#writing: 002

[ode2rin]

JUST MAYBE .ೃ

pairing. isagi yoichi x gn!reader

genre. strangers to .. hopefully something more? | slow burn | chance encounter

content/warnings. 2.3k+ wc | characters are in their early 20s ! | pro-athlete!isagi | reader works in a bookstore | profanity | a bit heavy in narration | written in reader’s perspective |  minimal proofread | ooc!isagi (sorry it’s my first time writing for him..) | open ending

in which: a cafe encounter with a stranger shows you exactly how well fate intervenes

💭 thank you for the request anon!

this is it. this is the last straw.

this is the last time you’re ever allowing yourself to be vain and believe empty words from a man.

sitting in a café, self-pity takes hold of you as regret washes over your being. the nagging feeling, the hollowness in your gut that you should have paid attention to, now mocks you with its undeniable presence. how could you have ignored it, brushing it off as if it were insignificant?

the bustling café seemed oblivious to your disappointment, the air thick with the laughter and whispers of couples lost in their own bliss. their happiness, a stark contrast to your own melancholic state.

you glance at your phone, the screen displaying a conversation that adds salt to the wound.

you: let me know if you’re on your way! [2:06 pm] you: hey, i’m already here :) is everything fine? [2:43 pm]

a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the weight of anger and embarrassment settling upon your shoulders. 

dating in your early twenties has proven to be far more challenging than you ever imagined. while your friends effortlessly navigate the labyrinth of love, you find yourself trapped in a cycle of dashed hopes and unfulfilled connections. 

here you are, once again left sitting alone at a table meant for two.

and you know it's destructive to point fingers at directions pointing to you, but for goodness sake, can anyone just tell you what's wrong with you? or can fate simply provide apparent signs, allowing both you and the divine to save precious time? 

because it's becoming increasingly draining. 

the cycle repeats itself relentlessly: falling in love, only for it to unravel into a cacophony of screams and tears. your heart shattered, you gather the pieces and muster the courage to try again, only to wonder what awaits in the next stage of this never-ending cycle.

and you can’t help but to wonder, when will it ever be your turn? if other people could experience a love so kind, why can’t you? why can't you have what they have? what makes you any less deserving?

is it really too much to ask for a love that doesn't demand a piece of your soul as collateral? can't there exist a love where vulnerability isn't met with heartache?

and coming from someone who has been gravely hurt in the name of so-called love, it’s impossible not to wonder if such love even exists in this world or if it's merely a figment of your imagination born from those contemporary romance books you read on your lonely nights.

well, there's no use crying over spilled milk. he wasn't all that anyway. besides, you had only agreed to this supposed date due to your friend's persistent nagging, urging you to break your self-imposed “man ban” streak and venture back into the world of romance. “why not?” you had thought at the time, only to be reminded why you even imposed such a ban in the first place.

“excuse me, is this seat taken? the place is kinda packed, so if you don’t mind..” 

lost in your thoughts, you're momentarily startled as a soft voice interrupts your reverie. the stranger before you stumbles over his words, shyness coloring his demeanor.

you take a moment to truly see him— this man who has unexpectedly entered your sphere. and heavens, he is gorgeous.

“no, it’s not taken. please, feel free.”

with your response, the stranger settles into the seat across from you. as he takes a sip from his cup, your nose takes a whiff of the inviting aroma of his latte, which fills the air, adding another layer of warmth to the already vibrant café atmosphere.

taking a contemplative sip of your own drink, you savor the flavors that dance on your tongue. the comforting embrace of the warm liquid spreads through your body, soothing your senses.

his blue-eyed gaze drifts toward your own drink, curiosity evident within those pools. “what drink is that? it looks intriguing.”

you can't help but internally chuckle at his attempts at small talk. your drink is nothing spectacular, let alone intriguing, but the fact that he wants to make something out of it gives you a glimpse of his endearing shyness.

still, you smile, pleased by his interest. “it's actually their signature drink. i find it quite enjoyable. and your latte? it looks divine.”

well, you’re not any better than his attempts. seriously? what looks exceptionally divine about a latte?

the man in front of you nods appreciatively, taking another sip from his cup. “nothing grand, just a decaf latte. i find it soothing and energizing, especially on slow days like this one.”

you hum in response, seemingly out of attempts for small talk. but the lack of a coherent response from you doesn’t elicit an uncomfortable silence, but rather the opposite. a cozy silence settles between you, the ambient sounds of the café serving as a gentle backdrop to your now shared sphere.

after a few minutes of sitting in silence, you notice from your peripheral vision that he steals a few glances your way, as if waiting for the right moment to strike up another conversation.

cute.

it's an understatement, as a matter of fact. the guy before you is downright mesmerizing. if you could gaze at his face for more than two seconds without being called weird, you could map the entirety of how blessed this man’s face is — the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he speaks, the subtle strength in his jawline, and the way his hair falls in a perfectly disheveled manner.

and his eyes. damn, his eyes. such a beautiful shade of blue must have taken the hand of god some time to create.

“so –”

“what –”

the two of you speak simultaneously, your voices overlapping in the air, prompting you both to take a moment and stare at each other before laughing at the coincidence.

“you first,” you offered.

“no, you go first.”

you offer a warm smile and motion for him to go first. “i insist.” the truth is, after seeing him laugh, you momentarily forgot what you were even about to ask.

it’s just a laugh. get it together.

were you this deprived of someone’s company to melt at their laugh? or is this stranger just so painfully beautiful that it’s now affecting your memory and ability to converse?

his lips curl into a shy smile as he hesitates for a brief moment. his eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “alright, well, i was wondering... do you come here often? i don’t think i’ve seen you here before.”

you shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “not really. i'm actually a newcomer here. i work at a bookstore nearby, and i stumbled upon this place by chance.”

it was two truths and one lie. and as apparent as it was, you sure as hell didn’t “stumbled upon this place,” where in truth and fact, you were invited here by your supposed-to-be date who might have forgotten to reply to you two hours after your last message.

