#still up and down but way less up and down- if that makes sense?

[furornocturna]

I am soooooooo late to this party, but I typed this all out before, might as well share it here:

This makes me curious when LMK’s “present” is set. Is it sometime ambiguously our millennium or further in the future? However, doing some research either way… the math’s not mathing for Wukong, Macaque and Red Son. The novel establishes, while the exact date/etc is never mentioned, that Sun Wukong is born during the Zhou Dynasty (both accounting for the 500is years under the mountain to then release him during the Tang Dynasty when the Journey takes place, and the events of Investiture of the Gods that predate Wukong taking place during the preceding Shang Dynasty and it ends with the beginning of Zhou).

If the LMK is set sometime in our current millennium, even if you had Wukong born the very first year of the Zhou, he’d still be <3,000yo. And if Macaque is meant to be a millennium younger than Wukong, he’d be <2,000. The only way those numbers would work is LMK is set a couple more thousand years into the future. …Which would then make Red Son’s age make even less sense for him to be that young if he was born sometime during the Tang (in LMK; in the novel, he’s much older than his LMK counterpart during the Journey).

It doesn’t even make sense as it is for the former theory, since DBK was sealed away for 500 years. If that’s the case, and we know LMK!Red Son was born before DBK was sealed, how is he younger than the timespan DBK was imprisoned for? Either way you look at it, Red’s gonna be older than 500 years. Just how much older is going to vastly depend on when exactly DBK was sealed and how old Red Son was when it happened.

Jacobson most likely just threw out her guesstimates without doing any of the crazy deep dives trying-to-be-truly-precise-and-accurate-to-canon-af that I did, and there’s nothing wrong with that. None of these are canon-canon anyway, so it doesn’t matter regardless. Still, the ages for the others work without issue. The MKrew would be of/around an age being born in the show’s present generation. As for Yin n Jin, unlike Wukong, their ages aren’t specified other than being regarded as younger than Laozi, who himself is very very very old, so that’s not narrowing it down much. As for them acting mature and juvenile compared to Wukong, that’s not always a sure fire indicator either. Nezha is, in number of years, older than Wukong since he was born during the Shang, but in most other respects, he comes across as a much younger individual. Yin n Jin being older or younger than 5000yo can go either way and work. I just couldn’t say the same for Wukong since there is more of a blueprint for how old he actually is laid out by the novel itself. Macaque was only attached to this assessment by proxy of his card’s age labeled as younger than Wukong, but in the novel, he’s not given any specific details for his age either.

Also since Red Son’s is listed as 420, of all things, I’m laughing at the idea that MK and Mei collaborated together to make these cards for everyone listed here. Red Son, Macaque and Wukong refused to answer the age question, so the pair made something up for those three and did a bit of trolling. Red Son was not amused.

Also sad Sandy didn’t get one, apparently. The only one missing of the main lineup :'(

TL;DR: the math wasn’t mathing from what I knew about the novel + the dubious, unclear timeline of the show & its iteration of events, and I rambled about it a lot. Unnecessary? Perhaps. But I felt like saying it anyway. Justice for Sandy’s missing Pokémon Card.

^^ Red Son’s card for reference

YALL WE GOT THE MONKIES TRAINER CARDS LESSS GO

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi, I'm the anon from last week who asked for advice writing a fantasy story with a Black lead. I've thought a bit more on what I was asking, since it was pretty vague, and I think I've got a question that makes more sense:

Do you have any insight, or know where I could read up on other Black perspectives, regarding Black characters in fantasy? Common pitfalls, things you'd appreciate seeing more of, things you'd rather see less of, etc? I'd love to get other perspectives and some additional inspiration since my story is still in an early stage, especially as I'm still designing the cultures that make up my world.

I think my initial message came about as a result of me thinking about things the wrong way: I'd been rereading your lessons on the importance of Black hair (some of my favourites to go back to because I love designing characters) and got wrapped up in my head about whether that context would exist within the story considering the wildly different setting and history, and your response reminded me that I'm still the author and can just write or not write things from my own real world awareness.

Thank you for your previous response and your blog in general - I've had this story and character in mind for a long time, but thanks to your lessons, I've been more motivated than ever! Not just to write or design, but to properly sit down and think about what I'm making and how to make it better. I look forward to seeing what you make in future!

Things I want to see more of: Black people 👍🏾 I feel like I get this question a lot, but the reality is that there's no specific plot in any genre, we just want the same stories but Black people 🤣 we wanna be the wielder of destiny, the force, the ancient artifact, the Power, and we want to be respected by the narrative and the other characters while we're at it.

Things I want to never see again: servants (that aren't doing espionage or in hiding or something), laborers, the Mysterious Big Burly Black Character that protects the skinny white royal character, desert kingdoms with all white people and conveniently no one with any melanin, Tellers of the Prophecy that only exist to direct the white characters, Black/dark skin equalling evil, fantasy racism where it's clear the authors have no idea how racism functions

Black viewers, feel free to drop your opinions!

[femmewillbyers]

it's always "ted wheeler would be homophobic" this and "ted wheeler would be homophobic" that. and while i can definitely understand why people might assume that (the wheelers are reagan supporters, after all), i genuinely think he won't/wouldn't care less. like you want me to believe ted "our son with a girl?" wheeler isn't already living under the assumption byler have been dating since they were 12?

he's never even met el - neither has karen. the only things they know are:

mike has a "girlfriend"

he started mentioning said "girlfriend" not long after will was found

he spent the majority of his summer in s3 with said "girlfriend" (mind you, karen herself says that last time she knew, he was staying over at the byers' house)

during spring break of '86, he went to the byers' to visit his "girlfriend" (remember - neither of them have met el before. ted also says, "or no sweetheart" which is interesting when you consider that sweetheart is a very gender-neutral term. he could just have easily said "or no girlfriend", but he says sweetheart)

they've also gotten a primary perspective of byler's relationship for 9-10 years. while both wheeler parents can be somewhat absent, karen is more attuned to her children than ted, and more than once she has a front row seat to mike breaking down over will. she's the one who finds mike paging through a binder of will's drawings in grief. she's the one who knows mike has spent weeks by will's side at the hospital in s2. she's the one who comforts mike both times he thinks/feels like he's lost will, first in s1 when he "dies" and then in s3 when the byers leave for california. yet again, i want to remind you that she knows nothing about el. never met her, never seen her in person, nothing. it makes sense her likely assumption by this point is that mike has romantic feelings for will.

she's also probably the one who cleans the house, including the basement, which means she has more than likely seen the sheer amount of will's drawings hung up on every wall.

the likelihood is that ted has assumed mike has been dating will this entire time, and i think it would be hilarious if they touched on that. i could genuinely picture mike nervously coming out to ted + telling him that he and will are dating, who doesn't even look up from his newspaper as he says, "yes, michael, i've known since you were 12. now go finish your chores, your room won't clean itself." i can imagine mike panicking a little, bursting out with "i mean we're together - in a queer way!" and ted still doesn't even bother to look up before going "yes, i understand. i'm old, not senile." i'd also bet anything that more than once, ted has asked karen why mike is always calling will his girlfriend when they already know he's dating will and don't care.

the wheelers might be slightly absent parents, but that doesn't mean they're stupid - or homophobic.

[alexanderlightweight]

Happy Wednesday 💜

Was hoping you might feel up to continuing cat boy Alec, or something where despite the fact Alec is obviously competent he's still getting pulled around by Magnus games/whims....because he wants to be (aware of this want or not).... Let's be honest he wouldn't enjoy it or even put up with it for just anyone ...

Looking forward to reading anything you feel inspired to write.

it has been a bit but I am back and here we go! this is time skip to after alec has finished up with Magnus at pandemonium and gone back to the institute after the entire team of six nephilim clave hunters died and Magnus got his debt paid in full by Alec.

I hope you enjoy <3

lumine

-

maybe i'm the villain

Magnus is not expecting him.

That’s the delightful thing.

Oh he is expecting him, but not yet.  Not less than twelve hours since they last met and certainly not in a different way than the one Magnus engineered to happen.

But there Alexander is, leaning against his balcony railing.

“Hello kitten.” 

Magnus has been ready since his wards first pinged the familiar energy and he reaches for Alexander only to be ignored.

Oh Alexander greets him, he gets close enough to share Magnus warmth and for his tail to loop endearingly around Magnus’ wrist and Alexander practically purrs as he blatantly scent marks Magnus.

And then he’s gone.

Pulling back as if he has any business taking himself from Magnus' reach and instead Magnus finds himself holding shadowhunter weapons — of all things. And a rather heavy duffel that Magnus expects are simply more weapons.  It certainly seems feasible if the way Alexander just smiles coyly and steps past him is supposed to make any sense.

You don’t enter a dragon’s lair without surrendering all your weapons, no matter how fond that dragon is of you.

Magnus blinks, twice just to make sure the image of Alexander setting the two bags he did not hand Magnus down on the ground hasn’t gone anywhere.

“Alexander, are you certain you want what you’re getting yourself into?” Magnus asks to be fair.

Because he’s a dragon and he won’t be fair ever again and if Alexander needs a reminder then that is what Magnus will give. As the old oaths demand of any living being entering the protection of a primordial.

This one last time.

“I’m a full Commander and was nearly an Institute head.  I understand what surrendering myself and my weapons and willingly entering a dragon’s lair means.  I even have a suspicion of what it means when someone who the dragon is fond of does it.”

Magnus lets the balcony doors slide shut behind him and the wards to recenter because Alexander has made it clear he knows what is going on.

“I thought it would take you a bit longer to come back to me  .” Because Alexander was always going to return to Magnus. As nice of a surprise as this is, Alexander is still in for one of his own later. 

It amuses Magnus to think it will happen here, in his lair.

“Apparently not everyone who signed up for that mission knew and was okay with being fodder in a punishment for someone else. The people they left behind aren’t happy either. Which isn’t my problem but the pressure of the people pressuring me is now doubled.”

Magnus snaps away the bags and the weapons that Alexander has brought, they can be dealt with later. And the moment he sits on the couch he is delightfully surprised when Alexander sprawls out on it, pillowing his head on Magnus’ lap without any prompting or words.

He looks up and his eyes dilate longingly, similar to when Magnus’ own pupils dilate with want and Magnus runs sharp talons through his hair until a contented purr rumbles through Alexander down through Magnus thighs.

“What was the punishment for?” Because Magnus knows the Clave enough to see that they were attempting to play at several things.  They’d used the mission to try and remind Alexander that he was barely more than fodder, that he could be thrown away quite easily. The other was undoubtedly some new reason they either wanted Magnus’ attention or were hoping to shift some kind of blame upon him.

“Not getting married and having babies. They don’t like that I’m not already adding to my bloodline.”

Alexander says it so simply but Magnus can smell the agonized rage of the mere thought from Alexander and his fingers tighten, earning a purring nuzzle against his belly.

“I figured it was a play of time and chance. How many times would the Clave risk time and resources reminding me I am replaceable before I either really became replaceable? Or before I caved? Or before I became powerful enough to push back?”

Alexander sighs and he looks exhausted, eyes dark and haunted.

“The Clave can call you a ‘horned lizard putting on airs’ all they want.” 

Magnus snorts at that, because that was a clever bit on Catarina’s part.  More so in how unbelievable it is and yet how eager the Clave is to believe it.

“But I know better. I could actually get what I want with you. Because you’d give it to me. And I don’t have to worry about trying to survive the missions they’re going to keep throwing at me. You gave me a way to find you again, to find you lair. I didn’t take that lightly.” Alexander blushes a bit at that but not from shame, probably just from the memory of how thoroughly Magnus ruined him for any other on their first meeting.

In front of dozens.

Having Alexander bringing himself here, intending to stay put exactly as Magnus intends to keep him is a treat.

As fun as a chase can be, Magnus has already claimed Alexander. It makes sense to his instincts and his pride that Alexander understands that.

“So you’re sweetly surrendering yourself to me? You understand your place here?” Magnus isn’t surprised by Alexander accepting the first question with ease but hesitating on the wording of the latter.

“You’re a part of my hoard, Alexander. A beloved treasure that I was loath to see the back of you but well, the strongest of dragon magicks work best with the willing when living. I’ll keep you sated here, safe too. The Clave played hard and fast with your life today and we both know it, darling.”

In his own way, Alexander had been burning with the need to escape from his fate and Magnus' own flame of desire had fed off that passion.

-

AN:

i hope this conveys that Alec was going to end up going back to Magnus one way or another and Magnus knew it. it's just really enticing to him that Alec came not even half a day later and handed himself completely over to Magnus.

yes it might be survival of the fittest and Alec going with what's going to keep him alive but that also really appeals to a huge part of magnus' dragon instincts.

alec is also being a natural little shit and making himself at home because he's going to make himself comfortable right up until Magnus draws the line and then he'll dip his toes over it a few times to figure out just how solid that line is. in cat ways! he doesn't yet realize that the more he tries to find a line to step over the more Magnus is erasing any possible lines.

so Alec also doesn't really that he's just endearing himself more and more to Magnus (not that he'd mind if he did know) since

it's not mentioned but Magnus let Alec go back to the Institute after the six deaths and the vows/payment were complete. as hinted there is an extra vow/payment that Alec missed that Magnus also refers to in this chapter that Alec hasnt figured out yet.

alec also knows that if he missed any transactions with Magnus, the best thing to do is find out about them around Magnus. he's not stupid, he just doesn't have political clout or any family power backing him because of his parents sins and so he knows he's expendable. so his choices within the clave are extremely limited. Magnus is a path out and even if Alec owes him something, it can't be worse than what alec's already dealing with in his opinion.

