#scholar!reader

[winterrrnight]

hi edith! i love your writing so much 🫶 especially the dynamic scholar!reader with rafe. can you make more please 🥺🩷 but with mean!rafe or fratboy!rafe

ahhh thank you for your request and your kind words anon 🫶I hope you like reading this :) I went with frat!rafe because to be honest mean!rafe isn’t much of my thing 😅 let me know your views on this if you feel like <3

late night sessions

PAIRING: frat!soft!rafe cameron x gn!scholar!reader

SUMMARY: rafe helps you back in bed after you accidentally fall asleep while studying.

WARNINGS: reader is a stem student (or basically anything except business because that is rafe’s major); established relationship; minimal usage of nicknames like babe; minimal swearing; rafe is soft for reader; fluff

EDITH SPEAKS: love love love scholar!reader with my whole heart 🥰 I’m so glad I’m getting to write them again. (manifesting major scholar!reader vibes for myself for my upcoming college year 😚) read my original scholar!reader blurb here <3

please reblog if you liked reading this! feedback is always appreciated 🪸

navigation || join my taglist || requests

It’s like you are completely cut off from the outside world; your books, notes, flashcards, and your laptop surround you on your desk as you find yourself knee deep in this semester’s syllabus, your mind already working on an overdrive for midterms – even when you still have a whole week before the dreaded exams approach.

But your boyfriend? He’s totally opposite. 

Exams don’t even begin mattering to him until one night before the actual exam day when he practically rawdogs some borrowed notes, not knowing what half of the content means but he’s cramming and gulping down information as if his life depends on it. And then guess what? He always gets a minimum of 50% of the total marks on each of his exams, making him the cockiest bastard to ever exist. 

 “See babe? This shit’s easy as fuck. Passed with all flying colors ’n shit,” He grins, practically shoving his grade sheet in your face. You always have to swallow down the urge to smack that irritatingly perfect face of his, blowing off that smirk right off his face. 

“Shut it, your business shit’s easy to pass alright?” You grumble under your breath. You very well know business isn’t easy, but the fact that Rafe is passing it with pretty decent scores by studying only one night before makes you think differently.

Your current focus on your notes is broken when you hear a knock at your dorm door. Begrudgingly, you yell out a ‘come in’, not moving your attention from your notes for even a split second. You hear the door open and close from the front of the room, and when you feel a figure approach you from the back and wrap their arms around you, you know who it is. 

“Hey babe,” Rafe mumbles in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking at all your books and notes surrounding you. 

“Hey,” You mumble back, your focus not withering at all. 

“Missed you tons today,” He mumbles, gently caressing your neck with his fingertips before nuzzling against the soft skin, his lips beginning to press slow, languid kisses.

“Yeah same,” You mutter, dragging your laptop closer as you open the file you want to access, your entire body, mind and soul completely unphased by Rafe. 

Rafe sighs as he presses one last kiss to the side of your neck before lifting his head up. “Already studying for your midterms?” He says, reluctantly stepping back from you to flop down on your bed, his gaze never leaving you. He already knows the answer to his question: you wouldn’t be the person he’s so deeply infatuated with if you aren’t giving a head start to your head start for your exam preparations.

“Uh huh,” Comes out your quiet voice as he watches you, your brows furrowed as you scroll through something on your laptop. He trains his gaze over to the small digital clock sitting on the corner of your desk, flashing the numbers 11:17 in a bright white. 

“Babe it’s getting late, come sleep with me,” He says, beginning to scoot over to make space for you, but your next words make him stop. 

“It’s okay Rafe you sleep, I’ll be there in a few,” 

Few. It can mean anything in your dictionary. It can mean 40 seconds, or 28 minutes, or 3 hours, or the entire night.

Rafe lets out a quiet sigh as he thinks of coaxing you to get in bed with him again, but he knows it’s not going to work. 

“You better not ‘accidentally’ pull an all-nighter again you hear me?” He says, a tinge of sternness in his voice as he fluffs the pillows once before dropping his head on them. 

You don’t say anything, just make a quick move to turn off the main light of the room and turn on your desk lamp instead. The room plunges into darkness except for the soft glow of your desk light, illuminating your desk and you sitting in front of it.

Rafe turns over on his side to look at you, his hand under his head. He watches you study quietly, your facial features glowing under the desk light and the light from your laptop screen. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, but the occasional typing of the keyboard, pen scratching against the paper as you write, and your barely audible whispering begin to lull him into a sleep which he finds harder and harder to pull himself from. 

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Rafe shifts in his position, letting out a soft grunt under his breath as he turns over on his side after being on his back. He squints his eyes as he feels a certain light hit his heavy, closed eyelids. He forces them to open, his vision blurry for the first few seconds. As his vision sets and his mind begins to gain consciousness, he realizes your desk light is still on. 

You are crouched over in the chair, your head resting on the table in your arms. Your notes are scattered around and your laptop is open but now under sleep mode. Rafe darts his attention over to the clock, and the numbers 2:32 flash back at him. 

“Jesus,” He mutters under his breath, helping his sleep-ridden body up from the bed. He walks over to your hunched position and gently shakes your shoulder. 

“Babe, babe come sleep in the bed,” His raspy voice comes out. For a moment, you don’t move, but after a few gentle shakes you do, slowly lifting your head up from your arms. 

“What…” You mumble sleepily, your eyes barely open. You are just as sleepy as Rafe, if not more. 

Rafe shuts your laptop close and switches off the desk light, the only light now coming through the small window of your dorm. His hand finds your arm and he gently pulls you up from the chair. 

“Come sleep in bed,” He repeats, his voice still groggy as he helps you up from the desk chair. Your extremely tired body doesn’t put up a fight even once and you let him lead you over to the bed. 

Rafe helps you lie down and he lays next to you, his arms wrapping around your frame in an instant. You succumb to his embrace the very next second and snuggle closer to him, resting your head on his chest. 

Both of you fall asleep after your shared moment of momentary awakeness, your sleepy body tucked snugly against his for the rest of the night. 

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am, @saccharinesammie, @maybankslover, @totalswag, @madelynie, @chenslucy /

@ietss, @elle-mp3, @viawritesstuff, @wallsdreams, @mistress-amidala /

@sadfury, @sage-burrow, @jamesbuckybarneswify, @xxxlaura, @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @callsignwidow /

@starkowswife, @drewstarkeyswifehoe, @jjchaer, @f4ll-for-you, @wearemadeofstardust0 /

@drewsmusee, @rafegirly, @addriaenne, @leighbronk, @rafesdrew /

@bejeweledreverie, @raf3sgff, @aerangi, @drewstarkey1bae, @moneymaybank, @spideysimpossiblegirl /

@spideysimpossiblegirl, @noahkahansorangejuice, @rafesgiirl, @theoraekenslover, @fals3-g0d /

@personalfavsthatarerandom, @b1mb0slvt @babypoguelife, @ilyrafe, @oxpogues4lifexo /

@fionaswifeyy /

[allimili]

can you draw shadow milk showing support for y/n for exam days pls ☹️🤍 we just need some fluff fr

extra

[harmonysanreads]

Anaxa : Stalking? I was just... educating myself on your lore.