“the bookstore on the main street? it’s a huge place, that’s so cool. my friend, chigiri, has been meaning to visit there. maybe i’ll try to tag along some time.”

a blush crept up your cheeks, touched by his admiration. it was a stark contrast to the belittlement toward your job you had encountered in past dating experiences, and this wasn’t even a date. “thank you. i’ll be happy to help you and your friend when you drop by.”

“so, what do you do, mr…?” you asked, trying to delve deeper into the conversation.

“oh, pardon me for not introducing myself properly. i’m isagi yoichi, and i, uhm, play soccer for a living. it's not as impressive as being surrounded by books all day, though.”

isagi yoichi. soccer player.

so that explains the hint of a lean physique beneath his clothes – not that you were checking him out. anyone with eyesight could detect that this gorgeous stranger, isagi, is in great shape. yup, definitely not checking him out.

“and yours?”

“hmm? sorry, what were you saying?”

a soft smile tugs at isagi's lips as he repeats his question, “i was just asking about your name.”

you bring your attention back to the present, realizing you've momentarily lost yourself in his gaze. “oh. it’s l/n y/n.”

as the words of your name hang in the air, a sense of familiarity begins to settle between you. you and isagi engage in a comfortable conversation, effortlessly weaving in and out of topics. each exchange reveals more about your respective lives, forging a connection that feels too genuine for people who just met not even an hour ago. 

isagi shares stories from his soccer career, the highs and lows, the challenges and triumphs. his passion for the sport shines through in every word, and you find yourself captivated by how animated he is in sharing his tales. it's a pleasant break from your previous experiences, where self-importance seemed to be the common thread among your dates. 

with isagi, there's no trace of conceit hanging in every word. 

in turn, you open up about your love for literature and the joy you find in sharing stories with others. isagi listens attentively, his eyes sparkling with interest as you speak about the power of words and the magic that exists within the pages of books. 

while it becomes evident that he may not be an avid reader himself, there's a beautiful acceptance and respect in the way isagi listens. he never once made you feel as though your love for literature is any less significant than his passion for soccer.

amidst the lively exchange, you catch glimpses of isagi's gentle nature, his ability to make you feel at ease, and his genuine curiosity about your thoughts and experiences. it's a refreshing change from the superficial interactions you've had in the past, and you're left wondering if the man in front of you is even real.

you can't help but laugh at the thought of men being able to hold a conversation like isagi. and while that proves that the bar may be in hell, but damn, it is as if isagi raised it above his own head.

time seems to slip away as the conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and genuine moments of connection. there are no awkward silences, no need for pretense or guardedness. it's as if you've known each other for much longer than a chance encounter in a café.

just when you think the moment might stretch into eternity, isagi’s ringing phone slices through the air, abruptly breaking the spell. 

his eyes widen, a touch of regret flickering across his face as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “ah, it's my teammate. i'm afraid i have to head out first,” he says with a tinge of disappointment.

your heart sinks a little at the prospect of parting ways so soon. “oh, it's okay. i had a nice time, isagi,” you reply, attempting to mask your disappointment.

“me too,” isagi responds, his voice filled with a hint of tone you’re feigning ignorance too. “i wish we could talk more.”

you can sense the hesitance in his words, the unspoken desire to extend the encounter. it's an opening, a moment of curiosity lingering between you. seizing the opportunity, you decide to tease him ever so slightly. “hmm, well, that call seemed important,” you remark, raising an eyebrow playfully.

you’re not dense, but you were curious to see how he would try.

isagi fidgets, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i think so. we have an upcoming match next weekend,” he stumbles over his words, clearly struggling with the invitation he's about to extend. “speaking of the match, would it be too forward of me to invite you to watch?”

wouldn’t it? 

your heart flutters at the invitation, and for a brief moment, you contemplate the possibilities.

this day had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. one moment, you were nursing the wounds of being stood up, wallowing in self-pity and contemplating the challenges of dating. and now, here you were, being invited by a complete stranger — a stranger who also happened to be the most captivating person you've ever laid eyes upon.

fate be damned, because it seems to have a wicked sense of humor, toying with your emotions from one extreme to another.

glancing down at your cup, you swirl the remaining liquid, feigning nonchalance to mask the racing thoughts in your mind. “depends on who you want me to attend as,” you tease, curious to see how he responds.

you raise your eyes, locking eyes with isagi, only to find him wearing a boyish grin that could rival the sun and staring at you with those damn blue eyes that put the oceans to shame.

“anything you can offer to be, right now.”

fuck it. 

with a surge of boldness, you decide to take a leap of faith. “then i would love to be there.”

the energy shifts as isagi beams at your acceptance of his invitation. he bids you goodbye, only to hesitate and return to you with an endearing awkwardness. he offers his number, tripping over his own words as he suggests you can call him whenever you want. you can't help but laugh at his adorable awkwardness, finding it endearing beyond measure. you hand him your phone, and with hurried movements, he inputs his number before bidding you goodbye once more.

with a smile lingering on your lips, you watch isagi's retreating figure, feeling a warmth radiate through you. your gaze then shifts to the phone in your hand, where you see the contact name you've set for him. 

maybe: isagi yoichi

why not, right? you're down to take the chance.

because maybe, just maybe, one more try wouldn’t hurt this time.

note. welcome to isagi mimi debut omg i kinda do not like it but huhu this trope is so hard for me to write, i’m not gonna lie. but i surprisingly had fun making this hehe. and i’m not really a fan of instant love soooo, here’s the best i could do ._. i think i would rather opt to make a sequel than a time skip so let’s leave it at that :>

thanks for reaching this far!