[mariacallous]

As President Donald Trump’s tariff turmoil continues, it becomes increasingly clear that this unpredictability in the US will create economic stress for American businesses and residents. But as with other types of commercial turbulence, the people who will be hit the hardest are those with lower incomes.

Trump's tariff policy on goods imported into the US carves out some exceptions for smartphones and small electronics, but experts say the prices for those devices will still rise since the companies who manufacture them will incur added costs throughout their supply chains as the trade war continues to escalate.

And while many buyers shopping for a premium device may be able to afford an extra $100 or $200 tacked onto the price of a phone or laptop that already sells for over $1,000, those buying lower-priced personal tech will feel the squeeze more.

“The challenge is that the people buying low-price products are often the ones who are most price-sensitive and are most harmed by this,” says Shawn DuBravac, chief economist for the electronics trade association IPC. “Generally, lower-priced products have thinner margins, and this holds true across nearly all categories.”

Cheaper cars, entry-level smartphones, and budget laptops and tablets all make less profit per unit than their premium-model counterparts. That means that, unlike with flagship phones and laptops or high-end gaming PCs, companies need to sell more of the cheaper devices to make the effort of building them pay off. If the extra cost added by tariffs makes people buy less stuff, it means the logic behind selling them in the US at all makes less sense.

“The logic is pretty simple: Lower-priced products compete more heavily on price, which squeezes margins,” DuBravac says. “At the same time, they're typically produced in higher volumes, and the business model often relies on scale to make up for the thin margins.”

The president has gone back and forth on which devices will be exempt from tariffs. Regardless of how Trump’s tariffs ultimately play out, which rates he deescalates, or which costs companies are able to wriggle their ways out of, what’s likely to happen regardless is that all that uncertainty could lead to a wider increase in inflation across the economy. Stuff getting more expensive begets more stuff getting expensive.

Anshel Sag, principal analyst at Moor Insights & Strategy says that inflation, in this economy, can be almost impossible to wind down.

“My biggest fear is that because this will drive inflation up, it will create a significant drain on people's disposable incomes and consumption will plummet as a result of these policies,” Sag says. “Even if a lot of these things get ironed out and agreements are struck, it's going to still result in higher inflation and lower buying power for the consumer.”

Of course, the rising cost of consumer tech isn’t the only force causing financial fragility among poorer Americans. Trump is also set on even more budget cuts that would overhaul and defund federal housing programs for low-income people. In April, the administration purged thousands of employees from the US Department of Health and Human Services, among them the entire staff of the Low Income Home Energy Assistance Program, an agency that literally keeps the lights on for some low-income families. Since January, layoffs of thousands of people across social security, Veteran’s Affairs, and USAID departments could drag down the health, well-being, and buying power of the people who can’t afford to manage without these services.

“What ends up happening is people don't make purchases,” Sag says. “They get stuck with older tech. And it puts kids at a disadvantage in schools. It may even affect people's ability to find a job or be able to work independently.”

The RAPID Survey Project, a research program run by Stanford University’s Center on Early Childhood, collects data on the livelihoods and economics of how more than 22,000 people have been faring since 2020. The Center’s director, Philip Fisher, says that since the survey started, 30 percent of people in US households surveyed have indicated they aren’t able to pay for basic needs. That percentage scales almost directly with inflation. The higher prices are, the less people can afford.

“Our anticipation is that percentage is just going to continue to go up as the tariffs continue to work their magic,” Fisher says.

Those price increases are a particular problem for income-insecure households with young children. Beyond an inability for parents to supply kids with their basic needs, the same price uncertainty that has made the stock market go ballistic is likely to affect families as well.

“When so much is changing so quickly at the national level,” Fisher says, “It filters down to families and to communities and then ultimately to the experiences that kids are having.”

Beyond poverty, price hikes can also create problems for people at the margins of society and the institutions that look out for them.

Terah Lawyer‑Harper is executive director of CROP, or Creating Restorative Opportunities and Programs, a nonprofit that receives funding from California’s Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation and aims to help former prisoners and reduce recidivism. She worries that tariffs will make it much harder to support former inmates looking to reintegrate into society.

“Technology and devices such as smartphones and laptops are the key connectors to everything we do today in society,” Lawyer‑Harper says.

A formerly incarcerated person herself, Lawyer‑Harper says someone being released from prison without any resources or tools to engage with society is a recipe for recidivism. Organizations like CROP aim to help provide digital literacy skills and capabilities to access and reenter the job market. Higher charges on products across the board, and specifically on devices like phones and laptops, are going to limit what aid agencies like CROP can do to help the people who need it most.

“What kind of neighbor do you want?” Lawyer‑Harper says. “Do you want a neighbor that is successful in their job, that has a mindset and understanding of accountability and responsibility, that has secured housing and is stable? Or do you want someone that's struggling and that is going to kick into survival mode and go back to criminal thinking because that's all they know?”

President Trump has encouraged citizens to “hang tough” while he tries to motivate companies and trade partners to move manufacturing to the US. (A feat that his administration cut support for and is otherwise borderline impossible to make happen in a world with a functional global economy.) For many people, hanging tough will be the only option. And it might not be enough.

“This is kind of a more societal issue that goes beyond manufacturing,” DuBravac says. “Are we exacerbating a digital divide that we don't need to?”

[numberonetacostan]

TACO HEADCANONS TUESDAY

I like to think that, when Taco hit Pickle in the face with a lemon during s1 ep11, she genuinely hadn’t meant to hit him as hard as she did and do actual damage. The remaster may push back on this one, we’ll have to see, but I tend to think it was a genuine accident. She did mean to hit him in the eye with a lemon, to make her pirate joke, but keep in mind that they were underwater. If she wanted to hit him, she’d have to use a different amount of force from that which she uses when they’re on normal land, yeah? I think she miscalculated how hard she needed to spit it, and hit him way harder than she meant to. But she couldn’t break the act of course, so she did nothing about it. 

Taco has overheard much of what the hotel residents said about her after her betrayal, yeah? It did not help with her personal feelings of guilt or self-image, but she’d shove it down like she did all of her other feelings. So, I like to think that once she’s back in the group, Balloon tries to apologize to her for what he’d called her back at the beginning of season 1! She’s the only one he’d never gotten to apologize to, and he’s a sweet guy like that, yeah? He’d want to apologize even after what she did. So he would, and Taco would not give one shit about what he’d said, truly. She’d just brush it off with saying she’s been called much worse. Balloon would give a little ‘oh, really?’ since he wouldn’t have been a part of much of the shit-talking at the hotel. Taco would then go on to give her like, top 100 list of the worst things people have called her. It would not be a pleasant list. Balloon has never heard such derogatory names nor so much cursing in his life, which is saying something since he is friends with Nickel. 

I think Knife and Taco’s relationship would improve greatly after the events of the season 2 finale. Really. Not only because Taco is trying to be better to other people now, but mostly because she still treats Knife like shit. Knife probably gets a lot of people walking on eggshells around him, once he’s become a ghost and all. A lot of people are trying to be… gentle? With him? They’re just different towards him now that he’s dead. It won’t last forever, but it’s definitely an issue for him at the beginning. Not with Taco though. She will flip Knife off as much as she pleases, she will feed him any and all insults that she pleases, and she does not give one single shit that he’s dead. He’s a ghost…and? He’s still there, he still has his smart mouth, and he still annoys her to pieces. She’s trying to be better to everyone except Knife. Fuck him. She will tell him to fuck off with 0 hesitation. And you know? It’s familiar to him, like he didn’t just die, and he appreciates it. So maybe he hangs around Taco a bit more, as long as Pickle is otherwise occupied. Maybe their bickering becomes slightly less antagonistic and slightly more friendly. It’s not like either of them would ever admit it. 

Taco adamantly calls Cabby ‘File Cabinet’. It’s not in a disrespectful way, but in the same sense as how she took ages to call Mic by her nickname rather than saying ‘Microphone’ every time. [I think this is an autism thing? Source: Myself.] She simply doesn’t use nicknames with people she doesn’t feel close with, yeah? Too personal for her. She’d call Silver by his full name every time as well, despite his (wince worthy) efforts to befriend her. 

I like to think that if Taco having spit so many lemons back in the first season ever gets brought up again, in front of Mic, Mic will end up asking Taco to spit a lemon for her. She wants to see, since she’s never gotten to!! And Taco would say no. It’s an uncouth way to go about things when she can simply take things out of her shell the normal way. But Mic really wants to see. Just once! Just one lemon!! And Taco, though reluctant, really can’t say no to Mic at this point, so does oblige and gently spits a lemon out into her hand for Mic. Mic keeps the lemon and is relatively surprised that it doesn’t have any saliva on it. Maybe it gets squeezed on some nachos :).

[nanamisexyslut]

Tension in the Air

quick summary for y'all : Things are getting complicated. Between lingering glances, unspoken feelings, and unexpected confessions, you're stuck between two very different guys Nanami Kento, the calm and quiet but somewhat possessive neighbor, and Renji Abarai, the one with a past he’s still carrying but is trying. Emotions are rising, tensions are high, and nothing will be the same after this chapter...

tags : nanami x fem!reader, renji x fem!reader, romantic tension, slow burn for now, bit of angsty romance, unrequited love, emotional conflict, and cross over between jjk, aot, and bleach (eventually nana)

quick note : the word count on this is apt 10.4k and i have a lot of the story written down already I just wanted to give a bit of lore before the smut :D but this is my first time making a fan fic y'all so bear with me and please enjoy.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It’s the first day of my sophomore year, and I wish I could say I’m excited, but I’m not. My body’s running on fumes, my brain has been on autopilot since June, and the monotony of my routine is starting to take its toll. Balancing full-time work with a full-time course load is no joke. Every day feels like a loop: early mornings, long commutes, rushing through traffic, only to be greeted by a parking ticket waiting for me like a cruel welcome mat.

Then, the usual rituals—circling the parking lot for a space, hauling my bag up stairs, weaving through crowds of students to get to class, and finally sitting in a room filled with people who either talk too much, don’t talk at all, or just rub me the wrong way. And yet, I show up. Deep down, I know I have to. I want a future. I want a real career. I want to make my parents proud. They left everything behind—their language, their culture, their comfort—to give me a shot at a better life. I owe it to them to at least try. 

So, I sit in my car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, and take a deep breath.

The kind that tries to cleanse your spirit but mostly just fogs up the windshield.

Then, I grab my bag, shove the door open, and walk across campus toward my law class. The hallway is familiar—too familiar. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, and a swarm of students moves around me like bees. The scent of burnt coffee and cheap cologne fills the air. As I enter the lecture hall, I spot them—my usual crew. Some familiar faces from last semester already gathered in the same corner of the room like they never left: Shoko, Nanami, Rukia, and Gojo.

Gojo is the first to spot me, of course. With that unmistakable grin, he jumps up and throws his arms wide like he’s about to give me a bear hug. “Y/L! We missed you so much!” he practically shouts across the room. “How was your summer?”

I smirk, slinging my bag over my chair. “It was fine… How about you, Satoru?” I ask, giving him a half smile—somewhere between genuine and exhausted.

He plops into the seat next to me, sunglasses pushed up on his head, still the same dramatic whirlwind of energy. “Oh, you know me—annoyed a few professors, found the meaning of life in a microwave burrito. The usual.”

Shoko rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath, while Nanami gives me a nod of acknowledgment—his version of a warm welcome. Rukia pats the empty seat beside her, and I slide in, already feeling a little lighter. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

I sink into my seat and thank God I’m next to Rukia—my best friend, my ride-or-die, my soul sister. We’ve been inseparable since childhood. She's practically family. Rukia is everything I’m not—confident, fearless, poised. She’s beautiful without trying, ambitious without being arrogant, and walks through life with a sense of certainty I envy more than I’ll ever admit. Where I overthink, she acts. Where I doubt, she decides. Sitting next to her makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Gojo is across the room, already causing chaos with our mutual friend Geto. Typical. Meanwhile, Shoko and Nanami are seated just beside us.

I can feel Nanami’s gaze on me before I even look up. It’s subtle, but it lingers. There have always been little rumors that Nanami might have a crush on me. I never took them seriously. He’s too composed, too aloof. Whenever we hang out, whether with the group or one-on-one, he keeps a polite distance, like there’s a wall between us only he can see. Not that I’ve ever been that into him�� right?

Okay, I’ll admit he’s attractive. Not in a conventional, heartthrob way, but in a quiet, powerful kind of way. He’s tall, built like someone who lifts for function, not attention, and always carries himself like a man who knows exactly who he is. He’s brilliant, listens more than he speaks, and is loaded—though I swear that’s not important. He’s never let me pay for a single thing, and, yeah, I like that. What really gets me, though, is how respectful he is. To every woman. The way he softens his tone, the way he actually listens. There’s something insanely attractive about a man who knows when to shut up and just let a woman speak. Dominant, but not overbearing. Obedient, but not weak. But all that said, he’s never shown real interest in me. Not enough to believe the rumors.

