, walked towards you with a smile. Sometimes you wonder how long does it take for the girls to have themselves up and ready in the morning. Such case would probably be very brief for Coco.
"Of course, Coco, you can help me with the tomatoes."
you guessed it. i made this at 2 am, unedited, posted it. straight up rawdogging it
With a slight morning chill and little droplets of water clinging to the leaves of the plants by your window, they try their best to hold on to the beads of water. You watch with a tender smile on your face, eyes still fluttering sleepily, as a bead of water cascades gently down the leaf of the sky-blue flower and sinks into the soil beneath it.
Morning spring dews mean nothing to many, but to you, they mean the man with hair like winter snow—white and soft—will be visiting soon.
The man is a pointed-cap witch who comes every year to repay a debt that doesn't exist. If it did, it would have been paid off by his first visit, but he insists. You offered him shelter many moons ago, when the storm outside felt like it was going to drown the land in its fury. You caught him out of the corner of your eye, walking down the dirt path of your middle-of-nowhere village. Pushing the door to your home wide open, letting the heinous screams of the winds and the tears of the sky into your home, you called out to the stranger.
"Sir!" Your eyes squinted harshly against the wind, arm over your forehead to keep the rain from hitting your face, a vain attempt. You're nearly as wet as he is in just a matter of seconds, but that doesn't stop you from calling out to him. "You're welcome to wait out the storm with me!"
You don't think you'll ever forget the look he made when he saw you.
You're not quite sure whether you'll ever understand all the emotions that flashed across his face. At first, it was as if he'd seen a ghost, eyes widening in horror, mouth agape as he clutched the robes at his chest. Maybe he hadn't expected to see anyone in the storm, let alone at the forest's edge. But just as quickly as the expression flashed, it was replaced by a dopey smile. His lips curl shyly, eyes crinkling in a friendly manner as he rushes to your home.
From the entrance of your home, you hadn't realized how tall the stranger was until he was towering over you, panting heavily from his jog. His arm holds the door frame, keeping the wind from blowing it shut as he gazes down at you with a desperate look. His eyes shake, refusing to settle on yours. They glide across your face… lips, nose, the curve of your cheeks. He takes it all in.
"Is the offer still open?" he says between bated breaths. You're pulled out of a daze you weren't aware you were in, nor for how long. The pounding of your heart nearly drowned out his voice, one that you hadn't expected to be so smooth and gentle.
"Of course!" you say in a panic. You step back, letting him into your small home, and the door closes behind him.
"Thank you for letting me into your home." His hands dig into his pockets, searching for something. "I am forever in your debt."
"What!" you squeak nervously. You shake your head and your hands frantically. "It's fine, really! You don't owe me anything!"
When it was just you at home, there were many things you hadn't noticed about it. Only when he stood in front of you did you see them. Only then did you realize how small your home was. There was no escape from his gentle eyes or his soft panting, which has your imagination running wild.
"I'll get us some towels to dry off," you say bashfully, unsure how else to break this weird tension.
"No need," he says before you have the chance to even move. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, along with two rings. He slides them along his thumbs, pressing them together. In an instant, a light is emitted, swallowing you both in its familiar warmth. The water that had showered you both dissipates into the air, leaving you in awe.
You're in disbelief. Your eyes flicker between him and yourself. Your hands run along the fabric of your clothes, feeling it dry and warm. Too caught up in your own awe, you weren't watching him as he dug into his pockets again.
"Qifrey the witch," he says with a slight bow, meeting your flustered gaze. He holds his pointed hat in his hands and over his heart for a moment before placing it on his head. "At your service."
You hadn't told him then, or the visits that followed, but you had dreamt of him long before you had met him. The images of him in your dreams are as clear as dreams are—fuzzy, blurry, and nonsensical.
The first dream you had of Qifrey is one you flush at the memory of. There was no space between you and him, your lips grazing his, and his eyes staring down at you with a yearning that makes you shriek in your arms just from visualizing it, especially now that you met the man in your dreams.
At the time, it hadn't meant much to you. Only a passing thought, if your solitude in the forest was taking a toll on you—maybe you had begun to yearn for affection.
The dreams don't come in a pattern. They appear to you sporadically. Sometimes they come days apart; other times, weeks… months.
Another dream that often comes to mind is the one you woke up to, tears streaming down your face, when you first dreamt it. You had felt an ache in your heart and an empty feeling in your stomach, despite the dream being one of love—at least it was love to you.
You were being held in his arms as yours wrapped around his neck. Daylight had yet to break, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. The sight of it now, as you recollect it, reminds you of a painting soaked in water. The colors of it all mix together, with no clear end to one and the start of another.
You were in his arms, lips pressed against his, and somehow, in a way that only makes sense in a dream, you were in the air with him. Every time this particular dream resurfaces in your mind, you can feel the chill on your skin, almost as if relieving the feeling of the air thousands of feet in the sky. And if you close your eyes, you can feel the ghostly feeling of his lips on yours.
