#v excited to read

[romanarose]

First and Last

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader x Wade Wilson

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summery: You are inexperienced outside of Logan, so he lets you get fucked by his fwend!!!

Warnings: Threesome, mfm threesome, m/m dynamics here and there, Wade is menace. PIV sex, sharing reader, blowjob, balls <3, protective Logan, lots of explicit consent, oral f and m, cumming in pants too soon. Bisexuality <3 Similar themes as Awakening with Triple Frontier <3

Immersivity: Reader is fem, afab, dresses in dresses, has hair.

A/N: I'm so excited for this!!!! First Wade Wilson fic? So excited!!! I've been writing some logan mostly at my dark account @romana-after-dark. I hope I did okay!!!

Sorry for the repost, this wasn't showing up in the tags at all??? So I'll retag those who rebloged my first one that i remember. Im so sorry to those I didn't remember!!!

You were a virgin when you met Logan.

That didn’t last long.

Sure, Logan took his time, not taking your first kiss and virginity at the same time, but you were as desperate for him as he was for you. You loved your Wolverine. Your sweet, cuddly bear of a man who protected you with a ferocity you’d never seen before and loved you with a tenderness you’ve never felt. 

Still, some days you wondered…

Logan brought it up first. You certainly weren’t going to suggest sleeping with someone else, absolutely not. You loved, loved, loved your boyfriend and he never once left you sexually lacking. Logan learned everything your body liked, everything it didn’t, and brought you pleasure and comfort in one go. It was just that natural bit of curiosity in you that occasionally it flittered across you mind. Not that you thought anyone could be better than Logan; no one could. Even with a bigger cock or someone more eager tongue, the love you shared would always elevate sex. Still, it was more what other people felt like.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like, having sex with other people?” Logan waited until after sex, when the room was filled with emotional intimacy, but after he cleaned you up. He ever put you in his green flannel. He always put clothes on you before talking about anything serious, and one day you asked him why. He said he wants an even playing field, and at first you think your tits are distracting, but then he continues. He doesn’t want you to feel vulnerable or emotionally naked when you talk.

Heat creeps up your neck. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, but you remain honest. “Sometimes it crosses my mind I guess… But really, not something I like, sit and ponder about. I promise.”

“Hm.” He grunts, playing with your hair and looking at your lips, and for a moment you think he didn’t like that answer. Then he adds. “Have you ever thought about Wade?”

That’s how you got here. After some gentle coaxing, you say no, you never thought about Logan’s friend sexually. You asked if he ever thought about Wade sexually, and he just smirked. ‘Thought about him with you.’

Now you were sat on Logan’s lap on the bed, Wade standing against the wall just watching as Logan explores your body.

“Prettiest fuck’n tits you ever seen…”

Wade has a big grin plastered across his face. ”So you keep saying.” He says with a little laughter, hand fidgeting near his crotch but not touching yet. Not until Logan gives him permission. “And yet, they are like Hugh Jackman in my first two movies.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about half the time.

Logan gives a tit a squeeze, and you stifle a whimper. “Need her to get comfortable, first.” Logan turns into your neck, and you can feel his facial hair tickling your skin. A warm reminder that you are safe, loved and protected. “You nervous, pumpkin?” He coos into the crop of your neck, and you nod shyly. “Do you wanna stop?” You quickly shake your head.

Wade speaks now, more sincere than you are used to from him but still that playful tone. “You sure about that?” He holds up his hand, palm out, and wiggles his fingers. “Nothing tighter than my right hand.”

This made you smile, and Logan continued to touch you. He hooks your legs over his knees, spreading his own legs wide and letting Wade get a good look up your skirt at the cute panties you picked out just for him.

Wade whistles, his cock clearly tenting in his sweats. “C’mon Logan, you’re fucking with me here. I did not consent to edging, we’d have to negotiate that contract.”

A low rumble against your back and Logan chuckles. “Go ahead and touch yourself, dumbass.” As Wade quickly goes to palm at himself, groaning obscenely loud, and Logan responds by dragging his fingers over your clothes clit and tickles the soaked material. 

“Mmmmm” You sign happily at the contact, but stifled from the noises Logan has pulled out of you again and again and again. “Still feeling shy?” He murmurs against your skin, even as he delivers a small slap to your pussy.

You jolt. “M’ sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, just tell me what you want to do. Cards are in your hands.”

And they were. You look at Wade touching himself, heat growing in your stomach at the idea of him between your legs. Nothing in you says stop, no alarm bells to ignore… Wade could be balls deep inside your pussy and if you said stop, he’d stop. You knew Wade enough for that, but you also knew Logan was going to protect you. You doubted you could get to that point without Logan reading your body. No, you trusted them. “Just nerves.” You tell him finally, locking eyes with Wade for a moment before turning away. The heat was too intense, too much sexual tension in the room, the three of you’s desire for each other. You just needed to cool off. “Don’t wanna stop just… I need to relax.” You tell Logan.

Ever attentive, his hands leave your dripping core and go to your shoulders, rubbing them. In a half-whisper, he says, “Would it help if I told you his middle name was Winston?”

A beat of silence.

Then, you giggle. The air is lighter in the room, but no less attraction. You felt better.

Two large hands slide up your middle to cup your breasts. “Are you ready, sweet girl?” 

You look at Wade grinning ear to ear. You can feel Logan’s comforting presence all around you.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” 

*

Logan had taken care of the communication, and everyone was clear on rules and boundaries between the three of you. Well, yours and Logans anyway. Wade was absulty down for anything, stating “Any appendage, any hole.” He said something about toes and urethas, but Logan said something along the lines of , “shut the fuck up, she hasn’t even done anal yet, don’t scare the poor girl.”

Anal play was a no. Logan and you had definitely messed around with some finger and tongue action, but his cock hadn’t gone in yet, and you certainly weren’t letting Wade get in on that action before your loving boyfriend. As for other anal play, you just didn’t feel comfortable with a man you weren’t dating up in that. What if you farted? Well, Wade might be into that actually. Second rule was you stayed in your dress. Maybe it’s silly considering he’ll be up inside your guts, but you weren’t totally confident enough to undress in front of another man. 

Logan’s rules were very clear and simple. Firstly, your comfort comes before everything. Wade can’t lose himself. That was his rule for Wade, but he had a request for you too. 