💭 back to: milestone event

[crossroads-of-the-raven]

Hostess Tequila Raven X Roads' nine step guide to writing the Doorman Family

They are very smart

They are very dumb

They all have trauma

They all suck at coping

They accidentally tend to neglect each other

They are trying to help each other in some way

They are all some level of crazy

They match eachothers insanity

They love each other very much

Even if you get everything wrong when you write them, so long as the reader can tell that the Doorman family, loves each other, then you'll be fine.

Bonus: even if Uzi finds her parents being in love, gross - she is still happy that they're happy and together.

[geisterruf]

 ⸻  is  an  independent  &  selective  character of Cassedea Genéva Deleviere.

After being born in the Colombian slums, Cassedea moved at the age of 5 with her parents to Rhodes Island. It was both, an escape and a way of moving on. Her parents were extraordinary, having the ability to communicate with supernatural beings and being familiar with voodoo, cursed objects and exorcism. After a failed exorcism, the family felt the need to flee from the danger of the demon. Sadly, he followed them, killing both of her parents mysteriously. After being adopted and growing up, Cassedea found out that she had the same abilities like her parents. Therefore she tried to learn everything about them, getting help from her parents with whom she could communicate. At the age of 16 she brought the demon, who killed her parents, back to hell. Today she made a living out of exorcism and necromancy. When she’s not traveling through the country, she lives with her cousin and a basement full of dark secrets in New Orleans.

#geisterruf original and independent character based on the movies Conjuring, always open for plotting, multishipping and crossover friendly, german & english but german prefered, only interact if your 25+, she/her, bisexuell, low to semi active, m&pdni

Credits: @geisterwelt @strangergraphics

[joshlane]

WHO: Josh & @treywright

WHERE: Newman Family Farm

WHEN: Bachelor Party (October 12, 2024)

"Do you know how long it's been since I've played this?" Josh asked, a grin spreading across his face as he plucked one of the croquet mallets off of the rack, running his fingers across the balls before pulling one of those free, as well. "I feel like a middle-aged English fellow, like I should be drinking tea and wearing an ascot."

[owenryder]

WHO: Ryder & @vincexmatthews

WHERE: Little Corner Market, suburbs

WHEN: March 23, 2025

This winter storm was a pain in his ass. And while most people had the entire day on Saturday to prepare, Ryder had to work. Which meant that Sunday, his day off, when he had intended to sleep in and lazily play video games in his pajamas most of the day... he had to go shopping for supplies to get through the week. The problem with that was simple: everyone had bought the stuff that he needed. He had a few rolls of toilet paper, some packets of cookies, various other things that seemed necessary... but not nearly enough water. And Ryder knew that they would need some water, if for nothing else, than to keep Maurice hydrated. "Seriously, no gallons?" he said out loud to no one, a look of annoyance on his face as he blew a breath out through his nostrils.

[stellylee]

WHO: Stelly & @naomiayodele

WHERE: Wax & Wicks, suburbs

WHEN: Season of Love (February, 2025)

One of their favorite places in all of Merrock to do any shopping had to be Wax & Wicks. Although Stelly (and by extension, Sylvia and Sunny) had far too many candles in their home, they also subscribed to the idea that there actually was no such thing as having too many candles. And if there were sales for Valentine's Day... why not take advantage? "I don't know if I want to go full on floral to get into the season, or stick with something a bit more... neutral." Stelly was looking at a display of pink candles, in particular, pointing to two different ones, "like there's rose, of course, but then there's this one that just has a really fresh, airy scent, you know?

[jaceeverett]

WHO: Jace & @bryanxlawrence

WHERE: Cobblestone Cafe, downtown

WHEN: Season of Love (February, 2025)

Coffee was coffee, wasn't it? But somehow, holidays happened, and people got creative. Lava cake this, red velvet that, something a little extra sweet -- too sweet -- that they swore you needed if you loved the season of love. Which Jace was not entirely sure about; he liked Valentine's Day just fine, everyone was happy and loved up and in a good mood, but did he want that to extend into his coffee choices...? He wasn't sure about that. Lifting a hand to scratch at his beard, he asked the person next to him, "got any recommendations?"

[rafaelcb]

WHO: Rafael & @sloaneloise

WHERE: suburbs of Merrock

WHEN: December, 2024

Although Rafael hadn't initially planned on doing any shopping... bumping into Sloan in the bar and talking to her about her plan to fulfill a child's wishlist for the holiday had struck a chord. Where he would normally make a number of donations to any sort of charity he could find, this could be a little more interesting... although it also meant braving the cold weather and the crowds of people who were also out shopping. Worth it, he supposed, as he rocked on his feet where he stood on the sidewalk just outside of Cul-de-Sac Diner. It was as perfect of a meeting place as any. They could do some shopping, head back, grab something to eat, their cars would be nearby. A good, solid plan. Seeing the brunette approach, he smiled, tucking his hands back into his coat pockets. "Thank God, for a second I thought I was going to have to do this shopping alone."

[banisheed]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Cairn (@cairnivore) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Cairn takes Siobhan to one of the mysterious tents. CONTENT WARNING: N/A!

The crisp morning air clung to her skin, the sky a lightening shade of deep blue as Cairn moved through the forest. She had made note of a few entry points - paths that someone unfamiliar with the forest might find without too much trouble. She understood not everyone could read nature as she did. She was still figuring out the language of this forest as well.

So, this rusted, worn down abandoned bus stop was perfect for strangers to locate as they came down the winding road. The bench was sun-bleached and weather-worn, its metal frame rusted through in places. The old sign above it, faded and dented, bore a scrawl in black marker: “stop to hell.”

Cairn arrived as the sky fully lightened; the world was still quiet. No birds. No breeze. She crouched in the underbrush, low, back to the forest, waiting for any sign of anyone coming up - a car, a person. Anything. Time passed.

