The Witches Coven Cafe

As you grew older, before you graduate and become full-fledged witches, the triangle switches around. You start yearning for Qifrey, noticing he’s pulling away and knows he wants to leave the Great Hall when you all graduate. On the other hand, Olruggio starts realizing that you’ve been by his side all along and how much of a steady presence you’ve been in his life. Because of your fear of the dark, especially dark hallways and alleys (which is how you started being friends), he started creating the glow stone path, all while Qifrey feels immense guilt and buried love for the forgotten promise he made with Olruggio.

Then years later when all 3 of your paths collide again, your unexplored feelings start unraveling creating yearning tension between the 3 of you…

The moon was swallowed by the lingering clouds, its light piercing through its mist like a veiled thorn. A gentle breeze lifted the hair from your  face as you stood solemnly next to your aggrieved master, face frozen in a blank stare as the cold night air kissed your tear-stained cheeks. You knew why you were there, legs locked and staring at the lone tombstone in the forested garden of their atelier; yet the longing in your heart argued with logic, cementing the emptiness of missing your favourite person in the whole world. Your saviour, your elder brother. 

Here Lies Icarus, Beloved Witch and Knight

May His Wisdom and Kindness Transcend Even Death

No matter how many times you read the unmistakable writing eternally etched into the stone, a stone that was too clean and polished to be a part of the mossy floor of the forest's old growth, your eyes remained trained on the carving. It was only when the baby in your arms wailed, his small balled hands thrashing as heavy droplets rolled down his fat, rosy cheeks, that you finally realized how long it had passed since the morning service. The rustle of fabric was foreign to your ears, as you had only had the sounds of the woods to keep you company in your thoughts until this point. 

“Master,” you say, looking at the older woman who was kneeling in front of the stone. “We should go inside.”

The elder woman did not budge. Her lavender cloak had long been dirtied with patches of damp forming around her knees from wallowing on the forest floor for hours. Ilia, a witch typically averse to any form of blemish on her person or honour, was conquered by the loss of her dear apprentice. The reason you believed in the soul was that you swore you could hear your master’s shatter the day the great Wise in Principles, Vinanna, came in person to break the news. You remember how the Wise’s long crimson cloak swayed as she stared down the broken form of her long-time friend and old love before stepping aside to reveal the bassinet.

“His name is Lior,” Vinanna mustered, ignoring the wails of Ilia as she clawed at the dark uniform of the famous Knights of Moralis for support. “He will now be in your care.”

You broke away from your thoughts to look at the broken woman before her once again. With no response, you tried again.

“Master?” You questioned, trying to rock the fussy baby with tired arms. The frigid wind was nipping at your fingers, grounding you to the painful reality that Icarus no longer existed. There would be no more surprise visits and adventures around Kalhn, no more Sunday roast dinners where the kitchen filled with bright laughter and sweetness, no more secret gifts of candied walnuts hidden from the strict eye of their master, and most scarring of all, no more of the brother you adored with all her heart. 

He had once brought you into his home after rescuing you from the Brimhats, saving you from a condemned fate worse than death. Asking his mentor to take you on because she didn’t fit in with any of the masters at the Great Hall. Now his home was the dirt and the coffin where his flesh would rot away by worms and maggots until all that remained of him were bones and memories, a shell of the witch who was once so great and until yesterday, impenetrable.

Lior cried once more, small voice hoarse and raw, unaware of the events that took place. He only wanted to sleep and maybe a diaper change, not the bitter night. He did not care for the man freshly buried, for he would not know him. He won’t know his father’s laugh or hugs, his smile and fortitude. All the sweet babe will remember are the stories and tales from others who had the privilege of knowing him. 

“Ilia.”

You turned suddenly, unaware of the presence of another until that moment. Mr. Galgoa stood tall with his hand curled around his lacquered cane. His evergreen thick cloak stood out against the grim scene, even when there was only the moon to shed any light. His eyes narrowed in solace, heavy with understanding yet firm. He was the newly assigned Watchful Eye of the atelier ever since Ilia made the decision to separate from the Great Hall. 

“You need to get up. You have your apprentice and poor Lior here freezing. You wouldn’t want them to end up sick now, do you?”

Your master stirred. For the first time in hours, Ilia moved. She turned her head, stiffly and slowly, as if that was all her body could allow her to. Her short, silvering locks clung to her hollowed cheeks, eyes swollen red as she could only exhale. The witch looked as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. If she allowed her momentary composure to slip the slightest bit, it would all come crashing down, collapsing what little of her was left. Mr. Galgoa sighed, walking over and taking her arm with his free hand, hoisting her onto her feet. 