“First and last,” He asked of you. “Your first and last orgasms belong to me, because no matter what happens here, you’re still mine. His cum might be leaking out of you, but it’s mine that’s gonna get you pregnant one day, do you understand?” 

That idea alone made your stomach do flips… but for the time being, you were on birth control.

Once you told Logan you were ready, Logan stood with you in his arms like you were weightless, turning around to gently lay you down on the bed. He ate you out slower than usual, insisting he wanted to take him time, get you to relax. Wade was suddenly leaning over where Logan knelt on the floor, hands on his shoulders and humps his still-clothed erection onto Logan’s back.

“No fingers yet? Wolvie, baby, you know better than anyone you gotta open her up or this is gonna hurt.”

“Shut the hell up.” Logan growled, then kissed your inner thigh. “She can take it, can’t you baby?”

You scrambled to get a grip on his gentle waves, trying to pull him back into your cunt. “Yes, but Lo, please don’t stop!”

“Ohhhh poor baby…” Logan teases you with a striped licked up your soaked folds. “You need me? Does my girl need me?”

Wade gives a long, slow grind against Logan’s back. “Better give her your fingers soon or I’m gonna go klablewy in my pants.”

Only half listening, Logan looks up at you through his dark lashes, Logan asks you. “That what you need? Need me to open you up, bub?”

You nod furiously, pulling him into you. Not making any effort to tell Wade to fuck off, Logan slides two thick fingers into your dripping channel, causeing you to sigh in relief and Wade to whimper, rutting against Logan like a dog. Instead of pushing him off, Logan reached behind himself and grabbed Wade’s leg, gluing them together and encouraging him on. The sight causes you to chase your high against his face and fingers.

“That’s right, take what you need, go ahead and use me… there we go, feels good doesn’t it?” You didn’t know if he was talking to you or to Wade.

When Wade begins moaning, face twisting in pleasure, Logan picks up his pace. He could feel Wade cumming against him, and seconds later you were gushing out onto his mouth. Getting two people off at once was not something he’d ever thought about, but as he felt it happening Logan couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest.

Your body goes limp under him, sighing contently the way he loves so much, and he feels Wade braced against him still.

“You gonna be ready to go again, or is your dick as fucked as the rest of you?” Logan teases, starting to stand and only just now shoving the other man back a little.

“Ooh hoo hoo, just give me a minute, Logey boo. There are 206 bones in the human body, 207 if I’m watching you touch this sweet little thing.”

You smile up at him, happy to see him happy, happy he’s here. “Would touching me speed up the process?”

Wade practically jumps on the bed.

*

Once Wade was hard again, you were put into position, handmaid's tale style. Logan sat against the padded bedpost, legs spread, with you in between them. You rest your head on his jeans covered cock as Wade lines himself up at your entrance. He’s longer than Logan but not as thick, cut while Logan isn’t.

He was perfect, just not as perfect as your loving boyfriend. Wade pushes into you quickly, forcing a sharp breath to exhale out of you, nails digging into Logan’s hands where he holds you.

“Wade! For fucks sake, go easy on the girl!”

But you surprise Logan by begging Wade for more. “Please, please, please, give it to me, give it to me Wade.” You look up at your lover. “Logan, please tell him, tell him to fuck me?” Your hips buck, begging for friction.

Logan chuckles. “You heard my girl, Wade-o, give it to her.”

Wade fucking woops, fucking your pussy with an energy you weren’t used to. Logan was an incredible lover, stamina and tenderness, he was not lacking in energy and passion during sex, but Wade? Whole other story. Wade fucked hard and fast, hands wandering all over every inch of your body, whether exposes skin or your pretty dress. Never once did he try to push aside any clothing or show him more than comfortable, simply told you how pretty you looked in this dress. 

“Jesus, how did you find a cute little doll like this?” Wade practically giggles with glee. “This is gonna be in my wet dreams for as long as I live, which, as it happens, is a long fucking time. God, I could just live in this sweet little pussy forever. If you were mine, you’d never be able to walk straight.”

Logan, never one to be shown up by Wad’s mouth, talks right back, fingertips trailing down your front. “Why do you think we canceled on drinks last week? Had to carry her to the bath she was fucked so raw.”

“You kept it up that long, old man?” 

“‘Till she was cry’n”

 “Looks like she’s about ready to start that again.”

Tears were blurring in your eyes, the heat inside you festering into your lower stomach as Wade ravaged your core. You could feel him inside you, your body shifting and making room for him to reach deep inside you than anyone or anything had before. The way he touched your body made you feel wonderfully desired, Wade’s ADHD mind jumping from part to part, giving attention to bits of you that could never have found sex, while Logan’s careful and precise minstrations massaged those erogenous zones. There were even a few sounds Wade pulled from you touching new places that Logan took note of, making sure to know exactly what makes his girl whimper and whine. 

He’s not above learning a thing or two, even if he could make your cum untouched with just his voice. Logan knew how to make you feel adored and sexy and cum over and over again on his cock, but if there was a way to make it even better for you, he was gonna learn.

“It’s okay bub, let it out, we got you. Ooooohhh there we go, that’s my girl, crying on Wades cock like a good girl, my pretty wife letting my friend use her cute body to get his rocks off because he can’t find anyone to get his rocks off with”

“Hey now!”

Logan calling you his wife, hinting at what he had always promised you, a future together for the rest of your life.

“Logan!” You reach your hand back, and Logan takes it quickly, anchoring you. “Wade!” You pull Wade close to you, his body slimmer than Logan but covering you in comfort nonetheless. You feel his skin, mangled and beautiful and so uniquely him sliding against your sweat-slick skin, lips coming to kiss as the force of his thrusts rub your head against Logan's hard cock.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum on my dick while Logan watches? You know, generally I like to keep my cucks in a chair, but I’ll make an exception for my little peanut.” Wade boops Logan’s nose.

“Ignore him, pumpk’n” but you didn’t want to ignore Wade, not when he was making your legs shake, your climax crestinc as you whine. The hand that isn’t holding yours cradles your neck on his lap, grounding you into this bed where he’d shown you his love time and time again as you cum on his friend's cock. “That’s it, cum for me, sweet girl. Squeezing your cock so good isn’t she?”

“Like FUCKING HEAVEN!” Wade hollers in your ear, pumping his cum into your cunt against and again while you writhe in their arms, a full body orgasm having blossomed from your stomach and tingling down your toes and fingers. You’d never felt so desired, so sexy, so beautiful. 

