extremely self-indulgent but some lines I especially liked writing from the olufrey fic (not connected to each other especially other than that I find both darkly amusing):
“What’s that?” Olruggio said, pulling the door closed behind him and leaning in curiously.
“A sword,” Qifrey said wretchedly, like he was admitting to some abominable act of forbidden magic, or a torrid affair.
and
He had still managed to keep this traitorous growth from finding a permanent place in the garden of his mind when, one day alone on the road, the realization finally washed over him fully that if he never went home, if he could only stay his damn course this go around, third time’s the charm, he would never again have to see Olly’s face grow slack and empty as the memory erasing spell took hold. Qifrey would never again steal the past and future of his best friend to keep himself alive like some parasitic infection in his own right. Olruggio would live his life freely, without this strangle vine promise of their youth sapping him of substance.
And in that moment of perfect relief, the silverwood had seized its chance.
Only pure luck ensured that no one had been there to witness Qifrey angrily blinking tears from one eye and plucking foliage out of the hollow left behind by the other, each leaf already going sullenly autumn-limp and brown along the edges as the branch they sprung from retreated back into the shelter of his body. A few of them got in his mouth, the bitter ocean tang of tears mixing with the vegetal sharpness and rot of fallen leaves before he could spit them out. The taste had made him feel sick. Sicker.
At that point he hadn’t had much choice but to bury his face in his hands and admit to himself that for all that it was a terrible plan and he was terrible for having conceived of it in the first place, it was the only plan he had left.