Silently, he looked at the quivering you and only nodded as you followed them into the dark home, a quiet reminder that there would be one less individual sleeping under its roof that night. 

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A/N Hi hi! I am posting this as an ‘x reader’ fic here and making two versions on Ao3 where it’s an ‘x reader’ and OC!

The OC version will be more fleshed out since I’m more passionate about it, but I also want to make the story enjoyable to everyone with different preferences. Please, please, please support me on other platforms!

Evaine knew why she was there, legs locked and staring at the lone tombstone in the forested garden of their atelier; yet the longing in her heart argued with logic, cementing the emptiness of missing her favourite person in the whole world. Her saviour, her elder brother. 

Here Lies Icarus, Beloved Witch and Knight

May His Wisdom and Kindness Transcend Even Death

No matter how many times she read the unmistakable writing eternally etched into the stone, a stone that was too clean and polished to be a part of the mossy floor of the forest's old growth, her eyes remained trained on the carving. It was only when the baby in her arms wailed, his small balled hands thrashing as heavy droplets rolled down his fat, rosy cheeks, that she finally realized how long it had passed since the morning service. The rustle of fabric was foreign to her ears, as she had only had the sounds of the woods to keep her company in her thoughts until this point. 

“Master,” she said, looking at the older woman who was kneeling in front of the stone. “We should go inside.”

The elder woman did not budge. Her lavender cloak had long been dirtied with patches of damp forming around her knees from wallowing on the forest floor for hours. Ilia, a witch typically averse to any form of blemish on her person or honour, was conquered by the loss of her dear apprentice. The reason Evaine believed in the soul was that she swore she could hear her master’s shatter the day the great Wise in Principles, Vinanna, came in person to break the news. She remembered how the Wise’s long crimson cloak swayed as she stared down the broken form of her long-time friend and old love before stepping aside to reveal the bassinet.

“His name is Lior,” Vinanna mustered, ignoring the wails of Ilia as she clawed at the dark uniform of the famous Knights of Moralis for support. “He will now be in your care.”

She broke away from her thoughts to look at the broken woman before her once again. With no response, she tried again.

“Master?” She questioned, trying to rock the fussy baby with tired arms. The frigid wind was nipping at her fingers, grounding her to the painful reality that Icarus no longer existed. There would be no more surprise visits and adventures around Kalhn, no more Sunday roast dinners where the kitchen filled with bright laughter and sweetness, no more secret gifts of candied walnuts hidden from the strict eye of their master, and most scarring of all, no more of the brother she adored with all her heart. 

He had once brought her into his home after rescuing her from the Brimhats, saving her from a condemned fate worse than death. Asking his mentor to take her on because she didn’t fit in with any of the masters at the Great Hall. Now his home was the dirt and the coffin where his flesh would rot away by worms and maggots until all that remained of him were bones and memories, a shell of the witch who was once so great and until yesterday, impenetrable.

Lior cried once more, small voice hoarse and raw, unaware of the events that took place. He only wanted to sleep and maybe a diaper change, not the bitter night. He did not care for the man freshly buried, for he would not know him. He won’t know his father’s laugh or hugs, his smile and fortitude. All the sweet babe will remember are the stories and tales from others who had the privilege of knowing him. 

“Ilia.”

Evain turned suddenly, unaware of the presence of another until that moment. Mr. Galgoa stood tall with his hand curled around his lacquered cane. His evergreen thick cloak stood out against the grim scene, even when there was only the moon to shed any light. His eyes narrowed in solace, heavy with understanding yet firm. He was the newly assigned Watchful Eye of the atelier ever since Ilia made the decision to separate from the Great Hall. 

“You need to get up. You have your apprentice and poor Lior here freezing. You wouldn’t want them to end up sick now, do you?”

Her master stirred. For the first time in hours, Ilia moved. She turned her head, stiffly and slowly, as if that was all her body could allow her to. Her short, silvering locks clung to her hollowed cheeks, eyes swollen red as she could only exhale. The witch looked as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders. If she allowed her momentary composure to slip the slightest bit, it would all come crashing down, collapsing what little of her was left. Mr. Galgoa sighed, walking over and taking her arm with his free hand, hoisting her onto her feet. 

Silently, he looked at the quivering girl and only nodded as they headed into the dark home, a quiet reminder that there would be one less individual sleeping under its roof that night. 

The sun filtered through the blinds of the Atelier’s window as the sounds of the birds perched on the roof sang lightly to each other. You feel the warm rays upon your face as you rustle, stretching your arm until you suddenly feel the weight over on your chest.