Then. Movement she could finally hear.

Still, she didn’t move. Not until… finally. She could see the person. Might not have been the one she spoke to but Cairn paused, and upon not hearing any other footsteps, figured she was alone. She moved from the brambles without sound, the leaves whispered against her but no branch snapped, no dirt betrayed her weight. She stepped out and into view as if exhaled by the forest itself.

“I’m here. No need to look around.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Deciphering the pain-in-the-arse’s messages had been easy, though Siobhan didn't appreciate how suddenly they transported her back home. Fae loved their cryptic words; Siobhan less so when they were directed at her. She knew that they meant the old bus stop, she didn’t know where the fuck the bus stop was, exactly. She’d seen it a dozen times but where? Wandering around with increasing frustration Siobhan groaned when she noticed it was beside the road. Of course. Where else would one find a bus stop? The tents were getting to her. 

“Fuck!” Siobhan reflexively drew out a switchblade and flicked it open. “Where the fuck did you—I didn’t bloody hear anything—Fate, don’t do that again.” She tried to calm her heart; she hadn’t had a scare like that since she was a child. The tents really were getting to her. She flipped her knife shut and stuffed it back into her pocket. She pulled on the lapels of her leather jacket. “It’s rude to scare a woman,” she said. “Give me a second.” She breathed in, she breathed out. Her heartbeat was steady, her mind was empty, but something was still wrong. 

It felt wrong the way a rotten smell did in the pit of her stomach; a queasy unease that had nowhere to go and no source. The air was clean; her breakfast was beer and an apple which was healthy by her usual standards. Siobhan raised a brow, raking her gaze over the…child? Online, the cryptic words painted a more elderly image. Who exactly was this person? “I’m Siobhan,” she said. “So you have something to call me, at least. Lead on, leanbh.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn didn’t flinch. She never did. The knife reflected the morning light for a second and then it was gone again. Her eyes followed it only once, just enough to mark the shape, which pocket, and the way the woman moved. The words came sharp and fast, strange like something from a different place. Instead of making her observation noted out loud, she mentally stored it. Another time, another place it may be of importance. Not now.

“…Siobhan,” she echoed quietly, like a test. She didn’t offer her own name. If the woman called, she wouldn’t come and Cairn didn’t need her name shouted to call her to attention. 

She let a pause settle between them before turning back toward the woods and beginning to walk further in. She didn’t tell the woman to follow, but she walked slower than usual. Her boots moved silent over the leaf covered ground, the morning dew having dampened the leaves enough to quiet them. She didn’t look back.

Not because she trusted the woman. But Cairn would hear it if Siobhan moved wrong. A shift in weight. A breath pulled in too tight. The scrape of a boot over bark. People thought they were silent in the woods, but they weren’t. Not really.

After a while, Cairn paused mid-step, her head tilting slightly, as if catching the edge of a sound. Or lack thereof. A long silence passed. The forest held its breath. Then, a clear, fluted bird song cut through the quiet. The forest exhaled. Cairn shifted. Permission. She moved again, deeper into the trees, as if the bird had said yes.

“Almost there.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Was the child a murderer? Siobhan grumbled at the clichéd setup: lead a poor, sexy woman into the woods with the promise of tents and then stab her. Oldest trick in the big book of murder scenarios her grandmother had started and never finished. She said there were too many murder scenarios. An infinite number, by Siobhan’s safe estimation. Still, somehow, this one was a cliché but it was better to think about that than the unbearable not-stink. She pinched her nose only to remember that it wasn’t a smell at all; she held her breath and still the unease chewed at her stomach. She screwed up her face as if she could scare the sensation away but it followed them just as Siobhan followed behind the child. 

It stole her attention. She would be watching the child—the way they seemed to listen to the forest—and then she would think about the sensation again. The child was every nymph’s dream, Siobhan thought, and then it was right back to the accursed feeling. It was so distracting that she didn’t notice the rock. Her toe hit it and she stumbled forward and smashed into a tree. 

“How much further?” she asked, as if the child had put the rock back there and then the tree here. Her nose stung. “Some of us…” she closed her eyes, trying to become the wind in that way her grandmother had taught her. Her old wisdom was: “Think o’ the wind in the worm’s hair.”. It wasn’t helping. 

Siobhan continued through gritted teeth, “some of us…don’t get along with the forest like you do.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn turned at the shift in sound just in time to see the woman stumble and collide into a tree. She watched in all, the stumble, the smash, the adjustment. That must have been painful but Cairn wasn’t one to ask a question she already knew the answer to. The woman was agitated, Cairn could discern that much.

“A few more steps,” she answered. “Might be more if you stumble again.” Not to criticize but just to remind the woman to be careful. “Stay close, I won't mislead you.”

She waits for the woman to catch up, eye briefly scanning her gait, checking for any sign of injury. Whether or not she found one, Cairn slowed her pace. 

“And I don’t get along with the forest.” She remarked as Siobhan neared. “I just haven’t made it mad yet.” Cairn didn’t get along with the forest. Not the way the woman had meant it at least. She just knew how to listen, how to not upset it. 

“What will you do if the tent isn’t there?” The woman seemed irritated enough, what would happen if the tent had gone and the trip seemingly for nothing? 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Siobhan did a poor job of suppressing the long, pulled-from-her-agitated-depths groan; it came out as a crackling garble. “I know some people in Ireland that would love you.” She rolled her eyes. Knew, she thought. She needed to acclimatize herself to the past tense. “And since you’re such a sweet—” Siobhan stabbed the word out, spitting. She smiled thinly. “—human, they might even let you keep your head.” Just as they hadn’t let Siobhan keep her wings. She shivered. She didn’t like people that were better than her, she hated it more when those people were human. By all metrics, the stranger should be inherently inferior and yet, she was the one navigating the forest with ease, in conversation with nature, fearless and sure. 