Wade collapses on your body and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, whispering a thank you in his ear.

“Anything… for… my OTP!” Wade tries to quip between breathless wheezes, but he’s so tired he remains on your chest, eyes drooping.

Logan plays with your hair, tender touches on your face and down your neck where he caressed Wade’s head as well. You loved this, you loved them, and you especially loved your sweet Logan, the fearsome Wolverine only soft for you… and Wade Wilson, it seems. He start to get up after several minutes, still fully clothed and fully hard. Your head slides off his lap, and his hand guides in gentle down to the bed.

“I’m gonna get you guys cleaned up.”

You catch his hand, gazing up at him questioningly. “First and last, remember?” He wanted to give yoru first and last orgasm, but Logan just smiles down softly at you.

“You’re tired, bub. Let me take care of your guys.”

“I can do another!” You try to assert. This was Logan’s condition, and it’s not like you were in pain or pure exhausted. There was no reason you couldn’t do this for him.

From his place resting on your chest, Wade pipes up. “I see you’re still rocking a stiffy, gramps. I bet we could heat things up in here to the 60’s” He turns to a wall and winks. “The highest 60’s”

Logan shook his head. “Today wasn’t about me.”

But you don’t let go. “First and last. You are my first, and my last, okay?”

His soft smile grows into something more wicked.

*

You are placed on top of him, your sweet pussy dripping down onto his tongue, his thumb fucking your ass, and cock making your mouth gag. Wade, a tired wittle guy, laid down between Logan’s legs and under mouth, slobbering with Logan’s balls in his mouth. Gagging on your lover’s shaft, Wade is not put off by your saliva and Logan’s precum dripping down on him. Likewise, Logan was not bothered by swallowing down Wade’s cum. In fact, he ate you out with more vigor than he had earlier, humming contently at the taste of his friend.

Wade guided you, using your mouth like a toy to pleasure his friend. With fingers entangled in your locks he pulls your head off and pushes it back down, forcing your throat to take whatever it’s given. Still, somehow he listens to those little cues of yours and never pushes it too far. You gag and moan in delight as Logan devours your puffy pussy, your tight little ring of muscle squeezing down on his thumb. Finger nails dig into Logan’s thick thighs and he’s not sure who they belong to, you or Wade, and before he can draw it out any longer Logan is flooding your mouth with rope after rope of hot cum.

“Yeah, fuck, don’t fucking stop baby, keep gagging, want my cum spilling on Wade’s face.”

“FUCK YEAH!” Wade shouts, albeit muffled with Logans tightening balls still in his mouth. When Logan finishes pumping your mouth full, you pull off his dick and lean over Wade, mouth full. He leaves Logan and smiles, giving you permission for what you were both thinking. He opens his mouth and spit a blog of saliva and cum into his mouth, slowly letting it drip down before you encased his mouth in your, letting him lick the rest of Logan’s cum out as he watched.

*

Logan did as he promised and took care of you and Wade. The two of you were entangled yourself with each other, arms in arms, legs wrapped around waists as Logan got a warm wash of clothes and cleaned both of you up with a gentle touch you ’d never seen him give Wade, but you liked seeing it. Wade and you provided each other with that skin to skin as Logan handled the technical, praising you both.

While Logan made you and Wade drink water, he rummaged through his clothes, tossing Wade some sweats and looking at you as he pulled on boxers. “Can I take you to the bathroom so I can get you into something more comfortable?”

You consider his words for a minute. He was offering you privacy, not requiring you to undress in front of Wade nor stay in the dress. Wade mumbles something about leaving the room, but he was clearly half asleep. Thing was, you didn't feel embarrassed with Wade anymore.

“You can change me here.”

Logan smiles down at you, leaning over to press a sweet kiss to your dick-sucking-swollen lips, and grabs at the hem of your dress. Even though he’s tired, Wade helps lift up your hips, then torso, then neck with his strength and is nice and carefully laying you down again on your nice soft bed. When Logan finally joins you two, you’re surprised to find that inside of going to curl his arms around you at your side, he crawls up between you and Wade. For a second you think there’s jealousy, that he wants distance between you two and you fear he’s about to send Wade out. Spending the night was not in the plan, but neither was that intense sexual chemistry between all three of you. You didn’t love Wade, but you felt close to him. You wanted him to stay.

Instead of kicking Wade wraps his arms around both of you, pulling you close to him. He was warm, safe, strong as you laid your body down on top of his chest, Wade opting to curl in more and rest on Logan’s abs, muttering “Mmmmm my peanut” and for once Logan didn’t tell him to shut up. When Wade starts snoring, Logan continues to play with your hair as he speaks.

“Was everything okay, pumpkin? You feel good?”

“Yeah,” You confirm, nodding off to sleep in content happiness. “Are you okay that I kissed Wade? We didn’t really talk about that.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, beautiful girl. I know who you belong to.”

You kiss his left peck. “My first and last.”

I HOPE I DID OKAY!!!!!!

I love them you're honor ;-; WADE IS CANONICALLY QUEER SO DONT ERASE THATW HEN YOU WRITE HIM!!!

I love wolverine/ deadpool <3

I love my queer men

Thank you for reading! I have a/b/o Logan series coming after I finish up some Pedro Pascal fics!!!

@clawsandbullets @sunnyfranc @silversprings-mp3 @apizzacalledmel @marshmallow--3 @titanwind @sheepdogtrick3 @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @xdaddysprincessxx

and thought @tightjeansjavi @multiversed-daydreamer and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction may enjoy but no presure!!!!

[cuppajj]

I haven’t canonized the complete order in which the ancients corrupted yet, but there’s a high chance now that Lily was first while Vanilla was last

[elles-home]

we rarely see heart pirates go batshit and it was in fact incredibly validating to see them do so like they’re not weak they’re genuinely a well oiled machine and competent as fuck. law only had to say “take the sub,” and “go to the sea” and his crew immediately knew what that meant and started and underwater attack specifically meant to exert maximum damage

another thing i found really interesting is that not much was known to blackbeard about their fighting style which to me implies heart pirates rarely go all out OR they just don’t leave much survivors to talk of their fighting style 😭

[chiropteracupola]

A very fine captain, and a finer friend.

[styx-the-stick]

@bearsintreesofficial at reading fest (i managed to get to the front which was v exciting)

[felassan]

.