“Alright, class! Get into groups of three!” Professor Hange calls out from the front of the room, clapping her hands for emphasis. The sound of chairs scraping, conversations bubbling up, and the shuffle of bodies fills the room like a wave. People are pairing off quickly, forming tight clusters.

Rukia and I glance at each other, realizing we’re one short.

“Who doesn’t have a third?” Hange asks, scanning the room. We raise our hands.

Professor Hange points toward the back. “Abarai! Please form a group with Miss L/N and Kuchiki.”

I turn to see him approaching. Tall—maybe 6’2, with a lean, muscular build that says he spends time in the gym but doesn’t brag about it. His crimson red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a black headband covering the ink on his temples. His expression? A storm brewing. Like he’d rather be anywhere else than walking toward us.

Renji Abarai. He looks like trouble. And judging by the way his eyes narrow slightly as he approaches our table, he’s definitely not thrilled about being paired with us. He stops in front of us, arms crossed over his chest. “Guess I’m with you two,” he mutters, voice low and rough.

Rukia raises an eyebrow and leans back in her chair, clearly unimpressed. I, on the other hand, look up at him with a mix of curiosity and guarded interest. Something about him intrigues me—the quiet confidence, the sharp edge in his voice, the way he carries himself like he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. He’s got that smug, slightly challenging air, like he’s already sized me up and decided not to be impressed. But he’s not rude. Just rough around the edges. Still, I’m not put off by it.

“Renji,” he says, nodding slightly. “Y/L,” I reply, offering a small smile. His lip quirks into the faintest smirk. Not warm, not cold. Just enough to say, I can’t read him.

After a beat, I clear my throat and offer, “We could do a case where a whistleblower leaks confidential documents from a pharmaceutical company. The files reveal that the company was hiding a life-threatening side effect of one of its best-selling drugs. The leak ends up saving lives but the whistleblower hacked into private servers to get the information and shared it with the press, which violates federal law. Now the company is suing for damages and pressing criminal charges. Our job would be to defend the whistleblower in court.”

Rukia nods slowly, impressed. “That’s actually solid. We could argue public interest versus corporate confidentiality.”

Renji leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Risking legal punishment to save lives… I like it.”

And just like that, we’re locked in.

Class wraps up for the day, and the sound of chairs scraping and notebooks closing fills the room. I gather my things, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Rukia and I exchange numbers with Renji before we all head out together, walking down the hallway toward the warm afternoon light.

“We should figure out when to meet and work on the assignment,” Rukia suggests, checking her calendar.

“How about we do it at my house?” I offer, shrugging casually. “My parents wouldn’t mind, especially since it’s for school. I don’t think they’ll try to burn the house down or anything.”

Renji raises an eyebrow, his voice tinged with annoyance. “You still live with your parents?”

I’m not offended, though I sense a slight judgment in his tone. “Yeah,” I say honestly, “It doesn’t bother me. I’m planning to transfer to Y University after this year. It’s just cheaper to stay home for now and figure out housing once I graduate. Law school’s gonna drain me enough as it is.”

Renji opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“Y/L!” Gojo jogs toward us, a grin plastered on his face. “Me and the crew are gonna grab some pizza—you guys coming?”

“Pizza?! I’m down as fuck,” Rukia grins, already convinced. I laugh and nod.

“I’m in.”

I glance at Renji, giving him a tentative invitation. “Hey, Renji… wanna come with us?”

The group goes quiet for a second. I feel their eyes on me, especially Nanami’s. They all look slightly confused, like my invitation came out of nowhere. But I don’t think it’s weird. He’s my partner for the assignment. I’m just trying to be friendly. It’s not like I invited a serial killer or something.

Renji looks startled, almost caught off guard. His eyes widen, and for a second, he just stares at me, clearly processing.

“Thanks, but I’ve got other plans tonight,” he says, his voice softer than I expected. “Still, I appreciate the offer.”

I smile and nod. “No problem.”

Rukia and I wish him a good night, and we part ways at the edge of campus. As we head to our cars, The night is calm, the cool air brushing against us. Nanami quietly falls into step beside me, like he always does. It’s never something we plan—he just ends up there, walking me to my car like it's his natural place to be. He doesn’t do that for anyone else. I’ve never asked why but I don’t mind.

Rukia shoots me a look when we near the lot, her grin giving everything away. “I’ll meet you guys at the pizza shop,” she says, voice light and teasing as she walks off.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t stop her. Nanami and I keep moving in silence. His presence feels heavier than usual—quiet, sure, but charged with something I can’t quite name.

When we reach my car, I unlock it and turn to him. “Do you want a ride to yours?” I offer, casually. “It’s the least I can do for you walking me to mine.”

Nanami pauses for a beat. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll take you up on that.”

We both get in, and the moment the doors close behind us, something shifts. The night seems quieter inside the car, the windows framing the stillness around us. I start the engine, but don’t drive off yet.

He turns his head, meeting my eyes. “To the pizza place. You didn’t have to invite him.”

I raise an eyebrow, unsure if I heard him right. “Renji?”

He nods once. His expression is unreadable, but his jaw tenses slightly. “He’s not really part of the group. Yet you brought him in like he was.”

I blink, thrown by the edge in his tone. “I was just being polite. We’re working on the same case. It felt… fair.”

Nanami looks away, eyes on the windshield now. “Fair,” he repeats under his breath, like it tastes bitter in his mouth. “Sure.”

Something in his voice makes my pulse skip. He doesn’t raise it—he never does—but there’s a tightness behind the calm, like he's working hard to keep himself in check.

I glance over at him, trying to read him. “You don’t like him.”

“It’s not about liking or disliking,” he replies evenly, still not looking at me. “I just don’t think you see him clearly.”

The air in the car stills.

I search his profile for a hint of something more—jealousy, concern, maybe even hurt—but all I find is that same calm mask he always wears. Except now, it feels like a shield.

I speak carefully. “He’s just a classmate, Nanami.”

He finally turns his head to look at me again, and this time, the softness in his gaze catches me off guard. “That’s not how he sees you.”

My breath hitches. For a second, neither of us speaks. The tension hums between us—charged, quiet, almost intimate.

Then, he leans back in his seat and looks away. “But it’s none of my business,” he adds, more to himself than to me.

I grip the steering wheel, heart racing. The engine hums softly beneath us, but the silence is louder.

I smirk a little, turning to face him fully. “Ouu… is that jealousy I hear, Nanami?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just gives me a slow glance out of the corner of his eye. “No,” he mutters, almost convincing. “Just didn’t want him acting like he does in class, that’s all.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused—and a little intrigued. “So you do think he’s kind of a douche.”

Nanami lets the smallest smirk show, like he’s trying not to, but it slips through. “Maybe I do.”

I laugh under my breath, the tension softening just enough to breathe. It was tight in the car for a minute there—tight with something unspoken. Something that lingered between what we said and what we didn’t.

I pull out of the lot, merging onto the street as we head toward the garage. The silence returns, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s thoughtful. Weighted.

Then, out of nowhere, Nanami speaks again—softer this time. “Y/L… do you ever feel like you’re just… barely holding it together?”

The question cuts through everything else. I glance at him, heart tugging a little at the look on his face—so calm on the surface, always so composed. But there’s a flicker of something in his eyes now. Something quieter. Raw. And it shakes something loose in me.

“All the time,” I admit, voice low. “It feels like if I let go for even a second… everything would fall apart.”

He shifts slightly toward me, his posture still reserved, but something in him reaching. Tentatively, he extends his hand and gently takes mine. His fingers wrap around mine, warm and steady. His thumb strokes once across the back of my hand—slow, deliberate, grounding.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he says, voice low. “Let someone carry it with you. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

My chest tightens—not from sadness, but from something that feels like safety. Like softness I didn’t realize I’d been craving. I turn to face him more fully, one hand still on the wheel, and lift my other hand to his cheek. My palm rests there, light but certain, the warmth of his skin meeting mine.

His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second before opening again—brighter now. Softer.

A faint blush tints his cheeks, and it’s… honestly kind of adorable.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Really.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. His eyes stay on mine like he’s trying to memorize something. Like he doesn’t want to forget this moment.

Then, almost shyly, he says, “You look really beautiful tonight.”

My breath catches. Of all the things he could say—he chose that. And he means it. I see it in the way his gaze dips slightly, in how it lingers, taking in every detail like it’s precious.

“You really think so?” I murmur, almost teasing, but I can’t stop the small smile spreading across my face.

“I do,” he says, firmer this time. “I always think so. But tonight… I don’t know. You just look like you. And I love it.”

He’s still holding my hand. My fingers are curled gently into his, and his cheek is warm under my touch. My heart’s beating so loud I swear he must hear it.

“I like when you blush,” I say softly, letting the corner of my mouth curve. “It’s cute.”

He doesn’t smile, not fully—but there’s a softness in his expression that says more than he probably ever will out loud. A moment passes. Then, he gently pulls away, opens the door, and steps out into the cool night air. He pauses, glancing back at me through the open car door.

“I’ll see you there,” he says, quiet but certain. “Drive safe.”

“You too,” I reply. “Drive safe.”

I watch as he walks to his car, hands in his pockets, posture tall but thoughtful. There’s something unspoken in the way he walks. Like his mind is still back here in the car. With me.

As I pull away, his words echo in the quiet of my chest.

“You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

But I do… don’t I?

And yet… I can’t shake the feeling that Nanami is starting to make me question that.

The local pizza joint is buzzing when we walk in—cheap neon lights flickering above cracked vinyl booths, the smell of garlic and grease clinging to everything like secondhand smoke, and some guy’s remix playlist rattling the walls. It’s chaotic, messy, and way too loud. Basically, Gojo’s natural habitat.

Rukia and I spot the group immediately. Nanami, Shoko, Geto, and Gojo are already crammed into a booth, half the table buried under greasy paper plates and half-empty soda cups. Gojo’s holding court with both hands, already halfway into some dramatic retelling.

“—and then I said, ‘It’s Satoru, but I am the G.O.A.T., so like… fair,’” he finishes, grinning. He spots us and points with his cup. “There they are! The brave scholars. Pizza’s hot, but your entrance is hotter.”

“Relax,” I say, sliding into the booth beside Nanami. He shifts slightly to make space, and our shoulders brush. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I. “We had to park three blocks away thanks to Gojo’s cult following.”

Rukia collapses beside me, already reaching for a slice. “Honestly, this pizza is healing my soul after Professor Hange tried to crush it.”

Shoko leans in, interested. “What scenario did you guys end up with?”

“We picked the pharmaceutical whistleblower case,” I say, wiping my hands. “It’s messy. Layered. Legally complicated with a moral kick.”

“We’re defending the whistleblower,” Rukia adds. “They broke the law, yeah—but they also saved lives. The kind of case that makes you think.”

Geto nods. “Classic ‘gray area’ pick. Definitely a thinker. You two are going to start a civil war in class.”

Shoko raises her drink. “Respect. That’s a tough case to pull off in front of Professor Hange.”

Then Nanami speaks, his voice calm and measured. “You both chose well. It’s the kind of scenario that demands clarity and conviction. You have that. Especially you, Y/L.”

My head turns slightly. That last part—it lands soft but sharp. Nanami’s not the type to say things just to say them. I meet his gaze for a second, and something tightens in my chest.

Rukia catches the shift and grins. “Nanami, was that almost a compliment?”

He glances at her, then back to me. “It was an observation.”

Gojo nearly chokes on his drink. “Wow. Compliments and emotional insight? What’s next, Nanami? A mixtape?”

Gojo grins, sensing the shift. “Look at that. Emotional support wrapped in legal analysis. If that’s not flirting, I don’t know what is.”

I shake my head, cheeks warm, and reach for a napkin—only to brush my fingers against Nanami’s. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I. It lasts only a second, but the contact stays with me like heat.

Gojo notices, of course. “Almost as spicy as you inviting Renji to join us. Didn’t see that plot twist coming.”

My smile falters. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” Shoko grins. “You went out of your way to invite him after class.”

Gojo leans in like he’s narrating a soap opera. “Bold move. The loner with the bad attitude? You’re playing with fire, Y/L.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. I just thought it could be a good time to get to know him and work on the project.”

Nanami’s quiet beside me, but something shifts in the air around him. I glance over. His jaw’s a little tighter than before, though his expression remains unreadable.

And Gojo? He’s having the time of his life.

“Careful, Nanami,” he teases. “Sounds like you’ve got competition now.”

Nanami lifts his drink slowly, unbothered. “I’m not worried.”

“Which is exactly what someone with a crush would say,” Shoko adds, smirking.

Rukia’s gaze flicks between us like she’s watching a long-simmering plot finally boil. “He’s been sitting next to her for ten minutes and hasn’t looked away once.”

Nanami meets my eyes again, steady and quiet, and I feel the spark of something there—unspoken, but real.

Gojo leans across the table like he’s offering a toast. “To Y/L: making bad boys feel seen and emotionally repressed boys feel things.”

I groan, nudging Rukia with my foot under the table. She just laughs and keeps eating.

The night spins out into more laughter and chaos. Somehow, Nanami and I end up doing most of the cleanup while everyone else argues over who’s paying the tip. He passes me a stack of cups, his sleeve brushing against my wrist. I glance at him. He’s calm as ever, but there’s something in his eyes—steady and unreadable, like he’s waiting for me to say something I haven’t figured out yet.

As we head out, Gojo stretches dramatically. “We need to do this more often. Who knows, maybe Renji will show and grace us with a whole sentence.”