Siobhan picked a chip of bark off her dress. “Stab you, probably. Or would a tree smite me on the spot if I tried?” The sensation of wrong hadn’t passed, but the longer she stayed inside of it, the easier it was to ignore. Or perhaps, it was simply one of those things that an angry distraction could override. “You’d better hope the tent is there. I don’t like being out here. It’s too…” Siobhan sighed, trying to think of the way someone like the stranger would say it. In the end, all she could offer was honesty. “I’m a fish that’s forgotten how to use its gills. Does that make sense? The forest rejected me.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn stopped walking, not abruptly, just enough for silence to settle between them. She let the woman’s words sink in. Bitter, angry, and for reasons Cairn didn’t understand. But there was something raw in her voice that didn’t quite match the sharpness of her words. Cairn had every reason to just walk away, leave this woman in the forest alone. Maybe she would have, if the tent hadn’t pulled at her curiosity. If she’d felt fear. But she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t threatened. So, she stayed. Turned. She looked at Siobhan. Really looked at her. Not scanning for danger, but seeing her. The tired shape of her, the tension sitting in her shoulders, the way upon second glance, her bitterness clung to her, weighed her down. 

When Cairn spoke again, her voice carried something else. Something that didn’t come from her, but from the one who raised her with gentler truths. “Have you ever seen a fish caught in the wrong stream?” She asked but didn’t give a pause for a response. “Don’t mean it’s broken. Just not where it’s supposed to be.”

A fish that forgot how to use its gills wasn’t dead. Just disoriented. The gills were still there. It could still learn to swim again. Learn to breathe. Maybe… someone just needed to show her how to remember. Cairn turned and kept walking. She didn’t look back. But she was listening. There was something sharp in Siobhan’s voice, something that didn’t come from right now. Cairn didn’t understand it. Not really. Her own experience with loss had been quiet. Her pama had loved her the whole way through. What was gone had once been good. Whatever Siobhan lost, it sounded different. It sounded like being torn out of something that once held her. Like being told she didn’t belong anymore. Cairn didn’t know what that felt like. But she knew how to listen. 

And that would have to be enough.

“Up ahead,” Cairn instructed gently, catching sight of the tent’s color through the trees. She stopped a few feet away. It didn’t look the way it had before. It looked like it had been ransacked. Stripped. Whatever had been in there, was there no longer.

⛺️

Siobhan could feel the stranger’s gaze—though where others tunneled into her, this was more of a washing down, like rain. It pricked her skin all the same. She thought about turning around and challenging the stare, but she couldn’t; she didn’t want to see. Whatever the stranger was discovering about her, she knew that it wasn’t what she wanted her to. Whatever she would find in the stranger, it would spur an envy she couldn’t swallow. Siobhan made a show of watching the ground: the dead leaves, the dirt, the twisted roots leading back to their homes. She caught one with her gaze and tried to follow it back to the tree it belonged to but was lost in grass and insects. The root vanished as soon as her attention left and she couldn’t find it again. Then the stranger spoke and she was glad for it—she hated silence. 

“And is this not where I’m supposed to be?” Siobhan laughed. Fae were creatures of the natural world and banshees were no different. Many creation stories were put forth and debated, but Siobhan liked the myth her family held: that the first banshee was molded by Death from the dirt. Her bones were sediment, her lungs were ant burrows and her hair was the white webs of a spider. Death named her Fate and bid her to call souls to the Last Embrace. “I was born here,” Siobhan said. “Well, not here—I was born in Ireland. You get the point.” 

The trees parted and there was the torn blue tent. Shreds of fabric were strewn about and the inside was hollow. Siobhan rubbed the polyester under her fingers. You can’t have a funeral for a tent. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the stranger. “For showing me. You’ve done me a great service today.” Her sharpness was gone and her memories of wanting to stab the child went with it. She turned and began breaking the tent, snapping its metal frame. “Can’t…” she huffed, “…leave this here. It’s bad for…the…grass…” She groaned and hissed and in the end, the metal pinged at her and remained in tent-shape—a fluorescent stain against nature. 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” she said. “How do you? Why does Nature want you and not me? It should want me. It made me. Why doesn’t it..” Why didn’t anyone want her? Siobhan clenched her jaw. This stranger, who had some sort of metaphysical stink, was more fae than her. This stranger. That child. Them. Her. It. “Go on, laugh. I know you want to. Yes, it’s my damned tent. Yes, I don’t know how to fish or call a bird or…” She gestured around them. “Listen to a fucking tree. But you’re a child of the forest—you see, you hear, you listen. I get it. Very funny. Laugh now.” 

⛺️

Cairn didn’t laugh. She watched Siobhan break the tent down with more fury than strength, her gestures wild and brittle. Cairn’s eyes lowered, not out of pity, but recognition. “I remained,” she said, her voice quiet and even. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t proof that the forest had chosen her. It hadn’t. She remembered the cold nights where the bark wouldn’t peel, the storms that didn’t care how small she was, the roots that tripped her, the animals that didn’t look twice. She remembered being hungry and trying to mimic bird calls just to hear something answer back, and nothing ever did. The forest gave her no kindness. But she stayed. Not alone at first, but still, she stayed, finding a home in it.

Over time, Cairn had learned either from experience or her pama, where to sleep without waking up soaked, what leaves not to touch, which paths didn’t try to lose you. She figured out how to survive its silence. She stopped asking it to hold her and instead learned how to press herself into the dirt like she belonged there. If it didn’t want her, it didn’t matter–she’d learned how to read its refusals like lullabies. She’d made its cold shoulder feel like shelter. “I don’t think the forest wants me,” she added, eyes steady. “I just think it got tired of trying to push me out.”