[atelierlili]

Where the Jabberjay Flies (the Mockingbird Follows)

Peeta and I escaped the Quarter Quell. But the Boy with the Bread was left behind.

Never-hijacked Peeta AU for the thgcommentfeast july 2024.

You can read the first chapter here!

[valhallavalgrace]

How are you adjusting to the whole Norse mythology situation?

LEO: I’ve mostly been bugging some of the older einherjar, and Hunding, a little bit, to figure this place out. Do you know how cool it is that some people have been here since the industrial revolution?? There's no way that I'm the first of my dad's kids to make it here. I just don't know who to talk to about it.

((Leo's coping mechanism re: Norse mythology is just hating himself more bc of course he doesn't belong in his own afterlife. but he won't admit that to anyone bc he doesn't know who can be vulnerable with.))

prev ask

[dkniade]

Fanart of @blood-orange-juice’s early Fatui Ajax fic “Transcendere” that I did not long ago ^^

This part’s from chapter one.

It is, as the fic’s tags say, Fluff and Angst and Humour, Slice of Life, Hurt No Comfort

(Or, like snapshots of a boy with a toy knife becoming a weapon himself, with a vaguely fantastical lens over the story♦️…to put it nicely ^^”)

[artemx746]

I finished Wundersmith! You know what that means, PART 2 OF THIS POST! Here are some of my Wundersmith thoughts

Why does almost everyone in the Wunsoc suck so much

Every scene with Dearborn and Murgatroyd just had me going "Is this iffy? Idk this feels kinda iffy." not really my place to give a verdict on that

Every time I was going "holy fuck we're dealing with the black market omg this is a lot for like a 12 year old" Ezra Squall showed up and was like "Heyy Miss Crow~ You ready to question your own morality? You're gonna do so no matter what!"

On the topic of Ezra, I mentioned in the last post that I was very curious what would happen if Mog accepted Ezra's offer, I have a feeling I won't need to be curious for too long. With the way they are now, it doesn't really matter if Mog accepts the big offer because Ezra's already teaching her, if a bit slower than he'd probably like, unless there's some time limit Ezra has (which is fully possible) in the long run he is getting what he wants. It's a very interesting idea, though I doubt it'll stay this way for too long, which direction it'll go? Not sure

I don’t think I mentioned it in my last post but the reason it’s easier for me to read Jupiter and Mog as a father daughter relationship compared to other fictional characters is because Jupiter is actually old enough to be her dad, much better than 19 year olds being called fathers of 12 year olds (I am staring directly at a certain fandom here)

Times I actually squealed and slammed my face into the book: 10

I am actually in love with Ms. Cheery she’s so cute I love her (my book had a bit of chapter one of Hollowpox so I love her and her cute gf), I love women characters that are just allowed to be nice and also have a personality.

Cadence’s “it’s real!” Moment just gave me the vibes that while Mog was going through her thing, Cadence was just living a mystery novel and I love her for that

IMO the blackmail plotline didn’t really work for me, it didn’t ruin the book or anything just wasn’t the greatest

Lam’s a cool character, I do hope more of her personality gets shown in the next book

Mildmay mentioned time looping being a knack, and if you know me or you recognise my pfp, you'll know I really like time loops

The two scenes that have not left me since I read them both have to do with singing and I find that funny (it's Israfel singing as the Ghastly Market and everyone in it dies, actually killed me, and Ezra and Mog singing together)

With all that said, I shall see you all once I have finished Hollowpox!!

Bonus under the cut of my reactions to a certain betrayal (ft. @everythingwasalreadypicked as a bully /j)

[asteroidaffection]

sir john what

[milkbreadtoast]

looking back at the yjh webtoon screencaps i have saved and giggling... hes so cute... moe... my pookie ^___^ 🥰🥰 poor little meow meow woof woo- *eliminated where i stand*

also these poses are sooooo... 꺄아악����🫣🫣🫣🫣

[galedekarios]

Baldur's Gate III: Release Date Trailer

[scionshtola]

where the hurt nests - part 3

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 4.9k | rated: Mature | read on ao3 | part 1 | part 2 summary: After recovering from the events of Ultima Thule, Corisande retreats to their private island getaway. When Y'shtola arrives for a visit, she can't shake the feeling that Corisande's pleasant moods are an act-a feeling only perpetuated by their continuing reluctance to tell her what exactly takes place in the nightmares that have haunted them for moons. notes: part 3 of 3. set between 6.0 and 6.1, very big 6.0 spoilers. [divider credit] it's done! and now that it's done, I would very much like to thank Azia for beta reading, rubber ducking, and generally encouraging me even before I actually started writing this 💗 and thank you to Gigi, Dani, and Hannah for letting me talk about this fic for the last year and a half! I appreciate all of you so much <3 and ty to everyone who has read it since it's been posted, it means a lot to me!

By the time morning arrived, the skies had cleared. The sun shone warmly over the island and a pleasant breeze moved through the clearing, the air fresh after a day of rain. They walked down to the beach after lunch, keen to be out of the cabin despite the dripping foliage and the still damp sand. Corisande carried two beach chairs folded under their arms, which they set up beneath an umbrella outside the reach of the tide, waving off Y’shtola’s offers of assistance.

Not long after Y’shtola stretched out on her chair, book in hand and prepared to settle into a contented quiet, Corisande abandoned their own chair in favor of lying in Y’shtola’s lap. They kissed her softly, their lips parting gently over hers, one arm wrapped around her waist beneath the thin cover-up she had pulled on over her swimsuit. Y’shtola allowed this simple return to normalcy, pulling them closer to trade lazy kisses, hands and lips moving tenderly over sun-warmed skin.

They passed much of the afternoon in each other’s arms, the gentle wash of the tide their backdrop. Corisande curled her legs beneath Y’shtola’s thighs, resting her head on Y’shtola’s shoulder while she read. She seemed to dip in and out of consciousness as the afternoon wore on, her breathing growing slow and even every few minutes before she shook herself awake again.

“You ought to let yourself rest,” Y’shtola said when Corisande’s head drooped yet again. As content as she was wrapped in their arms, it was difficult to concentrate with the constant movement in her periphery.

“’m fine,” Corisande mumbled into her neck. “If I sleep now, it will be even more difficult to sleep tonight.”

“You have not slept through the night in several days,” Y’shtola pointed out. “’Twould do you well to rest when you can.”