You look down, noticing the familiar white blouse with black strings tying its sleeve, tied that you knew so it was not in the way when the owner was working on one of the many commissions for his never-ending stream of clients. The owner being none other than Olruggio of the Flame, the Watchful Eye of you and Qifrey’s Atelier, and your long-time friend and crush. His arm was draped over your body as his face was buried deep into his pillow. His soft snores filled the air, making you wonder how it didn’t wash you up in the first place. Speaking of which, how did you end up here?

‘Now is not the time,’ you thought, for who knows when he was going to wake up. You carefully raised your hand, reaching for his fingers lightly to raise them off of you. His hands were warm and calloused, from the years of holding a pen and drawing beautiful spells that filled the country with wonder. You unconsciously traced his finger tips with yours, lining the physical memory of his life's work; his pride and genius. You smiled to yourself, remembering when he told you a few nights before you left about Coco’s excitement when she found out he had created the glow steps that amazed her when she was young. He tried to be nonchalant, but you knew how elated he was. You wonder to yourself if he was aware of a fraction of the happiness he brought to you.

Olruggio groaned, pulling you out of your thoughts. He tussled for a moment before slipping his hand from yours and pulling you closer, burying his face into your neck. Tensing at the sudden movement, you could feel the heat rush to the tip of your ears as your heart raced.

The hairs from his beard brush against your neck, along with the soft warmth of his breath every time he exhales. His lashes fluttered as he mumbled nonsense, finding a comfortable position to continue slumbering.

Your eyes softened, leaning into his touch and placing your cheek on his head. His dark locks were warmed by the morning sun, smelling lightly of campfire from the long nights he sat beside the fireplace, hunched over his desk.

‘At least he is finally getting some rest,’ you thought, looking down at his sleeping form, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Olruggio had a habit of overworking himself, not that it was a foreign fact to anyone who knew him. He rarely ate unless chastised by Qifrey and was constantly found by the girls in a sleep-deprived state, rummaging through the kitchen at different hours of the day.

You took the moment to think, figuring you would not be escaping from this predicament anytime soon. Perhaps you could try to recollect how you came to be in the bed of the man who held your affections for the past many years.

Last night, you returned late after finishing a commission for a Lord far from the atelier. You had been away for a few days, eager to return to your precious apprentices. You held many boxes of local specialties of the Lord’s land, excited to share the gifts and treats you had bought for them only to return far later than expected with the girls already in bed.

You carefully crept through the door, not wanting to make a peep and wake up any of the younglings resting upstairs. You didn’t notice the candle lit in the kitchen, nor the witch standing there watching you with careful eyes.

“You’re back late.”

Almost dropping the boxes in your hand, you jolted as you peered over your shoulder at Olruggio, who was sipping on a cup of what you assumed was wine.

“Yes,” you said, exasperated, placing the boxes down on the table. You picked up a pen to write a note to Qifrey and the girls when they woke up in the morning. “I got some gifts for the girls, but ended up taking longer than I thought. Not to mention the commission being quite complicated.”

He hummed in response, bringing the cup to his lips for another sip of his drink. “I know it’s late, but can you come check a seal for me?“

You raised your eyebrow, “The Olruggio the Great, Ghodfrey’s pride and joy asking for little old me for help?”

He rolled his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh calm down, don’t be dramatic. You know you’re plenty capable. And plus, between the two of us, you’ve always been better at ice spells.”

You perked up at the sound of your specialty. He took your silence as a yes, walking towards the direction of his workshop. You trailed behind, not before grabbing one of the treat boxes from your haul earlier that day.

His workshop was both neat and messy somehow. Tables were covered in many papers, ink marks staining the roof beneath. Yet, everything had its place. His ink wells lined perfectly on his desk, pens neatly in a row. The fireplace roaring with lamps lit up with spells flickering around.

His back was still towards you as if looked around, observing any differences from the last time you were there. Before you could settle down, he walked over with a cup in hand of the same plum liquid of his own cup from earlier. Before you could refute, he interjected.

“It’s not alcohol, don’t worry. You and Qifrey keep getting on my ass about being healthier. It’s spiced fruit tea, a gift from a patron.“

You accepted the cup graciously, bringing the rim to your nose to inhale the fragrant smell of cinnamon and star anise.

“Thank you,“ you said, taking a sip.

“Of course.”

“This would go perfectly with some cookies I bought for the girls,“ you said, opening the box you brought with you. The two of you sat beside each other at the work desk, silence filled the air between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite. After being friends for so long, each other’s company loud or quiet was appreciated. In fact, after a long day with a demanding client wanting different spells for a billion different aspects of a wedding.