She didn’t say it cruelly. There was no accusation in her voice, no weight. Just the simple truth of someone who’d long stopped waiting for an invitation and chose, instead, to endure. “You’re still here too,” she added after a moment, finally looking at Siobhan. “That means something.” Cairn didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer any kindness beyond the quiet of standing beside her. But her presence didn’t carry mockery. Only truth. Only stillness.

Cairn said little, her voice low and steady. “You don’t have to be the forest’s favorite or its friend anymore. You just have to keep moving through it. That’s enough.” She looked at the torn tent, then back at Siobhan. The loss in the woman’s voice was something Cairn could recognize, not the cold distance she was used to, but a sharp, aching absence. It wasn’t just being unwanted. It was losing a place she once belonged to.

At that moment, Cairn thought about what that must feel like. The fear of being cast out, the anger of having roots ripped free. It was unfamiliar, she usually kept such things locked away, emotions were a tool for survival, not for understanding others. Still, beneath the sharp edges and bitter words, she sensed something fragile hanging there. A hope buried under the weight of grief. Cairn didn’t know how to reach it. She only knew she had to keep moving, through the forest, through the pain, through whatever came next. Maybe that was enough.

⛺️

Siobhan scoffed, but the laughter never came and soon, her bitterness had to be laid down. As the child spoke, Siobhan stood beside them silently, her head bowed. What the stranger gave was a greater kindness than anything given to Siobhan in some time. She was reminded—terribly, but warmly, like the distant rumble of thunder and the sudden lick of humidity in the air—of her great-great-grandmother. Her gravel-filled voice, her untamed red hair. Her listening, her hearing, her words—which were never much—and the gentle way she offered them. The child wasn’t the same in every way—she lacked Rónnait’s wild-dog laugh—but it was enough for her, in that moment, to remember a woman she loved. 

She’d told Siobhan once that the heart was a forest, it cultivated whatever entered it. Siobhan had made her saplings, and they’d grown tall, and she was no lumberjack. “I used to love a river. Something about the flow of it, all those smooth gray rocks; so much life in one place, rushing, and so much stillness too. And you sit down and then you’re a part of the grass and then the animals come and they go.” Siobhan smiled. “I’m not sure I want to move through it. I miss when it moved through me. I miss when it was a home. I miss home.” 

Siobhan stepped around the child, careful to avoid the twigs strewn around, seeing the twigs strewn around. “Come on then, I’m sure there’s some water around here somewhere. We can stare at it for an hour before I get bored and try to push you inside. And then we can go our separate ways and never mention tents again.” 

[docolives]

WHO: Livvy & @sunnynardelli

WHERE: The Mirage, downtown

WHEN: Hallo-Week (October, 2024)

One of the things that Livvy had been looking forward to the most about Hallo-Week (despite not being a huge Halloween person), were the fun things she could get into without peeing her pants. And right then and there, that included karaoke. She stepped down the staircase into The Mirage's speakeasy, into a foggy, multi-colored dream world, admittedly fitting in, wearing her unicorn costume, and spotted Sunny almost immediately, having texted her to ask if she was up for a little fun. She didn't hesitate to head in her friend's direction, a grin on her face as she approached. "I'm going to need a buzz, what are we drinking?"

[crossroads-of-the-raven]

Just a Little Something about the Post ep.8 Battle | Personal Headcanons | Murder Drones

Nori in Tsundere mode, trying to hide from her family.

N in no more secrets mode, zeroing in on her location, scooping her up to take her back to her family.

Nori screaming every violent threat she knows at him.

N: I've heard, seen and remembered worse :)

Khan fussing over Uzi.

N: UZI! I FOUND YOUR MOM! :D

Uzi: oh, yeah. Hey dad, we uh, we found mom.

Nori frozen in terror, positive that Khan will reject her.

Khan: you mean to tell me that this incredibly attractive, hot, attractive, beautiful and attractive creature is my wife.

*Double Fist pump*: YES!

Immediately scoops up Nori and kisses her.

Cue sloppy Khori makeout session.

(~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~)

While N and Uzi are awkwardly made audience to the 100% canon Khori makeout session.

V moved off to the side after Khan came over to check on Uzi.

Thad: Veeeeeeeee! *crashes into her to hug her, doesn't even budge her, weeping happy tears that she's alive*

V *pats him on the head then sees Sparky role up with the bus*: hey losers our ride's here.

V walks to to bus, Thad is still holding on to her.

Lizzy passes a chasms as she walks to the bus since Sparky isn't chasing her at the moment.

In the chasm, she sees her dad (the teacher).

Lizzy *deadpan*: are you coming home or ...

Teacher: depends, what are the Doormans doing?

Lizzy looks over to see that Uzi and N are goofing around while Khan and Nori are still kissing.

Lizzy *still deadpan*: do I have to say it?

Teacher: hm ...

Lizzy *checking over her third replacement phone*: mom will be upset if your not home by dinner.

Teacher: *sigh*

The Teacher climbs out of the chasm, sees that Sparky is driving the Bus, blinks once then joins the rest of the group on the Bus while trying to ignore everything.

(~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~) -- (~*~)

After the final battle, N and V went to live in the Bunker on the off chance that J was still around and would likely head to the spire.

Until N and V got their own apartment in the Outpost, they were living with the Doormans.

That first night Uzi, N and V had a sleepover in the living room.

V using the rafters above the couch while N and Uzi slept together on the couch, tails intertwined.

Sparky slept next to the couch.