Corisande stiffened, their arms tensing around her before they disentangled themself from Y’shtola with a sigh. They pushed themself into a sitting position, their back to Y’shtola as they spoke. “I am fine, Shtola. I only need to occupy myself.”

“Your days have been filled with occupations.” Y’shtola closed her book and sat up. “Hiking around the island, swimming, cooking—and yet still you do not sleep.”

“Shtola,” Corisande pleaded, her fingers gripping the edge of the chair. “I do not wish to talk about this. Please, let us find another subject.”

But now that the subject had been broached, Y’shtola was not yet willing to let go. “I have kept my concerns to myself, with the hope they would prove unfounded, but the last few days have shown I am right to be worried about you.”

Corisande rose stiffly from the chair and put several steps of distance between them. Y’shtola continued, though they kept their back to her. “I have tried to be patient, to allow you the time needed to heal on your own, but I fear doing so has only exacerbated the situation beyond your control.”

“’Tis not beyond my control-”

“I have never seen you so upset as you were last night,” Y’shtola interrupted, rising from the chair as she spoke. “What would you have me do, when you refuse to tell me anything of your nightmares? When you do not allow me to alleviate any of your concerns? Stay silent while you wake in terror every night? ”

Corisande finally turned toward her, arms crossed as if to protect themself. “They are only dreams. I do not wish to speak of what is not real.”

“The dreams may not be real, but the effect they have on you most certainly is,” Y’shtola said. She kept her voice as level as she could—she did not wish to argue with them, but she could no longer abide the pedantry they engaged in to avoid her questions. “And on myself, as well.”

Corisande’s brow knitted, and their voice was threaded with guilt when they spoke. “I know the sleepless nights are hard on you.”

“’Tis not the lack of sleep that bothers me,” Y’shtola insisted. “Not on my behalf, in any case. ‘Tis the pain in your voice when you speak of death, and holding you in my arms while your desire to live causes you to sob.‘Tis the weeks and weeks of waking to you calling for me—in pain, in fear, in worry—and not being told the reason for it.”

“The reason does not matter,” Corisande said quietly. “You are there when I wake. That is enough.”

“It matters to me,” Y’shtola said. Perhaps it would be enough if the nightmares were less numerous, or less affecting, or if they did not so consistently check on her the moment they woke. But she was certain there was more to it than simply finding comfort in her arms. “I do not need to know the details of every dream, but I can no longer wonder if your nightmares—your searching cries of my name—are caused by thoughts of me abandoning you.”

Corisande frowned, their lips pressed into a line. They turned away from her, looking out over the ocean. “They are unfair to you. Unkind.”

The admission seemed to confirm her worries, rather than quell them, but she refrained from jumping to any further conclusions. She had already guessed that Corisande, as kind as they were, sought to spare her feelings by keeping their own to themself. “’Tis, perhaps, more unkind to keep it from me.”

They looked over their shoulder at her, and, sensing their grief in the silence that followed, Y’shtola let them take her hand. When they spoke again, it was with resignation in their tone. “Please, Shtola. Let it be enough that you are there when I wake.”

“’Tis not enough.” Y’shtola pulled her hand from their grasp. Corisande’s crestfallen expression cut at her, the guilt as sharp as a blade. “I am not always there when you wake, and your nightmares have only worsened in the time we have spent apart. How can I help you if you will not tell me the full extent of the problem?”

Corisande’s lips parted as if they planned to speak, but the hope that flared within Y’shtola dwindled when they only sighed.

“You need not do anything,” Corisande said quietly. “They are only dreams.”

The deflection stung. She felt suddenly and unexpectedly foolish, laying her concerns bare as she had, only to have them discounted once more.

“If my concerns are not tangible enough for consideration, perhaps the changes to your aether will warrant the truth,” Y’shtola said sharply.

“My aether has changed?” Genuine concern lined the question, and Y’shtola felt a guilty swell of satisfaction at having finally drawn an appropriate reaction.

“It has been strained in recent days, some days more than other. I noticed it the day I arrived. I have yet to deduce a cause, though there is some correlation with the days you do not sleep well. Still, it is of some concern to me, and for good reason.” The sight of Corisande’s battered soul, overflowing with so much light aether that they became little more than a body of light to Y’shtola’s eyes, still haunted her.

Corisande turned away again, and the defeated slump of their shoulders made realization dawn on Y’shtola.

“You know the cause?” Y’shtola started to reach for them, but thought better of it, letting her hand drop to her side.

They did not look at her when they replied. “’Tis not the nightmares.”

Y’shtola had neither the will nor the patience to wait for them to work up to revealing the answer. “Corisande, if you know the cause, please do not keep it to yourself.”

Corisande was silent. Y’shtola held herself back from repeating the question. What had happened, that they would risk such changes to their aether?

Finally, they let out a resigned sigh. “I have been trying to cast again.”

Y’shtola’s stomach dropped in disbelief. “You know the risks of pushing your ability to channel aether beyond its current capabilities. Why would you not tell me? And when have you even had the time to do so?”

“I am sorry.” Corisande’s voice quavered with her words. “I go to a clearing north of the cabin some mornings, before you wake. I thought I could regain my abilities on my own. I did not wish to speak of it until I had done so.”

“Another matter you do not wish to speak of, no matter the detriment to yourself,” Y’shtola said bitterly. The realization that Corisande had not only not asked for her help but deliberately kept this from her stung more than their earlier deflections. “You are as versed as I am in the study of aether, more than well enough to know the risks of pushing yourself too far, yet you pursed this on your own anyway?”

“And what would you do, were you me?” Corisande turned sharply in her direction. “Bide your time resting, in the vain hope that the problem will fix itself? I do not believe that.”

“I would ask the person most familiar with my aether for her assistance,” Y’shtola insisted. “Particularly if she can see aether while I cannot.”

“I did not wish—”

“I am not asking you to tell just anyone, Corisande.” Y’shtola cut in. “I am asking you to tell me.”

Silence fell. They stood in it for a moment, no noise other than the tide washing in, the air between them growing heavy with their discomfort.

“I was afraid.” Corisande broke the silence, her voice still shaking. “That if I waited any longer, I would be rendered permanently incapable of summoning again.”

“There is no reason to believe that,” Y’shtola pushed back, hoping to make Corisande see reason. “We do not have enough information, and you have spent the past several months recovering from incredibly dangerous injuries. You need rest, and to allow your aether to replenish itself. You are perfectly capable of utilizing other skills in the meantime.”