[sheep-from-rad]

Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid. 

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown. 

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders. 

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible. 

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

[voidcat]

Kissing Anaxa’s hand whenever he pushed himself to his limits and the mark on the back of his hand begins to sting, burn through his skin & Anaxagoras kissing your eyes and gently brushing off the stray hairs falling onto your face on the nights you’ve overworked yourself to the point your eyes begin to burn and sting

[screamingcrows]

"I thought I told you to let me finish speaking," Anaxagoras sounded wholly unbothered, no doubt he looked it as well.

Your breaths were coming in ragged gasps, fingers hurting from how fiercely you clung to the bark behind him. It took all in you to resist the urge to sink your teeth into his shoulder.

'I was merely taking measures to ensure the silence you requested'

Those words never made it past your lips, a moan taking their place instead as he languidly moved his hips, nudging the head of his cock against a spot that made stars not yet charted appear before your eyes.

The click of his tongue wasn't lost on you, not even in the near delirious state he had you in. How long you'd held firm, straddling his hips and pushing away the feral urge to move, time was impossible to tell in the quiet solitude of the grove.

Quiet save for the occasional wet squelch when his stream of reflections ceased (for the sake of impact, he had no intention of appearing an unprepared fool at the next symposium), leaving him time to sigh contently and perhaps reward you with a shallow thrust.

Relief and hope that he would show mercy was lost the moment he tugged your head back, the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Perhaps," two slender fingers traced your bottom lip, gently pushing into your mouth, "this will prevent any disturbances. Having to start over once is aggravating enough."

[fatuismooches]

(hello hi ♦ anon here i've been lurking)

Okay completely piggybacking off of that hsr boss idea you had where Reader takes damage for Dottore because they can't stand seeing him hurt...

I'm not even sure if this would be remotely fair, but I've been thinking up a concept for a bit and i need to dump it somewhere lol.

So, imagine a mechanic for Reader where they jump in to take Dottore's damage for a few turns (defense + speed buffs) because they feel like their frail state isn't exactly helping him win the fight. Dottore thinks otherwise, of course, but Reader is determined to "make themselves useful." It would be triggered if Dottore is attacked/debuffed repeatedly., and then would keep happening unless you decide to attack Reader outright.

HOWEVER. Dottore has a mechanic where he enters a state of fury (damage + speed buffs) if Reader is attacked too many consecutive times, obviously because how dare you harm them when he's literally right there. This self-buff would probably happen every time after the first activation until you switch targets.

Enter the scenario of Reader being hit repeatedly, Dottore becoming an absolute powerhouse (because of course it stacks), and uh oh their boss fight had to be nerfed like Aventurine's.

Honestly, looking over it while I write this out has me questioning my own brain but this has been in the thought oven for about an hour lol (do not let me design hsr bosses)

(x) AUGHH ANON THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND... I CAN'T EVEN ADD MUCH BECAUSE IT'S SO ACCURATE...

Even though Reader would have fairly low HP compared to Dottore and the backup reinforcements, they still can't help but want to do their part instead of just watching from the sides, enabling the mechanic. Therefore it's pretty hard to land any hits on the Harbinger and pretty easy to defeat Reader instead. This will automatically make you in for a tough time, as once they go below a certain percentage of HP, the buffs would kick in which would make it not very fun. It would only get worse if Reader is completely defeated - but the buffs would go away once another enemy heals Reader, and then restart the process *gets nerfed asap*.

There would also be special achievements: "A Wise Choice" - Defeat Dottore without defeating [Name]. "Intertwined Fate" - Defeat Dottore and [Name] at the same time. "A Foolish Choice" - Defeat Dottore after defeating [Name].

Also, I imagine a similar mechanic with Reader as the sole boss with the other enemies being Fatui Agents, however, they can't attack and will instead heal the other enemies while simultaneously advancing their actions, and said agents are eternally loyal to Reader, and will take the hits for them.

[pinksugarscrub]

Atlantis

Milo Thatch! Reader x Kida! Hobie

@yumeaoka-chan , this is my favorite scene rewritten with Hobart in mind.

Word count: 650

Warning(s): Hobie's concept of boundaries

~

“Okay-” you exhale, “I can do this.”

Placing one hand over your chest while the other supports your weight on a pillar so ancient you want to cry. The intricacies of the architecture reduced to faded imagery. Honestly it’s possible these could describe the topography of Atlantis just as well as it could describe its history. But the city—wait, you’re getting extremely off track.

There’s an Atlantean to confront.

“Look I have some questions for you and I’m not leaving until they’re answered.” You stumbled over your words as you rock on your heels.

Was it honestly possible to sweat this much in an underwater city? Normally your anxiety was bad but not this bad

Then again this wasn’t a normal Tuesday where you presented your findings in front of a committee. Where rejection was just a delayed yes. No this was-

“I have some questions for you and you are not leaving this city until they are answered.”

You sputter as you feel his breath against your ear. His body heat is just as difficult to register as he loops his arm around yours and presses it against your back.

“Hold- wait a minute.” You squeak, almost all in one word.

“Shh, come with me.”

That’s how you’ve found yourself being led by the man who healed the scar on your collar. He has to tug you along as the city grows smaller and smaller until it’s only a speck in the distance.

The plant life is so large and vibrant. Nothing hinders the roots from growing deep within the earth and if they do vines choke the stone until there isn’t anything left.

Crystal clear, and that isn’t an exaggeration. The waterfalls cascade down so far down into the body of water surrounding Atlantis the depth reminds you of a trench.

You hope a leviathan isn’t lurking beneath. A shiver rolls down your spine and then, you’re plummeting as you’re being tugged down a fallen beam by the hem of your jeans.

“You are a scholar are you not?”

The grin on his face has the complaint you had ready dying on your tongue. Tugging your jeans back up by your belt loops along with rolling your top down you let out a sigh. Pushing your glasses too back up the bridge of your nose.

In comparison to the man in front of you, you feel severely underdressed.

There are blue markings under his eye that you didn’t have the chance to notice in your first encounter. A singular gold earring on one ear while several were adorned on the other.

Royalty, he looked like royalty. Not in the polished and refined way the royal family was back home in England. No offense to the queen. It was much more subtle. Stemming from the confidence in his stance. The controlled excitement in his eyes.

“Judging from your diminished physique you are suited for nothing else,” he laughs. Knocking on your forehead as if it were a door.

You are beginning to mind how often he tugs and pulls at you. You aren’t a doll for crying out loud and he must be at least six feet. Were you weak or were Atlantean men just naturally stronger?

“What is your country of origin?”

You protest as he steals your glasses. Setting them on his nose with a triumphant smile. The lenses make his brown eyes larger of course.

You’re struggling to catch up as he spouts out question after question and you’re not doing much better in that department. You feel like a powder keg about to explode.