P.S. Khan and Nori slept in their bedroom together for the first time since Uzi was a pill

[lenavaz]

WHO: Lena & @sunnynardelli

WHERE: Harmony Ranch, countryside

WHEN: Bachelorette Party (October 12, 2024)

"Sunny!" Lena nearly bounced over to her friend, a grin plastered on her face when she recognized the blonde in the crowd. Although she wasn't drinking that night -- minus a shot here or there, maybe a couple of sips of a drink -- she was very determined to have a good time, giddy off of the sugary sweet mocktails she had already had. "I'm so glad you're here! You're going to dance with me tonight, yes?"

[spectord]

i will likely link this in my pinned, but i feel this is kinda important for me to say.

i am not going to be completely canon compliant - my portrayal is mostly headcanon based. moonknights lore is a bit all over the place between the various comics & the show - his mental health is a very complicated subject that is done differently in every comic, so i will be portraying it as i please. i take most of my inspiration from the moonknight 2016 comics & anything involving the midnight mission ( i forget exactly which comic variant this is ) as well as some bits from the tv show, but i am not strictly sticking to anything. i write him as i please. i write mainly from the pov of marc with the tidbits from his alters where it fits or seems necessary - he is aware of them & the state of his mental health, taking off of where the moonknight 2016 comics left off, he is okay with himself & willing to live as is. i'm still exploring where i want to go with this, how i want to portray everything & the proper way to do it, especially because his condition is confusing.

this being stated - i do not ship between the moonknight alters. this isn't appealing to me & i would prefer it being kept away from me.

[thexsanctuaryx]

ʚ♡ɞ I'll Follow You Into the Dark ʚ♡ɞ

➳ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

{ summary: } a different kind of morning after. marc learns a little more about what emma is going through and emma becomes more certain than ever that marc might just be an honest to god angel. { pairing: } | eventual | original character { emma harper } x marc spector, emma harper x steven grant, and emma harper x jake lockley { contents: } mental hospitals, psychiatric hold, slight bullying by another patient, angst { I guess? I don't know what else to call it. }, hurt/comfort-esque vibes { warnings: } severe mental illness { psychosis, hallucinations, depression }, main character is actively in psychosis, I've done my best to write it in the least triggering way but there are a lot of heavy themes that will take place in this series, so forewarning. marc is a danger to himself here but it's only really alluded to in this part. mental hospitals. bullying by emma's roommate. typical misunderstanding and misinterpretation that comes with psychosis. due to the nature of emma's psychosis, things are very unhealthily skewed in a religious context. triggering themes related to the aforementioned. { author's note: } I recently finished reading "tear down my reason" by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction and it inspired me to work on an idea I've been playing with about emma and the boys meeting while both in a mental hospital at the same time. I wanted to write a series that would help other people with severe mental illness feel seen and heard as there really aren't works out there like this, especially not actually written by people with firsthand experience of things like psychosis. this series is being written with a lot of love and care so I truly hope that it can be cathartic for those who read who might also live with mental illness because you DO matter and your stories DO deserve to be told. { word count: } 1,599 { taglist: } @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The next morning, Marc wakes up on too little sleep, vaguely aware of the nurse wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

He takes in a deep breath, forgetting where he is for a second before the memories come flooding back to him.

He releases the breath in a heavy sigh, inwardly hating himself for winding up here. Again. The nurse finishes taking his vitals and tells him they’ll be leaving for breakfast soon.

Somehow, eating food seems like the last thing he wants to do and he debates whether or not to stay back.

His eyes pop open with a start when he remembers her. His resolve to talk to her again is challenged by both his exhaustion and the self-loathing belief that he couldn’t possibly help her.

‘I want to see her again, Marc…’ Jake sounds off.

‘And you need to eat something—can’t go runnin’ around on nothing…’

“I don’t plan on doing any running, Steven…”

‘Marc…’ Jake presses.

Marc pushes out another sigh, swinging his legs out and leaning over the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

He walks over to the small plastic cubby on the wall that holds his clothes, pulling on an oversized sweatshirt and running a hand over his face.

He steps out into the hallway, looking in either direction, and notices he’s one of the first to be up. Typical. He releases a yawn and moves toward the day room to see if she’s in there.

The room is all but empty but he finds a seat, slumping back the same way he had the night before.

‘I hope she’s doing a bit better today…she looked so frightened last night…’

Marc doesn’t want to show any concern for her, a girl he doesn’t even know, but there’s an underlying worry in his gut.

“Me too, buddy, me too…” He mumbles, telling himself it’s only for Steven’s sake.

More patients filter into the room and still she’s nowhere to be seen.

Half an hour later they’re calling everyone to line up if they’re going to breakfast.

He pushes from the chair and makes his way to the line.

She catches his eye, coming out of the room furthest to the end of the hallway on the right, just before the locked entrance to the wing. He notes that she’s still wearing a standard issue hospital gown instead of real clothing.

She’s talking to one of the floor staff, looking confused the same way she did last night, before they usher her to the end of the line.

Marc abandons his place near the middle to join her.

“Hey…” He gently greets her. “How’d you sleep?” He asks, hoping she’s more lucid today.

“Sleep?” She repeats, her mind working over his question.

Another voice chimes in over her, “she slept in the shower after she put on my clothes…” Another girl says grumpily, before she really looks at Marc.

When she takes him in, she clears her throat, straightening up a little bit and smoothing out her clothes. “You’re new…” She says, brightening a little.

Marc pays less than an ounce of attention to her after she explains what happened with Emma.

“Are you okay?” He asks her softly and frowning, wanting to reach out to give her some kind of physical comfort but knowing he shouldn’t.

Emma’s eyebrows pull together, shaking her head quickly just before their attention is pulled away to the staff leading them out of the wing and down through the building to the cafeteria.

As they go through the line, Emma takes hardly anything to eat which only settles more worry in Marc’s stomach.

She goes to sit alone, setting her tray down and pulling her hands into her lap, fiddling anxiously with her fingers.

Marc makes his way over, eyeing all of the other tables of people who’d grouped up.

