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  1. Rec 66

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    Something, equal parts wariness and weariness, stirs in Olruggio’s eyes whenever Qifrey makes some reference to the future — when he indirectly promises a tomorrow, a next week, an ‘after your commissions are done’. It’s the subtlest thing, a flicker, a spark; someone who knew him less well might not pick up on it. But Qifrey knows Olruggio as well as he knows himself, and he can hardly in good conscience begrudge him his flinch of cynicism. Not when it’s wholly his own fault for having put it there.

    Fool you once, shame on me. Fool you twice, still shame on me. Fool you thrice… well, if it’s any consolation whatsoever, I was fooling myself most of all.
    -- -- --
    The night Qifrey returns to the atelier for good after his wandering days — old promises kept, new promises made.

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    06 Jul 2026

  2. Rec *

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    Gaelic proverb: the world will come to an end, but love and music will go on.

    To attend his cousin's wedding, Olruggio brings the atelier to Ghodrey.

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    16 Jun 2026

  3. Rec *

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    Olruggio didn’t think Qifrey liked physical touch at all, but now that the curse is gone, the white-haired man immediately decides that Olruggio’s personal space is his personal property and he will be burrowing into Olruggio's ribcage, thank you very much.

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    02 Jun 2026

  4. Rec *

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    His fright at the thought that Coco might have been in danger when he woke up was heart-stopping. The feeling he had when he thought he’d forgotten one of the simplest spells in his collection was….something else. Like a vice around his throat. A garotte of terror.

    Olruggio can't claim to be the picture of perfect health and wellbeing, but things are getting strange. He's forgetting stuff - stuff that he really shouldn't be forgetting. And he doesn't know why.

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    28 May 2026

  5. Rec *

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    There’s a sound itching at the back of his mind, a soft repetition that’s forcing Pure Vanilla’s eyes back open with its unfamiliarity. He mumbles a groan, pushing himself up in bed as he brushes back the hair from his forehead and reaches for the staff beside him. As his hand finds purchase, he lifts it up high and scans the room around him.

    Pure Vanilla’s vision may still be blurred from blinking back sleep, but there’s a familiar blue form seated at his dresser.

    “Shadow Milk Cookie?”

    The form turns; bright white hair sways from the movement, spilling over slender shoulders and adorned with a large blue bow. Sharp eyes peer at him, framed by an unkind smile curved in a smirk.

    “Aw,” is all but sneered. “Miss him already?”

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    16 Apr 2026