Carefully sliding your glasses off of his face you chuckle nervously. “Right, well, let’s do this. I have some questions for you too so you ask one then I’ll ask one.”

His smile softens and he lets out a huff. Preferably not at your expense. “Very well, what is your question?”

[pondslime]

sacramentum

FANDOM : midnight mass (2021) PAIRING : father paul hill x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 17.3k

Reader POV. Seeking peace and a sense of self, you pack up your life and move to a small fishing village in the Pacific Northwest.

You're not prepared for what you find there.

Read on AO3 here.

🔔 Only including an excerpt of the first thousand or so words under the cut, as Tumblr formatting hates longwinded porn!

Canon-divergent. Takes place in an alternative version of Episodes 1-4.

Blasphemy and filth fueled by religious guilt and repression. Hierophilia. Reader is agnostic and has no prior ties to the Catholic Church. Mutual pining (but make it weird). Having horny thoughts about a priest (and Christianity in general). Lots of yearning and pondering. Second person.

⚠️ Canonical animal death is mentioned. Blood-laced communion wine is given to the reader without her knowledge. Implied/referenced drug addiction (if you tilt your head slightly to the left). Age gap (20/30-something malaise and mental unwellness featured throughout). Dubious consent and coercion. Reader has no idea what she's gotten herself in for. Honestly, neither does he. ⚠️

When the smut rolls around: Body worship and oral (reader receiving). Soggy sub-leaning behavior from Peepaw Monsignor Father Paul. Because we deserve it. Weird sensory overload vampire sex. Lots of religious themes and motifs.

What can I say? 'Cause this is his body, this is his love. Such selfish prayers and I can't enough. Or whatever.

And I will pour upon you clean water, and you shall be cleansed from all your filthiness, and I will cleanse you from all your idols.

And I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and will give you a heart of flesh.

Ezekiel 36:25-26

The thing in the grass sees you far before you see it.

Later, you’ll find yourself wondering just how long it was watching you. It doesn’t really matter. Long enough.

Right now, you’re trying to count. It shouldn’t be that hard. Part of you knows that, but the other part doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Your brain does that sometimes—slips a bit, gives up halfway through.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

You’ve gotten to seven again when you finally catch a glimpse of it. It’s barely much of anything, just a flicker of movement in your periphery. By that point, it’s already making its way towards you. The grass rustles furiously as it moves, tunneling its way into your full attention. You watch curiously as a head erupts out of the stalks.

It’s a cat.

The realization comes with a sting. Spitting a curse out, you drop the knife. The price of your distraction bubbles to the surface of your finger, bright red and angry. A few drops of it speckle the orange slices you’ve been cutting.

Out the window, the cat is still watching you.

A thought flashes wryly in your mind. If you’re trying to make a habit out of injuring yourself, you might want to schedule it around the ferries. You imagine it coming from the cat, doused in unimpressed feline judgment.

Rinsing your hand off under the tap, you inspect the damage. It’s nothing to be worried about—just a shallow cut—but those were the ones that bled the most. Even now, you could see a fresh bead of red blooming on your skin.

Popping one of the tarnished oranges in your mouth, you head to the bathroom to fish in the medicine cabinet. The bandages you have aren’t big enough for the gash, but you lay one on top of it anyway, smoothing the edges out.

You’ll be more careful next time.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

It makes sense that your favorite is what throws off the count. Seven was a good number. The best number, really. Lucky.

You’d chosen to move on the seventh month of the year, seven years into a job that was only as good as it was good enough. You’d been fine. Managing. Navigating adulthood seemed to amount to nothing more than days spent playing connect-the-dots between headaches, shaking ibuprofen into your palm.

Throughout it all, seven had been there, tucked into addresses, stamped onto licensed plates—seemingly assigned to you in particular.

In this sea of banality, there was a small thrill to the idea of something that existed solely for you.

Overhead, the sky is an icy blue, darted through by clouds that look like wrung out dishtowels. Making your way down the front steps, your bag thumps dully against your thigh.

You’re thinking in numbers again. Counting steps, doors.

Salt hangs in air, blasted back against the faded paint of the buildings. Husks of them sit like dried-out cicada shells, brittle and abandoned. With no one to fill them, they seem to blur into the backdrop of the island—stationary outcroppings of the land, just as still as the boulders along the beach.

Here and there, whispers of chimney smoke curl into the air. They were stubborn declarations of life—made by equally stubborn people. Each came from families that felt as old as the ground under your feet, generations on generations whittled down over time. Their faded American flags jut out from front porches, battered folding chairs sitting in overgrown yards. They were here to stay, for better or for worse.

You shiver. There’s an unmistakable chill present in the air, making you regret leaving your gloves at the house. The wind stings your face as you turn the corner. It’s cold out here and it’s only to grow colder still. You wonder if you’ll ever get used to it. You hope you will. After all, this was home now.

For-ever, for-now? You weren’t quite sure yet.

Months into your assumed ownership of the house, unpacked boxes still sit in your living room. Your walls are still bare. The wind chimes you bought are languishing in a plastic bag under the sink. It’s hardly much of a home, but you’ll get to it, you will. That line of thinking works for a bit, but promises of tomorrow have the habit of extending into the next week, and then the week after that. Now, it all just felt like a vague hint of eventually, bookended with maybe.

You weren’t sure why you’d thought that moving here would imbue you with some great sense of motivation. The whole place seemed antithetical to that sort of thing. Things just moved slower out here. It was difficult to feel rushed. Whatever urgency Crockett might have had was just as weatherbeaten and tired as the houses that lined the road. You look at them as you walk, balling your hands into fists and shoving them into your coat pockets.

There are small victories, though, you remind yourself. Minor progress. Finally having run out of clean clothes, you’ve had to give up living out of your suitcase. Your hand was forced, of course, but it was something.

You change direction, stepping off the path.

Down at the edge of the shore, someone is walking slowly along the water.

Your eyes alight on a large piece of driftwood, bleached bone white on the sand. You’d claimed it as your own a few weeks in—easy to do on a beach as lonesome as this one. Sitting down, you pull out your book, giving the cover a cursory glance before opening it. It’s the same one you’ve been starting-stopping-starting again the entire time you’ve been here.

You’re a few paragraphs in, fingertips starting to numb in the cold, when the distraction hits. The words feel tired, on this, your thousandth time attempting to read them. Your eyes slip down the page, scrambling the letters into a cluttered mass of black scribbles.

Twisting your head away from the incomprehensible blur, you find yourself staring at a beached boat. It sits lopsided on a tangle of long yellow reeds, windows coated with a thick sheen of sand. A bent fishing cage sits on its bow, sea grass collecting under it. Despite the debris, it’s difficult to gauge just how long it might have been marooned for. After all, everything eventually ended up looking like that out here.

You can just about make out a number painted on the side of the hull, faded and dull.

7.

