Mongaha

This is an A4 sheet prompt written for the 'burning verses' experiment (read more here) to help the author get out of writer's block

Fandom: Witch Hat Atelier

Pairing/characters: Orufrey

Spoilers: ch. 40, 88-92

Tags: postcanon, morning cuddles, yearning, Olruggio's POV, fluff

Context: they wake up together after Qifrey's curse is broken, Olruggio is wondering if they are ready to be intimate with each other, with no fear of harm (they are in this version)

~~~

Qifrey's face is so close that his breathing leaves traces on skin, from lips to neck — a path that is always exposed to everyone's eye yet hidden to anyone's touch, except for Qifrey's ghost in Olruggio's dreams. Olruggio keeps a distance between them because he wants Qifrey to decide when his body deserves to be found and explored — if ever.

Olruggio can never guess when Qifrey makes up his mind to commit an incredulous act, like making him believe there has never been a thin line between their bodies and souls. The line has always been the same length, starting from their lips, travelling to their shoulders when they bump in the kitchen, to their hands when a bottle of midnight indulgence is put aside, back to their eyes when Qifrey catches a thread of the stare that slips through Olruggio's hold. It is a thin line both of them have wished to cross, and they have probably smudged it a few times. For now, all Olruggio sees is blurry, from questions of how they erase this line to whether they need to at all. Is Olruggio dreaming again of the ways Qifrey's breathing will never take?

But Qifrey's in his arms, vulnerable, trusting his sleepiness to Olruggio's embrace. If he wished to run away, he would not let Olruggio caress him with sighs, gaze at his lips as if the line between them is nothing but a stripe of ash to wipe off — or set ablaze into a flicker that finally blinds them enough to never draw it again. Qifrey moves his head up, a feather-light exhale escaping his lips and kissing Olruggio's mouth. Olruggio dreams — he thinks — the fraction of a moment when Qifrey tries to reach closer but pulls back. This does feel like a dream, for the heat of Qifrey's body cannot be real. Olruggio cannot hold it knowing it is his to adore — with or without the line that can never be crossed.

It might be easier to know that Qifrey does not want Olruggio to kiss him. But the moment Qifrey looks him straight in the eye, Olruggio sees that the line had been washed away by Qifrey's tears when he was freed from his curse.

Their bodies and souls have no more lines to keep them from spilling into each other.

'Can I?' Olruggio speaks into his lips, melting from the cloud of warmth his words create, a small flame they start. Qifrey can still escape him and put the fire out instead of pushing them both into it. That's what he always does.

Qifrey smiles — burns Olruggio instead. A short huff escapes him, and his laugh is forever sealed in the cracks of Olruggio's lips. They are lying next to each other, cinders — completely gone but eternally warm.  

Qifrey puts both of his hands on Olruggio's cheeks, and Olruggio does not wish to be anything else now but a tired body in his lover's arms.

'Yes,' Qifrey whispers with sweetness Olruggio has never tasted of him before — sugar of willowgrape wine matured in their cupboard for twenty years. It is enough to make him drunk from a single touch.

Hey there!

For those of you who have followed me for some time or seen at least 3 of my random posts, it should not be news that I have been in a writer's block for approximately 3 years.

By writer's block, I mean that:

I have not published anything on ao3 since 2023

I have lost the value of my own text

I did not deem anything worthy to be seen by others

And though I have been trying to make a 'comeback' for the past 3 years with different ideas and fandoms, I still have not because of point 3.

So I decided to run an experiment to motivate myself to write, establish a healthy relationship with my writing, and get used to the idea of publishing as a regular thing that does not break the world or leave it in anticipation.

The experiment is easy:

I am given a prompt of one word to write a piece about - the prompt will be visible at the beginning of every post dedicated to the experiment, together with the fandom, tags, pairing, and context if needed.

I write a piece on one A4 page - this is important to keep me from overthinking, and yet it is enough to write a few paragraphs. Thus, some pieces may look unfinished due to this limit.

I edit the piece a few times (I could delve into the whole process in a separate post if I find it useful and amusing to write about). The limitation for editing is set to a few times before I start questioning myself.

I publish it here under the tag of #burning verses. Why verses even if I write prose? As verses are only parts of the poem yet hold independent ideas, the same goes for the pieces I publish. And, to be honest, I do feel like I am writing poetry even if I am writing prose, so I like to call my draft a verse (guess who was born dramatic). As for 'burning', all the texts that are not published are destined to be burned by the creator because they are not good enough. However, the word holds a double meaning: the text could be burned out of hatred for my own writing, but most often it is just kept aside in the archive, in darkness. When I publish a piece that was promised to stay in shadows, I bring it to the world's light, let it burn - and aren't the writers' fruits of hardship supposed to be burning with emotion?

If you came here to see what is going on, I hope you found an answer! If you want to support me, thank you! If you liked a piece I published, I am glad! And if you were left unsatisfied with my piece - well, thank you for giving it a try!