Her roommate can be seeing staring at her from one such group, clearly gossiping about ‘the new girl’ to avid listeners.

“Can I sit with you?” He asks, keeping his voice as light as he can.

Emma nods quickly, scowling at her lap.

“Thanks,” He replies, trying to get her to talk as he slides into the chair next to her that intentionally blocks her from her roommate’s view.

“You should try to eat something, it’ll make you feel better…” He suggests.

Emma shakes her head, avoiding his eyes.

Marc nods, scrunching up the side of his face, “yeah…I’m not really hungry either…”

The other two in his mind watch quietly with bated breath.

“Y’know, I wanted to say last night…you’re not dead, you’re in the hospital, this isn’t—”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, so sure once again that it’s a test. She can’t even form coherent words.

Marc pauses, able to tell that no matter what he says, she’s just not capable of understanding right now.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks gently.

Emma is quick to shake her head.

She wants to tell him that she’s sure he’s an angel, sent to guide her through this process.

After all, no one had been nearly as kind to her since she’d gotten here. And he had been there as soon as she’d landed here, wherever here was.

Her response provokes Marc to worry that if Steven or Jake were to come forward she might become scared.

He tries to find a way to tell her without perpetuating whatever confusion is going on in her brain right now.

‘Careful, Marc…’ Jake reminds him.

Emma seems to be lost in her own thoughts as Marc watches her. He can almost see her battling people within her own mind.

“Are you hearing people in your head?” He asks, keeping his tone in check.

Emma nods quickly, casting her eyes to her lap again.

“I know what that’s like…” Marc nods.

Again, he wants so badly to explain to her about Steven and Jake but he knows how tricky it would be to do so without scaring her in her present state.

“Sometimes—…” He starts.

He presses his lips together with another scowl.

“Sometimes, I might not be…me…sometimes you might see Steven…or Jake…they’re friends of mine and we…we sorta—share— a body…”

Emma’s eyes fly to his, widening again, looking more than a little nervous, her voice tremoring, “l-like possession?”

‘Well done, Marc, scare the poor girl…’ Steven rolls his eyes.

Marc keeps his tone light, with a quiet, tense laugh. “More like roommates…in my brain…”

“A-are you sure they’re not…demons?”

“I’m sure…” He nods, taking no offense to the question as he starts to piece together what her brain is going through at present.

“Is that what you think you’re hearing right now?” He asks.

Emma nods quickly and then shakes her head, “That is what I’m hearing…and—I think some of the people here might be—ya know—” She pauses, giving him a look, “too…”

Marc glances around, nodding again with a pinch of his eyebrows. “I can see why you’d say that. But they’re not…they’re just sick…”

Emma stares at her untouched meal tray, swallowing, unconvinced.

“I promise if you see Steven or Jake, you don’t have to be afraid of them, in fact…they help me when I’m  scared…”

“Th-they do?” She stammers.

Marc gives her a look of certainty, nodding slowly with a warm hum of an, “Mhmm…”

“So they’re more like, angels then?” She asks hopefully.

Marc can’t help a soft but good natured laugh, “Yeah, kinda I guess…”

His laughter puts her more at ease. She nods in seeming understanding.

Marc eyes her tray, knowing it can’t possibly be good for her condition to not eat.

“I’ll eat three bites if you do?” He offers, strategically inserting a number of significance to the kind of spirituality that her brain seems fixated on.

Emma summons a deep breath and lets it out in a huff of a sigh through her nose, scowling at her plate.

But her brain deduces that three is a good number, like God. So she agrees.

Marc can just see the gears turning in her brain, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping using the number three specifically wouldn’t make her more inclined.

She reaches for her fork, stabbing at her eggs haphazardly. She gives him a questioning look when she raises the first bite to her mouth, waiting for the go ahead.

Marc nods and offers a quiet smile, likewise reaching to take a bite of his own.

Emma watches him carefully, waiting for him to do it with her.

As they take the bite together, in some indescribable way, it makes her trust him.

She takes the second bite more easily, doing so without him but still keeping an eye on him to make sure he’ll eat too.

She’s not sure if angels eat human food, but her logic is that if it’s good for her to eat, it must also be good for him. And despite everything, she wants so badly to help him too.

Marc takes a sip of orange juice and then repeats the bite from before.

This affirms to her that he keeps his promises and she takes the final bite.

‘Nicely done, Marc—think she’s starting to like you…’ Steven tells him more genuinely this time, the grin in his voice evident.

Marc likewise can’t keep another light smile from his lips as he finishes his own third bite.

It doesn’t even occur to him, that in this moment, he’s all but completely forgotten the real reason he’s here.

[stellylee]

WHO: Stelly & @nicholas-quinn

WHERE: The Challenge

WHEN: May 23, 2025

Stelly's favorite part of the getaway so far was that they got to wander around the compound, shoving their camera in people's faces, and take photos of them happy, enjoying their free time. Tomorrow would come photos of them struggling, sweating, maybe even crying... and Sunday, they barely expected to see human beings moving around. But right now, smiles. All except for Nicholas, who they noticed sitting at a nearby table, his expression none too pleasant... and aimed at an all too familiar face. "She piss in your Cheerios or something?" Stelly asked as they dropped down onto the bench across from him, setting their camera to the side, and a plated sandwich in front of them.

[joshlane]

WHO: Josh & @elianavagh

WHERE: The Challenge

WHEN: May 23, 2025

Dropping down onto one of the logs surrounding the communal fire pit, Josh picked up the stick and bag of marshmallows that he had leaned against it, ripping it open and holding the bag out to the person next to him with a smile, recognizing Eliana. "I brought along an extra stick, too, if you want to roast one. Unless this is the part where you tell me that you don't like marshmallows... and then you'll just have to sit back and watch, and hope I don't make too much of a mess. Or catch something on fire."