“Pardon me, young lady.” Startled out of your thoughts, you look up. An elderly man stands in front of you, clutching his hat in his hands. He’s the one you saw down by the water when you arrived.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” The breeze upsets his hair, whipping white strands of it around his head. “I hope you’ll give grace to a very old man if he’s incorrect.”

You came here for isolation and you’re finding anything but. People seek you out, they want to know you—or rather, know of you. Where you’re from, how long you’re planning on staying. Why you chose this place, out of all the places.

“No, you’re right.” You give him a polite smile, closing your book. “I just moved here.”

“May I?” He gestures at the space on the log next to you.

“Absolutely.”

You watch with anticipatory concern as he slowly shuffles forward. He lists to the right, carefully bracing his hand on the wood. With a groan, he finally lowers himself down beside you.

“Would you do me the privilege of telling me your name?” he asks. “Young lady of whom I’ve never met?”

You tell him and he gives a decided tut, as if he’s committing it to memory.

“What’s yours?” you ask.

He seems to consider the question deeply, his brow creasing in concentration. Letting out a breath, he drums his fingers absently on his knee.

“John,” he finally says. “There’s a whole lot of—” he gestures vaguely out in front of him, his mouth pulling into an unimpressed frown. “—hoopla after the John. Before the John, too. But you know, I, uh, I can’t be bothered with all that today. Today, well…” his words trail off. “Today I’d very much like to be John. Just John.”

“You’ve got it, Just John.”

“A young lady with a sense of humor,” he chuckles. You follow his gaze as it drifts back to the ocean. Gulls dip and dart in the air above the waves, barely more than specks of white in the distance. “Now that’s something quite special.”

The silence that settles around both of you is a tranquil one, full of the rush of waves and the chirps of bird song. He’s very still beside you, staring out at the water. The moment hangs, extends. He blinks slowly, mumbling something under his breath. You almost feel as if he’s forgotten you’re there.

You wait. Eventually, you lower your eyes, flipping your book open. You manage to get to the end of the chapter before he speaks again.

“I must confess, I did have ulterior motives for coming out here today,” he says conversationally, as if no time has passed. “If I’m to be perfectly frank, young lady, I’m quite the suspicious character.”

“Is that true?” You look over at him, raising your brows.

“Oh, yes,” he replies brightly. Lowering his voice, his tone takes on a playfully conspiratorial edge. “I’m on the run today, actually.”

“From the law?” You smile.

“Sometimes it does feel like that,” he sighs. “No. My pursuers are, um, very kind people. Quite well-meaning.”

“So why’d you run?” You stuff the book back into your bag.

“They try to stop me from taking my walks.” He shakes his head. “But I won’t. Not on days like this. Not while I’m…here. I’ve been having less of these, truth be told.”

You watch his face.

“That’s a secret, by the way,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have those, but I do.”

“I feel like everyone does.”

John hums out a noncommittal noise, shifting beside you on the log. Fishing in the pocket of his coat, he pulls out a small metal tin. You glance over at it as he cracks the lid open. It’s filled with an assortment of chalky-looking candy. Selecting a peppermint from the top, he raises it slowly to his lips.

“Don’t get old,” he says, extending the tin towards you. His hand trembles a bit with the effort. “Live as long as you can, but don’t get old.”

“I’ll try my best.” You nod, plucking out a piece of bright yellow candy.

“Very good.” He smiles gently over at you. “Enjoy.”

You pop the candy into your mouth as he snaps the tin shut. It’s lemon, sugary and just a touch stale. The taste is a nostalgic one. It slots in perfectly with everything else about him, ubiquitously grandfatherly.

“Thanks, John.”

“See, John sounds right, doesn’t it?” He exhales deeply, turning back to the ocean. “You’re very welcome.”

You return home. You count and then recount. You think about secrets and count them too. You’re not sure if you have seven anymore.

For all intents and purposes, you had disappeared. You were fairly professional at it. People cared initially, but the longer the gulf grew, the less they did. It was a blameless thing.

You always had a foot out the door of your own life. Self-sabotage and self-preservation were things you fumbled for in the dark. You always grabbed the wrong one, but you never noticed until it was too late.

Another blameless thing. They felt the same at first.

You imagined the lives you had vanished out of as gulls, bobbing at the surface of the water. They barely flew, those birds—just opened up their wings and let themselves be caught by the wind. It was the only sensible thing to do in response to something so inescapable.

You unlatch the window and crack it open. You breathe, you think, you count.

It was possible that the people you’d known weren’t the gulls at all. Maybe that was just you, a resident of nowhere in particular. Living in moments you’d just happened to end up in, ambivalent to a future that might exist past your next meal. It was an unfortunate thought.

Or maybe you aren’t any of those things. The thought came in a flat, unimpressed voice—the one you’d imagined for the cat outside your window. It’s gone now, but you can still picture those eyes. Amber, wide and unblinking.

It was correct, of course. You weren’t the parasitic maw in the shape of a bird, nor the wind that carried it. You couldn’t be. It was a hollow triumph to know that you were just a person and had always been one.

If you were anything, you wish you were the ocean. Impartial and vast and beautiful. Since you weren’t, you settle for filling your lungs with the salt of her exhale.

Read the rest on AO3 here!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Out In The Cold

"What's this? A cold little mouse in my castle?"

Thick hair that wasn't mine spilled over my shoulder. As a familiar hand, warm and calloused, wrapped itself around my throat. I hadn't realized how cold the room had gotten, until her hand was there, skin warm against my skin. It had taken a while to get used to this.

I was grateful, in a way. For the the day she had done more then just scoff at my scarf. Telling me I would freeze. The way she had gotten worried. Pulled off her gloves, grumbling all the while, too fuss over me like some great mother bear. Hands warm but gentle, as the tucked themselves around my throat. Too better warm my blood, she had said.

It had been like a dam breaking.

And honestly? She WAS right. It was warm.

Now, whenever she so much as SUSPECTED I was cold? Her hand would sneak out to press against my pulse. Though, half the time, I suspected it was an excuse. She'd not had many chances for closeness in her life, I suspect. Calysta was the... ah, it was hard to translate, but... the CLOSEST translation? Was something like "Child of The Mountain Gods".

Or was it "Child of the Mountains AND the Gods"?

I was supposed to be writing a treatise on the subject. Gods knows no one ELSE would. Cowards. Bigots too. "Nothing but savages" my silk clad ASS. And they dare call themselves academics!? Ha! HA, I say! Both my professors and I would SPIT! (If it weren't WILDLY rude. I never COULD master that skill. I did try.)

Unfortunately, my professors, were too old to make the journey this far North. It hadn't stopped them from TRYING, when we had finally gotten permission. But... well. They barely made it too Wuntersgreen before the strain and cold became too much. They cried.

As the youngest? I was loaded down with their notes, questions, hopes and dreams, and sent on ahead. No one was impressed by me. The scrawny academic with her soft, soft hands. Never a day's fight in her. Didn't know how to do "anything". But? That had given their word to host me. So they did.

It's been AMAZING.