I laugh, but something about the comment lingers. I remember Renji’s face when I invited him—surprised, like no one had ever bothered before. There’s something under the surface with him, and I want to understand it.

Still, as we leave the pizza place and the cool air brushes against my skin, it’s Nanami’s presence I’m aware of. He walks close—not too close—but when his hand brushes mine again, light and quick like a question, I let it happen.

Rukia and I make our way back to my car, the neon fading behind us.

She bumps me with her shoulder. “Soo… Nanami, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“He was watching you, Y/L. Like you were the last piece of evidence in a case he couldn’t solve.”

I sigh, unlocking the car. “He’s just… thoughtful. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, smirking. “You sure he wasn’t thinking about how to plead guilty to falling for you?”

I groan. “We’ve got to meet with Renji tomorrow. Focus on that.”

But my hand still tingles from where it met Nanami’s, and his voice echoes in my mind like a quiet truth I’m not ready to name.

“Oh yeah,” she grins. “You ready for that adventure? I still can’t believe you invited him. Gojo’s face looked like you brought home a stray cat.”

“Maybe I did.”

We both laugh, but the truth is I’m curious. Renji’s reaction to my invite has stayed with me. Something about the way he hesitated… like he wasn’t used to being included.

The next day, we meet at my house. I tidy up the living room more than necessary and pretend I’m not overthinking it. My parents greet Rukia warmly, already used to her presence, and then the doorbell rings.

Renji walks in, backpack slung over his shoulder, still wearing that headband, still looking like he walked straight out of a fight scene. But when he sees us, he gives the smallest nod.

“You got snacks?” he asks, eyeing the kitchen.

Rukia grins. “Of course. We’re not savages.”

We settle in, papers, laptops, and printed case details spread across the table. Renji reads through the packet silently, then looks up.

“You two seriously wanna defend this guy?” he asks, one brow raised.

I nod. “Yeah. He did the wrong thing… but for the right reasons. That’s the whole point of the dilemma.”

He leans back, arms crossed. “I like that. Makes it hard. You could win the class with this, if we do it right.”

Rukia whistles. “Was that... encouragement?”

Renji smirks slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

And just like that, the energy shifts. Not totally warm, not cold either—just possible. 

Just as we’re settling deeper into our materials, I hear the soft creak of the hallway floorboards my parents.

They step into the living room with warm smiles. My mom wraps me in a quick hug, brushing a kiss on my forehead, while my dad ruffles my hair like I’m still sixteen. It’s automatic, comforting, and a little embarrassing with company around.

“We’re heading out for a bit,” my mom says. “Don’t work too hard.”

My dad adds, “Make sure your guests are comfortable. There’s plenty of snacks in the kitchen, and if you get hungry, order something. Here” he slips a folded bill into my hand, insisting before I can even object. “Just in case.”

“Dad, I work full-time,” I whisper, glancing toward Renji and Rukia. “I can handle it.”

He smiles, but it’s the kind that means I shouldn’t push it. “Just take it. That’s what parents are for.”

They hug Rukia goodbye my mom always loved her and then turn to Renji. My dad offers a polite wave. “Nice to meet you. Good luck with the project, and help yourselves if you need anything.”

Renji nods stiffly. “Thanks.”

As soon as they leave, I tuck the cash into my wallet and try not to feel like a child.

“If you guys get hungry later, just let me know,” I mumble. “My dad gave us some money to order food.”

Rukia smiles and bumps my shoulder. “Your parents are always so generous. I love that they still look out for you.”

Renji, on the other hand, raises a brow. “They lend you money like that? Even though you work full time?”

I hesitate. “Y-Yeah. I think they just want to make sure I’m okay.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face says enough. Disapproval. Maybe even confusion. And honestly? It grates on me. This—this—is exactly why I hesitate to talk about my family around people like him. My parents don’t see generosity as enabling; they see it as love.

I clear my throat and change the subject. “Let’s focus on our project.”

We sit around the low coffee table, laptops open, case files laid out between us like a war plan. The fictional scenario is complex. A whistleblower illegally leaked documents that revealed a pharmaceutical company’s cover-up of a dangerous side effect. Lives were saved, but laws were broken. We’re tasked with defending the whistleblower justifying their actions within a legal framework that wasn’t designed for heroics.

Rukia and I start outlining arguments based on public interest, whistleblower protection statutes, and moral obligations in corporate accountability. But Renji?

He crosses his arms, clearly unconvinced.

“I still think the guy should’ve gone through legal channels instead of hacking in,” he says. “There were other ways. He broke federal law.”

“He had to,” Rukia argues, flipping through her notes. “All the proper channels were either compromised or too slow. People were dying.”

“There’s still a system,” Renji insists. “If we start defending people for breaking the law just because it feels right, where does it end?”

I sigh. “It’s not about ‘feelings.’ It’s about the greater good. The case is messy for a reason it forces you to weigh morality against legality. That’s literally the point.”

Renji shrugs, clearly not buying it. “Doesn’t mean I have to agree with it. If you want the class to take us seriously, we better come up with more than just some idealistic speech about ethics.”

Rukia leans back, arms crossed, frustrated. “Wehave the legal foundation. Whistleblower statutes, First Amendment protections, even case precedent. You're acting like we’re making this up out of thin air.”

“And you’re acting like he’s some martyr,” Renji shoots back. The tension builds, sharp and steady. i bite back my irritation. “Look, if you don’t like the argument, that’s fine. But this is the scenario wechose. So either help us strengthen it, or come up with something better than just ‘follow the rules.’ Because that’s not going to win us anything.”

Renji stares at me for a second. Then maybe for the first time his expression shifts. Less combative. More… thoughtful.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Then let’s find a way to make the law work in his favor, without sounding like we’re excusing a crime.”

Rukia and I exchange a look. Not exactly a win, but not a loss either.

We get back to work, the room quieter now less about arguing, more about building. And somewhere in the middle of all that silence, I realize Renji’s not impossible. He’s just guarded.

But even guarded people have reasons for how they see the world.

And I’m starting to want to know his.

After nearly two straight hours of bouncing ideas around, debating case law, and refining our argument, Rukia throws her head back and groans dramatically.

“I’m starvin’ like Marvin right now,” she says, placing a hand on her stomach like she’s about to wither away.

Before I can answer, Amora my fluffball of a cat leaps up onto the couch, landing gracefully right beside Renji. I tense, expecting her usual routine a few seconds of observation followed by a tail flick and a dramatic exit. She's never been much of a social cat… especially not with men.

“Don’t worry,” I say, waving a hand casually. “She’s nice just doesn’t really like”

She hops directly into Renji’s lap.

And trills. Loudly. Constantly. Like he’s the first warm lap she's ever known in her life.

My jaw drops. “Wait. You’re saying… she doesn’t like men?” Renji asks, petting her awkwardly as she rubs her face all over his hoodie.

“I—I mean yeah,” I mutter, squinting like I’m seeing a glitch in the Matrix. “She’s never even trilled on Nanami. I don’t think she’s trilled for any guy. She’s kind of a feminist.”

“Well,” Renji says, giving her a couple of gentle strokes, “seems like she’s taken a liking to me.”

Rukia dramatically smacks her hand against the couch. “GUYSSSS. I’m really hungry right now.”

I jump a little. “Oh my god Rukia, I’m sorry, I forgot you were dying.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks. “Starvation makes you invisible, apparently.”

I turn to Renji. “You hungry?”

He nods once. “Yeah. I could eat.”

We gather our stuff and pile into my car. As I pull out of the driveway, the late evening air is warm and quiet, the street lamps giving everything a slightly golden glow. Rukia turns in her seat, eyes lit up mischievously.

“Y’know what else I’m craving?” she says, already smirking.

I glance over. “What?”

“Kava,” she says like it’s a secret between us.

My face lights up. “Oh thank god, I was hoping you’d say that. We’re literally about to pass the place.”

I glance at Renji in the backseat. “Renji, do you know what kava is?”

“Yes,” he says a little too quickly, almost offended like I just asked him if he knows what water is.

I blink. “Okay. Well. A lot of people don’t, so I was just—whatever. You want some?”

“Sure. I don’t mind.”

We park, and the three of us walk up to our usual little kava spot, a chill place with low lighting and reggae humming softly from inside. Rukia orders a single shot. Renji and I both go for doubles.

He looks at me like I’ve committed an act of bravery. “Double?” he asks.

I shrug. “Yeah. One doesn’t do anything to me anymore. I’ve built immunity.”

They call out our names and hand over the little cups of earthy, bitter liquid. We take them back to the car in silence, each one holding our shot like it’s some ceremonial chalice. I laugh to myself thinking how ritualistic it all feels.

We hop back into the car and head to In-N-Out. It’s a long line, as always, and the car settles into a peaceful quiet. There’s no music, just faint conversation about kava how it makes me and Rukia a little nauseous if we haven’t eaten first, how we still love it anyway. Renji listens, occasionally chiming in, but mostly seems to be observing. Taking us in.

After we get our food, we drive back to my house and park in the driveway. Before heading in, we all step out with our shots, the porch light casting soft shadows on our faces. One by one, we knock them back. The taste is bitter, muddy, but the feeling that follows is warm. Grounding.

Thankfully, I remembered my Hydro Flask, so we each rinse out our mouths like seasoned pros.

Back inside, we settle around the dining table. The smell of fries and burgers quickly fills the room, blending oddly well with the soft hum of leftover incense my mom lit earlier. Rukia is already tearing into her meal like it’s her last. Renji eats slower, quieter, but he’s relaxed more than he was earlier. Amora is back, curled up near his feet like she’s claimed him.

I watch them both with curiously. 

Something about tonight feels different. Less like an assignment, more like a beginning of something I can’t quite name yet.

After we finish eating, the effects of the kava start settling into my body like heavy fog. My speech slurs slightly, and every time I move my head, the world shifts with it slow and blurry, like a dream with a bad frame rate.

Rukia, of course, has already knocked out cold on the couch, curled up like a cat. Lightweight. Classic. Renji, meanwhile, looks completely unfazed calm, composed, chewing the last of his fries like nothing’s touched him. Not even the kava.

I glance at Rukia again and notice how awkwardly her neck is tilted. Guilt tugs at me, and I slowly get up, adjusting her so she’s lying comfortably with a throw pillow under her head. But as soon as I stand, the nausea rushes in like a tidal wave. My stomach flips.

I stumble toward the backyard door, shove it open, and run out into the cool night air just in time to throw up everything I just ate.

Behind me, I hear quick footsteps and feel someone gently gather my hair out of the way and start rubbing soothing circles on my back. His touch is surprisingly steady. Grounding.

“Hey,” Renji says softly. “Are you okay? Do you need water?”

I glance up at him through watery eyes, nodding weakly. I must look a mess sweaty, pale, eyes teary from throwing up. But he doesn’t flinch. He just nods and rushes back inside.

A minute later, he returns with a cup of cold water. I rinse my mouth and barely have time to breathe before another wave of nausea hits. Two more rounds of throwing up follow before I finally slump forward, exhausted and embarrassed.

“You don’t have to watch this,” I say between shaky breaths. “I’m fine. Just go back inside.”

“I don’t think you are,” he replies, voice calm but concerned. Not annoyed. Not grossed out. Just steady.

He helps me to my feet, one arm gently supporting me as we walk back into the house. Every step feels like it takes more energy than I have, but he doesn’t let me fall. He sits me down at the kitchen table, grabs a napkin, and hands it to me as I rest my head against the cool surface.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble into the table. “I don’t usually throw up in front of people. Especially not people I barely know.”

Renji pulls out the chair next to me and places a reassuring hand on my back. “It’s okay. I’ve dealt with worse. Just take it easy, alright?”

I manage a weak laugh. “Kava doesn’t usually hit me this hard, but maybe two shots was pushing it tonight.”

“Maybe stick to one next time,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “Even if it ‘doesn’t work,’ like you said.”

I groan and bury my face in my arms. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

He leans back a bit, watching me quietly. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. You’re human. And, for what it’s worth, you handled it better than most.”

That surprises me not just his patience, but the way his voice drops when he says it, like he's not just saying it to be polite. He means it. It’s so different from the version of him I’m used to seeing in class the blunt, borderline abrasive guy who seems like he doesn’t have time for anyone.

Right now, though, he’s not like that at all.

He’s just here.

And for some reason, that makes me feel a little less alone.

I sit there with my head down, arms folded like a makeshift pillow on the kitchen table. The nausea’s fading, but in its place is a heavy wave of embarrassment. I can feel Renji’s eyes on me, steady and unreadable.

“I know you probably didn’t expect this when you agreed to come over for a group project,” I mumble, barely loud enough to hear.

He shrugs lightly. “I didn’t expect to get head butted by your cat either, but here we are.”

I laugh just a little and lift my head enough to glance at him. He’s still sitting next to me, his posture relaxed but eyes a little softer than usual.

“You’re really not as mean as you come off,” I say before I can stop myself. “Like… you can be intense, yeah. But tonight you’ve been gentle.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just runs a hand through his hair and looks down at the floor.

“I’ve seen people go through worse,” he finally says. “If someone’s throwing up from something that’s supposed to make you relax, I figure there’s more going on under the surface.”

My throat tightens a little. Not from nausea this time, but from the honesty in his voice.