He slid over a stack of papers along with a notebook with the instructions from the commissioner.

“They want to have a glistening light rose encased in ice that will last forever,“ he explained, taking a cooking from the open tin. “Read it from a story book or something.”

“The flower isn’t the problem, but rather the actual container. I can’t seem to stabilize the ice so that it maintains its shape and still showcases the rose properly.”

You nodded along, eyes scanning his notes and past attempts at spells. Some were too strong, leading to the ice overthrowing and creating an unwanted shape or the opposite where the ice becomes too thin and then melts under the heat of the light rose.

You took your own pen from your pocket, jotting down notes and writing some ideas down. After a few minutes, you slid the book back to him with your suggested plan.

“You’ll have to do a slight repetition spell where the formation of the ice and the melting are equal so that it can remain thin while still having the shape you want. If you have them here, here, and here, it should be enough.” You explained, leaning over and using that end of your pen to circle the parts of the circle.

“Also, adding these lines will make the container around it sparkle more with the angle of the light from the rose. It’ll also make it more even. That’s just a suggestion though.”

You looked up to his face being right next to yours. He was too busy looking over your chicken scratch to notice, but you couldn’t help but admire the way his deep cerulean eyes lit up when looking at magic. Or how his blouse was tousled, the opening buttons being more undone than usual. Your heart pounded. You were shamelessly pining over your best friend of decades.

‘I love you,’ you wanted to say so badly. ‘More than I have ever loved anyone else. More than I ever will.’

But you never could. The only words were always caught at your throat, thrashing about, never to surface beyond the inner most part of you. To say something would be selfish, and you could never do that to the kindest man you knew. Not when he has done so much for you, not when there were years of friendship on the line. Qifrey, the girls, the Atelier. Heck, even your position as a witch could be jeopardized as he is so beloved by all.

“It’s amazing. Your brilliance never ceases to amaze me,” Olruggio’s voice rang out. “Thank you, I’ve been stuck on that all day.”

“No problem, anything for you.” You said, letting the last part slip. Your face flushed in embarrassment, quickly trying to recover from that statement. “I meant-“

Olruggio laughed heartedly, “Still as funny as ever, Y/N. Things never really change, huh?“

You relaxed a bit, face still hot, “What do you mean?“

He leant back in his chair, stretching out his arms and back. “You’ve always been kind, even when we were young. You’d always be so eager to help us with anything. Even when Qifrey would get scolded by Beldaruit for the 50th time, you would be by our side no matter what.”

You were stunned. You didn’t realize he thought of you that way, let alone so highly. It made you happy, but at the same time, a sinking feeling made its way through your chest.

‘Will he always see me as that little girl? A friend?’

You fiddled with your fingers, looking down at your lap before steeling your nerves. You bit back small tears and smiled, “Thanks Olly, you’re as sweet as ever.“

He looked over at you, studying you carefully. He had always been observant, and even more compassionately stubborn since you were both children. Your long standing relationship with Qifrey was a testament to that.

“It’s been a long day,” you say, getting ready to stand and head to bed. “I’m probably just tired.”

He took your hand, stopping you from leaving. He wasn’t convinced and you knew that. Olruggio stood up, resting his hand on your head. It stayed there for a moment, hesitating before sliding it down to gently graze over your cheek. His palm emitted heat, soothing to the touch. You couldn’t help but accept it, the yearning for him too strong to deny.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but at least stay. Keep me company while I finish this commission.”

You hesitated, before leaning into his touch and nodding carefully. He pulled away slowly, grabbing a new parchment to recreate the spell you drew in his notebook. You rested your head on the desk, couldn’t help but admire how the candle light danced across his face. His slender hand carefully drew sigils and lines as if he were skating on ice, pen careful and precise. It was hypnotizing.

His entire being was a flame and you were a moth, forever flying around, trying to get close in the hopes of basking in its sunny affection. Never getting close enough to revel in its presence for fear of getting burnt, but its glow never straying from your sight. You wished you could stay by his side forever. You wish you could be a moth, then perhaps you’d be naive enough to take the step needed and take the risk of being burnt by the hot fire of his light.

But nevertheless, you were just a witch. A witch utterly in love with her best friend.

It wasn’t long that you drifted off to the side of a pen scratching against parchment, next to the man you love.

What you didn’t notice was how he would glance at you ever so often, or how he’d stop ever so often to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You don’t know when he draped a blanket over you, or notice his lingering touches when you talk.

You don’t see how tenderly he looks at you whenever you are teaching the girls. You won’t know how he carried you to bed, holding you with such tenderness and care. You won’t remember when he slid in next to you, watching you as his eyes grew heavy.