And I like to think I'm getting better!

Adapting. Learning how to do things and help around the castle. I even helped start a fire for the fireplace the other day! Before THAT? I learned how to set hunting traps... rather badly. I have yet to catch anything. But still! Progress, is it not?

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Calysta. Her rank is something between a Warlord and a King, as far as I can tell? It holds the respected sovereignty of a ruling monarch yet? Can be seized. Should she grow "weak". Is not NECESSARILY passed too one's children. They, presumably, have an ADVANTAGE... but? It goes too "the Chosen child of..." that word I'm still having some difficulty getting a good translation off.

And if I remember correctly, Calysta's brother's did NOT appreciate that. As they had been favored by her father. Showered with praise most of their lives. One of them ASSUMED to be the next leader.

They challenged her.

Did not back down.

Now? Now she has neither Father nor brothers. Not that it seems she had much of either to begin with. Frankly? I am GLAD she won. She is good for the North. Strong, steady, highly tactical. A wry wit. And a FEIRCE love for her people and culture. NO ONE will take it from her. Destroy these beautiful peoples.

I'm tugged back lightly, away from my desk to sit up properly against the back of my chair. The hand on my neck shifting softly, ever so slightly up, to cup the underside of my jaw. Tilting my head up so I can not see my work but must instead meet the eyes of my dear friend.

"Enough, little mouse." There is a fondness to the edge of her mouth, she is not one for great grins and wild expressions. It has taken me months to learn how to read her so well. "Your papers will still be there AFTER you warm up. Should be easier to right, don't you think, when you can actually feel your fingers again?"

I huff a laugh.

Honestly... where would I be with out her? Frozen to death, probably. I get entirely to fixated on my work. Food, drink, keeping the fire running. I notice none of it. Probably shrivel up and die. The fact she even takes the time to check on me? Dispite being as important as she is? Let NO ONE say Calysta does not CARE. She is a good person.

My legs feel numb and prickly, stiff, in that distinctly asleep and too cold sort of way, as I try to stand. Calysta has to wrap her arm around my waste and let me lean against her. She feels almost too hot against me. Another sure sign I have, indeed, allowed myself to get too cold. Oh dear.

With an exasperated snort, once it becomes clear my legs will probably not be recovering fast enough for her liking, Calysta decides she will speed things along. My legs are swept out from under me effortlessly. I don't even squeek anymore, this has happened so often. But I USED too.

It is how I became "mouse".

Now I just allow Calysta her way. She'll put me down when she wants to put me down. And honestly? It's kinda fun to be carried like a child. I feel tall. Weightless and somewhat decadent, it makes my heart beat a faster. And on somedays? All I want to do is go boneless. Allow myself to be HELD. Not that I'll ever tell. So Shhhhh, a secret to our graves, okay? It would make things awkward for her.

She strolls down the hall with me, too her office. No one so much as blinking an eye. We've become so common in our shenanigans, I imagine, it's become mundane. And... ah~ Calysta was RIGHT. I WAS cold. The fireplace in her office is full with logs burning away merrily. The windows we passed in the hall showed snow. It seems the storm's finally hit..

Instead of putting me down, Calysta heads for the couch. Turning and with a huff, flopping down, making both of us bounce a bit. Leaning back with me less in her arms now, so much as in her lap. The room is quiet. Hushed almost. The crackle of fire, the distant howl of wind, far away chatter of life, elsewhere in the castle.

Calysta has leaned back against the back of her office's couch. Head rested against the fur blanket draped against the back of it. The fur mixes with her riotous man of hair to create almost a halo, lit in golds by the fire's light. Her eyes are closed as she takes her moment. The fire light makes her face softer.

But never soft.

No force in all the world could make Calysta anything but the Queen she is. Dangerous and powerful. First into battle and last to leave. She is breath taking in the way all deadly things are, I think. Like blades and poison held up to the light. Predators and fires that burn.

"You're staring, little mouse." She says, voice nearly a whisper in the softness of the room. It is a rumble like mountains and the sweet call of dangerous things. She's always had such a commanding voice. I envy it. "Is my face so entrancing?"

She's smirking. Teasing me. I laugh and rest my head against her shoulder. Let myself drift as the chill in my bones fades away. The arm loosely around my waist to keep me from falling off, has taken to lightly stroking my back. Almost absent-mindedly. Occasionally, fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

A servant has come-by. Removed our shoes for us. Brought Calysta missives and responses. General updates. She shifts us. Tucking me against her as she lays down, tucking me between her body and the couch. Fuzzy blanket over me, arm wrapped around me. I... I feel boneless.

Safe.

Everything warm and quiet and far away.

Trusting, I doze off. Cuddling close and utterly content.

Calysta presses a kiss to the crown of my sleeping head. Let's her hand roam, just a bit, simply to feel the perfect way her little mouse fits right up against her. She was MADE for her. Born to be here. Still... she has to be... be GENTLE. Soft.

It's hard. She hasn't had much practice in that.

But good things are worth the struggle for them. True love is WORTH the time, the effort, to learn how the South romance. Figuring out how to woo her lil mouse as she deserves. Making sure she never leaves.

Speaking off...

She diges out the ridiculous fancy paper envelope at the bottom of the stack. Hidden, as per her instructions, so her little Mouse wouldn't see it. Another one, it seems, from that damn "House" of hers. Southern Clans were pretty damn presumptuous, weren't they? Had some fucking gall.

What did THIS one say?

Let's she... "come back at once" blah blah blah "how dare you ignore all our letters" blah blah "you WILL honor the engagement we've found for you, or ELSE" oh? Threats now, huh? Ah~? "Keep ignoring our letters and you'll be cast from House-" well, well~!

That's convenient.

One flick of the wrist, and the letter is in the fireplace. Burning away. Just like all before it. Oops. How difficult it is, to get news from the South. Her little mouse really SHOULD just forget about them. THIS is her home now. THEY are her people.

Her girl doesn't need anyone else.

"Don't worry, little love. I won't leave you out in the cold. You're gonna stay with me. Forever. I Promise."

[sanctuary1988]

Les Petals D'Amour

| Gwi | Masterpost

Pairing: Gwi (the scholar who walks the night) x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

General Warnings: fluff, angst, blood, biting, general vampire stuff, secrets, obsession, twisted retail of beauty and the beast, death, character death, typical period misogyny, DARK ROMANCE, spiciness, love?, (specific warnings will be given in each chapter)

Total Word Count: in process

A/N: Welcome to my first fic on this new blog, darling! I finished watching TSWWTN like a month ago and I have officially fallen in love. I took one of the scenes to start this story that could serve as a prequel of the drama from Gwi's perspective. Like a backstory for him that we were denied on the show.

I really hope you will like it, loves. Please share your thoughts with me and feel free to ask me anything! From extra scenes for this story to what's the last thing I ate, I'd love to interact with you all!