“I work full time,” I say quietly. “And I study full time. And sometimes… the pressure builds up. Kava just helps me feel like I’m not drowning for a few hours.”

He nods. “Yeah. I get that.” A pause. “You don’t strike me as someone who ever lets yourself fall apart.”

I look at him, startled. “What makes you say that?”

He meets my eyes. “Because even tonight, when you threw up, you still tried to get back up and fix things. You’re always managing something. Even your guilt.”

That hits harder than I expect it to. I stare at him for a second, unsure of what to say, but I don’t have to. The quiet between us feels almost… safe.

A soft snort breaks the silence.

Rukia, groggy and still half asleep, shifts on the couch. “Did someone say guilt? Or is the kitchen spinning?”

I turn to look at her, grateful for the interruption. “You good?”

“Define good,” she mutters, rubbing her face. “Why does my mouth taste like stress?”

Renji smirks. “Kava.”

“Gross,” she groans, sitting up and pointing at me. “You puked, didn’t you?”

I nod sheepishly.

She squints between us, then grins. “And Renji stayed with you?”

He rolls his eyes. “She needed water. It’s not that deep.”

“Mmm,” she hums knowingly. “That’s not what it looked like from this couch.”

I throw a napkin at her and she laughs, falling back against the cushions. The weight in my chest lifts a little. But I don’t miss the way Renji’s eyes linger on me before he looks away like he wants to say something else but doesn’t quite know how.

Later, when we walk him out, the porch light hums above us and the night air is still cool.

“Thanks for tonight,” I tell him, quietly. “For staying. For being patient.”

He looks at me for a long beat before nodding.

“See you in class,” he says. But it sounds like there’s more behind it.

As he walks away, I watch his figure fade into the darkness, my stomach finally settled but something new turning quietly in its place. 

Renji had finally left, and Rukia and I were sitting cross-legged on my bed, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows around the room. The quiet hum of my ceiling fan was the only sound as we both relaxed, my thoughts still lingering on the mess from earlier.

I glanced over at her, noticing the mischievous smirk on her face. "What?" I asked, half-expecting her to make some joke about how awkward the whole throwing-up incident was.

Rukia shrugged, but her grin only widened. "You know, I wasn't exactly asleep."

I blinked at her, caught off guard. "What? You—what are you talking about?"

"I wasn't knocked out," she said, her voice light and teasing. "I was awake the whole time. And I heard everything."

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. "Rukia, please don't tell me you overheard all of that."

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, I heard plenty. Especially when you were out in the yard with Renji."

My stomach dropped, the memory of that whole interaction rushing back. "No way," I muttered, the embarrassment creeping up my neck.

"Oh, yes way," she teased, crossing her arms. "And honestly? The way Renji was looking after you? It wasn’t just because you were throwing up. You could practically feel the guy's concern. It was pretty obvious, you know?"

I shifted uncomfortably, the realization hitting me slowly. "Rukia, come on. He's just my partner. He was being decent."

She raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "Okay, but, like, he stayed the whole time. After everything, after seeing you at your worst, he didn't bail. He was worried. For you." She paused, letting the words settle in. "And when he was helping you back inside? That wasn't just being 'decent.' That was him making sure you were okay."

I felt my face flush. "I don't know, Rukia. I don’t want to make it into something it’s not. It’s just… it’s just Renji."

She looked at me with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Yeah, but that 'just Renji' guy? He's got more feelings than you're giving him credit for."

I sat up, my mind racing. "You really think so?"

"Come on, Y/L," she said, her voice dropping to a softer tone. "I’ve known you forever. You’re not blind. You felt it, didn't you? The way he looked at you? The way he made sure you were okay? He might not say it, but there’s something there."

I bit my lip, the weight of her words settling in. "I don't know… It just feels complicated. I don't want to make things weird."

Rukia shrugged but gave me a thoughtful look. "I get it. It’s not easy. But just don't be surprised if something happens, alright?"

I sighed, my thoughts swirling. "Yeah, I won’t be… but I don’t know if I’m ready for any of that."

She leaned back against the headboard, her voice teasing but with a hint of sincerity. "Well, just keep your eyes open. It’s not every day a guy sticks around when you’re throwing up in your backyard."

I smiled, shaking my head. "You’re ridiculous."

Rukia just grinned, unfazed. "Maybe. But I’m also right. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, the conversation settling in my mind. Part of me wanted to brush it off, but another part of me couldn’t help but wonder if Rukia might be onto something.

The next day, I was sitting in class, trying to focus on the lecture about precedent and case law. But my mind kept drifting back to last night, specifically what Rukia had said about Renji. I couldn’t help but glance over at him during class, watching the way he took notes so intently, his jaw clenched in concentration. He looked like he was in his own world, which, honestly, he probably was. But there was a quiet intensity to him today, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Rukia might be right about something.

I quickly looked back to the front of the room when I felt my face heat up, hoping no one noticed me staring. But the feeling didn’t go away. My thoughts kept drifting back to Renji—his hand on my back, his concern as I was throwing up, the way he made sure I was okay. It wasn’t anything huge, nothing overt, but there was something about the way he acted that felt different than I expected.

Rukia, sitting next to me, nudged me with her elbow and gave me a smirk. I looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow, a silent question in her eyes.

"What?" I muttered, trying to act like I was paying attention to Professor Hange.

She glanced at Renji, then back at me, her voice low. "How’s your project going?"

I glanced at her, trying to keep my cool. "It’s fine. We’re making good progress. Just talking about the moral dilemma in our case."

Rukia leaned in a little closer, her voice still quiet but full of mischief. "Is it just me, or does Renji seem a little… different today?"

I froze for a second. "Different how?"

She leaned back, her gaze flicking to Renji. "I don’t know, maybe it’s just the way he’s been around you since last night. I don’t know. But I’m just saying, don’t be too surprised if things get a little more complicated than you’re expecting."

I let out a breath, frustrated but also curious. "Rukia, can we please just focus on the project?"

She grinned at me, clearly enjoying this. "Sure, sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Just then, Renji looked over at us, catching my eye for a moment. He seemed distant, almost like he was unsure of how to act. My stomach flipped. For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me because he had something to say or if he was just zoning out. The whole thing felt oddly intense, and my heart rate picked up.

Professor Hange started calling on groups, and I snapped back to reality, suddenly focused on the task at hand. It was our turn. Renji stood up, his usual air of calm confidence intact, but there was something else in the way he held himself today. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I took a deep breath and glanced at Rukia, who was practically vibrating with excitement. "Okay," I whispered to her. "Let’s do this."

We stepped to the front of the class, ready to present our case. But as we spoke, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of Renji’s presence beside me, his quiet attention on me as I talked through the details of our project. There was something in the air—something that felt like the beginning of something complicated, whether I wanted it to be or not.

The presentation finishes, and a sense of disappointment settles in my chest. I can’t help but reflect on how it went, and how it didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, especially with Renji. Sure, we got a solid 90%, but there was tension in the air, especially on his side. His answers felt stiff, and his usual confidence seemed almost forced. I tried not to show it, but I could feel the nerves bubbling up—nervous about how we did, nervous about what the professor thought, and especially nervous about the fact that I’ve always prided myself on getting the best scores. I work alone for a reason; it’s easier that way.

I quickly slide a note to Rukia, my hand trembling slightly as I scrawl down the words: “I’m going to try to talk to Renji by myself after class, so please don’t wait for me.” I look at her, and she raises an eyebrow, smirking like she knows exactly what’s going on. Her thumb goes up, and she winks at me, clearly excited by my decision to finally approach him. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s eager to see how this plays out, or because she’s just amused at the whole situation.

When class ends, Renji immediately stands up and walks away from the table without even looking at me. It’s like he’s in a rush to escape. I can’t let it slide this time—not with everything that’s been building up. My heart races as I quickly stand and follow him out of the classroom.

“Hey, Renji!” I call, my voice a little shaky as I catch up to him and tug on his sleeve.

He turns sharply, his eyes narrowing for a split second. But then his expression softens when he realizes it’s me. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

“What’s up?” he asks, his voice still a little guarded, like he’s bracing himself for something.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Are you okay? You seem off today.”

His eyes flicker to the side, and I can tell he’s debating whether to brush me off or actually talk. After a long pause, he exhales sharply and starts walking toward the small creek behind the college campus, not looking at me but clearly expecting me to follow.

I hesitate for a moment before walking alongside him, trying to keep up with his longer strides. We reach the creek, and he stops at the water’s edge, staring down at the flowing water with a tension in his shoulders that I can’t quite place. The air is cool, and there’s a calmness to the sound of the creek that contrasts with the weight of the moment.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, you know?” Renji’s voice is quieter than usual. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he kicks a small rock into the water. “About… everything.”

I watch him, trying to process what he’s saying. “Everything? What do you mean?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I guess I’ve been holding this in for a while… and it’s stupid, but back in high school, I never had the guts to say anything. And I don’t even know why I’m bringing this up now, but…” He looks at me, his gaze serious, almost vulnerable, and my heart skips a beat.

“Renji…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I liked you. A lot. Back in high school. And I didn’t know how to tell you.” He looks away, like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his eyes. “I just—I never thought you’d even notice me, you know? You always had it together. And I was just that guy. The one nobody really paid attention to. But I watched you. I always did.”

I stand there in stunned silence, my mind racing. I never realized—never even considered that Renji might have felt that way. It’s like everything falls into place, all the little moments I brushed off as nothing suddenly making sense in this one confession.

“You liked me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know why it surprises me so much, but it does. I thought I had him figured out. I thought he was just the brooding guy who didn’t care about anything, certainly not me.

“Yeah,” Renji says softly, running a hand through his hair. “I just never thought I had a shot. And now here we are, working together, and I don’t know… it just feels like the right time to say it.”

There’s a long pause, and I can feel the weight of the air between us. I don’t know what to say. My thoughts are a jumble. I’ve always known Renji as the guy who kept to himself, the one who didn’t show much emotion. But hearing this—this part of him that I never knew—makes my chest tighten.

“I had no idea,” I finally manage to say, my voice softer now. “You never let on.”

Renji looks at me, his gaze intense but vulnerable. “I never thought it mattered, not with everything else going on. And now it feels weird, like I’m just dumping this on you. But I needed to get it out.”

I swallow, my emotions a mix of surprise, confusion, and something else I can’t quite place. “Renji, I—I don’t know what to say. I never thought… you’d feel like that.”

He shrugs, looking down at the water again. “It’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know. I’ve been holding this in for too long, and I don’t want to keep pretending I’m some guy who doesn’t care.”

We stand there for a while, the quiet of the creek filling the space between us. I don’t know what comes next, but I know one thing for sure—this conversation, this moment, has changed everything.

The moment still hangs between us, a quiet weight that lingers in the air like morning fog. Renji's confession, raw and vulnerable, is something I wasn’t prepared for, but it’s also something I can’t shake. My heart beats louder than I want it to, and I take a deep breath before speaking, needing to break the silence.

“Well, thank you,” I say gently, my voice sincere. “Thank you for being open with me. I know it’s never easy to admit your feelings, especially when you’re not sure how the other person will take it. That takes a lot.”

Renji nods slightly, but doesn’t meet my gaze. His eyes remain fixed on the water, like it’s easier to talk to the creek than to me. I shift on my feet, feeling the weight of this conversation pressing in on me.

“And…” I continue, my voice lowering, “I’m sorry I never noticed you back in high school. I wasn’t trying to ignore you. I just—I was too focused on grades, on being the best. I didn’t want to date. I wasn’t really interested in anyone. Honestly, I don’t even remember much about high school. It wasn’t a great time for me either.”

Renji finally looks at me then, and I can see something flicker in his eyes, a softness I’m not used to. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, really seeing him.

“I do appreciate that you think I have everything together,” I say, offering him a small smile. “Because I try. I really do. But most of the time, I feel like I’m drowning in stress I create for myself. I put so much pressure on doing everything perfectly that I forget to breathe.”

He looks at me now—fully. And there’s something in his expression, some kind of recognition, like we’ve both been burning quietly under the surface for too long.

“But,” I say, taking a careful step closer to him, “even if I didn’t notice you then, I notice you now. I don’t think you’re a guy who doesn’t care. I think you’re just… selective. Careful with who you give your energy to. You’re guarded. And that’s okay.”

Renji swallows, his jaw tightening as if he’s holding something back. I let the silence stretch for a moment before gently asking, “But what made you that way? Why do you get so defensive?”

He exhales slowly, his hands tightening in his jacket pockets. For a moment, I think he won’t answer. But then his voice comes, quiet but steady.

“I guess I learned early not to expect people to stick around,” he says. “My mom left when I was twelve. Didn’t even say goodbye. One day, she was just gone. My dad was around but checked out—worked too much, drank more than he worked. I basically raised myself. Got in fights a lot. Stopped talking much. Stopped trusting people.”

My heart tightens at his words. It’s hard to imagine him like that, the Renji I know, this tough guy who’s always been around, with such a lonely past. I bite my lip, letting him continue.

“And when I did trust people—friends, girls, whatever—they’d flake. Or lie. Or only stick around when it was convenient. So I stopped showing how much I cared. Started acting like I didn’t. It was easier that way. People can’t hurt you if you act like you don’t give a fuck.”

I don’t interrupt him. I just listen, my heart aching for him. I don’t know how long we stand there, the sound of the creek filling the space, but it feels like time itself is slowing down.