It's silly, maybe even a little pathetic and desperate, but you often wonder whether the dreams were memories of another life. One in which Qifrey the witch was much more than just the man who visits you once a year, when the morning spring dew appears.
A/n: EEEE! My first Witch Hat Atelier fic (besides HCs and drabbles)!
First Chapter! Sorry for it being somewhat short! Navigating new waters, but hopefully the next chapter will be a bit longer!
Oh! If you don't know! This fic is based on this idea I posted not long ago!
Olly's pov of the events in my fic "Have you heard the news?"
Summary:
“Olruggio,” she said, as if it was obvious. “Is he like your boyfriend?”
“Yes?” Qifrey blinked at Alaira’s foolishness. Olly was his friend, and a boy. Duh. “Of course he’s my boyfriend.”
-
A young Qifrey accidentally starts a rumour about himself and Olruggio that quickly gets out of hand.
xx.
I haven't touched digital art in a HOT minute lol but I felt this insane urge to depict Shoujoruggio :') my babiesss.
As I was saying in this post, I don't think baby Qifrey would even know what words like "boyfriend" would mean because he has literally NO social/cultural context and understanding for human relationships--not after his memory has been erased so many times. Naturally this would probably lead to some awkward misunderstandings lol.
hi sage!! I'm here with a (no pressure) request :3c olruggio + "you're claustrophobic?" "yes." "damn okay. um. look it's going to be okay, alright? just...breathe."
- @yinyuedijun
Hello mao! sorry this took me a while. I think I actually wrote three completely different versions of this before I realized that none of them worked well for the prompt itself. In the other versions, I really liked the idea of the reader being dyslexic because wha touches on disability a lot within witch society and I liked thinking about how that might make things difficult. I elaborated more on that in the other drafts than you'll see in this version, but hopefully it still comes through. I am not dyslexic though and I know it can appear differently for people but ultimately, I don't know what living with that is like. Anyway, I hope you enjoy ❤︎
cw: suggested sexual content, negative self-talk, reader is dyslexic
word count: 1593
You don’t fit into witch society.
No one tells you as such, but you know that it’s true. You saw it as a child in the disapproving looks of adults who told your father that you’d never be a witch. You saw it in the way you kept getting passed over for apprenticeship. But most of all, you know it because of your lifelong struggle to meet your own expectations. The extra work needed just to live like an ordinary person, much less a witch.
Still, you’ve made a life for yourself in Kalhn—running your family’s bookshop and translating manuscripts after hours. It’s difficult work but also a reminder that your affliction will only hinder you as much as you let it.
And there’s Olruggio too. Sweet, handsome Olruggio.
Sweet wasn’t the first word that came to mind when he first stepped into The Witch’s Tome. He had been straightforward and gruff in a way that made you automatically shrink inside yourself in the presence of witches. But when you’d completed his request to translate an aged text into modern language two weeks later, his iciness slowly began to thaw.
Now, months later, you think Olruggio of The Torch is a rather fitting nickname.
His touch is warm as it travels over your skin, igniting your nerves in a way that spreads like a wildfire. Impossible to quell by normal means, but you suspect he plans to let you burn until you’re no longer able to stand it.
It feels like it’s been hours since you’ve pulled away from one another even long enough to breathe. You can feel the burn in your lungs with the need for a deep breath but it’s a sensation you welcome, especially when Olruggio seals his lips to yours again, stealing the air with a slide of his tongue over your lower lip.
Something clatters and you’re made aware that you’re on his desk (when did that happen?), but Olruggio doesn’t pay any mind. His hands continue to wander, letting your skirts gather at your hips as he explores beneath them.
You’re not sure if it’s a mercy when he finally pulls away. His hand rests against your inner thigh, thumb sweeping gentle, teasing circles that make you grip the front of his shirt. The collar is dishevelled and wrinkled from your need to touch him, askew in a way that exposes a scarlet flush of skin across his heaving chest.
You catch a glimpse of it as his attention shifts to your neck, facial hair tickling your skin, and Olruggio seems to reconsider your position. His hands move instead to the underside of your knees, pulling you to the edge of the desk until you’re flush with his hips.
The length of him is unmistakable, and the pressure of it against your core has the pleasure that’s been slowly simmering beneath your skin suddenly traveling like waves down your limbs. You tremble despite how stifling the room feels.
“Master Olruggio!”
You both pull away immediately at the sound of a young girl’s voice, and Olruggio spins around.
Thankfully the door remains closed, but there’s no mistaking how much the interruption has startled him. You catch the faintest beginnings of the flush creeping upwards to the tips of his ears when he turns back to you.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and you giggle. “That’s one of Qifrey’s apprentices. It could be an emergency.”
“It’s okay,” you tell him, doing your best to straighten his shirt to a more respectable appearance. “Go and see what she wants.”