Corisande shook her head. “You would not be so content to wait in my position, if you know what this absence felt like.”

“I cannot know how you feel if you do not tell me,” Y’shtola said, exasperated at returning to this point of contention yet again. “But I do know something of absence, or have you forgotten that I do not see as you do?”

“And how long did you wait before you began channeling your aether to see? It drains you, exhausts you, but you do it. Yet you lecture me on the safety of my own practices?”

The touch of petulance in their tone surprised her. In all the years she had known them, she could not recall them speaking to anyone this way, and certainly not to her. “Because you are taking risks alone. By yourself, on an island, where no one can help you if something were to go wrong.”

Corisande opened her mouth, but Y’shtola spoke first. She kept her voice level, despite the anguish behind her words. “I witnessed your soul strain with the changes to your aether once before. Please do not ask me to sit idly by while I see what is wrought on it now.”

Corisande stood rigidly before Y’shtola, her lips pressed into a thin line, and then all at once she seemed to fold in on herself. Y’shtola’s eyes widened as Corisande sank to the sand, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Y’shtola knelt in the sand next to her, resting her hand on Corisande’s shoulder.

“’Tis not only the absence.” They spoke quietly, their head down, their shoulders tensed beneath Y’shtola’s touch. “When I reach for my aether and cannot grasp it, I do not feel like myself.”

“Of course not,” Y’shtola said. Corisande had been practicing summoning long before they had ever met, ‘twas only natural that an inability to channel aether would leave her unmoored.

“It feels as if I am—as if—” Corisande cut herself off with a shuddered breath. Her shoulders shook with it, and Y’shtola’s resolve to hear her out trembled along with it. She squeezed her shoulder gently, to keep herself from pulling her into her arms. Corisande took a deep breath, steadying herself, but her words still came out half a sob. “It feels as if this body is not my own.”

An ache throbbed in Y’shtola’s chest, even as her mind raced forward. Corisande had not been able to channel aether since the day her soul had been forced from her body and into that of an Imperial soldier—’twas no wonder that any failed attempts to do so now made her feel as she had on that day, nor that she was so keen to move past it.

Corisande’s harsh, shallow breathing interrupted Y’shtola’s thoughts. They pressed their forehead to their knees, hiding their face as they struggled to breathe. Y’shtola had rarely ever seen them in such a state, and only ever after waking from a nightmare. The sudden oncoming in the middle of the day was so unexpected that for a moment she could only blink, unsure of what to do.

When another sob escaped them, Y’shtola shoved the uncertainty aside. She came around to the space in front of them and took them by the shoulders, pushing them gently but firmly until Corisande lifted their head. She cupped their cheeks with both hands, wiping the tears that fell away with her thumbs. She spoke to them quietly, reassurances and gentle commands to breathe.

It seemed to work. Corisande lifted her own hand to wrap her fingers around Y’shtola’s wrist, and her pained expression softened as she turned into the touch. Her breathing slowed to match the deep breaths Y’shtola modeled for her, but she did not loosen her grip.

“I’m sorry,” Corisande said quietly. Fresh tears fell onto Y’shtola’s wrist. “Shtola, I thought I—”

“’Tis all right, my love,” Y’shtola said, when Corisande could not finish their sentence. Her own hurt and anger felt distant, swept from the forefront of her mind by the distinct pang in her chest for Corisande. She took their hand. “Whatever else there is to discuss, we can save it for another time.”

Y’shtola had expected that to come as some relief to Corisande, but she had no time to assess their expression before they leaned into her, their long ears wilting as they laid their cheek on her shoulder. She held them there on the beach, her arms wrapped around them, the ache in her chest growing, until the wet drop of their tears dried to salt on Y’shtola’s shoulder.

—

They held hands as they walked back to the cabin, but neither of them spoke. The conversation, the admissions—and lack thereof—still lingered somberly in the air between them.

When they arrived, they both went upstairs to change. Y’shtola swapped her beachwear for a loose top and trousers, and Corisande discarded hers for a sturdier set of clothes she often wore for gathering.

“Is there naught I can do to convince you to rest?” Y’shtola asked as they laced up their boots.

“I need to do some work in the garden.” Corisande stood, and came around to Y’shtola’s side of the bed. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Y’shtola’s cheek, easing some of the tension Y’shtola felt. “I’ll come in soon.”

Y’shtola nodded. She followed them downstairs and tried to make herself comfortable on the sofa, where she could not easily see the garden. She passed three-quarters of a bell there, flipping through the pages of a book she had already read, until the need to do something became too strong. She rose to make tea, steeping a floral blend that Corisande favored. They arrived back at the cabin not long after, a few peppers for dinner in hand, and Y’shtola poured them a cup while they took off their muddy boots, gratified when they accepted it with a tired but sincere smile.

Corisande remained quiet through the rest of the afternoon, speaking little through dinner and the early evening, but her demeanor lacked the impatience and restlessness it had taken on the day before. They seemed to be tired, more than anything, and they stayed close to Y’shtola, retiring with her to the sofa after dinner and tangling their feet together as they relaxed.

Y’shtola went to bed first, and she nearly drifted off before she felt the bed dip, the quilt rustling quietly as Corisande climbed beneath it. They laid down facing her, close but not touching, and the distance, however small, pricked sharply at her.

She reached for their hand, pressing their palms together, and relief washed through her when they laced their fingers through hers. She fell asleep quickly after that, comfortable, their hands entwined warmly between them.

—

Corisande’s side of the bed was empty when Y’shtola woke. At first, she assumed she had slept until morning and they had simply risen earlier than her, but the chill and the too quiet stillness of the cabin suggested she had woken in the middle of the night.

She found Corisande downstairs. They sat facing the ocean, their back against the arm of the sofa, hugging their knees to their chest. They turned to her when she descended the stairs, watching her approach.

“I did not hear you wake.” Y’shtola stopped beside the sofa. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Corisande shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I came down here so I would not wake you, but it seems my precautions were for naught.”

“Do you need anything?” Y’shtola asked, not certain what she should do. They did not seem to be upset, but insomnia certainly did not indicate an untroubled mind. “Perhaps some tea will help you fall asleep.”

Corisande shook her head again. A heavy beat of silence passed before she spoke. “I know these past several months have been difficult—that I have been difficult—but I am grateful you are here.”