“Then college came around. New start, right?” He laughs, but it’s bitter, without any humor. “Except I still felt like I was just passing through. Then we got paired up. You… you treated me like I mattered. Like I had something to say. It threw me off.”

I’m silent for a long time. The weight of his confession settles over me, and I realize I’ve never really understood Renji before today. I’ve always seen him as the tough guy, the one who doesn’t care, but now I see there’s so much more beneath the surface.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “For everything you went through. For not noticing back then. For not knowing now, until today.”

He shakes his head, not looking at me. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… I didn’t expect to care this much. About this project. About how you see me. But I do. And that scares the hell out of me.”

I step closer, placing my hand gently on his arm, grounding both of us in the moment. The contact is brief but meaningful, and I feel the pulse of something—something honest, something real.

“I see you now, Renji,” I whisper. “I really do.”

For the first time since we started this conversation, he looks at me with nothing to hide. His eyes are open, raw, and vulnerable. And in that moment, everything shifts between us. Quietly, undeniably. Something that might change everything.

My heart flutters under the weight of his gaze, and instinctively, I turn my head away, trying to calm the warmth that spreads across my face. But I steady myself, and when I speak, my voice is quiet but firm.

“I promise I won’t leave. And I won’t hurt you.”

When I look back at him, I see his ears have turned a faint shade of red. He’s caught off guard by my words, but then he smiles—softly, almost shyly. It’s a smile that feels like it’s just for me, and I can’t help but smile back.

I reach for his hand. His fingers are warm, large, rough, the kind that could easily span the width of my shoulder. I cradle his hand in both of mine, my thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles along his skin. It feels like a quiet promise between us, something that might grow into something more. Something steady.

For a moment, the air between us is calm, the tension replaced by something lighter, something more sincere.

“Let’s start over. As friends,” I say softly. “You don’t need to rush anything. Time is on our side.”

Renji’s posture shifts, relaxing in a way that I’ve never seen before. It’s like a weight has lifted from him, even if just a little. The walls he’s spent so long building seem to have cracked, even if just a bit. I can’t help but blush, overwhelmed by how tender the moment feels.

He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his voice low. “Okay.”

But then, just as easily as he’s opened up, Renji clears his throat, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We should head back up. Pretty sure this area’s restricted. We could get arrested.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

Renji laughs, the sound warm and teasing. “Kidding. Mostly.”

I swat his arm lightly as we start walking back toward the lot, the tension between us replaced with something lighter, something real. Something that, maybe, can last.

As we near the parking lot, he glances at me from the corner of his eye. “By the way… I like the way you cut your hair. It suits you. Makes you look professional. And pretty.”

My face flushes, the compliment hitting somewhere deep in my chest. “Thank you,” I murmur, smiling softly.

He walks me the rest of the way to my car, and as I fumble for my keys, I notice a familiar vehicle pulling in beside mine Nanami’s.

And just like that, the night shifts again.

Nanami steps out of his car just as I’m about to unlock mine. He’s calm, composed, as always, but something’s different. There’s an edge to him tonight, an intensity that wasn’t there earlier.

“I didn’t see you after class,” he says, his tone even but slightly clipped. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Before I can respond, his eyes flick to Renji standing beside me. The air tightens, like the space between us thickens in response to his attention. Nanami nods at him, offering a quick, half-hearted dap. Renji returns it with a casual “Later,” then glances back at me.

“Get home safe, yeah?” Renji says, his voice a little softer than usual.

“You too,” I reply, and Nanami mutters the same under his breath just before Renji heads off into the night.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Nanami turns back to me. “Is there something going on between you and Renji?”

His voice isn’t accusing, but there’s something in it—a hint of suspicion, maybe, or maybe just the edge of something deeper. I blink, caught off guard by the question.

“Why does it matter?” I ask, sharper than I intended. “Why are you suddenly questioning my relationship with him?”

Nanami doesn’t flinch. He just leans back slightly against my car, arms crossed, staring at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. His gaze is unwavering, too knowing. It’s like he can see right through me.

“Y/L,” he says quietly, voice low and serious, “don’t tell me you’re this blind.”

I freeze. “What are you talking about?”

He sighs, a deep, frustrated breath, and then, without warning, takes off his glasses.

That’s when I know something’s different. Nanami never takes off his glasses unless it’s serious—unless he’s letting his guard down.

“You really don’t know?” he says, his eyes meeting mine without a single flicker of hesitation. “Y/L, I’ve liked you for a while now.”

I just stand there, stunned, the world suddenly too loud around me. The quiet hum of the street, the leftover heat from the day—all of it fades into a buzzing, static noise in my ears. My heart races.

Are you serious?

That’s all I can think. This can’t be real. This feels like a fanfic someone else wrote, and forgot to warn me about.

And I’m the main character—completely unprepared for this plot twist.

[fooooooxie]

જ⁀➴ the sun and the sea ! ♡

pairing: apollo x reader

content: post-trials of apollo, hurt and comfort, light angst, lots of fluff!!!, implied fem reader — daughter of poseidon.

sypnosis: you helped apollo during his trials, but now that he’s no longer lester and is a god once more, does he still love you?

a/n: eek thank u mootie for my first request :3

you awake with a low groan, sunlight streaming in through the window of cabin three and awaking its only inhabitant: you — with percy away at college, you’re lucky enough to have the place to yourself. sitting up and rubbing the lingering remnants of sleep from your eyes, you take a moment to breathe in the salty taste of the morning air before facing the day ahead.

ever since apollo has returned to his rightful place as an olympian god, you’ve seen a lot less of him. naturally, he’s been busy but you like to think he’d at least try and make some time for you after everything you’ve been through together. although, perhaps it’s just your fault for getting your hopes up.

leaving cabin three, fully dressed in typical demigod fashion (AKA wearing the bright orange camp half-blood shirt) you make your way over to the strawberry field. with the dining pavilion still in reconstruction, you decide to pick your own breakfast.

walking along one of the many dirt paths of neatly trimmed strawberry bushes, you kneel down in front of a particularly plentiful shrub and begin to take your pick. happily minding your business, humming a quiet tune under your breath as you will away the emptiness that seems to have made a home in your heart, a sudden presence beside you gives you pause.

“hello, my love. it’s been much too long since we saw each other last, hasn’t it?”

head snapping to the side so quick you almost give yourself whiplash, you’re surprised to see apollo standing there in all his golden glory.

he wears a simple t-shirt and jeans, with his — now much longer — blonde hair tied up into a low ponytail. you’re almost (definitely) jealous how flawlessly he can pull off even the plainest of outfits. how does he even have better hair than you?

suddenly feeling awkward, you clear your throat and stand from where you knelt on the dirt floor. “it’s only been a month.” you respond shortly, a solemn air about you.

sensing your bordering-on sad demeanor, apollo furrows his perfect eyebrows. “my dear? is something the matter?”

sighing, you look up at apollo through long eyelashes with teary eyes, your bottom lip wobbling as a lump builds in your throat. you hate getting emotional like this, especially over something so small — something just an irrelevant concern.

“do you… do you still love me?” you ask with a sniffle, choking back tears. “after all, you’re a god again. you deserve better than me. i’m just a mortal, you know that.”

apollo’s eyes widen at your self-deprecating words, sky blue orbs flashing dangerously bright. in that moment, his expression speaks of loss and heartbreak. he looks almost angry, although not at you. never at you. no, he looks angry with himself.

“[name], my love…” he whispers, your name a prayer on his tongue. stepping forward, he takes your hands in his, cradling them close to his chest. “i love you. you and you alone. i do not care for any other, not when i have you — you who has stolen my heart.”

you feel your eyes growing wetter at his words, but apollo isn’t done.

“do not doubt yourself, and especially do not doubt my love for you,” he continues, letting go of one of your hands only to wipe away your tears with his thumb. “i love you, [name].”

sniffling, you leap forward to embrace apollo in a tight hug. you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close to you as if scared he might disappear if you let go.

“i love you too, apollo,” you whisper through your tears, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. “thank you.”

with that, apollo promises to love and be with you as long as you live, no matter what trials you might face next. he presses a kiss to the crown of your head and smiles into your hair, whispering sweet nothings as you spend the next few hours picking strawberries together beneath the gentle warmth of the sun.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

What a Night

Internet-famous musician Danny Phantom is doing a collab with Ember McLain! Six weeks, twelve concerts, twelve cities across the American Midwest. Go online and buy your tickets today!

The performer Danny Phantom has teamed up with Ember for a legendary album. Their first show is overwhelmed with cultists looking for the ghost king. {from @iwillhissatyou} Valerie Gray and Sidney Poindexter have finally met and…oh boy. {from @silverwing013} and Danny is tired of keeping secrets from his parents, but he still doesn’t know how to actually break the news to them, so instead of actually figuring something out like he probably should, Danny goes “fuck it” and proceeds to have some fun with it. Also, no Jazz, he’s definitely not coping with humor. {from @neutralgoodhyena}

Read Also on AO3

[Warnings for anxiety and mentions of cults]

Today was the day of the long-awaited Ember McLain/Danny Phantom collab concert in Amity Park, and it looked like the whole town had turned up for it, and a good number of out-of-towners as well. It would be the first in a series of six twelve concerts in 6 weeks across the Midwest, and the whole region had been talking about the highly anticipated team up for months leading up to it, and the day it was to begin had finally arrived. 

To say Danny was excited for it would be a massive understatement. To say he was nervous would be even more of an understatement.

"You'll do fine, Babypop," Ember reassured him, sensing his anxiety as he set up his keyboard and triple-checked all the settings. "It's not like you haven't performed before."

"Yeah, in front of a camera," Danny replied. "YouTube fame is totally different from sold-out concert fame. The biggest real audience I've performed in front of was, like, thirty people at a café with open mic. nights. This is a big step-up from that."

"Your most popular video has, like, 3 million views, today's audience is less than 3 thousand. You may not have been able to see them all, but you've effectively performed in front of 10 times as many people as you will today. Plus, with the stage lights and the visual effects, you'll barely be able to see any of them anyway."

Danny nodded. "You're... you're right, yeah."

"Danny!"

He perked up and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he heard a familiar voice calling his name from a distance.

"Will you tell your stupid manager to let me backstage already!"

"Excuse me a minute," he told Ember, hurrying toward the backstage entrance.

"It's cool, Sid, she's with me," Danny said, taking Valerie by the hand and leading her toward the performer areas.

"Well how was I suppose to know when she did have a back-stage pass?" Poindexter huffed, crossing his arms and scowling. 

Danny hadn't regretted his decision to appoint Sidney Poindexter as his manager for live performances yet, but he'd never had the chance to introduce him to his girlfriend before, and clearly he should have made the time because Valerie was pissed.

"Sorry about him, Valerie," Danny said. "Poindexter's a good guy, really, he's just super serious about his job and maybe he goes a little mad with power when he has a clipboard in his hands. I'll make sure to get you a special girlfriend backstage pass for the rest of my concerts."

"You'd better," Valerie said curtly.

She eyed him up and down, apprising his look for the concert, and he took a step back, opened his arms, and gave a slow turn so she could see it better. Her scowl slowly morphed into a small smile and she nodded her approval.

"Looks good," she said at length. "I see Ember's make-up artists really had their way with you, but the dark makeup creates a cool contrast with the white hair. You're wearing the accessories I picked out for you. You look good."

"Glad I have your seal of approval," Danny said. "There's another half-hour 'til the show starts. Want some snacks? The venue set up a whole complimentary spread, even though we're ghosts and don't need to eat. Guess they were just really excited to have us."

"Don't mind if I do," Valerie said, traipsing over to the buffet table and helping herself to some mini blueberry muffins and mini quiches. 

Most of the food was miniature versions of normally larger foods for some reason. Danny was partial to the mini pig-in-a-blankets... or would it be pigs-in-a-blanket? Pigs-in-blankets? What parts of that hyphenated phrase had to be pluralized?

He mulled over the conundrum with Valerie, but they didn't come to a satisfactory conclusion before Poindexter came rushing into the room with a wild-eyed expression.

"We've got a problem, Danny," he said. "The venue is filling up with cultists."

"What? What do you mean cultists?" Danny demanded.

"I don't know, they'd all got black robes and strange tattoos," the ghost continued. "Security stopped some of them, and told me they said they're looking for the ghost king, but they can't kick 'em out 'cause they've all got tickets, and they technically haven't done anything wrong. What should we do?"

"Woah, slow down, Sid," Danny held out his hands. "What do you mean ghost king?"

"He means you."

He turned around to see Ember standing behind him. She approached the buffet table and popped a mini eclair in her mouth. Just because ghosts didn't need to eat, didn't mean those eclairs weren't damn good.

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"You defeated the old king in single combat," she said through a mouthful before swallowing. "You possess the royal artifacts."

"Yeah, in a shoe box full of junk in the bottom of my closet," Danny argued. "I'm no king."

"Well, duh," she said. "I mean, not in the practical sense. The Ghost Zone is pretty much self-governing anyway, so it's not like we ever needed a king, but magic is as magic does, so from a technical standpoint..." she trailed off, making a so-so motion with her hand.

"You are the king," Poindexter said. "We ghosts may not need one, but the Ghost Zone needs a vessel or it becomes too weird and unstable to be habitable, and right now, that's you."

"Why am I the only one who didn't know about this?"

"Uh, hello?" Valerie raised her hand, her face a mask of surprise and confusion.