A sharp knock at the door has Olruggio practically growling, “One minute!” as he helps you down from his desk. You follow him to the door but to your surprise, he leads you past it to a trunk against the wall. Curious, you watch as he opens it to reveal a set of stairs.
A sly smirk curls the edges of his lips when Olruggio kisses you, and he urges you with a gentle push.
“Go inside and wait for me,” he whispers. “Whatever it is, I won’t be long.”
The stairs are narrow, leading down into what appears to be a small, dimly-lit room. You can see the beginnings of what looks to be furniture. Pleasant, you’re sure, but you hesitate.
Another knock on the door spurs your legs into action. The girls need Olly for something and he is this atelier’s Watchful Eye. You shouldn’t delay him.
You cast one last fleeting look at Olruggio before he closes the trunk’s lid with a heavy thunk, trapping you inside.
It grows darker and your legs feel stiff as you force your way down to the landing. As you thought, it’s a small room. Only enough space for a daybed against one wall, a desk on another, and a shelf for a dozen or so books. There isn’t even a window, just a single floatglow lamp fixed to the wall above the desk.
You walk to the desk, looking for something to distract yourself from the mounting feeling of dread that’s filling your stomach. You know it’s silly. The room looks comfortable and cozy and warm despite the feeling that it’s closing in on you, and you try to remind yourself that Olruggio would not put you in any danger.
Parchment litters the desk’s surface. Diagrams and sigils and half-created spells with explanations written in the margins. You pick one up at random and look over what looks to be an… earth sigil? No, that can’t be right. Olruggio’s specialty is fire.
You look again, and this time you are sure that the sigil is for fire. Frustration grows, only amplifying the fear that’s spreading like an invasive species in your chest. Olruggio is a brilliant witch. What right do you have to be here with him?
“That’s called a Snugstone.” You jump at the sound of Olruggio’s voice, unaware that he’d joined you, and his expression shifts from relaxed to concerned. “Woah, sorry. I thought you heard me. Are you alright?”
You nod, taking a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart. “Was everything okay?”
“Fine,” he replies, taking a step forward to wrap you in his arms. “Tetia just wanted to let me know that dinner was ready, but I don’t think I’m ready for food just yet.” To punctuate his meaning, he leans in to kiss you. “I come in here when I can’t focus and need to work.” Another kiss. “The best part is it’s soundproof and no one else knows it’s here.”
You place your hands on his chest in order to create some space, grateful that he’s with you but the closeness you’d been seeking just moments before is now making your anxiety worse. Your heart continues to pound, this time for an entirely different reason.
Olruggio pauses.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft and laced with worry, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes to know for certain. It’s bad enough that you struggle with reading, but now you’re getting worked up over a room? When you don’t immediately respond, Olruggio gently squeezes your arm. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Hot tears are beginning to form in your eyes, and you try to blink them away before he notices. You need to breathe, but it feels impossible right now.
“I’m fine. Could we… go back upstairs, please?” You’re trembling. You feel it when Olruggio backs away slightly to look at you, and you finally meet his gaze. He looks wounded, perhaps assuming rejection or that he’s done something wrong. “It’s just… this room, it’s…”
Realization settles into Olruggio’s expression as he looks around.
“You’re claustrophobic?”
“Yes.”
“Damn okay, um.” The tips of his ears go pink again. “Look, it’s going to be okay, alright? Just… breathe. Of course we can go back upstairs.”
He leads you forward with a gentle hand, then helps you climb out and back into his room. Immediately, your head feels clearer and you take a few deep breaths.
“I’m sorry.” Olruggio keeps to a safe distance when he speaks again, rubbing at his nape. “I hadn’t even considered that—”
“Don’t be sorry,” you’re quick to say, forcing yourself to smile as your heart slows. “You had no way of knowing.”
An awkward silence settles in. Though it’s unspoken, it’s clear that the earlier mood has passed. The blazing heat of a wildfire snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
Leaning against his desk, Olruggio clears his throat.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asks. Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, linking your first two fingers with his. “The girls would like to meet you, I think. They ask about you a lot.”
You blink. After embarrassing yourself, Olruggio wants you to stay? He talks to the apprentices about you?
“They know about me?”
Olruggio nods but doesn’t elaborate, and you notice that his blush hasn’t subsided. It’s a wonder that this bashful-looking man could be so bold in touching you before. That you could think him rude when you first met. That he even wants to touch you.
You wonder briefly if he will one day view you as you see yourself: Inadequate and broken. Not suited to witch society, but rather a tool just useful enough to keep around. But you remind yourself that your disability can only hinder you as much as you’ll allow it, and getting to know this sweet, brilliant witch is enough to make you take that risk.
I HAVE FINALLY COMPLETED CH3 OF MOTHFREY, oh my goodness
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
was it a process T_T
↓ writer's block grabbed me by the throat y'all, i could not find a good start. But I am rather proud of it overall, so perhaps pretty please leave your hopefully dear author a comment or reblog if you enjoyed? perhaps with your favorite part👀