“I am not one to be put off by hardship.” Y’shtola sat beside them on the sofa and touched their arm lightly, smoothing her thumb over their forearm, brushing against the edge of their scarred skin. “I will always choose to be at your side. I only ask that you allow me to bear your burdens as well, so that I may do what I can to ease your hardship.”

“You have done much already. More than I had a right to expect.” Corisande put her hand over Y’shtola’s, squeezing gently.

“You expect far too little, then. You ought to ask for more.”

Corisande laughed softly, and the sound of it warmed her. They lifted Y’shtola’s hand to their lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles that made her heart ache. “Go back to bed, my love.”

Corisande released her hand, but Y’shtola made no move to rise. It did not seem right, leaving them alone in the too still night with only the thoughts that kept them awake. “I would like to stay.”

They hesitated, but Y’shtola felt the sincere acceptance in their nod. She moved over on the sofa and Corisande followed her lead without argument, shifting onto their side and laying their head in Y’shtola’s lap. Y’shtola stroked their ears gently, listening to their quiet breaths and the soft roar of the ocean as she turned the day’s conversations over in her mind.

Corisande insisted that Y’shtola had done much for her already, but what exactly had she done for them since arriving on the island? What had she done for them since they left the infirmary in Old Sharlayan? She was there when Corisande woke, she was there when they wanted to kiss and cuddle rather than speak, but she had yet to do anything to materially benefit their recovery. And wasn’t that why she had come? Hadn’t those five words that had brought her here—Come soon, if you can—seemed an urgent plea from someone so understated, so reluctant to ever ask for help? Hadn’t she hoped to observe the scope of their well-being, and do what she could to help?

As reticent as they were with their troubles, it had been difficult to do much for them. But as reluctant as they were to discuss their nightmares, they had finally given her something to work with. She understood now just how much losing their ability to cast had hurt them. They were clearly not willing to give up their quest to regain their abilities, and Y’shtola could hardly blame them for that. But neither was she willing to leave them to solve the problem on their own.

She glanced down at Corisande, peaceful in their sleep for the first time in days, and a powerful resolve overcame her. Now that she had a modicum of information, she could act in a way unavailable to her prior. Tomorrow, she would set about doing her best to ensure Corisande regained her ability to cast.

—

Morning had truly arrived by the time Corisande woke. They sat up quickly, offering profuse apologies to Y’shtola that she only waved off. Y’shtola made them promise not to do any casting on their own, to which they readily agreed, and went upstairs for a nap. Satisfied with the sincerity of their promise—they may have kept a secret from her, but they were not one for lies—she was able to quickly and comfortably fall asleep.

‘Twas late afternoon when she woke again. Corisande had not yet returned to the cabin, but that was no matter. Y’shtola had plenty of time while they slept to think over the matter of Corisande’s casting, and now that she was rested, she was keen to put the plan into action.

She was making a list of questions she would need answered before moving forward when Corisande ascended the stairs. Y’shtola rose, coming around to greet them when they sat on the edge of the bed.

“You have returned just in time. I have some questions, if you are willing to answer them,” Y’shtola said.

“Shtola—”

“About your casting,” she clarified, noticing how stiffly they sat. “And I will need you to try to cast, if you are up for it. Not today, of course, whenever you feel ready—”

“Shtola.” The gravity with which they said her name brought Y’shtola up short. She waited for them to speak, a sudden slight trepidation sparking in her stomach. “I have been thinking about what you said to me on the beach.”

Y’shtola had gone over that conversation in her mind for hours while Corisande slept, trying to glean what information she could, and come away with the feeling that perhaps she could have been less reproachful. She kept her voice level when spoke. “Many things were  said yesterday. Perhaps not all of them need be treated with the same consideration.”

“I think you were right,” Corisande said, as if Y’shtola had not spoken. “I have been unfair to you, Shtola. Worse, I have been unkind.”

A pit bloomed suddenly in Y’shtola’s chest, a small but deep worry clawing its way out as they took her hand. They pressed their lips to her hand before continuing.

“Everything was going so well when you arrived.” Corisande ran her thumb gently across Y’shtola’s knuckles. “I hoped it would last. I hoped neither of us would have to contend with the nightmares any longer, and I thought talking about any of it would jeopardize any chance of peace.”

Y’shtola brushed a curl out of Corisande’s eyes. “’Tis an understandable, if misguided, instinct.” She smiled, and cupped Corisande’s cheek as she spoke. “’Tis not anything that we cannot resolve together going forward.”

Corisande did not smile back. They closed their eyes, and Y’shtola’s heart fell. She recognized the way they steeled themself, had seen it over and over again throughout the years.

“I cannot see a way forward that does not cause you pain.” Corisande’s voice was almost hoarse, thick with emotion as she spoke. “I cannot see a future for us that is kind to you.”

A cold nausea worked its way from Y’shtola’s stomach to her throat. “What do you mean by that?”

They took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to look at her. “I have been hurting you for months, and I do not wish to do so any longer. The only way I can see to do that is—”

They cut themself off, pressing their lips together as they fought a hitch in their breath. The silent pause that followed weighed Y’shtola with a heavy dread that only grew the longer the moment drew out.

“—is to bring our relationship to an end.”

The very ground Y’shtola stood on seemed to crumble beneath her. She felt caught in a landslide, her heart and her hope slipping rapidly out of her reach.

“Surely you cannot mean that,” she said, latching on with both hands to the last bit of hope she could. “It hardly seems necessary.”

Corisande’s silence pained her. She felt almost winded, as if she had been struck a heavy blow. “You have slept little, and arrived rather rapidly at this conclusion. Perhaps you should reconsider after some rest, and include me in the decision process this time.”

Corisande shook her head. “I have given it much thought already, Shtola. ‘Tis better for us to part ways now, before I can visit even more unkindness on you than I have already.”

“And what about this unkindness?” Y’shtola asked, embarrassed by the way the hurt had worked its way into her voice. “If your aim was to prevent any further pain to me, you have sorely fallen short.”

“I know.” The grief in Corisande’s voice echoed within Y’shtola, mirrored in the way she still clung tightly, hopefully, to their hand. Her mind worked quickly, racing with solutions, something she could say that would bring an end to this deep and cutting ache—a kind of agony she had never known before. Something that would convince Corisande to take back her words. She could say she was fine not knowing anything of what haunted Corisande’s dreams, that they only had to speak of what Corisande wished to speak of, that she could let it all go, if they could, too.