"Okay, why am I the only ghost who didn't know about this?"

"Not our fault you never bothered to learn about ghostly culture," Ember said with a shrug.

"Does this make me the ghost queen?" Valerie asked.

Ember snorted a laugh, "You become a ghost some time since we last talked?" she asked sarcastically.

Valerie glared and her hand instinctively went to her thigh for her ecto-gun, even though she wasn't wearing her ghost hunting suit and she'd promised not to hunt ghosts anymore ever since she learned the truth about Danny and the rest of them—that they weren't really evil, just trying to act on their ghostly .

"Ember's just razzin' you," Poindexter said flippantly. "There's only one royal position in the ghost zone, so even if you were both a ghost and married to Danny, that would be it. You'd just be the king's wife and nothing else."

Valerie scowled at him, as if he even had the presence of mind to intend that as a personal slight against her. 

Poindexter barrelled on, not even noticing her irritation, which of course only pissed her off more. "But the semantics of royal titles aren't nearly as important as the fact that there are literally hundreds of cultists out there looking for Danny and they won't say what for, or what they plan to do if they find him. I hate to suggest cancelling the show, but—"

"We can't cancel the show," Ember cut him off severely. "Not this last-minute. Double security around the stage and tell them to watch out for any movement on the part of the cultists. If they see anything weird and suspicious, like artifacts, glowing tattoos, weird chanting, have them tell the lighting crew to flash the stage-front lights red three times. That'll be the signal for Danny to get the hell outta dodge. With any luck, they're just here for the music, but even if they're not, the show must go on, right Danny?"

"Red three times. I'm on it!" Poindexter said, then vanished to attend to spreading the updated procedures.

"Uh... right," Danny agreed. He was not expecting Ember to be so on top of the situation.

"Valerie, I know you were looking forward to seeing your boytoy perform live, but if you wouldn't mind gearing up and providing some extra security—"

"Say no more; you got it," Valerie said. "I'm not about to let a bunch of creepy cultists run off with my man. I'll catch you after the show, babe." She gave Danny a peck on the cheek before darting out of the backstage area.

Danny followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight then turned to Ember with a frown. "I'm not her boytoy."

"Sure you're not," Ember said. "Ten minutes to curtain. Time for last minute sound checks and staging."

As if Danny's anxiety wasn't already through the roof, now it was amped up even higher.

Ten minutes felt like an eternity, until their names were announced over the loudspeakers and the curtains rose.

If it weren't for all those hours of practice, Danny was sure he would have choked, but as Ember hyped up the crowd and they started in on their first song, Danny's fingers danced across his keyboard as if on autopilot.

Ember was right about the stage lights and the crowd. It was so bright he could barely see a thing, let alone make out individual faces, though he did not swaths of black robes in the crowd—cultists grouped together. Plus, between just those two factors, the heat onstage was stifling, and Danny's ice-powers kicked in instinctually to cool him off, creating an unplanned mist effect across the stage.

He looked up with wide-eyes, checking for reactions from Ember and her band, but they just rolled with it and kept playing, so unperturbed as to make the audience think it was intentional, made with dry ice or something. They were so professional, it made Danny feel like he really had to step up his game to deserve his spot on this stage with them.

When his part of their duet came up, Danny sang his heart out, belting the words with more emotion than in any of their rehearsals and really giving it his all. But all the while, he kept glancing at the stage-front lights, waiting for them to start flashing red, telling him to run.

Ancients how he wished he could see what was going on in the crowd. This anxiety was killing him all over again.

Danny was on edge the whole time, but the concert ended without him having to run offstage in a hurry.

He got to take his bows alongside Ember and her band and then walk off just as planned. As soon as they got the the green room, Hawk, Riff, and Thump (Ember's bassist, rhythm guitarist, and drummer respectively) collapsed on the sofa pretty much simultaneously and Ember laughed.

"They always do that," she said. "It's like a post-concert ritual for them. Flop down on the couch in the green room and not move for ten full minutes."

"Can you blame us?" Thump asked, rubbing his forearms. 

Danny guessed that banging on a drum set for nearly two hours straight took its toll, even for a ghost. He knew his own fingers were starting to tremble after that long playing keyboard.

"Thump, you were sitting the whole time," Ember pointed out.

"Yeah, but me and Riff weren't," Hawk pointed out. "My dogs are barkin'."

"At least it wasn't as hot as it usually is," Riff commented. "Thanks for that, Phantom. It kinda caught me by surprise at first, but we done concerts with smoke machines before, so not that big a deal."

"Oh, I'm with Riff on that one, big time," Hawk agreed, and Thump nodded as well.

"You should do that at every concert," Riff said.

"I don't know if I can help it," Danny said. "With my ice core, the second I started to overheat, it just kinda happened."

"Well, no complaints here," Ember said.

"Amen," her band chorused in agreement.

The five performers rested up in the green room while the roadies packed up their equipment to transport it to the next venue. Ghosts didn't really have the same travel time as most vehicles, so their stuff traveled without them, and they met it there the day of the concert.

After a few minutes, Valerie came in, dressed in her ghost hunting gear and looking like she'd barely escaped an explosion. Her hair, which was normally well kept, was frizzing, and she had soot marks all over her suit.

"Hey babe!" she greeted, sidling up to Danny and sitting on the arm of his chair. "You were great out there."

"You too, I assume," Danny replied, looking her up and down. "What happened? I couldn't really see anything with the stage lights in my face."

"Oh, just a little scuffle with the cultists. Security and I handled it. No big deal."

"Val, you're awesome."

"I know it," she said. "We're gon' have words about your manager though, he tried to stop me from coming back here again after the show."

"I promise I will get a pass for you before the next show," Danny said. "He'd just trying to do his job."

Valerie huffed in irritation, but didn't argue the point further. Danny could sense that her beef with Poindexter wasn't about to end any time soon. This was gonna be a long summer.

That night, Danny went home on cloud nine. He couldn't wait to tell his parents how well the concert had gone. He'd been scrolling through social media in the green room, and people were raving about the show. They thought Valerie fighting the cultists was part of the act, and they ate it up. It couldn't have gone better.

His hand was on the doorknob when he remembered that he couldn't tell his parents. They still didn't know he was a ghost.

Ancients, this was getting frustrating. All the accomplishments he was most proud of had to do with his ghost side, and he couldn't share any of them with his parents. He was so tired of keeping secrets from them. Maybe now was the time to finally loop them in.

He walked in the front door. The concert had gone on until one in the morning, and after that he'd hung out with Ember, Val and the guys until the after-party, which went on until not long ago. He'd been out all night, but since it was summer, he didn't have to worry about his curfew.

His mom was in the kitchen making pancakes for breakfast, and his dad was half asleep at the kitchen table while Jazz sat beside him reading a book. The table had already been set. 

As Danny sat down at the table, he thought that he should probably come up with some kind of plan for how to tell his parents he was half ghost. But at the same time, he also thought "fuck it", and it had been a long night, so after almost no deliberation, "fuck it" won out.

"Welcome home, sweetie," his mom greeted. "How was your night? You went to a concert right?"

"It went great! I almost got attacked by cultists and it was so hot onstage that I accidentally iced it over, but the audience seemed to think all that was planned, so all in all, I can't complain. Plus my band mates seemed to appreciate the cool-off."

Jazz looked at him over her book with a look of complete shock and borderline fear.

"That's nice, Danny," his mother said. "Do you want chocolate chips or blueberries in your panca—wait what the hell do you mean you were almost attacked by cultists?"

His father, who'd been pretty much asleep by that point jerked awake at the sound of his wife yelling. "What? Who's a cultist? Attack?"

"Yeah," Danny said. "I guess I'm, like, the ghost king or something. It was news to me too, but I had a concert to put on, so I just let security deal with them. Also, I'd love some blueberries, please."

The number of shocked expressions in the kitchen tripled.

"Put on?" his mother repeated. "I thought you were attending a concert."

"No, I had to perform that big collab concert with Ember and her band last night."

"But... but wasn't that... wait are you...?"

Danny nodded.

"You're Danny Phantom?!" His mother all but screamed. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?!"

"I didn't?" Danny asked with an exaggerated tone of surprise. "Well gee I could've sworn I told you guys. Remember that accident in the ghost portal back in freshman year? Ever since then, I've been half ghost. I thought you knew." He gave him his best expression of mock innocence. 

It was clear that he absolutely knew this was the first time he was telling them, but he was also clearly having fun with it. His parents, on the other hand....

"You're half ghost?!" they shouted in unison.

"Did you die?" his mother asked. "How can you say that so casually?"

"He's just coping with humor like he always does," Jazz said dismissively, finally getting over her shock at her brother's sudden honesty and looking back at her book.

"I am not!" Danny refuted aghast. "I would never do such a thing! Name one time that I have ever used humor to cope?"

"Is that a serious question?" Jazz asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow. "Because I could give you an itemized list. Would you like it chronologically or alphabetically?"

"Ugh. I'm good thanks," Danny said, rolling his eyes. "And no, I'm not dead. Or... I guess you could say I'm half-dead? I'm not sure, really. I can transform between a human and ghost form, and I use my ghost powers, along with the ghost hunting training you guys gave me, to keep Amity Park safe from ghostly threats, and more recently to become a YouTube famous musician and get a concert deal with Ember McLain."

His parents obviously had no idea how to respond to all this new information at once. Honestly, Danny didn't even know how he wanted them to respond. As long as they didn't try to capture or kill him, he'd be happy.

"Uh... congratulations?" his mother said finally.

"Thanks!"

Yeah. That worked.

[torscrawls]

Questions for the Substitute Teacher

The new Substitute teacher is weird—like really weird—and Liam and his class are dead-set on figuring out what his deal is. Based on the excellent prompt by @shockingshinx12-shinx: Mr. Lancer works as a sub during his semi-retirement. He's long since moved out of Amity, but has some pretty wild stories to share, or some weird off-the-cuff comments and mannerisms that make no sense to the local culture of this new town. His new students have opinions on all this, and there's many rumors surrounding this strange substitute…

Words: 1,643

Can be read on AO3!

---

“Hey,” Liam said as he slumped into the seat next to Nathalie. “What do you think of our new History sub?”

Nathalie looked up from her phone and raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lancer?”

“Yeah! Isn't he…” Liam trailed off as he searched for a word to describe their new eccentric teacher. He landed on a hesitant, “A bit weird?”

Nathalie shrugged. “I guess? We've only had him for one class.”

“But didn't you see when he gestured at nothing during reading time? He seemed to be having a whole conversation!”

Nathalie shook her head.

Liam groaned. “Well, I tell you! He’s weird. Maybe in this class you can see what I—”

Nathalie elbowed him in the side and Liam groaned as Nathalie hissed, “Shh! He’s coming!”

And true to her words, in walked Mr. Lancer himself. In all his bald, gray bearded, and beer-bellied glory. “Alright, class, settle down.”

Liam sat down at his desk, settling in and deciding to wait for Mr. Lancer to do something strange OR for Mr. Lancer to slip up.

He reached over and elbowed Nathalie and she rolled her eyes but put her phone down.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

A sudden bang and shout rang out in the classroom as someone tipped their chair over and fell to the floor. Almost at the same moment, Mr. Lancer jumped up and whipped out what looked like a very sci-fi looking gun. After a split second and a scan of the room, he relaxed and lowered the weapon back down, seemingly ignoring all the wide eyed stares locked on him. He gave a small chuckle. “Moby Dick! That scared me!”

“Is that a gun?!” Liam screeched and several of his classmates joined in the chorus of panic.

Mr. Lancer waved them all off, with the gun in hand no less. Students threw themselves to the side or to the floor to avoid being in front of it. “It's an ecto-gun, completely harmless to humans.”

Liam didn’t want to ask, but damn it all, he was too curious. “... So what does it harm?”

“Ghosts,” Mr. Lancer said immediately, without shame.

Liam leaned over towards Nathalie and whispered. “Is he joking?”

Nathalie looked a bit pale. “I don’t know. I’m still stuck on the fact that he has a gun.”

“I promise it’s not dangerous. Look!” And then Mr. Lancer pointed the gun at his own left hand and pulled the trigger.

The classroom that had managed to calm down slightly exploded back into chaos.

“Holy shit! You just shot yourself!”

“Call the nurse!

“No! Call an ambulance!”

Mr. Lancer, still with a very calm look on his face, just lifted his hand, now covered in green goo and said, “I’m fine. It’s just ectoplasm.”

Everyone stopped and stared at him.

Mr. Lancer looked at his own hand and then wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Oh, this is gonna be a pain to wipe off. Does someone have a napkin?”

Nathalie silently reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of napkins.

“Thank you,” Mr. Lancer said as he took the offered package. “I don’t need all of them, though.”

She shook her head, eyes on the green goop on his hand. “Keep them.”

Liam couldn’t keep silent any longer, almost vibrating out of his seat as he asked, “Did you say ectoplasm? Like the thing ghosts are made of?”

Mr. Lancer seemed delighted by his question. “So you know about that? I have to admit I’m not really sure what’s common knowledge. Yes. Like ghosts are made of.”

“No way that’s real ectoplasm.” Liam knew for a fact that scientists were still debating whether ectoplasm even existed or not. There was no way that their History substitute teacher just had it on him. Even more strange, why would a History teacher have it in a gun? “Why do you have a gun that shoots supposed ectoplasm?”