*A/N: This story will be updated when I have the time to write, darlings. I'll do my best to keep it alive and ongoing but I have a lot on my plate right now. I'm doing this mostly for myself as I need some space to vent and create without pressure. This blog is a safe space for anyone and that obviously includes me. So please be patient when it comes to updates! I'm giving my all trying to balance my life with all the responsibilities I, myself, put over my already busy life. But be for sure that this story will be finished... someday.

**A/N: Darling, please mind the warnings on this post and on each chapter. I'm still pondering on whether I should include smut here or not as I personally think there should be a solid reason why there must be a spicy scene in a story but aside from that, this story will have some pretty dark contents and behaviours. Disturbing scenes may appear throughout the story and I am not responsible for your media consumption. Please, be careful, love.

~ Main Work

Chapter 1 | Handsome Stranger |2.3k words|

Chapter 2 | Owned Flower |2.4k words|

Chapter 3 | Caged Petal |2k words|

Chapter 4 | Silver Innocence |2.5k words|

Chapter 5 | Subtle Conscience |2.5k words|

Chapter 6 | A Flower For A Flower |4.2k words|

Chapter 7 | Reborn Petals Of Emotion |4k words|

Chapter 8 | Veil Of Temptation |4.5k words|

Chapter 9 | Fate's Cruel Hand |5.1 words|

Chapter 10 | The Heart Of The Poet |3.4 words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

𖹭 Interlude pt.1 |1.4k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 11 | The Moon That Embraces The Sun |4.6k words|

Chapter 12 | Melodic Promises |5.5k words|

Chapter 13 | The Silence Of Solitude |3.2k words|

Chapter 14 | Stolen Rose Of A Promise |4k words|

Chapter 15 | Flames Of Passion |4.5k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

𖹭 Interlude pt. 2 |2.2k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 16 | Secret Of Darkness |3.4k words|

Chapter 17 | The Age Of Romance |3k words|

Chapter 18 | Echoes Of Eternity |4.2k words|

Chapter 19 | The Enemy's Lover |5.4k words|

Chapter 20 | The Price Of Love pt. 1 |3k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Interlude pt. 3 |1.8k words|

────────────────────────────────────────────

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

???

~ Side Content...

Moodboard

The Playlist 🫶

Started: January/28/2024 Finished: ???

[cathedral-of-sinners]

alhaitham’s cock

[synthetickitsune]

May i request a Gwi x human!reader with the prompt "Witnessing them being whipped on accident"? I wanna see Gwi having a soft spot for his little human, who's always so obedient towards him

Gwi (Scholar Who Walks The Night) | Witnessing them being whipped on accident fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

Everything blurs together until you feel life is just an out-of-body experience. Pain, cold, touch, breathing, all your long gone memories - it’s all a confusing mess clouding your mind. You can’t pinpoint a single thing. A single one. Safe for a longing for someone.

You’re too weak to remember who that person is. But you know they make you feel safe and protected. At the same time, there’s a sense of caution that makes you all the more curious. Just who could make you feel like you’re a moth flying too close to the flames?

In the rare moments when you’re lucid, you feel many things. Regret most of all. You don’t yet know why that is. Regret and yearning that you know belongs to the mysterious man.

A man. But not a human.

It’s so easy to accept when you’re so far away from reality.

Memories of your life so far come to you slowly. It feels like navigating a forest swarming with fog, but your last moments shine through. A sharp pain in your neck. Blood being drained from you, night after night. 

You remember the man. The vampire. His lips closing around the two puncture wounds in your neck.

It makes you want to cry, to scream.

It seems so natural that what you feel is not hatred or fear, but rather disappointment in yourself. You think you should feel scared - fear for your life. Then again in your current hazy state it’s all too easy to accept that even death is nothing but a natural consequence of your failing. Although you’re not sure what exactly was your shortcoming.

Soon you start hearing voices. You can only recognize the angry one, the one that sounds like a roaring of a wild beast. It’s the vampire - but to your surprise you’re not at the receiving end of his fury.

And it’s just as shocking, so much so that you’re half-sure it’s a mere hallucination, when he does speak to you. His voice is tender. Smooth like the water running down the walls of the cave. He touches you too, gently, his cold skin irritating your sensitive one. He feels like cold smooth stone, yet you want to lean closer and closer. Your body won’t listen.

The next time you come to, you hear the anger in his voice again. He’s closer - close. You feel his presence by your side. He’s demanding something - that you wake up? You’re not sure you’re hearing right, although maybe all these scenes are only happening in your imagination. Even so, you wonder who he’s speaking to. He should be reprimanding you.

There’s another voice, weak, but you know when someone is making excuses - you lost a lot of blood, you were kept weak for a long time, your diet is poor. The vampire doesn’t want to hear any of it. He wants you to wake up. You can’t.

Your life feels like a long spell of deja vu. The vampire’s confusing moods, his fury aimed indiscriminately at anyone who happens to enter, yet his tender touches and soothing voice belong only to you when there’s no one around.

When, after eternity, you open your eyes, you expect the tide to turn and for his anger to target you as his victim. Yet that doesn’t happen.

Your eyes blink open and adjust to the shade inside the cave. It only takes a minute before Gwi enters your field of vision. And the moment his eyes meet yours, he’s by your side.

“Slowly,” he instructs, helping you into a sitting position. It’s no issue to obey him. Your body feels like lead.

He helps hold up your body while forcing a cup of water to your lips. Drinking isn’t as easy as relying on him to help you sit up. You do it anyway, watching him watch you.

“What happened?” you wince at the hoarse sound of your voice. 

“You’re a human,” the vampire smirks, “Weak.”

There’s no humor in his voice, his shoulders are tense. You expect him to snap at you. He doesn’t.

“I heard your voice,” you mumble when he begins to turn away. He stops. “Thank you. It’d be boring to death without you.”

He sneers and turns back to you. “What did you hear?”

You try to remember, and frown settles on your face when you realize you don’t actually remember. “I don’t know anymore. But it made me feel safe.”

It’s dangerous - dangerous to be weak, to show vulnerability, but you feel like you just came back from the dead, so you speak freely.

“Foolish,” he spits while standing up quicker than your eyes can see. You fall back down, landing in the softness that is your pillow. You can only hear the sound of his clothes rustling as he moves. 

“Don’t fall asleep. The doctor will arrive soon.”

[the-readers-archive]

“Your room is a reflection of your mind”

Chaos, heartbreak, and literature haunt my restless mind…

[buzzybee3]

I was just given the most beautiful of ideas

Now let’s just hope I can follow through….

[serenelia]

ᴘᴇʀᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Content includes: SFW, mentions of fire and explosion, pair of Kokomi and reader (who is named as "the scholar" in this fanfic), use of non binary pronouns.

Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of Kokomi, slow burn, and a multi-chapter series. next part

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

In the southern side of the ethereal island of Watatsumi, home to the faithful followers of the deceased god, Orobashi, where the hushed steps of the roaming scholar are lost amidst the ruffle of the trees, its colorful environment proving to be a raring view amongst the people who have yearned to visit, the lush pink grass taking sprouts in the ground along with the miniature flowers, nuzzling itself to its own kind in a comfortable embrace, tended carefully by the crashing waves of the endless surrounding sea, a constant looming threat to the vulnerability of the island, the residents offer tender smiles as if to appease its ever-changing emotional state. The delicate graze of the wind against their skin sends an unwarranted chill to their spine, a reminder of the lack of layers worn, free from the uniform provided by the Akademiya, only to be proven uncomfortable with its absence.

The moon reflects a soft glow on the horizon, and only the dim light provided by the numbered street lamps allows the scholar to navigate their way towards the designated area for departure. It’s undeniable that their stay here has been a memorable one, if one excludes their main reason for travel is the gathering of participants. Yet they could only wish to prolong their stay; any effort made to fulfill it will only brand them as a fool for believing the pathetic excuse of “stress” will cause any form of sympathy to take root in the professor’s heart. The deadline of their research is nearing, being the perfectionist of a scholar they are, their attention is wholly focused on completing the assigned tasked. Any desire they possess will always be placed at the bottom.

Despite being limited, it has proven to be a sensible use of time to break free from the clutches of the scorching weather of Sumeru. No matter how temporary, being void of the irritable faces from their class does well for their health. The scholar hums at the thought, their humor crowned to be of taste by their own self.

As the miscellaneous voices of the resident’s echo throughout their mind, so does the inexhaustible confession of love conserved by said people towards their home. Any question they had voiced brought forth such feelings into their answer; it rings continuously in their mind, a memorable point to be made in the final results of their survey.

They gaze out into the waves below; the crunch of grass beneath their feet, followed by a pitter-patter of water, causes a shift in their gaze and lands on their shoe, now containing a sparse stain. The soil, although beautiful in color, was almost the opposite in terms of conditions. It’s waterlogged. In hindsight, it appears to be a momentary issue born from the recent cries of the sky; the questions were unnecessary, and the rationalization was obvious by itself.

How wrong everyone was to declare such.

Perhaps the old behavior in their previous Darshan is simply influencing them once again; they weren’t alien to other subjects of research, thus why they somehow were able to cover a topic about the elements affecting domains to the governance in Inazuma. That, however, does not validate their undying curiosity for the plant life in Watatsumi.

And before they knew it, the scholar’s heart thrummed with excitement as they humored themselves with a glimpse of its possible chemical composition, overriding the previous rush concerning their destination, now tucked away at a corner in their mind.

The rapid pace in their walking turns into slow strides. With a hand to their chin, they spot a peculiar-looking state of land; holes are evenly distributed along the ground; a scarcely made cross wearing a blue piece of clothing and a straw hat stands at the far side; they blink. Was this supposed to be a farm land of some sort? Realization, together with mild surprise, fades into a wry frown, it brings them to stop moving completely in order to evaluate the poor use of the land. A simple touch of their hand brought it to its doom; not a single shred of activity to be found.

The rotting corpses of the vegetables were all drained of color; an awful stench fills the air if they as much as make an attempt to venture further inside, preventing them from satisfying their wish to evaluate the work done. Afar, not much was fit for judgement, apart from the obvious signs of pre-existing edits of the human hand, which were the reason for its pitiful state. The economic impact of the island was never something that troubled the residents; any consideration in advancing such is unconsidered, partly because of the ill-conditioned land they possess and finding the prices and value of the special sango pearls produced by the island enough to supply.

So why engage in the half-baked farm? An attempt to broaden their resources and fit themselves the title of independence that served no purpose at the end? Further houses make a stable town if, that is, they have seen the foundations of the houses built, suitable for the area right above the village. A deafening crash of the water made them reconsider; perhaps it is unfit for the uncertainty the sea holds.

One of the things the island considers itself high in is quality presentation, supported by the boastful voices of the people. It’s a wonder why this common choice of a location for leisure walks remains to contradict the magnificence Watatsumi constantly emits.

The similar case in Tatarasuna flashes in their mind upon further speculation. The scholar couldn’t resist the sigh that escapes their mouth; a scowl firmly forms on their face at the obvious answer.

Another scholar had chosen Watatsumi Island as their research point—research or thesis? They hardly care. It wasn’t particularly an odd choice, in fact, they’ve recalled a group of their kind discussing it before. The decision to leave this mess brings a sour taste to their mouth.

That is to say, it is merely a speculation; nothing can be dictated holding a tone of sincerity if other factors aren’t considered. The probability of it being true wouldn’t be surprising at the least, much like the other events when the scholar’s intuition and logic prove them to be a trustworthy source of reference.

They shake their head; it’s important to be reminded of their departure as the desire to investigation resurfaces. The precautionary decision of advancing their items ahead and their leave at the temporary residence they resided in do wonders for the distractible scholar; the formerly mentioned rush is a byproduct from their previous experiences.

It dawns on them the calculation of the remaining ground they have to cover in order to arrive, the destination becoming more further than they initiated, if one considers their limited attention span. A simple, unkempt flower entertains them greatly, especially now that the very place they stand on is undeniable in its beauty.

The scholar’s attention swiftly maneuvers itself onto the neglected scene presented beyond the occasional jellyfish-shaped bubbles rising from the grass and the luscious bushes that hide the magnificent view of the famous shrine, which stood in the middle of the island to gloat its dominion over all. The eerie quietness of it all effectively produces dopamine within the harassed mind of the scholar.

A sense of longing tugs at their heart at the sight, a rare feeling to be felt if one were residing in the cramped rooms of the Akademiya, yet nothing can be done except tear their eyes away and resume the journey.

The exceptional sensation of relaxation causes Kokomi to heave a euphoric sigh of relief at the sound of her bones cracking upon stretching her fatigued arms. The lack of warmth on the wooden chair prevents the experience from gaining her an extra energy point even at the hidden cove of her own, shouldering the peace and solitude of the esteemed Divine Priestess away from prying eyes that demand attention.

The day had drained her of energy—a remarkable amount at that. Her previous strategy of retreat inside the imagination the books on military prowess provide displayed ineffectiveness, much to her dismay. A carefully taken nap would recharge her significantly; only the continued onslaught of scheduled meetings and scripted directives plaguing her delayed her rest. Even so, being the master tactician she naturally is, her previous self had anticipated problems like this and readily prepared another way to ease her nerves.

Hence why she finds herself in front of the ocean after making multiple detours in order to escape the residents, the darkness of the night, and the bustle of soldiers aiding the tired girl. With her head held high as the refreshing air tickles her skin, the tension previously in her shoulder’s melts away along with the exhale let out to resonate with the wind.

As if sensing the Priestess’ distress, the waves offer comfort through its gentle caress to her ankles at her approach, inviting her in subtly. In a hidden rush, Kokomi takes careful steps into the cold water until she has fully submerged herself, accustomed to the temperature. The recognizable drop in gravity as her lungs grow accustomed to entering another world, just after trespassing the fine line above forged by the gentle waves, does she gaze upon the flamboyant environment hidden under the blue blanket it grows in.