None of it would be the truth.

In the end, she said nothing, only let Corisande pull her in with their hands on her waist. With Corisande sitting, they were almost the same height, and Y’shtola only had to bend her neck slightly to press her forehead to theirs. She lost track of how long they stayed that way, her hand on the back of their neck, their hands curled around her waist, warm through the fabric of her dress.

“I love you,” Corisande said softly, a quiet breath shared between them. “I want you to be happy.”

The ache in Y’shtola’s heart throbbed painfully. She tilted her head, closing the distance between them with a kiss. Corisande’s hands tightened on her waist, and a second later they were pulling her closer, their lips parting beneath Y’shtola’s.

Corisande let Y’shtola push her gently back onto the bed, pulled her along until their bodies pressed flush together. Her hands slipped beneath Y’shtola’s dress, soft and warm in their caresses, and Y’shtola met the gentleness of her touches with her own.

When the first tears fell down Corisande’s cheeks, Y’shtola wiped them away and kissed the salted tracks they left behind. She held her close as they moved together, each touch tinged with finality, and a longing for what they already missed.

Y’shtola had fought for Corisande before. She had hoped and prayed so fervently for Corisande to return to her that she had bent the universe to her will and made it so.

But just as before, there was naught she could do to keep them from choosing to go alone.

***

Corisande watched the tide roll in.

Y’shtola had left in the gray of the morning, teleporting to the aetheryte at the Moraby Drydocks, and taken Corisande’s shattered heart with her.

It was for the best. That was what she had to tell herself, over and over, to keep from taking it all back. She could not give Y’shtola the kindness and the openness she deserved. She had hardly been able to speak of the way her hindered casting affected her. How many more painful nights until Corisande worked up the strength to tell Y’shtola of the things that haunted her? Until she could admit she often dreamed of Y’shtola’s death over and over again, her very being unraveling before Corisande’s eyes? Or that sometimes Zenos loomed over her, bearing down upon her with his sword, and other times she stood over him, her boots spattered with blood, and she did not know which was worse?

They had already hurt Y’shtola enough. They would not make her suffer for them any longer.

She hugged her knees to her chest, reaching for the will to face the empty cabin. They only had themself to blame for the way it seemed too quiet now, the island too vast and empty. For the hollowness in their chest, a void they had torn open in themself.

When the sun finally cleared the horizon, and the pink sky faded into a too perfect blue, they rose to their feet. Baldin would be arriving soon to retrieve the luggage that Y’shtola had left behind, and for this, at least, Corisande would not make her wait.

[mosstrades]

im having an absolute unadulterated blast with the Ethersea prologue for many many reasons, it's beautiful and exceeds all my expectations.. but also. there's many moments here that genuinely make me go "oh god damn, these people are Americans." the Quiet Year system is a profoundly fascinating and revealing game - nothing tells you quite as much about how somebody sees the world than asking them to imagine a new one.

[conartisthaiji]

[image description: 9 slides from a slideshow. The slideshow has a white background with black text in comic sans. Each slide is as follows.

Slide One: Witch Hat Atelier, by a little witch academia fan (sorry in advance)

Slide Two: Basic Overview

NOT to be confused with Little Witch Academia 

yes, they both have a cheerful bad-at-magic lesbian who is in love with a grumpy magic prodigy lesbian (...i think) and yes, the uniform features cute little hats and robes and yes they are at a magic school and yes the two main teachers have homoerotic tension and…huh.

Just don’t call it witch hat academia (<-has done that)

Next to the words is the cover for the first volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows a blonde girl, Coco, cheerfully jumping down.

Slide Three: Blonde Akko Kagari

She’s blonde 

Her name is Coco 

Very sweet looking like i bet she’s just the nicest 

Probably had something tragic happen to her i bet it’s qifrey’s fault

Oh my god maybe this IS little witch academia 

Next to the text is the cover for the first volume of Witch Hat Atelier.

Slide Four: Not Olruggio

Lesbian (my mutuals told me so) (okay actually one of them had Agott over a lesbian flag as their profile but that’s basically the same thing) 

I did confuse her with Olruggio wha but no, she is a lesbian and her name is Agott. 

Rhymes with fa-i am forcibly removed from the room.

I just know she’s emo as hell like she looks like everything thirteen year old me would LOVE. unfortunately I am in my twenties. 

See next slide for blorbo.

Next to the text is the cover for the second volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Agott sitting in a chair and staring out with a bored expression on her face.

Slide Five: Richeh!!!!!!!!

Blorbo-in-law 

I mean, she’s gonna be my blorbo now.

Look at her i love her she can do no wrong.

Her eyebrows are my fave thing about her like they are so expressive

Next to the text are two manga panels of Richeh, one showing her eating noodles from a bowl, and one showing her cheering with her arms raised. Text behind her says, "Riche is sold out!" Next to these panels is the cover for the fourth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Richeh sitting on the side of a cliff.

Slide Six: The little pink one

She’s…pink 

I hate to say it but i do not know anything about her 

Not even her name

Sorry to all fans of the little pink one 

I bet she’s the energetic/upbeat one of the group though

Next to the text is the cover for the fifth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows a pink-haired girl leaping gleefully into the air.

Slide Seven: Qifrey without a U

It’s QI-FREY. No u. 

Now why is he wearing a one-lens sunglasses. Sun monocle. 

It’s probably just the cover art sorry Shirahama

Gay and sad i just know it 

Honestly i got nothing on this man

Next to the text is the cover for the third volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Qifrey holding a book in one hand. One of the lenses on his glasses has been darkened.

Slide Eight: Not a teenage lesbian

So Olruggio is actually a teacher.

Upon closer inspection i see that his hair is not curly. I truly thought it was. Sorry Agott.

Qifrey may be gay and sad but Olruggio is gay sad and tortured about it 

Whatever is wrong with him has nothing on whatever the fuck is wrong with Qifrey i bet

Why is this picture so fucking pixelated.

Next to the text is the cover for the sixth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Olruggio jumping with his cloak flowing behind him. The picture is far more pixelated than the other images in this slideshow.

Slide Nine: Ok the end because i don’t know who else is part of witch hat! But go read witch hat atelier! Or just wait for the anime but i’m gonna go read the manga (and maybe i’ll rewatch little witch academia too teehee) /end id]

so sorry wha mutuals i didn't pay enough attention to your wha lectures 🙇🙇🙇