Mr. Lancer wiped off his hand as if it wasn’t covered in fluorescent goo, as if he’d done it a million times before, and ignored Liam to say, “Well then. No more delays. Open your books to page 116.”

Liam slumped back in his seat, knowing an evasive maneuver when he saw it. Heard it. Whatever.

The rest of the class crawled past; Liam doing his best to focus and failing miserably. Like usual. After he failed to answer a few of the questions and found himself staring emptily at his notebook for the majority of the class, Liam was ready to just go home.

And apparently, he hadn’t been so lucky that Mr. Lancer had missed his lapse in attention. As they reached the end of the class, the dreaded words were spoken; “Liam? Can you stay a bit after class?”

Liam tensed and Nathalie sent him a sympathetic look before the rest of the class all filed out.

Mr. Lancer cleared his throat and offered Liam a smile. “I can see that you're struggling a bit with the schoolwork. Are you having trouble at home? Out hunting ghosts?”

Liam blinked in surprise. That… was not what he had expected to hear. “No?”

Mr. Lancer nodded and then seemed to think for a moment before landing on, “Do you need any extra help?”

Well, if he was offering. It would be nice to have some extra time to hand in assignments. And he had promised himself to try and stand up for himself more, to be kinder to himself. Liam straightened his shoulders and said, “I wish that—” 

Mr. Lancer cut in with a panicked, “No wishes in my classroom!”

“What?” Liam blinked his eyes in confusion. “Why?”

“You never know if she's listening.”

Well. That’s not ominous at all. “Who?!”

“Oh right. No ghosts.” Mr. Lancer cleared his throat. “I just don’t… Like? Wishes?”

“Oh.” Liam didn’t know what to say to that. “Sorry?”

“That’s okay,” Mr. Lancer said easily. “Now. What were you saying?”

“Right… Eh. Maybe I can get some extension on the next deadline? I have ADHD and some extra time would be a huge help.”

Mr. Lancer didn’t even hesitate before nodding. “Yes, that’s no problem. Thank you for telling me.”

Huh. Mr. Lancer was actually really nice. Liam left the classroom feeling slightly shocked. He’d never had a teacher just agree to help him, no argument needed.

Nathalie was waiting for him outside the classroom. As soon as he got out she went over to him with a worried expression. “Are you okay? What did he want?

“To know if I hunt ghosts in my spare time.”

Liam had to admit, it was satisfying to see Nathalie blinked in obvious confusion. She slowly asked, as if afraid of the answer, “And why would he ask you that?”

Liam shrugged with a grin. “Apparently that’s a more likely cause for not paying attention than simply having ADHD.”

“Really?” Nathalie asked and Liam felt gratified by the small smile of incredulity growing on her face.

“Yeah. But he also gave me some extra time for the next deadline, no problem, so I think he’s actually nice?”

“So you don’t think he’s strange anymore?”

Liam gasped in fake outrage. “I’m insulted! Of course I will!”

“Good,” Nathalie said with a nod, “Look what I found.” And then she held her phone for him to see.

Liam grabbed it and frowned down at the screen and the web page of what looked like a small US town that was pulled up on it. Green lettering and pixelated pictures made it look old and tacky. “What is this?”

“I looked him up while you were in there talking,” Nathalie said, not able to disguise the pleased tone of her voice, “This is the town he’s from.”

Liam scrolled to the top of the page and read the town name. “Amity Park? Never heard of it.”

“Me neither. Look at their slogan.”

“America’s most haunted town. Really?!” Liam was delighted. Ecstatic. He looked up and met Nathalie’s equally sparkling eyes.

“You think he worked in the tourism industry? Still getting some money on the side to spread the rumor?”

“It must be a bit, right? Some weird humor from his home-town?”

“I think he's crazy,” Nathalie said dreamily. As if a crazy teacher would be the height of their school-year. It probably would.

“Let’s find out.”

—

Before the next class, the whole class was abuzz with tension and raised voices. Several students talked over each other as they waited for Mr. Lancer to show up.

“I think he's from area 51.”

“Yeah, I agree. He's clearly an alien trying to blend in and mixing up reality and fiction.”

“No, I think he worked there! He's been there for so long he doesn't know what normal life's like anymore.”

“No, no, I think he's a ghost. That's why he keeps bringing them up.”

“Ghosts aren't real!”

“Guys. He’s clearly just messing with us.”

“Who is messing with who?” A voice asked from the door and Liam turned with a big grin, expecting to find Mr. Lancer. But there was Mr. Johnson, their regular History teacher.

Liam cast about for the other man. “Where is Mr. Lancer?”

Mr. Johnson raised an eyebrow as he started setting up. “Probably at another school or at home. Why?”

Liam deflated. Right substitute teacher. “No reason.”

That’s what they got for getting excited. Liam sighed. School had never seemed so dull. He turned to Nathalie and moaned, “It’s like he was never here. Maybe he was a ghost after all,” he ended a bit dreamily.

Nathalie gave him a short glance from where she was staring at her phone. “Nah, I saw him outside Starbucks on the way to class, talking to a white haired guy about green dogs? So he seems to be alive and kicking.”

Liam slumped deeper in his chair. “Oh joy.”

[invinciblerodent]

As I'm making my way though the Chant, one thing I'm not sure I quite understand at this point is the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Like it's more or less confirmed in Veilguard that the Maker either doesn't exist, or at least he's not what that the Chantry suggests he is. Since he almost definitely isn't a deity (because it's starting to look more and more like Thedas is a setting absent of gods), Andraste was also not chosen by a deity, and therefore was not holy.

But her ashes really did seem to heal Arl Eamon from his poisoning, and if this part of the Chant is to be believed, they also healed Disciple Havard from two stab wounds through the chest, well enough that he could then trek from Minrathous down all the way to Ferelden.

Even ignoring the apparitions, the flourishes, Andraste appearing to Havard from beyond death, and all the other garnish that's in the Chant, the core fact remains that there exist ashes (a powder, some substance) that is a genuine panacea, that is somehow capable of healing, even after close to a thousand years buried in a crypt inside a remote mountain.

From a Doylist perspective, it'd make sense to just chalk this up for an inconsistency, or someone changing their mind: that quest was written fifteen years before Veilguard, and the writers having decided on the ✨magic ashes✨ quest before hammering out the intricacies of the world's theology twenty years into the future seems perfectly reasonable.

But I think a Watsonian explanation is almost always more fun than a Doylist one, so I have a couple ideas.

Explanation 1: Spirit Magic Shit.

No gods, no masters, just very powerful magic.

To me, it seems to be a reasonable enough interpretation of the text that the ✨spectral Andraste clothed in starlight and armored in moonlight✨ that appeared to Havard after Andraste's death (Apotheosis 2:16-2:18) was simply a spirit that was drawn to the area by the very intense emotions of the people, and death thinning the Veil. (Central square of Minrathous, probably the gallows were there at the time, and the place has probably seen its fair share of executions even before Andraste.)

It also feels very much in line with canon events that a spirit would/could assume the form and some of the personality of a recently dead person, like the spirit who appeared to the Inquisitor adopted Justinia's form, voice, and to some degree her memories (although that did happen in the Fade). Andraste was also a figure very much emotionally tied to Havard, so him seeing her in even just a vague spirit that couldn't fully manifest outside of the Fade and was holding only remnants of her, isn't far out of the ordinary.

If that is the case, I'm pretty reasonably sure it would be a spirit of Faith (the text of the Chant goes out of its way to mention the "army of the faithful" multiple times) that sort of absorbed Andraste's blind faith in her death, and more or less "became" her. There has been an example of a Faith-spirit "healing" mortal wounds before, in Wynne's reanimation- "spirit healing" used to be the actual name of the discipline while it was still mechanically in the game (which was at the same time the Chant was written in real life), so it having that sort of narrative consistency as well as that ability also checks out.

That though does lead me to wonder what kind of magic can sustain itself for quite literally a millennium, locked away in stasis, outside of the Fade and without its creator affecting it physically.

While there are examples of powerful old magic in the setting (mostly elven), much of it does seem to weaken and falter over time- could the power of Andraste's ashes be sustained by people's faith in her and the Maker? Is the Faith-spirit that may or may not be Andraste, and is responsible for that healing power, still being sustained as a powerful entity by "her" followers' emotions? Does that make the Urn of Sacred Ashes essentially a kind of application of the placebo effect, it works because people believe that it works, only in a slightly more tangible way? Does the Warden "corrupting" the urn with blood do anything on the physically magical level, or does it simply alter the state of it significantly enough that others' faith no longer affects it, either because it's believed not to work anymore (so it's a self-fulfilling prophecy), or because it's no longer the same object? Does any of this make any sense at all to anyone else????

(Asterisk on this one, there's some interesting "storm" and storm-like imagery in the Chant around these parts that makes me wonder about whether the "Devouring Storm" has anything to do with this all, but we don't know anything certain about that.)(Yet? I hope it's a "yet". Trying to remain cautiously optimistic about it being a "yet".)

.... but, I think there is also another, more straightforward interpretation, that is a bit less dialed into the mythology of the setting, but I just like it better:

Explanation 2: It's All Just Coincidence.

The ashes are mere legend.

Havard was always going to survive being stabbed through with spears. The fact is, he did somehow drag himself to the center of Minrathous from somewhere around the Valarian Fields- which is nearby, but still quite an unlikely walk for a man with mortally severe abdominal injuries. In his case, it's possible that either his injuries weren't actually that bad, or homeboy was always resilient enough to pull through all on his own, and him putting ashes into his wounds probably just acted as an antibacterial rub.

He also got there after the pyre had already burnt down, so he had no way to tell which ashes were Andraste's, and which were just wood-ash and charcoal from the pyre itself, so he presumably just swept like five pounds or so of debris into a jug and went on his merry way. Maybe it was milled or sifted to be finer, more "ashlike" later, but what he took from the site probably had bits of wood, as well as bits of Andraste's actual remains in it. (An open-air fire iirc doesn't burn hot enough to completely turn bone to dust, so he could very well have struggled to distinguish between charred wood and charred bone chips.)

And the funniest thing about this is that... in this case Eamon, since he was poisoned, could be assumed to have been healed by the "ashes" because whatever it was that the Warden gave him just so happened to basically act as a piece of activated charcoal.

Which is a non-magical, non-fantastical, very pedestrian solution, but it's almost elegant in its simplicity, and I kind of love it.

It makes for a fun theme, too.

The storm broke out right at the time of Andraste's burning? Yeah, we knew it was coming days ago and nobody actually bat an eye, but it made for a great couple verses in the Chant.

Rubbing Andraste's ashes on them healed Havard's wounds? Well, wood ash could have helped the healing process somewhat, and that was perhaps exaggerated into a magical and instantaneous recovery by the story being passed down over a thousand years.

The ashes have incredible healing properties? Maybe, if it's the right thing that ails ya. It's not a panacea, but if you're specifically poisoned, sure, it might help.

And I know this is such a small thing, but it really does crack me up.

(It might raise the question of why the healers at Redcliffe jumped straight to the Ashes and didn't just give him charcoal the moment they learned that it was poison causing the illness, treating poison with charcoal has been a thing since antiquity irl, but then I feel like I should revert back to a Doylist POV, which would make the answer simply "because then there's no quest", so I'm cutting them some slack there lol.)

[jessiesjaded]

random picture dump :)

[moeblob]

Karen has four older brothers and this is Ross! He's the second oldest and he looks rather polite and smiles a lot and when he's at work he can behave most of the time... but he really has such a foul mouth it puts Right to shame.

And Karen when she was a kid couldn't pronounce S's and they sounded like Z's. So when her brothers would be leaving for school she would say "enjoy zool" and just. Could NEVER say Ross's name correctly so he told her to just call him Oz. And it stuck but only with Karen. She's the only one to use it and no one else is allowed.

[forcedhesitation]

It is kind of ridiculous that Wyll is the only companion who can offer to join Karlach in Avernus. I feel like it would have made sense to have Selunite Shadowheart and Minthara offer to go with her as well! In the place of Wyll, I mean, because fuck does that man deserve to REST. And he isn't the only who cares about Karlach! Minthara is literally in love with her, and Larian seems to like suggesting Shadowlach, so why couldn't have Shadowheart have been an option too? In the case of having all four of these characters in your party, the order could be:

Wyll offers to go with her.

Selunite Shadowheart can offer to go in his place, saying he's done so much already. If Wyll's father is alive and hers are not, she could also say how Wyll should take the chance he has to spend some time with his father.

Minthy can offer to go instead of the other two, maybe using her experience as a drow matriarch as a reason for why she'd be the best equipped to protect Karlach in Avernus.

If you just have Selunite Shadowheart, and her parents died, she could say how she doesn't want to watch anyone else she cares about die. If her parents didn't die, maybe that could be the one case where she couldn't offer to go? Or maybe she could still offer to go, and give the reason that she wants to do something that her parents could be proud of? Minthy could still give the same reasoning, because I think it makes a lot of sense.

I would argue that it would make perfect sense for Spawn Astarion to volunteer as well, as there is no sun in Avernus, he can be as much of a little murder freak as he wants down there, and it would really emphasise his personal growth for him to want to protect someone else...but I get that you'd have to change how that whole scene is coded and there are already enough issues with it (particularly with the order of Lae'zel's endings). So, I get why he doesn't exactly work well as an option.