            A wealth of rocks and corals sprout in different widths and lengths from the sandy ocean floor; the grass is no different from the appearance in her home; on the contrary, most of it is pigmented in the pastel pink and streaks of purple that paint her island. It’s bustling with activity; a hurricane of fish filled with its own breed leave no holes as to escape the lingering predators; an unsuspecting alga begun to cover the cracks of the broken home of a colony even at the expense of it swallowed by; sharks circling one another to assert dominance over a freshly caught prey; a squid stretching out its tentacles to capture an escaping crab, hidden in its shell; the shaky lines formed on the floor made home by the rays hiding beneath; as the current pulls a couple of them along with her; a few oysters retreat in their perspective shells at her passing, threatened by a larger body floating by.

Every aspect of the lively ocean does good to bring a smile to the Priestess’ face. The conflict over the failed attempt at negotiation for further opportunities for her homeland pales in comparison upon seeing and realizing how little it all appears to be in the face of the broad ocean. A sense of infatuation warms her chest. It’s always a wonder to be reminded of how much clarity the ocean holds, how insignificant everything seems to be if she were to take a moment to step back from her title and appreciate a brief yet enamoring moment of serenity.

            Kokomi swims further out until she reaches nearly the edge of her island. A couple of fish who were familiar with her have followed her into the murky depths, where the numbing cold of the water transforms into a chill in her marrow. A few had left, not without a reason to.

A group of them had begun to swarm around her after she pressed her knees against her chest, closing her eyes and focusing on the cold embrace the ocean comforted her with. She sneaks a peek at them, noting how similar yet different they all are.

Every one of these small beings all have their own intimate lives, just as any living being does; a direction walked by their own, each with a will to follow. A will that must be respected, no matter how insignificant it seems, as no matter how much people fixate about their own dilemmas, nothing in this world is truly eternal.

She holds a hand out, met by a certain number of fish whirling away in a panic; the ones who stayed only humored her hand briefly before swimming by her again.

Only the will and aspirations of humanity can withstand the erosion of time.

Something massive looms over her head in that moment, blocking the little light shined by the moon and causing a sudden shift in the water, raising the alarm of every fish near her and including her as well, only for her to dismiss it just as quickly at the realization it was merely a whale. It lets out a bellowing moan, and Kokomi smiles. It’s fascinating to her to think that so much is hidden, a language limited to the creatures, one that humans could only wish to understand, is completely available at all times, yet it remains to be a mystery. It holds information crucial to giving meaning to endless questions, even to irrelevant ones.

But then again, is any knowledge irrelevant?

In the thick of the cold and deeps depths of the ocean, a distant, muffled sound piques Kokomi. She was careful in turning her head to the origin of the sound; it’s peculiar, it most definitely doesn’t belong to any sea creature, and it’s unlikely for any monster to venture this far out into the ocean.

            She kicks her feet and floats upwards, her company following shortly until most of them take an interest in the larger mammal; no other fish was willing to accompany her once she was near the surface. The indistinguishable sound grew louder and clearer, taking the familiar form of human voices, making a ruckus. It was only then that she had noticed the ship entering the territory of Watatsumi; the larger body of the whale had blocked her vision from ever noticing it.

She wasn’t daring enough to make an appearance outside of the water, so she settles just far enough to make no clear reflection yet provide herself a view of the crewmen aboard along with the ship itself. It’s shape and the banner it holds are the ones built in Inazuma, though smaller than most boats she normally sees ashore, lit by small lanterns. Only the crew onboard seem to wear colorful outfits, with nothing to cover their stomach area, a particular uniform she has no knowledge about, and a closer inspection would be unwise.

            The possibility of the Fatui making an attempt to regain influence over Watatsumi Island seems plausible enough, taking into consideration the limited knowledge they had over the supplies they had given for free and a desperate time it was. This was quickly refuted, however, as it was unlikely. The defense deployed by her General was effective against their agents posted previously.

Targeting their island repeatedly would present itself as a desperate move for the island’s natural resources, that being mostly their renowned sango pearls, she finds it hard to believe it would validate the stain in their image after.

            But before she is able to ponder more, the volume of the men has increased, panic-stricken by the sounds of it. By what? She couldn’t pinpoint. And so, she focuses intensely on the possible words being conveyed with the best of her ability, only able to make out a string of shrieks and a few mentions of sharks and shoot.

It dawns on her a moment too late, and a loud groan rings loudly in her ears before she can register anything else. Her hands went to cover her ears, eyeing the ship with furrowed brows. She will not tolerate any disrespect to the sea creatures she so adores!

            She was quick to resurface herself, not paying any attention to the cold breeze that greets her. The hydro vision gifted to her by the Greater Beings glows on her chest upon activation. Kokomi steadies herself on the surface of the water, taking a glance at the whale from before as a flash of light whooshes by to her horror.

Another much louder groan was elected by the whale, spots of blood colored the natural blue of the sea, an arrow’s burnt tip stuck out from it, fueling the rage felt by the Priestess.

            She strides towards the ship, raising her hand, “Halt-!”

Suddenly, a fire-tipped arrow lodges itself on the delicate wood of the ship, and it erupts in flames, causing screams of terror that are not excluded to the people on board. Kokomi made a dash towards the fire, growing worse and absorbing the entire ship in the few seconds it took for her to robe herself in her ceremonial garment. Cold sweat drips down her back as her steps grow more desperate to reach it.

            From a distance, she can see most of the people jumping down on the other side of the ship, while others try to extinguish the fire swallowing the ship or find some items to salvage.

Dread fills her like never before. “Get off! Get off the ship and jump in the water!”

Kokomi yells, to her best effort, short instructions to get them to safety, but it fell on deaf ears from an explosion on the side of the ship, breaking it in half. Silhouettes of men are flung out high in the air before ending up crashing into the ocean. She was only able to save a few with help from her jellyfish summons, softening their land.

            She takes them further away from the ticking ship and nearer to shore; it will be a lengthy journey, though the act of healing them now would drain her of much energy to maintain her robe, so she held back on the idea, choosing a selected few of the critically injured to give ample treatment for now.

Her eyes are easily directed to the queer clothing of the amateur sailors; a variety of white, red, black, and grey are distributed among their clothing. It is a light yet durable fabric, seemingly suited for an arid climate. A shared trait among them, no matter the gender, is a red band covering their eyes.

            They seem to originate from a distant region, a far cry from the isolated region of Inazuma. Yet for what purpose is their arrival at such a late time?

The ship fully explodes in the background, snapping her out of her thoughts for the moment. She’s sure this will alert the soldiers already, especially her capable General; it’s only a matter of time before her questions will be answered.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

3k words and made in a matter of 3 weeks... The title was on purpose btw. Working on the next chapter as we speak, I hope I can finish it before school pulls me back in. Hope you enjoyed reading it. Any form of support keeps me motivated, so don't be shy in spamming if you wish.